Dream Girl Awakened (10 page)

“Victoria, how are you?”

“I'm calling to see what you're doing for lunch today.”

“Just working on some documents and fielding calls for new clients. Where are you?”

“I was headed to your office, but got a call from Charlotte. I actually called Aruba earlier to meet her, but I couldn't reach her.”

“What's with the call from Charlotte?”

“Oh, she had to go out of town suddenly. Jack is up for some film award at a festival and he wanted her to join him. I'm filling in for her at Dorcas House.”

“What? You're volunteering?”

“You said I should think about others. Besides, if this is the way to get some more shoes and stock my winter wardrobe, count me in.”

“Babe, I've got another call coming in. Let me call you back in thirty minutes or so.”

“Don't bother, I'll stop by later when I'm done at Dorcas.”

Winston ended the call, embarrassed that his wife's desire for things took precedence over her concern for people.

“On that note, I'm slicing you some cake, Dr. Faulk.”

Aruba carved a fat slice of banana rum cake for Winston. She cooked extra rum sauce at home, noting people who ate her cake always requested more sauce. She poured sauce on the cake, then passed it to him.

“Since you asked me about James, what advice do you have for me about Victoria?”

“Well, Victoria is luckier than James. She has a good man who works hard, is intelligent, and desires to leave a legacy. Keep being you, Winston. Someday she'll see you for the regal king you are.”

I hope she sees it soon.

“I'm leaving after our dessert. I've got to get back to the office. I can't leave without giving you a little something, though.”

Aruba handed Winston the gift bag. Flustered, he removed the colored tissue paper. To his surprise, she'd purchased a book he'd been eyeing at Borders.
Take the Risk: Learning to Identify, Choose, and Live with Acceptable Risk
by Dr. Ben Carson was at the top of his To Be Read list.

“Just what I needed for what I'm going through. So this starts the race again.”

“Race?”

“I'm really at a crossroads right now, and I know this is one thing that will help me make the decisions I need to make about my future. I'll find a way to pay you back for this one.”

“No need, Winston. You already have.”

Aruba had set her bait and her work was done. She packed the picnic lunch, left the cake on Winston's desk, and kissed his cheek.

Winston watched her sway out of the office.
Aruba's a risk I'd be willing to take, come what may.

J
ames rubbed his sore jaw and popped the cap off a bottle of Ibuprofen. The root-scaling procedure done at the dentist's office was excruciating. He'd hobbled in from Dr. Morton's office, plopped down on the sofa, and tried to get a nap, but his phone vibrated so much he couldn't rest. He snatched the phone from the coffee table, then grunted. Seventy-eight text messages. Thirty-five missed calls. “Damn, can't you take a hint,” James muttered as he scrolled through the calls and messages from Tawatha. Tawatha was the first woman James met whose traffic signals were all screwed up. Red was a definite green for State Fair. He purposely slowed communication with her after the night of the accident. Too risky. He thought he could keep her at bay with an occasional email or text about Aruba's cancer, but when she offered to help take care of Aruba, he ceased communication with her. He hoped she'd buy the grieving husband bit, find a new man. She wasn't going away quietly and he had to do something.

He grabbed the remote, turned to CNN. Aruba would never believe that he enjoyed watching
Headline News
or anything financial, but lately, time on the sectional had turned into an introspective party. For the first time since the early years of their marriage, he actively sought employment. He'd sent out at least fifty résumés, drummed up a few contacts from his previous jobs, and registered with two upcoming job fairs. He wondered if his dreadlocks were
getting in the way of finding a job, but he decided to hold tight to his locks for now. Bills continued to roll in each day as he recuperated from the accident. Gas. Lights. Car notes. Insurance. ER expenses. The list went on and on, but his baby was still doing the damn thing. Taking care of them and not complaining about it. The least he could do was find a part-time gig to help alleviate Aruba's fears. He'd keep the job prowling to himself for now, surprise her when a good prospect came his way. He didn't want to think of how disappointed she must have been in him and his inability to keep a job. He wasn't sure why he couldn't keep a job himself. Time in front of the television, watching
Divorce Court
and
Judge Joe Brown
, made him wonder when it became acceptable to let his lady foot the bill, finance the major purchases, steer their destiny.

Growing up, he had witnessed equal give-and-take between his parents. His dad turned the bill-paying reins over to his mom, and said, “You can make more sense outta these numbers than I can. Take care of everything and give me a little something for my pocket.” James sat with his mother at the dining room table the first Friday of each month. She spread the bills out, smallest to largest, and wrote checks for each item. James was accountable for double-checking the numbers and making sure they balanced in the checkbook. She told him no woman wanted a man who couldn't manage money. He laughed at his mother then, told her she was trying to spook him. He wished he'd paid more attention to her. Maybe his marriage would be different now.

“The fuck?” James bolted from the sofa, panic-stricken.

Silence, then darkness, jarred James's memory.

“Shit! I can't believe . . .”

James ran to the front door, called to the utility worker.

“Brotha man? What's up? You gotta do this shit today?”

The Indianapolis Power and Light representative walked back to the door to greet James. He hated confrontation. He wanted to resolve the matter quickly and attend to other homes in the subdivision.

“Sir, a disconnect notice was sent,” he looked down at his clipboard, “a month ago.” He added, “You'll have to go to our office on Illinois Street to settle the matter. Of course, you'll have to pay the delinquent charges as well as a reconnect fee.” He pointed to the yellow sticker on the door. “Have a good day, Mr. Dixon.”

James yanked the notice off the door, then went back inside. In an attempt to smooth things over, Aruba gave him one task after the accident: make sure the utility bill is paid each month. How did he forget to pay the bill? What the hell did he do with the money? James rushed upstairs to Aruba's secret stash. She always kept money nestled between DVDs in their bedroom. He dug through several movies and came up empty.

“Damn!”

He rambled through several coats in their walk-in closet, hoping he'd left some money in his pockets, or that she'd paid some bills and forgot to empty hers. He searched the glass pickle jar in back of the closet, usually filled with silver coins. Empty. He refused to let her come home to no lights. The last thing he wanted to hear
again
was how irresponsible he was, how he couldn't handle the simplest tasks. James paced the bedroom floor, thinking of a way to pay the bill.

“The account,” James murmured.

He connected the old standby touch-tone phone and called Chase Bank to check the balance on their joint account. He waited for an account representative, paced back and forth.

“Thank you for calling Chase Bank. This is Whitney Jamison. How may I assist you today?”

“I was calling to check the balance on my account.”

“Your name, sir.”

“James Dixon.”

“May I have the last four digits of your social security number or your bank account number?”

“Six one eight, four two zero, one one one.”

“And what was the date and amount of the last deposit made to this account?”

James eyed a wall calendar, remembering Aruba's direct deposit payments on the fifteenth and thirtieth of each month.

“The fifteenth. The amount was one thousand, forty-five dollars and forty-three cents.”

James concocted lies to tell Aruba as he marched the bedroom floor. He would make an automatic payment from the account to IPL and replace the money from one of the job prospects. No way would he allow her to step through the door with no lights. He'd tell her he used the money to buy Jeremiah a few outfits.

“Mr. Dixon, I'm so sorry to inform you that account has been closed.”

“Pardon me.”

“Yes. It appears your wife closed that joint account about a month ago. She opened a new account several months ago, though. However, I am not able to give you any information about that account as she is the sole account holder. Again, I'm so sorry. Have a good day, Mr. Dixon.”

James slammed the phone down. No wonder she'd been walking around, pretending everything was okay. She was holding out on the money. He was tired of her holding the purse strings, dictating everything financial between them. James knew what he had to do.

T
awatha nuked a Lean Cuisine meal as she read
Black Enterprise
. At first she hated that Hinton and Conyers didn't have a wider variety of magazines. Everything splayed on the tables had something to do with finances, current news, or pets. Out of sheer boredom, she picked up a
Black Enterprise
a few weeks ago and was hooked. She particularly enjoyed the “Wealth for Life” section and the financial fitness contest winners. She loved reading about people her age working to get their financial houses in order. Sometimes she felt as if life had passed her by because lots of the couples and singles featured made four to five times more money than she made. Once the dust settled and she married James, she planned to sit down and complete the financial snapshot numbers just to see how her assets and liabilities looked on paper. She knew she didn't have much, but they made her want more. Her phone vibrated. She broke into giddy laughter when she saw James's number on her caller ID. Maybe his wife had died. Maybe he was calling to tell her about the arrangements. Maybe he and Jeremiah could move in with her and the kids. Who would want to live in a house where their spouse passed? The one thing she admired about James was that he never told her his wife's name. Truth was she didn't want to know. She was going to be the new woman in his life and her name was the only one that mattered.

“I think someone has the wrong number. I don't know a James Dixon. You sure you're calling the right person?”

“Come outside and see.”

Tawatha dropped her magazine, dashed to the parking lot. She rushed into James's arms, planting kisses on his cheeks. She wanted to give him a deep, passionate kiss, but she knew her nosy coworkers were probably gazing at her from their offices.

“Turn around, let me look at you,” said James.

Tawatha twirled for her man, pleased that her makeover would make him think twice about proposing to her. James watched Tawatha strike a pose, noting she seemed different. Gone were the tight, form-fitting clothes she wore when they first met. She'd traded in the silky, tight skirts showcasing her ample bottom and tops barely holding in the headlights for a sleek, two-piece gray skirt suit. A string of pearls adorned her neck. James knew Tawatha had long hair, but he was blown away by the sleek, layered cut she sported. No more streaks or highlights. Just the natural beauty he saw while working at Hinton and Conyers.

“Tawatha, you look beautiful. I came to take you to lunch, but I'm not sure you want to be seen with me looking like this.”

“Don't be silly, you look fine. Gorgeous. Sexy. Yummy. Need I say more?”

Tawatha swatted James on his bottom, went back to the office to get her purse, and told her boss she'd be back in an hour. Her lunch break had just begun and she decided to utilize accrued time from a project that went overtime a few weeks ago. She joined James in a different vehicle than the one he'd driven during the night of the accident.

“What happened to the Sequoia?”

“Insurance company totaled the vehicle. This is my wife's vehicle. She's driving the company car.”

Satisfied with his response, Tawatha sat back in the passenger's seat and smiled at the man she loved. Minutes later they were at Tea's Me Café. They ordered a BBQ Chicken and Swiss Panini, Corned Beef and Swiss with sauerkraut, and hot oolong tea.

“James, I've missed you so much. I know why you haven't called. This must be hard for you. Please don't leave me in the dark.”

“Thanks for understanding. I can't tell you what this is doing to me. I've been out of work, taking care of things—”

“I told you I'd help. I know it would be awkward, but I can help feed and bathe your wife.”
If that woman on
Widow on the Hill
could do it, I can, too.

“That would be too creepy for me. I mean, we did, well, you know . . . in the house.”

Roberta's words came rushing back to her.
“What goes around comes around, Tawatha. You can't disrespect another woman and not expect to pay the cost.”
Tawatha shooed the thought away. Things had been going great for her. She'd accompanied Lasheera to Dress for Success and walked away with lovely suits of her own. She never guessed a wardrobe change would make a difference at the office. Mr. Conyers began to take her seriously, asking her opinion in staff meetings and giving her challenging assignments. A new place, new job title, and a small raise boosted her confidence, gave her a greater sense of hope. Now if she could only get her man. He would fit into the puzzle she imagined for herself and the children. She knew she had to take it slow. She'd stop sending so many text messages. She wouldn't call as often. She almost felt sorry for his wife, the lovely woman in the photos on the mantel. She had long hair in the photos. Tawatha envisioned her with a short, curly Afro after chemotherapy.