Chances Are (3 page)

T
he last of the girls, accompanied by their infants or toddlers, filed into the basement, which had been transformed from the day-care setting to a formal meeting space, the cribs, bassinets and playpens replaced with folding aluminum chairs.

Everyone tried to find a seat next to their buddy, whispering and speculating among themselves about why they were there.

“They're probably going to tell us about the loud music again,” Kisha whispered to Denise. “You know how Ms. Betsy is about music.”

Denise sucked her teeth. “Pleeze. They wouldn't call an emergency house meeting just to tell us about no darn music.”

“Betcha,” Kisha insisted.

“Probably gonna tell us about curfew again,” Gina said under her breath, knowing she was one of the culprits and hoping she wouldn't be singled out to have her visiting privileges suspended. She wanted to see her boyfriend on the weekend. But she'd come in late two nights last week and had her toes and fingers crossed that she'd gotten over this time. Her daughter Brandy began squirming and whimpering. Gina stuck a bottle in her mouth and began bouncing Brandy up and down on her knee.

“If everyone will settle down, we can get started,” Brenda said from the front of the room. “If any of the babies are asleep, or you want to lay them down, take a sheet from the cabinet in the back and put them in one of the cribs or playpens.”

She waited while two of the girls leaped at the opportunity to put their bundles down. Once they were seated she began again.

“We have some serious business to discuss tonight and I want all of you to listen carefully to what Ms. Williams has to say. It affects all of us.” She turned to Dione, who moved from the side of the room and took Brenda's place in front of the girls.

“An opportunity has presented itself to us. But as Ms. Brenda said, your decision—and it will be your decision—affects everyone.” She looked from one questioning face to the next before she continued. “A gentleman by the name of Garrett Lawrence would like to do a documentary, a short film, about you girls and Chances Are.”

“A movie!” Kisha beamed.

“Something like that,” Dione qualified.

A wave of murmuring rippled through the room.

“Okay, settle down. Nothing gets settled by talking among yourselves. It may sound exciting, but there are some other things to consider. He's going to want to interview all of you, and your faces will be on film. I have no guarantees about who will eventually see it.”

Denise's hand shot up in the air. “I can't be on no film, Ms. Williams. I can't.”

“Me, neither. None of my friends in school know I live in a shelter,” said another girl in the back.

“Yeah. Yeah,” chimed a few others.

“So don't be in it,” snapped Kisha, looking behind her and giving the whiners dirty looks.

“Oh, shut up. It ain't all about you,” snapped Theresa, one of the oldest in the group who'd been the victim of incest and held a blatant distrust of everyone and everything. It had taken Dione months to be able to get her to talk at all. The last thing she wanted for Theresa was a setback.

Kisha jumped up out of her seat, squaring off for a fight. She was always ready to defend herself or somebody and she was the smallest one in the bunch.

“Kisha! Sit down. Now!” Dione ordered.

Kisha blew out a breath and took her seat.

“Now just settle down. Everybody. Nothing is going to happen without everyone's cooperation. I know this is a very sensitive issue for many of you. And you know that I've always done everything in my power to keep your privacy intact. We'll put it to a vote.” She looked around the room. “All those in favor of the film being done, raise your hand.”

Four hands shot up in the air, leaving the majority of six in disagreement.

Dione sighed, partly in relief, partly in disappointment. “That's it then. No film.”

There was a sudden outburst of conversation among the opposing sides, everyone trying to outshout the other.

“Quiet! Enough. End of discussion.” By degrees everyone settled down. “Thank you all for coming. The meeting is over.”

There was a lot of scraping of chairs and loud murmurs as the girls started to get up.

“Wait a minute.” Brenda stepped to the front of the room, her face a mask of barely contained fury.

Dione put her hand on Brenda's shoulder in warning.

“No. They need to hear what I have to say,” she whispered.

She turned toward the assemblage. “Everybody take a seat.” She waited, tapping her foot with impatience. “I can understand some of you being reluctant about the whole thing for a variety of reasons. Ms. Williams didn't tell you all everything, but I will.” She cut Dione a quick look from the corner of her eye and could see that Dione was fuming but resigned. “This is the real deal…”

Brenda told them plainly and slowly about the financial troubles Chances Are was in, and how making the documentary and getting it to important funders could be the key to saving the house.

“From the moment each of you walked through the doors, we have gone out of our way to make a home for you, help you in any way we could, get your lives and your children's lives back on track. I think it's about time you all began thinking about more than just yourselves and just today, but all the tomorrows and all the young women who will need Chances Are when you've moved out and moved on.” She took a breath. “I want you all to think about this. Think about it real hard.” She turned away and walked out, leaving them all in open-mouthed silence.

 

Dione found Brenda in the upstairs office, with the lights out, sitting in a chair by the window, her silhouette reflected against the moonlit night.

“Bren.” Dione heard her sniffle.

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

Dione stepped into the room. “Can I turn on the light?”

“I'd really prefer if you didn't.”

Dione walked over to where Brenda sat and put a hand on her shoulder. “I think you really shook them up down there,” she began trying to get a chuckle out of her.

“I had to. They need to know the truth, Dee.” She sniffed again. “Our hearts and souls are in this place.”

“I know. We'll find a way, Bren. Work on some more proposals, do some fund-raising. I'm not giving up.”

Brenda clasped the hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry. I know you didn't want them to know how bad things really were. But—”

“It's all right. You were right. They do need to know. It's not fair to them to leave them in the dark. The reality is, if we can't get some funding in here, we'll have to start looking for placement for them.”

Brenda sighed. “I'm not looking forward to that, but it's a reality.”

Dione squeezed her shoulder. “Something will work out. Go home and get some rest. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah.” Slowly she rose and Dione could see her wiping her eyes in the shadowed room.

They both got their coats from the closet and walked out together to the front door.

Just as they reached the exit, Kisha came running down the stairs.

“Ms. Williams, Ms. Frazier. Wait!”

They both turned, fearing the worst, like a fight broke out upstairs or something.

“What's the matter, Kisha?” Dione asked, holding her breath.

Kisha came to a stop in front of them. “We took another vote. We can't let you lose Chances Are, Ms. Williams. It ain't right.”

“Isn't,” Dione corrected with a smile.

“Isn't. But we want to help.”

Brenda turned to Dione and a smile broke out across her face. She grabbed Dione and hugged her. “Amen!”

Dione hugged her back as fear whipped through her. The racing of her heart had nothing to do with happiness.

 

That night Dione tossed and turned, her life, her youth, her lie tracking her like the most skilled of hunters. Everywhere that she tried to hide from the painful memories—there they were.

She ran, darting behind her successes, her degrees, her small cluster of friends, the security of Chances Are, but still the memories sought her out and found her. All in the form of Niyah who held out the accusing finger. “How could you have done it—lied to me all these years? I hate you,” she screamed. “Hate you!”

W
hen Garrett arrived at the studio the following morning Jason was already there setting up to shoot a public service announcement for the local historical society.

Garrett poked his head in. “Hey, how's it going?”

“I should be asking you,” he said adjusting the teleprompter for the woman from the society.

“No luck if that's what you mean.”

Jason stopped what he was doing. “'Scuse me a minute,” he said to the woman seated in front of the monitor. He crossed the studio floor to where Garrett stood in the doorway. “I'm telling you, man, call her. Lay the cards on the table. Just be upfront,” he said under his breath.

“Listen, I ain't begging nobody for nothing. We got this far without this project, we'll keep going.”

“Yeah, doing the same thing day in and day out,” he hissed. “What about our plans, man? Huh?”

“Listen, Jas. If we could get one grant, we'll get another. I'm not going to sweat this. If she decides to call and accept, fine. If not we'll move on.”

Jason tossed it around a minute and looked long and hard at his friend, knowing that once Garrett made up his mind on something that was it. “Yeah, all right, man. You're the boss. Whatever you decide to do I'm behind you.” He slapped him on the shoulder. “Just don't take too long to think up something brilliant.”

Garrett chuckled. “Yeah, right. Thanks. No pressure. See you later. I'll be in editing. Tom and Najashi in yet?”

“Tom is. Najashi should be here around noon.”

“Cool. Later.”

 

Dione had alternately been staring at the phone then at the proposal. Debating. Yes, the girls had re-thought the idea and had decided to go along with it. But what about her? She felt as if she were being squeezed like a lemon. There was no easy win. Either way she stood to lose a lot.

All during her restless night, she thought about her options, and her level of participation. The bottom line was she only had to reveal as much or as little as she wanted. Niyah didn't have to find out how ugly her beginnings really were.

Resigned, she reached for the phone, just as it rang.

“Good morning, Chances Are. Ms. Williams speaking.”

“Hey, Dee, it's Terri.”

Dione's face and spirit instantly brightened at hearing the voice of her dear friend Terri Powers.

“Girl, it's good to hear your voice,” she enthused, easily slipping into the sistah mode. “When did you sneak back into town?”

“Just got in last night,” she said with her barely there Barbadian accent. “Clint and I were overdue for a vacation. We've been burning the candle at both ends.”

“Yeah, I hear you. But it's always extra nice when you have your own getaway resort to get away to.”

They both laughed. Terri's husband, Clint, had opened a small resort several years earlier in the Bahamas and it had really taken off. Between Clint's uncanny business skills and Terri's public relations savvy, their careers and their finances were set. They'd gone through hell and back before finally getting together; from the kidnapping of Clint's daughter, Ashley, to the resurrection of Terri's brother, Malcolm, who she'd believed had been dead for years—but they did get together and they were exceedingly happy.

“So, what's been happening? Any luck with the proposals?”

“No,” she pushed out a long breath. “But we've finally decided to go with the documentary.”

“Fantastic! I told you weeks ago it was a great idea. You know I'd be more than thrilled to put a promo campaign together for you once it's done. No problem.”

Dione smiled. “I'm going to hold you to that. We'll need all the help we can get.”

“If you hadn't wanted to carry the weight of that place on your shoulders, I told you I would have worked out a P.R. campaign for you to pitch to those stuck-up funders.”

“I know, I know. Don't rub it in.”

“When does it start?”

“That's the thing. I'm not sure. Actually, we just decided last night. We put it to a house vote. I haven't even spoken to the producer yet. He may not want to do it at this point.”

“He'll do it. The story behind Chances Are is a gem. Your story especially.”

Dione's stomach fluttered. “That's my biggest concern, Terri. You know that. Niyah doesn't know everything.”

“Dee, it's time that she did. She's almost eighteen.”

“I know,” she said, a sad hitch in her voice. “I just don't ever want her to feel the same worthlessness that I felt for so many years. Or that my bringing her into the world was the cause of—”

“Don't even go there. If anything, Niyah was and still is the catalyst for everything that you've become. Everything that you've done for so many other young girls who had no one and nowhere else to turn. That's something to be proud of, Dee, not ashamed.”

“And how many times over the years have I had this very conversation with myself? It's just easier said than done.”

“Well, sister-friend, it's got to come out sometime.”

“That's what I'm afraid of. But I'll work it out.”

“You always do. Now make that call, girl. I'm itching for a new project.”

Dione laughed. “I will and I'll call and let you know what happens.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, Terri. Talk to you soon.”

Slowly Dione replaced the receiver, a soft smile framing her mouth. She was blessed. That was certain. She was surrounded by people who cared for and believed in her. And they were depending on her. How would her life have been different if her parents had been there for her when she needed them most?

She took a long breath, picked up the phone and dialed Garrett Lawrence's number.

 

Garrett was right in the middle of putting the crucial piece of a choreographer's video together. Painstakingly he ran and reran the tape to get it in perfect sync with the music.

At first he ignored the ringing phone, intent on what he was doing, until he realized that everyone else was in the studio taping the pubic service announcement.

“Man!” He stopped the tape, silently promising himself for the millionth time to set the answering machine for those days when Marva, their part-time receptionist, was off. He snatched the phone from its base on the wall behind him.

“Hello,” he barked. “G.L. Productions.”

Dione frowned at the abrasive voice on the other end and hoped that whoever this was, wasn't representative of who she'd have to deal with.

“Yes. Good morning. This is Dione Williams from Chances Are. May I speak with Mr. Lawrence please?”

Garrett sat straight up in his seat, the video forgotten, partly from the jolt of the call itself, but mostly from the throaty, almost hushed voice of the caller.

“This is Garrett Lawrence. How are you, Ms. Williams?”

Now that's more like it.
“Fine. I'm calling because I've gone over your proposal again—and,” she forced the words out of her mouth, “I'd like to set up a time when we can meet to discuss the arrangements. That is if you're still interested in working with us.”

“Yes, I'm still interested,” he said, fighting to hold back his enthusiasm. “Whatever time is good for you. I'll make myself available.”

She was hoping he'd say it was too late, but—“How's this afternoon, about four o'clock?”

“Four is fine. I'll be there.”

“No. I mean, actually I'd prefer if we met somewhere else.”

It was his turn to frown. He would have thought she'd want to meet on her turf.
Women.
“You're welcome to come to the studio. That would give you a chance to see the facility and I can show you some of the work I've done.”

“All right. What's the best way to get there by car?”

 

The morning sped by entirely too quickly. Before Dione knew it, it was three o'clock and if she had any intention of being on time, she needed to leave. She'd put off the inevitable for as long as possible.

Dione signed off on the last case file. Overall she was pleased with the reviews of the girls' progress. Her staff meeting the previous afternoon had yielded glowing remarks for the ten residents. Only two out of the ten were in need of new physicals, and appointments had been set up.

Everyone with the exception of Theresa was either in school or working. According to her files from the group home she'd been transferred from, she hadn't gone any further than seventh grade and had been diagnosed as a “special ed” student.

However, in the three months that she'd been at Chances Are, the staff had determined that Theresa's problem was dyslexia, which was never properly diagnosed or treated. Brenda had investigated several special programs and they'd finally found one that would be perfect for Theresa. Now the only problem they faced was convincing Theresa that she could succeed in school and in life—with a little help and hard work.

Dione closed Theresa's file and put it with the stack to be returned to the cabinet. Getting up, she took her purse and coat from the coatrack and headed upstairs.

She peeked in the door of the main office. “I'm going to the meeting with Mr. Lawrence,” she said to Brenda.

“I can go with you if you want.”

Dione smiled. “No. Thanks. I'll deal with it. See you in the morning.” She turned to leave.

“Keep an open mind, Dee,” Brenda called out.

“Yeah, yeah. I will.”

 

“Why did she decide to come here?” Jason asked.

“That's the way she wanted it and I wasn't going to debate the point.”

They walked side by side through the facility checking each of the rooms, wanting to make a good impression, then returned to the front office.

“I'd like you to sit in on the meeting, Jason. Fill in anything I might overlook.”

“No problem.”

Garrett checked his watch. “She should be here in a few minutes. We have anybody to cover the phones while we meet?”

“I'll get Najashi or Tom. Whoever's not busy.”

The front door buzzed.

Jason looked at the security monitor mounted on the office wall. “Mmm, if this is her, we're in luck buddy.” He buzzed her in.

Garrett just shook his head, knowing that Jason thought any woman with a grain of looks was fair game, even though he was solidly married. So his assessment could often leave a lot to be desired.

They could hear her heels click down the hall.

Garrett stepped out of the office into the corridor to meet her.

“You're on,” Jason whispered.

Garrett stopped, watching her approach and was immediately reminded of those sleek Ebony Fashion Fair models strutting down a runway.

She wore a full-length cream-colored cashmere coat that she'd left open to showcase a body-hugging jersey knit turtleneck dress. Her auburn hair barely brushed her shoulders and was swept away from her face. Dark glasses shielded her eyes and when she removed them, startling hazel eyes zeroed in on him, set against a rich tan complexion devoid of any noticeable makeup, save for a hint of cinnamon-colored lipstick.

His stomach seesawed. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this vision. Somewhere in his subconscious he'd convinced himself that anyone who ran a home for girls was a short nondescript plain-Jane, who couldn't get a man, even if they did have a great voice on the phone.

He swallowed and a sudden heat swept through him when the sexiest smile he'd seen in far too long slowly slid across her mouth.

And then she was right in front of him, her hand outstretched.

“I'm Dione Williams. I'm here to see—”

“Me. I'm Garrett Lawrence.” He took her hand and had the overwhelming urge to caress it instead of shake it.
Get it together, brother.
“Good to finally meet you, Ms. Williams. Come in. I'd like to introduce you to my business partner.” He released her hand and Dione inexplicably felt adrift.

While she was walking down the corridor and had seen him standing there, her first thought was that he was an actor, or something, here to do a taping. Never in her wildest dreams did she associate this delicious-looking man with the voice on the phone. Garrett Lawrence was a work of art in motion.

The tight black sweater outlined the breadth of his shoulders and defined the hard contours of his upper body. The pale blue jeans he wore—well, they set her imagination into high gear.

She couldn't remember the last time simply meeting a man had this kind of powerful effect on her.
There had to be something wrong with him.
And then he turned and smiled, flashing the deep dimple in his right cheek and the sexy gap in his front teeth.