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
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
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