by Nova Rain
“Duh!” She exclaimed. “Chris played that song for you.”
“And that’s punishable by death?” I wondered, throwing a puzzled, sideways glance at her.
My friend huffed in exasperation. “No. Why aren’t there any good songs named ‘Catherine’?”
“You’re making a big deal out of this,” I voiced my opinion, a touch of discomfort in my tone. “I mean, so what if he played that song? It doesn’t mean anything. Not to me anyway.”
“Oh, crap!” Catherine gasped, watching him stride back to our spot. “How’s my hair? What the hell should I say to him?”
“I’d start with ‘hello’,” I teased, giving her an elbow jab. “Then, I’d compliment him on his performance.”
“So, how did I do?” He posed the question, his eyes glued on mine as he closed the gap between us.
I swallowed hard, knowing that he would get me into trouble. “Pretty good.”
“Thank you.” He gave a nod of appreciation, shoving his hand into his pocket. “Here. Call me tomorrow.” He added, handing me a blue card with his contact information on it.
Chris Fullerton
Office Media Solutions
CEO
212-652-0729
The moment he strode away, I knew I was in for an argument with Catherine. By then, she had already taken off on me, and was making her way through the bystanders. She was so upset that she knocked a drink out of a woman’s hand and didn’t even look back at her. I loved her; I considered her the best friend I’d ever had, but she could become a handful when it came to men. And since this was about the guy she used to call “the perfect hunk,” appeasing her would be much harder than usual. I found Catherine leaning against a counter, tapping her foot on the floor, arms crossed over her chest.
“You’re going to steal him from me?” she grumbled, her face twisting into a mixed expression of anger and frustration. “That’s the kind of friend you are?”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I groaned, striding towards her. “I’m not stealing anyone. You want to go out with him? Here.” I slammed the card onto the counter beside her. “Go ahead. Call him, text him or whatever. I’m not interested in him.”
“You’re not?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Did I look interested back there?” I raised my voice, annoyed by her disbelief. “Did you notice what I told him right before he gave me his card? Two words. ‘Pretty good.’ Now, what would I have said if I actually wanted to go out with him?”
Catherine sighed and unfurled her arms. “A lot more than just that. Thanks, honey. Will you forgive me? I don’t know what came over me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I assured, flashing her a smile. “I know what it’s like to have a crush on someone. So, go ahead and give him a call.”
“I’m not sure about that.” She shook her head sideways. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate me showing up instead of you.”
“He won’t at first, but you’ll have a chance to dazzle him, so, make it count,” I advised. “Show him what he’ll be missing if he doesn’t date you. Now, let’s get back out there, before Dorothy comes in screaming.”
“Okay.” Catherine chuckled and walked over to the fridge. Taking out two bottles of red wine, she walked over to the counter on her right and started pouring them into glasses. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad that she had listened to reason. It had saved us from a much worse argument, an argument that could well have cost us our jobs. Dorothy had fired more senior waitresses than us for bringing their personal life into work. She wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to me and my friend.
Chapter Two
Chris
It was all the same.
Only a few details changed, like the fundraising cause and the venue.
My feelings didn’t. In spite of my publicist’s continuous pleas for a cold approach, it was impossible for me to oblige him. Sam Rockwell was looking out for me because he’d been a good friend over the years. I knew he wanted me to handle this like business, but it was much too hard, since this was about children’s health.
After a videoconference with four of the wealthiest businessmen in New York City, I wanted to punch something. I mentioned to them why I needed to raise money, and they all responded using almost the exact same words.
“I’m not writing a check like this. Make this thing public, and I will. Throw a fundraiser. Give contributors a chance to show the general public how important they are.”
If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was hypocrisy. I had no idea why, but none of them was willing to share the real reason why they would rather attend a fundraiser. It was none other than publicity, aka free advertisement. The presence of numerous TV crews guaranteed the promotion of their businesses. Five-minute stories on the event and large articles on online media were too good to resist, because they cost a hell of a lot less than simple commercials. The five or ten grand they would donate were nothing compared to proper TV ads.
On the night of the event, I felt disgusted. This time, fat cats weren’t responsible. I was disgusted at myself because of my attitude. I was smiling like a moron, pretending to be glad they had showed up. I kept hugging everybody to express my “gratitude.” I didn’t say “no” to pictures with people I had never even met. Deep down though, I was dying to kick them all out. I wanted to grab a bat and smash everything to pieces. Maybe that way I wouldn’t have to yell at them to leave me alone. I would cover the cost of those medical supplies myself. I didn’t need a penny from them. Yet, I had to take into account the fact that this fundraiser had drawn a lot of media attention. An outburst of rage would get me nothing. On the contrary, it could cost me a lot more than the six hundred thousand needed for those hospital supplies. It would hurt my company’s reputation. Technological giants hadn’t been able to recover from similar hits in the past. There was a good chance Office Media Solutions wouldn’t survive one, either.
The following morning, anger and disgust went right out the window. Reading individual donations in my office made sure of that. I flipped over the pages, until I reached the last page. The grand total at the bottom brought me a mixed sense of relief and accomplishment.
$1,128,750
I had little doubt that the fundraiser would yield the necessary results. All the same, believing it and actually seeing it with my own two eyes were two, very different things. That charade was worth it. Acting like a mindless idiot had secured almost two years-worth of medical supplies. If need be, I would pay the extra seventy-two grand myself, without resorting to another fundraiser. I put my feet up on my desk, chest swelling with pride. Still, I wasn’t given enough time to enjoy my success. All of a sudden, the door across from me swung open. Sam barged in, holding a copy of the New York Post at chest height, its front page facing me. There was a large picture of Rosanna’s face on it. Right below her chin, the headline read:
“FULLERTON’S SWEETHEART”
On top of the page, the black letters covered most of her blonde hair.
“How a waitress destroyed the dreams of thousands of women”
“I knew I should have come with you last night,” he spoke in an emphatic tone. “What the fuck is this?”
“A reporter’s fantasy,” I said, maintaining the calmness in my voice.
“They say you played some song for her on the piano last night,” Sam informed me, striding across the room. “Is that true?”
“Relax, will you?” I requested, folding my hands behind my head. “Okay, that part is true. I did play a song on the piano, but I just did it to distract myself. You know how I feel about fundraisers.”
“Hold on a second,” he urged, opening the newspaper. “Right after a short welcome to his guests, Chris Fullerton focused his attention on a blonde waitress, named Rosanna Harrison. The two of them exchanged some words, and then New York’s most eligible bachelor played Toto’s ‘Rosanna’ on the piano. Although the romance in his gesture is unquestionable, it broke the hearts of his numerous female fan
s.”
“Do I really need to comment on that bullshit?” I wondered, tightening my tone.
“Damn it, Chris!” He yelled, tossing the paper down on the floor. “When the hell will you realize you’re not the nerdy kid from Queens anymore? You’re a public figure; do you understand that? A public figure! Act like one!”
“And public figures aren’t allowed to be impulsive?” I rebutted, taking my feet off my desk.
“I hate to break it to you, but no, they’re not,” Sam replied, his voice returning to its normal registers. “Everything you do has an impact on your business. Everything. It doesn’t matter if it’s huge or tiny. Whatever it is, it affects sales. Do you want to go back to writing software on your mother’s ancient laptop? Because if you do, forget what I just said.”
“Of course I don’t, man. What kind of question is that?” Surprise sent my voice up an octave. “I just think you’re blowing this out of proportion. I saw a pretty girl; I liked her name; I played a song on the piano. End of story.”
“Did she have to be that hot?” He asked, a small smile forming on his face. “I mean, look at her, man.” He pointed down at the front page. “Blonde, blue eyes, creamy complexion…”
“You don’t have to remind me what she looks like. I saw that for myself last night.” I assured him, leaning forward. “I gave her my number. She hasn’t called me yet; I don’t know if she will.”
“What’s the matter, hotshot?” Sam’s smile widened to a grin. “You’re not having a confidence crisis, are you?”
“It’s her reaction,” I explained, my voice weakening. “I thought she’d love me playing the piano, but…” I paused. “She didn’t even smile at me. She just stood there and told me I was ‘pretty good.’”
“Congratulations, dumbass,” he teased, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Of all the hot chicks in that lobby, you gave your number to a lesbian.”
“Come on, Sammy, don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed. “I can’t be that unlucky.”
“Chris, you’re twenty-nine, you’ve been blessed with great looks, and you’re a billionaire.” He remarked, assuming a serious tone. “How many straight women could resist all this? Let me answer that for you. Zero. I’m sorry buddy, but this is the only explanation that makes sense.”
I parted my lips, ready to give him another comment, but, before I could do so, my cell phone buzzed with an incoming message.
“Hi, Chris.
I was wondering if you’re free for dinner tonight.
Rosanna”
“Well, there goes your theory,” I smirked, flipping the device around.
“Okay, okay, I was wrong,” Sam admitted, raising his hands in the air. “Do me a favor, though. Keep a low profile. I don’t want to see pictures of you two kissing in public.”
“Don’t worry, mom. You won’t,” I told him, shifting my gaze down to the phone.
“Hey, beautiful.
I’m free for dinner. There’s a great Italian place called ‘Giacomo’s’ on Central Park Street. What time should I come pick you up?”
“Great! Actually, you don’t have to pick me up. That restaurant is very close to my apartment. How’s eight sound?”
“It sounds fine. See you tonight.”
To my disappointment, Sam had already cleared the room. I meant to gloat, but my friend hadn’t stuck around for that. Either way, I could do that some other time. The important thing was that Rosanna had agreed to go out with me.
I liked that a lot, but my question remained. Why in the world had she been so cold to me? I wasn’t expecting her to explode in joy. She wasn’t fifteen. She was at least ten years older. I thought I’d get some sort of response. A smile or a compliment would have sufficed, but she had reacted like she had just seen a dog barking at a cat.
Whatever the reason behind her coldness, I couldn’t help but picture that hourglass figure. Rosanna’s curves were breathtaking. How amazing would it be for me to see her in a tight dress that accentuated her breasts and her waist? Or… without it? I was getting ahead of myself, but for very good reason. She was at least 5’7”, had big breasts and a perky butt that had plenty of my guests leering at her. I couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t often those senior men got to see someone so sexy serving drinks. Sure, there were other pretty waitresses around, but Rosanna seemed to be in a league of her own.
The skies above New York had opened on that cold, Saturday night. I buried my nose in my overcoat, holding an umbrella over my head. I was walking as close as I could to the store fronts, because of the puddles that had formed all over the road. An oncoming car could drench me from top to bottom. I couldn’t show up on a date looking like that.
Just past a liquor store, I spotted the restaurant’s green neon sign flashing in the dark. In a moment, all sorts of tantalizing scents rushed through my nostrils: molten cheese, ham, bacon and cream promised a delicious dinner. As a white van sped by me, I spotted a somewhat familiar figure leaning against the pillar of the restaurant. The strong lights coming through the glass façade helped me make out her face. Alas, it wasn’t Rosanna. It was the brunette who had been standing beside her the night before.
“Hey there!” she chirped as I drew closer. “Terrible weather, huh?”
“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” I squinted down at her, water dripping off the edges of my umbrella.
“No, but I was hoping we could get to know each other tonight.” She spoke in a fruity tone, her lips curled into a sweet smile. “My name’s Catherine Dixon, and I’m Rosanna’s best friend. She’s not interested in you, so, I thought I should go out with you instead. Is that okay?”
“What?!” I squeaked, stunned by her sheer bluntness. “What are you talking about? Where’s Rosanna?”
“Like I said, she’s not interested in dating you,” Catherine repeated, her voice deepening. “I am. Can we please go inside? I’m freezing out here.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I stated, my tone firm. “Tell your friend I’m not some discount coupon she can pass around. I’m a human being. What the hell were you two thinking? Did it cross your mind I’d be offended?”
“Please, don’t…”
“Don’t what?” I shouted, my eyes blazing with anger. “Don’t be upset? Would you like it if a couple of guys did this to you?”
“Will you please give me a chance?” She requested, her voice shaking with emotion.
“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours,” I demanded, my eyes locked with hers.
“Okay, I wouldn’t like it,” Catherine admitted, shaking her head in denial. “I would find it very offensive, but to be honest with you, I’ve been dreaming of this date for months.”
“And that’s supposed to justify the trick you pulled? Don’t answer that, we both know what you’re going to say,” I continued, my voice picking up speed. “Do you realize how needy and desperate you come off? You know the first thing that crossed my mind when you said those words?”
“What’s that?”
“Screw dinner. She’s ripe. There’s a hotel just down the street. Take her there and fuck her all night long,” I said in a lower tone, my jaw hardening. “So, no, I’m not going to give you a chance. Women like you are not so hard to find. And tell your friend she just blew her chance.”
Finishing my sentence, I turned away from her. Catherine called out my name more than once, but her words passed by me unheard. It was a shame… She was a very attractive girl. I might have considered dating her, had she and her friend not pulled this trick on me. Yet, if she was willing to do something like that, there was no telling what she would do later. And I needed to be able to trust the girl I dated. Otherwise, there was no point in dating her at all.
Chapter Three
Rosanna
“The date was a bust. That son of a bitch dumped me right outside the restaurant, because he got insulted.”
I would be lying if I said I hadn’t seen this coming. We were not honest with him. Anyone wit
h an ego would have been insulted, let alone a man like Chris Fullerton.
At the same time however, what he did to my friend flattered me. Why? Because he had refused to go out with a beautiful brunette, instead of me. And knowing how Catherine felt about him, I was sure that she had somehow expressed her desire to date him. Without a doubt, she hadn’t made it easy on him to turn her down. He had, which was even more flattering. For all intents and purposes, Chris wouldn’t date random women, just because they were attractive. I had no idea what made him tick, but it had to be more than just physical attraction.
Needless to say, this was something I couldn’t share with her. We might have been close, but Catherine wouldn’t take it so well. As a matter of fact, I believed that we would have a bigger fight than the one we had during that fundraiser. His rejection had frustrated her, and she would take all that frustration out on me.
Surprise of surprises, she was in a terrible mood the next day. The chatty girl I had known and loved for half my life, had disappeared. Catherine barely uttered a word that didn’t concern work. She just did her job, wearing a grim expression that I hadn’t seen in a long time. I felt for her, but I didn’t try to comfort her. Bringing up the subject would lead to mentioning our dishonesty to Fullerton. While she had no problem with that, I did. I had only agreed to this, because I had seen firsthand how bad she wanted to go out with him.
Nevertheless, I had to talk to someone about this mess. This situation between me and Catherine couldn’t go on forever. Although we hadn’t discussed the matter that Sunday, we would do so in the days to come. It was just a matter of time. So, after our shift, I called Rachel, our mutual friend, and asked her to meet with me. To my satisfaction, we agreed to meet at “Delilah’s,” a fancy lounge café on Fifth Avenue.
That place was ideal for what I had in mind. I needed a decent environment, where we could address each other without having to shout, and that café was just that. Numerous appliques on the walls gave it a romantic vibe. Large couches in a variety of colors ensured comfort to customers. One of my all-time favorite songs was playing from the speakers. B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone.” Rachel was seated at the table nearest to the counter, enjoying her usual double macchiato.
