by R. R. Banks
Voicemail. Redial. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail.
Finally, I leave her a message and shove my phone in my pocket. Sitting at my desk, I pull up a search engine on my computer. I can still hear her voice telling me her full name.
Olivia Maureen Alcott.
I type the name into the search bar and scroll through the results. In seconds I know why her name sounded so familiar.
Shit. I should have known.
I drop back in my chair and stare at the screen and the picture of Olivia with her family filling it. My eyes drop to the drawer and I open it, taking out the thick folder sitting on top. I had barely gone through it when it first arrived from my father a few weeks ago. Now there might be a reason.
Olivia
It feels like every tear in my body has been used up by the time the plane lands back in Virginia. The other passengers stare at me as I wrestle my carry-on from the overhead compartment and stomp down the aisle toward the door. I know I must look horrible. My eyes are swollen and all the makeup I put on before leaving the bungalow is now a sticky, mottled mess on my chin and neck. I don't even care.
My father's driver waits for me at the gate and I see his eyes widen slightly when he sees me, but he has the decency not to ask questions. Even if he did, I don't know what I would say to him. I feel like my voice has dried up in my throat. I don't have any words. I stare blankly through the window as we drive from the airport into the city. It's only been three weeks, yet I feel like it's been a lifetime since I've been home. Catalina Island looks and feels so incredibly different from Richmond. I can sense it even without getting out of the car. It's comforting and I want to wrap myself in that warm sense of home and disappear from the rest of the world for a while.
That thought is barely out of my mind when the tears start to form again. They burn my tired, raw eyes and I let my lids close to try to ease the pain. With my eyes closed, however, I can vividly picture Vincent's handsome face. I can't believe this happened to me. Every time he comes into my mind, it is immediately accompanied by the memory of those pictures posted on the wall and the unflinchingly rude descriptions in the letter. It was printed on heavy, thick cream colored cardstock, the elegance of it somehow underscoring the vulgarity of the words it held. New waves of shame wash over me and I don't know how I'm going to move forward.
How could this happen to me? My entire life I have been in control. Even when it seemed I was hovering in the background and letting life happen around me, I knew exactly what I was doing. Every move I made was carefully planned, orchestrated around my image of my ideal future. I devoted years to my relationship with Philip, yet in that time I never felt swept away by him. There was never a moment when my control was threatened, or I was tempted to even approach the edges of the box I lived in, much less set foot out of it. But somehow in less than three weeks, this man came into my life, completely changed it, and then left it shattered in pieces at my feet.
I should have listened to Charlene. Somehow, she knew. She could tell Vincent's apparent affections toward me weren't genuine. She saw through the attention he showered on me to the true motivation. If I had stayed on my guard and protected myself, maybe I would have seen it too and wouldn't be in this situation right now. Looking back, though, I still don't understand. Vincent seemed so sincere and drawn to me. I saw him soften from the harsh, aggressive man who rode his motorcycle across the pool deck, to the more humble, gentle person who cradled me against his chest as he carried me into the bedroom. But I suppose that's exactly what he wanted me to see. All along he knew I was the unwitting butt of a vicious joke, or maybe the focus of a cruel dare among the staff members.
Finding out that Charlene was right about Vincent doesn't take away any of the sting of my confrontation with her. She didn't really know what he was doing. It was all an assumption crafted from her perceptions of me. I still can't imagine her being a part of my life anymore. As far as I'm concerned, I left her behind as much as the island and Vincent. I cringe at the thought that I didn't take down all the pictures. I was so humiliated and hurt that I just wanted to get out of that building as fast as humanly possible. I didn't want to be under the scrutinizing eyes of the other resort guests, who were now witness to my embarrassment, long enough to take them all away. I wonder how long they hung there. Maybe they're still there. Maybe all my friends have seen them already. I can only hope that maybe one of those women would be willing to stand up for me enough to take them down.
This makes me reach into my purse and pull out my phone. I turned off the sound when I was waiting for my last-minute flight and hadn't checked it since. Looking at the screen, I see I've missed more than thirty calls since leaving the resort. Scrolling through the names, I notice that each of my friends have called me several times. I even see Charlene's name pop up a few times on the list. I can't imagine why she's calling me. It could be to gloat and rub it in my face that she was right, and that I got what I deserved for being so easily manipulated. Or she could be calling to pretend we were still friends. Maybe she thought we were. I have never pushed back against her. It was possible she didn't realize just how completely our ties had been severed.
An unfamiliar number stands out to me. I don't recognize it and there is no name to identify it. I notice it appears on the list several times. One right after the other, this number called my phone more than a dozen times in the two hours after I left, and then a few more times later. The voicemail icon on my screen glow, indicating that at least one of those calls resulted in a message. I hesitate to check them just yet. I decide to ignore them and drop the phone back into my bag. When I finally get home, I climb the steps to my room and shut the door behind me without going in to see my parents. They would figure out I was home soon enough. I don’t want to answer questions right now. I don’t want to talk about the trip or what I was going through.
Alone in the quiet of my room, I crawl into my bed and pull the comforter up around my head, wishing I could disappear into the darkness.
Night has fallen by the time I open my eyes again. I lay still for several minutes, willing myself to fall back asleep. If I can just sleep it all away, maybe the pain will stop. When my eyes won't close again, I climb out of bed and reach for my phone again. More missed calls have registered, and an alert tells me that my voicemail mailbox is full. I never save messages once I've listened to them, which means all the messages in the mailbox were left today. Drawing in a long breath, I walk out onto the balcony and start listening through the messages.
First Tia: "Where are you, Olivia? They say you left. What's going on?"
Then Sandra: "Olivia? It's Sandra. Are you OK? Call me back."
Then Alma: "What's going on, Olivia? Nobody can find you. All your stuff is gone. Did you just leave without saying anything? Call me."
Then Urma: "Did you seriously leave? You didn't just leave, did you? You got your own bungalow? Where are you?"
Then Melanie: "Why aren't you answering your phone, Olivia? Everyone is trying to figure out what's going on. What happened last night?"
I cringe when I hear Charlene: "Hi, Olivia. It's just so sad you decided to leave before the end of our getaway. I guess you just have enough of vacation. You sure are missing a lot of fun. Vincent came by. I guess we'll see you when we get back home."
The cycle starts again.
Tia: "We're worried, Oliva."
Sandra: "Please answer the phone."
Alma: "I've called you six times. Why aren't you answering?"
Urma: "Call one of us back. Any of us. Just let someone know what's going on."
Melanie: "Vincent says he doesn't know where you are or why you left. He seems upset. Did something happen?"
Charlene: "Really, Olivia. Are you finished with your temper-tantrum yet? Everybody has been worked up enough. You've ruined our last day. Just get over it and call."
The next message comes from the unknown number. My breath catches in my throat when I hear the voice come over the line.
"Olivia, it's Vincent. What happened? Why did you leave without saying anything? This is my number at the resort. Call me."
I'm shaking so hard I can't understand the next message. I don't even know who left it.
"Olivia?"
My mother's voice makes me turn away from the inky night beyond the balcony and I see her step cautiously into my room. I walk inside to meet her.
"Hi, Mama," I say. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know I was home."
"I knew," she says.
"You did?"
She nods.
"The girls called. They said you left suddenly this morning and didn't say anything to any of them. They were calling you and leaving you messages all day. You never called any of them back."
"I know. I really didn't want to talk to any of them."
She nods. I see myself in the restraint she’s demonstrating. This is how I learned not to pry, not to push. She'll wait until I tell her what's going on or that I don't want to talk.
"I told them you made it home safely."
"Thank you."
She nods again, and silence falls over us for a few more seconds.
"Are you hungry?
I'm not, but I don't want to tell her that. She's trying to comfort me. It's the ultimate Southern mother approach. When someone is upset, feed them.
"Sure," I say.
Another nod and she leaves. I cross my bedroom into the bathroom. The shower that morning seems impossibly far in my past. I feel grimy from the flight, long drive, and nap. The dried tears have made my face feel tight and I just want to wash it all away. I can't imagine why Vincent called and left that message. Maybe he just wanted to cover himself and pretend he didn't do anything wrong, so I won't report him. It was a waste of a call. I have no interest in making this situation last any longer. I want to pretend it never happened and put it behind me. When I get out of the shower I will delete the rest of the messages. I have no need to listen to them. They know I'm home. The less they know after that, the better. It's time to move on.
Chapter Thirteen
Vincent
It's been three days since Olivia left, and there is a sense of relief now that the other women, particularly Charlene, are no longer at the resort. But I can't stop thinking about her. I've called her over and over. Her voice mailbox finally opened again, and I left messages until it was full again. She hasn't called me back even once. This is so much more than the seduction I originally intended. When I first saw her, I was drawn to her innocence. I wanted her, but I never thought it would end up this way. Now I can't get her out of my mind and the place that used to be my escape from the rest of the world has become a source of torment. Everywhere I look is a reminder of her. I see the places we visited and the activities we did together. It cuts into me each time I see a couple walking along the beach or hear the soft laughter of lovers disappearing into their bungalows at night.
I'm trying to convince myself to move on. I need to get over her, especially now that I know who she is. The day she left, and I looked her up, I realized why her name sounded so familiar. It was because I'd heard my father mention it before. Olivia was the daughter of Beau Alcott, the patriarch of one of the wealthiest, most powerful families in Virginia. My father had reached out to him before, hoping for some mutually beneficial networking, but it never worked out. Knowing who she was made my confusion over my feelings about Olivia even more difficult. I had gotten the sense from her that she was highly cultured and came from money. Just the fact that she was traveling with Charlene was enough of a confirmation of that. The money in Charlene's family is old, making it far less likely that she has any reason to socialize extensively beyond the other wealthy families.
Olivia doesn't come across as entitled, but that doesn't change who she is. I know very well she is a member of the social circles I never wanted to be a part of. Society is everything in her world, and even considering the possibility of a future with her would mean returning to that type of life. It would mean being in the public eye and no longer experiencing the anonymity I've so enjoyed. Yet, that pales in comparison to the thought of not having her.
Pulling the folder out of my desk drawer again, I call my father.
"Hello, Father," I say.
"Vincent. I trust you are well."
He still hasn't forgiven me for not being sufficiently hospitable to Charlene. I think he'll get over that as soon as he hears why I called him.
"Are you still considering the Richmond expansion you were talking about a few months ago?" I ask.
There is an awkward silence.
"I am," he says. "Can I assume by your call that you are reconsidering your involvement with the project?"
There's no excitement in his voice, but his choice of words is meaningful all the same. Throughout my life, I've learned to not take what he says by the value of the words alone, but to interpret them. I have to hear not only what he's saying, but what he's not saying.
"I've been reviewing the file," I tell him. "Some of what you are planning has struck my interest. I think I may be able to offer some benefit after all."
"That's good to hear," he says.
"I want it understood from the beginning, however, that my involvement is strictly on a trial basis until I tell you otherwise. I am still not to be advertised as being a part of it other than as your son. There is to be no mention of any of my properties until I decide to officially align myself with this particular expansion. Is that understood?"
"We've been over all this already," he says. "It'll all be clearly laid out in the contract."
"Then we can begin planning the first steps. I intended to visit several other properties as well as two locations I am considering for new locations. I can rearrange my schedule some, but I can't get there immediately."
"When will you be able to come?"
"It'll probably be about three weeks," I admit.
"That'll give me time to put some things in place. I think this is going to be extremely beneficial for both of us."
My skin crawls at the idea of attaching myself to my father's business in any way, but part of me feels like this was put in my path for a reason – Olivia.
Being away from Olivia for three weeks without knowing what happened between us has been torture. I try to focus on checking over my properties and making sure that my various construction projects are moving forward properly. There are a few times when I even try to focus in on the guests and pick out a woman I might want to spend the night with. There are several I know I would have gone after without hesitation before, but I barely notice them now. None of them compare to Olivia in the slightest. She is all I can think about and the days until I have the opportunity to see her again stretch seemingly forever.
Finally, I arrive in Richmond. After two mind-numbing days, I walk out of the conference center into the sunlight for the first time since getting here. I'm exhausted and want to go back to the hotel, but first I need to eat. The rest of the stuffed suits I've been sitting around conference tables with for the last two days are going out for dinner together, but I bowed out early. I can't stand the thought of just lifting the meeting and transferring it into a restaurant where we'll sit around another table and keep rehashing the same issues over and over. It feels like we haven't come to any real conclusions or made any actual progress, and I begin to wonder if there's any hope for this project at all. It makes me even more glad I haven't formally associated myself with it yet.
It isn't that I don't believe in my father's ambitions. If anything, I know he will stop at nothing to accomplish what he sets out to do. It's what got him to where he is in the first place.
Tomorrow is Sunday and although we have meetings today, my father at least has the forethought to know he's not getting full boardrooms on a Sunday. That means a day to myself, which I intend to use to see Olivia. I did some digging and pulled a few strings to find out as much about her as I could. The meticulous notes in my phone now hold her home address as
well as the locations of several of her father's offices and factories. She still won't answer her phone, which means that all I can do is simply look for her. I’ve made up my mind that I will visit every one of those addresses to find her if I have to.
One of the staff of the convention center clued me into a new restaurant only a few blocks away, so I decide to walk over to it. The fresh air will do me good after sitting in meetings all day. I turn the corner and have taken only a few steps when I stop in my tracks. I can't move any further. My eyes are locked ahead of me to where I see a bouncy brunette ponytail, only a few yards away. She laughs, and the sound punches me in the chest. Almost as though she can sense I am standing here, Olivia turns and looks over her shoulder directly at me. Even though I've been planning on seeing her tomorrow, looking at her now is a shock and I freeze in place.
A moment passes, and I begin to feel in control of my body again, and I walk towards her. She glances up at the tall blond man standing beside her. Muttering something, she runs her hand down his arm and gives him a reassuring nod before taking a few steps toward me. I want to see her smile. I want to see that she's happy to see me. Instead, her eyes seem to darken, and her jaw hardens as she approaches.
"What are you doing here, Vincent?" she asks.
The aggression in her voice startles me. Before I can say anything, the blond giant walks up behind her and wraps a possessive arm around her waist. She barely acknowledges he's standing there.
"Is this guy bothering you?" he asks.
"I don't believe either of us invited you into this conversation," I say, staring directly into his face. "I suggest you go back where you came from."
Being back in Virginia and finding myself in a tense confrontation pulls a hint of my accent out of me. I see Olivia's head tilt slightly as if she is confused by what she heard.
"Who do you think you are to tell me what I should do?" he asks, his voice getting louder and angrier than before.
