On His Terms
By Rachel Masters
2012 Rachel Masters. All rights reserved.
Ally looked out the window of Bobby’s Diner as the shiny black limo pulled up to the curb.
One of her regulars, a sixty-four year old retiree named Burt, went from looking at her ass to staring out the window. “What do you suppose that’s about?” Burt asked.
Ally sighed. “Maybe Donald Trump’s coming for a plate of Chef Denver’s hash.”
Burt guffawed, sipping his fifth or sixth refill of coffee that morning. “His hash ain’t worth that much, honey.”
She rolled her eyes and moved off to tend to one of her other customers. After all, whoever belonged to that limousine might not even be coming in. And if they did come in, Ally just hoped she didn’t get them at one of her tables.
Ally had learned the hard way these last few years that the rich ones tended to tip the worst.
Well, Burt was the worst tipper, but the rich ones were still pretty bad.
It had been a busy morning at the diner, but a morning much like the ones that had come before it.
Running from table to table, taking orders, pouring coffee, ignoring the stares at her cleavage and butt from the older male customers, while simultaneously staying as friendly and pert as was possible for the eight dollar an hour wage she was earning.
Of course, it didn’t help that most nights she was taking classes for her teaching degree. Between school at night and the diner all day, she barely had time to eat a meal or have a conversation with her sister.
This wasn’t exactly the life she’d envisioned for herself, but then again, Ally wasn’t the complaining type.
“Ally!” Chef Denver yelled out from the kitchen.
She looked up, snapping out of her trance. “Yeah?”
“Order up, babe. Come on, let’s move it.”
Ally did as he said, moving to pick up her plates of food. Recently, life had become so routine that one day seemed to be melting into the other.
But as it turned out, this day was actually nothing like any of the others that had come before it.
First, there was the sudden flash of cameras and the sound of people talking and even yelling just outside the diner.
And then, like a dam breaking, a barrage of people came bursting into the place. Some sort of media hurricane. There were about ten reporters from local TV networks, radio stations, and newspapers. There were four secret service-like men wearing black suits, dark sunglasses, wires coming out of their ears, and apparently trained in the art of not smiling.
“Holy high hell!” Chef Denver shouted. He walked out from the kitchen to get a better look at the action. His wrinkled, time-worn face was slack with shock.
Martha, the other waitress on duty, was always quick to complain. “Looks like the political circus finally made it to our town,” she said to anyone who would listen.
As the deluge of people made their way into the diner, two of the security men prepared themselves at each side of the entrance door. A third proceeded to open the door, and wait.
Time stood still for a brief minute or two as the patrons of the diner collectively held their breath.
A dark-suited man appeared from out of nowhere and opened the rear passenger door of the limousine and then somebody began to step out of it.
“You know who that is, don’t you?” Martha quizzed Ally.
Ally shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. She was clueless, partly because she just never kept up with current events and partly because she’d been particularly distracted lately.
Martha shook her head, annoyed at Ally’s political ignorance. “Hale Westbrook. You know, as in the Hale Westbrook.”
Ally shrugged. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“What are they teaching you at that night school of yours?”
“I don’t have time to keep up with the Kardashians. Just tell me Martha, stop torturing me.”
Martha smirked. “Hale Westbrook is the billionaire of all billionaires. He’s got his hands in pretty much everything- Hollywood, overseas retail factories, reconstructing the Golden Gate Bridge, you name it. In the business world, Hale Westbrook is God.”
“So what’s he doing here?” Ally asked, as the crowd that had enveloped Hale began to move inside the diner.
She got a glimpse of perfectly coiffed hair amidst the hubbub, but not much else.
“I can’t believe I have to explain all of this to you,” said Martha. “He’s here because he’s campaigning for governor. He’s made pretty much all the money that one man can possibly make, so I guess he’s moving onto conquering California. Some say he’s even lining himself for a chance at the presidency someday.”
Ally had never seen Martha this excited. She knew from her cranky co-worker’s enthusiasm that whatever was happening must really be a big deal.
Finally, the sea of people surrounding Hale Westbrook parted, and for a brief moment, she thought he saw her—just as she was seeing him for the first time.
Hale Westbrook just might have been the most fantastic looking man she’d ever seen in person--maybe anywhere, ever.
He was a broad man, just over six feet tall, with a barrel chest and shoulders like an athlete. He had beautiful dark brown hair. His skin was remarkably tan, probably because a billionaire could travel to the most beautiful tropical islands whenever he felt like it.
But it was Hale Westbrook’s eyes that truly captured Ally’s attention.
His eyes seemed kind, but also strong and without a flicker of doubt about who he was or what his purpose might be in life. And anyone he spoke to seemed to be held rapt by Hale’s gaze, as if to just speak with the man was a privilege and an honor.
Normally, Ally would have been annoyed with his phony politician demeanor- smiling way too much, shaking hands with people that he probably wouldn’t normally give the time of day.
But at the same time, he somehow seemed different than most politicians. There was something genuine underneath it all, she decided.
After a moment of greeting a few patrons and talking with his handlers, Hale Westbrook held up his hands to signal that he wanted to speak to everyone in the establishment.
The diner hushed as the billionaire began to speak.
“Some of you might know who I am,” he said, smiling wryly, as everyone chuckled.
Obviously, everyone knew who he was—everyone else, Ally thought, feeling her cheeks flush a little.
“My name is Hale Westbrook,” he said, surveying the room, “and I’m running for governor of California.”
Applause broke out spontaneously as he said this. Strangely, Ally found herself beginning to clap as well—and then stopped when she realized she knew absolutely nothing about him.
For all she knew, he’d make a terrible governor.
“People want to know why I’m running for governor of this incredible state. Well, it’s simple. I think that I can do better. Scratch that—I know I can do better. Heck, my eight year old nephew could do better than the guy who’s running California right now.”
Again, laughter and applause from the audience.
Hale surveyed his crowd, and suddenly, as he swept the room with his intense and confident gaze, his eyes met with hers. Ally could feel herself fidgeting, as he seemed to hold eye contact with her longer than anybody else in the crowd.
He grew serious, softening somehow, as he spoke—and it was like he was talking only to her.
“The thing is, I started with very little, and I will never, ever, forget what that feels like. I’m here to give you my word, my absolute word, that I will fight every minute and every hour of the day to make things right for regular, working class people,” said the governor. “I’m going
to fight for you.”
The crowd erupted into applause, and Ally applauded right along with them, completely forgetting herself.
He looked around the diner, nodding with a gleam in his eye, and then he stared right at Ally again. This time she was sure of it, and there was the tingle of electricity shooting up her spine—she wondered if everyone would notice.
How could they not notice what she was feeling, the chemistry laid bare for all to see?
But then the moment ended and Ally looked away, shaking her head and feeling rather silly. He was just a charismatic politician, Ally thought, and she’d been caught in his spell for a second or two.
As Hale made his way around the diner, shaking hands with every soul in the place, Ally found herself unable to stop glancing at him, hoping to catch his eye once more.
And as she looked around the room she could tell that she wasn’t the only one captivated by his aura.
Martha was chomping at the bit, dying to get in there for her very own personal handshake with the politician, and maybe even a picture in the paper with him.
As Martha grew more and more impatient to make her way towards the governor, she failed to notice the puddle of spilled coffee on the floor. And she failed to notice her co-worker, Ally, standing in front of that slippery puddle.
“Mr. Westbrook! Mr. Westbrook!” Martha called out, determined to meet the potential governor. Martha inched closer, waving her arms and literally shoving Ally aside so that she could accomplish her goal.
Ally’s foot had nowhere to go except right into the pool of coffee. Her right leg flew into the air, then her left. Then her entire body went back, hard, as she crashed onto the cold diner floor.
She was frozen. Stunned from the crash. She laid flat on her back, not able to really see or hear anything for what seemed like forever. The flashes from the cameras didn’t help matters.
As her vision came to, there he was, down on his knees and staring right into her eyes.
Ally had never been so happy to have fallen in her life.
“You okay, ma’am?” Hale asked. His voice was even more penetrating up close. And his eyes even more piercing.
He took her hand in his. Her entire body melted from this alone.
“Can somebody get me some napkins?” he asked.
As he wiped the coffee off her arm, she studied his face. She was a natural skeptic, especially after all she’d been through in life, so she was caught off guard by his sincerity.
This isn’t a politician posing for the cameras. This is real.
“You fell pretty hard. You okay?” he asked, sporting a smile that Ally was convinced was customized just for her.
“I’m fine. Thank you, sir.” Ally never called anyone sir in her life, but with all eyes watching, she thought it best to speak formally to the man who might soon be governor of her state.
Hale paused, probably for longer than he should have, holding her wrist. She felt a charge from his simple touch. And she was sure it was real, and not just because he was a celebrity.
As he helped her to her feet, it began to hit her just how much the two of them were being watched by the crowd around her.
“You got a photo in you?” he asked, but didn’t wait for her reply. “Look ready, kid,” he said out of the side of his mouth, and then put on a big smile.
Before she could adjust her skirt or her hair or anything, the billionaire reached around her side and gently pulled her in closer for a picture. She was completely rattled, not sure what to make of her ten seconds of fame.
“I think you know my name,” he said, finally offering her his official handshake. “But I haven’t made the pleasure of your acquaintance yet.”
“I’m Ally. Ally Shore,” she said as his hand enveloped hers. In that quick moment, she felt the heat from his skin, the pressure of his touch, and everything inside of her seemed to come alive. Her heart was suddenly racing.
But then, just as quickly as he’d come, Hale Westbrook left, taking his massive entourage with him.
Ally felt a pit form in the depths of her stomach. She wasn’t even sure why. She was relieved to be out of the spotlight. She’d always hated having any sort of special attention paid to her.
Then why do I feel so sad all of a sudden?
She knew the answer, even she if she didn’t want to admit it to herself.
He’s gone. Gone forever.
* * *
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this?” Ally’s older sister, Julie, threw a copy of the San Diego Tribune onto the breakfast table.
Ally’s eyes widened as the front page of the morning paper came into focus. There she was, for millions of Southern Californians to see, posing with the most powerful human being on the west coast.
“Oh, that. I don’t know.” She shrugged, pretending not to care about the picture, even though she desperately wanted to stare at it—under a magnifying glass if possible. More than anything, she wanted to look at him.
“Ally, stop acting like a freak. You know this is a big deal. This is crazy.”
Ally was dying to change the subject. She brought her empty coffee cup to the kitchen sink, anything to avoid eye contact with her sis. But she could feel Julie’s unrelenting eyes follow her every move, demanding an answer of sorts.
“I kind of forgot all about it,” Ally said. “Yesterday was so crazy at the diner. I think that whole thing happened like right when I first started my shift.” Not bad, Ally thought, as she rinsed her mug and set it in the dishwasher.
Her sister nodded, eyeing Ally as a detective would eye a crime suspect upon the first interrogation, leaving it unclear as to whether or not she’d actually bought Ally’s bogus story.
The apartment was small, a two bedroom pad in a quiet suburb just east of San Diego. There was no way Ally could get her own place right now, not for a lot of reasons. And normally she was fine with her living situation. But for this moment more than ever, she wished she lived alone.
The photo, Ally thought. It brought back the rush that she felt when he squeezed her into his side. She would kill to feel that rush again.
“So, how did he smell?” asked her big sister, bringing Ally back from her trance.
“What’s the matter with you?” Ally returned, all the while blushing like a high school senior.
“C’mon sis, you got that close to Hale Westbrook, the king of California, and you act like it was just another day at the diner. If I shared a cab with Brad Pitt, do you think I would just not mention it to you? And your guy is bigger than Brad Pitt, he’s got more pull in this country than thirty governors. You gotta give me something, anything.”
Ally just shook her head, as if utterly disgusted with her sister’s line of questioning.
Julie picked up the paper, still in shock that her little sister made the front page in this fashion. “That’s a great picture of you sis,” she said, and then paused. “Your breasts even look bigger.” Julie walked up to Ally, and gave her a look as if comparing her real boobs to the ones in the paper.
“Knock it off, Julie. Don’t you have laundry to fold?”
Suddenly, the creaky bedroom door swung wildly open.
“Baby! You slept so good sweetheart!” Julie cried out.
Seven year-old Gracie came running out in her Dora the Explorer footy pajamas, diving into Julie’s arms.
“Hey little Ms. Munchkin, where’s my hug?” The little girl turned, with sleep still in her eyes, to see Ally waiting patiently with open arms.
Gracie ran to her as well.
“Oh I could just eat you up,” said Ally, squeezing everything she could out of Gracie. She loved her more than she thought possible, and little Gracie was pretty much the only person on the planet who could take her mind off her chance encounter with the governor for a moment or two.
“Okay, little one,” Julie said. “It’s time to wash up and brush our teeth.”
Ally laced up her sneakers and headed for the door. “I’ll be ba
ck guys, I got to get in a run before work.”
“Be careful sis. Do you have your cell phone with you?”
Ally rolled her eyes, reaching for her IPod that lay next to an old photo of her parents. Then she headed out of the apartment and slowly began to remember what was gnawing at her soul.
We looked… good together. I know it wasn’t just my imagination.
* * *
Ally loved to go for runs. It was her time to unwind and let go of everything that plagued her mind. And she had a lot on her mind, especially given all that she’d been trying to accomplish for the last couple of years. But today’s run was different.
She couldn’t get him out of her mind.
And why not?
It just didn’t make any sense to her. Maybe she didn’t realize just how lonely she’d been feeling lately. His touch, his voice, it had somehow seemed to wash away her pain altogether, even though he’d only been close to her for a few brief moments.
And when Hale Westbrook had kneeled down to rescue her after she’d fallen, Kallie felt so safe. It was the first time in a very long time that a man had actually taken care of her, rather than simply admiring her cleavage as she served him a plate of eggs and homefries.
This is so ridiculous. You don’t know a thing about him.
She had to find a way to get him out of her mind. It was a total waste of her time, and the last thing she needed was a distraction at this point in her life.
Plus, she told herself, she would never see him again.
* * *
Ally darted off onto Monagan’s Trail, a path that she had run probably hundreds of times. Today was a perfect day for one of her cleansing runs- the sun was burning brightly, but the air was cool and crisp. Ally was always amazed that she could come to a trail like this and not find a single soul enjoying its beauty like she so often did. But she wasn’t complaining, she didn’t mind having the entire path to herself.
Or so she thought.
She’d felt a lot of different emotions on her many trail runs, but never fear.
Until today. A few times, she turned around, certain she was being followed. Someone was watching her run.
On His Terms Page 1
