Dream Girl Awakened

by Stacy Campbell

  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.

  [13]

  Long Time No See

  Tawatha 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.

  “So what’s it like?”

  “What, T?”

  “Going with your wife to the visits?”

  James sighed. His firsthand experience with cancer occurred when his Aunt Eunice had succumbed to it four years ago. He felt horrible using her experience to meet his needs, but he had business to handle. He’d face the music later.

  “Well, she goes through a machine that looks like a chamber. I guess the radiation is hard to bear because the last time, she asked them to stop.”

  “What are the doctors saying?”

  “It’s not looking too good right now. I hope I’m not being disrespectful, but can we change the subject? It’s difficult for me to talk about this.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve just been concerned about you and wanted to see if there was anything I could do.”

  “You’ve done enough. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming out. Especially since I haven’t been able to communicate with you that much.”

  “Not a problem. I figured you were knee-deep in appointments and visits with her cancer. I’m a very patient person. I can wait.” Tawatha sipped her tea. “Ohh, I’ve got some good news for you.”

  “What’s new with you?”

  “I got a different place! My mother’s boyfriend, Mr. J.B., let me rent one of the properties he owns. You wouldn’t believe how gorgeous it is. The kids love it. You’ve got to stop by and see me sometimes.” Tawatha scribbled her address and new number on a slip of paper and tucked it inside James’s wallet sitting on the table.

  “I’ll do that. I can’t promise you it will be soon, but I’ll make it my business to visit you.”

  “You mean us, right? You haven’t met my kids yet. I haven’t told them about you, but I know they’re gonna love you.”

  James chewed more of his panini. He stared at his watch.

  “I’m not keeping you from work, am I?”

  “Course not. I got a little extra time from a project we did a few weeks ago. I told Mr. Hinton and Mr. Conyers I’d be back a little late. You really think I’d miss a chance to spend some time with you?”

  Tawatha took off her left shoe and rubbed James’s leg. She had vowed not to sleep with him anymore without a commitment, some form of a closer relationship. However, that didn’t stop her flirting. She grew moist thinking about their intimate times and looked forward to the night they could resume their action between the sheets. Her toes traveled closer to his penis. At that moment a beautiful woman wearing a pink T-shirt emblazoned with Save the Tatas passed by and said hello to them. She froze when there was no response.

  “This thing really has you down, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have come hounding you like this. I think I’ll head back to the hospital. Let me take care of this for us.”

  “I got it. You don’t need the hassle of paying for lunch.”

  Tawatha fished thirty dollars from her purse, paid the bill, left a tip on the table, and locked arms with James. They headed to his vehicle.

  “You mind riding with me to pay a few bills?”

  “Wherever you go, I’m there.”

  James headed to IPL. He cued up music in his CD player, then made small talk with Tawatha. He found a space in front of the building and parked.

  “T, look in the glove compartment and give me my checkbook.”

  Tawatha flipped through insurance papers, bills, and deposit slips. “Baby, it’s not here.”

  “It’s gotta be. That’s where I keep it.”

  She searched the glovebox again. “Seriously, James, it’s not here.”

  “Damn, I musta left it home after paying some other bills. I’ll just pay the bill later.”

  “James, it doesn’t make any sense to go back home and come back. Let me give you the money.”

  “You know I can’t take anything from you.”

  “Boy, please. I just got a raise and I’m doing okay. How much you owe?”

  James paused. “Really, I can’t.”

  Tawatha whipped out her wallet. “I won’t take no for an answer. You’ve been good to me. You helped feed my kids with the money you gave me. Please, let me pay you back. We’re gonna walk in here, pay this bill, and drop the subject. Got it?”

  “How can I say no to that kind of assertiveness?”

  Tawatha and James entered the utility company to pay his bill. When they settled the matter and retrieved a receipt from the cashier, Tawatha walked out feeling a sense of accomplishment. She was cementing her place in his life, showing him she could be trusted. She’d never experienced an equal partnership with a man and refused to let this opportunity pass her by. He dropped her off at Hinton and Conyers, kissed her left cheek and promised he’d call in a few days. As she sashayed into the office, she made a mental note to call Roberta later for money to pay for Aunjanue’s and Sims’s uniforms. IPL had just received the money she had set aside for the children’s clothes.

  [14]

  The Gift that Keeps on Giving

  Victoria slid her Mercedes into a parking space at Dorcas House. The only reason she agreed to volunteer at the domestic violence shelter was out of respect for her neighbor and friend, Charlotte Nicholas. Charlotte and Victoria enjoyed shopping, lunch, and occasional trips out of town. To Victoria’s dismay, Charlotte had grown tired of sitting around watching television or spending countless hours at the mall. She’d found a greater purpose through volunteerism and declined a lot of Victoria’s invites over the past few months. Victoria moped at first, but decided she’d give volunteering a shot. She wasn’t convinced helping others was good for the soul, but peering at the massive, stone façade of Dorcas House, now was as good a time as any to see what the volunteering hype was about. She freshened up her makeup in the mirror, tightened her clip-on ponytail, and exited her car. She walked toward the entrance of the building, clutching her new Louis Vuitton bag. She’d enjoyed a full-body massage and cleansing at the Flowing Nile salon two days ago. She also shopped for new clothes and a few household items. She knew the items she bought a few days ago were too glitzy to wear to a shelter, so she dug in her closet to find the cheapest garments she’d purchased in months. She’d dug out a pair of Dereon jeans, a pullover sweater, and matching ballerina flats. She wanted to be comfortable for the day. She pulled on the front door, stunned to find it locked. Someone peered from a window inside and pointed to the buzzer. Victoria rang the buzzer near the door, leaned into the intercom.

  “Hi, I’m Victoria Faulk. I’m filling in for Charlotte Nicholas today.”

  Moments later, the lock clicked and Victoria was welcomed into the facility by Miriam Jacob, the shelter’s Outreach and Community Initiatives Coordinator.

  “Mrs. Faulk, welcome to Dorcas House. I’m Miriam Jacob. Charlotte told me you’d be with us today.”

  “It’s so good to meet you. Please call me ‘Victoria.’ ”

  Victoria suspected Miriam devoted her life to the shelter by the way she ushered her inside, as
if she were about to take her on a tour of Egyptian artifacts. I wonder what she does in her spare time. Victoria observed Miriam’s weathered countenance. Although she wore a snazzy burgundy pantsuit, a matronly chignon bun, and a colorful pair of Donna Karan glasses, Miriam’s face signaled so much beyond her warm smile. Victoria followed Miriam to the front desk where she was instructed to sign in. Two women were seated in the lobby, watching HGTV and neatening magazines. The woman wrapped in a blanket gave Victoria a vicious once-over and turned her head. The other never looked up from the magazines.

  “When Charlotte told me she had a replacement, I was a little leery. I’m very protective of the women and children. We can’t let everyone roam the building. But when she told me who you were, I felt at ease.”

  “I understand the sensitive nature of what goes on here.”

  “I’m so grateful for everything. Please tell your husband we couldn’t have completed the last phase of our renovation without him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I bet you’re so knee-deep in philanthropy, your accountant keeps track of what you donate.” Miriam pointed upstairs. “I’ll show you the Dr. Winston Faulk computer lab on the second leg of the tour. The children are grateful to have such a wonderful area to study.”

  Victoria blushed. I can’t believe he spent our money without saying anything about it. “We try to meet the needs of the community as best we can,” she managed through a tight smile.

  “Most areas of the building are locked and require a passcode for entry.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Tell me what you know about domestic violence, Victoria.”