Texas Knight: Desert Dream

by Cat Shinier

  The team consists primarily of men. Two other women and myself. Okay, so at least there are three of us. Everybody is really nice, and they shake my hand and joke around. Something like anticipation starts to take over while I spend time with these people. It feels like they are going to be nice to work with.

  I wave before Raoul turns to leave, and I join him.

  “I’m really looking forward to working here,” I say while we stand in front of the elevator waiting for the elevator doors to open.

  “The feeling is mutual, Luna. We have hundreds of applicants every year. Most of them have top-notch grades, and still it is not always easy to find the right people who have the right attitude to fit in with our company, its philosophy and the various teams. That is why we conduct the kind of event that you were invited to.” The doors open, revealing an empty elevator, and Raoul presses the button for the top floor.

  “Then your selecting me has nothing to do with the relationship that Shamar and I have?”

  Raoul smiles at me. It is an open and disarmingly honest smile. “No, Luna, it doesn’t. You are here because you are good, and you fit right in here. The one has nothing to do with the other. That’s why Shamar left things completely up to me.”

  I look right at him.

  “Thank you, Raoul that you were so honest in telling me that. It means a lot to me.”

  “Luna, Shamar and I have known each other for years. We went through all sorts of times together, good times and bad times. He founded this company and then he made it what it is, and I’m happy that I can support him. Shamar is both my employer and a really good friend. I would never lie to him or to a person he obviously likes a great deal.”

  I’m a little embarrassed and look at the ground.

  “Thank you, Raoul. I didn’t know that it is that easy to detect,” while I think to myself, ‘Because obviously it took me much longer to see …’

  He laughs. “I saw it. And Mayenne was beaming when we drove home yesterday.”

  The elevator doors open and we both head towards Raoul’s office.

  There’s a knock on the door. Corinne comes in with a few documents. She hands them to me, together with a card that will make it possible for me to move freely within the company. The look on her face is inscrutable, and if she is surprised that I’m getting the card so soon, she doesn’t show it. I sign for the card, and she leaves Raoul’s office as quickly and unobtrusively as she’s arrived.

  As if on command my stomach growls again. I look at my watch and see that it is almost 12:30. Raoul has been watching me.

  “Lunch with Shamar?” he asks. I nod.

  I gather all of my documents and put them in my bag while we head over to Shamar’s office. Through the glass I can see that he is on the phone talking to someone. He nods at me and waves for us to come in, but Raoul seems to have other plans. He says goodbye, turns around and walks back to his office. After having spent the whole morning with me, things have probably piled up on his desk. So I take a seat on one of the chairs by the conference table and start reading the papers while Shamar finishes up his telephone call.

  Just as he’s about to hang up, there is another knock on the door. The catering service has arrived to serve lunch in his office, so I put aside the documents and open the door, distribute all of the bowls and containers on the table next to the plates and cutlery that is already waiting for us.

  I’m done just as I hear Shamar say goodbye to whoever he is talking to on the phone. He comes over and sits down with me. Our lunch is nice and calm and no one disturbs us. No telephone calls and no one knocks at the door. Nothing. The food is fabulous. Salmon and salad, with baguette and French butter, and rhubarb ice cream for dessert. While we eat, Shamar asks me how my conversation with Raoul went, and I tell him about the contract and going over to meet the people in the department I will be working in.

  “I’d like you to stay with me in Houston until you start working for me, Luna,” Shamar says while he finishes up his salad and takes a piece of the baguette. “I’d love to,” I answer and smile.

  “But I have an apartment and a job in Germany. So even though I’d love to stay, I must go back and take care of things before I can start working here. I can’t just stay here without sorting my affairs in Germany beforehand. That could make things really complicated.”

  “But my people could take care of everything, couldn’t they? Nobody can force you to go back and work at that job if you don’t want to and if you have a better job waiting for you here.”

  We must discuss this, no doubt about it. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. I would have loved just to stay, because a separation is going to be hard, even if it is only for a short period.

  “Shamar, I know and I really appreciate your offer. But I want to handle my affairs myself. I’ll be leaving my whole life in Germany behind me and be starting a new one here. I have friends there I want to say goodbye to, and I have obligations that I have to see to, and nobody can help me with them. I have to be the one to sort them out.”

  Shamar stops eating and puts the piece of bread he’s been nibbling on the back on his plate. “Then we won’t see each other for quite some time.”

  “Yes, Shamar, and I don’t even want to think about my returning to Germany without you.” And, I add, to myself, I have only known you for two weeks, and I don’t know if that is enough time to take such a radical step. How much of my life will I be giving up if I stay with you? And what will my future life here be like? And how about if things don’t go as smoothly as they have been the last couple of weeks? Well, I have a work contract, and the salary is big, so I would be able to rent a nice apartment and buy a car. But right now Houston is not my home. Munich and Germany is my home.”

  “Luna, please think that one over again. I can’t accompany you for that amount of time. We’d be separated.”

  He fills both of our glasses with water.

  “But I won’t be staying away for months. I only want to take care of things. Believe me, it won’t be easy for me. But if everything works out, I’ll be back here in Houston again in three or four weeks. And maybe you can come see me for an extended weekend?”

  He sighs. “Well, it looks like I won’t be able to persuade you otherwise, right?”

  “Nope. We both have to deal with things the way they are,” I say and swallow.

  His voice has gotten hoarse.

  “I will come and visit you. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

  “Thank you, Shamar,” I say, as the tears well up in my eyes and start to burn. It is my own decision, but it hurts.

  My voice is hoarse now, too.

  “When do you have to be back in Germany?” He takes my hand.

  “I took a three-week vacation, and October 3 is a holiday in Germany, so I don’t have to be back at work until October 4.” His warm hand is firm and wrapped around mine. His thumb is rubbing the back of my hand.

  “Okay. Corinne will book a flight for you so that you are back in time. And I’ll have a talk with Raoul and Corinne to figure out when I can fly over for a visit to help you wrap things up.”

  I hastily slug down some water because my throat is beginning to hurt. I read once that when you suppress tears, it gives you a sore throat. That seems to be happening right now.

  “That would be nice.” Shit, now a tear is trickling down my cheek. Shamar touches my cheek and wipes away the tear.

  “I respect you for what you want to do, Luna. But it won’t be easy for me, either. I feel like I have spent all my life looking for someone like you and now that I have found you – we have found each other,” he corrects himself, “our paths are separating again. Hard times for both of us for a couple of weeks, I guess.”

  I nod. I can’t talk. I can’t seem to stop crying.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Shamar says, and pulls me over onto his lap. He puts his arms around me to comfort me, and he pats and strokes my back. While he does that he kisses away every sin
gle one of my tears. The last time I experienced that was with my parents when I was still very young. That memory makes me cry even harder.

  “Hey, hey angel. What’s wrong?

  “No…thththing,” I stutter. “It is just that you are so nice to me.”

  He hands me a napkin from the table, and I wipe away my tears. He continues to hold me until my tears start to subside. I’m leaning on his chest from where I can listen to his calm, steady heartbeat. Right now, that is the best and most beautiful place in the world for me. I feel completely protected, as if nothing bad could happen. It feels so good to be held by Shamar.

  “Are you okay again?” he asks. His voice is soft and tender.

  “Yes, sorry,” I answer while I try to remove the traces of my tears with a napkin.

  “If you would like to, you can wash your face and freshen up a bit here,” he says and walks over to a wall, where there’s a built-in door that I hadn’t noticed so far. It’s almost invisible. And behind that door are a small bedroom and a bathroom. Shamar walks ahead to show me the way and open the door to the bathroom.

  The bathroom has glaring lights and a big mirror and the first thing I notice is how bad I look with streaks of tears from my eye make-up and mascara. Luckily I always carry makeup with me in my handbag, so I quickly wash my face, rub it with a wash-cloth and then reapply make-up, eye shadow and eyeliner, then lipstick. I’m starting to look presentable again, and I even feel a bit better. I take the glass that I see standing there and gulp down several glasses of water. Crying makes me feel dehydrated, and drinking water seems to replenish my water reservoir.

  As I head back towards Shamar’s office I glance at the bedroom I noticed walking in. It is very small, about as small as a bedroom on a yacht. At least it is much smaller than his own bedroom at home. The bed is big and is right across from floor-length windows, which are covered by shades, so I can’t see what the view is like from here. This bedroom is definitely not a romantic place, but rather a practical place to stay overnight if you plan on working really late.

  “Shirley Jenkins has arrived.” Shamar looks at me questioningly, because he realizes that I had already forgotten her.

  So I gather my things, straighten my shoulders, take a deep breath and decide that she’ll be a pretty good distraction from the conversation Shamar and I have just had.

  “Well,” I clear my throat and ask, “Where are we going to meet? And are you going to join us?”

  Shamar shakes his head vigorously.

  “No, I’m not going along. How about using one of the conference rooms? You can darken the glass wall, and there’s lots of space and you’ll have peace and quiet to talk there.”

  “Everything okay?” I nod and kiss him goodbye before I leave his office. He winks at me while I walk through the door. “Have a good time.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  So now my afternoon belongs to Shirley Jenkins. Corrine has assigned us the larger one of the two conference rooms that has darkened the glass walls. Shirley Jenkins has one of her assistants along to help.

  Both of them have tons of books, material, writing utensils, measuring tapes and magazines with them and I now realize that this is not something she does on a whim. So I pull back my shoulders and readjust my attitude for this afternoon. I sure hope she does not intend to lord her own views of fashion over on me. The last thing I need today is a discussion, so I have pretty mixed feelings when I sit down on the other side of the large table from her.

  Corinne appears and places several bottles of juice and water on the sideboard against the wall. Then we are on our own and Shirley Jenkins springs to life. She is certainly a good advertisement for her own business. She looks ageless, although I’d say she is probably in her late forties. There is a kind of friendly maturity about her. She seems open and welcoming, and not domineering. So maybe this whole thing will not be as bad as I had thought it would be.

  As it turns out, it is even fun. Shirley is in her element and just sweeps me off my feet. She has all sorts of ideas - ideas that show she is a pro. I would never come up with any of these ideas on my own. They just would have never occurred to me. While she talks, her assistant takes my measurements, and there does not seem to be a single part of my body the measurements of which do not land on paper. Then she inspects the color of my hair, the color of my eyes and my skin, talking incessantly as she goes along. The assistant has switched over to her iPad, busily tapping away while their other iPhones are incessantly humming and buzzing and ringing. But nobody answers them, which I really appreciate.

  The assistant then starts asking me questions. What kind of clothes I prefer, which materials – am I allergic to anything? Can I wear wool in spring? Do I like the feel of silk on my skin? What’s the weather like in Germany? What do people like? Have I ever been to the Berlin Fashion Week?

  As they ask questions, Shirley explains everything to me, bit by bit, adding color swatches or different materials and what kind of effect they would have on my appearance. Then we leaf through pages of various fashion magazines that she has brought along with her that contain complete collections by various fashion designers. Some of them I have heard of, others not. Fashion isn’t really my world. Actually I have never even read a fashion magazine as big and glossy as the one I’m holding and peering into. They’ve always seemed too expensive for me. When I go to the hairdressers I usually grab something that contains both make-up tips and crossword puzzles. So this is a new experience for me. I point out the things I like, and we talk about how they could be modified to fit my type.

  I cannot even imagine what some of the creations Shirley shows me would look like on me, so we really do take a look at every single outfit from all different ranges of clothing, including elegant evening wardrobe, business outfits – both sexy and boring – and seductive lingerie. I keep noticing things by Victoria’s Secrets and Marlies Dekkers, and I try to imagine what I would look like in them, and even more importantly, how Shamar would see me in them. Shamar’s reaction to these items is very important to me.

  I have no idea what time it is, but I realize dusk is falling outside. And here we are surrounded by chaos, paper and material. I’m completely exhausted and have to suppress a yawn. That probably has to do with the jet lag that I can feel settling in. Shirley notices my fatigue and suggests that we call it a day and arrange for another appointment. I’m grateful she is so accommodating, and say that I think it is an excellent idea. She gives me her business card and says that I can call her anytime. Whenever I feel like it. And especially if I need something in particular.

  She is obviously not only familiar with every designer under the sun, but also with all of the shops here in town. She and her assistant grab all the things they arrived with and leave. I am looking forward to inspecting the chaos, and I wonder how much this gig cost. Shamar’s paying. How will he react? What a crazy day. I walk back to Shamar’s office and find him sitting at his desk writing.

  “So Luna, all done?” He glances up from his computer and looks at me.

  I nod. I’m so tired I sort of drop down on one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I liked Shirley Jenkins a lot. I’m surprised how much I liked her and she knows her stuff,” I say, leaning backwards to give myself a luxurious stretch on this chair. “She really is an unusual woman.”

  Shamar closes his laptop.

  “I know. I’m glad you liked her.”

  I try to suppress another yawn, but I don’t manage to.

  “I must admit that I expected something totally different. Something more along the lines of, ‘I will tell you what kind of clothing is becoming on you, and that is what you are going to wear in the future.’ But that is not what it was like. Not by a long shot. She knows her stuff, and she’s really nice. I just hope you don’t change your mind when you see the bill for her services and the clothes items I ordered.”

  While I speak, Shamar is putting his laptop in its bag and shuffling papers.

  “Luna,
no problem. I can pay any bill that comes my way. Don’t worry about it. Did she say when you can expect the first items to arrive?” He presses a button on his telephone and says: “Kieran, we are on our way out now.”

  I shake my head. “No, she didn’t. Why?” He shrugs on his suit jacket, and we turn to leave his office. We walk by the reception desk and see Corinne sitting there. Shamar wishes her a nice evening, and we get into the elevator.

  “Tomorrow evening the organization ‘Projects Abroad’ has a dinner event planned. I support their organization, and I’d like you to attend the event with me.”

  The elevator glides downstairs noiselessly while we chat. It hadn’t occurred to me that Shamar was involved in charity organizations like that and their work and that he’d be taking part in their events, I think to myself, while I consider what I have to wear there.

  “I have the blue dress that you gave me when we were in Dubai. That would be the appropriate thing to wear, wouldn’t it?”

  “Do you have Shirley Jenkins’ telephone number?” The elevator doors make a tiny hissing noise while they open.

  I nod. “Yes, sure, she gave me her business card.” We are heading towards the exit.

  “Why don’t you just call her tomorrow. Either the two of you can go shopping or you test what she’s like and ask her to get you the right outfit.”

  When we get outside, I see Kieran standing by the car, opening the door for us. We get into the large interior of the car.

  “So you mean it’s that simple? Is it really that simple for me to do business with her?”

  “Yes, it’s that simple,” he answers.

  Shamar presses a button, and the black window that divides the front and rear of the car glides up. Now we are alone, and no one can see us. Not even Kieran. Shamar takes out something from the inside pocket of his jacket and shows me a tiny little box. He is holding it in his hand and winks at me.