by Ryli Jordan
She could tell I wasn’t horsing around. And there she found it, the meat of the interview, and the insight she needed into my world to make a good story.
“Let me do the interview right now. Put some clothes on and be real with me.”
“All right…but you know a CFO is so much more dramatic when his dick is hanging out.”
After taking a few minutes to get dressed and then prepare her recorder and tablet, she began digging into the source of my angst.
“Do you feel motivated to stay on top of the world?”
“When you’re in my shoes, especially after the death of my father who built the company, there is a tremendous stress to keep it moving. To keep everyone happy. It’s a desperation most people will never understand. And I don’t expect them to. I only work twice as hard to give them the protection and comforts they crave.”
“Why do you think people in your own company are conspiring against you?”
“Because they say it to my face. They make it pretty goddamned clear how they feel about me. My age. My immaturity. My…lifestyle.”
“What about your lifestyle?” She smiled, though a bit more like mistrust rather than a reporter’s usual smirk.
“Fast cars. Traveling around the world. Goofing off on social media and giving the company a bad name.”
I flinched. “And of course, the women.”
“And what about the women, Mister Valenti?” she said, losing her smile and growing cold before my very eyes.
“Well…” I smiled, trying to laugh it off. “It’s something I enjoy doing. And I guess practice makes perfect because they never complain. Do they?”
I smiled but she only shot two daggers at my face with her ferocious eyes. I shrugged it off, trying to remain confident because that’s what they respect. I mean what were we, anyway? What was I to her?
“And do you ever see yourself…growing up?”
I sighed. “Why is growing up always associated with monogamy, anyway? I don’t see myself as a one-woman man just like the average woman doesn’t see herself as a little wife settling for the first loser that comes along.”
My smile slowly stretched into a frown. That probably came out wrong.
“So is that what this is? Ray? I’m just a loser?”
“That’s not what I meant…”
“I’m just one of many? One of many peons privileged to worship you? But now it’s time to take a number and go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You know what? Don’t apologize. I’m actually getting to know the real you splendidly, Ray.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“I’m not. I’m reporting. You’re an asshole…a self-centered, corporate sponsored dick-head just like you claim to resent.”
“Oh, that’s low.”
“Is it? Tell me why I’m wrong. You complain that men are trying to take your job away? Why shouldn’t they, Ray? Because you think you deserve something? You think you’ve earned it? Your one great idea is worth the billions of dollars you’re going to get for being an absolute narcissist and scum of the earth human being?”
“I sense you’re holding back,” I said drolly.
“Here’s the last question I have for you.”
“The last? That’s it? You have the whole story?”
“Yeah I do. My question is, why do you care? About any of this. About your job? You’re probably going to get paid off handsomely for your shares. You’ll still be able to travel the world and bed all the top models at your leisure. While those mean, terrible men at work try to seer the company back to being profitable again. So who’s the loser in this scenario?”
I shook my head, speechless for once in my life.
“I’m going to bed,” she replied coarsely. I may be stuck here with you but I’m not defenseless. Don’t even think about coming into my room tonight or you’ll be sorry.”
I sighed and nodded, figuring there was no stopping her stomp-out.”
I tried my best to smooth things over with Julia the next day and even did the unthinkable—at least according to Julia’s own warped perspective of me. I made her breakfast with my own evil, narcissistic, womanizing hands. Bacon, eggs over easy and French toast—the breakfast of champions. The universal food that is the choice of every man, no matter rich or poor.
To my surprise, she sat down and ate with me. Although her cold and piercing stares were admittedly hard to digest—far less easy than eating my delicious eggs over easy.
“I’m sorry for what I said. It was out of line.”
“Hmmm,” she said while munching on toast. Quite the polite woman, she even waited until she swallowed before speaking her piece. “You apologize for what you say. But there’s no sense in apologizing for who you are. Is there?”
“I suppose not,” I said, outwitted by my most passionate lover I had ever met. Whenever she spoke, all I could do was think caustic thoughts about myself. All I could do was listen in worry. What kind of effect did she have on me?
Damn me. Just as I’m starting to feel something, something real and in a completely private place where no interruptions could stop me, she puts up a wall between us.
I have to wonder for just a moment, is the wall going up the result of her cowardice or my own? Could I be self-sabotaging the only relationship in recent memory where I actually felt something? And more to the point, is what she’s saying about me correct?
To both of our credit, we resisted arguing and killing each other, long enough for an early flight back home. Julia was still angry at me, and it was the worst kind of anger: the one that insisted she wasn’t angry, only “enlightened” as to the villain I really was.
“So you think I’m evil?” I asked in amusement since the flight back to civilization was long and awkward—so I figured we might as well discuss what was on both our minds.
“Yes. Evil.”
“Evil as in sadistic or corrupt?”
“A little bit of both. But like, when I think of evil, I really just think of sociopathic.”
“So I’m a sociopath?”
“Yes and a particularly sad and narcissistic sociopath. Which explains why you see yourself as the victim…the poor, poor billionaire heir. Why doesn’t the world appreciate his sacrifice?”
“Well, at least you’re giving my Evil ‘layers’. I appreciate that. I would hate to be a shallow, evil person.”
“No, you are quite complex, Ray Valenti.”
“Good. And I hope you communicate the complexity in the interview.”
“Oh believe me, I will.”
So there we were. Nothing accomplished except vivid memories of breasts, penises, and feet rolling over silk sheets and falling onto the sand. Now she was convinced I am Satan himself and that I had a variety of mental disorders.
I was quite surprised she settled on narcissism and sociopathy when I really was hoping for Borderline. Because truth be told, I’ve always considered myself borderline everything. Borderline hero, borderline villain. Borderline humanitarian, and borderline boyfriend.
But eventually they all leave, don’t they? Or do I leave them? Do I abandon them or do I merely keep walking? Do they desire me to stay in the same place with them, or will they not follow me?
What does a girlfriend do, anyway? What does a wife do? If I were to be honest, I would say have no idea how a husband acts, how a faithful boyfriend is supposed to act. So I just stand still and train myself to look down at the floor every time a woman passes by? It seems idolatrous to me, to gaze into the eyes of one woman for the rest of my life. What if she disappoints me? What if she leaves? Then all I have left is a memory.
***
Chapter 9
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mister Valenti, Junior. To what do I owe the honor?” said a particularly leery and downright creepy looking Julia, as she eyed me in smiling contempt.
Thank God we were separated by miles, chatting on FaceTime, in what I could deem a neutral location where I woul
dn’t be slapped in the face.
“I called to apologize,” I said as maturely as possible.
“Uh huh. And as I said, you don’t owe me an apology.”
“Here’s the thing,” I replied quickly. “Why I was so pissed off at the bureaucracy of my company? Because they disrespected me. And I don’t tolerate disrespect from my inferiors. They work for ME!”
“Oh?”
“And …the point is, I’m not mad at you. You didn’t disrespect me, Julia. You just told me the unflattering truth.”
“So you admit it?” she said tilting her head.
“Yes. You said nothing that was blatantly false. I mean, a psychiatrist would have to confirm your analysis, technically speaking…”
She laughed…reluctantly.
“But do I admit my attitude stinks? Yes. I do. And I’m sorry that I made you feel bad.”
“Well…” she said tiredly, finally letting go of my manhood with those tough and unforgiving eyes. “I appreciate your honesty.”
“What can I do to make it up to you? I mean…short of flying you to a private island for a romantic getaway?”
“There you go again,” she said with a shaming bob of her head.
“Sorry. I just mean…what do I have to do to show you that I’m human? That I’m trying?”
She paused and sighed, though she gave me a look of pity. And I would damn well take that.
“All right, I will meet with you one last time. Just to talk.”
“Okay. Great.”
“And I want a real interview this time.”
“Agreed. Very professional. Very sincere.”
“And it has to be in a neutral location. I don’t want to be in any beach house where you scored with all these supermodels.”
“Right. That makes sense. Where do you suggest?”
“My place. I will cook for you.”
“Really? You’ll cook for me?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Is the food poisoned or something?”
“I guess you’re just going to have to learn to trust me. If you really respect me, Ray, you will be able to have dinner with me and not worry about your life. All women are not out to get you, you know.”
“I know.”
“And there’s something else I want you to see, too.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s for you to learn. I think it’s what you’re looking for…”
“Oh?”
“It’s not sex.”
“Oh.”
“But if you trust me, you’ll think it’s worth looking at.”
“I can’t wait. Julia. I’d be honored to come.”
I was flabbergasted with delight! It was as if I was almost fired but the boss saved me at the last minute. I have no idea what that feels like, since I’ve never had a boss, but dammit, this felt like my moment. That moment where I had a second chance. Where I could change the destiny of my story.
I wanted to win her over, god knows for what reason, but I felt that losing her would be the end of something beautiful. Maybe this trust-building dinner was all for a reason. Maybe Julia had something to teach ME.
Julia took great delight in making me a personal and home-cooked dinner. She cooked me Egyptian style Ful Medames and mashed fava beans, along with something called Koshari, which was fantastic. It was so unusual and better than any meal I experienced in all the top rated restaurants across the world. As beautiful as it all was, my favorite was the dessert. She called it ghee, simmering butter with spices and dosa. Sweet and exquisite, exploding all over my taste buds.
This was truly food fit for a god and if she really wanted to poison me, this was the way I wanted to go.
“Fantastic,” I said, relieved that I didn’t feel woozy or see Julia grabbing a pair of knives.
“I’m glad you trusted me enough to come here.”
“Of course I trust you, silly,” I replied. You know I did take you to an island where you could have had your way with me.”
“And I did!” she said to my amusement.
“Yes, you did.”
“I think the reason I wanted to bring you here was to show you how the other half lives. I wanted you to be in a humble environment and eat something made by someone’s own hands…not a team of chefs. All I meant by that vicious harangue that I gave you was that…you have so much, Ray.”
I lost my smile and for once, began really listen.
“You have a start in life that most people could only dream about. So yeah, it sucks when you have to deal with assholes at work. But even on your worst day, you’re still living the dream. Why won’t you realize that?”
I tried to speak but no words came out. I shook my head in…it wasn’t disgust. Usually, when someone lectured me I lashed out at them or at least I became passive aggressive and started a fight. But when Julia busted my balls, all I could do was listen. She had a way of explaining things and filtering out all the bullshit. Just the love and discipline that maybe I felt I needed deep down.
“So what did you want to show me?”
“A long time ago, my mother was a poor working single mom. I don’t know what happened to my father, except that he split when I was a little girl. My mother never really dated anyone even though her family was always asking her when she was going to settle down and get a ‘good man’ for her children.”
I listened in awe of the story and the origin of Julia, a woman I could never figure out even if my life depended on it.
“I remember one day she said to them, ‘I may never get married. Because my children are more important to me than some man.’ I don’t think I ever forgot that. I figured my mom would probably stay single for the rest of her life rather than compromise her principles.”
“And did she?”
“Wait for it…” she said with a grin. “Finally, one day an odd-looking man approached her in the supermarket and the moment I saw him, I knew he was going to be my stepdad. I think it was the way he walked. He was average looking, not handsome by any means. But he walked with respect. He carried himself confidently but without swaggering.”
“Really?”
“They dated for a while and he remained the perfect gentleman, taking the time to get to know us, my sister Valerie and I. He was patient…loving…even if my mother never gave him a single thing, he was still the type of friend you want in life. Someone considerate. Altruistic, I guess you could say ”
“I see.”
“Then one day he was deployed. He was military, you see. Operation Desert Storm.”
“Oh. Does that mean…?” I said solemnly.
“Right before he left, he told my mom not to wait for him. That he might not be coming back. He thought of her comfort before his own. And what do you think my mother told him?”
“I don’t know,” I said glued to her eyes and eager to hear how the story ended.
“Of course…she told him she would wait for him. And that he would come back alive for her. And she demanded that he write her every day so they could keep in touch.”
“Just tell me, tell me! Did he…did he…”
“He made it back alive,” Julia said with a wistful smile. “And they got married. And that funny looking man became my stepfather Jason.”
She reached into a bag and pulled out an old letter. I immediately noticed an image written on it – a red jewel locket in the shape of a heart.
“Very vivid drawing, isn’t it? It was what he said he would buy her when he got back home. Every day he would write about that hypothetical locket, one he could afford to buy when he finally came home once and for all.”
“And did he?” I said with a smile as I read snippets of the love letter.
“See for yourself.”
She reached into her bag underneath some other letters and pulled out a locket—one in the same, as depicted in the letter. It was startlingly real, the drawing that is, and the old fellow made damn sure to replicate it completely, down to the last deta
il of the locket that was firmly in his mind all those months knocking at death’s door.
“Wow that’s amazing.” I grinned looking at the locket and quite amused at Julia’s story telling ability. “And I hate to sound vain but…why did you tell this to me? Right now of all times…”
“Because, Ray. I am giving this locket to you.”
“What? Why?” I said, almost panicking at the thought. It felt sickening…it felt strange and alarming.
“Not because I like you, you vain prick,” she laughed. “Because I think you need some emotional connection in your life. You think it’s some great thing to go through life empty in heart and scoring with every woman you meet. But I’m giving you that locket now. So you can remember, while you’re sitting in bed one night, next to a stranger that you don’t know or have any desire to know…that she has a story to tell. Each and every one of ‘us’ has a personal story. And I don’t want you to forget that.”
I listened in agony, not having the foggiest notion of what to say.
“Don’t make a scene, silly. It’s just my way of saying I forgive you. I’m not holding a grudge. And I’m not going to embarrass you in the interview.”
“I appreciate it...” I said, knowing that I appreciated her tolerance for sure…but everything else was truly up in the air at that moment. “But…maybe you should keep this.”
“No. It’s old memories. Both of my parents have passed on, Ray. That locket’s been sitting in a box collecting dust for a long time. But maybe you can appreciate it. It’s alive when it’s in your hands.”
I nodded in uncertainty. It felt wrong to accept it and yet right, in a strange tingling way.
“So come on. Now it’s your turn. Tell me your story.”
“What story?”
“Your love story. Maybe it was your parents’ love story. Or the story of your first love who broke your heart. I know there’s a reason for your being, Ray. The way you are. Everyone has a reason for being.”
