Dream Girl Awakened (5 page)

“Winston, this is ten thousand dollars. I can't take this from you.” She slid the check toward him, her fingers trembling.

“You can and
you will
under the condition you use it to catch up on a few bills and save some for a rainy day.” He slid it back to her.

“I . . . I don't know what to say.” Aruba cried sincerely this time, floored by Winston's largess. She planned how she'd divvy the
money. The recession had been the perfect cover for the financial breakthrough plan she had concocted three months ago. She had lied to James and said State Farm had slashed her sixty-five-thousand-dollar income in half. She had deposited half of her salary in their joint account; the other half went to a fund she dubbed TWT/TIN: that was then; this is now. Each time she scanned her bank statement that went to her rented post office box, the guilt she felt disappeared. She wondered why she hadn't separated her funds years ago. She would deposit eight thousand in the fund for future use, spend a grand on a Fourth of July bash, and treat herself to something nice. She stood to hug him, then stopped after the phone rang again. She knew she had to answer this time. She held up one finger to Winston in a
shhh
gesture as she snapped open the phone.

“Hello. Yes, this is she.” She waited, held her head for a moment. “Oh, my God. Where?”

Aruba quickly gathered her things as Winston stood to help her.

“Aruba, talk to me. What happened?”

“James was in an accident. He's at Methodist Hospital.”

“Come on. I'll drive you there.”

A
ruba and Winston approached the nurse's station as Winston held her close. He wanted to assure her everything would be fine, even if he wasn't sure himself.

“Hi, I need to know . . .”

“Dr. Faulk, is everything all right?” The nurse, Susan Bills, perked up. She adjusted her stethoscope and stood, leaning close to him.

“A patient, James Dixon, was brought here earlier. We need—”

“The accident. Oh yes,” said Susan, interrupting him again. She skittered from the desk to the chagrin of waiting patients, motioned for Winston and Aruba to follow her, then punched her passcode to admit them to the ER.

They stepped in stride with Susan and listened to her prattling a mile a minute. “Talk about lucky, Dr. Faulk. Somebody upstairs was dishing out a double dose of grace and mercy tonight. James and that lady, Taniqua or something, were so blessed they didn't sustain any life-threatening injuries. I mean, with what she was doing and all, she's—”

“What lady?” Aruba stiffened.

“Oh, I guess it was his girlfriend or something.”

“What about the baby? Where's Jeremiah?”

“It was just the two of them.” Susan, now aware of how she'd thrown standard procedures by the wayside at the sight of Winston Faulk asked, “Is he a relative or patient, Dr. Faulk?”

“He—”

“He's my husband,” Aruba said, interrupting Winston and steaming with each breath she took.

Susan conferred with another nurse about James's whereabouts, unaware he'd been admitted to a room shortly before Winston and Aruba's arrival.

“Susan, it's okay. Just take us to the room,” said Winston.

Embarrassed, Susan pressed the button for the elevator. They rode to the third floor in silence. When they entered room 312, James's legs were elevated and he crouched forward to rub the bandages wrapped around his head. Susan exited the room without a word or a backward glance.

“James, where the hell is Jeremiah?” Aruba hissed. “And who were you riding with?”

“Why are you here with Winston? Did you have to call
him
to come with you?”

“Answer the question!”

James fell back on the pillow. “See, I just ran out for a minute to take Donnie's sister home, and there was an accident. I just left him alone for a little while.”

“You mean to tell me our son is home alone, right now, and you—”

“Aruba, go home. I'll stick around and talk to James. Just get to Jeremiah now.” Winston rubbed her shoulder before she turned to leave.

Aruba mouthed thanks to Winston and stormed out of the room. Now a twinge of guilt hit her as she thought of how James had left Jeremiah alone. What if he'd fallen down the steps? What if he'd eaten something he shouldn't have? What if big-mouth Susan had blabbed that a child was involved? And who the hell is Donnie? She calmed herself, tried to breathe. It made no sense
for her to lose it now. Not when she was so close to escaping the hell she called a marriage.

“Look, Doc, me and my family don't need your help.” James grew angrier as he took in Winston's dapper appearance from head to toe.

“Oh, is that right? Your wife runs out of gas, hears from a nurse you're with another woman, and your son is home alone. But you don't need anyone?”

“Look, nig—” James paused. “I mean, Winston, you don't know what you're talking about. This is a big misunderstanding.”

“Is your unemployment a misunderstanding? Is your inability to take care of your family a misunderstanding?”

Unaccustomed to hitting below the belt, Winston stopped. He knew he'd revealed too much and hoped Aruba wouldn't pay for his concern with James's heavy-handed love.

“What I do with my family is my business. I takes care of mine, dawg.”

Winston's fists balled at this statement. James reminded him so much of his Uncle Sheldon. Before him was a man like his uncle. One with promise, intellect, someone who could make a positive contribution to society. If only he had direction and guidance. Uncle Sheldon proved to be the family tragedy. Got a law degree, but never practiced. Received a Ph.D., but got dizzy at the thought of sticking around to gain tenure. Concocted, invented, and sought patents for at least two thingamajigs, but didn't have the heart to see them through. He even had committed suicide in grand fashion by leaping to his death during the Macy's Thanksgiving parade, falling near the NBC commentators. The family's three words about Sheldon were always,
What a waste
.

“Look, man, I'm not judging you. I just think you have a beautiful family and they need you, James.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just 'cause I can't give my family what you can, doesn't mean I don't love 'em.”

“I apologize for being rude. I barged in here making accusations and I was way out of line. I've got to get home to my family. Call me if you need anything.”

Winston placed his business card on the table near a pitcher of water and exited the room. He wasn't sure what had happened earlier, but he had to strengthen his resolve. Aruba had awakened feelings he didn't know he had. It was best to let them rest.

Aruba's heart raced as she climbed the stairs. The house was silent. She held her breath as she opened the door to Jeremiah's room. He was asleep. The soothing sounds of Baby Mozart's sleep rhythms lulled him. The track had been cued to repeat the tune. As much as she hated James's behavior, he'd do something small that calmed her nerves from time to time. Jeremiah could sleep through a train wreck with those sounds. Still, she knew it was time for them to move on with their lives.

V
ictoria sat in the media room upstairs, leafing through
Heywood-Wakefield Blond: Depression to '50's
. Summer was upon her and it was time to redecorate the Brown County cabin. Each year, Victoria found it necessary to decorate it for the tourists who frequented the cabin. She made a note to contact the web administrator at Brown County Log Cabins to feature the new items she planned to purchase. She wanted to please travelers paying five hundred dollars per night. After watching TCM's tribute to Dorothy Dandridge, she thought this year would be great to add pieces from Heywood-Wakefield's Trophy and Dakar lines. She visualized Dorothy and Harry Belafonte sitting out back on the deck, grilling corn and steaks while singing their nights and days away.
Beautiful and classic. Just like me,
she thought as she circled the items she'd purchase and jotted the prices on a small pad on the coffee table. Victoria paused, gazed at herself in the mirror, and smiled. She was ten years Winston's junior and basked in the compliment that she actually looked twenty years younger. Thanks to a personal trainer, Pilates, and an aversion for the fatback, collard greens, and meaty pork chops her aunt had rescued her from when she was six, she kept her petite, size-4 frame, a perfect 36-24-36. At thirty-three, she was the spitting image of her aunt, Marguerite Mason, an actress whose claim to fame was a familiar face in lots of eighties movies as well as a video dancer
and primary performer with the Isley Brothers. Victoria weighed herself daily, made Alva, her nanny, stock the refrigerator with blueberries, yogurt, and fish, and kept photos of herself throughout the house as a reminder of how beautiful God made her. The stretch marks from Nicolette were the only hiccup in her life, and she'd arranged a visit with a cosmetic surgeon to alleviate that nonsense.

“Shopping for the cabin, I see,” said Winston. He sat next to her on the sofa, undid his tie, and leaned over to kiss her. Victoria pulled away.

She didn't hear Winston pull into the garage or climb the steps off the kitchen. She pursed her lips at the sight of him. “Hey, I'm deep in thought here. Announce yourself the next time.” Victoria flipped a few more pages, then turned to Winston. “There goes my concentration. I'll have to get back to this later.” She tossed the book aside, her brows knitted in a see-what-you-made-me-do “V.”

“I can make it better if you let me.” Winston winked, hoping Victoria was more frisky than frigid tonight.

“Is sex all you think about? Is that all I am to you?”

Winston chose not to respond to that one. If that were the case, the ink wouldn't have dried on their marriage certificate before he bedded one of the halo-effect cuties that invented illnesses to get next to him. “Tori, I wasn't talking about—”

“Well, what did you mean?” she snapped.

“Tori, I love you. I had an experience tonight that reminded me how blessed we are.”

“Oh, did some dropout from Haughville decide he or she would go back to school because they see how accomplished you are?”

Victoria thought Winston's community involvement was cute at the beginning of their marriage, but now she was tired of it.
The calls from high schools around Indianapolis for him to speak, the luncheons where he served as guest of honor, always bringing home trophies and awards, and the donations he rained on every civic organization known to mankind wearied her. Why couldn't they just be alone, enjoy his success and his money on a smaller scale? Why did she have to share him with everyone? She was content being home with Alva, Nicolette, and shopping. Now he was gearing up to tell another story about some downtrodden soul who would struggle to get a GED in hopes of being like him.

“Where's your sensitivity, babe? This is about someone we know.” Winston rubbed her leg, hoping she'd soften and get over herself. “James was in an accident tonight. I was with Aruba at the hospital.”

“Are you serious? What happened?” Engaged in his words, she moved closer to Winston.

“Luckily, it was a sideswipe. He was with someone else and left Jeremiah at home. I think you should call Aruba and find out how they're doing.”

“Well, that's typical. I told her a long time ago to get rid of him, but noooo, she's holding on for dear life to a marriage that's not worth saving.” She reared back on the couch and continued her ranting. “She's a pretty enough woman to get a better man than James. I mean, she probably couldn't get someone like you, but she doesn't have to struggle the way she does. There's no way I'd be with a man that broke and out of touch with reality.”

“Is that so, Tori?”

Victoria's damage control efforts kicked in. “What I meant was she's a hardworking person who deserves more. Do you understand what I mean?”

“What I understand is that you've been staring at Heywood-Wakefield items too long. Go call your friend, Tori.”

“Okay, Winston. I'll call in a few minutes.”

“Nicolette knocked out? Did Alva have a hard time getting her down tonight?”

“She's tired. We went shopping today and she had the quaintest bear constructed at Build-A-Bear. She's been asleep for an hour.”

Winston left the media room and entered Nicolette's room, exhausted. He kissed Nicolette's forehead, acknowledging her as his center, his sanity. The love he had for her surpassed the craziness of life with Victoria. Tori couldn't be satisfied and he didn't know how to appease her anymore. She complained about everything. Lately, the nagging took on a life of its own. The house was too small.
“I deserve more than seven-thousand square feet
.” The cars weren't new enough.
“Every Kobe, 50 Cent, and Shaq can get a Range Rover and a Mercedes. I want a Bentley.”
She whined about a new ring.
“I know you're not Kobe, but can I at least have four carats? Harry Winston is calling my name.”
His practice wasn't visible enough.
“If Ian Smith can host a show, why don't you?”
Seeing Nicolette made it all worthwhile, reminded him of why he chose to work hard so his family wouldn't need or want for anything. He watched her napping, her chest rising and falling with soft breaths. He touched her hands and smiled. “Rest, daddy's girl. I love you.”

Winston dragged to their bedroom, removed his clothes, and jumped in the shower. He wanted to wash away Victoria's voice, his discontentment of late, his thoughts of Aruba. He wondered how Aruba was doing, if things had turned out okay with James and their situation. He wondered how he could be there for her more, and what he needed to do to concentrate on his own union.