After Hours (17 page)

“W
ake up, Dina. Open your eyes, honey.”

Dina felt as if she were underwater, struggling vainly to get to the surface. Her eyelids fluttered before they closed again. At the nurse's urging, she opened her eyes, and this time they remained open. A steady arm around her back assisted her sitting up.

“How are you feeling, Dina?”

She affected a lopsided smile for the nurse. “Okay.”

A pair of friendly gray-blue eyes met hers. “Do you think you'll be able to dress yourself?”

“Yes-s-s,” Dina slurred.

Anchoring a hand under her patient's knees, the nurse guided her off the bed until she could stand on her own. “I'll help you.”

Dina responded like an automaton, raising her arms and lifting her feet when she permitted herself to be dressed as if she were a child. The day before she'd consulted a female OB-GYN, reporting that a difficult delivery of a large baby had left her stretched and torn during childbirth; a significant decrease in sexual pleasure had been the final result.

She was referred to a surgeon specializing in labiaplasty and vaginoplasty. The office manger of the thriving Upper Saddle Brook practice quoted a fee of fifty-five hundred for the vaginoplasty; she informed Dina that Dr. Howe had a cancellation and could fit her in the following day.

When Dina disclosed that she didn't have insurance because she'd changed jobs, the fee was lowered to forty-five hundred. Her first impulse was to hang up, but she changed her mind. Having the procedure meant she would have to come up with even more money to meet Payne's demand.

 

Dr. Louis Howe peered at Dina Gordon over his glasses. “The procedure went very well, Ms. Gordon. I tightened your vagina, perineum and the supporting muscles. Once the anesthesia wears off, you'll experience the same discomfort as if you'd had a vaginal delivery. There will be a little bleeding, but it shouldn't last more than a week.” Reaching for a pen, he made notations on a pad and ripped off the page. “This is a prescription for Tylenol with codeine. Take one every six hours as needed for pain. I want you to abstain from sexual intercourse for at least a month.”

Dina wanted to tell the doctor that she hadn't had sex or planned to have sex within the next four weeks. “Do you want to see me for a follow-up?”

He removed his glasses. “I'd like you to come back in two weeks just as a precaution. I want to check your sutures. They should dissolve on their own. Do you have someone to drive you home?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Did you drive yourself?”

Dina shook her head. “No.” She'd ridden a bus to Newark Pennsylvania Station, gotten on a Pascack Valley line train to Nanuet, where she'd taken a taxi to the doctor's office.

“You can't leave my office without assistance.”

Dina didn't want to call Lance because then she would have to explain why she was at a doctor's office in northern New Jersey. “Can someone call a car service to take me back to Irvington? My boyfriend is out of town on business,” she added.

Dr. Howe buzzed the receptionist and told her to contact a car service and schedule a follow-up appointment for Ms. Gordon. He stood up, extending his hand. “Good luck, Ms. Gordon.”

Dina shook his hand. “Thank you.”

She managed to stand and make her way to the reception area to wait for the car. She hadn't realized she'd dozed off until the receptionist shook her gently to let her know her driver had arrived.

 

Dina heard someone calling her name, this voice deeper than the nurse's. She opened her eyes to find Lance sitting on the side of her bed. Her landlady stood behind him. He wore a lightweight light gray suit, pale blue shirt and dark gray tie.

“What…what are you doing here?” she slurred.

Susie Foster moved closer. “I let him in, child. Mr. Haynes said he's been calling you and when you didn't answer your phone he came over.”

Lance stared at the wealth of dark hair spread out on the pillow beneath Dina's head instead of the outline of her breasts under a cotton camisole. He and Dina spoke every day. If he didn't call her early morning, she called him early evening.

That morning he'd called her and gotten her voice mail. He'd tried her again before noon and again the call had gone directly to voice mail.

Placing a hand over her forehead, Lance found it cool to the touch. “Are you feeling okay?”

Dina saw concern and another unidentified emotion in his eyes. “I have cramps.”

“I have the perfect remedy for your monthly,” Mrs. Foster announced.

Dina lifted a limp hand. “I've already taken something.” She'd had the driver wait for her while she stopped at local pharmacy to fill the prescription.

Lance glanced over his shoulder at Dina's landlady. “Thank you, Mrs. Foster, but I'll take care of her now.” Waiting until the woman left, he gathered Dina in his arms. “I'm taking you home with me.”

“No, Lance.”

He tightened his grip under her knees as he settled her on his lap. “Yes, Dina. Don't fight with me, because I'm a lot bigger and stronger than you.”

Her head fell limply on his shoulder. The anesthesia was wearing off, but the codeine had kicked in, making it virtually impossible for her to stay awake. “I have to get dressed.”

“Where are your clothes?”

She pointed to a double dresser. “My other things are hanging in the closet.”

“When are you scheduled to go to work again?”

“I think Friday. No, I remember I have to go in Thursday afternoon.”

“How long do your cramps usually last?” Lance asked.

“A couple of days,” she said truthfully. Her period, though scant, always came on time, accompanied by cramps that left her out of sorts for several days. She'd heard that having a baby usually alleviated menstrual cramps—but not hers. In fact, they'd intensified after she'd had the tubal ligation.

Lance eased her off his lap. “Can you dress yourself or do you want me to help you?”

It was the second time that day that someone had asked her the same question. Combing her fingers over her mussed hair, Dina pushed it off her forehead. “I can dress myself.”

Lance stood up. “I'll wait for you in the living room.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, LL.”

Leaning over, he dropped a kiss on her hair. “You're welcome, baby girl.” He walked out of Dina's bedroom, smiling. She'd called him LL. What Dina didn't know was that when she called him Big Daddy, he was ready to give her anything she wanted—because Lancelot “LL” Haynes had fallen in love with Dina Gordon.

D
ina opened the door to the employees' entrance, nearly colliding with Fletcher Stafford. He licked his lips as if savoring a decadent dessert. “Don't bother to change. Sybil wants to see you.” She brushed past without acknowledging him. “You could say thank you, Dina,” he called out to her retreating back.

“Thank you, Fletcher,” she drawled facetiously. She didn't want to deal with Fletcher and she hadn't wanted to come to work. Spending thirty-six hours convalescing from vaginal restoration definitely wasn't enough time to counter her standing on her feet for the next six or seven hours. The only consolation was Lance had dropped her off and promised to pick her up when her shift ended.

She'd slept in Lance's guest bedroom, dozing off and on, while he'd worked from home. If he wasn't on his computer, then it was the telephone. He'd ordered lunch from a local restaurant, then threatened to force-feed her when she told him that she wasn't hungry.

When she apologized to Lance for interfering with his work, he told her how he'd founded his own software company in 1999, earning five hundred thousand in revenue the first year, and sold it two years later for four million. In 2005 he produced a simple program that allowed just about anyone to create a Web site. The following year he grossed fifty-six million, and his software company was named one of
Inc.
's top ten fastest-growing privately held firms that year. His investment banker had urged him to go public, but he pulled the plug on the widely anticipated IPO because he felt that market conditions weren't right. She hadn't suspected that the man who claimed tinkering with computers paid his rent had amassed a modest fortune.

Dina came to Sybil's office and knocked on the door. “You wanted to see me?”

Sybil stood up. Today she'd chosen to wear a rose-pink cotton tee with a pair of twill taupe walking shorts and running shoes instead of her ubiquitous tunic, loose-fitting pants and clogs.

“Lisa's going to fill in for you tonight,” she said, reaching for her handbag and a set of car keys. “Let's go.”

Dina gave her confused look. “Where are we going?”

“I'm taking you to be fitted for your costume,” she explained when they were seated in her SUV.

Dina secured her seat belt. “When do I start dancing lessons?”

Sybil drove out of the parking lot. “I don't know. Carlos is in Florida choreographing several music videos and he isn't expected back until next week, which leaves us less time than I'd originally planned.”

Dina wanted to tell Sybil that she'd undergone a surgical procedure that might impede her flexibility but held her tongue. Carlos, not Sybil Cumberland, would be better able to determine her physical limitations.

 

Patrice Sigler rested her hands on her hips, peering closely at Dina Gordon, who'd stripped down to her bra and panties. The overhead spotlight revealed things that wouldn't have been apparent with an ordinary lightbulb.

Dina returned the stare of the middle-aged woman with graying red hair pulled into a severe bun, gray eyes and a long, narrow nose in an equally narrow face.

Sybil, perched on a stool in a back room of the small West Orange shop filled with racks of colorful and outlandish costumes, watched the two women. She found it hard to believe that Dina had delivered a child given her incredibly flat belly.

“What do you think, Patrice?” she asked the costume designer.

Patrice pursed her lips and angled her head. “I see her as a fairy—a sparkling, very delicate green fairy.”

Clasping her hands together in a prayerful gesture, Sybil affected a bright smile. “That's it. Dina will be known as Sparkle.” Delectable and Sparkle were about to become a dynamic duo, she mused.

She watched Patrice measure her protégé from head to toe. The designer selected strips of fabric in varying shades of green, placing them against Dina's cheek and shoulder, while she kept up a rambling monologue.

“I have to get the right shade of green because she has so much gold in her skin. If it's too light, then she'll look sallow, too dark and it'll appear murky under the lights. The emerald might work, but then the lime is better. Yes, the lime will do if covered with crystals.” Patrice glanced at Sybil over her shoulder. “Lime-green embroidered silk tulle covered with emerald crystals. I'll make a satin mask in the same color as the leotard, and the ties and ostrich feathers in the contrasting emerald. The legs of the leotard will have a high cut to give the illusion that Sparkle's taller than she actually is.”

Sybil nodded her approval. “What about her shoes?”

“I suggest ballet slippers with satin ankle ties.” Patrice squinted at Dina. “What's your shoe size?”

“Five and a half.”

“I'll order a five because it should be a tight fit.” A slight frown creased her forehead. Then she snapped her fingers. “Wings! All fairies have wings. You will become an extraordinary fairy because I'll trim your wings with delicate, wispy feathers.”

“When do you want us to come back for a fitting?” Sybil asked Patrice.

“I'll call you. I'm not busy right now, so I could conceivably put her costume together this weekend.”

Sybil smiled. “That's good. I'd like a final fitting before the end of the month.”

Patrice waved a hand. “I can complete two costumes by that time. How many do you need?”

“We'll start out with one.” Reaching into her leather hobo bag, Sybil took out an envelope and handed it to Patrice. “Thank you.”

Patrice took the envelope without opening it. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“May I get dressed now?” Dina asked.

“Yes,” Patrice said.

Dina put her clothes back on, her movements slowed by pain that threatened to bring her to her knees. She should've listened to Lance. He'd urged to her take a few days off, but he had no way of knowing that her financial problems had become exacerbated. The Labor Day weekend was less than ten weeks away, and she needed ten thousand dollars to pay off an ex-con who'd threatened her grandmother with bodily harm.