by Wilde, Ora
“Uhm... uhm... I dunno. I can’t remember. Maybe I heard some people mention it. Or maybe... maybe... I saw you before in the Arts and Science building. That’s where the Philosophy subjects were held, right? Yeah... yeah... maybe that’s it.”
This girl sure talks fast! Or was it because she was just edgy as her own words revealed how interested she was with me? I never told her what my course was. She must’ve done some digging. I wondered what other information she managed to unearth about me.
“What’s wrong with Philosophy?” I questioned, knowing where the discussion was leading to.
“Nothing!” she defensively exclaimed, as if she was caught off guard by my question.
I eyed her intently. She wasn’t in the league of the girls I’ve dated before, that’s for sure. But she had an appeal that was becoming undeniable as the night went on. I just can’t put my fingers around that particular aspect of her being that caused such an allure.
Was it her seemingly innocent disposition? The way she acted, the way she spoke, the way she asked about things... there was no tinge of malice, no taint of jadedness, no inklings of sarcasm, no hatred... she wasn’t quick to judge and, as far as I could tell, she wasn’t slow to forgive.
She was a walking paradox... a beautiful contradiction. Her zest belied her timorousness. Her inquisitiveness discredited her reservations. She moved with awkward grace and spoke with hesitant perceptiveness. And her clumsiness only made her even more bewitching.
Without her knowledge, her insecurities have become her strengths.
“In the history of mankind,” I started to say, “Philosophy was the first course that has ever been offered in an environment that closely resembles the modern day academe.”
She stared at me strangely as she listened to what I was saying. She was focusing her gaze on me, it looked like... but she was exerting so much effort in doing so that her eyeballs almost met in the middle. It should’ve been a humorous sight. I actually found it cute.
“Socrates, for example, gathered young minds under the shade of the first tree he could find,” I continued, “and there he would teach them. Not by delivering one boring lecture after another, though.”
“How then?” she asked with the keenness I have noticed earlier. I had her complete, undivided attention.
“Basically, Socrates would just allow the students to teach themselves,” I told her.
“Huh?” she responded with a befuddled expression that made her look even more delightful.
“Socrates would encourage them to ask questions,” I explained.
“What kind of questions?”
“Questions about anything. Once a student would ask a question, everyone would try to answer. Afterwards, Socrates would ask another question related to the answer they arrived at. The result is an unceasing barrage of questions and answers and even more questions.”
“That sounds so... tiring...” she said with childlike fascination.
“Yes, I suppose so,” I agreed with a chuckle.
“When does the questioning end?”
“When they find an unquestionable answer, I believe... a definite conclusion.”
“And what if they don’t?”
“Then, Socrates would ask more questions.”
“It would go on endlessly?”
“If they wanted to, unless they’d get hungry and decide to eat, I guess.”
“In which case, all the questions... they’d all just be useless, right? Because they won’t be able to get the answer they wanted.”
“Not exactly. You see, Socrates’ students were forced to come up with questions and provide some answers. In so doing, they were thought how to think... how to be critical about things... how to analyze the simplest and the grandest details... how to constantly pursue knowledge and embrace the endlessness of such an endeavor.”
“Ahhh... it’s like what they say... a destination is just a place and the real adventure is in the journey...” she said with a gleeful smile, as if she was happy about realizing something significant.
“Exactly,” I replied. “That’s what has been labeled as the Socratic Method, a process of inquiry and discussion for the purpose of illumination.”
“Wow! I can’t believe that, in just a minute or two, you managed to convince me that Philosophy can actually be... interesting.” Her enthusiasm faded before speaking that last word. She bowed her head as she most probably thought that I’d be offended by her previous notion about my chosen course.
“Well, I’m happy that I proved you wrong,” I uttered with a grin. “Hopefully, I’d be able to do that for the rest of the evening.”
She lifted up her head and smiled.
And it was at that moment when I had my own realization: that the evening didn’t have to be a perfunctory exercise for the purpose of winning that bet.
I could actually enjoy her company.
Chapter 18
PHOEBE
Dinner was sumptuous and the red wine was even more delicious. It was the first time I got to taste wine that cost more than $3.99, and I must say, even if that bottle of Vega Scilia was priced at five hundred bucks (which I managed to see from the menu), the difference in their tastes is greater than the disparity of their price tags.
I enjoyed it so much that I might’ve drank more than I should have.
As expected, Hayden kept egging me to drink. He said he wanted me to enjoy that evening that we were sharing together. Of course, I knew he had other plans... plans which I had some counter-measures for.
When we started talking over dinner that night, I was a little shy. I have loosened up since then. I didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol or because I was getting more comfortable with his company. I deeply wished it wasn’t the latter.
Surprisingly, we shared some laughs while finishing our meal. He told stories about his exploits in high school. I found his tale about dating his principal’s daughter the funniest. The principal actually caught him making out with her in the faculty office. The principal wanted to expel him right there and then, he said, but his dad sort of bribed the school board by donating a new wing for their library.
Drink. Drink. Be merry. We only live once.
If I had a penny every time he said those words, I’d be just as rich as him.
Rich.
The weird thing about Hayden Summersmith is that he never flaunted how wealthy he was. He shared accounts about how his dad was affluent beyond belief, but he always, always added a disclaimer: that the money his father spent was his, and his alone. Hayden made himself appear to be a normal guy, with normal dreams and a normal lifestyle, who just so happened to be the lone heir to a billion dollar enterprise that owned almost a quarter of the state of California.
Heh.
Normal? Him?
“You drive a Hummer, for Christ’s sake!” I told him in between my giggles.
“A Hummer that my dad gave me,” he qualified, sniggering with me.
“Still... I don’t count that as normal.”
“Hey! That my vehicle is a Hummer is immaterial. I have a license, hence, I drive. And I got my license the old fashioned way, mind you.”
“Did your dad buy the examiner a new house?” I asked, chortling.
“Nah. Just a front row seat to a Clippers game,” he said. “Kidding. I took the exam, like you did. I had to endure how... unfriendly... the examiner was.”
I paused and swallowed some air. He assumed that I already had my license. The truth was, I didn’t know how to drive.
He noticed the change in my mood and smiled.
“I can teach you how to drive if you want to,” he offered.
“I might just wreck your oh so precious Hummer. I’m sure you don’t want to lose it.”
And just as how I quaffed earlier, I saw the same reaction from him... which was eerily peculiar. Then I remembered the bet he agreed to. Silence followed... and awkwardness soon thereafter. It was the kind of discomfort that not even a copio
us serving of alcohol would be able to dismiss.
“You know what?” he finally broke the wall of quietness that rose between us. “I know this place. It’s really nice. I’d like to take you there.”
“I’d love that,” I lied.
Or was it a lie? I wrestled with the thought that I may be enjoying his company more than I should.
“I can take you there...” he paused to look at his watch. His eyes widened when he saw the time. “Oh shoot! I can take you there right now.”
Without waiting for my reply, he raised his hand to call the attention of the waiter. He asked for the bill before drawing his wallet and pulling out his credit card.
He was in a hurry. But why?
“You never bring cash, do you?” I asked, a question that just escaped my mouth.
“Why do you ask?”
“Nothing. A presumption. With a hope that it will garner an answer that will lead to more questions... like Socrates.”
“Ahhhh,” he responded with a gratified smile. “You’re a quick learner, padawan.”
Padawan?
That reference tickled my gut. Could it be possible that the Hayden Summersmith - the pompous, philandering, enigmatic Hayden Summersmith - was actually a closet geek? That idea made him quite endearing.
More endearing, to be precise.
Phoebe... keep that alcohol in your tummy and don’t let it cloud your mind! Don’t fall for his traps! Don’t fall for him!
Oh, shut up, Ms. Voice In My Head! I’m a big girl - figuratively and literally. I know how to handle this. Just... trust me, for once.
As soon as the waiter returned his credit card, Hayden looked at his watch once more and winced. Why was he so bothered about the time? He quickly got up and went to my side of the table. He pulled the chair for me, one of the many gentlemanly acts he displayed that night. He offered his arm, which I willingly held, then led me towards the exit.
“You’re... not ashamed to be with me?” I inquired. It was one of those questions that, normally, I wouldn’t have even dared to ask. But I was a bit tipsy, admittedly, and somehow, I was actually brave enough to put it forward.
“Why should I be ashamed?” he wanted to know.
“For starters, I’m not pretty. Unlike the girls I think you date. I’m not as elegant as them. I may not as interesting as them. And surely, I am not as slim as they are.”
“You’re right,” he answered. “You’re not pretty.”
What can I say? The truth hurts. It always does. At least he was honest about it. But then, he continued what he was saying...
“You are beautiful. So... no, I’m not ashamed to be with you. I am very proud to be seen with you.”
I couldn’t explain how I felt that instant. All I could remember was that I held his arm tighter as I looked at him with wonder and awe... hoping against hope that he wasn’t the person I was told he was.
Chapter 19
HAYDEN
It was 10:18 P.M. We were late. I asked them to be there, at the alley around five minutes away from Urasawa Restaurant, just beyond the bend that led to South Beverwil Drive. 10 P.M. sharp, I told them. They must still be there. I paid them good money to be there. A few minutes of waiting shouldn’t be an issue. It shouldn’t.
“You seem nervous,” Phoebe said as we exited the restaurant.
“What? Oh no... I’m not. I’m just... uhm... preoccupied about something.”
“That one of your exes might see you with me?” she asked with a sheepish smile.
“No, no... not that. Quite frankly, I don’t really care about any of them.”
“Aha! So you just admitted that you have exes! That’s not really surprising. But how many?”
Oh my God! Why was she asking so many questions at a time like this? Must be the wine...
“Just a couple,” I lied. “None of them were serious though.”
That gladdened her, I believe, as she started to take little skips as she walked. She was easy to please. Way damn easy. Getting her wouldn’t be difficult. Everything was falling according to plan. Now, if Zack’s goons would just keep their end of the bargain.
As we approached the alleyway where I asked them to wait, I saw their shadows hiding in the dark. I felt relieved. This was the penultimate step in claiming my prey. They just had to play their part.
And they did.
Quickly, like panthers jumping on their hapless quarry, they surrounded us. They both held knives, threatening us with bodily harm if we didn’t give in to their demands.
“Hand us that purse,” the smaller one - Estregan, if I remembered his name correctly - ordered, pointing to the orange handbag that Phoebe was carrying.
She strengthened her grip on my arm. I put on a gallant facade as I pulled her behind me, shielding her from the would-be attackers.
“Lady, we don’t want anyone getting hurt,” the bigger guy - Tommy Boy - added. “Just hand over the purse and this will all be over.”
“Okay, okay... calm down, guys,” I uttered, according to the script we have discussed. “We will cooperate. There is no need for violence.”
“What?” Phoebe asked incredulously. “No, no... I won’t give them my purse,” she said with brave conviction that replaced the fear she previously showed.
“Phoebe... these guys are very serious...” I tried to explain.
“Yeah, yeah... we’re fucking serious, lady!” Estregan corroborated quite histrionically, much to my consternation.
“B-But...” she started to reason out. I cut her off.
“It’s just a purse, Phoebe,” I whispered to her. “I’ll replace whatever money’s in there.”
“Okay then!” Tommy Boy screamed. “Give me that damn purse, now!”
He reached for the handbag that Phoebe was clutching with all her might.
That was the plan. They would rob her. I would give chase. Phoebe will be left behind. Away from her sight, they’d give me back her purse, and we’d go our separate ways. I’d return her handbag and she’d be indebted to me. She’d see me as someone heroic, someone who could protect her, someone she could trust. That would open up her defenses, and I’d have easy access to her virgin cunt.
I didn’t expect the series of events that followed.
As Tommy Boy grabbed her purse, she hastily pulled her hand away.
Then she kicked him in the balls.
A loud thud followed by screams of primal pain followed. He fell down on the ground, holding on to his testicles. Phoebe moved towards him and kicked his arms repeatedly.
“Oh shit... lady... please stop...” he begged as he grunted in agony and horror.
“Don’t ever touch my purse!” she yelled as she continued to kick him.
Estregan quickly darted off to the end of the alleyway, the look of fright on his face was unmistakable.
I tried to get in between her and the fallen assailant, but she shoved me away as she continued to attack him.
Another kick.
“This one’s for ruining our lovely night!”
And yet another.
“This one’s for putting your filthy, stinking fingers on my Dolce & Gabbana!”
And yet another after that.
“This one’s for all the other girls you’ve victimized before!”
I held her arms and, with all my strength, restrained her.
“Enough, Phoebe,” I advised her. “He’s down and out.”
She was still livid. Then she looked at me, her eyes wondering about what I was doing and what I was expected to do.
“We better call the police, Hayden,” she suggested.
Oh shit.
“Uhm... listen Phoebe... I think he has learned his lesson...” I said.
“He has learned his lesson?!” she yelled at me. “If we let him go, he’d just do the same thing to other people! We really have to call the police so that they’d take him in!”
“Oh no, please no, no police...” Tommy Boy groaned as he was curled like a big bal
l on the pavement.
“Yes, but that would mean we have to lodge a complaint, file a lot of paperworks and attend a lot of hearings,” I tried to dissuade her insistence.
“Yes... that’s true... too much work...” Tommy Boy agreed as he continued to whimper.
“Shut up!” Phoebe screamed at him. “Shut up or I’ll whack you with the purse you tried to steal!”
