Again by Sharon Cullars Page A

mail, hoping it wasn’t some family emergency. April and Donell were on a Mexican cruise, and Tyrone had flown out yesterday morning for a Zimbabwe shoot. But when she checked the message, she heard a strange but familiar voice.
    “Tyne, hi. This is David Carvelli. We met at your sister’s wedding…um…I know you’re probably wondering why I’m calling you, especially at work. I just—well—I was wondering if maybe you would like to go out to lunch sometime. My treat, of course. Anywhere you want. My cell phone number is 312-777-3232. If I don’t answer, just leave a message.”
    She played the message again. How had he gotten her number? She had told him where she worked, hadn’t she? If he called the general number, then he would have gotten Sondra, the receptionist, who would have patched him through.
    First a firing and now this. She looked absently at the calendar affixed to the steel cabinet above her desk. Featured for the month of May, the painting of an African-garbed woman accompanied the caption, “A true woman boldly faces life’s challenges.” The message rang true, yet hollow to her situation. She should call him, tell him no once and for all. Tell him to please just leave her alone. She wasn’t ready to deal with him. Especially not now.
    Especially since she had thought about him a little too much since the reception, more times than she had admitted to herself until now. It seemed longer than last Saturday since she had looked into a pair of penetrating eyes and wondered why she should know him. Worse still, her dream lover had taken on his face, his voice, and the experience was more intense now that she could picture the one who touched her, whispered to her. Made love to her. It was an intimacy that she didn’t think she could handle beyond her dreams.
    She hadn’t dreamt of the knife since she met him, and the horror of that night with the blood was fading with time. Only the desire remained, and that was disturbing enough.
    Phones rang. She had another report to finish, although it seemed a futile task considering that her job was basically gone.
    She opened the computer document and began typing. She tried not to think about the message or wonder why she didn’t just erase it so the temptation would go away. Why was she intimidated by him? Because he was white? She had never dated interracially before, yet her hesitation seemed to stem from something more that that, although she wasn’t certain what. The man just gave her vibes that were totally confusing—and she had to admit, seductive.
    She again saw images from the dream from the night before, felt the warm salty taste of fingers slipping into her mouth. She shifted in her seat. The elastic of her panties didn’t shift with her and now dug into her skin. Damn.
    She got up and pulled at her underwear through her slacks.
    “Um, Tyne…”
    She turned to see Lem standing at her doorway. By the sheepish look on his face, he’d seen her touching herself in a very unbusinesslike way. He didn’t seem unpleased. She felt the blood rushing to her face.
    “I was…uh…was there something you wanted, Lem?”
    He came in a little farther, and both of them stood side by side. He had almost a foot on her, and made her five feet seven seem that much shorter. “I thought maybe we could commiserate over lunch. Guess you got the word from Stan.”
    “Yeah,” she sat down. “But it was expected. Did you talk with him already?”
    Lem nodded. “He called me in early this morning before everyone else.”
    “So, what’re you going to do?” She looked up at him. He didn’t seem all that put out. But then again, he had very marketable skills. He wouldn’t be out of work for long.
    “I’ve already lined up something at the Times ,” he said, folding his arms, not meeting her eyes, maybe out of guilt. “I’ve been calling around for months now since February. Have a friend there who kept an ear open. It’s still a copy editor