And there had been plenty of those. The paparazzi for example. They’d considered her Franco’s bella negra. His temporary diversion. His exotic arm candy that would soon be replaced. Boy, would she show them.
Time to get up and get dressed, but not before giving Beau a quick call. Their relationship wasn’t over by a long shot. She still had his engagement ring. With no firm commitment from Franco, it wasn’t smart to let Beau go. A bird in the hand was worth two in the nest.
Just her luck that Beau might have a full recovery, and regain the use of his legs. Those lucrative contracts with the cereal manufacturers and athletic gear companies were worth millions of dollars. Not exactly chump change. Beau was probably the most beautiful man she knew and at one time he did fulfill her every need.
How would he have found out about her involvement with Franco? Milan was a continent removed. The American press couldn’t have gotten wind of the heated affair with Franco. Even if they had, she would deny it. It wasn’t as if the media was credible.
Just thinking of Beau made her hot. Chandra’s fingers circled her nipple. Making love to Beau used to be a gratifying experience. She picked up the phone and punched in Denver Rehab’s number. Six rings later a female picked up.
“Denver Rehabilitation Center.”
“This is Chandra Leon. Connect me to Beaumont Hill’s room now.”
The operator grunted something that didn’t sound very complimentary, and put her on hold forever. She returned to say, “Mr. Hill’s no longer with us,” her voice so saccharine sweet that Chandra wanted to punch her.
“Find out where is he,” Chandra demanded.
“I’m an operator, not a fortune-teller, hon.”
“A soon to be unemployed operator,” Chandra railed. “Get me your supervisor.”
The phone clanged in her ear and Chandra was left with the dial tone.
A series of colorful expletives filled the hotel room. Infuriated, she punched in the numbers once again. This time a different operator answered.
“I need Beau Hill,” Chandra demanded, listening for a moment before snapping, “What do you mean he’s no longer a patient here?”
“He was discharged several days ago.”
She laughed derisively. Discharged, and Beau hadn’t called her? Chandra’s head reeled. What woman had taken her place? Beau had wanted to put their relationship on hold. Had her trip to Milan provided him the perfect excuse to end things? Nah, who would want a cripple?
“Where did he go?” She asked.
“I don’t have that information, miss.”
At least this one called her “miss.” Chandra slammed down the receiver only to pick it up again. This time she punched in Beau’s home number.
A woman’s voice eventually answered. Must be his dumb ox of a housekeeper.
“This is Mr. Hill’s fiancée,” Chandra announced. “Get him for me.”
“Fiancée?”
“Honey, just put him on the phone, if you value your job.”
“Who did you say was calling?”
The ox was dumber than she’d thought “Chandra Leon.”
“Oh, Chandra, I should have known. Only you would call at this hour.” The person on the other end yawned in her ear. “Are you still in Milan?”
“Just wake up Beau, and get him on the phone, you stupid servant,” Chandra thundered.
“I’m not a servant,” the woman on the other end said. This is Victoria, Beau’s mother and I most certainly will not wake up my son. He can call you tomorrow if he’s so inclined.”
She’d blown it this time. Her other personality to the rescue.
“Mrs. Hill,” Chandra said in her most conciliatory tone. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you identify yourself? I was upset. I heard my Beau-Beau’s been discharged. No one’s telling me anything, like if he’s even walking again.”
“You’ll have to ask him that tomorrow,” Victoria said firmly. “Good night.”
The phone thudded in Chandra’s ears. Beau’s mother had never been particularly fond of her but she’d never been openly rude. If she and Beau patched things up Victoria would have to go. She’d see to it.
Chandra glanced at her watch. Not much time left to bathe, dress, and get pretty. Not much time at all.
Chapter Ten
“I’ve heard the name Shayna DaCosta before and I’ve seen that face,” Victoria said, straightening up from helping Beau tie his shoelaces.
“Mom,” Beau argued, “you’re in the real estate business. You meet all sorts of people every day. Didn’t you say after a while everyone starts looking alike?”
“True. But this isn’t the case here. Shayna was in the public eye. I know it. She’s too petite to be a model. I see her skinnier, with longer hair. That smile melted hearts.”
It still does.
“Skinnier than she already is? Shayna’s a bone. A shapely bone, mind you.”
“I’m surprise you noticed. I thought you were immune.” The remark was said tongue in cheek.
Beau decided to ignore it. He hated being this helpless, dependent on his mother to help tie his shoes. It had taken what seemed hours to dress and he’d had to put up with the persistent tingling in his legs and feet. The constant feeling of being on pins and needles. He would have to speak with his doctor about this. Maybe even speak to Shayna. What if it was worse news?
Beau did up the buttons on his shirt while his mother droned on about his brother’s visit being further delayed. Jason had been called away on business.
“Bet you’re looking forward to visiting the center,” Victoria said.
He dreaded it. Dreaded answering questions. What could he say to all those hopeful people when he’d given up hope? How did someone like him give a pep talk with any kind of conviction? Visiting might not be such a good idea after all.
Beau wheeled himself across to his desk and spoke to the two betas. Salt and Pepper swam blissfully in their separate vases oblivious to his inner turmoil.
“You two don’t have a care in the world,” he said, as they swam off in opposite directions.
Victoria tossed him an amused look. “Those critters are unique. That Shayna’s got a good sense of humor. You’ve done far worse than her.”
“Cut the matchmaking, Mom,” Beau growled. “Stop taking digs at Chandra.”
“Speaking of the lady, she called,” Victoria said.
“When was this?”
“Some ungodly hour this morning. She mistook me for Towanda and read me the riot act when I refused to wake you up.”
“Sounds like her.”
Beau had once found that witchy side of her personality amusing. Not anymore.
“Did she leave a number?”
“Nope.”
“Then I’ll have to wait until she calls again.”
I’ll bring the van around,” Victoria said, touching his shoulder. “Sure you’re ready for the center?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Left alone with his fish, Beau confided, “What do you think, boys? Would Shayna consider dating a cripple?”
The fish whose gender remained a mystery gulped at him. Beau quickly wheeled himself out. Time to take the advice he’d read in Turning Hurts Into Halos. Reality thinking is not why me? Reality thinking is now what?
Now what? What steps did he need to take to get his life back on track? In just a few minutes he would be meeting with people financially far worse off than he, a positive attitude would go a long way when greeting them. Their lives were miserable enough, and he had an opportunity to change their thinking.
Victoria waited out front. Beau, as quickly as he was able, wheeled himself up the ramp. He was getting used to it. His mother, who’d taken two weeks off from her real estate business, deftly pulled out of the driveway. They were on their way.
Twenty minutes later, they were stopped in front of a long, low, brick building. With some assistance, Beau was able to get out of the back of the van. The front door flung open and s
everal employees flanked him. Most were volunteers he recognized. People who’d dedicated themselves to working with those less fortunate. There were hugs and kisses all around.
“Beau, you’re back. We missed you.”
“Good to see you, Beau.”
“Mr. Beau,” a large woman in an apron greeted, enveloping him and his wheelchair in her ample arms. She kissed him all over.
“Easy, Penny,” Beau said, when his air supply was almost cut off.
Penny was the center’s cook. At one time she’d been homeless. But she’d made a remarkable turnaround, and now she shared her story of redemption freely. She’d been another one of the lost souls Hill Of Dreams had saved.
“Did I hurt you, Mr. Beau?” she asked. “I forget you’re no longer the big strong man you used to be.”
So much for his ego. The hell he wasn’t. He’d show them.
“I’m fine, Penny. Give me another hug. Just go easy this time.”
Ten minutes later, feeling as if he’d been hugged to death by three-quarters of the staff, and almost all of the inhabitants, Beau wheeled himself inside. The one thing he’d insisted on when the building had been constructed was that it be fully accessible. Boy, was he ever glad he did.
Inside, Victoria was already in deep discussion with Mohammed Llewellyn, who managed the place. Mohammed was another Hill Of Dreams graduate. Spotting Beau, Victoria ended the conversation.
“I’ll pick you up at three,” she said.
After she’d left, Mohammed punched his arm and leaned in, confiding, “We missed you, man. The place just hasn’t been the same without you popping in.”
“I couldn’t get here sooner,” Beau mumbled.
“We’re just glad you got here. Ms. DaCosta’s looking around. She brought a young man with her. You know what you’re doing, I assume?”
Beau frowned. “Why, because I let Shayna talk me into visiting?” he asked.
“No, because you let her bring that hoodlum.”
“Huh?”
Mohammed ignored the unspoken question. “So what would you like to see first? Game room? Library? Gym? Lunch will be served in half an hour.”
“Let’s find Shayna, and then decide.”
Before he could make his move, Shayna blew into the room like a breath of fresh air, bringing all that pent-up energy with her. Following sulkily in her wake was a lanky young man with his cap on backward.
“Did I hear my name? You made it,” she said, bending to kiss Beau’s cheek.
That intimate greeting took him by surprise. She’d never done this before. He breathed in her scent. She smelled heavenly, like a fresh spring day that had just been rained on. The tingle in his toes turned into a full-fledged throb, settling in his groin. How could one chaste kiss arouse him so? Even his trousers had tented.
“Who’s this?” Beau asked, eyeing the young man with her up and down. Silly as it was, his testosterone pumped. No one should have Shayna’s attention except him.
Shayna pushed the youth forward. “Beau, I’d like you to meet my little brother, Reggie. He was so excited when he found out you were my patient. He’s been a huge admirer of yours.”
Judging by the kid’s expression he seemed anything but excited. In fact he didn’t even seem the least bit impressed. “Howya doing?” he drawled.
“I hope you don’t mind me bringing Reggie,” Shayna added hurriedly. “We’ve been looking for a black owned organization where he could volunteer since we moved to Denver. Hill Of Dreams seems so perfect.”
“We can always use volunteers,” Beau said pleasantly. “The more the merrier. When are you free?”
“Mostly weekends. Maybe one day after school,” the boy grunted, taking a protective stance next to his sister.
“Great, we’ll take whatever you can give us. Won’t we, Mohammed? Now onto the game room.”
Just as Mohammed was about to place his hands on the bars of his wheelchair, Beau scooted out of his reach. “I can manage.”
High-pitched conversation floated down the hall as they approached the very popular game room. Beau visualized the scene inside. There would be fierce competition on every Ping-Pong table, dartboard, foosball machine, and computer game. Primarily alpha males and a handful of females would watch TV, commenting loudly. More importantly, the place would be vibrant and alive. Forgotten would be the daily woes. Here men and women allowed fantasy to take over, even if just for a day.
They entered the noisy, crowded room where high spirits and unbridled gaiety abounded. Spontaneous laughter ricocheted off the walls and people called to each other in high-pitched voices. There were few rules imposed at the center. The important one being that personal hygiene had to be maintained at all times. Anyone arriving unwashed was handed a change of clothes, bar of soap, and towel, then advised to shower. If they refused, they would be diplomatically asked to leave. Few did. A free four-course meal was the reward for cleanliness.
Beau hunkered down in his wheelchair silently observing. He was not the only non-ambulatory man in the room. Several people in wheelchairs sat playing board games and chatting quietly. For a while he went unnoticed.
Shayna was drawn to the pool table where two beefy types played a strategic game cheered on by enthusiastic onlookers. Her presence made the men preen and show renewed interest in the game. Who wouldn’t perk up when Shayna was there acting as if you were the only one that mattered? Her scent still lingered in Beau’s nostrils and the spot where she’d kissed him tingled. Reggie had plopped down in front of the TV, where a small crowd watched a highly overrated talk show. No one even looked at him, they were so used to a transient crowd.
Mohammed clapped his hands and magically the room came alive. All attention was now focused on Beau.
An off key version of “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow,” followed. In came Penny, wheeling an elaborate sheet cake that could easily feed fifty that she’d baked and iced herself. Colorful skis were mounted on the snowy white icing and the wording read: Welcome Home, Beau. We missed you.
He missed them too. They’d collected money for cards and flowers, showered him with their love. He was patted on the back, thumped on the arm, and embraced by men and women alike. Many of the regulars had come out to wish him well. Even so, he sensed their unease, felt their forced heartiness, and hoped that soon they would be their old argumentative selves with him. Even Cody Cayote, his favorite senior, the first ever to patronize his center, wasn’t his ebullient, posturing self.
The psychologist at the rehab center had prepared him for this, but it still bothered him that they had put on a show for him.
“Can I have a word with you?” Mohammed whispered, when the festivities quieted down enough so that he could be heard and Penny and his cake departed for the lunchroom. The cake would be dessert.
“Sure.”
Mohammed waited until the room emptied before finding a place where they could converse. Shayna was still speaking to one of the women and seemed oblivious to the goings-on around her. Reggie’s attention remained on his game show.
“You know I normally support whatever you do,” Mohammed began. “Our board does as well.”
“Get to the point.”
Mohammed jerked a thumb in Reggie’s direction. “You’re crazy to have him work for you.”
“You’ve been alluding to that from the time he arrived. I’d think you’d be thrilled that a high school kid wants to do something worthwhile. Most don’t give a damn. They’re totally self-focused.”
“That kid doesn’t want to volunteer. His sister’s volunteering him,” Mohammed said, dryly.
“What’s with the skepticism? We’re hurting for volunteers and the young man comes highly recommended. His sister’s my therapist”
The veins on Mohammed’s neck bulged, matching his eyes. “Why would you want to hire a kid your father thinks is trash? Why, Beau? Why? You’d have him a week or two, then off to jail he’d go. Especially if he’s being tried as an adult.”
“Where have you been, under a rock? Oops, sorry, man. You dad’s about to make sure he gets put away for breaking and entering, and beating some woman up.”
Mohammed proceeded to fill him in. Beau listened intently. He felt duped. Why hadn’t Shayna said something? She must have known the prosecutor was his dad. Mohammed told him the crime made all of the major newspapers. Of course, Beau had been too busy wallowing in self-pity to notice. According to Mohammed, the teenager had a history of minor scrapes with the law but no arrests.
Why would Shayna deliberately bring Reggie here in search of a job? What would she get out of deliberately deceiving him? A part of Beau wanted to believe that she hadn’t made the connection. That she didn’t know who his father was. That her sole mission was to keep Reggie busy and off the streets. Wasn’t that one of the reasons he’d created Hill Of Dreams? It was supposed to be a place where indigents and troubled souls found solace. Now he was thinking of turning one away. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have staff members with less than perfect records. He prided himself in giving the underdog a chance, in trusting those others considered untrustworthy. He’d vowed on his biological parents’ grave to help those who needed help.
“Beau, I have to tell you I’m impressed,” Shayna spoke quickly in her excitement. “This is a wonderful concept. You’ve got every ethnic group represented under one roof. I’ve heard the most delightful stories of how this center saves lives. I’ve heard the most wonderful stories about you.”
Beau grunted, hoping his stretched lips could be interpreted as a real smile. He was rapidly processing information. Shayna had an agenda. What was it?
“Let’s tell Shayna about our scholarship program,” Mohammed interjected, coming to his rescue. “We’ll discuss it over lunch. Hey, Reggie, are you hungry?”
“Yup.” The teenager shuffled to his feet and slowly made his way over to them, rubbing his stomach. “Hope that woman can cook.”
His Golden Heart Page 9
