Dream Girl Awakened (18 page)

“Let's go up to my room. We can have a tea party.”

“We'll be eating in about fifteen minutes, Nicolette, so don't keep Alice too long.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

Sylvia trudged behind them as she breathed short breaths caused by the beauty of the welcoming house. To the right of Sylvia's vision, she marveled at what looked like storage for days. The cherry hall tree held coats that hung as if they, too, enjoyed living there. Some creative soul had taken the time to not only place the shoes in cubbyholes, but to arrange them by color.
Ain't that something.

“Make yourself at home, Sylvia. I'm going to put my things down, slip into something comfortable, and check messages. I'll be back shortly.”

Alva motioned Sylvia to join her at the breakfast nook.

“May I offer you something to drink?”

“I know I'm going back to my Mississippi roots, but how 'bout some sweet tea?”

“Coming right up.”

Sylvia sat with caution. Everything about the day was a dream to her. Why had this pretty woman invited her to such a grand home? Why was the housekeeper, who could be her big sister, being so nice? And who taught her how to make smothered chicken and potatoes so well? Sylvia hadn't smelled chicken like that since the family's 2003 reunion in Vicksburg. When Miriam first told
her Victoria wanted to know what size clothes she wore, she assumed this suburban housewife had a few friends who wanted to empty their closets, do something good for the less fortunate. Then Victoria began calling, checking on her once or twice a week. She offered a gym membership when Sylvia expressed a desire to lose weight, to be high school skinny again. She treated Alice to a pampered princess spa day at Divas in Training, the children's salon. She suggested housing referrals in the city and told Sylvia when she was ready, she would put her in touch with someone at the Indianapolis Neighborhood Housing Partnership if she felt homeownership was something she wanted to pursue. “Why me?”

“Did you say something, Sylvia?” Alva asked.

“I guess I did. Why me is what I asked. I've never had someone be so generous to me.”

Alva joined Sylvia, sweet tea in hand.

“Victoria and Winston are wonderful. She's like a daughter to me. When I came to Indianapolis, I'd worked for two families that made me feel like an outsider. Being new here and missing Antigua—”

“I knew you had an accent,” Sylvia interrupted.

“ . . . I was referred to the Faulks by my last employer. I was a little surprised at first because they were so young and wealthy, but they took me in and made me feel so at home. Winston's a noted cardiologist who has done amazing things in the medical community. They even insisted I call them by their first names. I could just freeze Nicolette in time because she's such an angel. She's bright, inquisitive, and a joy to take care of.”

Sylvia took a swig of her sweet tea, then leaned into Alva. “Okay, girl, you can spill the beans. Is her husband white?”

“Heavens no.” Alva blushed. She stood, removing a photo album from a drawer beneath the island.

Sylvia flipped through the photos. Joy and satisfaction rose as she turned each page.

“Good Lord, he's handsome!”

“Yes, Winston is a good-looking man. And he's nice. That's a rare combination in this day and age.”

“You go with them on all the vacations?”

“Yes. Last year alone we went to Brazil, Paris, and Australia. I really enjoyed Brazil.”

“I bet you did. Those are lovely.” Sylvia slid the album back to Alva.

“We have digital photo albums, but I guess I'm old-fashioned in that I like to have these near.”

“I'd have to get used to all this technology around here. My soon-to-be ex-husband, Gerald, wasn't open to exploring anything new. We moved from Mississippi to Cincinnati, Ohio, and that was it. No growth, no progress. Did Victoria tell you what happened?”

“I just know you live at Dorcas. She didn't fill me in on any details.”

“You ever been married, Alva?”

“I was. I lost my husband in a car accident when he was thirty-six. I never wanted to remarry.”

“I lost Gerald to the Grand Victoria Casino and Jack Daniel's. I hoped he'd stop drinking, but it never happened. I'm ready to move on, now. It's time I make a better life for Alice and me. After all she's seen, it's the least I could do.”

Victoria, Nicolette, and Alice disturbed the light banter and fun between Sylvia and Alva.

“Look at me flapping my gums. Let me get this food on the table,” Alva mused.

Alva fixed the table, then joined them. An hour passed as the four laughed, swapped stories, and enjoyed each other's company. Sylvia chuckled so hard tears streamed down her face. She wasn't allowed to laugh, to be, to live when she was with Gerald. The tiny slice of freedom she was experiencing strengthened her resolve to get her life in order.

After lunch, Alva packaged the sweets and gave Sylvia her number. “Call me when you need to talk.”

“Don't hang up when I call you on a regular basis.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

Victoria coughed, nodded her head toward the theater room.

“Yes, where are our manners?” Alva asked. “You all have something waiting for you downstairs.”

As if the day hadn't been enough to dispel any myth a cynic had about mankind, Sylvia and Alice held hands as they descended the stairs.

“Momma, it's a movie theater!”

Alice ran toward a leather seat, plopped down, and reclined.

“Alice, come out of that seat!” Sylvia hissed through clenched teeth.

Nicolette grabbed Alice's hand, pulled her near the Christmas tree. “It's Christmas in February. You have to open your presents.”

“You did all this for us?” Sylvia asked.

“We sure did,” Victoria answered. “And you can't go back to Dorcas until you open every single one.”

They sat Indian-style on the floor, opening gifts and
oohing
and aahing as each present created a tad more distance from past Christmases. Christmases when Gerald promised gifts, but reappeared
December 27th. Lunch was wonderful; Christmas in February was divine.

Sylvia froze when she opened the largest box before her. “No. You. Didn't.” Sylvia dragged out the words as if they'd make the box disappear. “I . . . I . . .”

“Well, you said Foxy was your pride and joy and that you missed her, so there you go,” said Victoria. “I hope she's a good substitute.”

Sylvia pulled the fur coat from the Elan Furs box. She ran her fingers over the beautiful, floor-length coat, then stood to try it on. “I've never had something this nice in all my life.”

Victoria remembered Sylvia saying Gerald had pawned the frayed, faux fox jacket he'd given her. She wanted to make sure Sylvia kept warm the rest of the winter.

“This is too much. We can't take all this from you,” said Sylvia.

“You're not taking anything. It's our gift to you for being so wonderful.”

Sylvia sat now, crying, trying to regain her composure. She watched as Alva placed the gifts in bags.

“I'll put these in the trunk of your car, Victoria.”

“Victoria, I can't thank you enough. You have to let me do something in return for you.”

“You came for lunch. That's all I needed you to do.”

Alva watched them load into the car and drive away to Dorcas. She was thrilled to meet Sylvia and Alice. It had been a while since she'd had enjoyable guests, people she deemed as equals. Whatever had gotten into Victoria, she hoped it would flourish and spill over onto Winston.

W
inston heard low thumping coming from the media room and wondered what was going on. He'd been gone so much the last five months he wasn't sure what to make of the noise tonight. Most nights he'd slip in bed with Victoria, lightly kiss her forehead, and fall asleep. Darkness helped ease his guilty conscience. The situation with Aruba was getting out of hand and he knew he had to do something before they were exposed. He was proud that he still hadn't been intimate with her, but a man could only take so much before he gave in to his desires.

Winston pulled a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, sat at the kitchen table, and pondered his circumstances. Since Aruba fled her home, he'd been on a roller-coaster ride. He got her a room at the Conrad just to help out. The thought of her going back to James incensed him, so he rented her a condo. He knew Aruba's house was in her name and didn't want her to shoulder the expense of two households, so he thought it best to pay her mortgage up for a year as well as find a safe place for her and Jeremiah. She'd worried enough about money the last ten years and he felt contemplating a divorce and juggling finances was too much for her. If only he could get her out of his head. Two months ago, she took the afternoon off to go furniture shopping and he accompanied her. The furniture was where she drew the line. She insisted on
paying for her own furniture because the fresh start would be a reflection of her tastes, her style. She selected gorgeous pieces from Ashley Furniture, Kittle's, and ordered a living room set online from Holley House Furniture. He loved the freedom she displayed.

Winston sipped wine, thought of Aruba, and noticed a turquoise and tan envelope taped to the microwave with his name written in gold calligraphy. He figured it was another request from Victoria for something. It seemed she always wanted something.

“Let me get this over with.” He opened the envelope and read the note.

I know you've been craving affection and I've got just what you need. Join me in the theater for a sexy surprise.

Winston descended the stairs, cautiously, not sure what to expect. Hadn't he given her the bag she requested, the trip to Arizona, a $2,000 gift certificate to Nordstrom, a fur coat? Although she'd never offered a sexy surprise, he was sure it came with a string attached. Winston found a pole, not a string, at the bottom of the stairs in the center of the room. The low thumping he'd heard earlier was music, unfamiliar music that belonged in a strip club, not a suburban home. He had to admit that he liked it. He spied Urban Mystic's CD cover sitting on the table next to the entertainment center. A quick scan of the songs let him know the tune “Back It Up” was streaming from the speakers. When Victoria spotted him, she approached him, took his hand, and sat him down in a plush theater chair. He looked at Victoria, speechless. She'd slicked her hair back in a ponytail and wore makeup. She donned a black T-shirt with the words,
I'M NOT A STRIPPER, I JUST DANCE LIKE ONE
, in silver rhinestones and hip-hugging black shorts. Before he could ask what was going on or protest, Victoria turned the music up and began to dance for him. He
eyed her going back and forth in what was obviously a choreographed routine. He loved Victoria, but knew she didn't have an ounce of rhythm.

Stop. Make it wiggle, make it jiggle
.

Somehow, she managed to fool him and stay on beat with the tune, glorifying the reasons a woman should back it up.
She's counting the beat of the music.
He smiled as she took four steps backward, faced the pole, then leapt onto it. She twirled around it, stopping in the middle as she turned upside down. He figured this was every husband's dream, but all he could think about was Aruba performing the routine for him. He saw Aruba in the T-shirt, the shorts, bending down and backing it up with her vicious body. By the time he snapped himself back to reality, Victoria had crawled toward him on all fours, touching him, and beckoning him to make love.

Winston stood, unenthused, and walked toward the stereo. He turned the music off and sat down again.

Flushed with embarrassment, Victoria sat next to him.

“What did I do wrong? I hoped you'd enjoy something. . .different. You've been complaining about things we don't do intimately, and I just thought—”

“When was the last time I complained to you about anything? When was the last time I attempted to touch you?”

Victoria thought about the question a moment and couldn't answer. She'd neglected his needs so long she couldn't recall the last time he brushed her shoulders, and whispered, “You're the most beautiful woman in the world, Tori.”

Nor could she remember when she returned from a shopping spree to find Alva and Nicolette gone, soft jazz playing, and scented candles blazing a trail to the bedroom.

“Are you saying you don't desire me anymore?”

Winston dreaded this moment. He knew he couldn't tell her the truth, but he knew distance had to be created between them to sort things out. “I guess I'm going through something right now. I wonder if you've been dismissive because of the sacrifices you've had to make for my career. Don't you know I only wanted to make a good life for you and Nicolette?”

“I know that, Winston. I mean, I know that now. I've complained in the past and been so selfish. The past few months have been eye-opening for me. I've taken so much for granted. Will you give me and us a chance to start again? I want to make things up to you.”

If only she had said those words nine months ago. This moment was difficult enough. Victoria's complaints and ramblings made it easier to contemplate leaving her. But looking at her made him reconsider the reasons he wanted to abandon the relationship.

“Winston, you're scaring me. Are you telling me things have gotten so bad between us you're not willing to work at it?”

“I'm not saying that, Victoria. I need space to think things through. This home has become a safe haven for you and Nicolette. I wouldn't uproot my family or disrupt your safety or hers.”

“Are you moving out?” Silence enveloped their shared space. “Well, are you?”

Winston rose from the sofa without responding. He knew one more look at her might deflate his courage. He climbed the stairs to pack an overnight bag. Victoria followed him, hands trembling, wondering if she could find a way to convince him they were worth salvaging. She'd never seen him so determined to stand his ground where their relationship stood. She always found a way to manipulate the circumstances in her favor. What on earth had gotten into him?