by M E Whiter
Grabbing a bottle of Cachaca 51, from the fridge behind the bar, I pour myself a finger into a crystal glass, adding a dash of lime. With my drink in hand, I wander over to the living area and slump down on the sofa. Taking a long sip, I sit back and savour the alcohol rush, as the sweet fruity liquid, slides down my throat.
I don't remember my dreams ever being this bad before. I can only guess, it's a result of this tragic situation with the injured woman, and last night's call from Peter, giving me an update on her condition. Thank God, her condition has greatly improved, now the swelling on her brain has reduced. She has even started to wake up, now they have brought her out of the induced coma. So far, the indications show, she is going to make a full recovery. The other good news is, she has managed to give a few personal details: her name is Rachel Day and she is here on holiday from Australia. I wonder if she is travelling on her own?
She hasn't mentioned anything about the accident, as yet. I wouldn't be too willing to talk about it either. Stepping out in front of the traffic, against a red light. What was she thinking? Not that it in any way exonerates me, from being the one responsible for knocking her down. A thought that fills me with rancour and self-loathing. It seems, destiny is determined that I suffer for my mistakes. My life keeps repeating on a vicious cycle of destruction, from which there seems no escape. The only shred of comfort, is in knowing, no one lost their life this time.
For that, I need to see Miss Day for myself, to see how she’s recovering, and offer her some form of compensation, for what she’s been been put through. Peter said that she is able to receive visitors now, so I have arranged to pay her a visit tomorrow, after I deal with Damon that is. He still hasn't explained to me, what the emergency meeting with the building contractors was about, from the other morning.
Chapter Five
SUNDAY, 10th August
Sebastian
I CANNOT REMEMBER the last time I slept in this late. I guess, I needed the rest more than I realised. Rising from my bed, I saunter into the bathroom and take a shower. The hot steam feels good on my aching muscles, after thrashing around all night in bed. I'll need to loosen up, if I stand any chance of beating Damon, on the court this morning.
After drying off, I stand at the vanity and quickly shave. Unbidden, the image of Miss Day's crumpled body laying on the dirty bitumen, pushes into my consciousness. My resolve to visit her in the hospital this afternoon, wavers precariously on a thin edge, knowing how much I detest those places. They only signal death and pain and misery.
Stepping into my walk-in wardrobe, I change into a polo shirt and a pair of shorts. Then grab my squash bag off the shelf, along with a fresh changes of clothes. Heading down to the kitchen, I pass a vase of flowers on the sideboard in the hallway. My housekeeper brings them from her garden. It reminds me, that I should buy some flowers to give Miss Day.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up in the parking lot at the sports club. I've been a life member here for almost ten years, since I earned my first million dollar profit, from a lucrative real estate investment. Damon is already warming up on the squash court, when I show up.
"Hey bro, how’s it going. Are you ready for another beating?"
One of these days, I'm going to knock that cockiness right off his smug shoulders. "You cannot hope to continue your lucky streak forever." I shout at him through the glass wall.
"Well, you shouldn't have paid for me to take lessons back in unit, just so you had someone to compete against. Then maybe, I wouldn't have become so good at beating your sorry arse?"
"Yeah, well. I didn't expect you to take the lessons so seriously."
"Ha. Fooled you. Now, can we get on with the game. I got an ego to stroke."
I grab my racquet out of the bag, and step through the glass door, to join Damon on the court. We spend the next few minutes doing warm up shots.
“When are you going to tell me, what has been going on with you, lately?" I ask him, slamming a ground shot that whizzes past his legs and hits the back wall. "Why did you need me to meet with the building contractors, you are the fucking project manager?"
He doesn't return my shot, letting the ball bounce to a stop on the ground, when he turns to face me. “Hey, there’s nothing going on with me. And you don't have to worry about the building contractors. Turns out, the situation at the construction site, was a false alarm.”
“What do you mean?” I grumble, waving my racquet in the air, not entirely happy with his flippant reply.
“Seems some fuckwit tipped the building inspectors off, that we were using faulty equipment. Fortunately, they stopped by the construction site to check it out, before the meeting, and found the allegation was bogus. So, the problems resolved itself in the end."
"I'm glad. But that doesn't answer the question of why you felt the need to involve me?"
"Listen, you really want to do this now, or can we get back to playing this game?" He turns his back to me, walking over to pick up the ball. We spin the racquet to decide who serves first, Damon wins, moving to the left-hand serve box, while I move into position on the T-zone. We play the best of five, Damon winning the first game, followed by me winning the next two. Damon wins the next, making it two games for two.
It's his serve. With his back to me, he holds the ball in the air, racquet poised at knee-level, ready to hit the shot. "Winner buys breakfast, deal?"
"Yeah, sure. If you can afford it." On the last syllable, he serves, swinging his racquet in an upswing move, slamming the ball into the front wall. It rebounds, off the side wall but spins to his left. too late, I realise the deception. Scrambling on the back foot, I twist, diving across the court, but there’s no way, I can reach the ball, in time to return the shot. The ball rebounds off the back wall, hitting the floor and then rolls away. Match set. Damon wins. I'm buying breakfast.
After showering and changing into fresh clothes, we head into the quiet dimly-lit bistro. Standing at the counter, we order our breakfast, Damon going for the full breakfast, while I choose the frittata with mushrooms and green onions. After I pay for breakfast, we head over and sit in one of the booths, near the large glass windows, overlooking the outdoor pool and courtyard.
We sit in silence, while we wait for our food arrive. A moment later, a waitress brings us over, our glasses of freshly-squeezed orange juice. I lean back, with my arm resting on the table. My thoughts linger, as I lazily finger tracks through the condensation coating my glass, in contemplation of the day ahead.
"I hear you’ve got enough problems of your own, to deal with Sebastian?"
Whipping my head up, I throw him a warning glance. "Yeah?"
"Have you been to see the woman yet?" Damon asks, picking up his glass, and downing half of the contents.
“No. I'm seeing her this afternoon," I reply, leaning back as the waitress arrives with our food.
"So. What are you going to do about her? he asks, digging into his plate. He always was a quick eater. Chewing on a mouthful, he asks, "What happens if she decides to sue you?"
I shake my head at him. "I hope it won't come to that. I've decided to pay for the hospital and medical charges," I pause for a second, gulping down the rest of my juice, before adding, "it's the least I can do."
Damon sniggers under his breath. “Just to change the subject, the club I told you about, in the downtown district, that's closing down? Well, the owner called me a couple of days ago. He's keen to sell us his full clientele list, but we'll have to act soon."
“For fucks sake Damon. I have already told you, more than once," I snarl at him, lowering my voice, so as not to draw attention to, the subject of our conversation. "I'm not interested in owning another sex club. That part of my life is over and done with. So, why are you still determined, to get me, to change my mind?”
Pushing aside his empty plate, he leans back, “I just thought it was too good an opportunity to pass over," he says with impunity, stretching his arm out along the backrest of the booth. "With one less compe
titor, and complete access to their client list, the club would be running in profit, almost from the start.”
“Yeah, but how much is it going to cost us, for the privilege?” Why am I enabling him? I have no intention of considering his suggestion.
“I've brought along a written copy, of what he's offering," he says, reaching into his sports bag, on the seat beside him. He pulls our a manilla folder and places it on the table, in front of me. "At least, take a look over it, before dismissing it completely, out of hand. Okay?” Damon stands up, wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin, looking down at me. “Come on Sebastian, do it as a favour to me?”
“Shit Damon. You are like a dog with a bone. If it will get you off my back, I will take a look at it, but I'm giving you fair warning: this does not mean I have changed my mind,” I tell him sternly, shaking my head.
“Yeah, yeah. At least. try to keep an open mind.” Damon shrugs, as he leans over and grabs his sports bag, making ready to leave.
“Damon! Don't push me too far." I glare up at him, my eyebrows crunching together. "By the way, I'm still waiting on the latest construction estimates, you promised to have on my desk last Friday.
“Yeah fine. You'll have them on Monday,” he says, throwing his bag over his shoulder and stalking off, without another word. I watch him leave, shaking my head at him.
The first time I met Damon, years after he'd moved back to Montreal, he was back in town, looking at buying a rundown sex club. At the time, I was busy building up a lucrative property development company, and was doing well for myself. When Damon realised he couldn’t raise enough capital, to buy the club and cover the running costs, he asked me, if I’d be interested in investing in the business, by providing 65% of the startup capital.
I agreed, on the condition that, as a major stockholder, I remain a silent partner, while he managed the running of the club's daily operations. We both had prior experience in the club scene, as clients, from our early days at university, so it seemed like a no-brainer. I was younger and more impulsive back then.
The club ended up being a great success, business was better than either of us had anticipated. But that all changed, when I met Crystal. She was beautiful and vivacious and had an innocence about her I found refreshing and appealing. She inspired me to give up my philandering lifestyle, wanting to become a better man, to prove I was worthy of her.
For that reason, I decided to sell the sex club, not wanting anything to jeopardise my future with her. I didn't think she would approve, if she found out, I owned such a place. The problem was, Damon didn't have the financial means to buy me out. When his attempts to get me to change my mind about selling, failed, we ended up in a major disagreement, that not only ended our business partnership, but our friendship as well.
So, how am I going to fight my way out of this one, without losing his friendship again?
THE SUNDAY AFTERNOON traffic through the city is relatively light, as I drive myself to the hospital. When I arrive at reception, in the intensive care unit, a nurse informs me that Miss Day has been transferred, to a private room. Following her directions, I head two floors up, to the general ward. An attractive nurse with blonde hair greets me as I step out of the lift. When I tell her who I am, the warm smile spreading across her lips, takes me by surprise.
“Good afternoon, Mr Knight. Dr Logan left a message, saying that you will be visiting today. If you follow me, I will show you to Miss Day’s room.”
Following her down the corridor, she stops outside a room at the far end. She turns to face me. “This is her room,” she informs me, waving her hand at the door. “If you need anything, just press the call button on the wall above her bed. She’s still drowsy from the effects of the sedatives in her system, so don’t be alarmed if she falls asleep at all.”
“Thank you.” I reply, apprehension steeling my resolve, as I brace myself, for what I will face, on the other side of this door. She gives me an encouraging nod, and then walks off, leaving me to enter on my own.
When I enter the room, the first thing I notice is the sleeping form of Miss Day, lying in the bed, across the room. The blinds on the windows are partially drawn, casting a pale dim glow about the room. For a brief moment, I hesitate to move from the doorway. She looks so frail and vulnerable, wearing only a pale blue hospital gown. There are bandages covering most of the parts of her that I can see, above the white cotton blanket. Her right knee is encased in a plastic cast, and is propped up by pillows.
A wave of nausea kicks me in the gut. Hell, I caused this?
I walk over and stand at the end of her bed. I feel like an intruder, watching a woman I don’t know, sleep unaware of my presence. When I move closer, to look at her face, framed by a mass of coppery-gold hair, I nearly have a cardiac arrest. “What the fuck?” I gasp under my breath, my heart racing as continue to stare at her face. It’s her! The woman from the art gallery, who fell into my lap. And the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about, ever since.
I cannot believe it possible, this is the same woman. She looks so different, from the woman I saw just a few days ago. I still remember the feel, of her warm shapely body in my arms. Her beautiful face and the enticing glimpse of her ample cleavage. The moment may have been brief, but there was definitely something special about her, that catch my attention.
I couldn’t believe my body reacted to her, like some horny teenager, with his first hard-on. It’s difficult to describe, what sparked such instant attraction, but I do know, it's been a very long time, since I had a reaction like that, to any woman.
I’m glad she is asleep, because I cannot stop looking at her. She reminds me of a sleeping princess, with her beautiful pale face glowing, in the soft afternoon light. I have to fight the urge, not to bend over and kiss her pink lips, slightly parted and tempting, just to see if she would wake up. Instead, I content myself, with reaching down and brushing a stray curl away from her mouth. As I do, I catch sight of the faint spattering of freckles, dotting her slender nose, that I hadn't noticed previously.
Her eyes are closed at the moment, but I remember them being a pale bluish green. Their colour, evokes a sense of familiarity, that tugs at my memory. When recognition hits, it fills me with guilt. How can I have forgotten? Crystal, my dead wife, had the same eye colour.
The sound of soft moaning, cuts through my introspection. My eyes fixate on the vision of Miss Day, as she wakes up. Her body fidgets beneath the white cotton cover. And then her eyes flutter open, then shut, before finally opening again. My pulse quickens when she looks directly up at me through her long fair eyelashes, and for a heart-stopping moment, those beautiful eyes hold mine captive.
Chapter Six
SUNDAY, 10th August
Rachel
I WAKE UP feeling disorientated. I’m not sure what’s happened to me, but my head feels fuzzy and my body is aching all over. I don’t recognise where I am at first, but that doesn’t bother me, as much, as finding a tall man standing next to my bed, holding a large bouquet of flowers. My eyes grow wider, thinking he must be in the wrong room. A niggling thought, pops into my head. I wonder if he knows me? No, he doesn’t look familiar!
I’m sure, I would definitely remember him. He’s dreamy. He has those brooding good looks that scream dark and mysterious. And his perfectly sculptured face, has a deep golden complexion; one I’d like to lick all over, to see if he tastes as good as he looks. But, what captures my attention even more, is his eyes. He has the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. And the way his penetrating gazing is looking right through me, has my heart palpitating. But, I can’t tear my eyes away.
“Hello Miss Day. I’m glad you are awake. These are for you by the way,” he says, with a slight sexy grin. I forget to breathe, watching him place the bouquet of pink roses on the cabinet, next to my bed. “How are you feeling today?”
Should I know him? His eyes . . . they look somewhat familiar, but I can’t remember why.
I blink my eyes, recovering my
equilibrium. When I try to speak, my throat feels like a dried up prune. I glance up, giving him a sheepish look. “I’m alive, I guess.” I manage to say, my voice croaking slightly.
