Dream Girl Awakened (20 page)

“How'd you score that?”

“You sound like the clowns in the office. He thinks I could learn a lot about the business.”

“I'm sure he does.”

“Sheer, stop. This is serious. You think you could go to the art show for me? I'll do anything if you could do this favor for me.”

“You know my transportation's kinda shaky. I could find a ride, though. Do I just need to go to the show, or do I need to take them home as well?”

“Actually, I need you to pick them up, take them to the show, and bring them back home. The show is at Onnie's school. I'm sure she's cooked dinner, so you don't have to worry about feeding them.”

“Oooo, you're gonna owe me big-time!” Lasheera joked.

“You know I got you. I don't want to miss any opportunity for advancement.”

“You know I love seeing my babies and I don't mind getting them. I'll call you and tell you about my arrangements.”

“I owe you big-time. Thanks, Sheer.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Tawatha released a sigh of relief. She was nervous about going to dinner. What would she say? What if Mr. Hinton fielded her with questions? He'd given her Craddack's annual report and a portfolio about the company. She was well versed in all things Craddack, but she worried most about disappointing Mr. Hinton. No one in the office would ever understand how much she wanted to please him. Royce Hinton was old enough to be her father. The first time he called her into the office to reprimand her about the short skirts she wore, she figured he wanted to score. She waited for him to make his move. He sat behind his desk, his crisp, starched dress shirt hugging his muscular frame. She looked into his dark-brown, sad eyes, wondering if his wife satisfied him at all. He was a handsome man, the kind of man she'd fantasized about when she was younger. His honey-colored skin was weathered, and even when he smiled, the creases in his forehead foretold
hidden regrets, unexplored thoughts. He was fiercely private, so no one knew a lot about personal matters on the home front. He took a deep breath, and quicker than Tawatha could devise a plan to get Royce comfortable and satisfied, he began to cry. Through his tears, Royce expressed Tawatha's eerie resemblance to his daughter, Ramona. She'd died in a car accident at twenty-three. Since the accident, he and his wife had been estranged, mere strangers navigating a mortgage, social calendar, and contemplating divorce. He wanted Tawatha to slow down, to be the young lady God called her to be, to stop selling herself short. She appreciated him from that day forward and wanted to make sure she took advantage of every opportunity to flourish at Hinton and Conyers. She knew the children would be disappointed that she couldn't attend the show, but at least they were seeing the fruits of her labor. When James joined the picture, they'd all understand the importance of her sacrifices.

“Mrs. D., may I talk to you for a moment?”

Aruba stared at Lasheera and waited for her to say the appropriate name.

“Aruba, may I ask you for a favor?”

“That's more like it. What's up?”

“Well, my girlfriend, Tawatha, has to attend a meeting tonight for work. Her oldest daughter has an art show at her school.” Lasheera paused, suddenly embarrassed that she was always without transportation or thumbing a ride. “Tawatha needs me to pick the kids up, take them to the show, and drop them off.”

“Do you need to leave early?”

“Actually, I don't have a way to get there.”

“Do you need to borrow my vehicle?”

Lasheera closed the door. “I can't borrow your vehicle or anyone's because my license is suspended. I know you're married and
busy, but I wondered if you could help me tonight. I need you to take me to pick them up, go to the art show, and take them home.”

Aruba kept her composure. She and Winston were meeting for dinner at Ruth's Chris Steak House at eight and she didn't want to be late. Sidney and Bria were keeping Jeremiah for the weekend, so this snafu would seriously dig into her time with Winston. He still hadn't made a move to make love, but this weekend would be different. She'd see to it.

“Aruba, it's not like I'm putting my girl's business out there, but she needs me. She's a single mom, raising four kids alone. She's made strides at her job, she's gotten a new place, and she has a new man she's been hiding from us for a while. She's turning her life around and I want to be there for her.”

Aruba pondered Lasheera's words. She could say the same thing about Bria right now. Bria never asked questions about her separation from James, never pushed for details about their problems. She pledged to be there for her, help in any way needed. Lasheera spoke highly of Tawatha and Jamilah. Maybe it was time she met one of the musketeers.

“I'll make a call to cancel an appointment I had. I'll do it for you. If it's an art sale, I might purchase something.”

“Onnie's a talented artist. I mean, Aunjanue. That's Tawatha's oldest daughter. She's really good. You're gonna like her drawings and sketches.”

“A
untie Sheer, Auntie Sheer,” yelled S'n'c'r'ty as she dashed out the front door. Sims and Grant followed closely behind.

“How are my babies doing?” Lasheera hoisted S'n'c'r'ty in her arms, spun her around, and placed light kisses on her cheek.

“We'll be doing better when Momma gets here. Aunjanue is worried.”

“Who's the pretty lady?” Grant asked. He smiled at Aruba.

“You know we're not supposed to talk to strangers, Grant,” S'n'c'r'ty chided.

Lasheera, embarrassed by S'n'c'r'ty's blunt nature, made the children form a semicircle around her. “This is my boss, Aruba. Your mom can't make it to the art show, so Miss Aruba's taking us to Onnie's school tonight.”

Aruba greeted the children, admired the love and affection they showered on Lasheera.

“Can't make it?” Grant's bottom lip poked out at the news.

“I thought we were going as a family, then eating out afterward,” Sims offered.

“Hold your horses, I can feed you. Your mom has important work tonight. She's been working hard, trying to make more money, so she can do special things for you,” said Lasheera.

The children nodded in agreement. If Tawatha's working meant
being able to do more things they all enjoyed, the kids saw no need to argue.

“Let's go inside to see if Onnie needs some help.”

Aruba followed them inside the house, surprise and amazement debunking the myths she secretly held about Tawatha. When Lasheera shared her friend's plight, Aruba expected to drive her to a roach-infested crack den with drunks milling around outside, asking for cigarettes or bus fare. Maxie was right; stereotypes belonged in Hollywood, not in black people's minds. Just because a woman had lots of children didn't mean the worst should be thought of her situation. Aruba, reddened with embarrassment, admired the tasteful home she entered.
Wow, four children live here?

“Lasheera, your friend has a lovely place,” said Aruba. She sat on the sofa and watched S'n'c'r'ty scroll through a list of DVR-listed shows, settling on an episode of
Family Matters
.

“She's doing so well. I don't know that I would have taken you to her last place. Honey, that apartment was guttermost! Food and clothes everywhere. She's really been working hard at getting herself together. I wasn't kidding when I told you I was proud of her.”

“As you should be. That's what good friends are for.”

Aunjanue entered the living room, fidgeting with the suspenders on her corduroy dress. S'n'c'r'ty ran to Aunjanue.

“You look pretty, Onnie,” said S'n'c'r'ty.

“Thanks, girl.” Aunjanue scanned the room. “Auntie Sheer, can you help me with my ponytail? Where's Momma?”

“Sit down at the dining room table. I'll fix it. And don't be so nervous. We've got lots of time to get you there.”

Aunjanue plopped down in a dinette chair, removed the top from the styling gel, and handed Lasheera the clip-on ponytail.

“Please make sure my edges are slicked down. I want to look good tonight just in case the art show is featured in the paper.”

“You'll look fine. By the way, wave to my boss, Aruba, in the living room, Onnie.”

Aunjanue waved to Aruba, then shot Lasheera a what's-she-doing-here look. Lasheera braced herself, plowed forward.

“Miss Aruba is taking us to the show tonight. Your mom has an important meeting tonight and she can't make it.”

“I hope it's not with that James man.” Aruba tensed.
Another James is causing confusion.
If she ditched my show for—”

“She's working, Onnie. Her boss needed her to sit in with a big developer. You know she's working hard to make things better.”

Aunjanue smacked her lips. Disappointment clouded her face as she thought of Tawatha.
She's missing the one thing I worked so hard to do.
Aunjanue steadied the jar of gel for Lasheera.

“Aunjanue, tell me about some of your pieces that will be displayed tonight.” Aruba tried softening the atmosphere.

“My drawings are colorful and filled with flowers. Sometimes I do people,” said Aunjanue, her countenance radiating. “They're only for display right now, but next month, we'll be able to sell our best works for a spring art fundraiser. The seventh-grade art class is going to Washington, D.C.”

“I heard you're good. I'll be your first patron. Will you autograph my drawing?” asked Aruba.

“Of course.”

“Take a look at the mirror and tell me if this is good for you.” Lasheera passed the mirror to Aunjanue.

“I love it! Let's get to the school. I want to be the first one there standing next to my work. S'n'c'r'ty, did you put your socks up and fold your underwear?”

“Yes, Onnie.”

“Grant, did you take out the trash?”

“Yes, Onnie.”

“Sims, how 'bout the lemons? Did you rub down the counter?”

“Yes, Onnie.”

“Good. Go grab your coats, so we can go.”

When they gathered their coats, the children filed out their home in a single line, just as Aunjanue taught them. Aruba shuttled the children into her vehicle, allowing S'n'c'r'ty to use Jeremiah's booster seat. She recalled Lasheera saying Aunjanue was twelve, but the young woman sitting behind her exhibited maturity that belied her years. Aruba admired the way the children respected and obeyed Aunjanue. Out of her rearview mirror, Aruba caught sight of Aunjanue giving S'n'c'r'ty the black mother stare, making her tamp down and stop tugging Sims's ear. Aruba wondered how busy Tawatha was that she crowned her oldest daughter surrogate mother.
Maybe I can reach out to her when my life calms down
.

On the ride to Lincoln Middle School, Aunjanue quizzed Grant with history questions on three-by-five cards. He answered them correctly, almost fearful of Aunjanue's wrath. Her face beamed with each correct response.

Aruba and Lasheera were impressed with the artwork. Who knew children were taking on such adult paintings and sculptures? Other parents commented about Aunjanue's work. In the cafeteria, parents and students congregated, chatted over gourmet cookies and sparkling punch flowing from an ornate fountain.

“I remember cheap butter cookies and tropical punch at functions like this. When did it change?” asked Lasheera.

“It's the moms and dads with free time,” whispered Aruba.

Aunjanue didn't want to disturb their conversation, but she couldn't contain her excitement. “Did you like my work?” Lasheera's approval meant the world to Aunjanue. She chewed her nails, waited for Lasheera's response.

Lasheera swallowed the last of a pecan toffee cookie. “I'm biased, but you had the best prints out there.”

“Yes, she did,” said a deep, rolling voice not too far behind them.

“Mr. Carvin! I didn't know you were here.” Aunjanue smiled, grabbing him by the arm. “Auntie Sheer, everybody, this is Mr. Carvin, my art teacher. Mr. Carvin, this is my Aunt Lasheera; her boss, Miss Aruba; and my brothers and sister.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you all.” He spoke to the group, but his eyes stayed focused on Lasheera.

“You must be proud of your students, Mr. Carvin.” Aruba extended her hand to shake Mr. Carvin's.

“I can't express the joy. Especially when some students think they can't master simple lines, then create a complete masterpiece.”

Lasheera knew the food had changed, but so had the teachers. She averted her eyes from Mr. Carvin's gaze. She'd been embarrassed in times past, thinking a man was paying attention to her when he was in fact looking at the most beautiful woman in the room. Lasheera figured Aruba was commanding his attention. Still, she caught another glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. She looked him up and down. His face said I'm running off to recess, since it was so youthful, so cherubic. His body, however, said former NFL player on the injured reserve list. The elegant cardigan sweater he wore outlined a six-pack she knew came from somebody's Bowflex. His fitted jeans made Lasheera blush. He was the same gentleman she'd noticed earlier whose swagger hinted a nice package beneath his boxers. She and Tawatha always did a teeth check when meeting guys. It didn't matter how handsome or sexy, if his teeth were jagged, chipped, or resembled any color of a Crayola box besides white, he was ousted. Mr. Carvin passed inspection with Chiclets whites. He towered over Lasheera
and made her wonder what he'd be like for walks in the park or to hold in the middle of the night. She admonished herself, though, because he looked fresh out of college, probably an early high school graduate. An art prodigy whose parents had too much time and money on their hands and made sure their only son fulfilled his promise.