Pure Abandon

by Jeannine Colette

  Gabriel lifts the remote control and turns on the TV. I watch as he changes the channel to the Marlins game, already in the third inning. Leaning back into the cushions, he takes another sip of wine and settles in for six innings of baseball.

  I lean forward and stare at him for a few minutes, his eyes mesmerized by the screen in front of him. It’s quite comical how distracted men become when there is a sporting event on.

  He catches me staring and motions toward the TV. “The Marlins are playing the Mets. I thought you’d be excited.”

  It’s my favorite team verses his favorite team. I love watching this series with him, but I wasn’t expecting him to be home to watch it with me today.

  “Slow day at the office?” I ask.

  Not taking his eyes off the screen, he answers, “I left early so we could watch the game.”

  It’s a charming gesture, but I’m surprised. “How come you could leave early today to watch a baseball game, but you couldn’t leave early to take me to the museum?”

  Gabriel catches the tone in my voice and looks over at me. His eyebrows curve in. “That was completely different.”

  I let out an exaggerated sigh and put my glass down on the table. “It’s very convenient that you’re available to watch a game with me that you happen to love too, but you can’t get out of work to take me to an exhibit we both know you had no interest in going to in the first place.”

  Gabriel shifts his weight and places his wine glass on the table next to him. His eyes turn serious as he appraises the situation. “Why are you picking a fight?”

  I hate when he does this. I voice my opinion about something and because he doesn’t want to hear about it, I’m the irrational one for bringing it up.

  “I’m not picking a fight. I’m having a conversation.”

  “You’re trying to argue about something when we should be spending time together.”

  He’s right. I should be sitting back and playfully bantering with him about our favorite teams playing each other, but my feelings are hurt.

  “Gabe, I’ve barely seen you in the last two weeks. I’m sorry if I don’t want to spend what little time we have together watching TV.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I work way too long and way too hard to do this with you right now. You want me home? I’m home. And tonight I’m sitting right here and watching the game.” His voice is harsh and unapologetic. He turns away from me, giving all his attention to the TV, completely removing me from his line of vision.

  Like an insolent child, I stomp my feet and march out of the room. I slam the door to our bedroom and wait for him to follow me to argue. I tear off my clothes and put on pajamas. Climbing into to bed, I tear back the covers and sit up against the headboard with my arms crossed. I stare at the door and wait for him to come in.

  But he doesn’t. I don’t even hear footsteps. Just the faint sound of the ballgame downstairs in the living room.

  Looks like I’ve “cut off my nose to spite my face,” as my mother would say. I never understood that expression, but I know it’s what I just did. With too much pride to go downstairs, I turn on our TV in the bedroom and watch the game from the comfort of my pillow.

  Stupid husband.

  I watch the game well into the seventh inning, when my eyes grow very heavy and I slowly start to drift.

  My body jerks awake. The room is dark. The TV is turned off, and Gabriel is next to me, sound asleep. I glance over at the clock. It’s just after four in the morning. Jackson didn’t wake up tonight. That’s good.

  I lower my head back to the pillow to settle back to sleep when I remember what it was that startled me awake.

  I had a dream.

  I dreamed of him again.

  We were at the museum, standing in the lobby where we were just two days ago. Instead of him disappearing, like he did that night, he held out his hand to me. I looked down at it for a mere second before placing my hand in his. He pulled me toward him, but not into his arms. Asher took my hand and led me out of the lobby and through the front entrance where a black Escalade was waiting for us on the sidewalk. I looked at the open door and when I looked inside, everything inside was black.

  It’s been two weeks since my first encounter with Asher. Every morning I wonder if today is the day I will run into him again. More importantly, every day I wonder if today will be the day he will return one of my messages.

  I’ve sent every invoice and production idea up to Asher’s office and have yet to hear from him. I’ve been moving forward with the preliminary work, but without his final approval, I can’t confirm anything. I asked Malory about it this morning and she told me to wait on Asher.

  I feel like I’m in limbo. This event is only two months away and I can’t get anything done. If he doesn’t answer me by the end of the week, I’m going to move forward with my plans.

  Malory also informed me this morning I need to buy a dress for the gala. I assumed I’d be wearing something professional like a suit since I’ll be working. She said I need to dress in formal attire and looked at me like I had three heads due to the fact I didn’t know this. So now I also have to add “find an evening gown” to the list.

  Malory and I step off the elevator and I see those goddamn white roses again.

  Yes, they’re still alive.

  And they’re not just alive; they’re flourishing.

  Every time I see them, I swear they’re getting bigger. I think my mind is playing tricks on me. It’s quite possible it is.

  As annoyed as I am to see the roses, I can’t stop myself from smelling them. That heavenly scent of rose mixed with the vanilla accent has become part of my morning ritual.

  Looking beyond the flowers, I notice a mound of red hair piled on the desk, buried under porcelain hands.

  “Is everything okay?” I say, swinging around the partition to see the usually bubbly and exuberant Trish looking upset.

  Trish pops up from her state of distress. Wiping her face with her palms, she tries to gain composure.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a bad day at the office.” Trish’s eyes drift up to Malory. She must be embarrassed to say what’s bothering her in front of someone else.

  I turn around and face Malory. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Malory looks back and forth from me to Trish. If she didn’t wear a constant veil of confidence I’d think she were offended by being dismissed. With a nod, she turns on her heel and heads down the concrete corridor.

  Resting my hand on Trish’s bony shoulder, I lean down. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Letting out a sigh, Trish resigns and opens up. “It was stupid. I shouldn’t have asked…”

  “Asked what?” I kneel down, bringing myself eye level with her.

  Trish swoops her long braid around her shoulder and plays with it between her fingers. “Well, with all the extra work I’m doing with Heather and having to maintain my post here, I thought now would be a perfect time to ask for a raise.”

  Asking for a raise doesn’t seem out of the norm. I’ve watched Trish bow to Heather’s every whim. The two have been like Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner with Trish zipping around the office, bouncing from fax machine to delivering proposals to getting coffee and making phone calls.

  And from the looks of it… “You didn’t get it?”

  “No,” Trish says, looking at me with big brown eyes. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not a real promotion. It’s only until the concerts are over, but…” Trish clenches her teeth.

  “But what?” I lean my head to the side.

  “It’s that damn Heather. I’m only an assistant and she’s had me working on things an associate producer would do. I don’t mind the work. It’s what I want to do. I want to learn more, you know?” Trish pulls her braid into her mouth

  I rub her shoulder with the palm of my hand. “Honey, don’t take Heather’s attitude personally. She hates everyone. I’ve been here for five minutes and already know that.”<
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  “Yes, but Erik was going to give me the raise. He heard my proposal and thought it was valid. I was so excited.” Trish leans her head down and lowers her voice to almost a whisper. “Then I intercepted an email between Erik and Mr. Asher where Mr. Asher denied my raise.”

  My hand instantly stops rubbing; my body becomes tense in anger. “What?” I say entirely too loud.

  Trish further lowers her head and keeps her voice low. “Mr. Asher said due to Heather’s review of me and input on the matter, I was denied a raise and Erik should evaluate whether I am suitable to assist Heather during this very critical venture for the company.”

  My teeth clench and I can feel the blood simmer in my veins. Why are people so cruel? I don’t know Trish well and have worked with her for a brief time, but it is painfully obvious how devoted she is to the company and that she’s a hard worker.

  She is also quite the little spy.

  “Trish, do you have access to everyone’s email?”

  Her face turns green as her eyes grow wide with mild panic. “No, just Erik’s. He gave me access last year when he went to Australia and would be out of pocket at times. When he returned, he neglected to revoke my administrative rights to read his email.” Trish catches herself. “But I swear, I never read them! This was a one-time scenario. I just knew something was wrong.”

  I lean closer and give her frail frame a half hug. “It’s okay, Trish. I know you didn’t mean any harm.” Maybe it’s the mother in me. I feel very protective of this girl. It’s nice to know I can be to her what Malory was to me.

  Our moment is disrupted when the elevator bell chimes and the doors slowly swing open. Trish’s eyes light up at the sight of a boy wearing acid-wash jeans and a T-shirt labeling an indie band. His hair is disheveled and his sneakers are untied. He looks more like a boy than a man, straight out of college. This must be the Kevin I’d heard about during our little coffee breaks.

  My suspicions are confirmed when he rounds the desk and pulls his distraught girlfriend up from her chair

  “Are you okay? You didn’t sound like yourself in your voicemail.” Kevin kisses Trish’s hair as he wraps one hand around her head and the other around her waist. It’s a beautiful sight. Memories of Gabriel and me at that age flash through my head. It wasn’t that long ago, yet it seems like a hundred years have passed.

  After a long afternoon of calls, emails, and a ton of paperwork, I’m spent. I have a spreadsheet started with a timeline for the event and am slowly filling in the details. Erik wants a finalized itinerary by Friday, but I don’t know how I’m going to make this happen. At my old job, we worked on projects like these for months, not weeks. What if I forget a crucial component of the event, overlook something, or drop the ball?

  I don’t know when I became so insecure. After college, I was ready to take on the world. There was no job I couldn’t or wouldn’t do.

  My career started at Diamond Black Media, a small production company similar to Asher Marks, but it wasn’t owned by a major conglomerate. I heard of the job through the wife of an old baseball buddy of my father’s. She worked in production and knew that’s what I was studying in college. The company created reality shows and sold the rights to various outlets from network television to cable and Internet. My role there was far from glamorous. I answered phones, went on coffee runs, and walked beta tapes from one office to the next. All videos were shot on beta video at that company, and I never knew what was on the tape I was carrying, just that it had to go from one person to the next. I often wondered if I was smuggling drugs or something in those cases the way people went crazy if their tape didn’t arrive on someone’s desk on time.

  I did the job dutifully until they offered me a job as an office assistant and then a production assistant. When Diamond Black split, I met Malory and spent the next few years becoming a producer on various concerts and live events, similar to what I’m doing now. I learned a long time ago I was very good at logistics and timetables. Apparently, not everyone is good at that.

  Okay, so it’s not the sexiest job. I’m not Gretchen, booking celebrities, but I am the one responsible for making sure the production elements are all in line. I make sure the set is properly decorated, the guests arrive on time, the green room is set up, and they have their sound checks before the performance. I am the one who knows the length of each song performance and how many people will talk before we go to commercial break. And if we don’t go to commercial on time, the network will cut us off. The thought scares the life out of me. It also gets my adrenaline pumping at the same time.

  After a meeting with Harvey, to go over the first draft speeches he prepared for the event, I time them out to fit the rundown and make my way to the common area for a coffee.

  God bless the Keurig. Seriously. There is no better invention than a machine that makes a gourmet blend coffee with the push of a button. Long gone are the days of the percolator and traditional grinder. I pop in a Guatemalan Roast and wait for it to produce my afternoon jolt.

  I’m standing at the counter, my arms crisscrossed in front of me, as I stare at the piece of paper taped to the cabinet, informing everyone about a blood drive in the sixth floor infirmary.

  The sound of heels clicking down the concrete hallway signal someone is walking toward the break room. I turn around as Heather enters the room. She stops for a second when she sees me standing by the counter.

  “Oh, hi.” Her disdain for me resonates through her big brown eyes. Due to her tight pants and form-fitted button-down, I’d like to think her disdain is merely from discomfort. Nope. This chick just doesn’t like me.

  Heather stands at the other side of the room as I wait for my coffee to stream down. Her tiny frame in sky-high heels and oversized chest fill the room with negative energy. I want to say something to her about Trish, but I can’t break the confidence I’ve earned from my new friend. If Heather knew Trish was reading Erik’s emails, she would have her job.

  The tension between us could crack a window. It’s an odd feeling when you can’t stand someone so much you can’t even find it in your heart to make small talk. I wish someone else would just walk in and cut it with a knife.

  The last bit of hot water empties into my cup, so I grab it and exit the room. Sometimes I wonder if my dad made me too passive. Sometimes I don’t want to “just breathe.” I want to speak up even if it would lead to unwarranted confrontation.

  Why can’t I just say something to Heather? Ask her, “Why are you so mean?” Just the thought of it sounds so childish. Malory would never let Heather intimidate her like this.

  I make my way back down the hall toward my office. Taking a sip, the coffee tastes beyond drab.

  Crap. I must have put the wrong pod in the machine. This coffee is weak and watered down.

  Refusing to go back into the kitchen, I stop at my office, grab my bag, and head downstairs. I’ll go to Starbucks.

  Trish is still at her desk, talking to Kevin, when I walk through reception. I press the elevator call button. The room is permeated with the smell of roses and vanilla. The elevator pings and the doors open. I place one foot inside the car and find myself face to face with golden eyes.

  Double crap. I should have just drunk the damn coffee.

  “Mrs. Monroe.” He greets me with a wicked smile.

  “Mr. Asher.” My nod is polite yet unassuming.

  Trish lifts her head from talking with Kevin, and I catch a glimpse of her surprised expression as the elevator door closes.

  Black pin-stripe suit, black shirt, and matching tie, he looks impeccable. His golden highlights shine under the pin lighting, and with long deft fingers, he hits the L button on the control panel for the lobby floor.

  Memories of our last encounter in this elevator flood my brain. I feel him survey me from head to toe. Asher doesn’t say a word, but I feel as if I can read his thoughts from three feet away. The numbers on the elevator bay change from twenty-four to twenty-three. A million thoughts swim throug
h my head but all become cloudy from this overwhelming energy I feel just being in this elevator with him.

  The last time we were in here, he had his hand on my back and the slight touch sent shivers through my entire body. Wild, warm electricity currents down my spine. I didn’t know a human’s touch could do that to someone.

  Then I remember my dream…

  There must be something wrong with the elevator car because a chill runs through my body. I start to shiver.

  I risk a glance in his direction and he’s smiling at me. Or is he laughing?

  “Something amusing?”

  He places a well-manicured finger along his lower lip and draws in a breath

  “I was thinking about the last time we were in this elevator.”

  Damn, can he read my mind?

  “It was an unmemorable occurrence.” I stare at my reflection in the elevator door. My green eyes stare back at me, saying, Keep your cool, Kat.

  “You look lovely today, Mrs. Monroe. Although, I must say, I prefer you wet.” He laughs while placing his hands in his pockets and rests his weight back on his heels. Does this man always say whatever is on his mind? What is wrong with him?

  From Malory’s inquisition to Trish’s tears and Heather’s complete takeover of my backbone, I’m frustrated and pissed off.

  I lean forward and pull the red elevator stop button. The cab jolts and we both lean for the walls to brace ourselves.

  Shit! That was a little scary. I’ve never done that before.

  Asher looks at me with confusion, humor, and if I’m not mistaken, dread.

  “What is wrong with you?” It’s the only thing I can get out of my mouth.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Despite my nerves, he looks calm, notwithstanding my very dramatic move. “This is a bit theatrical, don’t you think?”

  I cross my arms over my body. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Then why did you do it?” His eyes penetrate into mine.

  I meet him green for gold. “Because…” I’m exasperated. “You can’t just say things like that.”