by Kara Hart
We walk in silence to my station wagon. Once inside, I start the engine and brace as I seek to bridge the divide.
Leaning back against the seat, I sigh. “I’m sorry for sending you outside earlier,” I say. “I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how. Do you understand?”
She nods. “I was being bad.”
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “You weren’t being bad. You’re not a bad person, Sammy.”
When I was a little girl, I was often misunderstood. I was quiet, but my curiosity tended to get the best of me. Sometimes, I would push the limits by running off to the side of the playground. I would follow the space underneath the chainlink fence to the neighboring yards. That’s when I felt free to really explore.
Of course, I was always caught. My teacher would grab me by the back of my neck, and tell me to apologize. Just like Sammy, I remember crying. The difference was my mom got to pick me up from school afterward.
I feel close to Marc. How far our connection will go, I can’t be sure. I’m not a fortune teller, but I do believe in good things. If there is fate, we will follow its path. I hope Sammy can learn to trust me along the way.
I’m a little emotional about this. “I need you to be honest with me,” I say. “Because I’m about to be honest with you.”
She looks up at me. “Okay,” she says.
I’m not sure she understands where I’m going with this.
Peering out at the lake, I decide how I want to phrase it. It’s a little awkward talking to a daughter that’s not my own. Then again, things with Marc are escalating faster than I ever expected. “I really like your family, Sammy,” I say. “And I just don’t want anything to get in the way of our friendship. You’re important to me.”
She grins before reaching for her bag of candy. “Is this about you kissing my dad?”
Ouch. Almost forgot she found us kissing in the photo room.
I let out a deflated chuckle. “Right,” I mutter.
She tosses a candy heart into the air, narrowly missing it. It goes flying into a crevice of my station wagon. “A lot of girls like my daddy,” she says.
Her words hit me right in the chest. “They do?”
She nods. “None of them are my mom.”
I shut my mouth and let a brief silence wash over us. She turns to look out the window, and once again, I feel the divide.
“I’m just your teacher, but I can also be your friend,” I say. “And I want you to know that I’m not like the other girls.”
I hope that last part is true.
“I’m going to stick around,” I add.
She looks up at me with earnest eyes. “Promise?”
“I promise,” I say, hoping I’m not jumping the gun on this. It’s still such a new thing. “As long as you promise to stop picking on Xander. He’s a nice boy who just wants to be your friend. Don’t worry. I’m keeping this between us. But if you hurt him again, I’ll have to tell Dean Berman and your father.”
She seems to take this in, thinking about it as an adult might. “Okay,” she says. “I promise.”
With a little of the awkwardness out of the way, I reverse out of that lot and head toward Marc’s forest mansion. As I drive up to their garage, the outline of a tall brunette in a short, tight skirt opens the front door.
I stop the station wagon. “Yay! More friends,” Sammy says.
The woman marches forward. “Hello. Ms. Greenwald?”
I wave, getting out of the car, but I’m a little confused. “Hi. Uh. Hello. What’s this?”
Sammy runs forward. “Hi, Sandra!”
Sandra bends to hug Sammy, and I’m starting to wonder what’s going on. How do they know each other so well that they’re on a hugging basis? “My favorite little girl in the world,” she cries.
“I missed you,” Sammy shouts.
Her smile lights up the entire porch. So much love here to drive me out of my mind.
Am I jealous of the insta-love? Maybe a little.
After a few hugs, Sammy runs into the house to set down her things. The girl gives me a delicate handshake. “I’m Sandra,” she says.
“Okay. Explain to me who you are?”
The thing is, I’m not normally a possessive person. But I’m staring a hole through this woman’s face. Even if it’s completely irrational, I want her to leave. Now.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says with a pompous smirk. “I’m not here to steal your thunder.”
I feel a release. “You’re not?”
She looks back at the house and takes my hand. I nearly pull away, but a stretch limousine turns into the driveway. Oh, crap. Is this someone from Marc’s office?
My legs feel weak. “What’s going on?”
Sandra laughs and pulls me toward the vehicle. “I’m here to make you look and feel like a queen.”
Marc
I’ve run across town five different ways, and I’m still nowhere near ready for our date. On the back burner are five missed calls from Brian, hundreds of texts I refuse to even look at, and Jim makes up about half of them. They can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I’m off the books.
I’m not thinking about anything except Ali Greenwald. The evening has to be perfect because she’s perfect.
Sandra insisted on meeting her. Of course, I put my foot down, but these women have a subtle control over me. Not to mention, Sandra knows how women tick. The choice between Sandra telling Ali everything and Sandra showing Ali the world was an easy one to make. Even if she spills the beans about Momma Bear, it’s going to be okay.
Everything is going to be just fine...
Who am I kidding? I’m freaked. Everything is at stake, and it’s only solidified as I drive further away from the city. My phone lights up. It’s a local tailor, a guy I’d trust with my life. My suit is ready to pick up.
I could send someone to pick it up for me, but I’m particular. If something is wrong with the hem, I don’t trust a staffer to spot it.
“Be there in five,” I tell them.
I put the pedal to the metal, but it still takes me an hour to get through the traffic. Smashing through a yellow light, I skid to a stop, pay the parking meter, and jump through the doors.
Bruno, an older Hungarian man with the taste of a mafioso, greets me like a family member. “Mr. Wylan,” he announces. “Are you ready to look like a million bucks?”
“Can you make it a couple billion?” I ask.
He laughs with his chest, not his throat. “Please, sit down.”
He plops out a chair and goes to work, picking out my undershirt, boots, and socks. I’m usually so calm, but Bruno must sense I’ve been a little off all day because he’s not as talkative as usual. When he brings out the rest of the suit, my eyes love it. But I’m so fucking stressed about this party thing that I can’t seem to find where I left my smile.
Bruno whips me with a small cloth. “What’s the matter? You no like the suit?”
I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my collar. Bruno always makes it right. “The suit is perfect,” I say.
“So what the matter?” he asks, English choppy.
“Eh, it’s just work crap,” I lie.
His laughter is like a bowl of potatoes. It fills you up and leaves you wanting more at the same time. “It is woman?”
I return his laughter, face turning red. “It is woman,” I say. “Beautiful woman. Heart of gold.”
He hits me again with the towel. “Why you talking to me like that?” he jokes.
“Because my brain is broken, Hugo. That’s how she makes me feel, at least.” I admit. “I’m a broken person.”
His laughter carries across the room. “You’re in love,” he says. “Get ready. Vroom, Vroom!”
As we share a last laugh, my phone vibrates again. Thinking it’s Sandra or the sitter I hired to watch Sammy, I check the screen. The call goes to voicemail, I see the name Jim.
Fan-fucking-tastic. This is just what I need.
“Sorr
y, Hugo,” I say. “I need to listen to this.”
He tosses the towel across his shoulders and rubs his hands together loudly. “No problem. I be in back. You call for me when ready.”
“Sure thing.”
I listen to the voicemail with distaste in my mouth. I’ve got less than an hour until I need to get back to the house. Am I ever going to get to relax?
“Marc. I wouldn’t be avoiding me if I were you. Call me back. It’s important.”
Jim isn’t his usual spunky, raucous self. His tone is serious. Maybe this is important. I weigh the pros and cons of returning his call, but I don’t get to a decision. Jim is standing on the sidewalk outside, staring at his phone. If he turns to his left, he’ll see the store. I’m the guy right next to the mannequin.
Sensing movement, I duck and throw myself behind the display, attempting to line my arms and legs with the fiberglass. I have to suck in my waist a bit. The mannequin’s arm falls off, but I manage to catch it in time.
Jim comes up to the glass, squinting to get a better look inside the store. My chest gently rises an inch, but I clench it before I exhale.
My heart pounds. Can he see me?
I’m losing oxygen.
Help?
Finally, he leaves.
Bruno returns to find me posing behind the mannequin. “Marc?”
Careful not to move too fast, I turn my head. “You did a fine job, Bruno. I’ll take the suit.”
Ali
I stare at Sandra.
Sandra stares back at me and flattens her lips into a quick smile.
“Explain who you are again?” I ask.
“You know the idiot you’re dating?” she asks. “I’m the lucky woman who gets to be his team leader.”
I glance down at the thin lights that wrap around the floor of the limousine. “Oh. I thought I was doing this alone.”
“Yeah, about that. He didn’t really want me to come,” she says. “I sort’ve forced myself into the situation.”
I lean back, eyeing a bottle of champagne sitting in a fresh bucket of ice. “Why?”
She leans forward and interlocks her hands. “Because I know what he likes.”
What if I just want to go home? “Oh.”
“Not like that,” she assures me. “I just know he views you as someone special.”
My smile starts to return. “Special? Are you sure you’re talking about the right person? We’ve only hung out for a few days.”
She stares at me. “You like him, don’t you?”
I think about our kiss. It’s only been hours, but it feels like it just happened. “Well, yeah.”
“A lot?” she asks.
My shoulders relax. “I think he’s a pretty special person, too.”
“Did he tell you about Sammy?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah. I tried to talk to her today about it, but she doesn’t seem to want to open up about it.”
“Word of advice,” she says, “don’t mention it around her. Other women in the past have tried to bridge the gap, but it always backfires.”
Oh, no. Please tell me the red flags aren’t going to start piling up right when I start to feel butterflies for him... “Seriously?”
She pats my leg to my discomfort. “You’re fine,” she says. “I’m just warning you. Sammy is the head of the house.”
It’s obvious Sammy holds the reins. But the way she’s saying it makes me think she’s going to demand my head.
“I’m not trying to scare you off,” she says.
I exhale. “Not going to lie, it feels a little like that.”
“Well, his mind is currently in the clouds when I need him on the ground,” she says. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure you keep him grounded.”
I start to tense up again. “Is there something I should know?”
Sandra takes the champagne bottle I’ve been eyeing and slides down the window an inch. Taking aim, she nudges the tip of the bottle out. The cork flies and hits a street sign.
Pouring a glass, she says, “The party tomorrow,” she says. “I want you to make sure everything goes without a hitch.”
Oh, right. The party. I almost forgot.
I take a big sip, feeling the bubbles fizzle on my tongue.
Actually, I’m a little excited to go to this party. I still haven’t seen Marc’s office. Bet he has a really nice view. Maybe some office sex? It’ll be nice to meet his co-workers, too.
“I can’t wait to meet Marc’s friends,” I say.
“Marc doesn’t have friends,” she says. “That’s exactly why I’m here. To make sure this works.”
“What kind of party is this again?” I ask.
The limousine stops at our destination. The driver opens our door, escorting us out. Sandra keeps talking.
“Look, this is your first rodeo, so let me tell you something. This party was the shareholders’ idea. They’re taking a big step back, and they’re looking at Marc’s portfolio to see how much they’re currently worth,” she says.
“Okay.”
I follow her through the mall doors. A flood of perfume, new clothes, and other wild scents flood my nose. It’s been a long time since I went shopping for anything major. I’m already a little nervous, and Sandra is making it worse.
“So, this party is about money?” I ask.
She looks at me and sighs as we hit the rising escalator. “Whether Marc wants to believe this or not, it’s always about the money,” she says.
“I see.”
Saks Fifth Avenue used to be a beacon just out of reach. I spent my time shopping in all the regular stores. I’m not trying to stay twenty-one forever, but the clothes on the outside wings are so much cheaper.
This place is a league above what I’m used to. As we enter the store, the employees greet us. At first, they feel a little clingy, but then I realize they know Sandra by name. “I made a call earlier. I’d like to see if the chosen option fits.”
She chose for me? Okay, now I’m a little pissed.
I spent all day thinking about what our date might end up like. I had some ideas. A fancy restaurant, maybe a walk somewhere nice. Amanda had diamonds in her eyes, but I’m not that hard to please. Our last night together was so incredible. I could live with a repeat of that.
This dress might come off tonight. I want to be in charge of it. All of it.
I cut in. “Marc texted me saying to pick out my favorite,” she says.
Sandra is so unimpressed that she nearly sinks a foot in height. “He used those exact words?”
I throw up my arms. “Does it matter?”
The sales clerk is a young woman close to my age. She looks back and forth between us. “Should I wait?”
“Dammit, Marc,” she whispers to herself. Then she answers me. “We have a budget, and you don’t have much time.”
Thanks, mom.
Coming to terms with this idea of a hijacked date, I look away from her. If I turn back, I might end up killing her.
“Fine.” I blow out hot air. “Show me the dress.”
Sandra nods to the salesclerk who quickly heads to the back to fish out the dress of Sandra’s dreams. Not wanting to stick around Sandra for much longer, I maneuver around her, heading toward a sales rack in the corner. If she’s not going to let me pick for myself, I’ll leave and fantasize.
Of course, there’s no getting past her. She follows me with her eyes everywhere I go. With my back turned, I haphazardly go through the dresses. I must be shoving them aside pretty hard because a new salesclerk comes up behind me, even after seeing me come in on Sandra’s leash.
“Yes?” I nearly scream.
The clerk is a man, older, with a grey mustache and half a head of hair. He darts his head back as if I almost yelled it right off. “Need help finding anything in particular, ma’am?”
I push out my cheeks with air and make a loud popping noise. For all intents and purposes, I’m speaking to this man. That doesn’t diminish the fact that Sandra is
very focused on me.
“Yeah, I’d like to find a dress,” I say.
I see Sandra start to raise a finger. “We’ve already been helped. Thank you.”
The salesclerk is caught in a bind. On one hand, Sandra is a reoccurring customer. There’s a lot of value in that promise. Then again, who knows how much I might buy out of spite?
I throw my purse to my front, rummaging through it to find my wallet. Pulling out a debit card, I blow some dust off the edges and place it in his hands. “Don’t listen to her. I’m a paying customer, and I sure as hell have money to spend,” I grunt like an ogre.
This isn’t pretty, I know. But it may be necessary to establish some dominance. Ask me later.
With the clerk’s manager staring at him from across the room, he gives a posh smile and narrows his eyes. “Tell us what you’d like, ma’am.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” Sandra cackles.
I widen my eyes, grinning like a nut, totally primal. “Hm. Let’s see.”
Hanging behind a few returned items is a brand new dress, dark red with a black trim. It’s minimal, but not understated. Classic might be the right word to use, something Brigitte Bardot might wear to a French restaurant. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
The clerk points. “Ah yes, the Alexander McQueen. A wonderful choice,” he says.
It’s go time.
That’s a name I know. McQueen. If Amanda saw me now, she’d be really proud of me.
I can feel Sandra frowning behind me. Maybe it’s not much to her, but it is everything to me. “I want this one,” I say.
Sandra tilts her head to look at it. “It’s pretty, but it’s much too gaudy. Marc will roll his eyes at something like this.”
Bitch. This is my night.
I reach for the dress. The price tag bends into view. It’s not that expensive. “I want it,” I say, reaching for the hanger. “And I’m going to pay for it myself.”
She looks at me like she’s trying to figure out a complex physics equation.
I keep going. “So, if you want to buy the dress you have on hold for me, go ahead. But I won’t wear it.”
Her clerk walks out from the back, her smile as bright as the sun. The dress itself isn’t ugly. It’s chic, definitely in fashion, especially if you’re a girl boss business woman. That’s not me. I’m a humble, normal person. It doesn’t matter if I’m with Marc for the next sixty years, I’m not going to change.
