by C. M. Lally
“Why is there not an elevator?” I ask. “This is beyond exhausting.”
“Oh, there is. I never use it though. Taking the stairs helps me to get my cardio in,” she laughs. “Maybe you need more exercise in your life?”
“I get plenty of cardio on a daily basis,” I admit, looking into her face. I’d love to do some of my kind of workout with her, but I’ve got a feeling she doesn’t do her workouts naked like I do. She looks tired all of a sudden. Those stairs were probably too much after the day she’s had.
“Doing what?” she asks sincerely.
A wide smile breaks across my face giving away my thoughts. “Never mind,” she says, rolling her eyes as a heated flush begins to creep into her cheeks. “That was stupid of me to ask. I get it.” Her smile fades and her eyes dull with my silent confession. It is what it is. I can’t change who I am or what I’ve done. But I will admit I’ve never felt bad about it until now.
I lift her chin up so that I can see her eyes. Right then, her body gives in to the tiredness that she feels and she yawns. I lean into her and press my lips to hers, pulling her in and cradling her softly in my arms.
Chapter 8 – Ava
HE PULLS BACK SLOWLY, ending the most tender and best kiss of my life. His thumbs caress my throat and suddenly I’m wet and ready to beg for more. “Does kissing count in this game as stopping a yawn?” he asks. “I can dance if you want, but I would rather put my lips on your body.”
“Dante. God. Yes, it counts,” I moan, instantly regretting my next words. “But you shouldn’t kiss me. We have a business relationship. That’s where it should remain.”
He shakes his head no forcefully. “Absolutely not,” he bellows, releasing his hold on me and crossing over to the window. His shoulders slump in defeat. “That’s not the kind of relationship I want.”
“Then we can be great acquaintances then, but that’s all,” I plead. I need to stand firm in my beliefs. He’s not the kind of man I want. He’s too loose and casual; he’s never serious. Everything's a joke...or worse, a dirty joke. How would I explain what he does professionally to my mother?
“I’m not sure of the actual definition of acquaintance, but I’m pretty sure that’s too damn close to ‘friend’ for me,” he barks sharply, crossing back to me. He gathers me up in his arms again, whispering “I want you, Ava. I want to feel you burning up in my arms when I make love to you.” He kisses me again, nipping at my lips with an intense pressure, forcing my lips to open to him. His tongue touches mine and sets me on fire. Pulling me even closer, he cradles me with a tenderness I’ve never known before.
“This has to end before it begins,” I beg him. “Walk away, Dante.”
“I can’t. There’s some kind of invisible force that keeps twining us together,” he murmurs. I push against his chest, hating the fact that I’m the one who has to push him away.
“And besides, you don’t even like me professionally. What makes you think you could handle me personally?” I ask.
“I can handle whatever comes at me. I’m a Solis,” he hisses. “We’ve weathered complete shit-storms and came out shining like diamonds.”
He pulls me into his arms, but I fight to stand clear of him, pushing against his chest as he attempts to embrace me again.
“This, Ava,” he says, gesturing between us, “...this push and pull between us, would fucking be amazing if you’d give it a chance.”
“For how long?” I beg to know.
“For as long as it lasts,” he replies, “I can’t give you a time frame. I don’t know how long forever actually is.”
“I can’t,” I breathe. “You’re not the kind of forever man I see myself with.”
“What?” he asks. “Not the kind of man you see yourself with?” He roars with mocking laughter.
I flinch at the bitterness in his voice. “I want a man I can be proud of... with what he does for a living. I want to be able to support him one hundred percent. I can’t support what you do,” I sob, my tears roll and fall off my chin soaking into the carpet. “It’s dirty. It’s degrading to women. It objectifies the human body. I also want a man who’s serious, ambitious...passionate even, and a hard-worker; one who isn’t a jokester. I want a compassionate man who doesn’t make women cry.” I wipe the tears from my face, rubbing my hands on my pants.
The tight set of his jaw tells me he’s mad as hell. His fists are balled up tight like he’s ready to hit something. “Ohhhhhh. I see. You want a suit,” he sneers in disgust. The look on his face burns a hole through my heart. He’s taken good care of me today. I’ve seen a different side of him, but I’m not convinced he could be the man I need. There is too much uncertainty floating around his lifestyle, and I’m not comfortable with that. How do I overlook what happens at the club? “I never thought in this day and age, with everyone saying you can be anything you want to be, that simply wanting to be happy would be judged so harshly.”
And with those words, he turns his back to me, walking to the elevator. I watch him press the down button and wait. His back and shoulders are straight and his head is held high. His pride is pulling him away. I want to call him back and let him love me, but I know I can’t. Right now, I need to fall right here on the floor and cry for a thousand nights. I know when I enter my apartment; the ever-present silence of my lonely world will come crashing down around me.
He made me laugh today. He brought back that competitive spirit that I somehow lost in trying to be a...shit, I have no idea what I’m trying to be. All I know is that he made me want to win the yawning game and the nurse’s bet. The race up the stairs almost became a wager I was willing to place before exhaustion got the better of me.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. He takes a few steps, but before he crosses that threshold he looks back at me over his shoulder. I see regret in his eyes, but I still have no words. I did judge him harshly, and I’m ashamed. I swallow the ball of tension that sits tight in my throat. “Dante,” I holler, but it’s too late. The doors have already closed and he’s gone.
I drop my purse and run for the elevator, beating the down arrow to bring the elevator back. Just let him go, Ava. He’s not the man for you. I plod back to my apartment, dragging my regret and shame with me.
My phone is ringing in my purse, and I dive in looking for it. My hands feel all around, but I feel it buzzing, and grab it. Oh, great! It’s my mother.
“Hi, Mom,” I chirp. She can read my mood like a book, and I don’t need her thousand questions right now. I find my keys in the mess of my purse, and open the door, finally getting to sit down and rest. I plop onto my couch and curl up into the pillows.
“Honey, how are you?” she asks. “I received a voicemail from the emergency room at Mercy Hospital a little while ago. I was getting your brother off the school bus and left my phone on the counter and missed the call. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. I ate something that I found out I’m allergic to,” I explain, trying to remain calm and not make a big deal out of it, but I know my mother.
“What could you possibly be allergic to, darling? You have a stomach of steel,” she says laughing. She has always been grossed out at some of my non-conventional food pairings, like chili and ice cream, or pineapple chunks on pizza.
“I don’t know yet. I have to make a follow-up appointment with an allergist, but I was eating Peruvian food. Whatever it was caused an anaphylaxis attack and I couldn’t breathe.”
“Oh, sweetheart. That’s serious. Let me know what day your appointment is and I’ll come down to be with you, okay?” she asks. “I’m sorry I missed the call and you had to go through this all alone.”
“I wasn’t alone, and I’ll be fine,” I say, releasing a sigh. I just want to sleep and wake up to this being over.
“What’s wrong? You sound sad,” she says, adding to my guilt over Dante.
“I’m just overwhelmed right now, Mom. I’ll be okay,” I inform her, praying that I’m right because right now, I�
�m shattered into a million pieces.
“Well, of course you will be,” she says. I can hear her smiling through the phone. That’s my mom— always the optimist. “You’re a strong, resilient, independent woman. Just look at all the obstacles you’ve already overcome: your weight, the bullying, and your height disadvantage in volleyball. You’ve overcome all those things.”
“Thanks for the reminder, Mom. You’ve always believed in me,” I say. “I’ll call you when I know when my appointment is.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon,” she says, ending the call.
I have no energy to move. My body is tired, my brain is void, and my heart is numb.
My whole life is topsy-turvy again, it seems. Why do things keep happening to me? Why can’t I ever catch a break?
When my dad left us, he took all the joy and luck with him. Mom had to work three jobs to support us. I was ten years old at the time, and up until then life had been good. After that, I had to adult and take care of my baby brother while Mom worked. Josh is autistic, and raising him at ten was a job unto itself. Mom did her best to make sure the burden wasn’t too much, but I was trying to do the same for her.
Without a college education, Mom could only get menial jobs cleaning hotels, waitressing, and running errands for the elderly. She was always gone it seemed. Even today, when her life schedule gets off-kilter, I go and fill in with watching Josh. She has others to help her now, which only compounds my guilt. I send her a good portion of my paycheck, which is why it’s so important that I not lose my job and fix this promo issue with The Glass Stripper.
Work, work, work, and more work. Every dollar counts for something or someone. It’s the constant that keeps me getting up in the mornings. I look forward to the day when life gets easy and fun, when I can be my own boss, make my own schedule, and demand my own pay.
I turn on the television and sit back to relax. Maybe the news will make my problems seem smaller than they are. Perspective is exactly what I need right now.
After thirty minutes of nothing but depressing news of who got shot and the suspects are still out there, hate crimes during protests, terrorism, and major losses for my Florida baseball and football teams, I decide enough is enough and turn it off. The only perspective I gained is that the world is messed up and we all just need to love one another. Why can’t we have faith that love makes the world go round?
Love. It is its own messed up feeling. You can’t truly define it since it means multiple things to different people, cultures, and religion. I want a love just like the fairy tales. You know where the heroine is happy doing her day to day life but finds herself in a sticky situation, the hero finds her distraught and in danger from her situation, he does everything he can to save her, and when life calms down they both realize they can’t live without each other. It’s really that simple, but we junk it up with misconceptions and judgments, worry and dishonesty, deceit and disloyalty.
My phone rings again, and when I look at the screen, I see it’s Robert, my boss.
“Hi, Robert,” I answer.
“Ava, I heard about your adventure today. How are you?” he asks politely.
“I’m well. Thank you. Mr. Solis bought me lunch from that Peruvian place a few blocks over. Apparently, I’m allergic to something in it,” I explain. “I had no idea allergies could be that scary.”
“Oh, yes,” he says. “My grandson is allergic to bees and peanuts, a deadly combination to a three year-old, adventure loving little boy. His parents have to be extremely vigilant. It causes a lot of worry, because at that age, they think they’re invincible.”
“Well, at this age I know my invincibility has faded, while the worry increased,” I stifle a laughing cough. I don’t want him to think I feel old, but at the moment I do. “Thank you for calling to check on me. I was going to send you an email in a while. I’m exhausted from today.”
“It’s no bother. I’m just glad to hear you’re fine and recovering. I’m also glad to hear you are working things out with Mr. Solis. So, I’ll let you rest and see you on Monday. Have a good weekend. Bye,” he says and hangs up.
Hmmm. Working things out with Mr. Solis. I wish things would have worked out better with Dante. I’m going to have to pass his account to another. I won’t be able to work with him and not think about our fight...or that kiss. Or the way his hard-on felt pressed against my stomach when he held me. All I wanted to do was cling to him and never let his kisses end.
Chapter 9 – Dante
DAMN, IT’S BEEN A LONG weekend. Friday night, I worked myself into a frenzy. At first I was pissed as hell that she felt the way she did. She judged my personality, my job, and my lifestyle without really getting to know me.
But then when Saturday night rolled around, I remembered what Thiago said. Most people’s lives are shit and they are just getting through them the best they can. This was her defense mechanisms kicking in.
She’s a woman with established morals and high standards. They have to come from somewhere, and they’re usually learned from life’s hard lessons. I don’t know her story, but that doesn’t mean I can’t prepare a well-executed offense to her defense.
I spent all day Sunday thinking and planning. I even called in some advisor's, opening myself to teasing from my brothers. They never get the chance to do it, so here it is. And they thoroughly enjoyed it. All kidding aside, I think we have a really good plan of attack.
It’s Monday morning and I’m watching the clock waiting for 10:30 am to arrive. I spoke to the manager at CVI.CHE 105 yesterday and she’s preparing a list of ingredients of the food we ate the other day. We need to find out what it was that could have caused Ava’s anaphylaxis. That’s the least I can do, because that was pretty fucking scary. I don’t know if she knows what restaurant the food came from, but surely she needs to know this for her allergy testing. So, Brooke helped me put together a small gift basket of tissues, hand sanitizer, and some antihistamine medicines to keep in her office as an emergency kit. It just needs the final piece, and that’s the listing of food ingredients.
I head out to the main floor of the club and it’s weirdly empty. There’s not another soul in sight. I scoot into a booth, carrying my coffee and newspaper with me. I turn to the Business section and see another article written about the local club scene. And there we are, The Glass Stripper, listed as number one in the rankings for hottest dance scene with our DJ Smooth. I must admit, Mat did a great job selecting him. It’s nice to see hard work paying off. Hopefully that ranking holds for the year to come. We just need to use it to our benefit and promote it.
Speaking of which, I pull up the number to WHOT and ask to speak with the head of sales and marketing, giving the receptionist my name and business title. Within moments, I’m being transferred to his assistant.
“Good morning, this is Charlotte, the assistant to Robert Bethany, the Director of Sales and Marketing at WHOT. How may I help you?” she asks.
“Hi, Charlotte. This is Dante Solis, from The Glass Stripper, across the street. How are you today?” I ask, taking a sip of coffee. I’m going to need the energy to make it through this phone call.
“I’m wonderful for a Monday morning, Mr. Solis. Thank you for asking.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that you aren’t letting Monday scare you. They can be fierce sometimes,” I chuckle lightly. “Does Mr. Bethany have any room in his schedule today to squeeze in a meeting with me and my brothers?”
“Let me check his schedule. Hold one moment please?” she asks politely.
“Of course. Take your time,” I respond, sipping the rest of my coffee and listening to the radio station live as their hold music. She comes back on shortly.
“Mr. Solis, Robert would be happy to meet with you today. Does 3:00 pm work for you?” she asks.
“Yes. Yes it does. Thank you,” I advise. “My schedule is wide open. We’ll see him then.” I’m looking forward to this meeting. She’s probably already met with
him and tried to shake us as her account, but I’ve got plans and she’s not getting rid of me that fast.
I met with Mat and Thiago yesterday and together we set a new promotions budget. We are going to hit the radio, social media, and billboards hard coming into the fall and winter months now that the beach and tourism traffic is slowing down. We have agreed to eventually hire a promotions person. And that’s why this meeting with Robert Bethany is important. It’s time to set this plan in motion. She’s about to be bombarded and conquered.
I finish reading the paper and hear the day bartenders and a few waitresses arriving for their shifts. I clean up my mess at the table and turn to see Mat coming towards me.
“Morning. Were you able to make that appointment for today?” he asks. “I’ve got to take Cassee car shopping today and wanted to know how much time I had.”
“The meeting is set for 3:00 pm. And that will be perfect. If we get there a little early, she’ll see us waiting because she gets off at that time,” I explain. “I’ve got our proposal all typed up. We just need him to agree.
“And the attorneys have reviewed this proposal?” he asks. “I don’t want to present it if they haven’t approved the wording.”
“Bart called this morning. It’s being finalized right now. He said it would be ready when I needed it.” I reiterate his words verbatim. “We’ll see.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to give up your private suite for her office?” I inquire again. This is probably the fifteenth time I’ve asked, but it’s a sacrifice he’s making for me, and I’m completely humbled by it. “I mean, c’mon. We could probably keep it and use it as a nursery next year at the speed you and Cassee are going with your relationship.” He sucker punches me in the arm hard, but then laughs it off.
“Don’t give me any ideas,” he chuckles, wiggling his eyebrows at me.
“I can’t get the woman I want because of this job. How the hell did you and Thiago get your women with this job?” I ask.
