Not this again. It’s not a lie if it’s finessed. “No. Things didn’t work out with my son’s father, so I’m single and loving it.”
“There is nothing wrong with being single, Lasheera,” said Renae. She cut her eyes at Joycelyn as if to say don’t start tonight.
“I guess. I like having the comfort and security of a mate. Having someone to talk to, to share my day with, someone to help carry the load,” said Joycelyn.
“Marriage isn’t for everyone, Joycelyn. How many times do we have to remind you of that fact?” asked Aruba.
“What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to have a man around to help take care of things and her? I don’t know of one!” said Joycelyn.
“Actually, I didn’t grow up planning a wedding or thinking of getting married. I don’t want to be pressured into a union with someone just to say I’ve got a man. If the right person comes along, fine. If not, that doesn’t make me less of a woman or mean something is wrong with me,” said Lasheera. She pointed to the Jamaican rum nail color as the volunteer doing her feet anticipated the conversation heating up.
“You work with Aruba and Bria, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mean to tell me you wouldn’t want to be in a position to keep your paycheck, let your husband handle everything, and do what you please with your money?”
“I’m telling you if I had a husband, I’d want us to work together and share the load. There shouldn’t be a mine-and-yours mentality in a marriage,” said Lasheera, becoming more irritated by Joycelyn’s attack.
“People, people, we don’t have these discussions at Sista Spa Night,” said Bria, diffusing the argument.
Bria knew Joycelyn’s issue. Joycelyn derived pleasure when meeting a skinny sista who wasn’t hitched. Lasheera’s model-thin frame, snazzy hair cut, and warm personality wasn’t lost on anyone in the house. Joycelyn’s three-hundred-pound-plus frame, squat stature, and boisterous personality could be disarming for some. Joycelyn took pride in her appearance. She kept her hair done, nails tight, and feet together. Somehow, that was never enough to satisfy her or the notion that Andre, or Fabulous Dre as Joycelyn renamed him, wanted someone smaller. No matter how much he complimented her, she always shrank in front of smaller, single women. Bria, Renae, and Aruba joked they’d be in trouble if they didn’t have husbands. During a Circle Centre Mall visit, a precocious boy pointed at Joycelyn and Dre, and said, “Look, Mommy, they look like the number ten standing next to each other,” as they strolled by. Dre’s six-three, lithe body next to Joycelyn’s round-figure frame could have been mistaken for the number. Dre spent the rest of the night calming Joycelyn down and telling her how beautiful she was to him. Renae and Aruba witnessed the metamorphosis in Joycelyn when smaller women were around. If the women were married, she’d back down. If they were single, she’d harangue the hell out of them until they left her presence.
“I have a question for you all. I have a circumstance that needs to be addressed,” said Bria.
“Out with it,” said Aruba.
“I have a friend—”
“The hypothetical game, Bree?” asked Aruba.
“I have a friend whose husband is this really nice guy. He’s crazy about his wife, but I don’t think they can have children. For a time, the husband thought he was the problem and was reluctant to seek advice or help from the doctor. My friend said because the husband was so disappointed about his wife not being able to conceive he started drinking. And drinking. Soon, the wife found herself in rehab with the husband, so he could pull it together.”
Aruba performed a process of elimination. Dre was too busy to have children. Greer was strapped with child support from his previous marriage and wasn’t thinking about having any children. James didn’t drink. Sidney was too righteous to drink. The woman Bria was talking about must have been someone new.
“Well, did he make it out of rehab?” asked Joycelyn.
“He did. I think the incident made them stronger,” said Bria.
“So what’s the problem?” asked Renae.
“During the ordeal, the wife didn’t have anyone to talk to. She felt alone and wished she had confided in someone about the incident.”
“She doesn’t have friends?” asked Aruba.
“Yes. She just wasn’t sure how they’d take the news. If they’d support her. Visitors and fish smell in three days. She didn’t want to be a burden.”
“That’s absurd. You all get on my last nerve, but you know if something jumps off between Greer and me, I’m calling the posse. I don’t know what I’d do without my crew,” said Renae, high-fiving Aruba, Joycelyn, and Bria.
“That’s how I feel about Jamilah and Tawatha. We’ve been friends since grade school and I rely on their love and support. Especially . . .” Lasheera paused, forgetting these women were new. “Especially after the break-up with my son’s father.”
“I hope you all know we can share anything with each other. That’s why we’re here,” said Bria, cutting her eyes at Aruba.
“What if a woman keeps her business to herself because she doesn’t want to be judged or criticized?” asked Aruba.
“What do you mean?” asked Renae.
“Don’t act so innocent. How many times have we sat around saying how stupid a woman is for staying with a spouse who isn’t ideal, or how dense a woman is for trying to leave a man who either provides a good life or makes a lot of money?”
The ladies sank in their seats, guilty as charged.
“I’m just saying women can be so hard on each other. In a moment of weakness, one woman might share something in confidence with a sista, then she, out of love and concern, tells your business to someone else in the group. Then it goes on and on. And my goodness, woe to the woman who has the nerve to say she’s having an affair or thinking of having an affair. We rake her over the coals like nobody’s business.”
“Ahuh, I sure do,” said Joycelyn. “As good as I am to Dre, I would kill him and his mistress if I found out he was cheating on me.”
“Aruba, cheating is different. You know the rule of thumb is stay away from another woman’s man,” said Renae.
“A marriage is complicated enough without a third wheel. These single wenches think they can march in and pick up the slack while you’re doing the best you can to hold it together. Cooking, cleaning, working, trying to create a decent home, and then someone else thinks she can wave a magic wand and fill your shoes,” said Joycelyn. She tried to steady her feet for her pedicure, but the conversation enraged her.
“Please be still while I apply your color, ma’am,” said the student.
“Single wenches. What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Lasheera. She hated the way married women wore halos, as if they did everything so well, so perfect, that a man shouldn’t get his needs met elsewhere. “What if a wife isn’t on her J-O-B? I don’t know what happens to you all after you get a ring and a roof over your heads, but you stop having sex and being attentive to your husbands. It’s no wonder they cheat!”
“Sounds like someone is speaking from experience. A single wench no less. Guess I pegged you right,” said Joycelyn.
“Calm down, Joycelyn and Lasheera,” said Bria. This was the craziest spa night she’d ever hosted. She wouldn’t have invited Lasheera if she’d known things would get this heated. “Your opinions are valuable and necessary. Let’s find a better way to express ourselves, okay.”
Joycelyn exhaled deeply and placed her feet back on the stool to be painted. Lasheera, upset she’d allowed Joycelyn to get the best of her, picked up a magazine from a table next to her and flipped through the pages.
“I’m sorry for calling you a wench, Lasheera. I see so many marriages breaking up due to adultery and I get angry. Please accept my apology.”
“I’m sorry for what I said as well. I’m not a wench, but my son, Zion’s father, is married. We made a horrible mistake when I was younger and lacked better judgment. If I could erase that time from my e
xperiences yet have Zion, I would.”
“You heifers are gonna make me call a group hug,” said Renae, air-blowing her nails.
Aruba added, “The bottom line is no one wants to open up and be betrayed. For example, I know a young woman at a rival company who adores her friend’s husband. According to Sabrina, the wife doesn’t sleep with the husband, she shops ’til she drops, isn’t very encouraging to the husband, and feels she’s got the marriage so locked up that he’d never cheat. What advice would you give her?”
“The wife or Sabrina?” asked Bria.
“Sabrina.”
“I’d tell her she’s getting herself into something she’s not ready to handle. The grass is greener on the other side, but the water bill is higher,” said Renae.
“I’d tell her she’s just hearing one side of the story. I bet if she talked to the wife, she’d hear some things about Mr. Olympia that he’s not telling,” said Bria.
“She seems to know a lot about the wife,” said Joycelyn. “Please don’t tell me she’s friends with the woman.”
“I think she is,” said Aruba.
“That’s a different kind of trashy. Let her go ahead and have him. She’ll get more than she bargained for and will regret it for the rest of her life. No good will come of that situation,” said Joycelyn.
Lasheera chimed in for good measure. “She’ll have his attention for a while. Then they’ll both realize the promises and fantasies they’ve whispered to each other are just that, promises and fantasies. The time they stole away from their families and friends would have been better spent working through their issues at home. Once trust is broken, it’s hard and nearly impossible to get back.”
Lasheera held her head back, thought of Zion, and wondered why she ever believed Marvin would marry her.
Bria sliced through the moment with a deep breath. “For the record, ladies, we’re still childless, but I’m proud of my Sidney for not drinking anymore.”
The ladies reflected on her words, wondered how they could be better to the men in their lives from this point forward.
[23]
My Name Is
“Miss, the total is two thousand, four hundred, eighty dollars.” The sales clerk contained her excitement as Victoria slid her black American Express card across the counter. This sale exceeded her monthly quota. It would also net great store incentives.
“Thank you,” she looked down at the name on the card, “Mrs. Winston Faulk.”
“Thank you,” said Victoria. “You’ve been most helpful. I’ll have to drop your manager a line as kudos for your great service.”
“Wait a minute. Is your husband, Dr. Winston Faulk? The doctor who separated the conjoined twins? Oh, my God! You’re Dr. Faulk’s wife?”
Here we go again.
“My brother received the Dr. Winston Faulk scholarship at Butler University. He’s a pre-med student. I know he’d love to meet your husband.” The sales clerk trembled as she handed Victoria the card.
“Well, I wish him the best of luck. I’m sure he’ll go on and do great things. Have a good day,” Victoria read her nametag, “Marie.”
“You, too, Mrs. Faulk.”
Victoria exited Saks and headed downtown. She refused to let Marie spoil her day. Of course she couldn’t blame Marie for the name on her credit card. She’d chosen the name printed on it. Just as she’d chosen the license plate on her Mercedes that read, DOCTOR’S GIRL. She’d been so wrapped up in being Mrs. Faulk that she didn’t know who she was anymore. She enjoyed the perks of being married to a successful man, but lately, she felt empty. Aruba was working all the time and couldn’t get together for drinks or fun; Charlotte and her husband continued to travel; Winston was back and forth in Arizona with new patients.
Maxie’s words continued to haunt her. “I see you helping others.” Victoria perused the items she’d purchased. Since the last shelter visit, Sylvia had become a permanent fixture in her mind. Interaction at Dorcas made her realize how blessed she was to have the life she lived, to have a man like Winston. The thought of fleeing in the middle of the night for shelter tied her stomach in knots. What kind of man neglected his family the way Sylvia’s husband had? With grit crowding out reservation, she phoned Miriam at Dorcas to see if it was okay to form a closer relationship with Sylvia. Victoria hoped Sylvia didn’t see her attempt at friendship as a charity bid. She really wanted to do something good, to get to know someone outside her circle of friends. When she learned Sylvia was only a few years older, she wondered what life must have been like for her. Bit by bit, she learned Sylvia gave up college for marriage, had several miscarriages, was forbidden to work, and truly believed she’d grow old with her estranged husband, Gerald. That was Sylvia’s yesterday. She recently had enrolled in Butler University and was pursuing a degree in education..
Victoria performed a mental checklist of the day’s activities for Sylvia and Alice. Alva prepared Sylvia’s favorite meal for lunch: smothered chicken with gravy and garlic butter mashed potatoes. Victoria wasn’t sure what other items went with the meal, but the food smelled wonderful when she left. Nicolette stayed behind to help Alva. Alva and Nicolette would also remove the gifts from the trunk and put them under the Christmas tree. Christmas was two months past, but Alva brought the tree down from the attic, decorated it, and made nametags for Christmas in February. Sylvia and Alice were their special guests, and she wanted to make sure they felt welcome.
Victoria parked in front of Dorcas. Sylvia and Alice were expecting her, so she didn’t have to go inside today. Alice peered through the front window. She pulled Sylvia’s shirt when she recognized Victoria. They both walked toward Victoria’s car, with Sylvia placing her hand over her mouth to stifle the shock of how stylish their ride to lunch would be.
“Miss Victoria, it’s good to see you again,” Alice said, hugging Victoria.
“I’m glad to see both of you.” Victoria opened the passenger and backseat doors for Sylvia and Alice.
“Victoria, is this your car? I’ve never been in a Mercedes before. Gerald and I did all we could to keep that jalopy of ours going. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Sylvia slid in the front seat, beaming.
“I wanted to do something nice for both of you today, so I’m taking you to lunch.”
“McDonald’s?” Alice asked.
“No, I’m taking you to my house.”
“No offense, but you don’t look like the cooking type, Victoria. Am I gonna have to whip us up something?” Sylvia asked.
“I can’t lie, Sylvia, I’m not the cooking type. My housekeeper, Alva, already cooked your favorite foods.”
“Hush your mouth, a housekeeper? Miriam said your husband was a doctor. I don’t know that I’ve ever met another black woman like you. I mean one that would want to be friends with someone like me.”
“What do you mean, someone like you?”
“When I lived in Cincinnati, I’d run across your type shopping, lunching, spending your money like it was running water. Gerald and I had a hotdog cart and I’d gaze at those women, wondering what it would be like to live the life they lived. I never bought the notion that the grass wasn’t greener on the other side because money can provide opportunities, no doubt about it.”
“I do feel blessed to do a lot of the things I do.”
“It’s good you got your head on straight about it.”
“Ms. Victoria, do you have any children?” Alice asked.
“Yes, I have a four-year-old daughter, Nicolette. You’ll get to meet her today. She stayed behind to help frost your brownies.”
“How did you know I like brownies?” Alice’s eyes lit up with the question.
“Oh, a little bird told me.” Victoria winked at Sylvia.
Laughter and chitchat made the ride to the house a swift one. As they neared the driveway, Sylvia cupped her mouth with her hands, unsure of what to think of the majestic home before her.
“How many of y’all live here?” Sylvia asked.
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Victoria pressed her garage door opener. “Four. My husband, Alva, Nicolette, and me.”
“And Alva cleans all this up herself?”
“The house practically cleans itself. Although we have help, we’re sticklers for picking up after ourselves and making sure things are easy on Alva. She’s a godsend and I wouldn’t want to drive her away.”
“Like I said before, you sure are a little different than your kind I’ve met in the past.”
Alva and Nicolette met them at the garage door. Alva had taken the time to bake an assortment of muffins, cookies, and breads for the guests. The smell of the goodies floated throughout the garage, welcoming them in. Alva wanted to make sure they’d have a snack for now and something to take to the shelter later. Nicolette sidled next to Alice, grabbed her hand.
“You gonna be my big sister?” Nicolette grinned.
“If you want me to be.” Alice studied her surroundings, embarrassed that she didn’t know how to act in such a place.
“Let’s go up to my room. We can have a tea party.”
“We’ll be eating in about fifteen minutes, Nicolette, so don’t keep Alice too long.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
Sylvia trudged behind them as she breathed short breaths caused by the beauty of the welcoming house. To the right of Sylvia’s vision, she marveled at what looked like storage for days. The cherry hall tree held coats that hung as if they, too, enjoyed living there. Some creative soul had taken the time to not only place the shoes in cubbyholes, but to arrange them by color. Ain’t that something.
“Make yourself at home, Sylvia. I’m going to put my things down, slip into something comfortable, and check messages. I’ll be back shortly.”
Alva motioned Sylvia to join her at the breakfast nook.
“May I offer you something to drink?”
“I know I’m going back to my Mississippi roots, but how ’bout some sweet tea?”
“Coming right up.”
Sylvia sat with caution. Everything about the day was a dream to her. Why had this pretty woman invited her to such a grand home? Why was the housekeeper, who could be her big sister, being so nice? And who taught her how to make smothered chicken and potatoes so well? Sylvia hadn’t smelled chicken like that since the family’s 2003 reunion in Vicksburg. When Miriam first told her Victoria wanted to know what size clothes she wore, she assumed this suburban housewife had a few friends who wanted to empty their closets, do something good for the less fortunate. Then Victoria began calling, checking on her once or twice a week. She offered a gym membership when Sylvia expressed a desire to lose weight, to be high school skinny again. She treated Alice to a pampered princess spa day at Divas in Training, the children’s salon. She suggested housing referrals in the city and told Sylvia when she was ready, she would put her in touch with someone at the Indianapolis Neighborhood Housing Partnership if she felt homeownership was something she wanted to pursue. “Why me?”
Dream Girl Awakened Page 13