Wayward Dreams (2 page)

“My inventory records…”

“Are all conveniently wet and fading or locked in the damaged computer.” Keyes kicked at the wet floor.

“We'll be in touch.” Ruiz stood, too. Handing over her card, she offered a small smile. “Give me a couple of days, and I'll have the report ready for you.”

“Sure.” Feeling like a fool, Bianca followed the pair to the back door. Watching them drive off, she knew the shop wasn't going to be seeing any customers in the near future.

Then the lights went out.

Not sure of which direction to take, Bianca finally decided against the fuse box. Stepping carefully, trying not to slip or trip on soggy clothing and papers, Bianca made her way to the back door and out of Vive la Reine. Somehow, to her amazement, the late-morning sun still managed to shine and the rest of the world looked normal. Or, at least as normal as one might expect, given that she was running after a man in a hard hat.

“What's going on?” she demanded when she finally caught him.

“You've got water running back here,” the Atlanta Gas Light rep said, pointing down at the growing stream they stood in. “Whoever cut your security and phone lines stood on the pipes and broke them. Water and electricity are not a good combination. You're disconnected until you can get this fixed. Better call the water department, too.”

“Why are you even here? I mean, who called you? How did you even know to be here?”

The man pointed back toward his truck. “Dispatch called me. Guess one of your neighbors saw the water, noticed the pipe, called it in,” he said with a grin. “You've got good neighbors.”

“Lucky me.”

Bianca watched the man fit the meter back together before walking away. She was still watching when he climbed into his truck and drove off.
It's not supposed to be like this!
Remembering her cellphone, she flipped it open and hit redial. Voicemail.

Fifty new variations of the curses she'd already come up with ran through her mind as she stomped back into Vive la Reine. Now she was going to have to find her purse and keys in the dark. The AGL guy was right. Water was running; she could hear it. The heavy sigh behind her made her turn. It was Jenni, leaning on her broom.

“Go home, Jenni. There's not much else you can do here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm going to see if I can find a service to board the place up. I'll call you when things change.”

“Do they really have that kind of service?”

“What?”

“Board-up services. Are there really such things?”

“Yes, Jenni. I'll find one. Don't worry. Just go.”

The young woman propped the broom against the wall. “Okay, but if you need me…”

“Just go. I'll lock up and be right behind you.” Bianca closed the phone and dropped it into her jacket pocket. Anger grew into a migraine headache, but Bianca refused to give in to the pain, promising herself that this hellish day would get better when she reached KPayne.

But the promise was as hollow as her belief that when they married, they would finally get to what she had hoped for from the beginning. And what was that,
s
he couldn't help musing. A little happily ever after? A family? Someone to grow old with?

Someone like AJ Yarborough? AJ was living proof that fate was more than a rumor. When he met the right woman, fate had clicked his life into a secure place that would never again include her. Still known as “the nicest man in the NFL,” he was retired from the game, married for nearly ten years and looked more in love every time she saw him.

But KPayne wasn't AJ Yarborough, and, no matter how much he pretended, he certainly wasn't Jay-Z, either. He was a smooth and easy pretender to a cool thug's life. If it wasn't for his family's money, he would never have had the cars and clothes, the amazing Buckhead condo, or his own music label, but he had it like that.

In the half-light, Bianca stopped in front of a broken full-length mirror and studied herself.

Hair, the color lightened and sweetened to honeyed gold, swept her shoulders. Wide hazel eyes fringed with dark, sooty lashes gave nothing away as she gazed at her own face; she'd always liked the echoes of her mother that she saw in herself. From the brightness of her cinnamon skin to the elegant lift of her cheekbones, Bianca was more than pretty, but the realist in Bianca's soul knew that beauty had its limits and she couldn't trade on it forever. Looking into her own eyes, she knew it was time to make a turnaround.

Reaching she let her fingers trace her features on the cool, grimy glass.
I want a man who answers the phone. I want to feel connected to someone I care about. I want to come home to a man who cares—for a change. I want to know that I count in someone else's life. I don't want to be a joke, decked out for some man's amusement—not any more.

Being five years older than the man she'd paired herself with had her questioning the age difference and yearning for maturity. But KPayne was either too much of a kid or just too flat-out selfish to understand. Stepping away from the mirror, Bianca found Jenni's broom and moved it around a pile of wet blouses and her mind flipped back to KPayne and his crew.

Kids, every one of them. Why do I expect anything more of them?

They were loud and flashy, flaunting youth like good jewelry, playing at being big-money thugs, and that tall, dark guy, Alin, he was the worst of them all. Sneaky, with hungry eyes and a leering grin, he had an endless supply of embarrassing questions, and the more he snickered and hinted, the worse the others got. Convinced that things would get better, Bianca held on to KPayne, trying not to hear the insult in the questions: Was it true that older women were good in bed? Was she too old to get pregnant? Did she have any gray hair? Where? What was she willing to do to hold on to a hot younger man?

Instead of coming to her defense or supporting her, KPayne thought it was all a joke, leaving her questioning her own self-worth.

Her booted feet squished through another mass of soggy clothing. Too bad. These boots were barely made for walking, much less slopping through water. Maybe the people who could board up the building could also turn off the water. She parked the broom and tried to remember where she'd left the phone book. Failing, she gave up.

“Nothing else I can do in the dark; I'll call from home,” she decided. Anything that couldn't wait had already been destroyed. A final look around Vive la Reine was completely depressing. She found her purse and dug out her car keys.

She almost laughed when she found herself, from force of habit, trying to lock the broken door and set the vandalized alarm.

“I've done all I can for now,” she said, walking to her car. The sound of the Jaguar's purring engine was comforting; at least something was working right. She pulled out of her parking space and headed for the Peachtree Street condo she shared with KPayne. Gripping the steering wheel, focused on the traffic around her, she couldn't stop thinking about arguing with KPayne the night before.
It was silly, a little childish, but…

Bianca wrenched the steering wheel to avoid hitting the Toyota in front of her, and had to pull her foot off the accelerator. Breathing hard, she intentionally steered her thoughts onto a different track, but they came right back to KPayne.

Biting her lip, she promised herself yet again that she was
not
going to introduce the words ‘biological clock' into any conversation with him. Let it tick as loudly as it could, she would not be the one to
ever
bring it up. And his disrespect, there was no excuse for it, and that was what had started the fight.

Bianca waited until they were in his tricked-out truck, headed to another club. “I'm tired of the disrespect,” she'd finally said. He'd told her to get over it. Pressing, she'd wanted to know why she should get over it; after all, wasn't she doing everything a wife was expected to do? Shouldn't she at least have the respect that a girlfriend was accorded?

“Don't I pay your bills? Keep you looking good?” he'd asked, laughing. “Didn't I loan you the money to play boss lady? That would be enough for almost any other chick, why not you?” Not waiting for her answer, he rumbled on. “Maybe because you don't know which end is up? Tell you what, just 'cause I don't want to trip over this, I'm going to plan a weekend in Nassau for us, and don't worry about packing any clothes. How about that?”

“Fine,” she'd snapped.

For the rest of the evening, KPayne took his joy where he found it, enjoying drinks, music and laughter, ignoring her petulant silence all the while—casually, but effectively, demonstrating just how much of an accessory Bianca was.

The worst thing about the evening was the endless parade of women who seemed to gravitate to him. Clinging to his hands, stroking his ego, hanging on his every word, they pushed her away with their eyes. With very little effort, he incited their interest, reveling in their attentions. Watching him, it occurred to Bianca that he was auditioning her replacement. Stopped in traffic, she choked on the thought. What would she be left with when he was ready to replace her?

When he finds that perfect woman, he'll have that perfect, socially acceptable life, and I'll be out on my ass,
she realized.
After that, if it's left up to him, I'll have a pocketful of tears and a few raggedy memories.

Last night, at evening's end, not drunk, but definitely fueled by liquid courage, KPayne had grown tired of hearing Bianca talk when he slid low in his seat and let his eyes rove over her. Stopped at a traffic light, he'd decided to make a few points of his own. “How hard would it be to replace you? I can get another one of you like that.” His hard finger snap had made her jump. “There's nothing about you that can't be replaced, Bianca. What I do with you, I can buy on any street corner. You're not that special.”

“If I'm not that special, what in the world am I doing with you?”
Her time with him was pretty much over—and she had next to nothing to show for it. Sitting beside him in his truck, she had grown quiet, assessing her situation, rethinking her reasons for investing herself in a life with him. For his part, realizing that he would be sleeping alone, KPayne had tried to apologize as they left the truck and entered his condo. All that did was piss her off.

Swerving around a green convertible, Bianca couldn't help feeling betrayed by a God who would allow her store to be robbed and trashed and hook her up with a man who didn't give a damn.

Okay, so God didn't hook me up with KPayne,
she had to admit.
I did that to myself. But who does he think he is, anyway?
Fuming, she slowed and changed lanes to make the turn for her building.

Oddly, a mountain of “stuff” was piled high in front of the condo. Someone's personal belongings had been tossed out—and some of the “stuff” looked familiar. Vuitton luggage, some pieces bulging wide, was piled high on the brick walk fronting the building. Gowns were balled and stuffed into garbage bags, along with jeans and boots. Three framed paintings, lush oil portraits, lay sadly on their sides. Willie Miles, the staring doorman, shoved his hands deep into his uniform pockets when she came to a stop in the curving driveway.

Moving closer, Miles looked at her with some pity. “That stuff over there? That would be yours. Policy is, you've got two hours to move it, or the management will trash it.”

“Trash?
My
stuff?”
That doesn't happen—not to me!
Miles stepped back when she shoved the door open and stumbled from the vehicle. “Oh, we'll see about this.” Bianca pulled out her cellphone, pressed buttons, and jammed it to her ear. Straight to voicemail.

She tossed the phone to the car seat and headed for the pile of her belongings. “How did this happen?”

Willie shoved his uniform cap back on his head and made his face blank. “Sheriff's men set your stuff out.”

He might as well have been speaking in tongues. “I don't understand how this could happen.” Her eyes went from the doorman to her possessions, and then she remembered the cardkey needed to enter the building. Pulling it from her pocket, she waved a dismissive hand. “I need to talk to Kelvin about this. Is he in there? He'll handle this.”

“I'm afraid not, ma'am. You don't live here anymore. You've been dispossessed.”

Feeling wobbly, Bianca managed to understand the man's words. She also heard the tall Nordic blonde, the one living with the neurologist on twenty, whisper the word “shame” as she brushed past the doorman, her cool blue eyes touching Bianca.

“He put me out?”

“See for yourself,” the doorman said, nodding and pointing.

Stunned, Bianca stepped across an overturned hatbox and reached for the yellow sheet taped to her Vuitton trunk. “Notice To Quit. An eviction notice? He's putting me out? What am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you do, you've got less than two hours to get it done,” Willie muttered. “Somebody is going to have to haul this mess from in front of my building.”

Fumbling her cellphone, she ignored the doorman and tried to call KPayne again. This time a woman answered.

“He said to deliver a message if you called,” the woman giggled. “Actually, he said
when
you called I should tell you your stuff is out on the curb and you should take anything you want before the trash gets picked up.”

“Just put him on the phone.”

“For what? You're out, old girl. Your day is done.” Screaming laughter ripped through the phone before Bianca could disconnect.

CHAPTER 2

You're out, old girl. Your day is done.
Afraid for the first time in a long time, Bianca didn't even feel the tears pooling in her eyes when Willie Miles came close.

Things like this are not supposed to happen to me.

“Look, uh, here's a newspaper,” Willie said, his hand shaking slightly as he gave her the morning edition of the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
. “The concierge…thought you might need it. Maybe you could, like, check the classifieds.” Bianca, her eyes soft and confused, looked up at him from the front seat of her car. Seeing her like this made the doorman nervous, made his voice shake a little. “Maybe you can find a mover, someone to help you get your stuff somewhere.”

Bianca couldn't meet his eyes, but she accepted the newspaper.

Sitting in the front seat of her car, she opened the paper looking for help. Fumbling numbers into her phone was embarrassing. Searching for her sneakers beneath the pile of clothes left on the street was mortifying. Introducing herself to the movers, Mr. Harper and his nephews, and explaining why nearly everything she owned in the world was laying out on Peachtree Street was humbling. But helping three men dressed in jeans and worn flannel shirts move her stuff onto the bed of their rickety truck was degrading. And she'd never seen it coming.

The good Lord knew she
should
have seen it coming; his mother had certainly thrown enough hints.
Mean, cranky old thing. Now why do I have to go thinking about her?

Just last week she had been getting dressed for an evening out when his mother called. With her high cheekbones, straight black hair, and surgically altered nose, Catherine Reynolds Payne was as affected and phony as they came, but at least she managed to fake pleasantries after she learned that her son was out and that she would have to leave the message with Bianca, or resort to voicemail. Catherine hated leaving messages, maybe because she was afraid that her comically high voice would be laughed at.

“Please tell dear Kelvin that he is invited to a family function; he always looks forward to these gatherings. The family is getting together at The Four Seasons to celebrate a cousin's birthday.”

Striving for politeness she didn't feel, Bianca had tried to play nice. “How nice. Which cousin?”

“Parker Reynolds. Dear Parker has had such a run of bad luck lately, what with his legal issues and now his marriage. He's always been a favorite, and now he's in need of family support and comfort, so a party is the perfect thing.”

“That sounds like fun…”

“I'm sure it will be.” Catherine had paused, then didn't bother softening her next words. “You did hear me say family, didn't you? This is an occasion intended exclusively for family—you understand.”

Completely.

Bianca understood that KPayne's ex-con cousin, the one convicted of running into Marlea Kellogg Yarborough's car and then performing surgery on her, was more acceptable in polite society than she was.

“There is no offense intended, but the event is social, and Bianca, dear, you have no real place in Kelvin's life and no attachment to our family at all. It would be different if you were married, or at least affianced, but of course, you're not.”

Maybe it was unfair, but right then, Bianca didn't care. Clearly, KPayne had taken his cues for ending their relationship from his mother. The proof had been strewn along the curb for all the world to see.

Getting out of her car at the Public Storage facility she'd found in the classifieds took an act of will that she prayed she would never again have to duplicate. Trying to look like a woman in charge of herself, she crossed the asphalt and stepped into the dusty office. Her feelings were hurt and her confidence shaken, but at least she wasn't likely to run into anybody she knew, and she would have a place to store her property until…until times got better.

The man behind the desk barely looked up as the door opened, but when he did, the look in his eyes—a look that said he'd seen it all before—almost turned her around.

Suck it up
, Bianca ordered herself, approaching the counter.
If you could do better right now, you would. Since you can't, just do what you have to.
“I'd like to rent a unit, please.”

Shoving forms toward her, the man barely moved his lips. “Got two sizes. Which you want?”

“The large one. Do they come with shelves?”

“No shelves.” The man's leathery lips were stingy when they parted to utter those few words. Pulling the completed paperwork closer, he looked up, his eyes taking in his pretty customer's clothes, shoes, and her designer handbag. When his eyes went back to the papers on the desk, it was clear he'd decided that she probably deserved whatever she got. The look in his eyes made Bianca's stomach turn—a sure sign that there was worse to come.

Worse didn't waste much time making an appearance.

“How long do you think you'll need the space?”

Bianca's mouth opened and closed. “I don't know.” She heard Mr. Harper whisper something to one of his nephews—something she was certain she didn't want to hear. “Is there a minimum time?”

The man tipped his head and looked at her. Mr. Harper nudged another nephew, and Bianca felt totally judged: pretty but stupid.

“You should think about month to month. You could always extend it if you need to.”

Why didn't I think of that?
Pressing her lips together, she nodded and tried not to hear the whispering men behind her. She pulled out her wallet and fingered through her cash. A couple hundred, she figured, most of which was owed to Mr. Harper. She pulled out one of KPayne's credit cards and slid it across the counter. “I'll take a month.”

The guy behind the Public Storage desk sliced the card through the machine, then looked up at her. “Declined,” he said.

Avoiding his eyes, she snatched the card back and jammed it into her purse.
There has to be a mistake. These cards always work. That's why he gave them to me, to be sure I always had what I needed.
The lump in her stomach hardened as she hit another wall of reality.
KPayne couldn't care less what I need.

Fumbling through her wallet, she found a VISA card, another one that KPayne's accountants kept paid. She pushed it across the desk. “Try this one. Please.”

The man behind the desk seemed amused by her plight. He slipped the card through the reader and waited. “Declined,” he finally said.

Her stomach clenched and Bianca decided that she'd better hurry up and pay the movers in cash before someone called the cops. She pulled a handful of bills from her wallet and counted them out into two piles on the counter. Her breathing was shallow, and she felt faint when she handed the smaller stack to the Public Storage man and the larger one to Mr. Harper.

She pretended not to hear Mr. Harper whisper to his nephews, “Told you she had enough.”

“Just barely,” one of the nephews whispered back, pushing out of the small office.

“Maybe she shoulda hocked some of her jewelry on the way over here,” the other nephew said too loudly.

Bianca felt the Public Storage man laughing as she took her receipt and left the office. Six steps away from the office door, she stopped in the building's shadow and dug deep in her purse. Finding her wallet, she snatched the remaining bills free and counted. Three twenties, a ten, two fives, and four singles—eighty-four dollars. Maybe a little more if she added the change in the bottom of her handbag.

Her hand went deep, digging for stray coins, when the sound of a man's laughter brought her head up sharply. The man from the Public Storage office had come from behind his desk and was enjoying a good laugh at her expense.
I can't just stand here and be laughed at. I need a place to lay my head for the night.
Bianca turned stiffly and walked to her car. The man was still laughing as she climbed into the Jaguar and kicked off her tennis shoes. Barefooted, she turned her key in the ignition and rolled onto the street.

Now, what? Where am I going to go? It's not as if I can just
head downtown to the Ritz-Carlton. That would take a credit card, and I know mine don't work. Damn it, I knew I shouldn't have listened to him—I should have gotten at least one card of my own for an emergency. Like this.

Trying hard to order her thoughts, she decided that her next move should be finding an ATM machine and making a withdrawal. An ATM would have a limit on the amount of money she could withdraw within a day, but she would have some cash to work with. Glancing back at the mound of clothing and shoes she had thrown into the Jaguar's back seat, it took a lot of effort not to burst into tears.

A quick image of the mess she'd left at Vive la Reine flashed across her mind's eye, but she had to focus—focus on the next thing to do. A place to stay, she decided, practically. She had to find a place to stay because sleeping in her car was simply not an option.

Playing the tips of her nails against her teeth, thinking hard, she waited for the traffic light to change. A tanned man with startlingly blue eyes leaned across the seat of his car and waved at her. When she turned her face to him, his smile widened.

“It's late for lunch and early for dinner, but I'll eat anything you suggest,” he called as the light changed.

Bianca's foot pressed the accelerator and her car sped across the intersection, leaving the man and his offer behind.

Ahead of her, the bank sign glowed like a beacon in the afternoon sun. Changing lanes, not even looking to see if her admirer had followed, Bianca swerved across traffic and drove into the bank's parking lot. Aiming the Jag carefully, she made a tight turn that brought her close to the ATM machine. Holding her breath, she took out her ATM card and reached out the window to slip it into the machine. Feeling like a thief, she keyed her code into the machine and waited.

She began to wonder why it was taking so long when the blue screen flickered and flashed a message: Insufficient funds.

“Oh, hell no. This can't be right. How can that be?” Fighting the urge to slam her fist into the face of the machine, she reached for the teller call button, then stopped short. “There should be plenty of money in this account. I'm only asking for four hundred dollars, just enough to get through the night.”

He couldn't care less whether you get through the night or not…

“I have a right to get through the night.” Bianca sat higher in her seat and pressed the call button.

“Good afternoon. I'm Ms. Blackmon, how may I help you?”

Clearing her throat, Bianca shook back her hair and leaned close to the window, keeping her voice low. “There seems to be a problem with my account. I can't seem to use my ATM card and…”

“Ms. Coltrane? Is that correct?” The teller's voice was cool and controlled. “I do see a problem, but I believe that it can be resolved. If you would please come into the office?”

Now what?
The question marking the end of the teller's invitation immediately troubled Bianca, but she pulled away from the ATM and steered the Jaguar into a parking slot. She pulled her still-damp red boots over the straight legs of her form-fitting jeans and zipped them.
I may be down, but I'll be damned if I'll look like it.

She ran quick fingers through her hair and checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. Sliding a finger along the neckline of her blouse, she slipped it lower, finding a more flattering line about her slender shoulders. Satisfied that she at least looked like someone who could afford to have business with the bank, she reached for her purse, slid out of the Jag, and sauntered across the parking lot.

This is all going to work out.

But as she passed through the heavy glass doors and into the bank's lobby, Bianca was unsure as to whether the words were prayer or promise.

“Ms. Coltrane.” The tall, curvy woman with the oversized glasses walked closer and extended her hand. “I'm Erica Lane, accounts manager.”

Something was really wrong, and this authoritative woman knew what it was. “I spoke to Ms. Blackmon.”

“Yes, you did, but I'll be handling this for you. Follow me, please.”

Lord, what am I walking into? All I wanted was a little money, just enough to last until…

Bianca followed Ms. Lane's blue-suited back into a small glass-walled office. When she walked behind the desk, Bianca sat across from her without waiting for an invitation.

Erica Lane sat and turned a small file face-up on her desk. “Ms. Coltrane, do you mind if we talk, woman to woman?”

Bianca squirmed, crossing and recrossing her legs, adjusting her jacket, and shifting her purse. “Do I have a choice?”

“There is always a choice. Do you mind?”

“I guess not, not if it will help with my account and let me use my ATM card.”

“I can tell you now that you won't be using
your
ATM card,” Ms. Lane said, folding her hands atop the slender file. “Technically, this is not
your
account. The ATM card cannot be used without the account owner's permission. That permission has been withdrawn.”

“Withdrawn? On top of everything else? Why?” Shaking her head, Bianca stumbled to her feet and tried to breathe. Collecting her purse, she realized her hands were shaking. Desperate for exit, her body turned but her feet failed to follow and her ankle twisted slightly on the high heel of her boot nearly sending her to her knees. She grasped the corner of Ms. Lane's desk, steadying herself.

“Look, calm down and have a seat.” Watching her sit, the account manager poured water from the pitcher on her desk and offered the glass to Bianca. “Ms. Coltrane, do you have an account of your own with our bank?” Bianca shook her head miserably and returned the empty glass to the desktop.