by Lily Zante
“I'm sorry for your loss.”
“It sucks, but...” She shrugs, a sigh making her chest rise and fall. “That's life, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you? Do you have any siblings? What's the deal with you, Hartley?”
I push off from the wall, needing to end this conversation now. Delving into my life is strictly off limits.
“No siblings.” I get out my keys and walk towards my car. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Chapter Eighteen
KYRA
* * *
I take it all back. Employing Brad hasn’t worked out to be such a bad thing. Maybe I was just cautious about him, and he was wary of me. He was responding to my coldness. I didn’t trust him, and I didn’t care to hide it from him, but I’ve taken note of his level of commitment and how much it has helped having him around. Especially given the fact that Fredrich decided to take another week off and only returned yesterday.
Who knows how much longer Brad will stick around for? We are different in so many ways and disagree on so many things. He seems eager for us to move elsewhere if we get the chance. We clash the most on my ideas for the small business units. Redhill employs people to work in the factory but in talking to some of them, I’ve come to know of their hopes and dreams too. Take Dayna, our factory manager. She used to run a small home business making cakes, until tragedy hit and her only child was killed in a car accident. Her marriage fell apart, she and her husband divorced, and then she lost her day job. She sank into depression and it spiraled. She lost her home, her marriage, everything.
Dayna does a fantastic job here. She’s been so good that I promoted her. I can see her potential, and I see the way her eyes light up when she talks about the joy that baking cakes gave her. She is one of those people I see working in those business units I’m determined to set up. What if I could make that possible for her again?
Unlike me, Brad doesn’t seem to understand that people, when given a chance to prove themselves, can and will. He doesn’t see their true potential, or how life changing giving people a second chance can be.
I keep trying to find out what he does the other two days of the week, but he’s so vague that I wonder if he’s growing weed or doing something dodgy because he changes the subject quickly.
Still, I never thought I’d find myself being glad he’s on board.
I was wrong about him, and I can see now that having another guy on the team definitely helps. We don’t deliberately turn men away, but none have wanted to work here. With the factory being completely staffed by women, and only Fredrich in the office, I’ve come to rely on him more. I grudgingly admit that having another guy on the team is a definite bonus, even if it’s just for the muscle power.
He is willing and able, and helpful, and I should be grateful for his help. I have to learn to put my quiet frustration aside when I’m with people who don’t share my ideas.
But there is a plus side to him being here. Having Brad to bounce ideas around with isn’t such a bad thing. There is truth to the words that you often need to see things from another perspective, that you can’t always assume your point of view is the only one, or that it’s the right one.
I’m learning a lot from him being around and he and I seem to be getting on amicably enough, and we’ve put our previously cold and open hostility behind us.
Fredrich noticed this right away, perhaps because it’s cozier with the extra desk and with the four of us all in one room,
We managed to fit another small desk in the office. The space is becoming more cramped here and I did consider moving Brad out to another part of the building and even setting him up a space on the factory floor, but Simona said it wouldn’t be fair given that he’s not here all the time. She says it makes sense to have us all in the same room and to feel more like a team. So we’ve joined the new desk to Fredrich’s, and the two of them now sit almost side by side.
The talk soon turns to Elias Cardoza. Fredrich holds up his newspaper which shows a photo of Eli. There’s not long to go now before his fight. “It’s going to be a great night,” says Fredrich. “I was thinking we’d go bigger with the screen.”
I laugh nervously. “How much bigger do you want to go?” Fredrich rubs his hands together as if he’s got a big juicy idea.
“Like drive-in movie size. I spoke to a company specializing in that and they’re happy to come and set it all up. They’re going to give us a discount, too, on account of what we do and why we’re doing it.”
“Screen?” Brad echoes.
“Elias’ big fight,” says Simona. “Haven’t you told him about it?” she asks me.
I mumble something about it not being on my radar. I seem to be juggling everything all the time. The fight night is just something extra, and thankfully I haven’t had to do much about it, because Fredrich seems content to run with it.
Fredrich soon fills Brad in on our plans for that night.
“You’re going to throw a party for homeless people?”
We all look up at him, it’s not just the way he says it, there is shock and disbelief and, if I’m not mistaken, a hint of why-the-hell-would-you-do-something-like-that?
“We’re going to need more manpower,” I say, tapping my pencil on the table. I’m not sure exactly how many people will come, above and beyond our usual numbers. I guess that’s something we’ll find out on the night.”
“How much more?” Simona asks.
“We’ll need to know numbers for the food,” I add.
Brad folds his arms and I immediately brace myself for opposition. He catches my eye. “Say it,” I tell him. I can see that he’s itching to say something, and that he also isn’t fully on board with this.
“You’re hosting a night for homeless people to come and watch Elias fight? And you’re giving them food and …”
“It’s just food. Not food and alcohol, in case that’s what you were going to say.” It seemed to me like it was on the tip of his tongue. “It’s not a party, Brad, we’re aware of that. But whether the usual crowd turns up, or something slightly bigger, it doesn’t matter, does it? As long as we have enough food and security just in case we need it. So, what’s the problem?”
“There isn’t a problem.”
But his insistence doesn’t win me over and I push back. “Don’t be shy. Let’s hear it. I can see that you don’t think this is a good idea. Tell me what’s wrong with it.” I brace myself for his answer.
“I mean, it’s a good idea.” He slowly backtracks.
“But?”
“No buts.”
“Oh, really? Because it sounded like you didn’t agree.”
He opens his mouth but seems to think better of it. “I just… uh … I mean, … uh, are you sure they would want that?”
“Why would they not?”
He looks confounded, his glance shifting to Simona and Fredrich, as if he’s being careful of what he says, as if he’s got to watch his mouth and can’t mouth off like he would around his frat buddies. “Because … it’s not important, surely? For them to see a boxing match when they’re still fighting for basic survival.”
At first this seems like a cruel opinion. But, I see his point. To the uninitiated, it would seem like a waste of time putting on a huge TV screen for ‘these people’. But if we can have an extra food night, and tie it into an event that involves our biggest donor, why not? If this would give these people a chance to forget their woes for the night, why would we not do it?
BRANDON
* * *
“Will you come?” Simona asks me.
I blink. “Come where?”
“Aren’t you paying attention?” She laughs, but also looks at me with concern, as if I’ve suffered a concussion and have forgotten who I am and where I am.
“To the food night. On Elias’s big fight night?”
“Uh …” I can do that.
“He’s probably got better things to do,” Kyra says. The
y’re all looking at me oddly, sensing my hesitancy.
“It’s just a Saturday night. Bring your girlfriend, dude,” says Fredrich.
“Why not? I’ll come.”
“It’s not a night out,” Kyra informs me dryly. “And we’re going to need the manpower.”
“I wasn’t expecting it to be a night out,” I reply, pointedly.
* * *
The next day I pass by the art gallery to check in on Jessica. What with my days at the factory and then catching up at my office, I haven’t been able to catch up with her for a while.
“Hey, stranger.” She kisses the air on the side of my face and we embrace.
“It’s been a while. Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Nice of you to come.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
“Where have you been?” She has another event showcasing something or other. More art that a monkey with crayons could create. I can barely hear the low music in the background. Beautiful people in designer clothes hang around the gallery with long-stemmed glasses in their elegant hands. Waitresses, dressed all in black, grace the room with their trays of miniscule canapes too pretty to eat. They’re almost as mesmerizing as some of the artwork.
“I haven’t been anywhere,” I throw back defensively. My days at the factory aren’t too hard. They are long days, but not as physical as when I first started. I’ve cleaned the storerooms and we’ve taken another delivery of supplies for the products. Between me and Fredrich, we manage.
It’s not all manual labor. But the homeless food nights are every Wednesday, without fail, and Fredrich or I go with Kyra to do the restaurant run. I still think these evenings should be scrapped. She’s running a business not a soup kitchen. This side gig is going to wear her down.
It’s a far cry from my own life. I don’t do any of the dirty work. I don’t even do my own laundry or wash my own dishes at home. And at the office, I have Emma. My business dealings are conducted over the phone, or over dinner or drinks.
That’s my idea of work, and it is yet another difference between me and Kyra. I can’t help but admire her strength and stamina.
Jessica slips her arm in mine, surprising me with her touch. She’s not usually so tactile or so physically clingy. She’s obviously missed me. “Tell me what this Mother Teresa of Chicago is like.” She gazes up at me through her mascaraed lashes.
I chuckle and try to move myself away because her scent is strong and overpowering, as if she added too much of her witch’s potion to it. She can’t even bring herself to call Kyra by her name.
“She’s …” I’m at a loss for words, completely stumped.
“She’s?” Jessica fixes me with eyes full of malice. “Has she grown her hair out yet or does she still look like a dyke?”
I choke out a gasp. “Why the maliciousness, Jessica?” Kyra travels in a different orbit, these two women have nothing in common and will never meet, therefore the level of Jessica’s hatred surprises me.
“It’s the only thing I remember about her. Her hair. She’s a skinny, scrawny scrap, isn’t she?”
“I haven’t noticed. I’m not there to make advances at her. I’m there for a reason.” Kyra is everything I don’t desire in a woman. Shortish hair resting on her shoulders, small and slight, no sign of voluptuousness. No feminine curves.
“She’s got a scrunched-up face.”
I wince, disliking Jessica’s bitchy comment. “You don’t even know her.”
“But you do, Brandon. You’ve been working with her for going on a month. What’s she like? Because the city seems to love her as much as they do that boxer.”
“Elias? Funny you should say that. He’s a great fan of the work she’s doing. They’ve met him a few times.”
“Riffraff. People like that flock together.”
“Riffraff?” Her jibes make me uneasy. Jessica is in frosty bitch mode tonight. It’s unbecoming for someone of her stature, or maybe it’s just about right. I’ve never noticed this before and suddenly, I don’t want to hear her gripes and her snipes. Why did I ever suffer them before? “Cardoza is a good fighter. I wouldn’t call him riffraff. The guy has more than proved himself.”
“I was talking about your new best friend.”
Something pinches my belly from the inside and doesn’t stop. “Kyra isn’t riffraff.”
Jessica’s eyes narrow the tiniest amount, it’s enough for me to see that she doesn’t like me defending Kyra. “You’ve changed, Brandon. What are you doing with these people? Becoming best friends?”
“These people?” It’s not until I say it out loud that I realize it’s a term I’ve often used to describe us and them. ‘Us’ being the top one percent of the wealthy, and ‘them’ being the rest. A false laugh leaves my throat. “You know what I’m doing there.”
I wish I hadn’t ever told her. For the first time, I see the danger in letting someone as nasty and as evil as Jessica—someone who hates Kyra with a passion—in on this little secret of mine. I lean in and put my lips to her ear. “I hope I can trust you to keep this to yourself.”
“You disappoint me, Brandon. I was hoping for some gossip on the girl, but you haven’t given me any juicy tidbits on her.”
“Don’t be silly, Jessica. There are no juicy things for me to bring back to you.”
“No gossip?”
“None.”
“None?”
“It’s purely work, and boring work, at that. There is nothing to relay back to you.”
Chapter Nineteen
KYRA
* * *
“We could write to more corporations,” Brad suggests.
We’re discussing how to get more sponsors, how to get our message out. This is something I consider myself to be good at, and we’ve done well so far, but I’m interested to hear what Brad has to say, since he claims he’s a know-it-all.
“We already do that.”
“You should do the small and personal approach. Meet people in person. Cultivate relationships.”
“We already do that.”
“Then it sounds as if you’re doing all the right things. You could go big and take out an ad in the paper.”
I laugh, because his idea is so ludicrous. “You want us to pay an exorbitant amount of money for an ad? In the newspaper, or on a billboard, or in a glossy magazine, or maybe a TV ad? Which is it?” I’m shocked that he’s suggested a crazy solution.
“It’s not so strange. You want to attract the big donors. Get the eyes of the big corporates. This is the way to do it.”
“Dude, people would think we’re throwing money away. We’re not a corporation,” Fredrich says.
I scowl at Brad in disbelief because what he’s suggesting is so insanely wrong, I can’t believe he had the audacity to suggest it. Everything I started to assume about him begins to dismantle. He catches my tight expression.
“Your idea doesn’t make sense,” I tell him.
I hear a noise, like something scraping, like lots of sand falling, an out-of-place noise that alerts my sixth sense. We all stare upwards, and then WHAM! Brad comes at me like a bull, hurling himself at me. My chair topples over and I scream as we fall to the floor. His hand cushions the floor before my head hits it. Something dull and chunky thuds to the floor directly at the spot where my chair had been.
It happens so fast that I forget to breathe.
“What the—” Fredrich jumps to standing, Simona too. They help us to get up. Miraculously, I’m not hurt despite being bulldozed to the floor in my chair. The armrests saved me from taking the full brunt of Brad’s body weight. He stands up slowly, surveys me lying on the floor, and offers me his hand. Then he helps me to stand.
Dazed, I look up at the ceiling, then at the floor. Shock holds me frozen to the spot.
“A chunk of plaster,” Fredrich cries, walking over and prodding it gently with his foot. It’s a hefty chunk. . “You’re lucky it missed your head.”
Simona st
ares at it. “That could have killed you.” She looks as worried as if it had happened.
“He saved your life, looks like,” Fredrich announces.
“Thank goodness for your quick reflexes,” Simona adds in. They are both singing Brad’s praises.
“Are you hurt?” I ask him, slowly shaking out of my shock bubble. There is too much to process all at once: Brad’s side tackle, the plaster from the ceiling, the fact that I could have been so badly—fatally even—injured.
But also the feel of him against me. The firm yet soft feel of his hand as my head smacked against it. Everything except my heart rate slow-motioned. I caught a whiff of his cologne—clean and fresh with a hint of pine, it took me out of this damp-smelling room and led me to a field of flowers. Even now, my heart flutters just thinking about it.
He saved my life.
I reach for his hand shakily, gratitude washing over me as I turn his palm over in my hands. He lets me. “Does it hurt? Can you move your fingers?” I examine both sides of it carefully. He flexes his fingers.
“It’s all working. Can I have it back now?”
Everyone laughs.
I can’t, because what happened scared me. If he hadn’t moved me out of the way, who knows what injury I might have sustained?
“Thank you.” The quiet words tumble from my lips. “The water pooling on the roof must have gone through.”
“Your ...” He touches his own lip. I squint at him. “Your lip is bleeding,” he says, pointing at it. It’s only then that I feel the pain on my lower lip. I run my tongue along it and taste the salty blood. Brad winces. “Looks painful. It could be deep. You might want to get it looked at.”
Simona comes over, motherly-like, and tilts my head up so that she can get a better look. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“I think we should split for lunch,” Fredrich announces.
“Another man who runs at the first sight of blood.” She rolls her eyes. “Get me the first aid kit before you go.”
