I turned on my heels facing Jordan, “Let me get something to change into and I’ll meet you in the car.” A smile of accomplishment washed over his face. But then it disappeared.
“I won’t change my mind” I said to him. When Jordan understood that I would go with him, he smiled and walked into the elevator humming.
I rushed inside and grabbed a bag and stuffed undies, a teddy, two pairs of jeans, white shirts, shoes, and one dress. My plans were to return on Sunday to ready myself for work on Monday. I made my decision to get away from this apartment before Brandon walked in on me. I had no privacy in here and that bothered me.
I wanted to be alone in my own apartment with my own thoughts. I know that it would be impossible at Jordan’s place, but at least I could get a chance to get acquainted with this man who wasn’t afraid to fight for me and didn’t push me into anything.
Rushing to change into something more comfortable, my phone rang. I left it on the bar because I was expecting a call from my father. I leaned over picked it up, not paying attention and answered, “Hello.”
“Tyler?”
“This is…”
“I know who it is,” I said.
“Can you forgive me for that exhibition?” Brandon said to me.
“I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long with you. I should have stopped you when you came to the apartment. We shouldn’t have made love. You’re a married man.”
“Don’t call me a married man,” he said with a heavy voice. “When I’m with you I’m not married.”
“What you are saying is nonsense, and I will not listen anymore. You can’t will away Angela. You can’t make her…” I stopped because I realized what I had said. “Where is Angela?”
“I don’t want to talk about her. I called to ask you to be with me tonight, or I can come to you,” he said.
“Brandon Charles have you lost your mind. Did you not hear me?”
“Yes, I lost it the day I met you,” he said.
“I’m not going to be here tonight,” I admitted.
“Where are you going?” He asked with a trembling voice.
“I can’t tell you,” I said. I heard the warmth and insecurity vibrate in his voice and reach me.
“You won’t tell me,” he said with more strength.
“Whatever you say, but I have to go now.” I punched the button and ended my call. I turned out most of the lights in the loft and rushed out of the apartment and into the elevator. I relaxed a moment, breathless from the conversation and anxious to get out of there and to a place where I could breathe and Brandon couldn’t find me. When Jordan’s driver opened the door, I jumped in next to Jordan.
“What’s the matter? Your cheeks are so red. Here have a glass of wine.” He poured me some red wine and I took a long sip. I wasn’t a drinker but the events of my life had been fast and frightening and I couldn’t get a hold on them. As I drank a large gulp, Jordan sat watching. I couldn’t read his expression but it was as if he was the neighborhood cat who cruised at night searching for the unsuspecting bird.
I had time to notice that a car had been parked across from the limo. It was a fancy sports car with dark windows. Shuddering, I thought I was paranoid. Paranoia is not for someone as young. It manifest itself in the trauma ridden. Like an overworked housewife and mother. I kept saying to myself it’s not him. It’s not him. I don’t want Brandon to know that I went off with Jordan. What would he think? What was I thinking?
I caught myself worrying about what he thought of me, and it was simple, I don’t give a damn. Let him think whatever he wanted. I had finally crossed over to not being the person I wanted to become. All it took was for my life to be disturbed and changed by a few actions. Mine at the top of the list. I couldn’t blame anyone but myself. I made these decisions and I had the awareness to understand that I had to live with them.
“Are you ok now?” Jordan asked.
“As well as I can be. I just need to calm down and the wine appears to be working.”
“I’m not going to pressure you in to anything Tyler. Just let me take care of you for now.”
What did he mean take care of me? There goes the paranoia. I didn’t know that man. He was my boss, yes, but I knew nothing about him. However, I felt at ease with him so I put away my thoughts and leaned back and enjoyed the ride. Maybe it was the wine that put everything out of my mind.
I settled back with the wine glass in my hand and took in a slow even breath. I felt the leather seats caress and massage my back and send me into a euphoric dream. Then the car eased to a stop and the engine cut off.
“We’re here,” Jordan announced,
“That was short.”
As we waited for the driver to exit the car and open the door, Jordan looked to me and said, “I don’t live but a few blocks from Christina’s loft.” Now I knew it was time to get another place. I was in walking distance of Jordan’s apartment, and Brandon’s hotel. If Jordan was to remain in my life in whatever position, employer or lover, I needed distance. And as long as I wasn’t sure about my feelings for Brandon at this time, I needed more distance. I thought about moving back to New Jersey.
It was only a thought. I felt like Caesar when he crossed the Rubicon. There was no going back.
I stepped out of the car. Jordan stood on the curb holding his hand out to me. I felt like a Princess in a fairytale. But he was the wrong Prince. I took his hand and stood near him. He placed one hand around my waist. I glanced about and then I remembered that when I first stepped into Jordan’s limo there was a car. That same red sports car was parked across the street. The top of the car lowered now. This time I saw the brown leather interior and seated at the wheel was a pensive Brandon, rubbing his opened hand across his mouth. Our eyes locked and I turned quickly in Jordan’s direction smiling to prevent him from noticing Brandon.
With my back to Brandon, I could hear the engine turn over with power. And I heard the car take off as if it was an extension of Brandon throwing a fit. The car left in a huff spewing fumes of rubber and gas, and the roar of the engine caused both of us to turn in its direction. Jordan didn’t pay any attention or he already knew who drove that car. He kept smiling as if he had a secret. And he probably did.
It appeared that everyone had secrets including me.
Chapter 22
Brandon grabbed my attention for a moment. I almost missed the exterior of Jordan’s beautiful mansion. “Wow. Do you live here alone? I don’t know where I got the idea that you lived in an apartment,” I said out loud not expecting an answer. “I couldn’t imagine a mansion like this setting in the middle of Manhattan. I must have passed here before but I never knew it was a home where someone actually lived and that I would know the person who lived there.”
The drive way, surrounded by trees and high hedges, not visible from the street or sidewalk. Yet the house sat just off Fifth Avenue. The cobblestone drive way led to the front door. The lights painted black hung on the brick façade. They were huge antique lamps, which appeared to belong to the eighteen century. A guard stood outside the door as if he was guarding Buckingham palace.
“It’s been in the family for over a hundred years,” Jordan said amused by my reaction. I stood on the steps just gawking at the beautiful double doors with gold handles. He stepped behind me and placed his hand behind my back and ushered me through the open doors.
“I employ many people. That’s why the house appears to be new. It has to be kept up and I added several additions to the place. I was planning on living here with my wife.” He looked at me and smiled. Was he planning on me? No. Couldn’t be, I thought. As I moved through the house staring at the ceiling wondering who cleaned them and how they managed to get cobwebs off them at that altitude, Jordan interrupted my moment of frivolous thinking.
“Let’s get you comfortable.” He took my backpack and handed it to a maid standing in the foyer. “Ms. Tyler will be staying with us for one or
two nights,” he said looking to me for approval. I didn’t answer because his timetable wasn’t mine and I just didn’t know. All I knew was I wanted some peace from wanting and needing Brandon.
***
Finally I saved up enough money to get an apartment, and I had helped my father pay the mortgage out of the income I got from waiting on tables at restaurants around Manhattan. The money I gave him paid the principle and over the five years of working at restaurants, I was now free to become an adult. I had what you call a real job. Or not.
If I had my own place, I could be free to live the way I wanted to without fear of what my father thought, and heaven knows what he was thinking now with me showing up on the front page of every newspaper in New York.
Jordan and the maid showed me the room I would be sleeping in. It was now one a.m. on a Sunday morning. I looked around in awe. Shook my head and fell into the bed with Jordan standing gazing at me with a smile on his face. He appeared to be smiling a lot. I wanted to ask him but thought better because who was I to question his way of handling things. I wanted to smile too but I hadn’t had anything to smile about in years.
My mother’s untimely death, falling in love with a married man, working for five years to help out my father, getting my dream job, having two men fight over me for the world to judge and blame me as if I was some kind of slut. And probably being blamed for the disappearance of Angela, Brandon’s wife.
“There are sleeping clothes in the drawer. The maid can help you undress.”
“No. Thank you. I think I can manage that. I’ve been doing that since I was two years old.” I tried to be nice without being ungrateful. This was something new to me.
“I understand.” Jordan nodded his head and the maid exited the room. I sat in the bed with silence playing between us. A faint smile crossed my lips.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I know you want to undress,” he said. His eyes smiled back and he turned and gingerly stepped to the door and closed it behind him.
A sigh of relief. I wanted no more than to be left alone with my thoughts and tired body. I dropped the black dress on the mahogany floor in front of me, kicked off my shoes and eased into the bed in my bra and panties. I was too damn tried to bother with the fancy satin pajamas that were hanging in eyesight. Besides, I wasn’t use to such luxury, and they would keep me up all night thinking about how much Jordan paid for them, and how many dinners it would pay for or how many starving children could be fed with that money.
When my head sunk into those downy feathers wrapped inside the pillow, I fell into deep sleep. Jordan could have come into the room and did whatever and I wouldn’t have woke. I was just that tired. He didn’t appear to be a watcher. I think he like his women alive and responsive. But I could be wrong. I have been wrong about a lot of things.
When I woke the next morning a maid was knocking at the door. I forced myself to sit up and acclimate myself to the surroundings. I tried to straighten my hair. At first I thought I was in Maine with Brandon and then it hit me. I had accepted an invitation to stay with Jordan.
“Come in,” I said. The maid walked in with a tray and a newspaper. “No. I can’t have breakfast in bed.” I protested waving her away but she didn’t listen. She sat the breakfast tray on the table.
“I mean I don’t want to be waited on. I’ll have it downstairs with Mr. Longworth.”
“I’m sorry but Mr. Longworth is not here. He ate breakfast at nine and went to the stables to ride after lunch.”
“There are stables near here?”
“But of course, Miss,” the maid said looking at me with a strange glance.
“But of course,” I repeated. “What time is it?”
“It’s three in the afternoon. Will you be available for dinner?” She stood waiting for my answer. I didn’t respond as quickly as she had anticipated so she offered an explanation. “Dinner is at six. You missed your lunch,” she said to me as if she thought that would affect my day.
“Really?” I questioned.
“Will that be all?” the gray haired Scandinavian maid said before turning and pouring some coffee for me.
“No. Thank you.” As soon as the door closed behind the maid I jumped from the bed and scoffed down the breakfast. What was on that plate would feed a small country for a week. Four different style of eggs, four different ways to cook bacon and attach a French and Spanish name and it still would be some sort of ham. English and Chinese tea. Milk. Whole milk, two-percent milk, cream, and on and on. I ate what I could and thought that it must be nice not to think about how much food cost or that I could waste it.
After eating that enormous feast, I reached for the papers. There were several. I was lost in the moment and I felt as if I was immune to the world. Why didn’t I read the Sunday Times? I loved that paper with its book reviews, Op Ed. And today was a fashion spread with the latest Hollywood hunks all decked out in designer clothes, but my hands fell inadvertently on the Post’s headlines.
Brawl at the Museum of Natural History. Brandon Charles and Jordan Longworth took the spotlight at a charity event. Raising money for children with cancer was never as easy as it was last night, and a few side bets were placed. Patrons made money along with the charities. The main event was the fight over the Million Dollar Girl who sparked the brawl.
Brandon Charles, married, and his wife is presumed dead, was making a spectacle of himself by fighting over the fiancé of Jordan Longworth. Continue on page six.
My head pound. I put my head in my hands, “Oh shit, shit, shit.” I knew I had to call my father. It wasn’t good to let another headline go without giving him an explanation. I fished inside my purse for my phone. I noticed that I had several text messages from Chris:
First text: OMG. What is going on Tyler? Leave u for a day and u r in the headlines in Europe.
Second text: Coming home in two days. U need help girl.
I need more than help. My life dissolving before my eyes and I wasn’t the same. My life running fast and I still couldn’t catch it. I didn’t check her third text. I decided to check Brandon’s text.
I’m sorry Tyler. I didn’t want u in the middle of a feud between me and Jordan.
Luv u my princess.
OMG. What is he doing to me? Doesn’t he know that I can’t resist him once he starts down that road? He’s impossible. “What is he thinking?” I murmured aloud.
I didn’t want to read the next set of texts. I decided to place a call to my father.
“Dad. This is…”
“I know who it is.” By the sound of his voice he wasn’t reading the New York Times. He never read the Times. If a paper’s main focus wasn’t sports my father had no need for it. He listened to the radio for sports commentary and the reporters threw in gossip for good measure. Probably to liven up a boring day.
“I can explain.” I’m sure every girl has said those misplaced words to her father once, or maybe not, but now I’m walking that road. A road where they wanted their fathers to think good of them even when they acted badly.
“There is no need to explain. Just take care of yourself and don’t be a pawn for those two rich bastards.” That was the first time I heard my father use that word. Maybe he thought that I had become a woman and it didn’t matter anymore. Maybe he was under the impression that I would still take his advice or listen to him. I wanted him to keep his recollection of who I once was but that I was now an adult.
I paused to fashion how I should break the news that I was moving out of his house, but it came out, “I’m getting my own apartment.” The silence between us grew long—and then--
“I understand, baby. You take care of yourself. You’re smart and have a good head on your shoulder. Remember that you can always come home if New York gets too rough,” My father said to me. I felt tears pooling in my eyes. I needed him because I didn’t know what to do. I had no road map for this, and then I said goodbye.
I stumbled back to the bed, I wiped a tear from my eyes and fell in the thousa
nd count Egyptian sheets, forgetting my troubles. When I woke again it was dinnertime.
The maid brought in new clothes for me to wear, but instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out a pair of old jeans and a tee that had the insignia of my high school on front, and on back: Girls are Important Resources. Cherish them, in bold letters.
Chapter 23
Jordan and I ate dinner in his garden. I sat in sheer delight looking around at the beautiful flowers, small vegetable garden, and well-manicured hedges bringing privacy into a less than private place. It still amazed me how a large house could set in the midst of a chaotic city, surrounded by a pastoral setting. Jordan had created his own paradise.
“You know it was Brandon driving that car last night,” he said catching me by surprise and studying me for a reaction.
“I hadn’t noticed.” I lied between eating a piece of cake and a sip of coffee. Did I mention that I had died or felt death coming on? Is this how you feel when you grow up? I wondered. Is this how it feels to want to protect yourself from someone intruding on your mind and feelings? The last frontier. The lie.
“I thought now would be a good time to discuss your job.” Wow! That was a relief I thought he would want to talk about Brandon. I wasn’t ready and clearly he wasn’t either. “I think it would be better if you weren’t working in the same branch as the one I operate. The distraction is getting to be too much for me, and I know you are uncomfortable.”
I shivered. Here I was trying to get my own apartment and now I have to start looking for a job again. I sat back waiting for the next shoe to drop. “I’m going to send you to my Seventh Avenue branch. It’s in the heart of the garment district. I think you would do fine there.”
I was stunned. I expected him to say more. I still had a job doing what I love.
“What do you say?” My eyes opened wide, my body relaxed. “I’m not sending you off cold. Your mentor will be with you for a month, and then you will transfer over to that branch.”
One Desire Page 14
