Dream Girl Awakened (11 page)

“So what's it like?”

“What, T?”

“Going with your wife to the visits?”

James sighed. His firsthand experience with cancer occurred when his Aunt Eunice had succumbed to it four years ago. He felt horrible using her experience to meet his needs, but he had business to handle. He'd face the music later.

“Well, she goes through a machine that looks like a chamber. I guess the radiation is hard to bear because the last time, she asked them to stop.”

“What are the doctors saying?”

“It's not looking too good right now. I hope I'm not being disrespectful, but can we change the subject? It's difficult for me to talk about this.”

“I'm sorry. I've just been concerned about you and wanted to see if there was anything I could do.”

“You've done enough. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you coming out. Especially since I haven't been able to communicate with you that much.”

“Not a problem. I figured you were knee-deep in appointments and visits with her cancer. I'm a very patient person. I can wait.” Tawatha sipped her tea. “Ohh, I've got some good news for you.”

“What's new with you?”

“I got a different place! My mother's boyfriend, Mr. J.B., let me rent one of the properties he owns. You wouldn't believe how gorgeous it is. The kids love it. You've got to stop by and see me sometimes.” Tawatha scribbled her address and new number on a slip of paper and tucked it inside James's wallet sitting on the table.

“I'll do that. I can't promise you it will be soon, but I'll make it my business to visit you.”

“You mean
us
, right? You haven't met my kids yet. I haven't told them about you, but I know they're gonna love you.”

James chewed more of his panini. He stared at his watch.

“I'm not keeping you from work, am I?”

“Course not. I got a little extra time from a project we did a few weeks ago. I told Mr. Hinton and Mr. Conyers I'd be back a little late. You really think I'd miss a chance to spend some time with you?”

Tawatha took off her left shoe and rubbed James's leg. She had vowed not to sleep with him anymore without a commitment, some form of a closer relationship. However, that didn't stop her flirting. She grew moist thinking about their intimate times and looked forward to the night they could resume their action between the sheets. Her toes traveled closer to his penis. At that moment a beautiful woman wearing a pink T-shirt emblazoned with
Save the Tatas
passed by and said hello to them. She froze when there was no response.

“This thing really has you down, doesn't it?”

“Maybe I shouldn't have come hounding you like this. I think I'll head back to the hospital. Let me take care of this for us.”

“I got it. You don't need the hassle of paying for lunch.”

Tawatha fished thirty dollars from her purse, paid the bill, left a tip on the table, and locked arms with James. They headed to his vehicle.

“You mind riding with me to pay a few bills?”

“Wherever you go, I'm there.”

James headed to IPL. He cued up music in his CD player, then made small talk with Tawatha. He found a space in front of the building and parked.

“T, look in the glove compartment and give me my checkbook.”

Tawatha flipped through insurance papers, bills, and deposit slips. “Baby, it's not here.”

“It's gotta be. That's where I keep it.”

She searched the glovebox again. “Seriously, James, it's not here.”

“Damn, I musta left it home after paying some other bills. I'll just pay the bill later.”

“James, it doesn't make any sense to go back home and come back. Let me give you the money.”

“You know I can't take anything from you.”

“Boy, please. I just got a raise and I'm doing okay. How much you owe?”

James paused. “Really, I can't.”

Tawatha whipped out her wallet. “I won't take no for an answer. You've been good to me. You helped feed my kids with the money you gave me. Please, let me pay you back. We're gonna walk in here, pay this bill, and drop the subject. Got it?”

“How can I say no to that kind of assertiveness?”

Tawatha and James entered the utility company to pay his bill. When they settled the matter and retrieved a receipt from the cashier, Tawatha walked out feeling a sense of accomplishment. She was cementing her place in his life, showing him she could be trusted. She'd never experienced an equal partnership with a man and refused to let this opportunity pass her by. He dropped her off at Hinton and Conyers, kissed her left cheek and promised he'd call in a few days. As she sashayed into the office, she made a mental note to call Roberta later for money to pay for Aunjanue's and Sims's uniforms. IPL had just received the money she had set aside for the children's clothes.

V
ictoria slid her Mercedes into a parking space at Dorcas House. The only reason she agreed to volunteer at the domestic violence shelter was out of respect for her neighbor and friend, Charlotte Nicholas. Charlotte and Victoria enjoyed shopping, lunch, and occasional trips out of town. To Victoria's dismay, Charlotte had grown tired of sitting around watching television or spending countless hours at the mall. She'd found a greater purpose through volunteerism and declined a lot of Victoria's invites over the past few months. Victoria moped at first, but decided she'd give volunteering a shot. She wasn't convinced helping others was good for the soul, but peering at the massive, stone façade of Dorcas House, now was as good a time as any to see what the volunteering hype was about. She freshened up her makeup in the mirror, tightened her clip-on ponytail, and exited her car. She walked toward the entrance of the building, clutching her new Louis Vuitton bag. She'd enjoyed a full-body massage and cleansing at the Flowing Nile salon two days ago. She also shopped for new clothes and a few household items. She knew the items she bought a few days ago were too glitzy to wear to a shelter, so she dug in her closet to find the cheapest garments she'd purchased in months. She'd dug out a pair of Dereon jeans, a pullover sweater, and matching ballerina flats. She wanted to be comfortable for the day. She pulled on the front door, stunned to
find it locked. Someone peered from a window inside and pointed to the buzzer. Victoria rang the buzzer near the door, leaned into the intercom.

“Hi, I'm Victoria Faulk. I'm filling in for Charlotte Nicholas today.”

Moments later, the lock clicked and Victoria was welcomed into the facility by Miriam Jacob, the shelter's Outreach and Community Initiatives Coordinator.

“Mrs. Faulk, welcome to Dorcas House. I'm Miriam Jacob. Charlotte told me you'd be with us today.”

“It's so good to meet you. Please call me ‘Victoria.' ”

Victoria suspected Miriam devoted her life to the shelter by the way she ushered her inside, as if she were about to take her on a tour of Egyptian artifacts.
I wonder what she does in her spare time.
Victoria observed Miriam's weathered countenance. Although she wore a snazzy burgundy pantsuit, a matronly chignon bun, and a colorful pair of Donna Karan glasses, Miriam's face signaled so much beyond her warm smile. Victoria followed Miriam to the front desk where she was instructed to sign in. Two women were seated in the lobby, watching HGTV and neatening magazines. The woman wrapped in a blanket gave Victoria a vicious once-over and turned her head. The other never looked up from the magazines.

“When Charlotte told me she had a replacement, I was a little leery. I'm very protective of the women and children. We can't let everyone roam the building. But when she told me who you were, I felt at ease.”

“I understand the sensitive nature of what goes on here.”

“I'm so grateful for everything. Please tell your husband we couldn't have completed the last phase of our renovation without him.”

“Excuse me?”

“I bet you're so knee-deep in philanthropy, your accountant keeps track of what you donate.” Miriam pointed upstairs. “I'll show you the Dr. Winston Faulk computer lab on the second leg of the tour. The children are grateful to have such a wonderful area to study.”

Victoria blushed.
I can't believe he spent our money without saying anything about it.
“We try to meet the needs of the community as best we can,” she managed through a tight smile.

“Most areas of the building are locked and require a passcode for entry.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Tell me what you know about domestic violence, Victoria.”

“Unfortunately, not very much, Mrs. Jacob.”

“Call me, ‘Miriam.' I hope today won't be the last time you're with us. I've got pamphlets for you to take home, but the quick and dirty is that domestic violence affects women, men, and children.”

“Men live here?”

“No, our facility houses women and children only. If a man comes here, we refer him to another shelter in our network. As far as women are concerned, we've housed women from trailer parks, mansions, black, white, Latino, rich, poor; you name it, we've seen it. Most people assume abuse is only physical, but it takes many forms.”

“How so?”

“Well, a woman can be fiscally abused. A man can hold the purse strings and dole out money how and when he feels like it. We've had clients come with just the clothes on their backs and lacking essentials like sanitary napkins and toiletries.”

Miriam's words stung Victoria. She struggled to manage her three-thousand-dollar-a-month allowance, but that was what it was,
her mad money. Winston was always generous in supplying their needs and many of their wants.
How could a woman be so weak as to not stash away any money while she was married? Of course, it could be those maverick working women who had to contribute to the household funds like Aruba.
She thought how lucky she was to have landed a life of comfort and luxury. If only Winston didn't pull stunts like the computer lab, they'd have even more.

Victoria tuned Miriam out as she fixed her eyes on striking wall murals. The vulnerability and innocence of the art captivated her. She was positive children had painted the designs. She recalled childhood paintings created with her aunt as they drank sparkling grape juice and nestled beneath the orange trees in their California backyard.

“Over here is our kitchen,” said Miriam. “A lot of women share specific duties outlined on the schedule posted on the wall. We serve three meals a day. Will you be joining us for lunch?”

“I've eaten already, thank you.”

Victoria pictured burgers, fries, and all manner of fattening calories in the kitchen. She refused to fall off the wagon and gain weight.

Miriam continued the tour, pointing out the computer lab, the play area, staff offices, and the TV area. As they exited the TV room, Victoria glimpsed a heavyset woman limping toward a leather chair. She scratched a Barack Obama bandana on her head; the rhinestoned words
YES WE CAN
moved with the motion of her fingertips. A little girl, whom Victoria imagined to be eight or nine, followed the woman, touching the hem of her tattered housecoat. The woman eased in the chair, holding her stomach and wincing while she sought a comfortable spot. The girl pulled a footstool close to the woman.

“Alice, just prop my leg up a little.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Alice placed her mother's left leg on the footstool. She pulled a small jar of shea butter from the pocket of her faded-out, denim jumpsuit. She removed a slipper from the woman's wrinkled, worn foot and massaged it carefully, taking care to rub around the visible burns.

“Ouch, not so hard, baby.”

“I'm doing it soft, Momma.”

The mother removed dark shades, revealing a swollen shiner and a jagged, fresh scar that ran between her eyes and nose. Exasperated, she allowed Alice to soothe the pain that seemed second nature to her. As Alice rubbed her mother's foot, she stared longingly at Victoria in the doorway.

“Ma'am, you smell good and you're so pretty,” Alice's raspy voice called to Victoria.

“Not half as pretty as you are,” said Victoria.

Alice's face reddened. She returned to massaging her mother's feet and wondered what it would be like to live with Victoria.

Miriam redirected Victoria's attention to the tour. Victoria kept stride with Miriam as they entered a small room marked
Donation Center
.

“What happened to Alice's mother?” Victoria whispered.

“They came about a week ago. Sylvia, that's Alice's mother's name, drove here from Cincinnati, Ohio. After ten years of marriage, being burned with hot water, curling irons, and enduring countless beatings, she walked out. Sylvia said Alice's classmates taunted her about the beatings, the black eyes. Bullies pushed Alice in her back and said her mother was dressing up for Halloween before the season started with all that black makeup on her face. She said that was enough for her to flee.”

Victoria took in Miriam's words, unable to give a response.

“Sylvia is a tough cookie. She'll make it.”

“I hope so.”

“Hey, you have a job to do,” said Miriam, trying to soften the atmosphere. “This is Charlotte's pet project. She said you're fabulous at organization. As you can see, we get countless donations from the community. So many in fact, they're strewn about and need to be straightened out. Think you can handle it?”

“I most certainly can.”

“I'll leave you here to get started. Charlotte usually devotes two hours, three days each week. Do what you can and don't feel compelled to do it all at once. It will take time to get all these items together.”

“I'll at least knock out the toiletries and some of the small electronics.”