An Independent Woman by Howard Fast Page B

tomorrow’s evening.
    F REDDIE HAD NOT EXACTLY picked up Judith Hope, but on the other hand, he had not exactly been introduced to her. He had gone into the bar at the Fairmont, and every table was taken except one, where a black woman sat alone. She was a good-looking woman, indeed a beautiful woman, and her face was somehow familiar. He stood and tried not to stare at her while he searched his mind. The name came to him, and he walked to her table and said, “Aren’t you Judith Hope?”
    She looked up at him with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
    â€œNo. Quite true. But your picture was on my desk last week, and I took the liberty—”
    â€œWhy was my picture on your desk, if I may ask?”
    â€œMay I sit down?”
    â€œI’m waiting for someone. He should be here very soon.”
    â€œUntil he comes?” Freddie asked.
    She scrutinized him carefully, head to foot, and he had the feeling that she was stripping him down to his bones. Then she nodded, and he took the chair facing her. “I’m a vintner, Ms. Hope.”
    â€œYou sell wine?”
    â€œWe own a winery, my father and I, out in the Napa Valley.” He was struck by the fact that she knew the precise meaning of vintner. “We grow the grapes, make the wine, bottle it, and sell it. We’re not a very big operation, but we do some advertising.” He placed one of his business cards on the table in front of her. “We’ve never dealt with the Nob Hill Agency; they’re too big for us; but they’re after our business, and Frank Fellish over there sent me a stack of photos, yours among them. When I saw your photo, an idea struck me. I feel we make the best Cabernet in America, and I thought, Why not use a beautiful black model and pitch the ad to the black middle class? ”
    A long moment passed, and then she said, smiling slightly, “And are you going to?” She didn’t drop her eyes to look at his card.
    â€œI’m afraid not. Your price is out of our league.”
    â€œYou’re not here to talk my price down, are you?”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, no. I saw you, and I wanted to meet you and talk to you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œWhy not?” Freddie persisted. “I’m not married and looking to cheat on my wife. You’re a beautiful and interesting woman.”
    â€œThank you. But you’re white and I’m black.”
    â€œI happened to notice that,” Freddie said. “Does that mean you can’t talk to me?”
    â€œCertainly not. I talk to all sorts of people. By the way, what is your name, Mr. Vintner?”
    â€œFrederick Lavette.”
    She raised a brow at that. “One of the great Lavette family?”
    â€œNot great, but we are a family.”
    â€œAnd that’s a virtue these days. And now that we’ve been introduced, Mr. Lavette… ?”
    â€œWould you have dinner with me?”
    â€œPossibly. Where and when?” She slipped his card into her purse, and glanced behind him.
    â€œThursday, here,” Freddie said. “Seven o’clock, in the lobby.” He pushed back his chair and turned around. A short, well-dressed black man was approaching their table, and since she said nothing to Freddie to make him stay or to introduce him, he walked on past the small man, who nodded and went on to the table where Judith Hope sat. Freddie caught her eyes again as he left the bar, and at least it appeared to him that she nodded slightly. He recognized the black man as Jerry Delrio, the jazz pianist.
    And now it was Thursday, a week later, and Freddie had been waiting for Judith Hope for twenty minutes in the lobby of the Fairmont, and he was ready to give up, afraid that he would never see her again. Then his fears were set at rest as she appeared at the entrance to the hotel, and Freddie realized that he had only seen her seated, never standing.