Chances Are (5 page)

G
arrett followed Dione into the corridor, taking surreptitious glances around the interior, only to discover that the inside, at least as much of it as he could see, lived up to the outside.

But it was Dione who caught and commanded his attention. He hadn't stopped thinking about her since they'd met. He seemed to be able to hear the hushed timbre of her voice in his dreams. Her scent, so soft, subtle, yet intoxicating had stayed with him seeping into his pores. And now, the whisper of her stockings brushing against her long legs as she walked, the click of her heels and the gentle wave of her hips seemed to have him mesmerized. Why? He'd seen and been with plenty of women. What was it about her that intrigued him, sparked his curiosity?

“Let me take you to meet Brenda Frazier,” she said, interrupting his meandering thoughts.

He blinked, bringing reality back into focus. He was in a well-kept building in a decent neighborhood, that appeared to be efficiently run. But the bottom line was, no matter what it looked like, no matter what window dressing you put on it, all it was, all it could ever be was a shelter for irresponsible girls and their illegitimate children. He had to remember that. Looks were deceiving.

He frowned as the old pain twisted in his chest. Did he really want this grant so badly that he was willing to deal with all the memories and the hurt that was certain to come with it? Maybe he should just let Jason take over the project.

“Brenda Frazier, this is Garrett Lawrence. Ms. Frazier is the assistant director of the facility.”

Assistant director. Hmm.
They'd thought she was just a pesky secretary, stonewalling them. If she was on a par with other assistant directors, she had some pull, some say-so about things. And from the no-nonsense look in her eyes, she was not one to be fooled with. You wanted her on your side.

Brenda came from behind her desk and extended her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“So you're the face behind the voice.”

Brenda's smile was slow, almost wary. “I hope that's a good thing.”

“Absolutely,” he grinned, flashing those dimples.

He turned toward Dione. “Ready for that tour?”

“We can start downstairs.”

Dione took him down to day care, which doubled as their meeting room, which was full of the sounds of active children running, playing and wailing for attention. It took all Dione had not to burst out laughing when she introduced him to Betsy who all but batted her eyes at him. After a brief show-and-tell of the uses for the huge basement space, they went upstairs and he took a quick peek at Kisha's and Theresa's apartments.

“Are all the apartments like this?” he asked having a hard time believing that this was the type of environment the girls lived in. He felt like he was on a movie set that had been staged especially for him. Any moment now, someone would call “cut” and they'd take down the props and he'd see the skeletons in the closet.

Dione closed the door to Theresa's apartment. “Yes.” She laughed lightly and he realized he liked the sound. “Some more well-kept than others, I'm sad to say. But they're all one bedroom, fully equipped and furnished when the families move in.”

“Pretty lucky.”

Dione snatched his sarcastic tone right out of the air and tossed it back at him. “I wouldn't call what these girls go through luck, Mr. Lawrence.”

“What would you call it?” he taunted, suddenly feeling combative. “I mean, here they are, all their needs met, free room and board, built-in babysitter. Ha, it's almost as if they're being rewarded for going out and getting pregnant.”

Dione's eyes flared and she could feel the heat of a nasty volley rise up from the pit of her stomach ready to jump up and smack him dead across his self-righteous face. How many times had she done battle with his type of twisted thinking? More times than she cared to count. Some battles she lost, but there were many more that she'd won. Education was the key and Mr. Garrett Lawrence was in serious need of Awakening 101, straight from the head teacher.

“It's unfortunate that you feel that way, Mr. Lawrence. I would think that as a
professional
you'd have to go into every new project with an open mind in order to get the most out of it and not have the work
tainted
by preconceived notions. I'm hopeful that your time with us here will be enlightening.” She took a breath and put on her best smile. “That's about it for the tour, and I have a ton of work, as I'm sure you do as well. If you'll let Brenda know what you need for the public service announcement and when we can get started, I'd appreciate that.” She stuck out her hand.

Reluctantly he took it. He was being dismissed. He would have laughed, but it wasn't funny.

“Thank you for stopping by.” She ushered him toward the door of the main office. “Bren, Mr. Lawrence needs to give you some information.” She flashed him a smile and had an instant of satisfaction from the stunned look on his face. “Have a good day.” She turned and went downstairs.

For a moment he felt as if he'd been sent to sit in the corner. He could barely concentrate on what he needed to tell this woman in front of him for thinking about Dione and her ability to totally detach herself and make him feel two inches tall, and all with a dazzling smile.

“What day did you want to start?”

Garrett finally focused on Brenda's patient “he's slow” expression.

“At least by next week. You, or whoever is going to write it, need to write up a sixty-second script. Say whatever you think will get people to stand up and take notice.”

He heard footsteps in the hall and turned his head toward the door, hoping it would be Dione. It wasn't.

Returning his attention to Brenda, he noticed she'd replaced her “he's slow” expression with “now you're getting on my nerves and I'm trying to be nice.”

“I really think I should explain all of this to Ms. Williams. Especially since—”

She cut him right off. “Dione is very busy. I can assure you, Mr. Lawrence I'm quite capable of delivering the information. If she has any questions, she'll call you.”

Just how many times would he get stung in one day? Did everyone in this place have the knack for putting you in deep check with the arch of a brow, or a turn of a phrase all done with a smile?

He gave her a grin with no teeth, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a white business card. “Here's my card. My pager number is on there in case she can't reach me at the studio and my home number is on the back.”

“I'll be sure she gets it.” She gave the card a cursory glance and put it down on the desk. “Nice meeting you.”

“You, too.” But he wasn't really sure.

Brenda rose. “I'll walk you out.”

When they reached the front door, Garrett stopped. “Is it always like this?” he asked, still a bit in awe, his eyes skipping once again over the interior, the smooth pale green walls adorned with inexpensive artwork and the shiny cream-colored linoleum floors.

“Like what?”

“Orderly. Clean. Quiet.”

She chuckled. “We have our moments. Believe me. But for the most part everyone knows what's expected of them and what will and will not be tolerated. We do have rules, Mr. Lawrence.”

He pressed his lips together and flicked his eyebrows. “Thanks again,” he mumbled and stepped outside.

 

Dione paced the floor of her office like a caged tigress. It took all she had not to spew an earsplitting scream of frustration. She thought she'd gotten beyond allowing narrow-minded people to get to her. But Garrett Lawrence had sneaked in, passed the guard, and rattled her defenses.

She shouldn't let his prejudiced attitude affect her. But it had. Deeply. From the moment she'd set eyes on him she'd wanted him to be different. Not like all the others. It was one of the many reasons why she'd avoided intimate relationships in general. Not that she was anticipating an intimate relationship with him, but whenever she met a man he either felt threatened by the time and devotion she gave to her work and the girls under her care, or believed that her talents could be better utilized in corporate America where she could make some
real
money.

They never understood that for her it was never about money, or about deciding who or what was more important—her work or them. For her it was about survival. And she had yet to meet a man whose passion for what he did came from a place deep inside of himself and the only way to get from one day to the next was to do what he truly believed in.

How could she trust him to honestly project the image of Chances Are if his opinions were so jaded?

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and halted her pacing. She needed this project to work. Chances Are needed this project. A smile of determination inched across her cinnamon-tinted lips.

Everyone who crossed the threshold of her domain slowly began to understand and even absorb the special essence that set it apart from all the rest. Hearts and minds had been changed within these very walls, under this roof. Garrett Lawrence would be a convert if it was the last thing she did.

 

On the drive back to the studio, Garrett kept thinking about his visit, not so much the shooting possibilities but the entire episode. Reality kept clashing with what he'd believed to be true. The constant butting of heads had thrown him completely off center.

He parked in front of the studio and went in, glad to see that Jason was still in the office. He tossed his battered leather flight jacket, followed by his cap on a vacant chair, then plopped down, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“So let's hear it. What's the place like?”

Garrett looked at Jason for a hot minute. The corner of his mouth flinched upward. “Believe me, it's nothing like I thought.” He looked off toward the empty space, and a vision of Dione materialized before him. “Nothing at all,” he whispered.

T
he intercom on Dione's phone buzzed. She depressed the flashing red light.

“Yes, Brenda.”

“Garrett Lawrence is on the phone.”

Dione's eyebrows rose. He'd only been gone a little more than an hour. Had he changed his mind about working with them? “Thanks, Bren. I'll take it.” She pressed the blinking yellow light. “Mr. Lawrence, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. Is there a problem?”

“No. No problem. I, uh, I know I left some information with your assistant, but I felt it was better if I spoke to you directly. I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

The message was clear enough, she thought, doing a quick mental replay of what Brenda had said, and couldn't imagine what was unclear.

“You're not disturbing me. I'm listening.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly tongue-tied, knowing that the real reason why he called had nothing to do with the message he'd left.

“I was hoping that we could get together—before you come in to tape the PSA—go over a few things.” He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he didn't sound as idiotic as he felt.

Dione frowned. “Is that really necessary? I mean, I'm sure you can tell me what you need. I—”

“Why don't I just be honest,” he cut in. “That's not the reason why I called.” He blew out a breath through his teeth. “We—I started off on the wrong foot. And that's not the way to get into a business endeavor. I need to be objective and not bring my life or my opinions to the job. I was out of line with my comments.”

“I hadn't noticed,” she said fighting a smile.

“Well, I did, and I'm sorry.”

“Consider your apology accepted.”

For a moment no one spoke.

“Maybe we could meet tomorrow—after work. I'm done here about six,” Dione said, not sure where that one had come from. But it was out now.

“Sounds good. You name the place.”

“Have you ever been to Ashford and Simpson's place, the Sugar Bar on—”

“Seventy-second,” he chuckled, finishing her sentence.

“I take it you have. Hope that's a good thing.”

“Definitely. Food's good. Great atmosphere. Say about seven—give you time to get there?”

“Seven is fine.” She hesitated a moment. “So, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Had his voice taken on a huskier note, or was she just imagining things?

“Tomorrow then.”

“Have a good evening.”

“You, too.” Absently she hung up the phone. “Well, that conversation sure took a walk around the bend.” She leaned back in her seat. “One minute I'm twisted out of shape because of his ugly attitude, and the next I'm meeting him for dinner. I must be losing my mind.” She slapped her palms down on the desktop and stood, picking up several folders in the process.

“It must be the desperation in me,” she mumbled, taking the folders to the gray metal file cabinet stuck in the corner of the room. She shoved the folders back in place and slammed the drawer shut, then stared at nothingness. “Or maybe it's the woman.”

 

“Why are you sitting there with that silly grin on your face?” Jason asked, stepping into the office and setting a camera down on the table.

“I'm having dinner with Dione Williams tomorrow night.”

Jason tossed his head back and laughed. “Gary man, you're a real piece of work. One minute I have to practically beg you kickin' and screamin' to take this job. The next you're having dinner with the client.”

“Hey, what can I tell you. She—interests me and I think we got off to a bad start. I just want to set things straight.”

“Over dinner? You could have done that over the phone.”

“It was her suggestion.”

“Hers?”

“Yeah. Why's that so hard to believe?”

Jason held up his hand. “It's your show, my brother. Just remember this is business. Don't let a pretty face and a great body screw up your head.”

“Give me some credit, Jas. I know what I'm doing.”

“Hmm. I'm gonna put this equipment back and then I'm out. See you tomorrow.”

“Later.”

Garrett sat at his desk for a good half hour, thinking about his visit to the shelter, his phone conversation with Dione and what Jason said.

He'd never made it a practice to get involved with his clients, but he was being pulled toward Dione. He wasn't sure what it was—her physical beauty, her quick wit or intelligence. Although they were certainly enticing pieces of the puzzle it was something deeper—the
thing
that made her tick. He wanted to know what that thing was. What drove her? What made a woman like Dione dedicate her life, her energy to a bunch of irresponsible girls?

He didn't think it was simply compassion, the ambiguous need to do good. No. It was something more than that. Just as he was driven to perfection, to striving for something more as if to compensate for his lack of a past, he constantly forged his own future, made things appear the way
he
wanted to see them. In that, he sensed they were the same—the drive, the need to surpass expectations. Perhaps he'd catch her shadows behind the cloak of his camera lens when she let down her guard and spoke from within. Everyone always did. Caught in the darkroom, staring into a camera lens was like looking into a mirror without a reflection. For the brief instant of unreality, when your gaze first connects and sinks into the apparent bottomlessness of the camera, the eyes tell it all.

He smiled. For the first time since he'd agreed to this job, he was actually looking forward to it. Maybe he'd even be able to show Dione just how futile it was to try to make something out of nothing. It was all just an illusion, and he should know; he'd become a master of making the unbelievable look believable.

 

“Don't second-guess yourself, Dee. I hear it in your voice,” Terri said into the phone. “I told you I think it's a great idea,” Terri said. “I could put together a dynamite presentation, once the PSA is done. What did this guy do to you to finally convince you to do this? I've been bugging you for months.”

“I know. I guess I didn't want to admit how difficult things had really gotten. And for your information, he didn't
do
anything. I made the decision on my own.” How could she explain what he did to her? She wasn't sure herself. Besides, she didn't want to sound like some airheaded teenager trying to explain this hot and fast fascination for some guy she'd just met.

Terri shifted the phone from her right side to her left, tucking it between her ear and shoulder as she polished her toenails.

“So—what's he like?”

“Your typical nonbeliever. But I just feel that his ambivalence stems from somewhere other than the usual prejudices about teen mothers.”

“There goes the psychologist in you.” Terri chuckled. “And you're on a crusade to change his mind.”

Dione smiled. “Maybe.”

“I think it's more than that.”

“Why?”

“From all the things you're
not
saying. Remember, this is me. We've known each other since college, Dee. You haven't given a man the time of day in ages. Or cared what they thought.”

“It's not like that.”

“So what's it like?”

“It's just a business dinner, Terri. That's it.”

“For now.”

“Not funny.”

“Hey, I'm not knocking you, girl. How many times have I said you need a life beyond your job and your daughter? Maybe something will come out of this—besides a public service announcement and a documentary.”

“That's not what I'm looking for.”

“You should be. Those girls are going to move on with their lives, just like the ones before them and those who come after. Niyah will be out on her own and you'll be alone. You deserve more than that.”

“I have what I want. I worked for this. Struggled for it. All I'm concerned about right now is keeping Chances Are open. That's it.”

“But getting a little somethin' out of it for yourself wouldn't hurt. I thought all I ever wanted was my career, until I met Clint. He makes everything I do worthwhile. He makes me feel complete.”

Dione shook her head. “It's not that easy for me, Terri. You know that.”

“You need to let it go. Every man is not your father.”

Dione's insides twisted.

“You can't keep running away from men for the rest of your life—living vicariously through the girls and through Niyah.”

“I'm not running. I'm where I want to be. I'm happy.”

“Listen, girlfriend, who are you trying to convince, me or you? But, hey whatever you say. It's your life.”

“Thanks. And on that note, I'm turning in. It's getting late,” she said needing to get off the phone and away from the truth.

“Are you going to talk to Niyah when she comes home for the holidays?”

Dione blew out a breath of indecision. “I don't know when, or if I will.”

“Get some rest, Dee,” Terri said, fighting to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Have a nice evening tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Tell Clint I said hello.”

“I will. Good night.”

“Night.”

 

Dione's dreams were tortured with images of that first night that she walked the streets, alone, terrified and cold with nowhere to go, no one she could turn to. She had her royal-blue backpack with her books and whatever else she could stuff in her bag, a shoulder bag with some toiletries and the envelope her mother had given her, and her one suitcase.

Walking along the darkened streets of Bedford-Stuyvesant, in the neighborhood that she lived in, played in, spent the best years of her life in, suddenly seemed sinister and unfriendly. The houses that she knew like the back of her hand were suddenly as unfamiliar as a foreign language.

She walked by her best friend Celeste's house and for a moment, she stopped. Maybe Celeste's parents would let her stay with them? But if her father discovered that she'd found refuge, there was no telling what he might do. And she wouldn't go to Michael. She couldn't even tell him and ruin his chances for college.

She looked up to where she knew Celeste's bedroom window was, and her eyes clouded over. She kept walking. She couldn't involve her friends. She couldn't tell anyone. She was too ashamed. Ashamed at what she'd done. Ashamed for what her parents had done to her. How could she tell her friends, tell anyone that she was homeless? A bum. That her family didn't want her.

To this day, nearly two decades later, the pain was just as fresh as if it had been inflicted only moments ago.

Yes, she'd made a life for herself, maybe trying to prove something to herself and to the world, that she wasn't just another statistic. But deep in her soul she knew that Terri was right. She was hiding behind her work and her daughter. Only now, after all this time, she didn't know how to step out from behind the walls, as much as she may have wanted to. It was her haven. Someplace where she and her feelings were safe.

She turned on her side and a vision of her daughter took the place of the doorway she'd slept in that first night.

Niyah stood there, tears streaming down her face.

“How could you have lied to me? All these years. You lied. I believed in you. Trusted you. But you never felt the same way about me. I hate you! You hear me—hate you!”

Dione's eyes flew open. Her heart raced.

She couldn't risk that. No. She wouldn't risk Niyah ever finding out the truth. She didn't know what she'd do if she ever lost her precious daughter's love.

She pressed her hands to her stomach, hoping to calm the swirling sensation. She knew what she'd have to do and she hated herself for it. But she had no other choice.

All anyone ever had to know was what she told them.