by M. C. Decker
“Why don’t you call him?”
“I can’t, Cass. You know I can’t. This job is too important to me. You know this has been my dream for over a decade. I can’t screw this up now – not for some fling with Rich.”
“But, Brookie … what if it’s not just a fling? I mean, you know, I’m not the guy’s biggest fan, but I remember the way he used to look at you and something tells me his feelings toward you have only intensified.”
“I just can’t, Cass. Just drop it, OK?”
“Sure, Brookie. I’ll drop it … for now.”
Why does everyone keep saying “for now”? I thought to myself. Suddenly, I could hear Rich’s words in my head once again. “I will give you your time, but just know that one day … you will be mine.”
The next morning we awoke bright and early to begin our road trip to the Mid-Atlantic. We had packed the car the night before, and I just needed to make one last stop before we were on our way. After showering and eating breakfast, we were in the car and headed to the place where saying goodbye would be most difficult.
As we turned the corner, the row of evergreen trees fencing in the backyard came into view, and I already felt the tears rolling down my cheeks. I envisioned Dad holding on to the banana seat of my purple Huffy bike, as I learned to ride without training wheels for the first time.
“Don’t let go, Daddy. I’m scared,” my five-year-old self pleaded.
“I won’t let go, Princess,” he promised.
My dad eventually let go, but not until I gave him the OK. I remember riding for a few seconds before losing my balance and toppling over, scraping both knees. I cried and told him that I was never going to ride again.
He taught me a valuable lesson that day, one that I have used several times since, including today. He taught me that it was OK to fall, but you had to pick yourself up and try again. Eventual success would make all the failures worthwhile.
Another vision flooded my memory. This time my mom was pushing me on the metal swing set in the backyard. As she pushed me higher, I leaned back and reached my toes toward the sky. My mother’s infectious laughter resembled my own and our giggles (mine slightly higher-pitched) filled the sultry air of that long-ago, Michigan summer day. If I concentrated hard enough, I could still hear her giggles, mixing with my own. “I miss you, Mommy,” I whispered, so only I could hear.
Cass parked in the driveway of the house I had called home for the first twenty-two years of my life. I hadn’t even stepped out of the car and I was a blubbering mess.
“Hey, no tears. You know you will still talk to him every night and see him on long weekends and holidays. I’ll take good care of him, I promise,” Cass reassured me from the driver’s side.
As I sat there, I was flooded with another memory. This time it wasn’t from my childhood home, but from having to say goodbye. The scene of my parents saying goodbye on my orientation day as a freshman at Western played in my mind like a short feature film.
I lived on the third floor of my dorm and I remember stopping at every window on my way up the stairs just to watch their car drive off. It was hard for me to say goodbye then; it would be even harder to say goodbye now, more than a decade later.
I got out of the car and made my way to the front door, ringing the doorbell repeatedly and obnoxiously, as was my custom as a kid in pigtails. Dingdong, dingdong, dingdong, dingdong, dingdong, went the doorbell as I heard movement inside the house. I let out a small laugh as I pictured my dad’s cat, pinning her ears back and bounding up the stairs at the chiming of the doorbell. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I heard my father shout.
He opened the door and immediately pulled me in for the tightest of hugs.
“Brooke, I’m gonna miss you.”
“I’m gonna miss you, too, Dad,” I said as my tears began to fall harder.
“No crying, baby girl. We will still talk every night and I will be out to visit before you know it. I’m so proud of you, kiddo. You’ve grown up to be such a beautiful and accomplished woman. Thank you for staying here with me for so long after we lost your mother, but it’s time for you to go and follow your dreams now. I’ll be fine here. I’m sure Cassidy will see that I eat right every day and fold my own laundry,” he said, as he looked toward my best friend with a grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s.
“Oh Daddy, I love you!” I cried out, with big tears rolling down my cheek.
“I love you, too, Brooke. Make sure you two travel safe and call me as soon as you get to your hotel. And, remember how proud I am of you. Your mother would also be so proud – so very proud, Brooke.”
I didn’t have any other words, I just fell into my dad’s warm embrace. Cass had to nearly pry me away a few minutes later.
“Don’t worry, Brookie. You know I’ll take care of the old man here,” said Cassidy reassuringly.
“Hey there, missy, who are you calling old?” My dad responded, with a wink to my best friend.
Those two had always liked to banter back and forth. Cassidy had always thought of my mom and dad as a second set of parents, and I felt the same way about her folks.
November 2011
I didn’t hear from Rich at all during the two weeks that I was in the city. I spent most of the first week apartment hunting. I was worried everything would be out of my price range, but decided I needed to splurge a little in order to meet my needs. I mean, in my world, it was a necessity to have a dishwasher and washing machine and dryer. I didn’t live near my dad anymore and I couldn’t stand the thought of lugging my dirty clothes to the Laundromat each week.
I also wanted something that I felt was safe and within walking distance of grocery stores, restaurants, theatres and museums. I could take a cab to work, but I didn’t want the additional cost for simple things such as grabbing a gallon of milk, or taking in a movie.
I settled on a beautiful high-rise on the city’s west side, if you could call it “settling” as the apartment building was fairly new with modern amenities such as a doorman, first-floor gym with an in-house tanning salon and a clubhouse area with an enormous, flat-screen television and billiard table.
It was a little out of my price range, but I was able to get a pretty good deal as the current tenants had to leave right away and were looking for an immediate subletter and would pick up a portion of the monthly rent for the next eight months.
I would have to decide at that point if it was something I could afford on my salary, or find something else a little more in my price range. I would have a better handle on the city by then, I thought, and this place was just too good to pass up right now.
Cass left me after the first week in D.C.; I spent the second week unpacking my boxes. I hired another set of movers once I signed my lease, in order to move my furniture out of storage.
It was Saturday evening; I was enjoying my last days of freedom before work would claim my life on Monday morning. I was just getting ready to pop a frozen pizza into the oven when my phone signaled with an incoming text message.
Rich: Hey Brooke, I know I said I would give you your space, but I just wanted to make sure you had found an apartment and were settling in all right. If you don’t have any plans tonight, I’d like to take you to dinner, just as friends and soon-to-be co-workers, of course. I’ve asked a few other reporters to join us so you wouldn’t think I had anything else in mind. I mean, I do, but space … I promised you space. Anyways, I’m banking on the hopes that you have been surviving on frozen pizza this week and could use a night out on the town with good food, some drinks and a little human interaction. So, what do you say?
Frozen pizza? Does he have cameras in here? I chuckled before sending him a quick response.
Hey Rich, yes, I found a place on the west side and have settled in quite nicely. But, since Caroline already had the funds for the down payment and security deposit wired to my account, I assume you knew that I had already found something. Thanks for checking in, though. And, I would actually love to get out for
a little bit before I have to start on Monday. How did you know I was about to eat a frozen pizza, anyways?
Rich: Ooops, caught red-handed. West side, huh? You’re practically my next door neighbor then. Text me your address and I’ll swing over and pick you up so you don’t have to worry about a cab. Oh, and just a hunch on the frozen pizza, I remember you always eating that cardboard shit in college.
I sent Rich my address and quickly jumped in the shower. I hopped out with about 15 minutes to spare. I pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and paired them with a light, navy-and-white-striped sweater. The weather was starting to cool, especially at night, and I didn’t want to freeze in case any portion of the evening would be spent outside on a bar porch.
Having little time to fully dry my hair, I decided to towel it dry and pull it up in a knot. I dusted on some powder, added some mascara and lined my lips with some gloss, before deeming myself presentable for my first night out on the town with some co-workers.
Just as I was about to head downstairs and wait for Rich in the lobby, my phone chirped with an incoming text. It was Rich telling me that is he was out front. I grabbed a light jacket, slipped on some nude, ballet flats and took the elevator down to the first floor.
As the doors opened to the lobby, I was surprised to see Rich standing inside the building waiting for me. I could have stared at him for hours. His jeans hung low on his hips and he was wearing a black T-shirt and black leather jacket. I hadn’t seen this “bad boy” look on Rich before, but quite honestly, I liked it. I liked it – a lot.
As my eyes were surveying his body, I noticed his were doing the same. I felt exposed – he had seen every inch of me. There was no more hiding from Rich Davis. Looking at me with his smoldering eyes, burning with desire, he could see right through me.
Without even saying a word, I knew he was questioning what I had told him just a few weeks before. As I stared at him the words ran through my head, “It can’t work for us, Rich. Not for you and me. If we were going to make it work, it would’ve happened years ago. We’ll be colleagues and nothing more. It’s all that I want.”
“You can’t hide from me, Brooke, not anymore. I know you’re regretting what you told me earlier. I can tell your pretty little head is working in overdrive right now,” Rich said, as he came closer to where I stood frozen by the elevator. “Don’t worry about this … ” he added, as he gestured to the heavy air between us. “We’ll discuss ‘this’ later, but right now I just want to get you a drink and introduce you to some of your co-workers.”
I couldn’t find the right words to express what I was feeling, while at the same time, keeping it PG-rated, so I just nodded as Rich led me to his car parked at the front curb.
“What can I get you to drink, Brooke,” Rich asked as we bellied up to the bar.
“I’ll take my usual, please.”
He chuckled before answering, “Babe, unfortunately, after all of these years apart, I’m not sure I know your ‘usual.’” He replied, actually air-quoting me.
“My bad, I suppose you’re right,” I answered, blushing. “I’ll have a mango margarita – my usual, you know for future reference.” Crap, did I just admit to Rich that I wanted to go out for drinks often with him?
“Margarita, huh? Finally learned how to handle your tequila?”
“What can I say? I had a good teacher,” I said with a shrug. “
“Yes, yes you did. I bet that instructor of yours could continue to teach you a thing or two,” he added, with heated eyes before signaling for the bartender and ordering our drinks.
After our initial flirting at the bar, the evening seemed to be going quite well. Rich had kept his hands to himself as we shared an appetizer of loaded potato skins, deep-fried pickles and chili poppers. I let Rich eat all of the deep-fried pickles and he agreed to hand over all of the chili poppers. We really did work well together as a couple. I don’t like pickles and he doesn’t like chili poppers. It would always make ordering an appetizer easy. We’d never fight over who gets the last one. Stop, Brooke. I reminded myself, before I let my imagination run wild about our couple-dom because of some fried foods.
I threw back a few margaritas while Rich drank a few house draft specials. I laughed, chatted and enjoyed getting to know some of my fellow co-workers, too. Rich seemed to get along very well with most of them and it was great to see his jovial attitude around them. I must admit, after knowing what Rich was like when we first met at Western, I was a little worried that he might be a dick to work for, but his interaction with my fellow reporters put all of those worries to rest.
I was just about to tell Rich I was going to take a cab home, when an attractive man who I had noticed eyeing me from across the bar for most of the evening, approached our group. Rich was chatting with our co-worker, Brent, at least I think that was his name, when the stranger, dressed in tight jeans, a white T-shirt and cowboy hat, came up behind me, putting his hand on the small of my back. I’ll admit, I found him attractive and a little intriguing. I didn’t expect to see Mr. Tall-and-I-Look-Good-in-Wranglers at a city bar. I giggled at my nickname for my mysterious stranger … Maybe I’d had one-to-many margaritas. In a way, he reminded me of my favorite country bar back home.
“Excuse me, but are you new around here?” he inquired, flirtatiously.
“Uhh, yes I am, but how did you know that, Cowboy?” I answered with a wink.
“This is a fairly small place and I’ve seen this group in here before, but you weren’t a part of it. And, trust me, I would remember a beautiful woman like yourself,” he said, as his hand drew circle patterns on my back. “May I buy you a drink, Gorgeous?”
I fidgeted on my bar stool at his touch and that’s when Rich’s attention turned back to me. I noticed his eyes widen and the veins in his neck throb when he looked over and saw the cowboy’s hands on me.
Rich’s mannerisms told me everything I needed to know. He was not happy that I was flirting with this stranger.
Already pretty tipsy, I figured one more drink probably wouldn’t hurt anything. “Sure, that would be perfect. Another mango margarita, please,” I responded.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Brooke?” Rich hissed in my ear.
I turned to Rich and answered so only he would hear, “Thank you for your concern, Rich, but I’m a big girl and I know what I am doing. I’m not yours to worry about.”
Rich winced as if my words had stung him. I probably just bruised his big ego, I’m sure he’ll get over it.
The cowboy called the bartender over and ordered us another round, luckily not paying any attention to Rich. Before grabbing the stool next to me, he sauntered over to the jukebox and dropped in a few quarters. I wasn’t surprised when I recognized a country song begin to play.
“Do you have a name, Cowboy?” I asked as he sat down next to me.
“Jared – and your name, Pretty Lady?”
“Brooke,” I responded, noticing Rich’s eyes turned in my direction.
“Nice to meet you, Brooke, care to dance while we wait for our drinks?” he asked, extending his hand, as I heard Luke Bryan’s new single “Drunk On You” play through the speakers.
“Su--.”
Rich interrupted before I was able to finish my thought.
“Get your hands off her,” Rich hissed.
“And, what’s it to you? The lady doesn’t look like she needs a bodyguard, Pretty Boy.”
“She’s with me. That’s what it’s to me, Cowboy.” Rich was practically growling; I could feel the anger radiating from his skin. I looked around hoping no one else was a witness to his sudden outburst. Thankfully, everyone was too caught up in their own conversation to notice Rich’s sudden show of temper.
“Rich, stop it. Let’s get out of here,” I pleaded, in hopes of diffusing the situation before it fully erupted.
“Come on, Beautiful. You know you don’t want to leave with him. He was paying you no attention, just five minutes ago. Suddenly, he wants to play Mr. Poss
essive. I don’t see a ring on your finger, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re fair game, babe.”
“I’m sorry, Jared, but I think I should be going. I have an early day tomorrow and it’s getting late. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
I turned to Rich, adding, “Don’t you dare follow me.”
I didn’t want Rich to give me a ride, I just wanted to walk the few blocks home and clear my head.
“Where are you going, Brooke?” I heard Rich growl, his breath heating the back of my neck, as I began walking away from the bar.
I turned and began walking backwards away from him, all while trying to blink back the tears that were pooling in my eyes. “I told you not to follow me,” I yelled. “What the fuck did you just do in there, Rich?”
“He had his hands all over you. You’re mine.”
I must admit, if only to myself and certainly not to Rich, at that moment, as turned on as I was by his possessiveness and protectiveness, I was also seething; I wasn’t his. I had explained that to him. He was my boss and he just embarrassed me. What if my co-workers – his employees – had heard any of what was said between us? How the fuck would I explain that one on Monday? I’d be the target of office gossip before I even stepped foot into the office. I would need to pack up my shit and crawl back home with my tail tucked between my legs.
“I’m. Not. Yours! How many times do I fucking have to tell you that, Rich? I can take care of my goddamn self. What if our co-workers had heard your little explosion? You just humiliated me. I can’t even stand the sight of you right now.”
“Fuck! … I’m sorry, Brooke. I just … I just couldn’t stand that guy touching you … I … I just lost it. No one else heard anything, I promise. Let’s just get into my car. Let me drive you back home. I can tell you’re freezing out here.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Rich. I’m perfectly capable of walking home. You’re lucky I’m not resigning right now, too. I’ll see you in the office on Monday … Boss.” I quickly turned in the other direction and began the descent toward my apartment. I could feel the heat from Rich’s breath almost immediately.
