Destiny's Daughters

by Gwynne Forster, Donna Hill, Perry Brown

Genres: African American; African American Women's Fiction; Anthologies

Synopsis

In this powerful collection, three acclaimed writers put their talents together to tell the unforgettable story of three sisters separated as infants--and how their paths finally cross in adulthood. Leticia, Jamilla, and Clarissa Holmes each know that they're one in a set of triplets--but that's about all they know. Now they're adults, thirty-three-year old women who are as different as can be. But they have one thing in common: they have never given up on the idea of one day finding each other. . . In "More Than This," by Donna Hill, we meet Leticia, whose time in group homes sharpened her street smarts and taught her to use her good looks to her advantage. Now she's on top of the world, ensconced in a lush apartment in the heart of New Orleans. Leticia knows what men want--she runs the most elite call girl operation in the Parrish. But when she learns that the new sheriff in town is planning a raid, she decides to close up shop, have some adventures, and find her family. She soon discovers that one of her sisters is a jazz singer slated to appear at Lincoln Center. Leticia buys a ticket--and gets much more than she bargained for. . . Parry "EbonySatin" Brown's [title tk] follows Jamilla, adopted by an upstanding family who loved her like their own. But despite a life of privilege, Jamilla was always haunted by a sense of foreboding. As a way to escape her demons, she turned to writing. Now she's landed a six-figure book deal. But Jamilla's joy is clouded by a series of disturbing dreams triggered by a woman she saw on television--a jazz singer with her face. . . In Gwynne Forster's "The Journey," Clarissa Holmes Medford has finally decided to kick out her cheating husband--and pick up her guitar. Maybe she can sing her way out of the unhappiness and poverty that have plagued most of her life. When she records a well-received demo, it's just the beginning of a fascinating journey that will take her far from home, and expose her to a captivating new world--and an audience that may include the family her heart has always longed for. . . Reading Group Guide Inside

Release date: January 26, 2015

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 300

Sample

Leticia turned gently onto her side. Slowly her eyes fluttered open against the early summer sun that pushed its way through the slits of the bronze-toned blinds. She emitted a slow, deep sigh. The call from her friend in the police department warned her that her days were numbered. They were close to shutting her down, and she needed to make herself scarce—and fast.

Car horns and the sound of sirens floated up from the street ten stories below, overlooking fashionable Central Park West. Even at six A.M., the city was wide awake, pulsing with energy. Her city, the one she’d made her own fifteen years earlier. Today she would put it all behind her. She had no choice.

The left side of her bed bounced slightly with the movement of weight from the body next to hers. She glanced over her shoulder. Too bad she would have to leave Norman. He was one of the nice ones. Generally she didn’t allow her clients to stay overnight. Once she’d been paid and they’d had their evening together, she sent them smiling on their merry way with promises of more. It had been that way since she took up residence in New York, having moved her “business” from Atlanta. She’d foolishly believed that she could finally make a home in the Big Apple, but that was not to be. Last night she’d made an exception, and Norman couldn’t have been happier. It was the least she could do, since she knew they would never set eyes on each other again.

She turned onto her back and stared up at the mirror set in her ceiling. At thirty-three, she still looked good, she absently mused. Her thighs were toned, her breasts still sat up firmly on her chest, her stomach was flat and devoid of any stretch marks. Her face was ordinary by most people’s standards, but she knew all the tricks of makeup and the magic that they could wield. As a result, she was more than attractive.

However, it wasn’t her looks that got her through life—it was her street smarts and natural charisma. Leticia knew the potency of a smile, a look, the right word, a touch in the perfect spot—all as powerful as manna from heaven. She used them to her advantage.

Everything many dreamed of, she possessed: important friends, a sizeable bank account, the ability to travel at will, live well, drive a new car every year, and more clothes and shoes than she could wear in a lifetime. Yes, she had everything—and nothing at all.

The life she lived was filled with excitement, surely, but the secrets and the loneliness outweighed the benefits. The women whom she worked with couldn’t be considered friends, merely business associates, and the men—they were simply ships passing in the night. Most days she didn’t think about it much, but as she’d grown older, the desire to have something tangible grew with each passing year.

She stared at her reflection and wondered if her estranged sisters had fared as well as she over the years. A heaviness settled in the center of her stomach. Did they have families? Were they happy? Did they ever think about her? Did it even matter after all this time? Never once did her sisters try to find her. They’d probably forgotten all about her years ago. Most of the time she forgot about them as well. Truth be told, she really knew no more about them than their last name Holmes and that their mother died in childbirth. At times she wasn’t really certain if the story the case worker at the group home told her about her family was the truth or some hurtful fiction. It had to be a lie, she often told herself. She couldn’t allow herself to believe that she had two sisters somewhere out in the world and each of the three had been sold off like cattle. If that was true, then Leticia certainly lived up to her heritage: she was sold for money and she was still selling herself for money decades later. Damn shame.

She eased up and reached for her silk robe at the foot of the bed, careful not to disturb Norman. Standing, she slipped into it and went into the master bath, one of her favorite rooms in the spacious loft. It was a tropical paradise—a riot of brilliant colored flora and white orchids graced the sills and corners of the white walls. It was equipped with a Jacuzzi, sunken bathtub, double sink, and shower stall. It was her haven, where she went to think as her body was massaged by the jets of the Jacuzzi and she listened to the soft music piped in from hidden speakers. She turned on the water and poured in a cupful of jasmine-scented oil. Jazz saxophonist Kurt Whalum played discreetly in the background.

As she slipped into the water and relaxed her head against the pillow, she closed her eyes. Quickly all the steps she’d put into place ran through her mind like a grocery list. She’d all but emptied her bank accounts. Her car was in storage. Her passport and identity papers were in order. She would leave most of her clothes and buy what she needed when she reached her destination. She had enough money to tide her over until she found something adequate to do with her time. Yes, everything was in place. The water pulsed around her.

Quietly reentering her bedroom, she pulled her two packed suitcases from the closet and sat them by the door. Her carryall contained her paperwork, and her money was sewn into the panels of her suitcases. She dressed soundlessly, put the right touches of makeup on her face, took her dark glasses from the dresser, looked once over her shoulder. Norman wouldn’t wake up for a few more hours from the sedative she’d slipped into his drink in the wee hours of the morning; by then she would be long gone. She hated good-byes. She’d said too many of them over the years.

With suitcases in hand, her bag over her shoulder, she walked out and would never look back. Yet another new life lay ahead of her. What she would make of it only time would tell. But she was ready for the ride.

Several hours later, the plane touched down in Florida. After retrieving her bags, she went directly to the car rental console and picked up the car that awaited her. The two-door Ford sedan was not what she was accustomed to, but it would have to do for the time being. Settling behind the wheel, she pulled out her map and studied her course. She would be in the heart of South Beach in less than an hour, barring any heavy traffic. South Beach, the East Coast getaway for the wealthy and wanna-bes, was the perfect place to get lost. Anytime of day or night the streets teemed with people, the hotels were constantly filled with stars of every ilk, and the concert halls and theaters couldn’t keep up with the number of shows and events that vied for space. Yes, she would fit right in. Smiling, she eased out into the traffic and wondered for a moment what Norman would think when he woke up and found her gone.

As she drove along the streets of Miami, the array of hard, young, beautiful bodies filled the avenues. Color bursts before the eyes. Palm trees swayed ever so gently in the balmy breeze. High-end boutiques lined the streets, music blared from lounges, cafes, and clubs. The city vibrated with a barely controlled energy. Hot, hot, hot was the only thought that ran through her mind. She bobbed her head to the music of it all.

Forty minutes later she pulled up in front of the Loews Miami Beach Hotel, the restored St. Moritz. She’d barely come to a complete stop before a valet was at her window. She depressed the button and the window slid down.

“Guest of the hotel, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am.” She smiled.

“I’ll take your car for you. Do you need help with your bags?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.” She stepped out into the humid air and looked around as the bellman came to remove her bags from the trunk. The valet handed her a ticket.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said, before getting in behind the wheel.

“I’m sure I will.”

Following the bellman inside, the welcome chill from the central air greeted her. Several guests of the hotel sat on antique sofas that graced the patterned walls. The ceiling was endless, gold and glass were everywhere. A giant palm tree, the likes of which she’d never seen before, sat in an enormous white marble pool. Uniformed staff hurried about, pushing luggage and giving directions. The glass façade opened to a view of startling blue ocean.

Leticia’s predatory instincts shifted into high gear watching the parade of beautiful men who strolled through the lobby, alone or at the side of a woman. The pickings were plentiful, she mused, as she walked to the reception desk, catching the eye of several handsome possibilities. She ran her tongue seductively across her lips when one gave her an extra long look.

“Welcome to the St. Moritz, Loews. How may I help you?” a young woman in a navy blue uniform asked.

Leticia turned her attention to the woman behind the desk. She smiled.

“I have a reservation. Pamela Armstrong,” she said, slipping easily into her pseudonym.

The young woman focused on the computer in front of her, quickly stroking the keys. She looked up at Leticia. “I see you’ll be with us for a while, Ms. Armstrong?”

“I’m on vacation. I believe I’m reserved for a month.”

“Yes. I see that.” She hit a few more strokes. “How many keys will you need?”

“One.”

The receptionist processed the key, but before handing it over, she said, “We have your credit card on file, but I’ll need to see some identification, please, and get an imprint of your card.”

“Of course.” Leticia dug in her purse, took out her wallet, and handed over her passport and credit card, all in the name of Pamela Armstrong.

The young woman reviewed the identification, made an imprint of the credit card, and handed both back to Leticia. “Thank you, Ms. Armstrong.” She gave Leticia her card key. “You’ll be in room 1875.” She looked over Leticia’s shoulder and signaled for a bellman. “Felix will take you to your room. If you need anything at all, we’re here to serve you.”

“Thank you.” She put her information back in her purse and followed Felix to the bank of elevators.

Felix was the epitome of Latin masculinity, of medium height with ink-black hair swept away from his broad forehead and skin the color of lightly toasted bread. He was an almost dead ringer for a young Antonio Banderas. Hmm. Edible.

When Felix opened the door to her suite, Leticia instantly knew she was going to love it here. She kicked off her kitten-heeled sandals, dropped her purse on the entry table, and crossed the plush white carpeted floor to the balcony. The pile was so deep and thick, it caressed her ankles. Opening the glass balcony doors, she took in the breathtaking view across Miami and out onto the sandy white beach below. No more snow, winter coats, or turning up the thermostat. She spread her arms, tossed her head back, and sucked in the ocean-washed air. This would be home, she decided then and there.

She spun around, a broad smile highlighting her hazel eyes, courtesy of expensive contacts. “Thank you, Felix.” She came toward him, her hips swaying beneath the short swing skirt of white and pale blue gauze. She picked up her discarded purse, dug inside her wallet, and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “For your trouble.” She pressed the bill into his palm and held it there.

“Thank you. If there is anything I can do for you . . .”

Leticia reached out and stroked his arm with her free hand. Her voice dropped an octave. “I’ll be sure to let you know.” She stepped back.

Felix’s right brow arched ever so slightly in understanding. He gave a short bow of his head, turned, and walked away.

Leticia stood for a moment, facing the now-closed door, her lips pursed in thought. If all the men in Miami were going to be as potentially accommodating as Felix, she would have plenty to keep her occupied.

Room by room, Leticia inspected her space. Totally pleased with her new digs, she opted for a shower, change of clothes, and a visit to the hotel bar. Anyone who is anyone eventually finds their way to the bar, and she wanted to be there to sample the menu.

White was one of Leticia’s favorite colors for the summer and she wore it well. For her foray to the hotel bar and lounge she chose a Grecian white dress, short, waist-hugging with a neckline that plunged dangerously close to her navel, the crisscrossing shirred bodice barely contained her size D’s. A tap of her favorite oil, African Musk, behind her ears, on her wrists, and deep in the valley of her cleavage had her smelling edible. Diamond studs dotted her ears, and barely there makeup had her pecan-toned skin looking silky and flawless. She pressed closer toward the makeup mirror, popped in her contacts, and added a stroke of clear lip gloss that gave her mouth a dewy look. Turning her head from side to side, she patted her neatly tapered short ’do and, pleased with all she saw, she stepped out of the dressing room, picked up her white Kate Spade purse with the gold handle, and headed out.

Leticia Holmes was difficult to miss, even in a crowded room. For as long as she could remember, she was able to draw attention to herself. Perhaps it was from the years of trying not to be ignored in the countless group homes she was subjected to. She’d never wanted to be considered just another unfortunate black kid that nobody wanted. So she worked hard on her speech and her looks. She watched the white folks who ran the homes, along with the big shots who came around once a month to check on things, and learned how to shake hands, sit properly, which fork was which at the table, and basically to appear more important, more poised, educated, and worldly than she really was. It was all perception, she discovered by the time she was ten. You could make folks believe whatever the hell you wanted them to with the right words, attitude, and attire. Lessons she never forgot.

Her striking appearance was not lost on the men or the women whom she passed en route to a vacant table by the window. She smiled politely and took a seat shown to her by a too-young-looking-to-beworking waitress.

“That dress is banging,” the young woman said.

Leticia grinned. “Thank you. And what is your name?”

“Cynthia,” she responded, surprised that anyone would take an interest.

“Well, Cynthia, you are a lovely young woman. I’d love to see what you look like all dressed up.”

Cynthia beamed, her light-skinned complexion turning rosy. “I can put it on when I have to,” she said.

“I’m sure you can.”

“What kin I get you?”

Leticia turned halfway in her seat, crossed her legs, and then her arms over her knees. She focused totally on Cynthia. “I’m sure you know the menu inside and out, what’s good and what’s not. Why don’t you suggest something?”

Cynthia’s light brown eyes widened. Most of the customers that came to the hotel lounge barely acknowledged her, but this lady was different.

She cleared her throat, stuck out her small breasts, and poised her order pad in her hand. “The grilled salmon is to die for, ma’am.”

“Then I’ll have the grilled salmon, and a tossed salad with vinaigrette. And a glass of your best wine. I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She quickly jotted down the order and started to turn away.

“And Cynthia?”

She stopped and looked expectantly at Leticia. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Please call me Pamela or Pam. ‘Ma’am’ sounds so . . . old.” She grinned and patted Cynthia’s hand.

Cynthia bobbed her head. “Yes, ma . . . I mean, Pamela.” She scooted away.

Leticia subtly watched the guests and knew before a certain man did that he would be coming her way in no time.

Nathan Spencer was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. The moment he saw Leticia, he knew he wanted her. He waited for the waitress to leave Leticia’s table before he got up from the bar and approached her.

Leticia pretended to be engrossed in the dessert menu.

“May I buy you a drink while you wait for your meal?”

With slow deliberance, Leticia put down the menu and turned her head to look up at him. She waited a beat, letting her gaze drift up, then down, his long body. Finally she settled on his face.

“No. You can’t,” she said, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. “But you can sit down and join me for dinner if you don’t have other plans.”

Nathan tossed his head back and chuckled deep in his throat. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Only a matter of opinion.” She extended her hand toward the vacant seat. “Please—sit.”

“Nathan Spencer,” he said, pulling out the chair and sitting down.

“Pamela Armstrong.”

“So Pamela, let me get the one-liner clichés out of the way. What is a beautiful woman like you doing eating alone?”

“Now, Nathan, if I wasn’t alone, you and I would never have the opportunity to meet.”

“Touché.” He looked her over. “Business or pleasure?”

“A little of both. What about you?” She raised her water goblet to her lips and took a dainty sip, letting her long lashes drift over her eyes.

“Business. I’m closing several building deals in the area.”

“Really. So you’re in real estate.”

“A broker. Mostly commercial properties.”

“Do you live in Miami?”

“Yes, I have a house near the beach.”

She frowned slightly. “Do you always hang out in bars?”

He grinned, and she noticed how his eyes crinkled in the corners like one who enjoys laughing and laughter. Nathan Spencer was certainly good looking; solid build, a delectable chocolate brown complexion, clean-shaven with a sleek, bald head that had her immediately imagining all manner of erotic images.

“I was having drinks with a client,” he said in answer to her question.

Leticia looked around. “Male or female?”

“Male.”

“Hmm. Hope it went well.” She reached for her water again.

“It did. What kind of business are you in?”

“Entertainment.”

“What kind?”

“Management. But let’s not talk about business. This is my first time to South Beach. Suggest some highlights.”

Nathan leaned forward. “I have a better suggestion.”

“And what might that be?”

“If you’re not busy tomorrow, I’d be happy to show you around.”

She faked surprise with a hand to her chest. “Why, Nathan, I barely know you.”

“Then it’s the perfect opportunity for us to fix that.”

The waitress returned with Leticia’s wine and placed it on the table, looking at Leticia expectantly.

Leticia smiled up at her, lifted the glass to her lips, and sipped. A slow smile moved across her wide mouth. “Very good choice.”

Cynthia beamed.

Leticia introduced Nathan. “This is Nathan Spencer. He’ll be joining me for dinner.”

“Would you like a drink to start?”

“Courvoisier on the rocks.”

“Right away.”

Nathan turned his attention back to Leticia. “What time would you like me to pick you up?”

“I’m an early riser. Why don’t we meet for breakfast and take it from there?”

“I like how you think.”

“Ahh, a man who is intrigued by the female mind. How appealing.” She gave him a seductive smile.

“It’s going to be very interesting getting to know you.”

“That’s the plan, Nathan.”

After a very pleasant dinner with Nathan, Leticia excused herself with promises of tomorrow and returned to her room. Unpacking her belongings, she turned on the tub and sprinkled in drops of jasmine-scented oil. But before she had a chance to step into the water, there was a knock on her door.

Frowning at being disturbed during her ritual, she tightened the belt on her red silk robe, turned off the faucets, and went to answer the door.

“Felix. What a pleasant surprise.”

Felix had a rolling table, topped with a sterling silver bucket and a bottle of Cristal bedded in chipped ice.

She leaned against the doorframe, folded her arms, and smiled slowly. “Felix, you shouldn’t have,” she teased.

Felix blushed beneath his golden complexion. “I wish I could say it was me, Ms. Armstrong.”

Her right brow arched in question. That’s when she noticed the card perched on the white-linen-covered tray. She picked it up. “Dining with you was my pleasure. I look forward to tomorrow. N.”

Hmm, a man with class.

She offered a pretty pout. “How thoughtful.” She rolled her eyes over Felix’s chiseled frame and exotic features.

“Care to join me? I see there are two flutes and I hate to drink alone.”

Felix looked over his shoulder, then at both ends of the hallway. “I’m still on duty . . .”

“How long can a drink take?” She played with the opening of her robe, running her finger absently up and down the valley of her breasts.

He hesitated, transfixed by the journey of her finger. Swallowing hard, he said, “I suppose no one will miss me for a few minutes . . .”

Leticia stepped aside and let him wheel in the table, which gave her a great view of his rear. She smiled, then shut and locked the door behind him. A man like you—I’m sure you can last for more than a few minutes.

An hour later, Felix struggled with his bow tie while hunting frantically around for his shoes.

Leticia watched him from her reclining position on the bed, her head held up in her palm. “They’re in the corner,” she said, her voice thick and dreamy.

He l. . .