Dream Girl Awakened

by Stacy Campbell

  “I didn’t realize I’d left my things here. I’m slipping fast in my old age. Thanks for keeping them for me.”

  “Old age. What are you? Twelve?”

  “Plus fifteen. I’m an old twenty-seven. I’d love to retire by thirty-five.”

  “You’re definitely on track with the way you work. By the way, if you didn’t come for your things, why are you here?”

  “Friday night is Shandy night. Kinda my way of unwinding from a long work week. I’m eating close to the shop and thought I’d stop by to see if you were pleased with the products I sold you last week. I’m still twisting your arm about the manicure station, so let’s say I’m getting a jumpstart on the next twist.”

  “Me night, huh? I like the sound of that.”

  “It’s good to spend time alone. No one bothering you or invading your privacy.”

  “What does your man think of that concept?”

  “If I had one, he’d probably be disappointed. Or swear I was out cheating. I value being alone because I get in touch with myself. I meditate, do yoga, and treat my body as a temple. I gave up meat about five years ago. Since you’re curious about my status, there are too many men playing games, so I’m single and satisfied.”

  “Good for you. You seem like a nice young lady. You deserve someone who’ll be good to you.”

  “Since you’re all up in my peach nectar, what’s James Dixon’s status?”

  “I’m newly divorced and have a five-year-old son named Jeremiah. He means the world to me.”

  “I didn’t realize you were divorced. I’ve been told divorce is like death.” Shandy paused, hoping he’d divulge what happened to the union.

  “It is. A lot of things die and you lose things you didn’t realize you had.”

  “I know how private I am, so I’ll change the subject. We don’t know each other well enough to discuss such things.”

  She did it again. Why didn’t other women who crossed his path take the hint and accept some subjects were off-limits? Shandy’s stock was rising more and more by the minute. He had to get her out of the shop before he followed her to dinner.

  “My dinner reservation is good ’til nine. I’ve got to get going. Thanks for keeping my things.” Shandy stood to leave. “By the way, call me Shan. You started out with Miss Fulton, then Shandy. Everyone, family and associates, calls me Shan.”

  “Shan, have a nice evening.”

  James watched Shandy drive away in a Toyota Prius Hybrid. He knew the type of car she drove because she went on and on about emissions and protecting the environment. He loved how natural she was. Someday, when the time was right, he wanted to find someone like Shandy to rebuild his life.

  James checked the last of the bills, counted the night’s till and prepared the bank deposit slip, taking care to place the bills in order by denomination. Another Shandyism. She swore that money grew when you honored it. Just as he locked the safe containing the shop’s money bag, he saw the letter. He should have thrown it away, but it served as a reminder of why his life was in shambles. He turned it over and saw her name in the upper left-hand corner. The letter had arrived at the house a month after her incarceration. Tawatha, housed at the Indiana Women’s Prison, awaited sentencing for the murder of her children. He hoped her time away from others would provide some semblance of mental stability, but she seemed worse. His saving grace was only he, Aruba, Lasheera, and Roberta knew he was the reason she had killed the children. When prodded by the media as to why she did it, she said it was for Magic. He opened it, read the words again:

  Dear James:

  I tried to give you a little time to come visit me. I put you on the visitor’s list at the facility and hope to see you soon. I miss you and love you now more than ever. I think back on the night at your shop and I apologize for barging in like I did. I understand that you lied to me because you needed more time to break things off with your wife. I guess saying she had cancer was the best way for you to work things out. I should have been more patient. I dream about you every night. About the love we made. The time we spent together. All the plans we had together. I pray you know I did what I did for you. For us. I don’t think you liked the idea of me having different children by different men. They are no longer in our way.

  S’n’c’r’ty came to me in a dream and said she forgives me. Grant and Sims don’t talk to me, though. I want to take this time to apologize to you as well. Actually, you and Lasheera. The night I went to your wife’s party, I wanted so badly to share my secret with Sheer. Or you. I know you were as weak for me as I was for you about two weeks before the party. The night you stopped by to tell me to stop calling and texting. We wound up making love like never before. I didn’t really tie my tubes. I actually was taking Depo-Provera, but stopped it shortly after I met you. You deserve a daughter, and I’m giving you one the first of next year. I plan to name her Jameshia Dixon. I know she’ll have your eyes, your curly hair, your devilish grin. I want Aunjanue to embrace her, but my mother won’t allow her to visit me. Please don’t leave me or our child this way. I long to see you and have things the way they used to be. I love you.

  With My Deepest Affection,

  Mrs. Tawatha Dixon

  James sealed the letter, grabbed the bank bag, and headed to Chase Bank. Lips, hips, and fingertips have cost me the best thing that ever happened to me.

  [44]

  The Real Housewife of L.A.

  Aruba twiddled her thumbs, eavesdropped on diners, and sighed. Two hours had passed and Winston still hadn’t arrived at Spago for their dinner reservation. She avoided firing off another text since he hadn’t responded to the last three she’d sent. His late dinner arrival was a tiny infraction compared to the new life she enjoyed. Sacrifice and a no-whining spirit will keep me living this fabulous life. Aruba drained the last of her Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon from a sparkling flute and reflected on her life. The salon incident and the fire were the last straws in her decision to divorce James. She’d planned to move on with her life, but James’s refusal to acknowledge Tawatha Gipson’s craziness was an indication he’d lost his grip on reality. He compared his infidelity to her affair with Winston. He begged her to stay with him, to start anew, but she couldn’t. At least I didn’t sleep with Winston.

  Bria was slowly coming around and attempting to forgive her. Bria’s question rattled around in her brain again at Spago. “How can you sleep at night knowing you took your friend’s husband?” Very well on thousand thread-count sheets, thank you. How could she explain to Bria how miserable she was in her marriage, how irresponsible James was during their union? Everyone didn’t have a solid relationship like hers and Sidney’s. Women like Bria annoyed her sometimes, throwing euphemisms and scriptures her way like snake oil as a form of inspiration. Sure, James was doing well with his business now, but look at all the years she supported him with nothing to show for it. Winston had elevated her status a hundred-fold, and she’d forever be grateful for all he’d done. She and Jeremiah were enjoying creature comforts she thought only certain women obtained.

  His proposal came as a pleasant surprise five months ago. He stopped by to check on her two weeks before she tendered her letter of resignation at State Farm. In the midst of a conference call with a district manager, Winston released the call, pulled out a Harry Winston box, and proposed. The ink was barely dry on her decree, but she said yes, stifling the glee behind her closed office door and planting a passionate kiss on his lips. Aruba locked the door after he entered her office, lest Bria came charging in, giving her that judgmental look she’d perfected since the divorce was finalized. They both needed comfort after their respective divorces. Victoria received a $3 million settlement; James received the house and everything else Winston convinced her to sign over. He promised they’d start life fresh.

  Fresh was an understatement. When he accepted a position at Cedars-Sinai, he told her she had to get in gear as Mrs. Faulk and make the transition from Indianapolis to Los Angeles a reality. Wi
nston handed over his checkbook and told her not to break the Faulk bank. Aruba knew she wanted to settle in Beverly Hills. After a short search, she settled on a beautiful Georgian estate that sat on nine acres. The ivy-covered porch beckoned her when she visited the property with the realtor. The seven-bedroom home would be a challenge for Aruba to clean, even with a live-in nanny. She would seek out neighbors’ help for a good cleaning team, landscaper, and decorator. The walnut floors, crown molding, and the privacy offered by the cul-de-sac were no match for what sold her on the property—the screening room that was once a guesthouse. With only a month to pull things together, Aruba went into overdrive outfitting the property fit for a king, her king Winston. She was proudest of the one-of-a-kind pieces she acquired: crème chenille sofas reproduced from similar pieces in Coco Chanel’s Paris apartment; a baby-grand piano from Liberace’s estate; the Irish mahogany console and hand-blown glass chandelier once owned by Hattie McDaniel. She couldn’t wait to invite Bria, Dayton, Maxie, her mom and dad, and any other relatives willing to see how well she’d done for herself. She imagined parties near the pool house and all the children swimming in the lush pool recently refurbished in iridescent blue ceramic tile. She pictured Day and Maxie lounging in the sun and on the dark chocolate couches with monogrammed cushions and wicker tables on the upper deck of the pool house. She thought of children laughing and darting under the trellis covered with bougainvillea on the lower deck while she made lemonade, cookies, and sticky ribs. If Winston happened to arrive after three hours of doing what he needed to do, she wouldn’t complain. Aruba perused the menu again, certain it was time to order for Winston. For starters, she’d order the sautéed Maryland crab cake for him, the endive and spring vegetable salad for herself. She called a waiter over to the table, but felt relieved when Winston approached her with a nervous smile and outstretched arms. She stood to give him a passionate kiss, a promise of more to come for the night. He kissed her, but it felt restrained, guarded.

  “Babe, I was so worried about you. Is everything okay?” To the waiter she said, “Please give us a few more minutes.”

  Aruba noticed Winston for the first time since his arrival. She grabbed a napkin from the table to wipe his forehead. He must have swung by the house before coming to Spago, but he didn’t dress in a signature dapper suit as he’d done for past dinners. He was dressed down in a simple white cotton dress shirt, khakis, and shiny loafers. She recalled when he was married to Victoria, she called his current attire the get-ready-for-a-big-announcement outfit. She took in a few breaths and interrupted his announcement.

  “Babe, I got a little something for you today. You’ve been putting in long hours at Cedars and as much as Jeremiah and I miss you, this token is just my way of saying how much we honor what you do. I love you.”

  Aruba slid the box toward Winston. He tinkered with the wrapping paper and opened it, hoping it wasn’t another expensive trinket like the ones she’d been purchasing for him lately. He appreciated her devotion to him, her desire to please him, but he wanted her, not expensive toys.

  “You shouldn’t have done this, sweets. You’re too good to me as it is.”

  Winston sighed when he opened the box and saw the Cartier fountain pen. “Can’t be too stylish writing prescriptions?”

  “Never.”

  “Baby, we have to talk. I was hit with news today that I have to share immediately. I’d rather this discussion be in our home.”

  “Winston, how serious we talking? My mouth is all ready for the steamed red snapper, Hong Kong style.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

  As they left the restaurant, Aruba stymied the déjà vu feeling coursing through her veins. Winston was always loving and complimentary. Tonight he didn’t notice the care she’d taken to dress in his favorite outfit. Nor did he say how beautiful she was, how his day was incomplete without her presence.

  “Sweets, will you drive? I’m not up to it right now.”

  “Yes. Babe, you sure this has to wait ’til we get home? You’re scaring me.”

  “Could you just do as I asked?” Winston snapped, snatching his arm from Aruba’s embrace and quickening his pace to the valet. She tried keeping step with him, but she was no match for his swift footfalls. He handed the valet his ticket and looked away from Aruba. Once they entered the car, Aruba drove home quietly. Something had gone down at Cedars. How would she support him? What would she say? The last thing she wanted to do was react in a way characteristic of Victoria. She meant it when she told him she would be with him through thick and thin.

  “Baby, I’m sorry I yelled at you. I’m not myself right now.”

  “Winston, it’s okay. I knew it would be an adjustment relocating, getting used to your new job. I knew what I was signing up for when I married you. I’m with you always, Winston. I love you.”

  Winston had heard those words from Victoria years ago. When things were fresh and new in their marriage, Victoria made a point of massaging his feet each night with a homeopathic balm mixed with lavender, vanilla, and tea tree oil. She said it was whipped with love because she knew how hectic his long days and nights were. He remembered the early years, before Nicolette’s arrival, when Victoria would wait up and quiz him about the day’s events. She listened with wide-eyed intensity as he talked about his patients, his hopes, and his fears. Those and many memories from the good old days prompted him to share the news with Victoria first. She had been his rock and he felt stupid for allowing his ego to ignore the changes he caused in her. Her quiet support during the times he doubted himself meant everything to him. He had called her earlier in the day as soon as the double whammy hit him. He waited for her to release curses and say good riddance. Instead, she had wept. She’d told him she would always love him and still wanted the best for him in spite of everything that had happened. Those words made him feel worse than he’d felt since the divorce. Why didn’t I try harder to make my marriage work? After Nicolette’s revelation in the cabin, Victoria refused to talk to him and filed for divorce immediately. The few times they’d spoken after the divorce were about Nicolette, Victoria’s relocation, and the pending sale of their home. Only now did he realize he’d given up too soon.

  “Are you still waiting until we get home to talk?” asked Aruba, bringing Winston back to the quiet ride home.

  “Huh?”

  “You look worn-out. Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Winston clenched and unclenched his fist. “Aruba, please. Let’s get home first.”

  “I’m sorry for being so impatient. I’m concerned about your well-being. I know our marriage is new, but I need you to believe I’m here for you.”

  Hope you know what you’re saying. “I know, sweets.”

  Aruba pulled into the garage, held Winston’s hand, and waited for his cue.

  “Inside or here, Winston?”

  “I don’t know if I can make it inside,” said Winston. He held Aruba’s face in his hands. “Bad or worse news first?”

  “Bad.”

  “I’ve been hit with a malpractice suit. Lori Hunden’s family is alleging I misdiagnosed her condition. She suffered a massive heart attack two months ago.”

  “The seventeen-year-old?”

  “Yes. She was a patient of mine since she was eight. We attended the funeral, remember?”

  “I’m sure it’s a mistake. We can fight this case and win.”

  “Most malpractice suits don’t make it to court. Families usually settle out of court. I pay a hefty price for malpractice insurance, but if they win, our finances will be hit.”

  “Trust me, things will be fine. We’ll come out swinging and get the victory.”

  “What if you have to fight for me alone?”

  “We’re in this together, remember?”

  “What if my Lou Gehrig’s kicks in hard before the proceedings?”

  Aruba thought she heard him say Lou Gehrig’s, but he was mistaken. Prostate cancer, she could believe. Two of her uncle
s and a high school coach battled prostate cancer and won. But how could a man as vibrant and lively as Winston have been diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s? Lately, she’d seen news stories of mostly men and some women affected by the disease, but she couldn’t imagine the beautiful man before her being ravaged by ALS. The disclosure left her speechless.

  “Aruba, talk to me.” Winston waited for Aruba to respond, but she continued to gaze in his eyes. “I was served with papers about the suit this morning. I wanted to call you once I received the news, but I had to let it sink in. Lori was like a member of the family. Victoria used to bake her cookies when she was younger. She even spent the night at our house a time or two. I decided to keep my doctor’s appointment, and that’s when I got the news.”

  “You couldn’t call me?”

  “I didn’t know how to tell you. We just started on this journey, and you’ve been hit with some tremendous blows. You deserve better than this.”

  Aruba held his hands tighter. “What will this mean for us?”

  “I’m so proud of the job you’ve done with the house. You stepped in and made the house spectacular. Sadly, we’ll have to downsize. I don’t know that I’ll need a significant amount of funds for the lawsuit, but we’ll have to find a home that’s handicap accessible for when my muscles weaken. Our current home is over ten-thousand square feet and that’s a tad much.”

  Aruba gulped. She’d just completed designing the home of her dreams, and now it was being snatched from her.

  “I’m still paying the mortgage on the Carmel house until it’s sold. Victoria didn’t want it anymore and I’ll probably have to reduce the selling price to get it off my hands.”

  I didn’t sign on for this. Aruba tried, but she couldn’t hold back the tears. The struggles she had with James paled in comparison to what she faced now. How could she have been so greedy, so hasty?

  “Let me hold you, Mrs. Faulk. It’s going to be fine. Just trust me.”

  Aruba Aneece Faulk. In Winston’s arms, the name had lost its luster.