“Yeah, but I’ll be a twenty-nine-year-old freshman. Make that thirty since my birthday is next month.”
“Well, if forty is the new thirty, then thirty is the new eighteen. You’re gonna do well in Bloomington. Just don’t act like you don’t know us when you get that big-time job,” said Tawatha.
“I know. I guess I’m just scared. I feel like I waited so long.”
“Better late than never,” Lasheera chimed in.
Jamilah spat out the next question while she had the nerve to ask. “How’s Zion, Sheer?”
Lasheera winced at the sound of her son’s name. She encouraged Jamilah and Tawatha to mention him, keep his existence real to her. Two years had passed since the custody battle, but the wound was still open, fresh. The only thing worse than losing Zion was how she’d lost him. Lasheera knew drugs were a no-no, but six years prior to giving birth, she became a crack addict. Lasheera, Jamilah, and Tawatha created a no-judgment zone in eighth grade. The girls felt the sting of teasing as each one bore the cross of their nicknames: Big Booty Tawatha; Jamilah, the Indianapolis Zebra, so named for her biracial heritage; and Old Refrigerator Lasheera, tagged for being a tattletale and unable to keep secrets. The constant playground refrain for Lasheera was, “You’re just like an old refrigerator. You can’t hold nothing!”
The no-judgment zone they’d created kept her alive when she foolishly decided to smoke crack with Marvin Anderson, a married bouncer who was the love of her life at the time. Tawatha and Jamilah didn’t hesitate to get out of bed at two in the morning to pick her up when she phoned. Her hangout was downtown near New Jersey and Washington Streets, donning little more than daisy dukes, neon tank tops, and sandals. She marched around the streets, soliciting men for money, tricks, food, or a warm place to rest during the winter months. Marvin kicked the habit but continued to sleep with her, producing Zion. Once his wife discovered a crackhead created what she couldn’t after eighteen years of marriage, she insisted Marvin sue Lasheera for custody. Her girls were there for her as she struggled to get the monkey off her back. Cried with her when the police retrieved Zion from the middle of busy, late-night traffic while Lasheera gave Lean On Me, the New Jersey Street wino, a blowjob. Nursed her to health as she went through detox. Asked what they could do to help after Marvin and his knife, his nickname for his wife, carried Zion from the courthouse. She wanted a new start and would stop at nothing to get it and her son back.
“Zion’s doing pretty good. Linda calls him things like ‘bastard’ or ‘out-of-wedlock mistake’ when Marvin isn’t around.”
“She says things like that?” Jamilah asked.
“I may be suffering, but Marvin ain’t exactly walking in the park, either. Every chance Linda gets, she throws the affair up in his face. I’m scared she’s gonna lash out at Zion. That’s why I want him back.”
“What’s the next step for you?” asked Tawatha.
“Well, my attorney, Mike Requeno, has been helping me find a job. I have to provide a stable place for Zion. I can’t blame my parents for being leery about letting me move back in their place. I’ve put in applications everywhere and Mike said he has some contacts at a few places. I need some clothes for my search, too.”
“Try Dress for Success. They provide suits and business attire for women like you getting back on your feet. I think they’re down on Meridian,” Jamilah offered.
“Mike also told me to make inroads within the community. Volunteer doing community service, join a church. I’ve been attending New Beginnings Fellowship Church. I really like it.”
“With Dr. James Anthony Jackson? AKA Jack? Girl, I listen to him on the radio. I like the messages he puts out there. I might have to join you one Sunday,” said Jamilah.
“You deserve a chance to raise your kid,” Tawatha added, gulping more of her pineapple juice.
“I’m glad Marvin is decent enough to share pictures and updates with me.”
“Ummm, Watha, don’t think I’m through with my questions,” Jamilah chimed in to lighten the mood. “Who is this man who has you acting strange?”
“I gotta keep this one under wraps. He’s the best man I’ve met in a long time.”
“Sounds serious,” said Lasheera.
Tired of riding shotgun with misery, Tawatha chewed on a pineapple chunk from her drink, sat back on the sofa, and exclaimed, “You heifers better be in shape by next summer for your bridesmaid dresses.”
[11]
Flirting in September
Winston swiveled in his leather office chair and twirled his favorite fountain pen. So many thoughts invaded his mind lately, he felt as if he’d suffocate. How could he have allowed another woman to capture his heart? He’d thought it impossible to desire another woman. Particularly his wife’s friend. Definitely not another man’s wife. But there she was, occupying his mind with the memory of her dancing eyes, the way she tossed her hair when she laughed, the way her smile melted him. He felt shame when he thought back on the barbecue two months ago. He truly forgot Victoria and Nicolette were standing next to him as he gazed at Aruba. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair and give her a deep passionate kiss.
If that wasn’t enough, Cedars-Sinai dangled a tempting carrot to join their research team. Victoria would explode at the thought of moving again. No, she’d divorce him if they moved again.
As he looked back over his life, he marveled at the blessings showered upon him. His parents, Dr. and Mrs. Adam and Margaret Faulk, planned his life detail by detail. When Winston was born, a trust was opened in his name. Private school was a necessity, not an option. He blossomed in school, acing all his classes and garnering a perfect score on his SATs. The only thing his parents couldn’t control was his awkwardness. Not sure from which side of the family his clumsiness sprouted, they watched their tall, gangly son trip over chairs, fall down steps, and slide down hills during summer and winter vacations. At bridge parties in their summer home on Martha’s Vineyard, Winston listened to his mother’s friends boast about their beautiful children and of him stated, “Margaret, Winston is so intelligent, bless his heart. And those dimples will get him far.” Margaret laughed it off while sipping scotch and soda.
Adam, confident his son would grow into himself, told him no man should have one profession, so Winston set his sights on becoming a doctor, lawyer, and CPA, choosing to utilize medicine as his primary career. Not until medical school did the Faulks’ smart but different son flourish. Gone was the acne, lithe frame, the thick glasses. Winston beefed up, and standing at six-four, quietly gained attention from women. The newness of women smiling at him, passing their numbers, or offering first dibs at developing his bedside manner flattered him, but dissipated when he met Victoria, a UCLA undergraduate student. She caught his attention as she skated by bopping her head to music booming from a bass-thumping stereo on Venice Beach. Equally attracted to him, she skated toward him, looked in his eyes, pointed to an ice cream cart, and asked, “Chocolate Crunch or Cherry Vanilla?”
Ice Cream at Sal’s Ice Cream and Confectionary Dreams mobile cart morphed into movies, high phone bills during his residency, and a year-long engagement that culminated in a lavish wedding reviewed in The New York Times. Victoria’s beauty captivated Winston so much so he ignored her incessant chatter about wanting the finer things in life, about making sure her husband and marriage had to be better or else. Now, he wanted so much more. Intimacy, communication, someone that had his back. As Victoria shared Aruba’s plight and James’s misdeeds, he wondered how Victoria would react if that type of adversity plagued them. He knew the outcome: She’d be gone.
“Dr. Faulk, there’s someone here to see you,” Janice buzzed over the intercom, snapping Winston back to the present.
“Did I have any appointments today?”
After a brief pause, Janice responded, “It’s a Mrs. Aruba Dixon here to see you.”
“Send her in.”
Winston hurried to greet her, welcoming the unannounced visit. As he ope
ned the door to say hello, he got excited watching her work her mojo.
Aruba sashayed into the office, picnic basket in one hand, gift bag in the other. The cream-and-aqua wrap dress that hugged her voluptuous body couldn’t be hidden beneath the cream linen jacket she wore. Aruba took advantage of the unseasonably warm weather by ditching the stockings and sporting aqua stilettos. A French mani and pedi told Winston just how much she cared about pampering herself.
“Let me help you with that,” Winston offered. He placed the picnic basket and gift bag on a nearby table. “What did I do to deserve this visit?”
Aruba removed her jacket as well as the basket from the table. She stood closer to him, allowing him time to take in the scent of Flowerbomb. “Well, I haven’t had a chance to adequately thank you for the generous gift, the ER visit, and your encouragement. No one has ever been that kind to me, so it’s payback time.”
“This isn’t necessary, but I’m not complaining.”
Aruba stopped counting the lines she’d crossed two hours ago. If Victoria wasn’t going to take care of Winston’s needs, she would. Too much time had passed since she’d put her snag-him-in-a-year plan in action. While James went to a dental appointment, she took the morning off to prepare all the foods she knew Winston loved. She packed a change of clothing for the office. Victoria had shared Winston’s schedule several times. He only saw clients after eleven on Wednesdays, so the timing couldn’t have been better.
“Tell me you didn’t prepare Aruba’s by the Sea.”
“I won’t then.”
Aruba beamed as she spread a checkered blue-and-white tablecloth on the floor. Winston watched her bend down to remove Pyrex dishes of food from zippered containers.
Down, boy, down.
She removed a matching set of plates, glasses, and silverware. Aruba prepared Winston’s plate, piling lots of shrimp and extra seafood sauce on his rice. She placed two garlic sticks on a separate saucer. Winston’s mouth watered at the food sitting before him.
“Before you touch a morsel, let me spread a napkin on your lap.”
Winston sat Indian style and took in the aroma of everything. Save his mother and Alva, no woman had ever served him to this degree. Aruba took care to make sure he had enough to eat, that he would savor the meal, even down to the dessert. She’d baked banana rum cake, his favorite.
“Say grace for us?” she asked.
“Father, thank you for the marvelous food before us. Bless the hands that prepared it and let it provide nourishment for our bodies. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Winston dug in, relishing his good fortune.
“I want to get a few things off my chest. I’ve been so mortified since the night of the accident. I feel awful about the gas, the money, the fact you even had to come to my aid. I think I’m most ashamed of the fact I’m not where I want to be. Please let me know how I can repay you for helping me out.”
“A few more lunches like this and we might be even.”
“I’m serious. This is hard for me. Oh wait, you’ve got a little sauce on your chin.” Aruba leaned into him, her breasts rubbing against Winston’s arm. She wiped his mouth off, then took her seat across from him again.
Thank God for the napkin. Winston’s manhood rose again. He fought hard to concentrate, to keep the conversation decent. “Since you’re serious, why the shame?”
“Look at you and Victoria. I look around and see so many couples working together, doing their thing. I just wish I had what it took to inspire James a little more. I see so much in him. I love him and I believe in him. I’m just not sure how to pull out all the good I see.”
Winston’s jaw tightened. That wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear and he wasn’t sure why. He wanted to offer encouragement, Godly advice, but he was tongue-tied. Why couldn’t his wife be as compassionate? As loving? Winston weighed his words, knowing the conversation had to stay decent. He took Aruba’s hands into his.
“Aruba, don’t stop doing what you’re doing. James is so fortunate to have you in his life. I . . .” Winston paused. “I will keep the two of you in my thoughts and prayers. Trust me, things will work out for you.”
“Thanks, Winston. It’s good to know you and Victoria have my back.”
Winston sighed.
Aruba, sensing his tension, his passion, enjoyed the effect her enticement was having on him. “Did I say something wrong?”
“It’s just . . . never mind.”
“Oh no, you don’t start a comment and not finish it,” Aruba joked.
“I’ve been offered a position at Cedars-Sinai Research Center and I’d love to accept it. My journey in cardiology has never been about money. I love what I do and I love impacting lives. However—”
“Victoria would hit the roof if you mentioned it, right?” Aruba asked.
“Whoa, how much has she said about my workaholic ways?”
“I’ll never tell.”
“I know she’s displeased with the moving, the different cities. I’m sure it’s stressful, but I work hard to make sure Victoria and Nicolette are safe and secure. Which would you rather have, Aruba? A man who worked regular hours and was home for the family, or a man who worked a lot but whose mission was to leave a legacy?”
“You doctors have such a way of putting things. Hmmm, let me think. I’ll take the legacy man for five hundred dollars.”
They both chuckled at her comment. Winston’s phone rang. He looked down, cursing his luck as Victoria’s ringtone, “Who’s That Lady,” trilled in the office. He gave Aruba a shhhh gesture and put Victoria on speakerphone.
“Victoria, how are you?”
“I’m calling to see what you’re doing for lunch today.”
“Just working on some documents and fielding calls for new clients. Where are you?”
“I was headed to your office, but got a call from Charlotte. I actually called Aruba earlier to meet her, but I couldn’t reach her.”
“What’s with the call from Charlotte?”
“Oh, she had to go out of town suddenly. Jack is up for some film award at a festival and he wanted her to join him. I’m filling in for her at Dorcas House.”
“What? You’re volunteering?”
“You said I should think about others. Besides, if this is the way to get some more shoes and stock my winter wardrobe, count me in.”
“Babe, I’ve got another call coming in. Let me call you back in thirty minutes or so.”
“Don’t bother, I’ll stop by later when I’m done at Dorcas.”
Winston ended the call, embarrassed that his wife’s desire for things took precedence over her concern for people.
“On that note, I’m slicing you some cake, Dr. Faulk.”
Aruba carved a fat slice of banana rum cake for Winston. She cooked extra rum sauce at home, noting people who ate her cake always requested more sauce. She poured sauce on the cake, then passed it to him.
“Since you asked me about James, what advice do you have for me about Victoria?”
“Well, Victoria is luckier than James. She has a good man who works hard, is intelligent, and desires to leave a legacy. Keep being you, Winston. Someday she’ll see you for the regal king you are.”
I hope she sees it soon.
“I’m leaving after our dessert. I’ve got to get back to the office. I can’t leave without giving you a little something, though.”
Aruba handed Winston the gift bag. Flustered, he removed the colored tissue paper. To his surprise, she’d purchased a book he’d been eyeing at Borders. Take the Risk: Learning to Identify, Choose, and Live with Acceptable Risk by Dr. Ben Carson was at the top of his To Be Read list.
“Just what I needed for what I’m going through. So this starts the race again.”
“Race?”
“I’m really at a crossroads right now, and I know this is one thing that will help me make the decisions I need to make about my future. I’ll find a way to pay you back for this one.”
“No need
, Winston. You already have.”
Aruba had set her bait and her work was done. She packed the picnic lunch, left the cake on Winston’s desk, and kissed his cheek.
Winston watched her sway out of the office. Aruba’s a risk I’d be willing to take, come what may.
[12]
For the Love of Money
James rubbed his sore jaw and popped the cap off a bottle of Ibuprofen. The root-scaling procedure done at the dentist’s office was excruciating. He’d hobbled in from Dr. Morton’s office, plopped down on the sofa, and tried to get a nap, but his phone vibrated so much he couldn’t rest. He snatched the phone from the coffee table, then grunted. Seventy-eight text messages. Thirty-five missed calls. “Damn, can’t you take a hint,” James muttered as he scrolled through the calls and messages from Tawatha. Tawatha was the first woman James met whose traffic signals were all screwed up. Red was a definite green for State Fair. He purposely slowed communication with her after the night of the accident. Too risky. He thought he could keep her at bay with an occasional email or text about Aruba’s cancer, but when she offered to help take care of Aruba, he ceased communication with her. He hoped she’d buy the grieving husband bit, find a new man. She wasn’t going away quietly and he had to do something.
He grabbed the remote, turned to CNN. Aruba would never believe that he enjoyed watching Headline News or anything financial, but lately, time on the sectional had turned into an introspective party. For the first time since the early years of their marriage, he actively sought employment. He’d sent out at least fifty résumés, drummed up a few contacts from his previous jobs, and registered with two upcoming job fairs. He wondered if his dreadlocks were getting in the way of finding a job, but he decided to hold tight to his locks for now. Bills continued to roll in each day as he recuperated from the accident. Gas. Lights. Car notes. Insurance. ER expenses. The list went on and on, but his baby was still doing the damn thing. Taking care of them and not complaining about it. The least he could do was find a part-time gig to help alleviate Aruba’s fears. He’d keep the job prowling to himself for now, surprise her when a good prospect came his way. He didn’t want to think of how disappointed she must have been in him and his inability to keep a job. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t keep a job himself. Time in front of the television, watching Divorce Court and Judge Joe Brown, made him wonder when it became acceptable to let his lady foot the bill, finance the major purchases, steer their destiny.
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