by Bloom, Nikki
When I stepped out there was a small note stuck over the lock of the double oak doors.
Welcome home, Mister Ramsey. It had a smiley face and some flowers on it plus a little heart with the name Tina below it. As much as I wanted to continue feeding on my anger and resentment I had to smile. I slipped the key into the lock, turned it, relishing the thick sound of the mechanism opening the lock, and turned the doorknob.
“Home.” I stepped inside and let the door slam shut behind me.
“Mr. Ramsey?” came the sultry voice of Tina. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Tina,” I shouted back, unable to hold back the smirk that spread across my lips. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the bedroom!” She giggled.
“Of course you are.” I walked through my home feeling like it really wasn’t my home anymore. The paintings I’d collected over the years had been removed from the walls. The only sculptures that remained were cheap knick-knacks picked up on vacations. Some of my furniture was still there, including the dining room table and a chaise lounge, but my specialty pieces were gone.
“He got his hands on everything. All of it,” I muttered as I clenched my teeth.
“Mr. Ramsey?”
“Coming.” I took a deep breath and walked through the dining room to a winding staircase that lead to the second floor that was my bedroom. When I reached the top I found Tina.
“I tried to find a few things to give you at least the basic comforts.” She stood at the foot of the bed. It was the only thing in the room besides one tall dresser I’d bought at an Amish farm. “They even took your sheets the day after you…went away.”
Tina was about two-hundred pounds of attitude stuffed into a four-foot-nine body. She’d been my housekeeper and friend as long as Carl had.
“I see your sense of style hasn’t changed,” I said as I stepped up on the landing. Tina wore skin-tight stretch pants and a leopard-printed shirt underneath her apron. She looked like links of sausage strung together. “And you still have that smile that could launch a thousand ships.”
“I’m glad you’re home, Mr. Ramsey.” She walked up to me and gave me a hug, which required I stoop down to pat her on the back. “I would have written to you but…I didn’t know what to say. If I told you what was going on you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. I thought that would be crueler than saying nothing.”
“You’re a keeper, Tina.” After letting her go I took off my jacket and dropped it on the bed. “Tell me, did you take care of those books I asked you to.”
“They’re safe. Like I promised,” she replied with a wink. “Do you want me to get them for you? It’ll just take a couple of hours.”
“Not yet. I’m hoping I won’t have to use them,” I mumbled. “I gotta take a shower and wash the Joliet Correctional Facility off me.”
“It’ll be nice being able to take a shower without worrying,” Tina said.
“Worrying about what?”
“You know. Dropping the soap,” she said in a whisper. “I stocked the kitchen. I’ll make you something to eat.”
Before I could tell her I wasn’t very hungry she had waddled to the steps and began her slow descent.
It was obvious that Tina had restocked all of my toiletries. Those things must have been cleared out too when they ransacked my place. For spite, I’m sure. I didn’t even think to ask if I had any clothes left. Everything should still fit since I kept in shape. That was one thing about prison: it was not a place you’d get soft in.
While I was alone in the shower everything came crashing down on me. Maybe it was the scotch on an almost empty stomach. Maybe it was just the overwhelming sensation of being “out.” But as the hot water came from six jets around me and I could smell the scent of the soap Tina had bought while my feet were massaged by the natural stones I had placed on the floor, my heart began to break.
I clenched my fists and bit my tongue. The pain surfaced in my eyes as the coppery taste of my own blood seeped over my taste buds. For five years I didn’t shed a tear. At the trial while she sat staring at me like I was guilty, when they led me away in cuffs, my God, when I went through the humiliation of a body search and being suited for that orange jumper. Never once did I shed a tear. But now alone in my shower I cried.
“Mother.” I wept, clenching my teeth, digging my nails into my palms. “What have you done?”
2
Nova
A note had been slipped under my apartment door. I knew immediately whom it was from. My neighbor, Richard, was upset that I’d declined his invitation to come over and watch the football game. I’d been invited over to watch football, baseball, basketball, some action movie with an actor I never heard of, the series finale for a show I never watched. The guy just couldn’t see that not only was I not interested but we had absolutely nothing in common.
I picked up the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was written in a red ballpoint pen:
Dear Nova,
I hope you have a beautiful day. Good luck at your job interview (if that’s really what you have planned today). I’ll be thinking about you. See you tonight. I hope you’ll tell me all about it.
Love, Richard
“Ugh,” I grumbled before crumpling up the note and tossing it in the garbage can in the kitchen. “If that’s really what you have planned today? What a jerk.”
Not only did I really have a job interview, it was the job interview.
Ramsey Industrial Technologies was looking for an assistant coordinator in their development and distribution department. It was one rung above the mailroom but Ramsey Industrial Technologies was listed in Forbes’ top one hundred companies to work for. They had amazing benefits, employee perks, vacation and holiday pay, overtime, and an impressive starting salary. If I could carve out a niche for myself it would pave the way for bigger and better things, I just knew it.
It wasn’t easy for a girl like me to get a break. It seemed like no matter where I turned there was a Richard waiting to force me into a life of mediocrity. I’m not trying to sound conceited, but the truth is I know what I look like and I know how I think, and I am destined for better than shaking my money-maker at Club 360 for singles in a G-string.
This interview was more important than any other one I’d gone on. I studied the history of Ramsey Industrial Technologies or RIT which had actually read like a thriller. The power couple at the top met in a romantic café in France in the late 1970s. Their parents didn’t approve of their relationship so they eloped when they returned to the United States. By a stroke of luck and some good business sense, Mr. Ramsey acquired the patent for a crystal needed in the water purification process. Not just for poor countries but for all over the world. Overnight, the Ramsey family became billionaires.
The company expanded by leaps and bounds but it was said that Mr. Ramsey made a point to know every employee’s name from his vice presidents all the way down to the janitors. He made sure everyone received a turkey at Thanksgiving, and bonuses at Christmas.
But then tragedy struck. Mr. Ramsey, the guy who started the whole thing, died unexpectedly in his sleep just seven years ago. And as if that wasn’t bad enough
one of the family members working in the company embezzled a couple of million dollars and was doing time in prison. How could anyone do that? You’d have to be a special kind of corrupt to steal from your own family.
Currently, Mrs. Ramsey was the President, having learned the business inside and out while working side-by-side with her late husband.
I saw her picture in some of the articles I read. She was exactly what I’d expect a woman of her caliber to look like. She was slender with silver hair that flowed to her shoulders in natural waves. Each finger had a bold gemstone ring on it and each wrist was draped with various sparkling bracelets. Her clothes were impeccable and anyone could tell they had to cost a small fortune.
The only image of her that wasn’t regal was at the trial. Apparently, it was her only son who
was stealing from her. What a shame.
The newspapers captured her huddled over, crying, looking frail and spindly like a dried branch while her new Vice President stood by her. It was really sad. But that kind of money has the tendency to bring out the worst in people.
I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to be wealthy. But I’d settle for well off.
“Nailing this job will be my start.” I went to my bedroom and closed the door to look in the full-length mirror one more time.
According to all the articles I’d read for job interviews, it was recommended that I wear a sensible black or navy blue skirt of modest length and a white or cream-colored blouse. I opted for the blue skirt and my blouse was an aged pearl color that I thought was just risky enough to leave an impression on my interviewer.
The only problem was that I had naturally curly blonde hair and it often became unruly in even the driest weather. So, with at least twenty bobby pins in my hair I managed a professional-looking French twist.
The article also said to keep the jewelry as understated as possible so I limited it to one pearl stud in each ear and a simple pearl necklace showing beneath my collar.
I smoothed my skirt as I looked in the mirror. Everything was in place.
If I hurried I’d catch the bus just outside my front door. That would give me time to study my note cards containing responses to the most commonly asked interview questions.
I grabbed my purse which was actually a mini briefcase, my keys and my cellphone, took one deep breath to calm myself and opened the door only to yelp in fright.
“Whoa!” Richard said as he stood there looking me up and down. “You look great.” He ogled. Richard Heese was six feet tall and always towering too close to me when he spoke. Today he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that read Xavier College. He had no shoes or socks on. The last part of the male body a woman wants to see is a man’s foot. Richard’s especially since they were plump and hairy.
“I told you I have a job interview, Richard,” I snapped. “If you’ll excuse me I’ve got to get going or I’ll be late.”
“Well, let me wish you good luck. Can I give you a hug?”
“Not right now. I don’t want to wrinkle my outfit.” I tried to smile. I could barely bring my eyes up to look at him.
“Oh, you don’t want to wrinkle your outfit. Sure.” He snorted and stepped back. His apartment was next to mine and I made the mistake when I first moved in of saying hello. “Well, good luck anyway.”
“Thanks.” I pulled my door shut, quickly locked the deadbolt and started to walk down the hallway when Richard decided to follow me.
“Let me get the elevator for you,” he said as he pressed the button.
He’d never gone out of his way to help me carry groceries or my laundry from the dry cleaners but he’d get the elevator button for me. I rolled my eyes.
“You don’t have to stand with me.” I was trying to be nice, but the truth was I knew he had a crush on me; regardless, I didn’t have time for dating. In fact, having a man in my life was the last thing on my mind. I’d said this to him more than once. But he’d watched one too many chick-flicks where beauty fell for the beast because of his perseverance. He was determined to keep pushing.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” he replied. “Besides, there are a lot of weirdos in this building. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He smiled and it was painfully obvious he was trying to be sweet but just came across unsettling.
“I’m sure,” I muttered.
Finally the elevator arrived, clanging and banging as if it had just journeyed up from Hades and not the lobby four floors down.
“Can I give you a hug for luck?” he asked again.
“You left your door open, Richard. Make sure you don’t lock yourself out,” I said as I stepped inside and quickly pressed the ‘door close’ button.
Once the door shut and the elevator began to move I shivered. I was going to seriously consider moving if I got this job and the salary I was hoping went along with it.
“What do you mean IF, Nova Lyons? You’re going to get this job.” I strutted to the bus stop and looked at my watch. One of the men waiting offered me his seat on the bench but I was too nervous to sit. The morning had started clear and sunny, but my appointment was at eleven o’clock and I could see some brooding clouds slowly rolling in. If they would just hang back until my interview was over, I wouldn’t care if I got drenched to the skin. But that wasn’t what fate had planned.
It was a two-block walk to the RIT Building from the bus stop. As soon as I stepped off the bus I felt it. A drop hit my forehead. Quickly, I crossed the street as a few more drops started to fall. By the time I was one block away, a steady rain had started to come down.
I darted in and out of doorways and under awnings. My left shoe, not made for sprints, started to pinch my pinky toe. I felt the strands of hair falling from my perfect French twist and I was sure my deodorant was going to give out any second.
When I finally made it to the lobby I wanted to cry. My blouse was almost see-through and my legs, from calves to feet, were freezing.
I walked to the guard at the front desk and told him I had an appointment with Cheryl in Human Resources. He looked me up and down like I was today’s lunch special then handed me a little badge that read ‘VISITOR’ and pointed me to the elevator bank that would take me to the twenty-eighth floor.
The elevator pinged and I stepped inside just as I heard the guard start yelling. “You can’t just walk in here, sir! Sir!”
Before I could stick my head out the elevator to see what was happening, a man with intense, almost wild eyes stepped into the elevator with me. I stared at him for a second then looked down quickly, completely forgetting that I was wet and almost see-through.
I could feel his eyes on me. I heard his ragged breath as he panted, most likely from running out of the rain, I assumed.
Part of me was afraid he was going to start transforming into a werewolf right in front of me. But when I looked up at him again he was still just a man. Just the most amazing, gorgeous man I’d ever seen.
Unlike Richard who crowded me making his desire obvious, this man stood back and looked at me. But he didn’t just look at me. It was like he was studying me. I was afraid of his gaze but I didn’t want him to look away. Those steely ice-blue eyes roving over me…
“Where did that rain come from?” I blubbered.
He didn’t say a word but continued to stare. I swallowed even though my mouth had gone dry. I took a deep breath, unaware I’d been holding it since this stranger entered the elevator. His warm spicy cologne was intoxicating, making me think of burning leaves and apple cider.
Finally, I managed to peek up at him only to meet his eyes. My thighs ignited. My heart began to race. What was happening to me? I was here for an interview, not some hook-up with a handsome stranger. Hell, I’d never hooked up with anyone before, let alone a man oozing sex appeal who I’d never met before but wanted nonetheless.
The elevator ride flew and before I realized it we were at the twenty-eighth floor. The doors slid open. Before I could wish the man a pleasant day he brushed past me and stomped through the same doors I was heading towards. They had the words Ramsey Industrial Technologies etched in them.
The man turned and looked at me once more as two receptionists freaked out at seeing him and began speaking loudly.
“Mr. Ramsey, you can’t go back there! Mr. Ramsey, they are expecting you but you can’t go back…”
Slowly, I followed his path but I stopped short at the reception desk.
“Can I help you?” the older woman said with huff.
“My name is Nova Lyons. I’ve got an appointment with Cheryl,” I said as she fumbled with her phone and whispered nearly hysterical instructions to the younger receptionist to her left. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “Uh, please have a seat. I’ll have Cheryl out here in a moment.”
I nod
ded and took a seat. The lobby was amazing. On the twenty-eighth floor with floor-to-ceiling windows, a person could see half the south side of Chicago and Lake Michigan. The floors were hard wood. The furniture was black leather. There were elaborate fresh flower arrangements on the receptionist’s desk and the coffee table in front of me. They smelled nice but not nearly as intoxicating as the cologne worn by my friend in the elevator.
“Oh, uh, Miss Lyons?” A lanky, Morticia look-a-like came up behind me.
“Yes?”
“I’m Cheryl.” She looked me up and down. “You rode up in the elevator with Mr. Ramsey. Are you all right?”
“I got caught in the rain,” I replied. “Mr. Ramsey?” The only Mr. Ramsey left was the son I’d read about. The man who was in prison. I was in the elevator with the man who’d embezzled millions from his own family. And I was attracted to him. What was wrong with me?
“Yes. He’s back. Please follow me,” Cheryl muttered. “I’ve got something to tend to. Mr. Ross said he’d speak to you himself. Normally he doesn’t interview but due to the special circumstances today, he’s helping.”
“Well, I’m thrilled he can pencil me in,” I replied, trying to keep my teeth from chattering from the chill and my own nerves.
Cheryl led me through a maze of cubicles until we reached a set of heavy, wooden double doors. The name ‘Dante Ross’ was etched in gold letters on the door with the words ‘Vice President’ beneath.
Dante Ross was the man who had comforted Mrs. Ramsey at her son’s trial.
I couldn’t help feeling like I’d fallen down a rabbit hole. Any second now I was going to see some creepy caterpillar smoking a hookah and telling me I was hired on the condition I eat some weird mushroom.
“Mr. Ross.” Cheryl knocked then opened the door. “Miss Lyons is here to see you.”
“Send her in.” Mr. Ross’s voice was deep. When I stepped into the office I was overwhelmed. It was almost like a small apartment.
“Hello, Miss Lyons.” My knees weakened. Was there something in the employee handbook that required the men meet certain Greek godlike physical standards as a condition of being hired?
