Dream Girl Awakened (14 page)

“Ms. Atkins, these are the essential job functions for the position offered. Please take a look at them and let me know if there is anything on the list you're unable to perform.”

“Mrs. Dixon, you can call me ‘Lasheera,' ” she said, taking the list.

Lasheera read the list, then passed it back to Aruba.

“I'm confident I can perform all the tasks listed.”

“Good. So, Lasheera, of all jobs on the planet, why are you at State Farm?”

“I want to learn something different. I'm looking for a new career, not just a job. I would like to have a decent income, health insurance for my son, and the possibility of a promotion in the future.” Lasheera recited the prompts from coaching sessions.

“How much money do you expect to make from this job?”

“The advertised position is twelve dollars an hour. I think that is a good salary.”

“How long do you plan to stay with the company?”

“At least four years. I read about the tuition reimbursement and I want to utilize it for school. I'd like to pursue a degree in marketing or business.”

“Why should I hire you?”

Lasheera took in a deep breath. She knew the answer to this question could be interpreted so many ways. She didn't want to sound too arrogant, but she didn't want to sound as if she lacked the confidence or ability to perform the job.

“I'm hardworking, willing to learn new things, and I've always respected State Farm as a company.”

Aruba continued her questions, impressed that Lasheera answered everything. She seemed genuinely enthused about being her assistant. The job was filled with filing, data processing, and a few other duties she'd teach Lasheera in the coming months. She had a good feeling about her and looked forward to getting to know her better. After Lasheera produced a list of questions from her purse about State Farm and the job itself, Aruba knew the interview was a good one. She'd have to call Mike and thank him for sending such a wonderful candidate.

“Welcome to State Farm, Lasheera. How soon are you available to start?”

“I can start today if you'd like.”

Lasheera walked around Aruba's desk, then hugged her.

“No, we've got to get your paperwork together and there are a few things I need to do before you start,” said Aruba. She wasn't a touchy-feely person, but felt compelled to embrace Lasheera. “Let me take you around the office, show you where everything is and introduce you to some folks.”

Lasheera fought hard to contain her grin as she followed Aruba, shaking hands with several people in offices and cubicles. Try as she might, she couldn't. She'd been unemployed so long that she'd almost given up. She had the thank-you note Brenda had helped her write in her pocket, but she would write a new one for Aruba. She appreciated the opportunity to begin anew and felt a sense of loyalty to the woman who made it possible. The minute she left State Farm, she'd tell Tawatha and Jamilah about the woman responsible for helping her get Zion back.

“M
ommy, I want pizza!”

“You do? Jerry, how about something from the house?”

“Awww, Mommy!”

Aruba tickled Jeremiah's stomach in the Angels in Halos parking lot. After interviewing Lasheera, conducting a meeting, and helping Bria crunch numbers, there was no time to respond to Winston. Maybe he'd think she was pondering the notion.

Aruba lifted a flyer from her windshield and placed Jeremiah in his booster seat.

“Where's Daddy?”

“He's home, Jerry.”
At least that's where he'd better be
.

Aruba's heart sank when she unfolded the flyer. She knew she should be happy for the success of others, but announcements like the one in her hands kept her stuck in the past, constantly wondering what if. Mitch Coleman, the father of one of Jeremiah's classmates, was on tap to open a third salon in the city. The others were adult hair salons; the current opening was a kiddie salon, specializing in hair care for girls only. Divas in Training promised to be the one-stop shop for girls ages five to seventeen for hair care services, nail and spa treatments, and free promotional items. She remembered James mentioning the idea of a kiddie salon years ago, but never following through on the seed. She forwarded him business plan information, funding sources, and found a few contacts
through Bria's husband, Sidney, but nothing ever came of the effort. She looked at Jeremiah in the rearview mirror and hoped her son would grow up to be a more responsible man than his father. Aruba called James at least seven times after leaving Winston and returning to the office. Her calls went unanswered, her text messages ignored. She wanted him to pick up Jeremiah so that she could run a few errands before returning home. He finally called at five-thirty to say he'd been out paying bills. His curt tone managed, “I made baked chicken and seasoned green beans” before hanging up. A twinge of guilt rose in Aruba. Had she been supportive enough? Had she done all she could to back him up, to bring his goals and dreams to fruition?

When she looked back over the years they'd shared, the emotional war inside resumed. James had experienced so many false starts and setbacks, many of which were self-imposed. Their early conversations over Chinese take-out brimmed with the possibility of owning a business or two, buying a home, purchasing rental properties, and traveling. People who saw them together always told her how lucky she was, that she had snagged a fine husband. Where were they when she was left to pay the bills when he was unemployed, or field calls from other women who said they could love him better? Or when, in a surprise show of generosity, Victoria had allowed them to use her Brown County cabin as a wedding anniversary gift and James spent most of the night on the phone with a woman whose name she didn't know. It was definitely time to pitch a new tent elsewhere. Winston was the perfect camping partner.

Aruba pulled into the garage, lifted Jeremiah, and went inside. The smell of James's famous chicken permeated the house. She would eat salad and drink a raspberry Crystal Light green tea for
dinner. She was full from lunch and had shared the leftover food she'd cooked for Winston with her coworkers.

“Hi, James, how are you?” Aruba's attempt at small talk was met with silence.

“Daddy, did you miss me?”

“You know I did, little man,” said James. He smiled at Jeremiah, then rolled his eyes at Aruba.

“What's the problem, James?”

“That's what I'm trying to figure out. It's time to eat. You and Jerry should get ready for dinner.”

Aruba headed upstairs with Jeremiah, changed into comfortable lounging gear, and carried Jeremiah on her back to the dinner table. She was in no mood for James's games, his silence, or his pity party. He was probably in a sour mood about being unemployed. She didn't know what he'd been doing all day, but he must have been honest about paying the bills. The lights were on and she knew this was disconnect day. She was tempted to call IPL to see how he paid the bill, but she decided to back off, let him exhibit responsibility, since he swore she didn't trust anything he did. The house was spotless as usual, so maybe he'd spent the day cleaning. Either way, he had no right to give her attitude. Lately, he seemed more miserable than she remembered. Maybe it was time they both admitted their marriage wasn't working, admit they should call it quits.

Jeremiah jumped in his favorite seat next to James, and said grace. The table was set, a candle lit, and the food splayed about as if they were in a restaurant. She eyed James as he cut a breast in small pieces and stacked roasted potatoes atop his green beans. Stacking food was always a bad sign. She'd grown accustomed to his habits over the years and knew sinister thoughts were lurking.

“Would you at least talk to me?”

“Not right now,” James said.

Clinking silverware was the night's conversation. After dinner, James cleared the table as Aruba retired upstairs. She hated the silent treatment, but refused to be the peacemaker tonight. She bathed Jeremiah, then went to bed. Throughout the night, she felt James's presence in the bedroom. He walked in, stared at her, and walked downstairs again. Her heart raced. She gawked at the alarm clock. Two-fifteen in the morning. She had to get up at seven. She slipped into a robe, then headed downstairs. The smell of coffee hit her nose. When she reached the dining room, the sight of the contents of her purse strewn about enraged her. She approached James with quick steps, her fists balled in a tight knot. James sat at the head of the table, rifling through her wallet, sipping a cup of coffee.

“James, what are you doing with my purse?” Aruba snatched her bag from James.

“I don't know. Trying to figure out why my wife feels the need to open a separate bank account without my knowledge.”

“What are you talking about?”

James stood in her face, waving a business card. “Who is Mitch Coleman? Is he the reason you need to hide money from me?”

Aruba snatched the business card. “
He
is the father of one of the boys who attends Jeremiah's daycare. He opened a new salon and I thought he might be someone you could hook up with for work.
Work!
You know, that thing you do so very little of these days?” Aruba gathered the items from the table and stuffed them in her purse.

“Answer me, Aruba, why are you hiding money?”

“Answer me, James. Who is Ms. T. and why is my son mentioning her?”

“I don't know a Ms. T.! Don't try to put this back on me.”

“James, you are such a liar. I guess the thong I found under the sofa just walked in here and decided to take a nap, huh? My ass isn't
that
big, so I know it doesn't belong to me.”

“I don't know what you're talking about!”

“Of course you don't. I found it the night of the accident when I came home. The thong is the reason I opened a new account. Bounced checks, no savings, and no unity are the reasons I opened a new account. As soon as I get enough money, Jerry and I are out of here!”

James advanced a few steps and stood in Aruba's face. “You're not leaving me!”

“Why? It's not like you want to be married, James. You have more than enough women to step in and take my place. I'm sick of putting up with your bullshit, James. I should have left years ago!”

Aruba walked away from James, surprised by his swift footfalls. He jerked her left arm. “Don't fucking walk away from me! You're not leaving me and you're not taking my son away from me!”

“Don't touch me, James!”

Aruba headed upstairs with James on her heels. She walked into their bedroom, stepped into the closet, pulled down an armful of clothing. She dragged a set of luggage from the closet. The most she managed to do was unzip the first bag when the first punch met her face, knocking her to the floor.

“I said you're not going anywhere, so let me see you try it!”

Aruba held her face, kicked James in the groin, and ran to Jeremiah's bedroom. She gathered him, a few of his things, her purse, then zipped to the garage while James was still down. She backed out the driveway, her hands trembling, Jeremiah crying. She didn't know where she would go, what she would do, but she was thankful she had enough money to hide out for a while. She exited the
subdivision, then pulled into a gas station parking lot. She took a deep breath, knowing now was the time to make her move. There was no way she could go back home again. It was time for Jeremiah to get used to the new life he was entitled to. From her BlackBerry she texted:

Chicago will have to wait. James and I had a fight. Jeremiah and I are going to the Conrad. Please get in touch with me as soon as possible. Please don't tell Victoria.

“T
ori, the hospital just paged me. I need to go in.”

Victoria peered from her eye mask and waved her arm as she always did. She never questioned his whereabouts, pages, or practices. For that, Winston was grateful. Aruba's text infuriated him. Had he not been so consumed with her safety, he would have driven to her home and settled matters with James, man to man. How could he mistreat her? Aruba was the kind of woman men dreamed of having. To watch James handle her the way he did . . . forget James. Aruba was his main concern.

Winston headed downtown to the Conrad. He made a note to pay for her stay at the hotel for two weeks. That would give him enough time to help her find a safe haven. How ironic that Victoria prattled on and on about volunteering at a domestic violence shelter but never tried to shield her friend from abuse. In eight years of marriage, he'd never been unfaithful. He prided himself on avoiding compromising situations that would make him appear a hypocrite. So many of his friends and colleagues were either separated or divorced. When they turned to him for advice or a listening ear, he held fast to the same answer: “I'm committed to my wife and my daughter and nothing can come between us.”

Never say never.

Winston thought of Aruba and Victoria. The difference between the two was that one needed protection; the other, showcasing.
His intention was to have a life partner, not a trophy wife. He couldn't remember the last time Victoria needed him, embraced him, or initiated lovemaking. Aruba, a woman he'd met through his wife, made him feel more wanted in the five months they'd gotten to know each other better than Victoria did in the ten years they'd been together. How could he handle his feelings? He smiled as he eyed the CD Aruba placed in the gift bag with
Take the Risk
. He flipped open Kenny Lattimore's
Timeless
, read the note in Aruba's handwriting above Kenny's silhouette:
Whenever I hear track three, I wish you had this place in my life. You are so important to me.
He placed the CD in and skipped to track three. Aruba was too much. Norman Connors's “You Are My Starship” was the only song his parents danced to when he was younger. Now, Kenny put a passionate spin on the song, causing Winston to reminisce about stolen moments his dad shared with his mom. His dad took his mother in his arms as they swayed together on the patio of their summer home, laughter rising and falling as his dad whispered seductive thoughts in his mother's ear. Winston had waited to call Aruba because he wasn't sure what to say. He reached for his cell, then dialed her number. She answered on the first ring.