Derailed II

by Nelle L'Amour

  My eyes searched the small living room and spotted one on the desk where I kept my old, ready-to-shut-down-forever computer. My knees weak, I retrieved it. Our hot melded juices rolled down my inner thighs.

  Now fully dressed, Ari plucked the pen from me and dug his hand into a jeans pocket. My eyes grew wide. What he pulled out was a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Pasting it against the wall, he scribbled something on it.

  Holding the bill in his hand, he gazed at me intensely with his piercing blue eyes. “I want you to have this. In case of an emergency. My cell phone number is written on it. If you ever need me, I want you to call me. But promise you won’t give out the number to anyone. I safeguard my privacy.”

  I nodded and let him slip the hundred dollar bill into my hand.

  “I have to go. Ben will be home soon. It’s a school night.” He strutted to the door and swung it open. My heart was a sinking ship, knowing that this was good-bye again.

  He leaned against the doorway, holding the door open with his foot. “Come here, you,” he ordered.

  Fighting back tears, I slowly trod over to him. He hooked his arm around my waist, yanking me next to him, chest against chest. He crushed his lush lips against mine and pulled away. His eyes met mine as his lips curled into that dazzling, dimpled smile. “Saarah, I must say you are definitely an expert when it comes to toys.” And with that, he jogged down the stairs.

  I closed the door behind me and slid down against it into a crouching position. I stared at his hundred dollar bill, not knowing if I should be insulted by it or flattered. All at once, I felt like a spurned lover, an orphan, and a whore. What this man could do me—for better and for worse. The jumble of emotions was overwhelming. Spreading my legs, I buried my head between my knees and wept for everything that was uncertain in my complicated life.

  3

  I WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING at the crack of dawn. Tuesday. Work. I didn’t need an alarm to get me up. The vibrations in my core from last night’s playdate with Ari were enough. I could actually hear the throbbing.

  I went through the steps of my usual workday routine. Feed the cat. Coffee. My birth control pill. A quick jog around the neighborhood. Shower. Get dressed. I put on one of my boho uniforms, laced up my combat boots, and organized my messenger bag. At last minute, I slipped Ari’s one hundred dollar bill into my wallet though I still had very mixed feelings about it. Good to go, I grabbed my skateboard. Yes, that’s how I commuted back and forth to my office on Broadway and West Twenty-Third Street. My skateboard was a fast, economical, and reliable means of transportation.

  Waiting for me at my office on my desk was an elegant vase filled with a dozen of the most perfect long-stemmed roses I’d ever seen. My heart skipped a beat. I knew whom they were from without having to open the card propped against the vase. How the hell did he know where I worked? Duh! Of course. I mentioned it to him and his family at Ben’s birthday dinner the other night.

  “Hay, caramba,” cooed Fernando, my best friend at work, as he passed by my cubicle. As usual, he was wearing perfectly shredded tight black jeans and an even tighter black tee that exposed his perfect little ass and pumped up arms. “Señorita Sarah has a boyfriend.”

  “Hardly,” I snapped back at him. While I adored Fernando, a gorgeous gay guy of Phillipino-Cubano descent who worked in the packaging division (those cool Ike’s Tikes’ birth certificate tags were totally his creation), he could often be annoying. Very annoying.

  “Have lunch with me, mí querida.” He winked. “I want to hear everything.” He sashayed down the corridor toward his cubicle.

  Sitting down at my desk, I opened the note. My hand was shaking.

  Dear Sarah~

  I enjoyed my long weekend with you. I trust you did too.

  Yours~ Ari

  My heart fluttered, and I felt my face flush. I slipped the note into my top desk drawer, very aware of the vibrations between my upper inner thighs. I wondered when I would see him again. I got the feeling he was devoted to Ben during the week, something I understood and respected. Yet, I found myself hungering for him.

  Forcing myself to focus on my work, I booted up my computer and checked my emails. The majority of them were from my boss, Catherine St. Clair, sent over the weekend. Ridiculous things to do like… picking up her dry cleaning, setting up her waxing appointment, and color-coding her files. Didn’t she have anything better to do over the holiday weekend than to come up with a crapload of chores for me to do?

  As I started in on her files, Catherine showed up. Nine a.m. This was early for her. Her usual ETA was ten. She must have had a restful weekend after all. Good. Maybe I could persuade her to let me work extra hours to help me pay for my mother’s treatments.

  “Good morning, Sarah,” she said icily. Her eyes lingered on my roses and mine on her outfit du jour.

  As usual, with her gorgeous supermodel figure, she was a walking advertisement for Chanel. Today she was wearing a classic Chanel suit—a smart little black and white tweed number with fringed embellishments—and matching “CC” pumps. Layers of faux pearls were strung around her long neck and a bright red “CC” monogrammed headband held back her signature waist-length raven-black hair.

  “Roses?” she said frostily as she passed my desk. “I must be paying you way too much for you to afford them.”

  “Someone sent them to me.” My voice quivered.

  She eyed me with contempt. “Really? That’s a surprise.”

  God, she was a bitch. I’d been working for her for a little over a month, and I’d never heard a kind word out of her mouth. Not once.

  “Well, I don’t want you to be smelling the roses all day. We have lots to do.” She dug her manicured hand into her Chanel black leather briefcase (God knows how much that cost) and pulled out a two-inch thick folder.

  “These are last week’s expenses. I want them done by the end of the day.” She slapped the folder down on my desk and marched into her office, slamming the door behind her.

  I opened the folder and scanned the receipts. Yowzer! This woman ate out at an expensive restaurant morning, noon, and night. Breakfast at the Four Seasons… Lunch at Le Cirque… Dinner at Nobu. And since when was a thirty dollar tube of Chanel lipstick (for which I had to schlep uptown to Bergdorf’s and buy on my lunch break) an “emergency business expense.” Given the number of receipts in the folder, it was going to take me hours to prepare her expense report. I needed to get going on the tedious job right away.

  Before I could start arranging the receipts by day, the phone rang. “Boys’ toys,” I answered. Catherine never wanted me to give out her name unless it was really necessary.

  “Saarah… do you like your flowers?”

  That voice! I recognized it immediately. My heart raced, and the phone receiver shook in my hand. It was him! “Um, uh, they’re very pretty.” Who was I kidding? They were gorgeous, and their intoxicating scent was making me dizzy.

  “Good. I have a meeting in the city today. I’ll collect you outside your office at six sharp for an early dinner. Ben has school tomorrow.” CLICK.

  Shit! He didn’t even give me the chance to tell him that I might not be able to make dinner because of all the work my evil boss was piling on me. With my mother’s insurance crisis, I could not afford to lose my job.

  I immediately got back to work on the expense report, but my mind kept drifting off to what was I going to wear on my date with Ari. My pathetic bohemian work uniform was not going to cut it. Sadly, I could not afford to buy a new outfit, and there was no time to scoot up to my apartment to change into one of his sundresses. As my heart pounded, moisture pooled between my legs in my cotton panties. Well, at least I knew what I was not going to wear.

  I was only up to last Tuesday’s expenses when Catherine came barging out of her office. A file marked “Competitive Boys’ Toys” was under her arm.

  “Ike just called an emergency meeting with the design team. He wants me to demonstrate the top-selling boys’ toys.” H
er voice sounded panicked as it always did when Ike pulled this kind of stuff. “I need you to come with me.”

  I straightened up. This was not the first time I had to accompany Catherine to a meeting and be her puppet. Maybe she had great success creating the bestselling girls’ line of toys of all times—Poutz—but she didn’t know the first thing about boys’ toys. As I followed her down the hallway to Ike’s boardroom, I anticipated assembling robots and Transformers and demonstrating how they worked while my wretched boss sat back in her chair and fluffed her hair.

  Ike’s boardroom consisted of a long mahogany table, a dozen black leather swivel chairs, a giant flat screen TV, and ad posters of Ike’s mega-hit toyline, Ike’s Tikes. Ike Abrams, a burly man in his early 50’s, and his motley design team, that included Fernando, were already seated around the table when Catherine and I entered the room. A dozen popular boys’ toys were scattered on the table, including a Power Rangers Zord, Transformers action figure, and Beyblade battle set. We took the two empty seats next to Ike, who was seated at the head of the table.

  Ike got right down to business. “So, Catherine, can you please show me how little boys play with these toys.”

  My evil boss smiled coyly. “My assistant will show you. She’s such a boy at heart.”

  Her words made me cringe. Okay, I might have been a tomboy growing up, but I wondered if she knew that I could fuck a man’s brains out. And not just any man. A god. An Adonis. Ari’s beautiful face filled my mind and a tingling sensation coursed through my body, intensifying at my crotch.

  With confidence, I demonstrated each toy, complete with POW! ZING! VROOM! sound effects. Ike watched intensely, nodding his head throughout my presentation. When I was done, he thanked me and returned his attention to Catherine.

  “So, Catherine, what do you think we should be developing for the boys’ market?”

  “Robots are always a safe bet. So are dinosaurs,” she said with authority and self-assuredness.

  Ike furrowed his bushy eyebrows. “But there is such a glut of robots and dinosaurs in the market. We need something new. Something different. Something that will breakout.” He turned to me. “Do you have any ideas?”

  Me? He wanted to hear from me, a lowly assistant?

  Catherine shot me a dirty look. I wasn’t intimidated.

  “Mr. Abrams, I think parents are looking for something that is high-tech, yet educational and not too violent.”

  Ike’s face brightened. “I totally agree with you, Ms.—”

  “Greene. Sarah Greene,” I said proudly.

  Catherine was smoldering. I could practically see puffs of smoke coming out of her nostrils.

  Ike turned to my evil boss. “Catherine, by Thursday, I’d like to hear at least six concepts for a breakthrough boys’ toyline. Please work with the design team.”

  “Not a problem,” retorted Catherine with an air of faux confidence.

  Ike thanked everyone, and the meeting was adjourned. As he exited the boardroom, he shot me a smile.

  Catherine marched down the hall back to her office at hell-bent speed. I trailed behind the click-click-click of her Chanel pumps. When I got back to my cubicle outside her office, there was a large box from Bergdorf’s sitting on my desk.

  Catherine’s pillowy, Chanel-red lips slithered into a smile. “Oh, that must be the special order I placed at Bergdorf’s over the weekend.”

  I read the label. “Um, uh, it’s for me.”

  Catherine’s cat-green eyes almost popped out of their sockets. I wish I’d had a camera to capture the expression on her face. It was a combination of utter disbelief, disgust, and disdain.

  She scoffed at me. “I want you to stay glued to your desk at lunch and come up with some ideas for a new boys’ toy.” She threw the competitive analysis file at me and stomped into her office. “And don’t forget to confirm my lunch reservation at Cipriani’s for two,” she called out before slamming the door behind her.

  Despite how much I wanted to open my package from Bergdorf’s, I spent the rest of the morning studying the file. There was definitely a need for something new, something different in the boys’ toy arena. At noon, Catherine popped out of her office.

  “I’ll be out of the office for two hours. Please screen all my phone calls, and remember, do not give out my cell number to anyone.”

  After refreshing her Chanel red lipstick, she paraded down the hall toward the bank of elevators. I sighed with relief. She was gone. I could finally open up my package.

  As I was about to lift off the lid to the box, Fernando stopped by my desk. I had totally forgotten we had made a lunch date.

  “Ooh, fancy shmancy Bergdorf’s box. Since when have they been paying you the big bucks, mí amor?”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “Ooh. Señorita Sarah has a hot sugar daddy.”

  I felt myself flushing. “No, not exactly.”

  “Come on, mí amor. Open, open! Let me see what you got.”

  I twisted my face in frustration. I knew I wasn’t going to get rid of Fernando. He was somewhat of a leech, albeit an admittedly loveable and not hard to look at one. A dead ringer for George Chakiris—Bernardo in West Side Story. With his jet-black hair, exotic face, and tight little ass, he could have easily been a male model. I opened the box. Inside, under layers of tissue paper was a drop-dead gorgeous hot pink strapless dress with a slit extending from the bottom hem to almost the waist. A pair of strappy silver stilettos accompanied the dress. This time everything was Alexander Wang. Fernando made me hold up the dress against my body.

  “Ooh, that is so fucking hot. Bebé, you are going to get some major action.”

  My cheeks heated further. You could always count on Fernando for brutal honestly. And that’s why I loved him from the day I met him. He had become my best friend and confidant at Ike’s Tikes. I knew everything about him, including his long relationship with one of the city’s top window display designers whom he hoped one day to marry. I, in turn, could tell him anything and everything. He was one of the few people in the world who knew about my ambitions, financial woes, mother’s illness, and my bitch boss. I, however, was not going to tell him anything about Ari. I could not jeopardize my relationship with him or his cherished privacy. I just wasn’t sure how I was going to get away with it with tell-me-everything Fernando.

  Fortunately, luck was on my side. “Fernando’s tight tummy is screaming, ‘Tengo hambre.’”

  I told Fernando that my evil boss had ordered me to stay at my desk at lunch. I could not leave in case she came back early even though that was unlikely. No problemo. Fernando offered to go the commissary and bring back lunch for both of us. We could eat and talk at my desk.

  Over chicken tortillas, we gossiped mostly about Catherine. Fernando lived for gossip and had collected a lot of dirt about my evil boss. Her background was a little sketchy. She lived in Europe for a while, worked at a major European fashion house, and then was recruited by an up and coming toy company to develop a girls’ lifestyle brand. The Angelina Jolie look-alike Poutz dolls she developed took off immediately, knocking Barbie off her throne. Rumor had it that she stole the idea for Poutz from a rival designer but it could never be proven. Ike Abrams hired her with the hope she could work her magic with a breakout boys’ toyline for his company. Supposedly, to lure her away from the other toy manufacturer, he had to give her the title of President, Boys Toys and all the perks that came along with that title—including limo service, an unlimited expense account, and a three-year one million dollar a year contract with bonuses. Boy, I wished that would happen to me one day. I just had to work hard. And be patient. “Good things happen to those who wait,” my mother always said.

  As we came close to finishing lunch, the phone rang. “Boys’ toys,” I answered.

  “Saarah, do you like your dress?”

  I could feel my face reddening. “It’s lovely.”

  Know-it-all Fernando knew right away who I was talking to. “It’s him, sí
?” he mouthed, pointing to the dress still on my desk.

  I nodded like one of those bobblehead toys, pressing a finger over my lips that said: “Shut up.”

  “I thought you could use a little more color,” said the voice on the phone.

  If Ari could see my face now, he might think differently.

  “I look forward to seeing you in it.” CLICK.

  With a shaking hand, I hung up the phone.

  “Okay, chica, spill the beans,” said Fernando, eager for a gossip-fest.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, I met someone. He’s very rich and very nice.”

  “And muy bueno in bed?”

  My blushing silence gave away the answer.

  “Fantástico!” Fernando clapped his hands with the glee of a child getting a sweet. He was genuinely thrilled for me. That’s what I loved about him.

  “What is going on here?”

  It was Catherine. She was back unexpectedly early. I quickly hid the box with the dress and shoes under my desk.

  Venom poured from her eyes. “Sarah, I thought I told you to work over lunch.”

  Words were trapped in my throat, but fortunately, Fernando came to my rescue.

  “We were brainstorming. We have some really good ideas for the next big boys’ toy.”

  “Very well. I look forward to hearing them.” She marched into her office and slammed the door behind her.

  Fernando went back to his cubicle, and I spent the rest of the uneventful afternoon finishing Catherine’s expense report and thinking about my date with Ari. She spent it behind closed doors. I had no idea what she did all day although I imagined she spent most of her time online scanning www.Chanel.com.

  At five p.m., Catherine emerged from her office, all spruced up. “I have cocktails and dinner tonight.”

  Her sinister eyes locked on me.

  “And I can assume, you got all your work done?”