Platinum Promises Page 3

  As she listened to the female voice of the GPS telling her to turn left and right, she continued thinking about her conversation with Adeline about her love life. Or, more correctly, her lack thereof. During high school she’d been a bookworm and a loner with no real friends. That changed in college when she found herself surrounded by people who were as geeky as she was, who felt that devouring books and obsessing over studying were the most natural things to do in the world. That’s where she’d met Jesse, a biochemical major. They dated until she began med school. He took a high-paying job in Alaska. Their romance couldn’t survive the distance.

  It was all about the career until the Peace Corps, where she’d met Phillip, a studious yet sensitive chap from Birmingham, England. Drawn together by their mutual desire to heal the world, Faye thought she’d found her soul mate. Unfortunately, when she received the inner call to help the earthquake victims of Haiti, Phillip didn’t get that message. They vowed to keep in touch. He promised to visit. Neither happened. Another relationship gone.

  And finally, Gerald McPherson. Older man. Brilliant doctor. Faye had been all agog. But Gerald hadn’t a clue. He viewed her as a little sister, and rather than risk being hurt or embarrassed, she hid her crush behind a professional veneer. Good thing too because a year after he’d arrived in Africa he got a visit from his high school sweetheart. Three months later he went back to the States and married her.

  Faye reached the mall and began a methodical walk through the stores. Maybe she shouldn’t have spent so much time thinking about exes and unavailable loves. Because now she doubted her ability to take her friend’s advice and have a good time.

  * * *

  “Looking good there, Papa!” Dexter strolled into his great-grandfather’s bedroom, where a barber had just finished giving Papa Dee a haircut and a facial. “You’re going to have the ladies fighting over you.”

  “Won’t be the first time,” Papa Dee drawled.

  “Ha!”

  The barber chuckled, too. “Again, happy birthday, Mr. Drake,” he said, packing up his equipment. Dexter paid him and showed him to the door.

  When he returned to the room, Papa Dee asked, “Did you invite Charlotte, the woman from the casino that I told you about?” His breathing was a little labored, but his eyes twinkled.

  “Sure did. But somebody else invited themselves.”

  Papa Dee shook his head. “That Birdie needs to get a life.”

  “Aw, come on now, Pops. You’ve known Miss Birdie for what...about thirty years?”

  “Yep. And that’s about twenty-nine too many.” Papa Dee eyed himself in the mirror, turning this way and that.

  “He did a great job,” Dexter said, watching his great-grandfather in the mirror. “You look good.”

  “Not bad for an old geezer.”

  “You’re going to be the best looking man in the place.”

  “I will so long as you stay out of the room.”

  “Couldn’t have been me if there hadn’t been you. Here,” Dexter said, walking over to the garment bag that hung in the closet. “Look what I bought you.” He unzipped it to reveal a lightweight, ivory-colored summer suit paired with a tan shirt and striped tie. “You’re going to be killing ’em, player!”

  “If we’re talking about Birdie, she’s near ’bout dead already. One foot in the grave and the other on a piece of ice.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her, Pops. I think she looks good for her age.”

  “Anybody seventy-five and still aboveground looks good! She’s too old for me. I told her that!”

  Dexter hid a smile. “I know, Papa. But somehow she knew about the party. Mom couldn’t uninvite her.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Papa said with a sigh, spoken like one who more than once had had experience in this area. “Now, that Charlotte...”

  “I can’t argue with you, Papa. She’s got it going on for sure.” She was also forty-five going on forty-six. But somehow Papa Dee had finagled her number and they’d been meeting to play bingo at the casino for the past two months.

  “You always want to pick somebody who can stoke your fire, son, someone who’ll get your willy working, make you want to run a mile over hot coals...in bare feet!”

  “Man, you’re a mess.” Dexter looked at his watch. “We should probably get you ready.” Papa Dee balanced his hands on both arms of the chair before standing. He took a step and stumbled slightly. “Papa?” Dexter was over in an instant. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine, I’m fine.” Papa Dee waved him away. “All of this fussing over me has my head in a swoon.”

  “You sure you haven’t snuck into some of that brandy you’ve been distilling? I noticed that someone had been in an area of the cellar where only two people have the key.”

  “Only two people that you know of,” Papa Dee answered...without answering. “There’ll be plenty of time for spirits. But for me to manage all of these women this evening, I’ve got to have my head on right.”

  Chapter 6

  Before turning the corner, Faye heard the music, laughter and chatter of a party in full swing. She slowed just for a moment, running her hand across her abdomen to quiet the butterflies. In doing so she noted the softness of her newly purchased sundress’s fabric and the way the extra material swirled around her ankles. Bared arms wouldn’t have been her first choice. But when the boutique worker saw Faye’s toned body she’d gone immediately to the form-fitting floral number, and once seeing her in it had suggested a pair of strappy sandals with three-inch heels. Faye had appreciated her clerk-slash-stylist and had purchased those items, adding a lightweight shawl and jewelry to match. She had promised to return the following week to further update her wardrobe. She’d returned to the hotel just in time for the died-and-gone-to-heaven massage that was followed by the manicure, pedicure and salon visit.

  “A haircut please, very close to the scalp,” she’d told the receptionist once she’d stepped inside.

  Her beautician had other plans. “You have such a nice grade of hair,” she’d said, running her hands through Faye’s one-inch curls. “I could condition it and treat it so that ringlets form. With the shape of your face, it would look wonderful.”

  “I’m not up for high maintenance,” Faye had countered.

  “It’s a wash-and-go style, guaranteed.”

  When Faye had returned to the room and taken the time to really study her reflection in the mirror—new hairstyle and, thanks to the threaded brow arch and mud mask treatment she’d gotten, new face—she hardly recognized herself. Now, teetering on heels she rarely wore and heading into a crowd of people she didn’t know...she again wondered who’d entered her body and where was the doctor whose idea of fun was poring over periodicals of the latest medical breakthrough. This is all your fault, Addie! And I’d like to take a scalpel to the one who invented heels!

  “The party can’t start until you join us.” Faye’s breath caught as the words delivered by a sexy, masculine voice seemed to pour into her ear from much too close a distance. She smelled sandalwood and cedar and felt her stomach flop. “You were heading into the party, correct?”

  She dared a glance. Big mistake. Oh, my God, it’s him! The businessman-slash-jerk, she told herself, who’d openly flirted with her while his wife-slash-date-slash-whomever was close by. “Actually,” she began, in her most authoritative voice, “I was...” He stepped directly in front of her, forcing eye contact, “deciding...whether or not...um...” So much for hiding behind a professional veneer. Eight years of schooling, two degrees and an M.D. behind her name, yet suddenly she’d lost command of the King’s English.

  “You’ve got to come to this celebration. I insist. You’ll be the prettiest flower in the garden.” The handsome stranger placed a hand under her elbow and gently propelled her forward. “My name is Dexter,” he said, as they wa
lked. “Friends call me Dex.”

  “Faye Buckner.” She took a breath, and then another, and then wondered about the woman he’d kissed yesterday afternoon. How did she find out? Just ask him outright? Boy, am I rusty on dating decorum and social protocol. She decided to say nothing, for now.

  Dexter stopped at an open bar that was just beyond the hedges that framed the garden’s opening. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  While Dexter placed the order, Faye was allowed a brief reprieve to look around and get her act together. Hard to do when in a fairy-tale garden, standing next to a prince and wearing a crystal-covered slipper, but she called on discipline honed in residency and gathered herself just in time to realize Dexter was asking a question.

  “You arrived yesterday, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “On vacation?”

  “Yes.” Are you stuck on stupid or just on that word?! Faye cleared her throat. “What about you? Here on business?”

  “You could say that.” Dexter smiled, and Faye noticed that sexy hint of a dimple in his left cheek. “I work here.”

  The bartender placed down their flutes. Dexter picked up one and gave it to Faye. “To a wonderful vacation in wine country,” he said.

  Faye nodded. “Cheers.”

  As she took her first sip, a pretty pregnant woman walked up to them. Faye immediately thought of the dark-skinned woman from yesterday and wondered where this expectant mother fit in the equation. She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “Brother!” the woman snapped as she reached them. “Excuse me,” she said to Faye before turning her attention back on her intended target. “Where is your cell phone?”

  Dexter’s devil-may-care attitude never faltered. Nor did his smile. “Why are you being all fussy and looking evil? You need to chill and come to me correctly if you come at all.” He turned to Faye. “She’s usually not like this.” Nodding toward her protruding stomach, he added, “Hormones, I’m told.”

  “Excuse me for not bowing down and genuflecting, Your Highness, but I have been dealing with the press and calling you, all while trying to divert a catastrophe. A minor sibling squabble,” the woman said to Faye. “Please forgive us.”

  “If you haven’t figured it out, this is my sister, Diamond,” Dexter said, turning to Faye with a feigned look of chagrin. “She’s normally in full use of her manners, but since Junior landed in her stomach it’s scrambled her brain.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Diamond gave Dexter a playful push. “Diamond Drake-Wright,” she said with a smile and an extended hand. “I take it you’re Dexter’s date. You have my condolences.”

  “No, not his date,” Faye managed to respond, shaking Diamond’s hand even as her mind whirled. “I’m a guest.” Drake...Wright...as in the Drake in Drake Resorts? Now it all made sense: his cockiness, the self-assuredness, almost to a fault. The brochure had stated this was Drake land for more than a hundred years. Dexter had grown up eating with a silver spoon. This paradise was his home; heaven...his backyard!

  “Thanks for joining us. I hope you enjoy the party. If you’ll excuse us, my brother is needed over at the production booth. You did bring the DVD, right?”

  “Aw, man! I knew I was forgetting something. Excuse me,” he said to Faye, and hurried off.

  Diamond and Faye watched his retreating back in silence. “And he says my brain is scrambled.” Diamond’s was the voice of innocence. “Go figure.” The ladies laughed. Diamond walked away, and for the first time since she’d heard his voice and smelled his scent...Faye exhaled.

  Chapter 7

  After a single glass of bubbly, the rare-drinking Faye was more relaxed and ready to mingle. She walked to one of the buffet stations, fixed a plate and was soon seated at a table that included a couple from England, two BFFs from Nebraska, a father and daughter celebrating her birthday and a businessman from Texas, complete with Stetson, boots and spurs. All the people at the table were friendly and their talkative natures made her feel comfortable. She’d just savored a spoonful of succulent gumbo when a man bearing a resemblance to Dexter spoke into the microphone.

  “Good afternoon, everyone!”

  His father perhaps? Faye placed down her spoon and listened.

  “My name is David Drake Jr. I want to thank all of you for coming here today to celebrate the birthday of this resort’s founder, my father, David Drake Sr. Today, he turns one-hundred years old!” The partygoers cheered and applauded. “As any of you who’ve had the pleasure of meeting him can imagine, the stories are many, the history vast. A detailed biography is included in the programs placed at each table setting and also available in the hotel lobby. For now, please enjoy this short documentary highlighting some of the rich and colorful history of this amazing man.

  “As the film plays, the waitstaff will deliver glasses of champagne to every table. Please refrain from drinking them until the end of the film, where we will toast the man known fondly as...Papa Dee.”

  Along with the other almost five-hundred guests, Faye watched in part amazement, part amusement as the story of the life of Papa Dee unfolded in the seven-minute film. The family had managed to retain impeccably preserved pictures of Papa Dee during various stages of his life: from the twelve-year-old standing between his maternal French grandparents to the twenty-five-year-old standing with his first wife. Narrated by family members, the documentary blended history with humor and offered a snapshot into what the viewers concluded was a diverse and interesting life. As she watched the film, Faye also snuck peaks at the family Papa Dee built, the ones she knew. Dexter sat next to his great-grandfather, seeming to keep up a running dialogue as they both watched the film. At times, the older man chuckled. At others, he’d lean over to whisper into an attentive Dexter’s ear. Faye found herself wishing she were a whisker on Papa’s aged chin just to hear what transpired during those obviously treasured moments. Smiling at the tableau before her, she was totally caught off guard when Dexter looked up and caught her staring. Busted! She slid her eyes away from the pair, but not before noticing Dexter laugh at something the old man said, head thrown back, pearly whites sparkling, arm reaching across the chair to hug Papa Dee’s slightly bent shoulders. What does that feel like, she wondered, to have a family that is so successful, and so close?

  Faye wouldn’t know. Not really, anyway. There were fond memories scattered here and there: a Christmas at SeaWorld in San Diego; Thanksgiving with her father’s parents when she was seven. Her paternal grandparents lived on a farm in Tennessee. It was the first time she’d seen cows, chickens and pigs up close. But her father was a military man, army, gone from home a lot. During their many moves she gained a love for reading but made few friends. Her mother, an outgoing woman whose big personality often overshadowed her daughter, seemed content to leave Faye to her own devices while she either worked toward her BS in business management or socialized with the other wives, usually around a card game or television show. When she was eleven years old, her world got flipped upside down. The family moved to Saint Louis, Faye discovered a love for medicine and her life forever changed. Looking at Dexter’s sister, Diamond, leaning against a tall, handsome man whom Faye presumed was her husband, along with a group of about ten other people Faye imagined were part of the Drake family, Faye felt an unfamiliar pang of longing for family...and for love.

  The cheering crowd brought Faye out of her reverie, and belatedly she realized she’d missed the last part of the film. What she couldn’t miss was six feet two inches of delectable goodness rising from his seat to take the mike.

  “Hello, everyone. My name is Dexter, a fifth-generation Drake and the vintner here at Drake Wines Resort and Spa. In other words, under the watchful eye of the man we’re celebrating, I developed the bubbly we’re about to sip right now.” He raised the flute in his hand to their laug
hter and applause. “And now, a few words from the man who taught me everything I know, the man of the hour...David ‘Papa Dee’ Drake!” Everyone clapped again and turned their attention to Papa Dee.

  When he stood, Faye noted that even with bent shoulders he stood tall. Had to have been six one, six two in his heyday. She realized that he and Dexter had the same eyes and nose. She also realized that she was spending way too much time analyzing all things Dexter Drake. Here it was almost six o’clock in the afternoon and she hadn’t thought about the clinic she was building or Haitian Heartbeats all day!

  As one by one people rose to their feet, Papa Dee stood before the crowd with teary eyes. “Papa Dee Drake! Papa Dee Drake!” they chanted, and Faye joined in. Papa Dee waved his hands to quiet the crowd. “I appreciate all of the love that y’all are showing me. It’s true I’m no longer a spring chicken. But I’m not a cooked goose either!” The audience roared. “Thank you!”

  Papa Dee sat, and another man stood up and addressed the crowd. “My name is Donald Drake, president and chief operating officer of the resort and proud grandson of David Drake Sr. Everyone, please, let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Papa Dee and then raise our glasses in a unanimous toast!”

  The song was sung, the toast was made and soon the covered patio was filled with those dancing to some of Papa Dee’s favorite songs. Dexter was the first one out on the dance floor, twirling a vivacious Latina to a fast-paced “Minnie the Moocher.” It wasn’t long, however, before a Tyra look-alike tapped Ms. Latina on the shoulder. Dexter didn’t miss a beat as the “Moocher” segued into “A Tisket, A Tasket.” They kicked and stomped and step-ball-changed across the dance floor before he spun her away with one arm and pulled in his sister with the other. The siblings took a trip on the A train, and when they stopped the band had gone from the forties to the fifties without missing a beat. Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley and Ray Charles hits kept the dance floor packed, but Faye never lost sight of her dream man. When the band began playing a Sam Cooke classic and Dexter began walking toward her, Faye’s heart almost dropped to her toes. He can’t be coming over here. She looked behind her. That table was empty, its occupants already on the dance floor. No! Not me! He can’t possibly think I’d—