Dream Girl Awakened

by Stacy Campbell

  Randy’s dismissal of the group was Young Sexy’s cue. She sidled next to James, her expressive, dark-brown eyes fixed on his. James took in her oversized Columbia University sweatshirt, fitted jeans, and steel-toed pink and tan boots. Her shoulder-length bob accented her delicate face and rich, mocha skin.

  “Hi, how are you?” she asked.

  James stirred hot chocolate and met her gaze. Her boldness excited him, but he kept his mind on Aruba.

  “I’m good. And you?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you, wondering where you’ve been.”

  “Do I know you, Miss. . .”

  She extended her hand. James noticed her wedding band.

  “I’m Katrina Benford. Don’t tell me you don’t remember me, James?”

  James had flirted with so many women over the years, taking their numbers, promising to call, that he spaced out at moments like this. He knew it would be better to let her reveal where they’d met.

  “James, it’s me? Trina. You really don’t remember me?”

  “Of course I’d remember someone as lovely as you, but a brotha’s getting older. Help me out.”

  Katrina playfully jabbed James’s arm. “You were at a barbershop off Fifth and College four years ago. Shear Bliss.” Katrina placed her hands on her hips. “That was the only shop I found specializing in great short cuts. This bob is okay, but you cut my hair in the style Halle Berry wore hers in Die Another Day. Man, my husband was livid that guys were approaching me left and right. Everybody loved it when I rocked that cut!”

  Katrina pulled a silver photo album from her purse and handed it to James. He flipped through the photos, admiring Katrina in various poses as he slowly remembered his short stint at Bliss. He’d almost forgotten about the time spent there. He was popular with the ladies, a little too popular for Aruba’s taste, but she never complained. He made more than enough money to pay his monthly booth rental during those days, but he wanted to party and hang with the fellas. Several missed payments and he was outta there. Aruba encouraged him to explore working at other shops, but he belittled her for suggesting he wasn’t man enough to keep a job doing what he loved. Did she say that, or was it me? As always, she tried to spur on his efforts.

  “So when can I sit in your chair again? I’ll go short again if you do my hair.”

  “Well, I’m not actually doing hair right now.”

  “Not doing hair? That’s like Beyoncé saying she’s not creating new music or booty-shaking. You’re kidding, right?”

  Emboldened by her enthusiasm, James answered, “I’ve been looking into it. I’d rather own a shop instead of working for other people.”

  Katrina was about to comment when Randy announced, “The van is out front, everyone. Please gather any items you’re taking and board as quickly as possible.”

  Katrina and James put on their coats and piled into the van with the other workers. Katrina nestled close to James, continuing their conversation.

  “Like I was about to say inside, I feel you. I’m not doing this job because I need to work. I’m here scoping out the competition.”

  “Really?”

  Katrina removed a business card from an elegant card holder in her purse. James read the card and was impressed by what he saw. Benford and Associates boasted they’d rehab any home. Large or small, they guaranteed they’d modernize any residential property in Indianapolis and the surrounding areas.

  “We’re taking Arvinson down,” Katrina said, leaning into James conspiratorially and winking.

  “So tell me how you’ll manage that.”

  “Simple mathematics. The recession and current housing market have been bad for some, good for others. People who are still working and holding on to their property know that selling it might take some time, so they’re rehabbing. The pie-in-the-sky purchasers who got in over their heads with too much mortgage are walking away from properties. That’s where we come in. My husband, Isaak, was doing great as a real estate developer in the private sector, but he knew he had the know-how to start his own business. He’s been acquiring properties left and right, making a name for himself, and racking up development and design awards along the way.”

  Isaak Benford. James knew the name sounded familiar. He recalled seeing the clean-cut brother wearing the hell out of a Brooks Brothers suit and a Rolex on the cover of the Indianapolis Business Journal last year. Beneath the caption, Benford Does Green Best, Isaak stood in front of a massive home that had been rehabbed with repurposed materials and boasted an eco-friendly design. The home sold for $800,000 and received the 2007 Design Award for Innovative Renewal, $200,000-$300,000 Category. James watched Katrina’s eyes light up as she revealed their scheme to put Arvinson out of business.

  “I’m all about applauding the competition. Arvinson is smart because he’s bringing the workers to him, endearing them by providing a van, making sure he establishes trust. I want to go on site to see how the actual. . .James, I’m sorry. There I go again.”

  “What, Katrina?”

  “I get so excited that I take over a conversation talking about the things that Isaak and I do, what he wants to accomplish. I didn’t mean to bore you. Enough about Isaak’s obsessions. What’s going on with you?”

  “You weren’t boring me. I actually enjoyed hearing about someone taking charge and handling his business by using his God-given talents.”

  “Oh, don’t let me sugarcoat things. We’ve had our ups and downs trying to get Benford and Associates off the ground. I actually had to cut back on a lot of shopping, hairdos, and nights out with the girls, so I could have pristine credit. No way was I going to embarrass him going to the bank. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have bad credit. I just wanted to be his partner in every way.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I remembered you said you and that pretty wife of yours might open a salon. What happened with that?”

  James thought it odd he’d be having this conversation with a former client/semi-stranger. He was about to ask her how she knew what Aruba looked like, but he remembered the photos he had of her in the shop. Everyone complimented his gorgeous wife from the photos and the few times she’d brought him take-out or stopped in to say hello. He tried to project an image of confidence, but then as now, James was tired of lying and pretending to be something he wasn’t. How could he say to Katrina what he really felt without sounding like a loser?

  “I’ve been dragging my feet a little. I’m not sure what’s holding me back, but talking to you has lit a spark I haven’t had in a long time.”

  “Do you, boo.”

  “I’m being selfish again. I’ve been yakking all this time about Isaak that I forgot to mention my cousin, Mitch Coleman. He opened up a salon for little girls last year. I don’t know how he does it, but he’s making money hand over fist with Divas in Training. He says he’s bringing up the next generation of women who don’t mind doing what they need to do to stay beautiful. I’ll put you in touch with him. The least you could do is talk to him and see what he’s doing to keep multiple facilities afloat. You know you won’t be working for Arvinson too long, since Benford will steal you away.” Katrina winked and playfully poked James’s side.

  Divas in Training. James remembered Aruba mentioning the owner of the shop before she’d left home. He flushed with embarrassment after receiving the same tip twice. Aruba always had his back when it came to uplifting him. There was something about Katrina that reminded him of Aruba. James loved the way Katrina’s eyes lit up when she talked about Isaak. Maybe Aruba would give him one last chance so that she could speak of him in the same way to a stranger.

  [26]

  Do Me This Solid

  “Can you believe Mr. J.B. had the nerve to take Momma to the Bahamas?”

  “And the problem with that would be? I think it’s sweet.” Lasheera shook her head and softly chuckled at Tawatha’s selfishness.

  “He could have waited another week. They’re making things difficult for me.”
/>   “What’s going on?”

  Tawatha paced back and forth in her office, cell phone in hand. Mr. Hinton had requested she be present at a late dinner with Craddack Development. In addition to staving off the rumor mill buzzing with speculation and innuendo as to why she was asked to go to dinner and not senior project managers, she had to find a fill-in for Aunjanue’s art show. Tonight was too important to decline Mr. Hinton’s invite.

  “I can’t make it to Aunjanue’s art show. Remember I told you about Craddack Development? We’ve been wooing their CEO for a contract for months now.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Mr. Hinton wants me to sit in on the meeting tonight.”

  “How’d you score that?”

  “You sound like the clowns in the office. He thinks I could learn a lot about the business.”

  “I’m sure he does.”

  “Sheer, stop. This is serious. You think you could go to the art show for me? I’ll do anything if you could do this favor for me.”

  “You know my transportation’s kinda shaky. I could find a ride, though. Do I just need to go to the show, or do I need to take them home as well?”

  “Actually, I need you to pick them up, take them to the show, and bring them back home. The show is at Onnie’s school. I’m sure she’s cooked dinner, so you don’t have to worry about feeding them.”

  “Oooo, you’re gonna owe me big-time!” Lasheera joked.

  “You know I got you. I don’t want to miss any opportunity for advancement.”

  “You know I love seeing my babies and I don’t mind getting them. I’ll call you and tell you about my arrangements.”

  “I owe you big-time. Thanks, Sheer.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  Tawatha released a sigh of relief. She was nervous about going to dinner. What would she say? What if Mr. Hinton fielded her with questions? He’d given her Craddack’s annual report and a portfolio about the company. She was well versed in all things Craddack, but she worried most about disappointing Mr. Hinton. No one in the office would ever understand how much she wanted to please him. Royce Hinton was old enough to be her father. The first time he called her into the office to reprimand her about the short skirts she wore, she figured he wanted to score. She waited for him to make his move. He sat behind his desk, his crisp, starched dress shirt hugging his muscular frame. She looked into his dark-brown, sad eyes, wondering if his wife satisfied him at all. He was a handsome man, the kind of man she’d fantasized about when she was younger. His honey-colored skin was weathered, and even when he smiled, the creases in his forehead foretold hidden regrets, unexplored thoughts. He was fiercely private, so no one knew a lot about personal matters on the home front. He took a deep breath, and quicker than Tawatha could devise a plan to get Royce comfortable and satisfied, he began to cry. Through his tears, Royce expressed Tawatha’s eerie resemblance to his daughter, Ramona. She’d died in a car accident at twenty-three. Since the accident, he and his wife had been estranged, mere strangers navigating a mortgage, social calendar, and contemplating divorce. He wanted Tawatha to slow down, to be the young lady God called her to be, to stop selling herself short. She appreciated him from that day forward and wanted to make sure she took advantage of every opportunity to flourish at Hinton and Conyers. She knew the children would be disappointed that she couldn’t attend the show, but at least they were seeing the fruits of her labor. When James joined the picture, they’d all understand the importance of her sacrifices.

  “Mrs. D., may I talk to you for a moment?”

  Aruba stared at Lasheera and waited for her to say the appropriate name.

  “Aruba, may I ask you for a favor?”

  “That’s more like it. What’s up?”

  “Well, my girlfriend, Tawatha, has to attend a meeting tonight for work. Her oldest daughter has an art show at her school.” Lasheera paused, suddenly embarrassed that she was always without transportation or thumbing a ride. “Tawatha needs me to pick the kids up, take them to the show, and drop them off.”

  “Do you need to leave early?”

  “Actually, I don’t have a way to get there.”

  “Do you need to borrow my vehicle?”

  Lasheera closed the door. “I can’t borrow your vehicle or anyone’s because my license is suspended. I know you’re married and busy, but I wondered if you could help me tonight. I need you to take me to pick them up, go to the art show, and take them home.”

  Aruba kept her composure. She and Winston were meeting for dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steak House at eight and she didn’t want to be late. Sidney and Bria were keeping Jeremiah for the weekend, so this snafu would seriously dig into her time with Winston. He still hadn’t made a move to make love, but this weekend would be different. She’d see to it.

  “Aruba, it’s not like I’m putting my girl’s business out there, but she needs me. She’s a single mom, raising four kids alone. She’s made strides at her job, she’s gotten a new place, and she has a new man she’s been hiding from us for a while. She’s turning her life around and I want to be there for her.”

  Aruba pondered Lasheera’s words. She could say the same thing about Bria right now. Bria never asked questions about her separation from James, never pushed for details about their problems. She pledged to be there for her, help in any way needed. Lasheera spoke highly of Tawatha and Jamilah. Maybe it was time she met one of the musketeers.

  “I’ll make a call to cancel an appointment I had. I’ll do it for you. If it’s an art sale, I might purchase something.”

  “Onnie’s a talented artist. I mean, Aunjanue. That’s Tawatha’s oldest daughter. She’s really good. You’re gonna like her drawings and sketches.”

  [27]

  Out of the Mouths of Babes

  “Auntie Sheer, Auntie Sheer,” yelled S’n’c’r’ty as she dashed out the front door. Sims and Grant followed closely behind.

  “How are my babies doing?” Lasheera hoisted S’n’c’r’ty in her arms, spun her around, and placed light kisses on her cheek.

  “We’ll be doing better when Momma gets here. Aunjanue is worried.”

  “Who’s the pretty lady?” Grant asked. He smiled at Aruba.

  “You know we’re not supposed to talk to strangers, Grant,” S’n’c’r’ty chided.

  Lasheera, embarrassed by S’n’c’r’ty’s blunt nature, made the children form a semicircle around her. “This is my boss, Aruba. Your mom can’t make it to the art show, so Miss Aruba’s taking us to Onnie’s school tonight.”

  Aruba greeted the children, admired the love and affection they showered on Lasheera.

  “Can’t make it?” Grant’s bottom lip poked out at the news.

  “I thought we were going as a family, then eating out afterward,” Sims offered.

  “Hold your horses, I can feed you. Your mom has important work tonight. She’s been working hard, trying to make more money, so she can do special things for you,” said Lasheera.

  The children nodded in agreement. If Tawatha’s working meant being able to do more things they all enjoyed, the kids saw no need to argue.

  “Let’s go inside to see if Onnie needs some help.”

  Aruba followed them inside the house, surprise and amazement debunking the myths she secretly held about Tawatha. When Lasheera shared her friend’s plight, Aruba expected to drive her to a roach-infested crack den with drunks milling around outside, asking for cigarettes or bus fare. Maxie was right; stereotypes belonged in Hollywood, not in black people’s minds. Just because a woman had lots of children didn’t mean the worst should be thought of her situation. Aruba, reddened with embarrassment, admired the tasteful home she entered. Wow, four children live here?

  “Lasheera, your friend has a lovely place,” said Aruba. She sat on the sofa and watched S’n’c’r’ty scroll through a list of DVR-listed shows, settling on an episode of Family Matters.

  “She’s doing so well. I don’t know that I would have taken you to her last place. H
oney, that apartment was guttermost! Food and clothes everywhere. She’s really been working hard at getting herself together. I wasn’t kidding when I told you I was proud of her.”

  “As you should be. That’s what good friends are for.”

  Aunjanue entered the living room, fidgeting with the suspenders on her corduroy dress. S’n’c’r’ty ran to Aunjanue.

  “You look pretty, Onnie,” said S’n’c’r’ty.

  “Thanks, girl.” Aunjanue scanned the room. “Auntie Sheer, can you help me with my ponytail? Where’s Momma?”

  “Sit down at the dining room table. I’ll fix it. And don’t be so nervous. We’ve got lots of time to get you there.”

  Aunjanue plopped down in a dinette chair, removed the top from the styling gel, and handed Lasheera the clip-on ponytail.

  “Please make sure my edges are slicked down. I want to look good tonight just in case the art show is featured in the paper.”

  “You’ll look fine. By the way, wave to my boss, Aruba, in the living room, Onnie.”

  Aunjanue waved to Aruba, then shot Lasheera a what’s-she-doing-here look. Lasheera braced herself, plowed forward.

  “Miss Aruba is taking us to the show tonight. Your mom has an important meeting tonight and she can’t make it.”

  “I hope it’s not with that James man.” Aruba tensed. Another James is causing confusion. If she ditched my show for—”

  “She’s working, Onnie. Her boss needed her to sit in with a big developer. You know she’s working hard to make things better.”

  Aunjanue smacked her lips. Disappointment clouded her face as she thought of Tawatha. She’s missing the one thing I worked so hard to do. Aunjanue steadied the jar of gel for Lasheera.

  “Aunjanue, tell me about some of your pieces that will be displayed tonight.” Aruba tried softening the atmosphere.

  “My drawings are colorful and filled with flowers. Sometimes I do people,” said Aunjanue, her countenance radiating. “They’re only for display right now, but next month, we’ll be able to sell our best works for a spring art fundraiser. The seventh-grade art class is going to Washington, D.C.”