The Beginning of Always

by Sophia Mae Todd

The wind was chilly out on the sidewalk, and I pulled my jacket closer to my body. When we stepped out, the doorman at his podium perch stepped forward, but Alistair held up a palm and said, “I got this, Mr. Williams. Thank you.”

  The doorman nodded briskly and fell back to his post. No question, no hesitation.

  Alistair walked towards the edge of the sidewalk and raised an arm. Almost immediately, a taxi sped and stopped in front of him.

  Alistair turned towards me with an expectant look, and I yanked my jacket tighter, my pathetic excuse for armor. He was so tall, all power, completely cool and confident. His mien was unreadable.

  “Thank you again for making time for me. I know you’re very busy, so I appreciate your attention and candor.”

  The edges of Alistair’s lips twitched. My platitudes amused him. “You’re welcome.”

  I nodded dumbly, his expression twisting my insides.

  At that, I spun around to open the car door. But before I could react, Alistair reached before me and pulled the car door open. His breath brushed the curve of my ear, and slight strands of hair billowed around from the force. Our cheeks nearly grazed each other.

  His smell assailed me.

  I hitched a breath.

  I climbed into the backseat with my heart hammering. Alistair leaned down with his right forearm braced against the top of the open door frame. I started. His face had suddenly gotten very close.

  “I’m having a dinner with a potential partner on Saturday. We’re thinking of buying a building in Midtown. It’ll make for good material since you can chronicle the start of the process.” His words puffed white against his lips in the cold. The light of the streetlamps cast long shadows along his face, with all its dips and cuts.

  He was so devastatingly handsome. Was he this good-looking when we were kids? For the love of sanity, I couldn’t stop staring at him.

  I nodded with a slight shuffle backwards to get in the cab, to get away from him. I averted my gaze, but then like a rubber band, my eyes snapped back and went straight back to meet his. “Alright, I’ll contact Gertrude for the details.”

  Alistair let go of the cab and stepped back. “Good night, Florence Vita Reynolds.” His eyes swept mine and at that moment, I had to look away.

  “Good night,” I said to the back of the front seats, and the car door slammed shut.

  Chapter 10

  I stared at my blinking cursor while chewing the bottom of my lip. I had no idea what to write. My desk was strewn with a sea of notes, each page and pad filled with minute details and business mumbo jumbo. Yet I was at a total loss for how to explain Alistair, how to break down the enigma everyone was looking for.

  I muttered a curse underneath my breath.

  I had returned to Blair Properties on Thursday for another nerve-wracking morning and lunch with Alistair, but by Friday I was over it. I decided to stay at the Journal building to work on actual writing instead of mental gymnastics. Cruelties of cruelties, I spent the morning typing and typing, but nothing was coming out the way I wanted. My head was a riot of confusion, a space I was not comfortable in.

  I didn’t want this.

  I opened my mailbox tab and quickly typed out an email.

  Gordon,

  I’m four days in and have collected more than enough information on Blair in the form of interviews, observations, quotes, etc. I strongly believe it’d be a waste of time and company resources if I continued to shadow him for another two weeks. There isn’t much left here and it’s not going to make the article any better. There is one more dinner meeting with a competitor or partner (not sure of details yet) for a Midtown development on Saturday, but after that it’ll just be more of the same.

  I can complete the article next week and we can fit this into the next issue. Then I’ll be free for your next assignment.

  Let me know your thoughts.

  - Florence

  My inbox binged a response in less than a minute. I clicked on Gordon’s Re: tagline.

  No. Three weeks, like we talked about. Four, if you annoy me anymore.

  I crashed back into my chair. “Ugghhh,” I moaned.

  Another bing sounded out. Gordon had followed up:

  Nice try, though.

  “Hey, lover!”

  As if on cue, Tracy’s head poked into my office, her black curls bouncing as she took a sweeping survey around my office. Papers were strewn about the desk, empty coffee cups were knocked over and my hair was a mess after a morning of shoving my fingers through it.

  “That bad, huh?”

  I flailed my arms around until they slapped against the armrests. “Imagine how bad it could be—it’s worse than that.”

  Tracy slipped in and leaned against the side of my table. “How bad am I imagining it?”

  “You know that scene in Bambi, where his mom gets shot?” I said.

  “I’m currently having a flashback to a traumatizing childhood memory, so yes.”

  “You’re looking at Mommy deer, trotting around, nibbling at pathetic winter grass, moments away from getting my brains blown out right in front of you.” I mimicked a gun with my index finger and thumb. “Pow pow.” I snapped my hand back.

  Tracy pulled a face. “And Alistair is the hunter in this scenario?”

  “Bingo.”

  “That monster.”

  I swiveled my chair side to side, restless and uneasy.

  “I’m not dealing with this well, Tracy.”

  She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “I’m not dealing with this well at all,” I repeated, then stopped and tried to organize my thoughts. “I have to think back to how I am with other subjects, how I act and how to go about this professionally. I’m not doing a good job.”

  “Elaborate, please, you’re losing me. One minute you’re talking about being two bullets away from venison, now you’re speaking journalism.”

  I sighed. “Okay, so I’m trying to interview him, right? I have all these questions written up, but before the actual interview there’s all this small talk—you know, the bullshit you circle around to make each other comfortable. But he keeps asking me really invasive questions, like if I’m dating or when the last time I went home was.”

  Tracy shrugged, still confused. “Those sound like normal questions to me.”

  “No. They’re not. Not the way he asks them, with these looks and the way his voice deepens. Also, I know him—he never asked questions just for the sake of filling space. He wants to know the answers. He’s digging for something, he’s trying to dredge up the past.”

  Tracy was unimpressed. She cocked her head at an angle and leaned against my desk with her elbows. “What’s wrong with that? Old friends reminisce, they go on nostalgia benders. Remember when, blah blah. When I went to my high school reunion, it was like that for three hours.”

  I stilled my chair, bracing both my feet flat against the carpet. “This is different. We broke up on weird terms; the last year we were together was super traumatic. I never thought I’d see him again, because he told me back then that I’d never see him again. It’s insane that this is all happening and it’s even weirder than he’s acting as if it’s nothing, yet going totally against character. He never liked talking to people, asking about their lives, much less talking about his own life. I feel that he’s leading me into a trap, something even more traumatic than how we first ended things.”

  That piqued Tracy’s interest. She shuffled closer to me with a curious glint in her gaze. “You can’t leave off there. What do you mean, super traumatic? Come on, spill the beans.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t like thinking about that time. It’s too much.” Saying it aloud, even thinking it, would give it life. Make it true.

  Tracy made a noise of impatience. “I’ll let that lie, but you have to let all this baggage go, for yourself. If this is just a job, you have to treat it like a job. Don’t let him get to your head. Don’t overthink it. You’re giving him too much credit
as is. He probably just turned eccentric over time, nothing nefarious.”

  “I wish it was that simple, that he was that simple. I don’t trust him.”

  “It’s all about the apathy on your part. You just have to work at not caring.”

  “Nothing in me is allowing me to be apathetic. Just hearing his name makes my gut twist.”

  Tracy grinned. “Sexy.”

  “You know what I mean. Everything about him screams at me. He’s too intense, he’s too much. I can’t deal with this.”

  Tracy shrugged, shuffling some of my papers into neater piles as she talked. “Then ask Gordon for a reassignment.”

  “You know I wouldn’t ever do that. Gun to my head, deer or not.”

  Tracy stroked her chin and tilted her head. “Okay. Well, if you can’t forget him, you might as well go all out. When’s the next time you’re seeing him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tracy straightened up. “I can’t tell you to change how you feel about him, since you can’t do that yourself. But if he is trying to screw with your head, screw him right back.” She paused. “I mean figuratively. Or literally, whatever works for you. Is that our end goal here?”

  “Tracy!”

  Tracy threw her palms up and took a step back. “Joking. Joking. Geez, touchy much?” She gave me a grin. “But if he’s trying to get into your head, you kick it right back. Fire with fire. When’s the next time you’re seeing him?”

  I gestured halfheartedly to my desk calendar. “Tomorrow, he has a dinner with a potential partner or something. It’s at the steakhouse in the Waldorf.”

  Tracy clapped her hands in glee. “Ooh! Perfect! You got to kill. That calls for a new dress. Sexy new dress!” She shimmied her hips.

  I groaned and waved a hand in protest. “Tracy, I really don’t want to go shopping.”

  She draped a heavy arm around my shoulders and yanked me up towards her. I stumbled out of my chair and fell forward face-first against her chest. “You’re going to a hoity-toity dinner party with some of Manhattan’s elites! You have to get a gorgeous dress to go with that gorgeous body of yours.” She slapped my ass with an open palm and I yelped in indignation.

  “Hey!”

  “Come on! It’ll be fun.”

  “Hah!” I scoffed as I fought to push myself away. “I’m not spending money on behalf of that idiot, especially to impress him.”

  “Who said anything about impressing him? Make him feel like an idiot for putting you on freeze for all this time. Besides, you need more cocktail attire, got to get ready for the NYC scene!”

  I clawed down her arms, trying to right myself. “Don’t you have something I can just borrow?”

  “No.” Tracy’s mouth was a hard line but her eyes danced with mischief. “We’re going to fancy you up, Cinderella.”

  * * *

  Tracy chattered on as I twisted my keys in the lock and opened the door.

  “You have to try it on again!” she nearly shrieked.

  I dropped my purse on the hallway table. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” We had already spent the evening traveling up and down Broadway, Tracy pushing and pulling me into different stores. I was beat and my arm hurt from all the yanking.

  “What’s not necessary?” a deep voice rang out.

  “Ni-co-las!” Tracy squealed and scurried into the living room. I followed with an eye roll.

  Nicolas was sitting on the couch with a book in his hands and Tracy on his lap. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek full-on.

  “I missed you, sweetie,” Tracy purred while petting his hair.

  “Get off my brother,” I grunted, unamused.

  Nicolas grinned at me with a large red lipstick stain on his face.

  “You got the evening off?” I asked Nicolas.

  He nodded as Tracy bounced on top of his knees.

  Tracy and Nicolas had a longstanding flirtation that I found annoying. Not so much that I wouldn’t want Tracy to flirt with or date Nicolas, but I just didn’t like seeing women treat Nicolas as a sexual being. Which Tracy had insisted to me she didn’t.

  “Nicolas is fun to flirt with, he’s so cute, but I totally think he’s gay,” she had told me.

  Nicolas had explained to me that he was unequivocally not gay, but not interested in Tracy.

  “It’d be like dating you,” he had said with his tongue out.

  Now, as I dragged my shopping bags into my room, Tracy was cuddled up against Nicolas, cooing at him while he played with her hair.

  I fought my gag reflex.

  “Wait! Wait!” Tracy scrambled up off my brother and hurdled towards me. “Try it on! Wear it for Nini!”

  “It’s fine, you already let me know it looks nice.” She had, at least fifty times in the store and a thousand more on the subway ride back to the apartment.

  Tracy was wonders for my self-esteem, truly.

  “Yeah, but we need a dude’s eye.” Tracy cocked a thumb in Nicolas’s direction. “Nico could let you know if he finds it as mind-blowing as I think Alistair will.”

  Nicolas closed his book and placed it on the coffee table. “What’s this? You bought a dress to wear for Alistair?” His brow furrowed. We hadn’t really seen each other this week. When I was at work, he was at home sleeping and vice versa. He hadn’t been updated on the unfortunate changes in Alistair-land.

  “I didn’t buy a dress to wear for Alistair,” I stressed. “I just bought a dress to wear to a function which Alistair is going to be at.”

  “So … you bought it to impress him. You bought the dress for Alistair.” Nicolas grinned.

  “Ugh!” I threw up my hands. “No! Besides, Tracy was the one who dragged me out shopping.” I pointed an accusing finger at her.

  Tracy adopted an offended look and pressed an open palm against her prodigious chest. “Excuse you!”

  “Wait, so do we still hate Alistair?” Nicolas asked, confused.

  “Yes,” I immediately answered.

  “Not a chance,” Tracy shouted at the same time.

  I stormed out of the room to the sound of their laughter.

  “Get your ass dressed!” Tracy called.

  I slammed my bedroom door in response.

  After I deposited the contents of my bags onto the bed, I pulled the cocktail dress out of its garment bag and hung it against my closet door.

  The dress was made of several layers of sheer black silk, with opaque panels that cut asymmetrically across the bodice and down the waist. The skirt portion was free-flowing, with two tall slits up both thighs, the hem ending just below the knee.

  It was gorgeous.

  It was modern.

  It was sexy.

  It was criminally expensive.

  I wondered what Alistair would think of it. Despite everything, I still wanted to look good. I was still a woman. I couldn’t deny the pull he had on me and my preexisting vanity.

  But whether I wanted to act on it was something else entirely. I chewed over this question as I draped the dress over my head.

  When I floated out of the room, Nicolas gave an approving smile and whistled low. Tracy clutched her fingers together, beaming.

  “Oh! Darling, you are a vision!” she cried.

  I cracked a small grin.

  “Looking good, sis,” Nicolas said.

  “Twirl! Twirl!” Tracy spun her fingers in a circle and skipped over to me. She seized my hand and forced me to do a pirouette. The fabric flew around my knees and I laughed.

  “Más, más!” Tracy danced me around the living room and a weight lifted off me. I giggled while Tracy and I waltzed between the couch and armchairs, Nicolas watching with amusement.

  “Okay, okay! Stop! Stop before I sweat on my new dress,” I pleaded. Tracy gave me one last spin and released me so she could collapse onto the couch.

  Her white teeth grinned up at me, slight wrinkles fanning out from her eyes. I sat down next to her, a bit winded. “You’re so funny,” I sai
d.

  “That’s why you love me.” Tracy reached up to readjust my shoulder straps.

  “Here, I’ll get you some water.” I stood up to go to the kitchen. Nicolas followed, but veered right to the hallway closet.

  “Hey.” Nicolas picked up his Polaroid camera. He pointed at Tracy with it. “Let’s get a picture.”

  I groaned audibly but Tracy perked up and all but vaulted off the couch. I quickly dropped the glasses of water on the table before she tackled me into the wall with a jubilant hug.

  “Hey! You’re going to wrinkle it!” I protested in indignation, but Tracy just nuzzled my neck and hugged me tighter.

  “Say cheese, Ms. Hollywood,” Tracy said.

  A flash emitted and I saw spots. Tracy released me and skittered over to Nicolas. He yanked a paper tab and extracted the picture from the camera. He dropped it into Tracy’s waiting hands and she promptly began to shake it in the air, fanning herself with it.

  “Hey, I’ve been wanting to ask. Why do you always take pictures?” Tracy asked.

  “You don’t need to shake it.” Nicolas reached over and took it from her fingers. “This is peel-apart film, so you remove the negative off the picture after the development time.” He gingerly laid it on the bar. “Shaking it does nothing and you might leak chemicals.”

  “Why are you so into taking pictures?” Tracy repeated, her attention full-on.

  Nicolas grunted a non-answer. I inched towards them, curious as well. I didn’t even know why Nicolas was so relentless in his picture taking. I doubted Nicolas knew himself. He just did it. No questions asked.

  Tracy tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention, but Nicolas busied himself with the camera, flipping it over to cap the lens.

  “Nicolaaaas, come on. What’s with the picture taking?”

  “I just do it, okay?” Nicolas’s voice was slightly sharp. He snapped the cap on the camera and without another word stalked out of the room.

  Tracy’s brow wrinkled and she looked mildly hurt by his sudden shift in mood.

  I frowned. Tracy was spunky and free, but she put up with me a lot, and in true form, the Reynolds siblings soured on the turn of a dime.