Platinum Promises. Zuri Day
“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—
“Dance? Please?”
That smile is deadly. Lethal. Should require a permit and be concealed in public. “No, thank you. I don’t dance.”
“Nonsense.” He grabbed her hand before she could move it, began gently pulling her up. It felt as though all eyes were on her, her tablemates smiling and prodding her on. There was no way she could resist without looking silly. “I’ve got you,” he whispered as he pulled her up against him. She hung on—not because she was trying to make a romantic move, but because she really couldn’t dance! Especially the way he was turning and rocking back and forth. Fortunately for both of them he was an excellent leader, and she was more than content to follow where he led her. The song spoke of thrills and kisses, infatuation and longing, and sending people places, and with Faye feeling Dexter’s arms around her and smelling the musky manliness of his cologne, her head was spinning with the desire to experience them all with him!
The song ended and still she clung to him. It had been the most thrilling three minutes she’d experienced in a long time. She didn’t want to let go. “That was amazing.” Oops. Wait. Did I say that out loud?
“You are amazing.”
Yes, girl, those words actually came out of your mouth.
“My turn!” A fiery redhead came to steal away Dexter, and the spell was broken. Faye went back to her seat, and after awhile sanity joined her there. But not before reliving how those arms felt around her and how that chest felt up against hers, oh, about a hundred millions times. By the time the band was reminding the revelers that it didn’t mean a thing if it didn’t have that swing, Faye was back out on the dance floor, this time with the businessman from Texas. The day had turned out to be fun after all.
* * *
On the other side of the garden, Dexter joined his sister, Diamond, and their older brother, Donovan. They all watched their great-grandfather enjoy his moment in the sun.
“Ooh, look at Birdie,” Diamond said, giving a surreptitious nod to the scowling woman sitting at the table Papa Dee had occupied. “She does not appreciate Charlotte dancing with her man!”
“They both better watch out for Kat,” Donovan chimed, as he watched Diamond’s assistant, a Drake employee for over twenty years, make a beeline for where Papa Dee was dancing. “I think she’s getting ready to cut in!”
Sure enough the plucky, red-headed Irishwoman kindly took Papa Dee’s hand, placed an arm around his back and joined him in his rock around the clock. A semicircle formed around them as they danced, the audience clapping and cheering them on. The song ended. Papa Dee bowed.
“Such a gentleman,” Diamond cooed, putting a hand on her round belly.
“What a man,” Dexter agreed.
They all watched as the patriarch who’d lived to see five generations took one step, and then another and then fell over.
Chapter 8
Mayhem ensued.
The Drake clan surged toward their fallen patriarch, with Dexter leading the charge. “Move back!” he demanded. Reaching the man he’d idolized since before he knew the word’s meaning, he bent down to scoop him up. Just as he prepared to lift him, a voice even more commanding than his had been cut through the din of chaos.
“Do not move him!”
As one, the crowd turned toward the source of the sound. Faye moved quickly and decisively, her actions coming by rote. She’d weathered warfare in Africa, hurricane threats in Haiti. Her movements were automatic. All thoughts save those of the man on the ground—including the handsome man hovering over him—fled from her mind.
“Please. Let me through. I’m a doctor.” She dropped to her knees and placed two fingers under Papa Dee’s nose. He was not breathing. “Call 911.” Her voice was calm, authoritative, almost soothing in its surety. “Everyone step back. He needs air.” Everyone moved except Dexter, who stayed as if glued to his great-grandfather’s side. She loosened Papa Dee’s tie, ripped apart his shirt and spoke methodically. “I’m going to administer CPR.” She opened Papa Dee’s airway by tilting back his head. When still not detecting a breath, she covered his mouth with hers and sent two quick bursts of air into his body, followed by thirty chest compressions delivered between the ribcage and chest. Considering his age, she was careful to keep her hands directly over his sternum. Even so, she knew the chances were great that a rib would get broken. To save his life, however, it was a chance she had to take. The process was repeated. Breathe into the body. Chest compressions. Check for breath. Again. Finally, Papa Dee moaned. Very slight. Almost inaudible. But it was a sound.
Fortunately, not the only one. The blare of sirens could be heard in the distance. Faye looked up and caught Dexter’s panicked eyes boring into hers. “Someone needs to direct the paramedics to where we are.”
As if a sprinter’s gun had been fired, Dexter was up and moving through the crowd. The resort’s security team worked to keep the guests at bay although honestly, respect for the man they’d come to celebrate kept most everyone at a respectable distance.
Within seconds, paramedics stormed in. As one kneeled down to begin work on Papa Dee, Faye addressed another one. “I’m Dr. Buckner. It seems we have a man with a heart condition. The patient has been somewhat stabilized, but we need to get him quickly to the hospital.”
They secured an oxygen mask on Papa Dee, put him on a stretcher and quickly wheeled him around to the side entrance. Dexter walked briskly alongside the gurney. The paramedic to whom Faye had been speaking uttered a quick “thanks” before turning to run behind the other.
She stayed him with a hand on his arm. “What hospital?”
“Loma Linda.” And then he was gone.
Faye turned and went in the opposite direction, away from the side entrance and toward the front entrance, which was closest to the hotel and its parking lot. Only one thing was on her mind: getting her credentials and then locating the hospital through her GPS. Thankfully, she’d had only one flute of champagne, had taken only one sip from the second that had been offered during the toast. In the space of a few minutes, Papa Dee had gone from being a person whose party she was attending to a person whose life had been in her hands. As a doctor who practiced with her heart, she had to make sure her patient was all right. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew.
Within the span of fifteen