The Forbidden Affair

Prologue

The year was 1960.

The summer sun shined down on our colonial style house. Upstairs in my bedroom, I stood in front of my vanity mirror and looked at my sundress.

I admired my legs with a smile. My mind knew my mother would disapprove of such a dress, but deep down I know it was all the rage. I wondered exactly what he would think of It.

My eyes looked toward my shrine of famous people on my wall. It was an array of magazine clippings, autographs and more. My father worked in the business, so I often rubbed shoulders with a lot of famous people.

I smirked at my autographed photo from Jayne Mansfield, left a kiss on my photo of Sam Cooke and held my heart at the sight of Ricky Nelson. There was one famous man who I thought was the most precious out of all of them. However, he was too dear to my heart to be on my wall.

His photo was framed and tucked away in the drawer of my bedroom. Sometimes when the lights went out I'd slip it from my vanity drawer and hold it close under my bedsheets.

Why so secretive? Well, this wasn't just any famous star. Yes, he was loved by many and was featured in many magazines, papers and movies. But the thing about this specific man is that he was particularly close to my father.

He was my father's best friend.

If it got out that I've had a crush on the man who has been in our home time and time again, I'd be crushed. However everyday my feelings for him grew deeper. It was almost torturous to be around him and not have the will to tell him how I felt. Every time I got up the courage, my mind would be filled with all of the consequences.

How will your family feel?

I know he secretly felt the same way about me. I could see it in the way he looked at me. As I stood in front of my vanity mirror, I admired my feminine body shape. My shoulder length hair was styled perfectly, my makeup was nude to my brown skin and natural, my lashes full and beautiful. I looked amazing.

"You are not wearing that." My mother said in the doorway. I turned around and tugged at the hem of my minidress.

"Mom!" I shouted at her. "You can't tell me what to wear."

"You are not going to be shaking around in that while we're in Jamaica!" My mom crossed her arms. "Sweetie, your dress is so high I can practically see your backside."

"It's the style... it's groovy!" I walked to where she stood in the doorway. My mother didn't understand the future of fashion.

"It's an abomination!" My mother rolled her eyes. "Your father does not work so hard for you to be dressed like you can't afford the rest of your skirt."

"Daddy will like it." I pushed past her out of my room and began stomping down the hall. "All the girls wear it!"

"Donna, you are not just any girl. You are daughter of one of the only negro business men in the business." My mother called after me then kissed her teeth. "My god."

"Daddy!" I shouted as I ran down the steps as I walked toward the family room. "I got a minidress and mother is saying I look like a hoochie mama! Tell her everyone is wearing..."

My father was standing behind the bar in the family room. With a bottle on hand, he was pouring two drinks. Sitting at the bar was a blond man I could recognize anywhere. He swiveled around to look at me, and finally I saw his face.