Dream Girl Awakened (8 page)

“James's brother and sister are both business owners?”

“Girl, yes. But don't get me to lying about why they won't help him.” Maxine turned her attention to the patio. “The fox that just stepped off the deck with the bowl of potato salad is my daughter, Darnella. That's Aruba's momma. Have you met her?”

“I have. I love her peach cobbler. I begged her for the recipe the last time they were in town, but she wouldn't budge.”

“It's really my recipe. I'll give it to you before we leave. I don't believe in hoarding recipes from people. Even if I give it to you, ours won't taste the same because each person puts their own love into cooking. Know what I mean?”

“I would be forever grateful.”

“So if you know Darnella, you know my son-in-law, Lance?”

“Yes, ma'am. He insisted on washing my car last year. I think he just wanted to take my Mercedes for a spin.”

“I've got a good son-in-law. They've been married thirty-five years and are still going strong. I think that's why Aruba stays with James. She wants what her parents have. I want to tell her so badly to give up the ghost, but I know that's not my place.”

“You know a lot about both sides of the families. What gives?”

“Victoria, the Stantons and the Dixons are fellowshipping people! Every year, we all go on a trip together. James's people and our folks pick out a location and spend a weekend together. The last time we went to Tom Joyner's Black Family Reunion. I want to do the Fantastic Voyage cruise, but the older folks swear they can't spare a week off to hang out. Like they're doing so doggone much in retirement. I've got at least two bikinis I need to try out.”

“Miss Maxine, you do not have bikinis!”

“Don't you?”

“You're something else.”

Maxine eased into the next subject. “I couldn't help noticing you look lonely. You okay?”

“Yes, Miss Maxine . . . I'm fine.”

“Call me Maxie. Why are you so sad?”

Victoria clutched her cup. “Miss, Maxie, I'm wonderful, really. I have a good husband, a beautiful home, a lovely daughter, good friends . . .”

James slipped a plate of ribs to Maxine, kissed her cheek. “Let me know if the sauce is too hot.”

“You know I will.”

“You want something, Victoria?” James asked.

“I'll probably grab some vegetables a little later. Thanks for asking.”

James pimp strolled toward the grill, hoping Maxine didn't devour Victoria.

“There I go again, getting in grown folks' business. Ole Maxie didn't mean no harm. I guess it just seemed like something was missing, that's all.”

“Missing?”

“Well, for a woman who has this great life, I wouldn't have put you and your husband together.”

“Ma'am?”

“When you came in. I would have pegged that fine man as your brother. Not your husband.”

“Oh?”

“Sugar, don't mind me. You get this age and you feel you can speak your mind to anybody.”

“I'm not the least bit offended. I've heard that before.”

“He seems like a nice man.”

Maxine retrieved her purse, dug inside, and pulled out a set of Tarot cards. Willadean, her sister, looked up from her Tonk game two tables over, and shouted, “Maxie, put that mess back in your purse. We didn't come up here for that.”

“Did I ask you anything?”

Maxine glared at Willadean. She knew her family was embarrassed by the gift she possessed. Was it her fault she was granted sight? It's not as if she asked to see into the future, to be forewarned of events to come. From the time she predicted her father's death right down to the second at twelve years old, Maxine was haunted
by that feeling she'd get when someone near her seemed empty, misguided. She would have left well enough alone with Victoria, but there was something about her walk, the sadness in those eyes, the anxiety she displayed among all that laughter and fun. Maxine saw it in the spirit. The cards enhanced her gift, so she carried them for moments like these. She was careful, though, to ask if a person wanted a reading. She never forced her gift on others, nor did she make light of the information revealed. Seldom were the cards off beam.

“You mind if I read for you?”

“Read?”

“You know, with the cards. Interested in knowing what the future holds for you?”

Victoria glanced around to see if others were watching their exchange. She remembered going to readings with Marguerite in L.A. Obsessed Marguerite. Always inquiring about when she'd be an A-Lister. Kept saying she wanted fame like Roberts, Streep, and Hawn. The L.A. reader, Sister Audrey Wilcox, told Marguerite an Oscar wasn't in the cards, but service to mankind was in her future. She finally gave up the red carpet fixation and started a community theater for Carmel, California youth.

“What harm could it do?” asked Victoria. She swigged on her lemonade and watched Winston laugh and throw his head back at a joke thrown out by Aruba's uncle Herbert.

“Let's go inside. It's a little noisy out here and I can't concentrate or give a good reading. Too many distractions.”

Victoria and Maxine snuck past Aruba and the children playing Wii and settled down in Aruba's home office. Maxine meditated briefly, opened her eyes, and pushed the deck toward Victoria on the desk.

“Shuffle them for me. When you're done, select seven.”

Victoria shuffled the cards, then laid them in a seven-card spread. Maxine breathed, flipped over the first card.

“The fool,” said Victoria. “What does that mean, Maxie?”

Maxine's specificity made her popular throughout the South. She made sure, based on the temperament of her clients, not to reveal more than they could handle.

“Who is Lillith?”

“My mother.” Victoria leaned closer.

“The fool stands for new beginnings. She put you in the hands of someone else to pursue a new beginning with a man. Clifford was his name, correct?”

“My God. Mr. Cliff. Clifford Rutland. That's him. Was him.”

“Your mother thought he was perfect for her. He got her out to Texas and left her high and dry. That's how you came to live with Marguerite, right?” Maxie felt she was frightening Victoria. “Honey, you all right?”

“Yes, I just wondered how my mom was doing. I think of her so much.”

“She's fine. Embarrassed is all. Don't give up on her yet. You'll be reunited with her in less than three years. Pick another card.”

Victoria flipped over the next card and registered a quizzical look. “The Wheel of Fortune.”

“Aaah, fate and destiny. Try if you might, you just can't stop it. Change is coming in your life and soon, so be prepared.”

“What kind of change?”

“I see you helping others.”

Victoria chuckled. “Maxie, I help myself to good sales. That's about it.”

“Oh, you've been on top of the world for a long time now. Storm's gonna hit you soon. You'll be forced to rethink all that's important. Pick another card.”

“The Lovers.”

“The Lovers aren't always sexual in nature, but most times are. Why do you withhold sex from your husband?”

“I . . .”

“Did I startle you? Anytime I'm too personal, you can ask me to back down.”

Victoria wasn't sure how to proceed. How could she tell Maxie that while she enjoyed the perks of her lifestyle, sex was the only thing she felt she had control of in the marriage. He made the money, built the houses, bought the cars, stashed cash for Nicolette's college fund. Couldn't she have control of something? “I guess I'm tired a lot.”

“Honey, love is a flame that must not be left unattended; it must be fueled and allowed to burn for as long as possible. Your husband is under pressure at his job. He craves and needs your attention now more than ever. As you enter the coming months, light a candle each night—” Maxine stopped midsentence.

“Maxie, what's wrong? What do you see?”

Maxine swooped the cards from the table, reassembled the deck, and clutched her chest. “I'm done for the day, Victoria. I hope I was able to help you in some way. Please, please look well to the ways of your household.” With that, Maxine fanned her face with papers from the desk and went back to join the party.

Victoria sighed and wondered what she'd do now. There was always something legitimate in the cards.

“W
atha, what's up with you? What's this all about?” Jamilah grinned from ear to ear. She entered the two-story home, carrying a bottle of wine and her famous sweet and spicy ribs.

“Yeah, who died and left you an inheritance?” Lasheera joked.

Tawatha waited to invite Jamilah and Lasheera over to her new place. Waited until everything was just so. They were her girls and she wanted them to be proud of her, the new digs, the new furniture, the new man who would soon be her husband, her new lease on life. The Fourth of July was the perfect holiday to debut the newness, her independence.

“Sheer, why somebody gotta die to live better? Can't I be sick and tired of being sick and tired like Fannie Lou Hamer?”

“Milah, did PBS re-air
Eyes on the Prize
? She only talks about the movement when the show airs.”

Lasheera playfully stuck her finger down her throat, pretending to gag at Tawatha's words.

“I know, Sheer. Somebody's done put some sticknotic on our girl. Touch her forehead. I hadn't seen you this happy since you were with Grant's father.” Jamilah placed the ribs and wine on the gathering table in the kitchen next to a killer spread. “Who's all this food for? Where are my babies?” Jamilah looked outside toward the backyard for Tawatha's children.

“Momma and Mr. J.B. took them to White River Park. This is all for you two. Kind of a thank-you for being there for me since the accident. Heck, for always being there.”

“Wait, that's one thank-you, a heck, no cussing, and a conservative outfit. Oh yeah, Jamilah, she's sticknotized.”

“Sit down in the living room and shut up. I'll bring you guys some drinks.”

Lasheera and Jamilah settled on a chocolate leather sofa. Floored they didn't have to swim through piles of clothes, a maze of newspapers and clutter, or the rancid odor of rotting Chinese take-out seeping through a trash bag, they took in the everything-in-its-place order of Tawatha's place. So many questions ran through their minds. How could she afford this house? Who was the new man—because Lasheera and Jamilah knew metamorphoses in Tawatha's life were always tied to a man—and what did he do for a living to give her this kind of hookup? Jamilah fell in love with the open floor plan of the home. The photos in the dining room warmed her heart because Tawatha symmetrically had arranged eight photos of family and friends in black frames above a stylish banquet table. The best photo was of Lasheera, Tawatha, and Jamilah on the playground during fifth-grade recess. Jamilah had forgotten about that photo and the wonderful times they shared in school.

“Where did you find that old photo of us?” Jamilah asked.

“Girl, Momma dug it out of the attic. Nice, huh?” Tawatha milled around the kitchen, pulling juices and liquors down on the counter for drinks. “I wonder whatever happened to Mrs. Hopkins?”

“Watha, why'd you have to bring up that old coot?” Lasheera sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes at Tawatha.

“Come on, Sheer. If it hadn't been for Mrs. Hopkins, we wouldn't be friends.”

“Yeah, Watha's right. You just won't let it go. Thought you were learning to forgive and forget in church.”

“No, I won't let it go. That woman segregated us because of our names. Had the nerve on the first day of that school year to ask Principal Thornton, ‘Whatever became of the Paulas, Anthonys, Tiffanys, and Gregorys of the world?' ” Lasheera mimicked Mrs. Hopkins's proper, clipped tone. “ ‘If one more Raheem, Laniqua, or Quedawntay shows up, I'll die and rip up my teaching license!' Then she had the audacity to make the three of us sit in the back of the room so she didn't have to call on us.”

“Weren't we the smartest girls in the room, though?” Jamilah reasoned.

“You got that right,” Tawatha chimed in.

While Tawatha mixed drinks, Jamilah and Lasheera recalled the good old days, brought up old classmates, shook their heads at the crazy turns their lives had taken.

“Milah, here's a peach martini for you, and, Sheer, here's a strawberry daiquiri for you,” said Tawatha, removing the drinks from a gorgeous crystal tray and placing them on matching coasters on the coffee table.

“And where's your drink?” asked Jamilah.

“The pineapple juice is mine. I've got to watch my girlish figure.”

“I can't take it anymore. What's going on and who is he?” Lasheera demanded as she swiped the cherry from her drink.

“First things first,” Tawatha said, joining her friends in the living room. “I'm in this place on a lease-to-own basis. Mr. J.B., my momma's boyfriend, owns properties all over Indy. For once, Aunjanue's big mouth came to our rescue. When she let it slip
that a cockroach crawled across S'n'c'r'ty's mouth while they were playing on the floor, Momma almost passed out. She asked J.B. if I could live in one of his places for a trial period. If I maintain the place, pay my rent on time, and enroll at Momentive Credit, they'll help me with ownership.”

“That's wonderful! I'll have somewhere new to stay when I'm driving back and forth to Bloomington,” Jamilah announced.

“Bloomington?” Lasheera and Tawatha said in unison.

“You're not the only one with a surprise. I've been accepted at IU! I start next month. I'll be majoring in pre-law.”

“Shut up! That's great. How long was you gonna keep it a secret?”

“Lasheera, as big as your mouth is, I know you would have told someone,” said Jamilah.