Destination D (7 page)

“Amanda, don't spoil this evening by letting Tracey see you like this.”

“You're right,” she said dabbing at her eyes again.

“I'm going upstairs to take a quick shower,” she said as she glanced at the kitchen clock. “We only have about thirty more minutes before the kids start coming.”

“Amanda, those kids are not going to show up on time. The party doesn't even start until 8:00 and they won't be steppin' up in here until way after 9:00 or even 10:00.”

“You're probably right. Maybe I put the food out too early,” Amanda said anxiously.

“Amanda, the food is fine. Everything is fine, and more importantly, Tracey will be fine,” he said as he kissed her on the lips and gave her a hug. “Just go on upstairs and get dressed, okay?”

“Okay, okay, I'm going!”

Melvin was wrong. A stream of Tracey's friends began arriving around 8:30 p.m. They were all dressed like they were going to a modeling competition.
These kids are wearing labels ranging from Dereon to Gucci to Prada. I didn't realize teenagers were so brand-name conscious,
Amanda thought. Even though she had a teenager of her own, she didn't raise Tracey to be infatuated with name-brand clothing. As long as it was good quality, that was the important thing. Sure, Tracey had a few designer clothes that she had purchased from the local Ross or Marshall's. But, some of the name brands the teens were wearing had her dumbfounded.

The DJ played all of the latest R&B and Hip Hop music from 50 Cent to Alicia Keys. About thirty-five of Tracey's friends showed up with presents.

“Tracey, this party is fly, girl! I can't believe your mama let you throw down like this,” her friend Anita said.

“Yeah, who made all of this food? It's off the chain,” Deandre laughed while licking chicken grease from his fingers.

“Thanks. My mom and her boyfriend, Melvin, did everything.”

“This food is dope! And the music is on point!” Deandre said between chews.

“I don't know how Tisa's party is going to come up against this one,” Judy interrupted. “Hers is tomorrow night and I see she's ova' there in the corner taking notes with Cynthia,” Judy laughed.

“Girl, please, I'm not even worried. I'm sure hers will be nice, too,” Tracey said, waving her hand nonchalantly in the air while holding a plate full of food in the other.

“Yeah, right,” Anita sneered. Both she and Judy looked at each other and laughed again.

“I bet your girl is going to be a serious copycat! She always has been envious of you, Tracey. And now that you are dating her man!”

“Who, Tony?”

“Who? Tony?” Judy mocked her. “Yes, Tony. You know she's had her eye on him since freshman year.”

“No, I didn't know that. But oh, snap! Cause he's mine now,” Tracey laughed. The grin on her face could be seen all the way from across the room and it seemed to draw Tony toward her effortlessly.

“I hate to interrupt you ladies, but may I dance with my baby?” Tony said, reaching for Tracey's hand as Maxwell's sultry “Pretty Wings” bellowed through the speakers. Amanda and Melvin were both keeping a distant eye on them while taking turns refreshing the punch bowl and replenishing the food.

“Goooone, Miss Tracey,” Anita said, teasing loudly in her ear.

“Yeah, do your thang with that
hot
Mr. Tony,” Cynthia whispered in the other ear.

“Well, of course you can,” Tracey told Tony. He took her by the hand and walked her to the dance floor. He gently wrapped his arms around her waist and slowly pressed his body against hers, taking in the scent of sweet flowers and mint. It was almost as if she had bathed in peppermint leaves. Suddenly he remembered Melvin's earlier warning and stepped back a few inches.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, why?”

“You usually don't dance this way, that's why!”

“Oh, that,” he said coolly, trying to play off his little repositioning. “Well, uh, let's just say, I don't need to be getting my friend too excited right now,” he said, eyeing his groin.

“Oh, I see,” Tracey giggled. “I'm sorry,” she said, following his lead.

Tony leaned in toward her ear and whispered just loud enough for her to understand him over the blaring music. “Listen, Tracey, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to keep this up!”

“What happened?” she whispered back.

“It's Melvin.”

“Melvin? What about him?”

He's suspicious.”

“Melvin is always suspicious,” Tracey said, as she tried to whisper and nibble at his ear at the same time.

“Tracey, stop that!” Tony looked around for Melvin's shadow.

“What is with you? Ease up, will ya'? I'm just playin'!”

“Well, this is not the time or place to be doing that kind of thing! Trust me. Tracey, I'm serious.” His voice lowered. “I don't want to be in the middle of this when it comes crashing down, and baby, believe me, it's going to come down hard!”

“Tony, just a little while longer, please!” she begged, as she pulled him closer to her and buried her head in his chest.

“Tracey…”

“Shhh…just dance with me, Tony. I don't want to do anything but be in your arms.”

After two more slow songs, the DJ blended the second one into the upbeat lyrics of Mary J. Blige.

“Go, Tracey, it's yo' party! Go, Tracey, it's yo' party!” The chant went on for twenty minutes.

“Tracey, hey, that's your song. Now c'mon, let's get this party started!” Tony said, as he joined in the chant, relieved that Tracey was out from under him and decreasing his chances of worrying about another hard-on.

The last song ended right at 12:30 a.m. as Amanda had requested. By the time the last parent picked up their non-licensed teen, it was 1:15 a.m. and Amanda and Melvin were exhausted. Together they piled the last two bowls into the dishwasher and peeked out the window. They saw Tracey standing in the driveway waving goodbye to her last guest, Tony. When she walked back into the house to thank her mom and Melvin, they saw the lost and dreamy look on her face. She gave them each a hug.

“Thank you so much, Mama and Melvin.”

“You're welcome, baby,” Amanda said.

“It sure was a really nice party, Tracey. I know you will always remember it,” Melvin said, followed by a peck on the cheek.

“Yes, I will. Well, I'm going to bed now.” Tracey stretched her arms out and headed up the stairs. “Good night,” she said with a yawn.

“Good night, baby,” Amanda answered back.

Melvin stretched his arms. “Well, Miss Amanda, I guess I'll be heading home, now.”

“Oh, I'm sorry you have to leave at such a late hour. I know you're tired.”

“I am. But, I'll be fine.”

“Melvin, you can stay here on the sofa bed if you want to,” Amanda said hesitantly.

“No, thank you,” he chuckled, surrendering his hands in the air. “The last time I slept on that thing, I had to go to my chiropractor for a month.”

“All right, then. Call me when you get home, okay?”

“I will, baby,” he said, then kissed her and walked to his truck.

Tracey slipped out of her dress and stuffed it under her comforter so it looked like she was in the bed. She pulled out her favorite pair of skinny jeans and her Hampton T-shirt and looked through the window, waiting patiently for Melvin's truck to pull away. She eased open the window and slid out onto the balcony, then crept down each rung of the white trellis until she reached the ground floor. She walked for two blocks and then jumped into Tony's car and took a deep breath as Tony drove off. “Is everything okay? Did anyone see you?” Tony asked nervously.

Tracey shook her head as she slowly dug down into her purse for her phone and began decisively pressing the buttons.

“Who could you possibly be texting at this time of night?”

“My Aunt Dee.”

“Who is Aunt Dee?”

“She and my mom used to be really good friends.”

“Used to be?”

“Yeah, they still care about each other. It's just complicated.”

“Tracey, this is crazy! I thought you didn't want anyone else to know about this. Now, you're bringing in a third party?
This
Aunt Dee—who by the way—I never heard of until now!”

“I know this sounds crazy, but Aunt Dee has always been great about giving me advice and I really
need
some right now.”

“No, what you
need
is your head examined! And after the doc is finished examining you, it will be my turn!”

Cabin Pressure

P
am looked in the mirror at her bloodshot eyes. The clock on her nightstand flashed 8:00 p.m., but her body's clock felt like it was closer to midnight. While bubbles filled the tub, she slipped off her suit and dropped it and her undergarments on the bathroom floor.

She grabbed her cup of herbal tea near the sink and set it on the side of the tub next to her sponge and potpourri-scented candles. Pam lit the candles and watched the bubbles grow larger until they eventually rose to the edge of the tub.

“All I want to do is soak my tired ass in this tub and go to bed,” she said as she stepped into the tub, immersing herself in the warm bubbles and laying her head back on the foam pillow. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep until the phone shattered her peace.

Damn, Murphy's Law!
She looked at the caller ID panel next to the tub, but didn't recognize the phone number. Her curiosity got the best of her as she picked up the phone to see if the person left a message. The phone indicated she had a message and she dialed in her code.

“Hello, Pam. It's me, Greg.”

Pam's heart felt like it had been blasted with a defibrillator. She caught her breath and held the phone tightly to her ear as she listened in disbelief to Greg's message. She fumbled for her tea and wished she had poured something stronger in her cup.

“I've been calling you at work and at home, but you are not returning my calls. I really need to see you. I'm leaving the country in a week, and I'd like to see you before I leave…for good. This will be my final call, Pam. So, if you're listening, I just want you to know that if I don't hear from you, then I'll assume that you want to leave things as they are. But, if you do want to talk, I'll be at Piedmont Park tomorrow morning at 8:00 where we used to meet. If you can't be there, please call or text me. My cell number is 312-555-6878. Good bye, Pam.”

Pam sat straight up in her bed. She stared at the clock on her nightstand for what seemed like the umpteenth time and watched the lit numbers slowly change to 5:00 a.m. She thought her
worst
nightmare was Amanda quitting right before her major trial. She was wrong. Greg had managed to top that.

“I can't believe I've let that bitch and that son-of-a-bitch get me so worked up like this,” she swore, punching her pillow in a futile attempt to make herself comfortable as she struggled to fall asleep. The phone rang and she looked at the clock through one eye and saw it was only fifteen minutes from the last time she looked.

Shit, let me guess.
She pulled on the phone cord and maneuvered the receiver to her ear and answered groggily. “Greg?”

“Is this Pamela?”

Pam stared at the receiver.
Who in the hell is calling me at this ungodly hour and calling me Pamela?
“Pam speaking,” she said rudely to the unfamiliar voice.

“Oh, I do apologize, Pam. It sounds like I awoke you from your beauty rest.” The Italian accent on the other end of the receiver hummed through the phone like a soothing wake-up call.

“Marco?”

“Yes, it's, me.”

“I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else.” She looked at the clock again and rubbed her eyes. “What are you doing calling me at this hour? And better yet, how did you get my home phone number?”

“Well, to answer your first question, my flight just got in, so I'm in town. And to answer your second question, since you were so evasive about giving me your phone number yourself, I did some detective work and found it on my own.”

“I see. Detective work, huh? I thought I told you not to call me.”

“No, you said you would probably give me your number if I met you at another time or place.”

Pam was silent. She could not help but be a little flattered by Marco's assertiveness. A tiny smile began to form on her lips. “Well,
I'm
impressed. You get an ‘E' for the effort you've made, considering we just met last week at a party.”

“You are quite impressionable.”

“And you are quite incorrigible!”

“Am I, now?” he said, trying to feign innocence. “When can I see you?”

Her smile grew larger as she gazed up at her ceiling. This guy just didn't know how to take no for an answer. “You can't,” she said coolly.

“Why not?”

“I have a lot of things I have to do at work today.”

“Well, I'm sure whatever it is,
you
will make sure that it is taken care of.”

“True, very true.” There was a dead silence between them. She was a sucker for an accent.

“Pam? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I'm here.”

“Well, what about tomorrow?'

“Tomorrow's no good either.”

“Hey, I just thought of a crazy idea. Are you…how…you say…game?”

“Game for what?”

“Game for a quick breakfast?”

She laughed. “A quick what?”

“You know, breakfast. The most important meal of the day for you Americans.”

“Oh, and it's not for the Italians?”

“Not really, for me, anyway. But, aside from that, come meet me for breakfast.”

“You're serious?” Pam was taken aback by his persistence.

““Of course I'm serious.”

“Didn't I just say that today is not good for me, either?”

“Don't you normally eat breakfast?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then it's settled.”

“Settled?”

“Yes, I'm staying at the Ritz Carlton, which is right down the street from your office. So you can come here for a quick bite and make it to work in plenty of time.”

The sound of the alarm clock blared 6:00 a.m., giving Pam a jolt as she hit the snooze button and reset her clock for 7:00 a.m.

“Pam? Will you meet me for breakfast?”

“No, Marco. Perhaps another time.”

“All right, then, another time,” he said, sounding both surprised and disappointed. “Call me if you change your mind. My flight doesn't leave until the day after tomorrow at 8:00 that night.”

“Okay, but I won't be changing my mind.”

“I hope you get everything done at work before I leave.”

“Thank you, Marco. I hope so, too. Goodbye.”

Pam and Marco had a most unusual first meeting. She received an invitation to attend a victory party at one of her client's homes, Memorial Hospital's chief surgeon, Dr. Gerald Collins. Since his estate was only fifteen minutes from her firm, her intent was to make a brief appearance on behalf of the firm and leave to return to her office and review the Tyfish case.

Gerald Collins was as debonair as he was handsome and women flocked to him. Pam guessed he was about 55 years old, but he looked 45. She wasn't sure if it was just good genes or several plastic surgeries that made the good doctor able to hang onto his youth. There was no trace of gray to be found in his charcoal mane, and his body looked like he had been a longtime triathlete. Dr. Collins had been voted one of Atlanta's most eligible bachelors until his third wife nabbed him, barely before the ink had time to dry on his cover story in
Southern Prestige,
a new upscale social magazine targeting the elite of the South.

Pam was Collin's defense attorney for a case where he was being sued for authorizing the surgery that ended a football player's career. Ironically, the football player was nicknamed Highway Hathaway for his phenomenal speed. He was driving 180 miles an hour on a dirt road when he hit a bump sending his 2009 Porsche 911 Turbo into an uncontrollable tailspin. The car flipped over several times with Highway still strapped in the seat belt, trapped between the dashboard and the steering wheel. The impact was so forceful that the front of the dashboard bolted through his leg and partially severed it. The rescue team had to use the Jaws of Life to pull Highway from the mangled vehicle, and an emergency helicopter rushed him to Memorial Hospital.

Under Dr. Collins' instructions, the surgical team had to make a quick decision to amputate his leg because Highway was losing a lot of blood and was about to go into shock. The irony was that it saved his life and ended his career at the same time. The football player was suing the doctor for loss of wages and for amputating his leg without his consent.

Pam proved that Collins acted on behalf of Highway's best interest because he was unconscious at the time that the emergency unit brought him to the hospital. Without the doctor's quick and compassionate thinking, not only would Highway
not
have a career, but he also wouldn't have a
life
to live either. The jury acquitted Collins and the hospital of any wrong-doing. Pam was now his lifelong hero and one of the highest revenue generators at her firm.

As Pam pulled up to the iron gates of the estate that day, the security guard checked her name off the list and she proceeded up the winding driveway. She couldn't help but notice the lush gardens strategically planted around the periphery of the estate. Reminiscent of an Italian villa, the property boasted cypress trees, deep red rose bushes, and fragrant rosemary and lavender bushes that curved along the walkways and the sloping grounds.

A stunning Tuscan mansion stood at the top of the long winding driveway, drenched in a soft marble yellow tone accentuated with a burnt amber Tuscan tiled roof. Guests were greeted by a lovely water fountain that displayed a grandfather reading the Old Testament to his grandson.

“Dr. Gerald Collins is livin' large. This place is unbelievable,” Pam said as she parked her car underneath the stone detailed portico and was greeted by a valet.

“Good evening, Ms. Madison. Welcome to Collins
tagliare di Italia,”
said the very attractive young man. He opened her door and took her hand to assist her out of the car.

“So, Gerald has a name for his place, too?” The valet smiled and nodded. “That figures,” Pam said quietly under her breath. “So, what does that mean in English?”

“Collins's slice of Italy,” the valet politely answered.

Gerald would be the one to give his estate a name and no less after him. He was truly in love with his success and worshipped the ground he walked on. No wonder she admired him so much; she laughed to herself as she handed the valet a ten-dollar bill.

“Thank you, madam, but we are not taking tips this evening.”

“My, my, my. He is truly celebrating,” Pam said, impressed, as she kindly took back her tip. She walked across the cobblestone driveway to two twelve-foot mahogany doors. Before she could pull the cord doorbell, a very meticulously dressed butler appeared and opened the door to the most stunning grand foyer Pam had ever seen. The entire area was punctuated with imported marble flooring, Venetian columns, and a stunning domed ceiling that featured hand-painted angels seated on top of clouds.

“Welcome, Ms. Madison. Dr. Collins will be so happy that you were able to come,” he said stiffly.

“Why, thank you,” Pam said, somewhat caught off guard by the butler's familiarity with her, especially since they had never met.

“Let's hear it for the best attorney in the world,” shouted a loud voice from the top of the banister. The voice was Dr. Collins, and Pam couldn't tell if he was inebriated or just truly excited to see her at his party.

“Dr. Collins! Hello, there!” she shouted back.

“Please, you know I hate that formal title coming from you,” he said, feigning annoyance.

“Gerald,” Pam quickly corrected herself as he made his way down the winding staircase. His usual air of sophistication was complemented tonight by a black smoking jacket and charcoal gray ascot. His lips formed tightly around an unlit imported cigar, his trademark whenever he threw lavish parties. Champagne glasses raised and the crowd cheered, “Hear, hear!”

The butler arrived with a glass of champagne for Pam. She politely took it and raised her glass to her audience and took a sip. A drink was what she needed right about now, to take the edge off of her startling welcome. She had no idea that Dr. Collins was going to make
her
the focus of his party.

Every doctor, lawyer, and political constituent had flown into Atlanta for this party, which seemed like more of a congratulatory party for Pam instead of her client. Pam decided she would rise to the occasion and take advantage of the accolades that people were bestowing upon her.

Dr. Collins motioned to his wife, Adrienne, to join him in the middle of the foyer. She tried her best to maneuver her way gracefully through the large crowd that was beginning to huddle around Pam. The hostess's exotic bluish-green eyes surveyed Pam from across the room, her large belly leading the way as she waddled toward her. Adrienne was seven months pregnant and was wearing a lovely tea-length white linen maternity dress with a pearl neckline that revealed a small portion of her cleavage. Ruffles skirting the dress swayed elegantly as she walked. Her dark chestnut hair was pulled back taut and neatly twisted into a bun that was adorned with a pearl barrette, matching the beads on the bodice of her dress and her pearl-studded earrings.