Free Suitcase City by Sterling Watson Page B

opened his arms to Dean who gave him a brief hug. He’d whispered into her warm, fragrant neck, “Beautiful tonight.” When she pulled away, her eyes glittering with that energy she turned into movement on the stage, Teach said, “As usual.”
    “Thanks, Daddy.” She smiled at some club women passing up the aisle.
    Teach said, “Time to go, Deanie. I’ve got reservations at Bern’s.” Dinner at Bern’s was their after-recital tradition.
    Dean frowned, then smiled. “Daddy, would it be okay this once if I skip dinner? There’s a party at Marty Flipper’s house.” The two friends watched Teach solemnly.
    He tried to think of how to say no to all three of them. He could invite the friends to dinner.
    Dean fired the heavy artillery. “Daddy-please-can-I?”
    Unable to come up with a good no and worried about the bloodstain on his sleeve, Teach cleared his throat to summon his Stern Father voice. “No drinking at this party, young lady. And I want you home at eleven.”
    “Oh, Daddy,” Dean groaned, mortified to have drinking (or was it coming home on time?) mentioned in front of her friends.
    Teach had played golf with Harold Flipper who owned the local Volvo dealership. He was a dim but affable fellow and so, Teach reasoned, must be his son, Marty. The two girlfriends examined their fingernails and studied their Doc Martens to see if the scuffing on them was just right.
    Teach abandoned Stern Father in favor of Old Guy Trying to Be Humorously Hip. “Will you girls give me your word you’ll say no when the wine coolers are passed around?” Missy looked stunned, as though she did not have a word to give, but the black girl looked Teach in the eye and said, “I promise you, Mr. Teach, if Deanie tries to go the way of all flesh, I’ll place my body between her and temptation.”
    Teach kept his jaw from dropping, but he could not keep from chuckling his appreciation.
    She stepped forward and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Tawnya. It’s nice to meet you.”
    * * *
    Teach swung his legs out of bed and sat working the aching elbow. He felt Saturday-morning sad. It was sad but not fatal that Dean had ditched their celebration dinner for the giddy delights of a party at Marty Flipper’s house. Sometimes life was losing things. He had lost Paige, and he was losing Dean to the fate nature intended for young girls. (Not, please God, Marty Flipper, but someday a young man with a future.) The phone rang. Teach hurried from bed.
    “Hello, I’m trying to reach James Teach. Is he there, please?”
    Teach summoned his vice president’s voice. Easy and affable. Ready to meet what the day brought to his door. “This is he.”
    “Mr. Teach, my name is Marlie Turkel. I’m a reporter at the Trib . Do you have a minute?”
    Teach thinking: What does a reporter want with me on a Saturday morning? Something about Dean, her dancing? There had been a couple of pieces in the Sunday supplement. Dean’s success at the American Dance Festival. Her prospects for a New York career. Teach kept his voice low, pleasant. “Sure,” he said, “I’ve got a minute. What’s this about?”
    “It’s about yesterday afternoon, you and a Mr. Tyrone Battles.” The woman’s voice changed. It went from brusque efficiency to a husky purring that couldn’t hide her excitement.
    Teach felt the worm of fear move in his belly. Jesus, a journalist, and a woman. How in God’s own name had she gotten hold of this thing, and so soon? And what did she plan to do with it? Teach said only, “Yes?” aware that his voice had lost its affability. Aware that he was buying time without any idea what he would do with it.
    The woman cleared her throat and in a low seductive throb said, “I’d like to get your side of this thing before we go to press with it.”
    She sounds like sex , Teach thought. Like she had known him for years and not in Sunday school. Like she had enjoyed knowing him in a way she wouldn’t deny, and she knew he wouldn’t