REUNION
Chapter 10
The banquet room of the Renaissance was elegantly decorated in the Putnam High School colors of black and silver. Morgan was struck by the irony of having a reunion for people who grew up in a poor neighborhood at such an expensive place. Shit, the only alumni who can afford to be here are the ones who made it out of the neighborhood…or the damned drug dealers, he thought, sourly.
He found his name tag on the table near the door and put it on. He scanned the remaining tags and spotted Vanessa Fowler-Richardson. He was taken aback for a moment seeing her married name, but of course, he should have realized she would have gotten married. Jake Hendricks only told him that she was coming, but nothing else about her. Okay, good! There was no other tag with the last name of Richardson. At least he wouldn't have to see her with a husband.
Speak of the devil; Hendricks was by the door greeting his former classmates as they entered. "Derek Morgan, how the hell are you?" Hendricks asked, shaking his hand. He introduced him to his wife, a short, dark woman with a dumpy figure and pleasant smile. Hendricks was sporting a paunch, mostly concealed by the cut of his expensive suit, but otherwise hadn't changed much from his high school days. Derek had heard that his wife's father owned a couple of successful car dealerships, and was obliging enough to have died and left them to his daughter.
"Derekkkk," a woman's voice shrieked as he stepped into the room, and he turned to see a tall, thin woman with long beaded braids in a tight red dress. She rushed toward him, as quickly as her slinky skirt and high heels would allow. "I'd know you anywhere," she said, excitedly and she hugged him. He was trying hard to place her, when he felt her slip her hand inside his suit jacket and begin to feel his chest.
"Um…excuse me?"
"I heard you were FBI," she said, laughing. "I thought for sure you'd be wearing a gun."
Actually, he was wearing his ankle holster, not that he was going to tell her that. He still didn't know who the hell she was, but he stepped back and looked at her name tag. "Uh, Jasmine…Jasmine Miller. Hey, looking good, Baby." After the initial surprise, he was amused by her groping him. She was obviously buzzed, and he couldn't remember a damned thing about her, but he played along. "You here alone?" He asked, just for something to say.
"Just as free as can be," she responded, as Morgan very deliberately removed her hand from inside his jacket, and buttoned it again. He chatted with her for a moment, and then looked for an excuse to get away.
She was still hanging on him when he thought he spotted Ramone Watson walking back from the bar carrying a pair of drinks. Okay, he was done indulging this woman. "Excuse me, Jasmine. I have to say 'hello' to someone over there," and he approached the table where he saw Ramone sit down.
"Hey, Derek! My man," his old friend said when he saw him. "How's it hangin'?"
If it had just been the two of them, he would have told him it was "hangin' low," or some other smart assed answer, but he wasn't going to be that crude in front of the pretty blond seated beside Watson. "Meet my wife, Lynn." He gestured toward her.
Morgan was surprised. He hadn't heard that Ramone had married a Caucasian woman. Neither his mother, nor Mrs. Watson ever mentioned it when they told him he'd gotten married and then he realized, of course, they wouldn't. To people like Fran or Ramone's mom, color wasn't all that important.
Lynn was one of only a smattering of Whites in the room, and he wondered if she felt awkward. Well, maybe not, since she married a Black man, he decided. There had been very few White students at Putnam until the school district was rezoned just before his senior year and they then began taking students from Hyde Park. The new students weren't readily accepted at the school and he wondered how many would come out tonight. He was aggravated with himself for even thinking about race. He didn't usually, except when he came back home. Here it seemed to him that the color lines were more acutely drawn, far more than the world he resided in now.
Derek immediately recognized Celina Townsend, when she and her date came over and asked to join their table. He used to enjoy they way the former cheerleader filled out her Putnam High School sweater, and he'd always liked watching her tits bounce when she did her cheers. Back then, Morgan's football team referred to her as "everybody's girl," because most of them had nailed her at one time or another. The man she was with was at least ten years her junior and she introduced him simply as "Howard." He was a handsome, light-skinned man who spoke with a Jamaican accent. He also seemed to enjoy Celina's tits, as Morgan frequently saw his eyes on her cleavage, which she had perfectly showcased in a sleek, black dress.
Derek got a vodka and cranberry juice from the bar and sat back down at the table, frequently looking to the entryway for Vanessa. There were plenty of people he could talk to if he wanted to mingle, as the room was filling up, but he wasn't up for it.
Gregory Sanchez and his wife joined their table, and Jamal Easterbrook and his date. Both were men who had played on sports teams with Morgan. He tried to listen politely to the conversation and, occasionally, he made an appropriate comment, but didn't really join in. He was starting to understand why he never attended any of the other reunions. All of the people from school who mattered to him, he still saw once in awhile. He would run into Ramone every couple of years and the two of them would go down to the South End for a beer. The two other good friends he had in high school worked on the youth center's committee and saw them when he came to town. If he hadn't heard that Vanessa Fowler was coming tonight, he would never have seen any of the other people here again.
The waiters were starting to set up the buffet, and Morgan checked his watch. It was almost seven thirty. He was getting increasingly agitated. He looked around the room, thinking he might have missed her arrival, but nothing. Maybe she'd changed her mind about coming. Ah hell; it was a crazy idea wanting to see her again, anyway. After all of these years, she might not even remember him, or if she did, she probably wouldn't care. She might feel about him the same way he felt about the people here tonight. In twenty years, she never made an effort to find him. Shit, she didn't even try to contact him after what happened. She'd made a fool of him once, and he was giving her a chance to do it again. Sarah was right. It was a mistake to come here.
He excused himself from the table. He'd already paid for the fucking room. He would go upstairs, call Penelope, and watch the game that was on tonight, which was what he really wanted to do anyway. He could order something from room service for dinner. Fuck this! He thought, as he was about to make his escape.
"Derek?" A familiar voice said to him, just as he'd reached the door. He turned to see Vanessa Fowler, standing near the table where the name tags had been placed. She was stunning in a shimmering cobalt blue dress that perfectly matched her eyes. Her blond hair cascaded to her bare shoulders, and she looked so beautiful, she almost took his breath away. Although less girlish in her appearance, she was as pretty as she was the first time he saw her, that day she stood in the hallway of Putnam, asking him for directions to the chemistry lab. She smiled, and her voice quivered slightly from nervousness when she asked. "You aren't leaving, are you?"