Going Broke (10 page)

I got out of the pool after an hour, laid out in one of the poolside chaises, and ordered a glass of red wine from the waiter circulating the area. I closed my eyes and awaited his return.

“Here is your glass of wine, ma'am.”

“Thank you.” I twisted to face him. “I might want another one soon. Today is chalking up to be a—” I was thrown off; I was staring up at Doctor William Baker, my gynecologist. I jumped up and almost dropped my glass. “Doctor Baker?”

He laughed. “There I was, sitting at the bar. When I looked over here, I thought that I saw someone that looked like you. I told the waiter that I'd deliver it.”

I sprung to my feet, tying my wrap to cover me below. “Wow.” I gave him a quick hug. “What are you doing here?”

“You should know how hard I work. I need a break too.” He smiled.

William Baker was a fifty-something-year-old African-American gynecologist, the only one in my area. He wasn't Denzel Washington. Hell, he wasn't even Forest Whitaker, but he was a good man. Doctor Baker was my height but almost doubled my weight, somewhere in the area of 250 pounds. He wasn't sloppy fat, but fat and unattractive enough to be my doctor. I didn't want a stud talking to me about a yeast infection. I definitely couldn't ask Doctor Fine-ass to give me a pregnancy test, because then he'd know that I had a man.

Doctor Baker was doing a great job. He was very professional and extremely nice to me during each visit.

“I can't believe that you're here.” I looked around. “Where is Mrs. Baker?”

“She's at home. To be honest with you, I'm not on much of a break. I do pro bono work here one Saturday a month,” he said. “I normally get out of here on Sunday morning, but I decided to stay an extra day . . . to treat myself.”

“You deserve it.” I looked over at the bar. “Come on, I'll join you at the bar.”

I hadn't seen him in over a month, so we sat and talked for a while. We chatted about everything from Damian and India to my father's health. When I told him about my job, how I wasn't working and no longer had health insurance, he told me not to worry, promising that if I needed his services he'd chalk it up to more pro bono work.

Doctor Baker was always privy to my personal, non-medical life. I always asked his advice about my relationships, work, and finances. He also made me a part of his life. Over the past five years I was invited to every Christmas party at his home, birthday gathering for his wife and kids, and various seminars where he was the speaker. He was more than a doctor; he was more like an uncle.

After three glasses of wine, Doctor Baker was still a sore sight for good eyes. We said our goodbyes minutes before six o'clock because he had a massage appointment. He inquired about my plans for the evening, and I lied, telling him that I was meeting someone for dinner. We hugged, and I promised him that I'd be seeing him in two months for my pap smear.

I walked into my suite, and a joyful feeling overtook me. I looked over at the check and cash still lying there. Though I wasn't happy about how it was earned, it was still money and would allow me to stay in my apartment another month. I lounged around watching TV a while until a hunger pain hit.

The hotel phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi, Sarai.”

“Savion?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” He paused. “It's Daddy—”

My heart was already racing. I sat back down. “What happened?”

He knew that I was about to flip. “Well, calm down first,” he said. “Dad is doing okay, but there was a little situation a couple days ago.”

“‘A couple days ago'? What happened?” I was wondering why he was talking so slow. “And why are you just calling me?”

“Everything is fine, Sarai. He had another asthma attack. He had to be hospitalized on Friday night.”

I yelled, “Why didn't you call me, Savvy?” “Calm down, Sarai. I have everything under control. I'm in Dover as we speak. I got here yesterday morning.” He continued, “He was released about an hour ago. He's back at Concord.”

“I mean, so what happened? Are you positive that he's okay?”

“Yeah, he's okay.”

I sighed. “How bad was the attack?”

“It was about the same as the one last year.”

“Okay.” I was trying to process what he was saying.

“I made a joke to myself, saying that it knocked some sense into him because he recognized me.”

“What?” I smiled.

“Yeah,” Savion said. “He even asked about you.”

“Are you serious?” I was elated. “What did he say?”

“Well, he asked how you were doing and if you were still pretty. But it didn't last very long. He went back into being five hundred miles away a few minutes later.”

“Well, that's okay.” I was trying to keep myself from crying. “In my dreams, we have long talks.”

“Sarai, I plan on helping you with the hospital bill.”

“Shit.” I hadn't even thought about that. I was afraid to ask the next question. “How much is it?”

I heard paper rustling close to the phone. “Four thousand three hundred and sixteen dollars.”

“What the fuck?” I yelled. “Did he fuckin' die and come back?”

“Sarai, it's the two-night stay, his medication, and all of those tests.”

I put my head in my hands. “That's easy for you to say. You're not the one paying his bills.” I didn't mean to say it quite like that.

“I'll try to help,” he said. “I'm flying back to Atlanta on Tuesday. I'm still not working, but I can't expect you to do this all alone.”

I felt like screaming. I still didn't know why he left Houston to move to Atlanta to be a hermit. “Savion, I normally wouldn't ask this of you, but I really am going to need your help on this. I'm going broke.” Then I thought about it. “No, let me rephrase that—I am broke; I have just enough money to pay my rent for a couple of months, and that's it.”

“I just said that I'd help you.” He sounded like he thought I was picking on him.

“I'm sorry. All I mean is that if we don't start paying this bill, it'll result in the hospital refusing to treat him if something like this happens again.”

“I'm going to find a way to help you, Sarai, I promise. I just wanted to call and let you know. Please don't let this dampen your vacation.” He added, “Daddy is doing fine now.”

“All right. I'll give him a call later tonight.”

“I love you, sexy,” he said.

I smiled. “No, I love
you
, sexy.”

I looked out the glass door and wanted to scream. Who decided who would get rich and who would stay poor? Why was I chosen governor of the poor? Why are some people selected to be broke, never to have anything and live in misery?

I curled up in the bed and cried, sobbing over the fact that I couldn't find anything in my life to be happy about. What happened in my life that led me to being who I was today? Where did I go wrong? Sometimes I believed that maybe Esther's curse was really plaguing my life. It was funny that I didn't think of any of this when I thought my life was on track. Reality was a bitch. This trip was turning out to do more harm than good. It had me realizing things I wasn't quite ready to take on.

I picked up the phone and received the hotel's instructions for international dialing. At three dollars per minute to dial, I called my father and gave him fifteen dollars worth of conversation. Though he thought I was some girl he went to high school with, he was very nice to me. He told me about the hospital stay and how the staff treated him like royalty.

I ended our conversation by telling him that he was royalty. He was and would always be my king.

The only thing stopping me from taking a concrete dive from the balcony was the fact that, without me, no one would provide for my father.

I couldn't sit in the room another minute. I put on a brown pant suit and made the journey once again to the lobby. I ate dinner at the Café at The Great Hall of Waters. Afterward I walked slowly, trying hard to find a reason not to go back to my room so quickly. I paced the halls leisurely, looking in the windows of closed stores and imagining what it would be like to walk in and purchase things on my Visa check card without saying a prayer while the clerk ran it.

I noticed a red gown; it was six hundred dollars.

“Do you want that dress?”

I heard Doctor Baker's voice and spun around in shock.

“Hey, Doctor Baker.”

“You like that dress, huh?”

“Yeah.” I scooted back so that I wasn't so close to him. “But I wouldn't have anywhere to wear it.”

“You could wear it for your next appointment,” he joked and changed the subject. “How was your dinner date?”

I frowned. “He didn't show up.” I wasn't lying. The stingray was a no-show for our Sunday supper.

“What a jerk.” He grabbed my hand. “Come and have a drink with my friend and me.”

I didn't want to give off the wrong vibe. “I don't want to intrude on your friend's time.” Plus, if he was with a woman, I sure didn't want to know. I wouldn't be able to look in Mrs. Baker's face again if I saw him with someone else.

“I insist.” He gently guided me to the bar across the hall. “Come on.”

We walked into the bar.

“Where is your friend?”

“Weak bladder, I guess.” He looked around. “Let me get a cigar. I'll be right back.”

The bartender approached. “What can I get for you?”

“Kendall Jackson Merlot.” I smiled.

“Nice choice.” I heard a voice behind me. “No mango martinis tonight?”

I turned around and saw Conrad. I thought I would faint. The last thing I wanted was for Conrad to say anything in front of Doctor Baker. “I'm with company.” I tried to get him to go away.

“Well, I'm your company too.” He took a seat on the stool next to me. “The least you can do is be nice to me.”

I tried to play it cool. “Hi. How are you?” I faked a smile.

“Oh, I'm just fine.”

“That's great,” I said nervously. “Can we talk later? I'm having drinks with a friend.”

“I know.” He chuckled. “Doctor Baker is a friend of mine as well.”

“How do you know him?” My words trailed off as I looked at Doctor Baker, who was about twenty feet away selecting a cigar.

“He was the person that told me about you. One of the reasons why I came here.”

“Doctor Baker?” I blew him off. “Whatever! He would never—”

“Your blood type is A-negative. Your last HIV test was taken last month on the nineteenth; it came back negative—Need I go on?”

I was super-stunned.

Conrad went on without my consent. “He has wanted to know what being in bed with you would be like for two years,” he said. “He's a member of the Elite Establishment, and he knew that the only way for him to get a piece of you was to try bringing you into the fold.” He smiled. “So what do you say, Sarai?”

“I say hell no, Conrad.”

“Look at his fat ass.” Conrad laughed. “He has to pay for pussy.”

He was right, but I wasn't going to play his game. “Please leave me alone.”

Conrad didn't go away.

When Doctor Baker drifted back to the bar, I asked, “Do you know him?” I pointed at Conrad.

“Oh yeah, Conrad and I go way back.”

This was the most uncomfortable situation I had ever been in. It was like being caught between heaven and hell, but things slowly heated up into being pure hell.

Doctor Baker had been in the Elite for the past seven years. He told Conrad of my medical history and me, stating that I was “clean.” Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?

He and Conrad spent almost an hour promoting the Elite Establishment.

The shock of the evening came when Doctor Baker slid three thousand dollars in hundreds across the countertop to Conrad, who extracted nine hundred and placed the remaining two thousand one hundred dollars in front of me.

“Can I spend the night with you, Sarai?” Doctor Baker asked.

As much as I wanted to believe that I wasn't too good for some jobs, you'd never catch me flipping burgers, bagging groceries, telemarketing, cashiering, or selling anything in anybody's store other than my own. The two websites needed the right type of advertising, and the advertising I needed wasn't cheap. Plus I wanted to hire a web developing company to enhance the appearance.

“So will you do it?” Doctor Baker asked me.

My financial need was great, and they both knew it. However, there were certain things I just couldn't do, and sleeping with a man for cash was one of them.

Julian was a mistake. I had no clue what a twisted game was being played on me. Daddy used to tell me, “When you know better, do better.” I wasn't going to knowingly be a part of something so disgusting.

I stared at Doctor Baker. “How can you ask me that?” It was like talking to a stranger. “I know your wife—and your kids.”

“They have nothing to do with this.” He lit his cigar. “This is between you and me.”

“This is a money-making industry, Sarai,” Conrad chimed in.

I turned sharply to Conrad. “Shut the fuck up. Both of you are sick.” I jumped down off the stool. “Good night, gentlemen.”

I stormed out of the bar, and neither one of them bothered to follow me with an apology. I pinched myself all the way to my room, hoping that this was a bad dream. Each pinch brought pain and brought me to the conclusion that this was all too real.