Dream Girl Awakened

by Stacy Campbell

  “You look healthy. I’m just concerned because the weight loss is so sudden. Why is that?” asked Roberta.

  “The kids are worried as well,” added Lasheera.

  Tawatha took in a few deep breaths. Her unease grew the more they walked. This wasn’t the time to let them know about James. How could she explain that her husband was someone else’s and wouldn’t be fully hers until after the funeral. She could picture Roberta giving her one of those long lectures about waiting on the right man and not lowering her standards. No way was she ready for the criticism Lasheera and Roberta would dish out.

  “I’m working, doing well at my job, keeping my place together, staying healthy. What more do you want from me?”

  “To be honest about what’s going. Does this have anything to do with a man?” asked Roberta.

  “Onnie said you have a boyfriend,” said Lasheera. “And don’t forget you told us to be ready for your wedding.”

  “Wedding?” cried Roberta.

  “Thanks, old refrigerator! Would the two of you stop it! When do I have time for a relationship with my work schedule?”

  They pondered her words. Her job was occupying her time and dominating a lot of their conversations in recent months. She was throwing out real estate terminology left and right and talked about owning a slice of Hinton and Conyers someday. She mentioned a seven-year plan.

  “You can’t blame us for wanting what’s best for you. You’ve come so far and I’m so proud of you, baby,” said Roberta.

  Roberta and Lasheera continued to walk in silence, praying their concern would register for what is was: concern, not the words of two busybodies. At the third lap, Lasheera grinned from ear to ear at the sight of Lake. He held out a bottled water for Lasheera. This was the usual time he joined her at the mall. She stepped back two paces to allow Roberta and Tawatha private time. Lake said he wanted her to love half of him, so they joined each other every Saturday for walking, chatting, and breakfast afterward. She was taking it nice and slow. She hoped Tawatha was doing the same because she knew her friend. Once a man was involved, she’d stop at nothing to get him. To hell with the consequences.

  “So, Tawatha, as beautiful and outgoing as you are, you’re trying to convince your old mother there’s not a man in your life?”

  “What’s with the Twenty Questions?”

  “If you answer honestly, I’ll stop asking.” Roberta smiled and wiped away the sweat glistening on her forehead.

  “Promise you won’t judge me?”

  “Do I ever?”

  “Every waking minute.”

  The words stung Roberta. What came out as judgment was meant to be warning signs for Tawatha. She remembered how harshly her mother judged everything about her. She promised she’d never be that way with her children. Here she was, repeating the same behavior without realizing how much she was hurting her daughter.

  “I never meant to judge you. If I’ve done so, I’m sorry. I want the best for you. I want more for you than I’ve gotten out of life.”

  “Momma, what do you mean? Mr. J.B. is the nicest man in the world. He loves you, he takes care of you, he likes me and my kids, and he’s active in his church. He’s one of the few men I’ve met who walks the walk instead of just talking the talk.”

  “Yeah, but that came at a heavy price and after a long journey. But this ain’t about J.B., we’re talking about you. What’s going on, Tawatha? You can tell me anything.”

  “There is someone I love dearly. It’s just that we can’t be together right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Is he in jail?”

  “Would I date a man in jail?”

  “No, that’s not your speed. You hated being confined in a playpen as a child, so I don’t see you visiting a man in a correctional facility.”

  “Amen! You know me well.”

  “Is he married?”

  Tawatha’s silence answered the question. Roberta hoped her child would transcend the foolishness of her youth. Find a good man, get the two-story home with the white picket fence, have a child or two. Although she knew Tawatha was domestically challenged, she was certain the love of a grounded relationship would settle her daughter down. Instead, she tamped down negative comments as Tawatha paraded baby after baby before her with no ring, no commitment, no husband. Although she monitored the things she said, she somehow found a way to slip in a cut or snide remark about Tawatha’s lifestyle. Those words came from being disappointed in seeing herself in Tawatha.

  “So you’ll never marry Mr. J.B.?”

  “I didn’t say that. Speaking of marriage, what about you?”

  “No judging, right?”

  “Promise.”

  “You know my references will be vague, so don’t press me for names and details.”

  “Okay.”

  “I met a really nice guy at my job. He’s a businessman and he has a lot on his plate right now.”

  “What’s on his plate?”

  “I’m assuming recession fallout because I don’t think things are going well with the business. It’s hard for him to work and take care of . . .” Tawatha paused.

  “Does he have elderly parents?”

  “No. His wife is terminally ill with breast cancer. I didn’t want to bring it up because I was afraid you’d tear into me about being with him.”

  “You ready to take a break? Let’s get some juice. I want to share something with you.”

  Tawatha stopped short of stomping her feet. She dreaded the conversation about to unfold. They neared Cinnabon and stood in line to place their orders. Before either could speak, Mr. Extravaganza handed the cashier a twenty for their orders and told him to keep the change. He retreated back to his seat, smiling at Tawatha.

  “Juice and a cinnamon pecan bun for me,” said Tawatha.

  “I’ll just have juice,” said Roberta.

  They took their trays to their seats. Knowing Tawatha feared the worst, Roberta took a different approach. She would dispense her words with love and admonition in equal measure.

  “Do you know how special you are?” asked Roberta.

  “What’s the punch line?”

  “No punch line. I think you deserve an unattached man who’s willing to give you the love you deserve.”

  Tawatha meditated on her mother’s words. She blushed. “You’re just saying that. I know you don’t mean it.”

  “I do mean it.” Roberta touched Tawatha’s hand. “When you described him, I saw the same glow on your face that I had about your father.”

  “That’s good, right? Daddy was a noble man who died in a car accident. I hate I didn’t get to know him, but at least you had the love of a husband. I’ve got a bunch of baby daddies and deep regrets.”

  “I never married your father, Tawatha. Shirley Gipson was Carol’s husband when I met him. I was a young, naïve student who thought I found the man of my dreams. It wasn’t until I was pregnant with you and your sister that I found out. His wife came to see me.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything? And why are you telling me now?”

  “The timing was never right. The only reason I’m bringing it up now is to warn you about the dangers of waiting for something that doesn’t belong to you. I never told Shirley about you and Teresa. If your man is sincere, he’ll reach out to you when the time is right. Does he have any children?”

  “He has a cute son named Jeremiah.”

  “How do you know he’s cute?”

  “I’ve seen pictures of him,” Tawatha lied.

  “Even if his wife dies, there is so much for you to think about. You’d be blending his child with four others. You’re also not sure how much financial devastation her illness has caused. How open is he to your children? What would her family have to say about another woman stepping in so soon after her death? These are just a few things that come to mind. Take your time and don’t rush into anything.”

  If Roberta wasn’t crunching
numbers, she was spitting logic. Why did her mother always have to be the voice of reason? Tawatha wasn’t prepared to answer her mother’s questions because she didn’t know half the answers.

  “Back to Daddy. You’re telling me my father is alive and well and living somewhere in this world?”

  “Shirley Gipson is alive and well in California. You also have siblings a little older than you.”

  Tawatha’s stomach soured. She set her juice aside. The revelation was hard to digest.

  “Did he ever promise he’d leave his wife for you?”

  “I didn’t know he was married until Carol waltzed into my apartment.”

  “Momma, our circumstances are different. I know about her and why he can’t be with me.”

  “Tawatha, answer this. If you were gravely ill and married, what would you want your husband to do for you?”

  Without hesitation, Tawatha responded, “I would want him to take care of me and my kids. Certainly make my last days bearable.”

  “Could he do that with another woman on the periphery?”

  “I guess not.”

  “If his wife deserves better, don’t you?”

  Tawatha remained silent.

  “Look at that,” said Roberta, nodding her head toward Lake and Lasheera. “Sheer has been to hell and back. She’s getting her life on track and I’m so proud of her. Lake is a fine young man and I’m praying their friendship blossoms into a good relationship.”

  Tawatha looked on with envious eyes. The last two times she’d seen Lake and Lasheera together, she fought back tears. If anyone deserved a little sunshine, it was Sheer. Tawatha’s envy came from the way Lake looked at Lasheera. The way he hung on to her every word. The way laughter exploded from their bellies when they shared a joke or funny incident. Then guilt overwhelmed her. It was easier to pity Lasheera than champion her. All the late-night runs to pick her up. All the times when she and Jamilah scrounged spare change to feed her habit in fear she might rob someone. Things were safer then. Now, Lasheera soared. Zion had visited her house several times, and Lake frequently surprised Lasheera with trips and trinkets with an agreement to take things slow. How did Sheer get such a good catch? She quickly rebuked the thought. How could she harbor such deep resentment toward Lasheera?

  “What kind of friend am I?”

  Roberta observed the longing in Tawatha’s eyes as she watched Lake and Lasheera.

  “If you’re patient, you can have the same kind of relationship. Trust me.”

  Tawatha swigged her juice once more. Why am I the only one unlucky in love?

  [32]

  It’s Not What You Think

  James waited outside Winston’s practice. He wanted to catch him early, before his momentum waned. He’d rehearsed how to approach Winston, but now he wasn’t sure if this was the right place or the right time. He thought of driving off or coming back later in the day. He staved off his doubt when he saw Winston coast into his designated spot.

  Winston exited his Range Rover, engaged in conversation with Aruba. They’d driven to Ann Arbor, Michigan for the weekend. His morning mission was to allay her fears about Jeremiah seeing them together. They assured Jeremiah the trip was for Nicolette’s birthday presents. They did not embrace or show affectionate emotions in his presence. A twinge of guilt rose up in Winston as James advanced him.

  “Winston, how are you this morning?” James reached out to shake Winston’s hand.

  “Babe, let me call you back a little later. Take care.” Winston shook James’s hand and waited for the nature of his unannounced visit.

  “I have an urgent matter I need to discuss with you.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. I don’t think it can wait.”

  “Step into my office. It’s cold out here.”

  The men stepped in stride toward Winston’s building. James quivered at the sight of the bold, black lettering on the door: Faulk Cardiology. Just one name. Only one man running the show. Someday . . . James allowed the thought to trail off.

  “Hold my calls,” Winston said to his receptionist.

  The appointment schedulers smiled at James as he strolled by. There was a time he would have stopped to chat with the women, but today was about business. He strode into Winston’s office, removed his coat, and took a seat. He ran his fingers through his dreadlocks, then set his briefcase on the floor near Winston’s desk.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” asked Winston. His poker face was in full effect.

  “It’s about you and Aruba.”

  “Aruba?”

  “Well, both of you.”

  “Listen, Aruba and I do have—”

  “I need to get this out before I lose the nerve. Hear me out.”

  Winston leaned back in his seat. He wondered the best way to explain the affair. There was no other word to describe the situation. His feelings grew more each day for Aruba. It wasn’t fair to either of them to remain in loveless marriages.

  “When I saw you and Aruba—”

  “I can explain—”

  “Let me finish, please.” James sighed in exasperation and shifted in his seat. This was proving to be more difficult than he imagined. “When I saw you together at the hospital last year after the accident, I was so angry that I could have fought someone. I know I was at fault, but seeing another man taking care of business where my family is concerned really pissed, I mean, ticked me off.”

  Winston’s shoulders relaxed. “I merely drove her to the hospital. That’s what any friend would have done.”

  “I shouldn’t have been there under those circumstances in the first place.”

  “I never judged you about that night. Go on.”

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Most of which I’m sure you know about since Aruba and Victoria are friends. I haven’t always done right by my family.”

  “Who amongst us is perfect, James?”

  “Swallowing my pride like this is difficult, but I’m here because . . .”

  Winston sensed his trepidation. “Take your time, James. Thursdays are my slowest days. My first patient isn’t due in until eleven this morning.”

  “You gave me your business card at the hospital and asked me to reach out to you if I needed anything. You said the same thing at the cookout. I’m here to ask for your assistance in a business venture.”

  “Business venture?”

  “For the longest time, I’ve wanted my own salon, but couldn’t get start-up capital. Aruba was always on me about getting my financial house in order, but I wouldn’t listen. I can’t lie; I want my family back. They say you don’t miss your water . . . you know what I mean. I want Aruba to be proud of me. I want to provide for her.”

  “How can I help make that a reality?”

  “I’ve been turned down by every bank I’ve approached. Credit issues and no collateral have made it impossible to get a loan. I’ve been seeking angel investors and thought I’d ask if you’d be interested in assisting me. I’m not asking you to give me anything. I’m willing to sign whatever agreement necessary to assure I’ll pay you back. Angels usually give funds, but I don’t want to owe you anything.”

  “What would I be investing in?”

  James grabbed his briefcase from the floor. He proudly handed Winston a copy of his business plan. He’d spent the last three months under Katrina’s and Isaak’s wings, researching his possibilities, investigating demographics, and anticipating the highs and lows of owning a salon. Winston was the third investor he’d approached. With each pitch, he gained more confidence.

  “Dixon’s Hair Affair will be a full-service beauty salon dedicated to consistently providing impeccable customer satisfaction. In addition to rendering excellent service, quality products, and furnishing an enjoyable atmosphere at an acceptable price/value relationship, we will also maintain a friendly, fair, and creative work environment, which will respect diversity, ideas, and hard work. This will be an upscale salon that caters to our customers’ phy
sical appearance and mental well-being. Our motto will be ‘Leave Your Worries At the Door.’ ”

  “Where are you looking to house the business?”

  “I found a nice location on Illinois Street. The previous owners had begun renovations a year-and-a-half ago, but pulled out due to economic hardship.”

  “How far did they get on the renovations?”

  “About ninety-five percent. The most I’d have to do is buy equipment, hire contractors to complete drywall in the building’s exterior, and hire an electrician to assure the wiring is up to code.”

  “How will you market Dixon’s Hair Affair?” Winston asked the question as he flipped from the executive summary to the financial plan.

  “Word of mouth is key in the salon business. I don’t want to toot my own horn, but I can handle a head of hair.”

  Winston paused to read through the plan in greater detail. “I’m impressed with your projected cash flow, proforma, and breakeven analysis. Take me through the personnel plan.”

  “I’ve cultivated friendships over the years with barbers and stylists throughout the city. Quite a few are excited about coming on board to be a part of Dixon’s. I plan to have six stylists, two barbers, two nail techs, a facialist, and a massage therapist. Turn to page seven for staff breakdown and salaries.”

  Winston continued reading. Clearly, James had done his legwork and was serious about starting a business. He meant what he said when he offered assistance almost a year ago, but things had changed so much. He’d crossed too many lines to turn back, yet James’s determination struck a chord with him. He saw in him the same hunger, the same eagerness he himself had when he started his practice.

  “Let me keep the plan and get back with you in a week or so. I have to run a few things past my accountant. I also know a few people in the business who might be able to come alongside you and be of help. I don’t want to make any promises, but I assure you we’ll meet in a week. I’m proud of you and want to see you get your business up and running.”