Fight or Fall

by Anne Leigh

  Ava’s shoulders started shaking as she read the letters that Tina taped against the wall. What started out as one was now almost a hundred. I had read each and every one of them.

  “Does Brynn know about this?” She was still facing the wall, her thumb grazing at the colorful papers that the thank you letters were written in.

  “No,” I admitted, plunking myself down on the small chair close to the door.

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is something I’ve wanted to do for her, for my parents, for Aunt Margie,” I replied, playing with my car keys in between my hands.

  “Don’t you think she should know?” Her back was still turned, still reading some of the letters, pausing once in a while at the drawings.

  “Ava, you know my sister,” I started. “If I told her she’d want to put all her money into this. I just want her to enjoy her life. Travel. Have fun. Buy all the kitchen and baking supplies she wants. Live her life. She’s missed out on a lot of things.”

  Turning her body to face me, she took off her sunglasses, her gray eyes gazing directly at me. “Is this why you fight?”

  I stood up, walked towards the wall, slowly tearing off the small sheet of yellow paper from where it was taped on the wall. “This is from Elvie. She was twelve when she wrote this…to thank us for buying her and her brother toys for Christmas... She didn’t make it past Memorial Day. Her mother informed us that the liver disease had progressed and she lost the fight.”

  Grabbing a white paper with drawings of cars just above Ava’s head. “This is from Justin – he was psyched when a Disney mascot paid a visit to his hospital room after he successfully completed surgery.”

  I eyed a pink stationary on the left lower edge, a little past Ava’s hips. “That one’s from Maxine, she’s the cutest little girl, who we send fairy and princess gift sets every quarter.”

  Placing my hands inside my pockets, I took a deep breath. “Two months after Aunt Margie died, I got a call from a lawyer. He told me that Aunt Margie had left me with almost $124,000 in assets, after taxes. It was her life insurance, savings, and some bonds she had invested in. She left Brynn with all her jewelry and also our mother’s jewelry and her house in Henderson. The first thing I did with the money was to make sure that my sister’s school loans were paid off. I’d told Brynn about it and she agreed. The rest of the money, Brynn said it was mine, Aunt Margie had left it to me so I should decide on what to do with. I thought long and hard until I decided that building something like this, this foundation, was something that I wanted to do. Dia helped me start it.” Her eyes turned darker at the mention of my ex-girlfriend’s name. “The only relationship I have with her is this, Ava. Nothing past this. She was the one who called me a month before I signed with your father that the foundation didn’t have enough liquid assets to keep going.”

  I paused and touched her face. “It’s easy to get money when you’re an athlete, especially a popular one. I was raking in a lot when I was swimming. But I lost a lot of corporate sponsors when the scandal with Kieran happened. My biggest sponsor, WaterTech, withdrew my contract. This, the foundation, what I started in honor of my family – the thought of losing this snapped me out of my coma. When your father’s company contacted me about Next Gen and informed me about the money, I didn’t think twice about it. I could make money as an engineer, but it would not amount to what my previous sponsors or what your father was offering me.”

  “I can help you Milo,” she said quietly, her hands brushing against my biceps. “I have funds. I know people.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “Ava, this is from me, from my family…” gesturing to the wall, “for them. And for all the other children and families who have no one to go to in desperate times. Just because I’m a washed out athlete doesn’t mean that the help for them would be cut off.”

  “You’re not a washed out athlete.” Her voice was adamant, her lips forming a frown. “You’re going to rob my father of his millions and you’re going back to swimming.”

  “Rob your father?” I chuckled. She wasn’t a daddy’s girl from what I could see. She often changed the topic when her father was brought up.

  “Yeah.”

  Reaching behind my back, she took a small piece of paper from the wall. “You know? I would like to make a donation…”

  “No.” I gently took the paper from her.

  She stood on her tip toes, blessed my jaw with a few kisses, then giving my mouth a burning kiss that had me scraping my teeth in desire. Damn. She could kiss.

  She wanted to read more of the notes and letters so I stood behind her back, resting her head against my chest as she read them.

  With each letter, she got misty-eyed and after reading all of them, she had soaked a few tissues that I grabbed from her black purse.

  On the drive back to my place, I held her hand and while waiting for the traffic light to turn green, I said, “This is one of the best birthdays I’ve ever had.”

  A feeling of calmness, contentment, and totally out-of-my element emotions came over me. Ava… She’s the first woman who was not attached to the foundation that I’d willingly shared it with. It didn’t escape me that she never had to pry information from me. I had voluntarily given it to her. I had no plans of keeping it a secret from my sister forever. I just wanted Brynn to live her life. One day, I’ll tell her. Maybe after I win, after I’m done with Next Gen. With my winnings, it would keep The Children’s Foundation up and running for at least ten years and we might even be able to give more help and reach more people than we have.

  Ava flashed a smile at me. “The day’s not over yet.”

  Oh, the day was definitely not over.

  At around eleven that night, I had to retract my statement from earlier.

  Ava had just finished giving me the sultriest Zumba dance known to man. I had no idea what Zumba was. She better had modified that dance for me, for my eyes only, because there was no way in hell she was going back to that class if it involved shaking her boobs in front of someone else’s face, jiggling her taut, super fine ass, and grinding her waist to a rhythm that had me panting and almost choking in my own drool.

  Goddamnit.

  My woman’s body wrapped in satin, silk, and lace, her mile-long legs encased in a thin silk garter belt with tiny, contrasting bows attached to black, see-through stockings.

  She was…the best birthday present I had ever unwrapped in record time.

  It’s almost three thirty. I couldn’t wait for five o’ clock.

  This event was taking forever.

  Today I’d been invited to attend the launch of Doggies and Diamonds, Megan Jeanne’s jewelry line for celebrity pets. Megan was now a successful entrepreneur. She had started her business from scratch. Troudeau Enterprises gave her the capital to start her shoe collection that was now exclusively sold by high-end retailers across the United States. I had nothing bad to say about Megan. She was a hardworking businesswoman. But the concept of having diamond covered kennels and platinum-lined doggie bowls was just too much. Daria had to stop my eyes from rolling when I saw the dog bone made out of pearls. What puppy in its right frame of mind would munch on those?

  I was born into this world. The glitter, glamour, luxury. I knew my way around it.

  I also know how not to get lost in it.

  My best friend kept me grounded.

  The people closest to me made my life worth living more than any of the bank accounts of everyone present here combined.

  Tanzy Pines, the fakest blonde I’d ever met, stopped me as I tried to make my way into the ladies’ room. I think her lips had gotten three times puffier since the last time I saw her. She should really stop padding her plastic surgeon’s wallet. Some women just didn’t know when to stop.

  “Ava! Ohmigosh!” It was hard to understand her words because she sounded like she’d inhaled helium all the time. “You know what I heard?”

  Kirsty and Laura, avid members of the Dr. Moore’s Beverly Hills P
lastic Surgery Club, joined us.

  “Ava!” Kristy’s cleavage was making me dizzy. I didn’t know if I should look at the basketball sized breasts or the melon sized nipples clearly outlined in her sheer red dress. Her stylist should be fired. She’d look like a messed up blow-up doll in front of the camera which she was quite fond of.

  “Wait a minute.” Tanzy was holding her rhinestone covered phone, her overly long French-tipped nails could probably scratch someone’s eyeballs out. “Is this true?”

  “What’s true?” Was the rumor about me? These ladies must be really bored if they’re talking about my mundane life. I lead a pretty boring life compared to theirs.

  Kristy looked over Tanzy’s phone, giggling in a completely annoying way. “He’s very handsome, Ava dahling.”

  Huh?

  “Who’s handsome?” My excuse to go to the bathroom now needed to wait.

  “It’s on People’s News, so it’s true!” Laura waving her hands and smiling widely, looking like she’d just discovered Botox was a vitamin.

  I pulled my phone out of vintage magenta purse. Obviously, they weren’t ready to divulge the rumors to me, they were busy glossing over Tanzy’s phone.

  Laura shrieked, “You’re going to be a First Lady, Ava!” Okay, I was wrong, Dr. Moore might have gotten to her already. Those lips did not move in a normal way when she talked.

  Typing in People’s News website on my phone, I scrolled down, quickly scanning the news.

  There it was. Under breaking news, a news link with the headline: Ava Troudeau dating Emmett Powers.

  Pictures of Emmett and I standing next to each other, walking to the car, him kissing my cheek, him holding my hand, us sitting on the table, looking intimate and close.

  Las Vegas socialite Ava Troudeau is quietly dating Emmett Powers, only son of Nevada’s esteemed Senator Powers.

  “I’m very happy right now,” Ava, the gorgeous daughter of Las Vegas billionaire Maxwell Troudeau, said in a recent interview.

  The article went on to describe how Emmett felt about me and even had a direct quote from my father. It ended with, “If you don’t believe us, check out the adorable pictures of Ava and Emmett together!”

  I dug my feet in my heels, excused myself abruptly from the Reconstructed Gossip Girls’ Club, and looked for Daria.

  She was already making her way to me. We stood to the side, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible which was kind of hard since the ladies in attendance started waving at me like I’d won the dating lottery. I guess Emmett had his own fan club. Of course he would, he was the son of a senator, all blonde-eyed goodness, and had the pedigree of American royalty.

  I was shaking violently inside, Daria must have sensed it. “Take a deep breath, Ava. I’m contacting Paul Johnson of People’s News to retract it.”

  “Check the source,” I ordered. I didn’t mean to be short, but I was furious with whoever had leaked the pictures.

  She talked to someone on the phone and I heard a lot of no’s on her side of the conversation.

  Sighing, she hung up the phone. “Paul won’t retract it. He said it’s coming from an extremely reliable source.”

  “Who?” My teeth gritted in anger.

  She looked at me with resignation. “Your father.”

  Jumping out of my car, the valet barely caught the key I handed in his right hand.

  “Is he here?” I asked May, my father’s secretary, upon reaching the 20th floor of The Magna Carta, where my father’s office in downtown Las Vegas was located.

  May, a sweet Asian lady, my father’s secretary for fifteen years and counting, nodded.

  Without waiting for her to alert my father of my arrival, I walked straight into his office.

  His office was a straight reflection of his personality. Minimalistic. Black chairs. White walls. Some gray splashes here and there. The only picture hanging on his wall was a view of the chateau in France.

  He looked up as soon as I entered, most likely anticipating my visit.

  “Hello, father,” I started, sitting on the chair across the table imported from Italy. All of the items in his office originated from places in Europe. My father believed in the high quality of European products. Even his pens were handmade and produced by the finest European pen makers.

  “How nice of you to visit me my dear.” His voice held the usual bite; calculating, uncaring, cold.

  Keeping my legs straight and my heels firmly planted on the floor, the years have taught me that dealing with my father required mental toughness, directness, and impenetrable emotional walls. “People’s News is going to very disappointed when I go on air tomorrow telling the world that my father is a liar.”

  He tapped his pen on his right temple. “You know you won’t do that.”

  “Try me,” I responded, my voice shrouding the trepidation growing inside of me. Why was he doing this? Does he know about Milo and me? Did he find out? All of a sudden, he’s releasing a statement to the press about me dating Emmett.

  Steely gray eyes mirroring mine, he pulled out a folder from under his desk. “Remember this?”

  I didn’t have to read its contents; I knew it by heart.

  It was the paper I signed, relinquishing all my hold on my mom. I signed it after he had found out that I had brought my mom to three neuro specialists without his consent. The documents clearly outlined that in order for me to be able to visit my mom I had to follow his orders.

  I could visit my mom much as I wanted, take her out whenever I felt like it, and spend as much time with her, but I couldn’t move her anywhere else. As her spouse, my father held the durable power of attorney and every decision about her care had to go under his approval.

  As much as I wanted to move back to my childhood home so I could stay with my mom, my father had ensured that the door was closed to that possibility when I went against his wishes. It was his way of ruling over me, securing his hold over my future, and tightening the bolt to the role that I played in his world. Ever since I was a little girl, my father has never been the cool, spend-all-his-time-with-me kind of dad. He was there but he was always working, amassing buildings and businesses the way some people collected bottles and cans for recycling. He reinvented struggling businesses making them profitable for him. He didn’t have a formal education in business but he had intrinsic charms of a politician, the charisma of a Hollywood star, and the adroitness of a gambler. My mom used to tell me stories about how my dad could charm the stingiest retiree into investing millions into a fledging restaurant. It was the way he conducted his businesses. I’d seen it firsthand. He could make you believe that the earth was the center of the universe and humans originated from ducks if he put his mind into it. His Cary Grant dark looks, even at his age, can still cause heart palpitations in members of the female species. I’ve often heard both men and women say that he’s one of the most handsome guys they’ve come across. It wasn’t hard to believe. He maintained a fit form, employed a French chef who was a former head of Le Cordon Bleu, and practiced the Japanese martial art/style of fighting, Aikido, religiously.

  “Are you expecting me to marry him too? Dating, engagement, marriage, kids? All the works?” My gut churning in bile, my resolve shrinking at the realization of the extreme lengths my father would go through to use me to his advantage.

  “If needed.” His mouth set in a firm line. “It’s all a game, my dear daughter.”

  “I’m not a game. My life’s not a game,” I voiced out my disagreement. “Why do you hate me so much?”

  “I don’t hate you, Ava,” he said placidly, almost appeasing. “Believe it or not, I want the best for you.”

  “The best for me?” The hollowness of my sarcasm veiled in a forced laugh. “The best for me would be to be able to make my own choices. For me and mom.”

  Looking away, his jaw slightly twitching, I noticed a dash of gray hairs on his side burns. He’s never had those before. Maybe he’ll be old and gray faster with all the stress he’s put
ting on me. Wishful thinking, Ava. He’s healthier than an ox.

  “You don’t get to choose, Ava,” he declared, wiping invisible lint off his charcoal suit. You’d never catch my father wearing anything less than a suit. “Your mother took that away. Your choices. Your decisions…the minute she ran off with… Unless you have anything important to tell me, I suggest you go back to your spinning class or hair appointment or whatever it is you do to pass your time because I have important matters to attend to.”