A day later . . .Whitney Bartholomew and her fiancé had come to the states to spend New Year’s in New York. The wedding was scheduled for late April in London. She couldn’t wait until she married him. Once again, she would be at the top of society. Being a countess opened the door to invitations to top of the line parties in the U.K. There was even a chance she could get invited to Buckingham Palace for a state dinner.When she had been married to her former husband, Lester Bartholomew, she had been invited to the most prominent homes and parties of New York Society. After the divorce, she was considered a second rate socialite. If someone had room at a party, then she would get invited. She wasn’t a must have at a party anymore. Then things got worse when her affair with Derek Dawson got exposed in the society section of The New York Times. Granted, the article wasn’t as bad as getting caught red handed by her daughter. She was dating Derek at the time. To this day, Ava
Derek arrived to the Heart and Vascular ICU at Jersey City Hospital in Jersey City. When he had arrived, a LPN had directed him to the lounge area for patients’ families. “Derek,” Deidre whimpered as she ran to him. The siblings embraced. Their mother rose from the couch with the dignity of a queen. There were six other people in the waiting room. They didn’t seem to pay much attention to them. “Mother,” Derek began. “What happened?” “We’re not entirely sure,” his mother answered. “I just got a call two hours ago that an ambulance had brought your father here. They had found him . . . in bed at a condo building, having severe chest pains. According to the EMTs, he could barely speak through the pain, but he was able to tell them to call his regular cardiologist in New York. They had all his information including his emergency contact, meaning me.” “So, they called you and you came?” Derek g
Almost two hours later . . . After Derek made some phone calls and grabbed a quick snack at a cafe, he headed to his father’s secret love nest. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this but someone had to do the dirty work, he guessed. Derek stuck the key into the hole and opened the door. On estimation, the entire place looked to be about a thousand square feet at least. Not too big or small. The majority of the living room scape was gray. The sofa, love seat, and two chairs were steel colored. The coffee table and end tables were black with thick legs. The lamps were large with a thick vase like base with light gray shades. The walls were painted an abalone shade. The carpet was a gray smoke color. There were black and white paintings on the walls. Derek didn’t recognize the artists names. He assumed his father had hired an interior designer to decorate the place. He couldn’t imagine him trusting a mistress to do it. A woman could ge
Violet Dawson had put off seeing her husband as long as she could. Visiting hours were almost over. Her children had visited Walt one last time before heading back to New York. Jersey City was only a twenty to twenty-five minute drive. She had told them she would see them at home. Now, she had to do the inevitable. See her sick, dying husband. It was her duty despite everything. Violet walked into the ICU hospital room. Walt’s eyes were closed. Good. He’s asleep. If anyone ask, I’ll just tell them – He opened his eyes as if he sensed someone was there. Damn. I hope I can handle this without becoming hysterical. “Violet,” he said weakly. “Where have you been?” “I had to run some errands,” she answered as she made her way to the bed. She sat down in the Downtown chair next to it. “I had to start getting things ready for when you come home.” A slow grin spread across hi
Five days later . . . St. Luke’s Lutheran Church was packed full of mourners, businessmen, and friends for Walter Lee Dawson’s final journey. The casket was top of the line. Deidre had insisted on it. Nothing but the best for Daddy, she had said. It had gold hardware and a black sleek finish. The interior was white silk. The ceremony in the church was short and sweet. The small choir sang two hymns, and the clergy led the litany. Scriptures from the old and new testament were read by Carlton Van Dyke and Franklin Barbra. At the end, the clergy did the eulogy. The funeral procession was filled with so many Rolls Royces, black limousines, Mercedes, BMWs, and Escalades you thought the president had died. The NYPD had to direct traffic and escort the motorcade to Green-Wood Cemetery. Once there, it took a while for everyone to get assembled. January 9th was a cool yet not so cold day to bury a loved one. There was no breeze, whic
Deidre and Q had arrived to the repast. Deidre stood next to her mother at the side of the room, having drinks with several people from Dawson Inc. who came to pay their respects. Q accompanied Derek to receive more guests who had arrived fifteen minutes ago. Ralph had to go get a refill on his plate and drinks. “Excuse me, Mr. Dawson?” a man said as he approached. “I’m Charles Peters, the manager here.” “Yes. What can I do for you?” Derek asked. “I’m sorry to bother you with this, but I thought it was best to speak to you than your mother or sister at this time of grief. But . . .” “Yes?” Derek urged. “The catering staff had to make more food. We thought we had enough, but . . . it appears not,” Mr. Peters stammered. “This event just got started. It is going to go on for another three hours and so I thought it best for the staff to prepare more food.” “That’s fine. What’s the big deal?”
Derek was still trying to make his way back to Q. He kept getting stopped by people who wanted to give their condolences. Some chatted him up a bit about when he will officially be taking over Dawson Inc. They had deals in the works and wanted to see if he wanted to get involved. It was becoming a little too much. Can’t these people let him grieve in peace?Once he was able to take a breather, someone else came along. Deidre. Derek was slightly alarmed because she looked rather pale. “What is it?”“It’s him,” Deidre hissed as she encircled her arm around his.“Who?”She stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. “The man I told you about a few months ago. The one who I thought had an affair with Mother.”Derek’s body jerked. “Ugh, god. Why is he here?” Then he realized how dumb his question was. His father wasn’t cold in the grave yet and the vultures were already circling around a wealthy, still good looking for her age widow. “Never mind. I just answered my own question.”Deidre put
After the repast, the Dawsons went back to their townhouse with Chelsea in toe. Ms. Violet had asked Chelsea to have a quiet drink with her in the den. Chelsea suspected she had wanted Deidre to sit with her instead, but Deidre had said she needed to be alone for a while. Everyone just let her be – along with Derek. He had said the same thing and slowly wandered somewhere else in the townhouse. Deidre had left all together. Everyone had been riveted by Violet Dawson’s speech at the repast, including Chelsea and her sisters. Apparently, she had more in common with her mother-in-law than she had thought and she told Ms. Violet that. Ms. Violet smiled at her as she held her brandy. “Hmm. You think so?” Chelsea was drinking club soda. Alcohol was bad for her beloved baby. “Yes. We . . . both were determined to marry Dawson men,” Chelsea admitted. “You . . . were?” she said with intrigue. Chelsea could feel the simmeri
Three months later . . . Walter Lee Dawson’s estate had finally been settled in the court’s eyes. Violet Dawson was being seen around the city here and there with a distinguished hotel chain owner she had known for years. Deidre was the hottest new heiress in New York Society. Men, most of them a little too old for her, were beating the door down to take her out on a date. Derek was officially head of Dawson Inc. Businessmen stood in line to shake his hand and propose deals. Most of them weren’t good or too high risk. Derek figured some of them thought they could get away with taking advantage of him. What they didn’t know – and learned later was Derek had been doing business most of his life – it just wasn’t always for Dawson. He knew when something didn’t smell right. Derek was at home, at Hilltop House, listening to his cousin rant and rave over the phone. But he managed to get a word in. “When did Amanda leave you?”
A few hours later . . . It was early evening when Derek had arrived at Hilltop House. He took his coat off as he and Chelsea walked into the living room. Chelsea had changed out of her outfit from earlier into a pair of blue jeans and a red cashmere sweater. She had on black socks – no shoes. Her blonde hair flowed around her. Derek had changed clothes from this morning, too. He had put on a pair of black jeans and a black and white polo shirt. “Would you like something to drink?” Chelsea asked. “No, thank you. I thought we could . . . talk.” Chelsea walked to the sofa. “Talk about what?” She sat down. “You know what. Us.” “Oh, you want to have that talk,” she said timidly. “Yes, I think it’s high time we do,” he said as he remained standing. “You’re about four months pregnant now. I think we need to iron things out and where we stand before the baby comes, don’t you
Everyone had left Francis Chadwick and Derek alone in the sitting room. Francis walked over to the couch Derek was sitting on as he reached into his inner suit jacket pocket. He stopped in front of him and offered him a white legal sized envelope. “What’s this?” Derek asked as he gently took the envelope. For some reason he was suspicious of it. “It contains the codicil that was attached to Walt’s will. The one in regards to your inheritance if you didn’t marry – the codicil that is now null in void.” Derek’s head rocked back with relief. Thank god. I was afraid Dad had slipped something in that required me to jump through another hoop. “My instructions were to give you a copy – the only copy of the codicil upon your father’s will reading – if you had met the terms, of course. Since you have, you can do whatever you wish with it. The flash drive that the codicil is on is in the envelope as well.” I’m burning this
The next day . . . As promised, Derek had called Chelsea last night. It was almost midnight; therefore, it wasn’t a long conversation. “I just needed to tell you I love you,” Derek had said huskily. “And to hear your voice before I fell asleep. “Oh . . . I see.” “You’re not going to say it back?” She had thought for a moment. “No,” she had whispered. “Why not? You know you do.” Chelsea exhaled. “Are you trying to play hard to get?” “No.” “Then say it, angel.” “I love you.” “That’s my girl. I’ll see you tomorrow at Francis Chadwick’s office for the will reading. We have to be there by nine a.m.” “I’ll be there.” Mr. Chadwick’s secretary escorted Chelsea down the hall. They didn’t speak. She stopped at a door and reached for the knob. When she opened the door, Chelsea was surprised She had thought they would b
That evening . . . It was strangely coincidental that Derek was going to see both Bartholomew women on the same day. But he assumed the cosmos were trying to help him get his life in order. He had his former maid from the penthouse to come over and clean up his father’s Jersey penthouse. Derek wasn’t planning on being in it long, but he didn’t want the remnants of his father’s last visit lingering about. The buzzer went off. His guest had arrived. Derek had taken off his suit jacket and tie when he had first arrived. He had unbuttoned his light blue dress shirt. He opened the door to who he was expecting. Whitney Bartholomew. She hugged a mink stole around her body. “Darling boy,” she cooed as she crossed the threshold. She kissed his cheek so quick he didn’t have a chance to back away. Then she walked into the living space. Derek closed the door. He turned to see Whitney taking off the mink and drapin
New York Society’s Loss By: Judy Budd Yesterday Walter Lee Dawson, CEO and president of Dawson Incorporated was laid to rest at Green-Wood Cemetery. Anyone who is anyone in NYC society was there, including Walter’s son’s estranged wife Chelsea Van Dyke-Dawson and the rest of the New York Van Dykes. I’m not sure if Derek and Chelsea are back together but she was standing by her man yesterday. Walt Dawson was more than a billionaire businessman. He was a pren
The next morning . . . Deidre Dawson slipped her feet into Rene Caovilla designer shoes. She was wearing the same clothes she had worn yesterday to her father’s funeral. Then again, most women had to put on what they had worn the night before when they stay out all night at a man’s condo. She stood and turned around to look at the man who she had spent the night with. Quinton Johnson, aka, Q, was resting his back against two red satin pillows. His lower half was covered by a black comforter. Deidre had ended up at his place yesterday as the sun was setting. It was a miracle she had remembered where he lived. The one time she had been at his home was four years ago when he had thrown himself a birthday party. He had invited her because she was his best friend’s sister, nothing more. Now. . . “I still can’t believe I did this,” Q muttered. “Believe it, big boy.” And I do mean big. Q was the b
After the repast, the Dawsons went back to their townhouse with Chelsea in toe. Ms. Violet had asked Chelsea to have a quiet drink with her in the den. Chelsea suspected she had wanted Deidre to sit with her instead, but Deidre had said she needed to be alone for a while. Everyone just let her be – along with Derek. He had said the same thing and slowly wandered somewhere else in the townhouse. Deidre had left all together. Everyone had been riveted by Violet Dawson’s speech at the repast, including Chelsea and her sisters. Apparently, she had more in common with her mother-in-law than she had thought and she told Ms. Violet that. Ms. Violet smiled at her as she held her brandy. “Hmm. You think so?” Chelsea was drinking club soda. Alcohol was bad for her beloved baby. “Yes. We . . . both were determined to marry Dawson men,” Chelsea admitted. “You . . . were?” she said with intrigue. Chelsea could feel the simmeri
Derek was still trying to make his way back to Q. He kept getting stopped by people who wanted to give their condolences. Some chatted him up a bit about when he will officially be taking over Dawson Inc. They had deals in the works and wanted to see if he wanted to get involved. It was becoming a little too much. Can’t these people let him grieve in peace?Once he was able to take a breather, someone else came along. Deidre. Derek was slightly alarmed because she looked rather pale. “What is it?”“It’s him,” Deidre hissed as she encircled her arm around his.“Who?”She stood on her toes to whisper in his ear. “The man I told you about a few months ago. The one who I thought had an affair with Mother.”Derek’s body jerked. “Ugh, god. Why is he here?” Then he realized how dumb his question was. His father wasn’t cold in the grave yet and the vultures were already circling around a wealthy, still good looking for her age widow. “Never mind. I just answered my own question.”Deidre put