Seat 2A

by Dela

  The man, whose unkempt hair seemed straight from a horror film, sat up straighter, as if he hadn’t heard me correctly.

  “Would you like me to buy you some food?” I repeated, a little more nervous this time. I’d be halfway home by now. I squeezed my purse straps tighter in case this guy lashed onto it and ran away.

  But the man stood slowly, his knee creaking as he did. “Yes, please.”

  We went inside and walked down the aisles first, filling the cart with cookies and crackers, toothpaste and shampoo, bread and cereals, enough to last a while. Then we went to the produce section where I helped him pick out nice apples and seasonal fruits. He squished his face funnily when I offered to buy carrots, so I returned them to their family and opted to skip vegetables. Note to self, homeless man at Ralphs does not like vegetables. I threw in an eggnog last minute, though. We’ll see how he does with that.

  The cashier’s eyes wavered from me, to homeless man, back to me, over and over again until I thought his eyes were on auto. Then when he asked me, “Which shelter is this for?” and “Are you here alone?” I started to fear a little.

  It was getting dark outside, which I had not been paying attention to, and what next? Send this man back to the gate with weeds? He needed shoes, and a blanket. He needed me.

  Then my next Kendal moment happened and I knew what I wanted to do. I was so elated I hardly noticed that I’d shoved this man and his fifteen bags of food back into the weed-infested gate. I ran off to my car giddily. Inside, I flipped to Regina’s number and pressed dial.

  “Regina, I know what I want to do!”

  Chapter Eight

  Kendal

  It was three in the morning when my excitement finally died down after the most amazing night. I was exhausted now, nearly asleep, and I chuckled quietly to myself. Brooke probably didn’t think it was that amazing; the fear in her eyes before she jumped would forever be burned in my mind. Still, I couldn’t wait to see her in a few short hours for the wedding. I was going to be her date! I’ll get her number then.

  Suddenly a buzz vibrated just under my left rib.

  “Hello?” I moaned. Who was calling me at three-thirty in the morning?

  There were chokes and barely-there tears over static but I still recognized the voice.

  “Mom?” Her sobs made my body go numb. “What’s wrong?”

  “Honey, you need to hop on a plane and come home. Your dad’s been in a car accident and is on life support at the hospital.”

  My heart stopped. “What?” I asked, not sure I’d heard her right.

  “Your dad may not make it to the end of the night. I need you home,” she cried.

  “Be right there.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face as my phone slipped through my fingers. I couldn’t move for a long minute. Dad? Then my stillness lapsed and I was throwing anything I saw into my bags. I was out the door by three thirty-six.

  Downstairs the concierge refused to call a floatplane pilot in the middle of the night until I offered a hundred. The pilot hesitated over the phone, but I offered him a Benjamin tip too, and was in the air flying to the airport by four.

  What would Brooke think when I didn’t show up? And I couldn’t send the boys to explain my absence and get her number; their plane left before she and I were supposed to meet. It hurt me to even think about it. Shit, Brooke wasn’t even her real name. If I had her true name, I’d hire a private investigator to track her down, but without that name, Vixen and I were doomed. I couldn’t think about that now. I’d figure a way to find her when the time was right. I needed to worry about dad.

  Luckily the weather was mild and I was able to catch a direct flight to JFK airport, where dad’s chauffeur picked me up. I lost three hours with the time change, so the sun was already up as I walked into the hospital. I was starving and sleep deprived having been out all night with Brooke, a chemical combination that didn’t go well when I walked into Dad’s sterile room.

  A layer of sheets covered Dad’s body on the narrow bed all the way up to his chest. His body lay limp, and was an unfamiliar landscape of red and purple. I winced. There were gashes and bandages covering his arms and face, a ventilator hooked to his nose and mouth, and a large bandage covering the shaved side of his scalp where the doctors had cut it open to allow space for swelling. But rumors were that he wasn’t going to recover from his injuries. I covered my mouth, feeling vomit rising. He looked like Frankenstein.

  It was okay with me that he was in a drug-induced coma. I didn’t want him to wake up and feel the pain.

  “Who else got hurt?” I wondered through fresh tears.

  “The other driver did, but the doctors said he’ll be okay. Probably be out of here in a few days,” Mom said, not taking her eyes off Dad as she bit at her nails nervously.

  I choked. “And Dad?”

  Mom shook her head and cried harder.

  After I caught my breath I asked, “Was the driver drunk?”

  When she nodded again I lost it. I punched the wall and spilled profanity out like a drunk, homeless man. It made Mom cry more, so I stopped. When I hugged her she shook in my arms, and we cried together at Dad’s bedside until I didn’t have any more tears.

  “Where’s Sis?” I asked.

  “Gizelle should be here any minute. She left to go get some breakfast.”

  “I don’t think I can eat anything right now,” I said.

  “Please try. The press will be here soon, just as soon as . . . ” she choked up and threw her hands over her face.

  It was exactly eighteen minutes after mom said he would die, that he did.

  The next morning I felt like hell. My head pounded and dizzied me as I put on my dark suit. I didn’t sleep at all that night, but mom insisted I represented the family since I held it together better than she and Gizelle did. To avoid further aching mom’s heart, I agreed. Deep in the back of my mind I knew that it was possible—perhaps very likely—that Brooke would see me on television. For a split second I hoped she would, and that she’d come for me. But it wasn’t likely, and I shut out the thought.

  I went to the bar that night and got so wasted I puked my guts out in some alley. I didn’t tell mom or Gizelle. I wanted them to think that I was strong. But in truth, I was weak. And I only got weaker after the burial.

  As mom and Gizelle cried their feelings out for days, I moped around the city stone cold, tearless. And when they went to bed for the night, I went to bars and clubs and buried my sorrows in alcohol. Play tuff in the day, deteriorate at night; it wasn’t the best method, but it kept me from crumbling. I actually kept that act up for weeks until the call.

  It was Dad’s attorney—and there were only two things I heard him say: business and love.

  Vargas LLC would need an heir to take over the company soon, otherwise they would be forced to sell it to the shareholders. He said something about me being ‘gone’ and that I needed to come back—I can’t really recall this part, because what he’d said before about love consumed every atom in my body. He said, most irritably, that I would not receive any inheritance from my father if I wasn’t in a good-standing relationship by the time I reached thirty-three.

  I imagined the filthy party the media would have with my family’s story . . . “Daniel Vargas, the famous immigrant who’d made American history after going from rags to riches selling clothing in a basement. Daniel Vargas, now dead, with a loser son who wasted away his hard-earned inheritance.”

  Over my dead body.

  I accepted dad’s challenge to run his company with a spiteful glee. The first smile since dad’s passing formed at the edge of my lips. Even though he was dead, he was still teaching me lessons. I quit drinking that day, and faced the horrible pain of losing him. Many nights I stayed up craving a drink, but I couldn't do it. Literally. I dumped all the liquor down the drain. It was better that way. Control was key.

  I also gave up whims. They provoked me hard for a while, trying to lead me to an alternate desti
ny. But I ignored them. I told myself that dad’s way was safe and secure, and it was fairly normal for a son to take over his deceased father’s company.

  Now love? This posed a problem.

  Technically I had eight years to be in a good-standing relationship. The will said it just like that. Good-standing. Not married, not even engaged! Dad was smart. He knew why my last relationship hadn’t worked. I feared commitment. And good-standing for dad meant the deal is done dirty, as in locked down. Unfortunately for me, it meant gonzo, as in bye-bye Kendal. I knew myself. If I ever belonged to a girl I feared I would lose myself in her. And who wants to lose themselves?

  The eight years didn’t matter. I knew I would feel the same then as I did now. A commitment, unlike businesses, is like an unconstructed contract. You run a high risk of losing yourself. Why would dad put that in his will? He knows I can’t commit. I never wanted to lose myself in someone. I liked how I was.

  A few days later as I sorted my laundry, I realized I missed Brooke more than I thought I would. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She seemed the type of girl that I could be in this good-standing relationship with. I ran to the phone to hire an investigator but as I suspected, days later, he’d hit a dead end. I was upset for weeks until the easiness of being single eased back into my life. I didn’t need to worry about the will now. I had time. Time to find Brooke.

  I was twenty-eight when I got the call that I was going to be an uncle, and still very single. Sis and Austin were going to be great parents. They lived in Portland now. I stayed back in New York because of the company, but I told them I would come out when the baby was born.

  Mom and I flew out there one September afternoon when the leaves were changing to a rust color. Sis and Austin lived in a suburb called Hillside. Austin was an attorney. Financially, he did better than most, but they also had a nice chunk of change from dad’s insurance policy, not to mention the royalties they would receive the rest of their lives. They were very well-to-do.

  “Isn’t this just beautiful?” mom asked. It was raining.

  “How long is it going to rain for?”

  “Don’t be so sour. You’ll grow to love it here.”

  Ever since Sis and Austin moved here, mom has been travelling every other month to visit. I encouraged it. She gets so lonely in our big house on Long Island. I lived alone in a penthouse in the city and didn’t see her much. I preferred it that way at first; it was easier to keep my poor nightly habits of booze and boobs a secret. Now I wanted to visit her, but my work schedule kept me from it.

  “Maybe I will mom,” I said. She smiled.

  The company was worth billions when I got it, and now, it was worth even more. Dad’s niche was designer formal wear. That wasn’t me. When I joined the company I expanded it to cheaper, more affordable clothing that had my vibe to it. Surf, skate, snow sort of stuff. As I predicted, it took off immediately. Mom didn’t know, but I’d been planning for the last few months to move out to L.A. My brand was thriving out there.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice to move out here? There’s nothing for me in New York. And I just love all the mature trees, and the people here are so nice,” she said.

  In the mix of all said giant, green trees, the homes did get larger the farther from downtown we got. Sis’s home was perched on a hill, and looked like a miniature castle, with paned windows and turrets. Inside she had brand new wood floors and two ovens in the kitchen. Baby Daniela’s nursery was expensively done in creams and whites. She was as cute as any alien-looking baby could be. Sis always kept a headband around her tiny head and said it made her look less alien; I disagreed. She punched my arm.

  Baby Daniela was named after dad. Her name pleased me, and I loved that little baby more each moment I held her. Our trip was short and I was sad to leave, but there was much business to attend to, like planning for L.A.

  Weeks later, I found a home on the hill in Studio City just up Laurel Canyon. Days later I was moving. To mom, it seemed like another burst of randomness, or what I used to call whims. But it wasn’t. I knew what I was doing. Most of my work was out here, therefore I belonged out here too.

  The flat was larger than my penthouse in New York. Half of it curved sharply over the mountain providing another level below. I imagined the architects left the outer walls glass so rich dudes like me could glance out at our own private view of Los Angeles. I assumed that’s why I paid five million for this house. Probably so I can say hey look, I’m rich. I made it. But honestly, I didn’t know why I chose this house. Maybe because it wasn’t in Beverly Hills. Maybe because I didn’t like to be defined.

  Chapter Nine

  Jessie

  Two years passed and I was nearly myself again, thanks to Colby. He was kind, and courteous, and safe. My phone beeped early one morning. It was him.

  You want to come to Portland this weekend?

  Portland in the fall sounded wonderful. I already needed a break from work.

  Of course. What were you thinking of doing?

  I have some friends from work I want you to meet. They’ve been begging to meet the one and only and they’re having a dinner party Friday night.

  Well I wouldn’t want to disappoint. Pick me up Friday at the airport?

  Gladly.

  The leaves had changed colors since I came here last. They painted the mountains in the distance while Colby held my hand all the way back to his downtown apartment.

  “Jessie, have you ever thought about moving here to be close to me? It would be easier for you to find a teaching job here than for me to start my own firm in L.A.”

  “Sure I thought about it. Why? Have you thought about it a lot?”

  “I have. I’d like to see you more. I get so lonely after work. I need you.” His lips kissed the back of my hand tenderly.

  “I promise I’ll look into it when I get back home.”

  He pulled into the garage of one of the main towers in the city. “In a minute you’ll see just how badly I need you.”

  I squirmed as a shot of thrill ran through me. But then, as he pushed open the door of his high-rise suite, a sickening feeling hit me and I realized his last statement didn’t mean what I’d thought. The place was a pigsty. It was as if he hadn’t picked up a single thing since I was last here. What exactly did he mean? That he needed me, or needed a maid? It was pathetic, and frankly, very disrupting. I was definitely not in the mood anymore.

  He chuckled awkwardly. I stared at him hard. How could someone so hygienic be such a pig?

  “Colby, did you do nothing since I was last here?”

  “Forget about this, honey. I need you.” He pressed his lips urgently to my neck and grazed briskly to my jaw and then my lips.

  “I need a drink, Colby. I’m thirsty.” Good one, Jessie.

  I watched Colby grunt as he backed away and obediently walked to the fridge. I noticed it was bare inside except for water bottles and take out.

  “Here you go, hon.”

  “Thanks.” I sipped quickly. “I think I need to go to the grocery store before we do anything,” I insisted.

  He wrapped his hands around my waist and reached for the back door.

  “Colby!” I giggled and slapped his hand away. “Later.”

  “Please don’t make me wait,” he coaxed. Oh, please do make me wait. I imagined his sheets needed a washing too. It took everything in me not to walk back there and check, but I knew if I did I’d be a sex meal for this hungry kitty.

  “I’ll be back soon. Promise.” I grabbed my purse and kissed him on the nose as he handed me his keys.

  “You know where the grocery store is?”

  “I saw you pass it on the freeway.” Vaguely, through the rain.

  “Please hurry.”

  It didn’t take me long to get to the supermarket, but it was dark and drizzly and I had to rush from the car to the store with no umbrella. I started down the aisles and picked up some pasta and marinara sauce. Spaghetti would be nice, and noodles don’t rot
. I needed food that would last him weeks in case I couldn’t find a job and come here to take care of him. Bottled salsa and tortilla chips, always good. He could make nachos on a moment’s notice. And what man doesn’t love nachos?

  I had just started through the produce section when I heard a child giggling. It was a toddler girl, three or four maybe. She was very beautiful, with long, dark hair and curly black eyelashes. When she glanced at me with her green eyes, I felt stunned. Oh child you are so beautiful. Her tall, dark, handsome-from-behind father turned just then, and a new stun stormed through me so fast I couldn’t weather a breath or blink. Kendal?

  His nice hair was gone. It was shaved short, and his muscles were larger than I remembered. It made him fill out his T-shirt better, especially that he froze too, almost dropping the bag of cranberries in his hand.

  “Brooke?”

  Oh, that name. Too many emotions rushed inside me and my eyelids skidded closed, and then opened into another shocked stare. I had to remind myself to breathe. I looked away to that gorgeous little girl, now feeling sick. I was staring at his child. He was still watching me cautiously when I looked back up.

  “Kendal, how are you?” I managed to say, though I suppose my voice was shaky.

  “I’m good. How are you?” He glanced at my ring finger. Now what? Wait, he’s not wearing one either.

  “I’m good.”

  “Do you live around here?”

  I cleared my throat and fixed my hair behind my shoulder. “No, I'm just visiting.”

  “I am too. My sister lives here.”

  “That’s right. You have a sister. . .” It was as if I had no vocabulary. Finding a word to say was ridiculously hard.

  He recovered the awkward silence and put his arm around the little girl’s shoulders. “Brooke, this is my niece, Daniela.”