On 4/19 (On 4/19 and Beyond 4/20)

by Lisa Heaton

  Chelsea feigned interest in a few things at the first two shops, but decided on nothing. Never agreeing to try anything on, Irene watched as Chelsea looked at price tags even prior to looking at the dress, which answered the question in the back of her mind. Chelsea was clearly concerned about the cost. Smiling at that thought, she wondered if Chelsea had any idea the kind of man she was keeping company with. John was worth millions, maybe even nearing the billion dollar mark. To walk in on the arm of John Keller, Chelsea needed to look extraordinary, not simply off-the-rack. He could certainly afford whatever they purchased that evening, and Irene intended to see that she was dressed properly.

  Finally, in her usual snappy tone, Irene encouraged, “Chelsea, find something you like. Stop looking at the prices.”

  Embarrassed, Chelsea admitted, “Honestly, I can’t even afford to be shopping here. I was going to charge something, but these prices are much too high. Do you mind if we go somewhere else?”

  The look in Chelsea’s eyes momentarily softened her heart. Never one to gush or succumb to womanly emotions, Irene found the feeling to be foreign but not altogether unpleasant. Already she liked the girl, if for no other reason than she made John happy, but the look she gave her was tremendously humble and obviously sincere. Totally out of character for her, Irene reached out and pinched Chelsea’s cheek, reassuring her, “You won’t have to charge anything. John is buying. We can pick out anything we like. So enjoy!”

  For a moment, Chelsea stood there looking at Irene. She was older than John but not by much, probably in her early to mid-fifties. With short, rather boyish looking hair, solemn suit, and heels, Chelsea could only imagine what a professional woman such as Irene thought of her relationship with John. Her embarrassment growing, she whispered, “This is not what it looks like.”

  While sensing her embarrassment, Irene assured her, “It’s exactly what it looks like. You need a dress, and I have your sugar daddy’s credit card. Now get to shopping.”

  Even though she sensed it to be Irene’s attempt at humor, Chelsea felt sick at her stomach at her comment. What else could it be but exactly what Irene said? He bought her a car, was buying her clothes; it was exactly what it looked like. So caught up in the impropriety of their arrangement, it took a moment for her to realize Irene was addressing her.

  “I looked at John’s calendar. He has several events coming up, so we’ll get you a few things.”

  By the time they finished, Chelsea had four dresses, several pairs of shoes, and a handbag for each outfit. The bags she loaded into her car contained items worth more than all she owned combined. When she sat down and closed the car door, Chelsea began to cry. What in the world was she doing? How could this not lead to something bad? What she was doing had to be wrong in some way. But so far, she’d done nothing but accepted a few gifts from a man who could obviously afford them.

  Trying to reel in her emotions and disregard that inner accusatory voice, Chelsea thought back over the past two hours. Irene, while extremely blunt, turned out to be surprisingly fun while shopping and even half sweet on several occasions. She seemed to find great satisfaction in spending John’s money, offering to buy Chelsea much more than they actually purchased. They stopped their marathon for a quick dinner, and of course Irene put the dinner on John’s card.

  While they ate, Chelsea found out that his wife died of cancer more than ten years before. Mentioning nothing more than that, Irene said little else about John. Clearly, she was the most loyal of employees, and by her tone when she spoke of him, Irene admired John greatly. Chelsea understood that completely. Still, she found herself recounting all that was said over dinner with him and the sense of awe that he stirred within her. Again the extraordinary possibilities the next year promised danced through her mind. It was hard to even imagine what might be in store for her next.

  More than a little apprehensive, Chelsea pulled in front of the gallery and stepped out of the car. A valet slipped behind the wheel. As if she were living someone else’s life, she moved in a fog through the front doors. From the looks of things, she appeared to fit right in, dropping her Benz off at the valet, wearing an outfit more expensive than her last car was worth, and smiling as if she had a clue what to do at a gallery, when in truth, she was just a farm girl playing dress-up. She was so far out of her league that she wondered if she could possibly keep up the pretense for an entire year. No doubt, John would catch on, admit his mistake, and find a loophole to get out of the contract. Could she blame him?

  Inside the gallery, she moved through the exhibits as if she knew what she was looking at, and at first didn’t see John. Surrounded by strangers in an environment that was totally foreign to her, she felt terribly out of place, nervous even. Moving to look at one piece of what someone must consider art, she stood paralyzed, pretending she fit in, pretending she understood it. Whatever it was, it was a mystery.

  “Do you like this?”

  Thankfully, it was John. He’d quietly come to stand just behind her. Turning to look at him, relieved, she sighed and shook her head. “No, not really.” Once again he had on a dark suit and white shirt, and compared to the other men in the room, he looked more sophisticated and stylish than any of them, but more than the suit, it was his attitude that set him apart, so confident and unaffected. It was the very first time she looked at him and felt an unusual queasiness in her stomach. Actually, the feeling affected more than her stomach, it rose clear up into her throat, making it feel restricted. Her heart was thudding angrily against her ribs, and she feared that maybe he sensed her nervousness. Biting at her lower lip, she tried to refocus her mind on anything other than how handsome he looked and how surprisingly he affected her.

  “You look amazing.” Once he saw the receipts for hers and Irene’s shopping excursion, he expected nothing less. Her dress was shimmering silver, a long slinky tank top, but in the gallery lighting, her eyes sparkled even more than the dress. Standing there, admiring how beautiful she looked, he was glad he’d invited her. Mundane events such as this would be much more bearable with her along. He liked her sense of humor, and he especially appreciated how real she was compared to the rest of his world. Lately, he found himself exhausted by the pretense of people.

  “Have you seen anything you do like?”

  “No, not so far.” Tucking her hair behind her ear, she looked down, admitting, “I’m rather uncultured when it comes to art, especially this kind.”

  “Impressionism?”

  “Yes. I simply don’t get it. Most of it is like a picture my niece would paint and my sister would hang on her refrigerator.” As soon as she said such a thing, she worried he was a collector. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?” He could see the embarrassment in her eyes. During their time together, he was determined to help her get past that. She apologized too often for giving her opinion.

  “I realized you may be a collector or, well, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  Chuckling, he assured her, “You have not hurt my feelings. As a matter of fact, I’m not a fan either.” There was a clear look of relief on her face when he assured her she had not hurt his feelings. Actually, the thought of hurt feelings caused him to chuckle again. As if that were possible. What he did learn through this brief exchange was that her heart was tremendously tender. He would bear that in mind, as it was not a trait he had encountered in a woman in many years. His tone was often one of severity, so in dealing with Chelsea, he would have to learn a little delicacy.

  After some time, she asked, “So if you’re not a fan of this, then why are we here?”

  “An associate’s wife owns the place.”

  “So this is business?”

  “Everything I do is.”

  Pondering that, she watched his interactions with new eyes as he spoke to one person after another. One thing she noted early on was that he commanded much respect. Rarely did he approach others; instead, he waited for them to come to him – and th
ey did. At any given time, several people hovered, as if awaiting their turn with the king. John’s manner, while his appearance would seem casual and unconcerned about his surroundings, was actually quite intense. He missed little that went on around him. His eyes gave him away, at least to her they did.

  On several occasions throughout the evening he introduced her to whoever he addressed. Each time, she felt quite comfortable, as he simply said her name without attaching any label to it. It was never, “This is my friend, Chelsea,” or “This is my date.” On the first few occasions, he said, “This is umm, Chelsea,” as if he were unsure of how to introduce her. Eventually, he settled into, “This is Chelsea,” and a few times he added, “She is a student at the business school at UCLA,” his tone suggesting he was proud of her.

  As they walked around the gallery together, him guiding her through the crowd, he would often place his hand on the small of her back. Early on, it caused her nervousness to return, since it seemed to draw attention to them as a couple, but eventually, she found it felt quite natural for him to do so. The gesture felt more protective in nature than suggestive.

  Once while he spoke with a group of gentlemen, Chelsea excused herself to go to the restroom. On her return, just before reaching them, a man stopped her and asked if he could get her a drink. Before the question was fully out of his mouth, John was there by her side assuring the man he would get her a drink if she needed one. Though his tone was rather abrupt, his motive did not seem at all territorial, rather protective, as if he were watching over a younger sister. From that point forward, she felt oddly at ease with him. And if she were not mistaken, he seemed to settle in to a new level of ease as well. He became more relaxed and open, at least with her.

  If anything did make her uncomfortable, it was the way women so openly admired him. Maybe assuming she was his daughter, several women made it no secret that they were out to get his attention. Not as if she were jealous, but she did find it ill-mannered behavior from those who were supposed to be the elite. They were no better than college girls desperate to catch the eye of some boy at a frat party. It didn’t take her long to see, however, that John didn’t have a roaming eye. Actually, he seemed quite oblivious to their stares. Without question, his mind was geared only toward business.

  After ending a conversation with a consultant he’d done business with earlier in the year, John took the opportunity to get Chelsea alone and say, “Chelsea, I’ve noticed you often apologize when you give your opinion. You should stop doing that. There is nothing wrong with having your own viewpoint. Actually, I admire the way you think on many things. Don’t be afraid to say what you think. I’m a big boy; I can handle it.”

  She could hardly argue with him. Most often, she carefully chose her words before speaking and usually regretted what she did say. Wanting to somehow seem more mature or refined, she found that she was portraying herself as someone she wasn’t. Since she disliked that quality in others, she found she despised it even more in herself. Chelsea came to the conclusion that if she was going to make it through the year with John, she was going to have to be herself, even if that meant he might no longer be interested. After all, he’d paid for her tuition already, so if he did renege on their deal, he could hardly take the money back. At the worst, she would find a job to cover her monthly expenses, something she was planning to do prior to meeting him anyway. Determining she was less concerned about the financial aspect of such a thing as their agreement ending, she instead found herself feeling disappointed with even the thought of not seeing John again. Still, she had to be who she was.

  “Okay, I will give you my opinion on this gallery. I think it’s ridiculous that these people meander around, acting as if they like any of this supposed art. In truth they’re doing it just so they will seem intelligent or forward-thinking. To pay this kind of money for any kind of art is wasteful.” The look on his face gave her no clue as to his reaction to her words. Continuing anyway, she said, “There are starving children who could eat for years for the price of one painting. Honestly, this sickens me,” she spat, “knowing the desperation of the rest of the world in light of the money in this one room.”

  His heart sank at her words. For a moment, he tried to recall the last time anyone was so brutally honest with him. Maybe Mark on occasion, but never to this level. Scanning the room, the shallowness of it all was just as evident to him, but that was nothing new. The depth of insincerity among those whom he most often associated with had been a source of disdain for quite some time. Finally, his lips formed into a slow smile as he assured her, “That’s a great start.” Feeling, though, as if he’d been hit below the belt, he asked, “Do you think I attempt to be forward-thinking?”

  Blushing, she said, “No, not you.” While she could see that her words settled heavily upon him, they had not been intended as an indictment against him. “I think you live for the deal. I think your company is your mistress and your only passion. I have heard it in several of your conversations so far tonight.” Mocking him, she said in a deeper tone, “We still on, Barry? Got to strike while the iron is hot.” Certain she’d read him accurately, she added, “You couldn’t care less about art or even what anyone thinks you think about art.”

  John threw his head back and chuckled. He found Chelsea to be the best thing that had happened to him in a very long time. How refreshing to hear such honesty. If there was ever a season in his life when he needed more than yes men, it was now.

  It was the first time she heard him really laugh, and when he did, several people turned around and stared at them. It was then she felt a little jealous of how one woman was gazing directly at him. Much more forward than what was typical for her, Chelsea reached for John’s arm and looped hers through his. Based on the way he smiled down at her when she did so, it was something he seemed entirely open to.

  Delighted by her company, though suddenly not so much with the setting, he asked, “Have you eaten dinner?” It was just after eight, and he’d failed to stop long enough to eat before having to meet her at seven. After all, he had made his appearance and made the rounds. There was no reason to prolong their time there.

  “I had a late lunch, so I skipped dinner.”

  “Want to get out of here?”

  When he offered for her to choose the restaurant, John never expected they would end up in a burger joint. Even more than the burger, she wanted a milkshake. And in keeping his promise to her, he insisted she get the milkshake first, so technically she would have dessert first. Watching her eat, like a ranch hand without question, he was satisfied he could not have picked a better place himself. There she was in her lovely cocktail dress, shoes on the floor, and her bare feet curled beneath her in the booth. She made him smile, inside and out.

  “This burger is the best.” Wiping her mouth, she realized he was watching her rather intently. “What?” Wiping her mouth again, she was sure she must have food all over her face.

  “What happened last summer?”

  His look was one she couldn’t read exactly. Somehow, she felt as if he was trying to look within her again. “What do you mean?”

  “You said up until then you planned on a corporate job. What happened to change that?” With his question, he detected a notable change in her expression, maybe even a trace of sadness. There was a softening that he could not quite identify.

  Pushing her plate away, sliding her shake near, she sipped on the straw for a second. When she finished the last of her shake, she told him, “I went on a mission trip, and it totally changed everything.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Haiti.”

  “Was that your first mission trip?”

  Shaking her head, she tried to get Tuck’s image out of her mind as she said, “No. I’ve been on local trips, to the Appalachians. As much need as there is in the US, outside of our borders is totally unbelievable, like nothing I ever imagined.”

  From there she proceeded to tell him the things she encountered there.
He couldn’t help but notice how near she was to tears on more than one occasion. With that, he hoped he never had reason to see her actually cry. Her eyes were so large and expressive, he imagined such a sight would affect him deeply. Never had he known anyone with a kinder or gentler spirit than Chelsea. There was much more to her than what he first presumed; there was a deep intensity about her that startled him, affecting him at a level he didn’t normally think from.

  When she ran out of stories to tell, they sat in a comfortable silence. Again Tuck’s image floated through Chelsea’s mind. How could she talk about the mission field without him coming to mind, without them coming to mind? It was where they were supposed to be together, missions and the farm. That was the plan anyway.

  Noticing how far removed Chelsea seemed from him, he took that opportunity to study her, to try to understand her better. No matter how many times he thought he had her figured out, another layer was peeled back and he discovered something new about her, something that caused him to admire her even more. Suspecting there was much more yet to be revealed, he determined that spending more time together would accomplish just that, so after finishing his shake, he asked her, “Are you busy this weekend?”

  “No.” Already she hoped he would invite her to dinner. Knowing such hope should frighten her, she ignored the warning in her mind to tread carefully.

  “What time is your first class on Monday?”

  “Monday is light; not until the afternoon.”

  “Great. I have business in Vegas. Want to tag along?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Quickly she rested her hands in her lap. No longer did she fear the implications of traveling with such a handsome man; instead, she felt a rush of excitement that set her hands to trembling. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  When they walked out of the diner, a car was waiting for him there. He’d driven her car from the gallery, so she couldn’t figure out when he called for a car. Everything about him was such a mystery. Their worlds were so vastly different, yet being with him seemed unbelievably normal. The term Irene used, sugar daddy, was exactly precise, at least from anyone else’s perspective, but when she was with him, it never felt that way, not dirty or inappropriate. To her, the night seemed like one of the best dates ever, magical even.