Fugly

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Anyway, after three days in the hospital, I was stable, with a few weeks of healing ahead for my cuts and face, and months for my arm. Regardless, I’d be going back to California just as soon as I saw Dr. Bloomfield in a few weeks for my checkup.

  My father wheeled me out of the hospital with my mother at my side, and we were again mobbed by the press. Standing off in the distance behind them, I spotted Maxwell Cole, his dark sunglasses covering his eyes as he leaned against his Porsche. Just seeing him sent me into a tailspin of emotions and made my heart feel like it had been filled with cement.

  I pretended not to see him.

  That night, my parents flew out—my dad needed to get back to work and I begged my mother to go with him. I needed time alone, and Danny had graciously agreed to take me to my follow-up appointments, help me pack, and then get me onto a plane in a few weeks. Everything would soon be behind me. If I could just let go…

  But that same night, I found myself on Danny’s laptop, mine having been totaled in the crash, surfing the news sites for…well, I didn’t know. I just wanted answers, I guess. But I wasn’t ready for what I found. Pages and pages about the crash. But the bigger story was what Maxwell Cole had done immediately following. I couldn’t stop crying.

  What did I do? What did I do?

  The answer: I had just fucked my life. And his.

  I was possibly the ugliest person on the planet. And I’d hurt him. I’d put him in the worst position ever.

  I’d destroyed his life. The man l loved.

  Two Weeks Later

  “Are you going to be okay?” Danny asked from her idling black Jetta standing at the curb just outside the C.C. headquarters.

  With my two black eyes, very bruised face, and large bandages covering my nose, forehead, and chin, I tried not to smile. It still hurt way too much, but Drs. Bloomfield and Meyers had both said I was good to go and could do any follow-up with my family doctor back in California.

  “Yeah, I’ll just be a few minutes,” I said. She’d be taking me to O’Hare right after and then going back to our apartment to pack up her own stuff. She was going to move in with her boyfriend—finally!—and give their relationship a serious go. I planned to send her a case of vitamin water as soon as I got to California. With the way those two went at it, I was sure I’d be sending diapers and formula soon, too. Honestly, though, I couldn’t be happier for her.

  I got out of the car and entered the lobby, passing men hauling boxes and furniture on dollies.

  There was no security at the desk, but why would there be? C.C. no longer existed.

  I rode to the top floor, exiting into an office space stripped of any personal items. All evidence of the life that once breathed here was gone, and I wondered what would happen to Keri and all of the others who once worked here. With luck, they’d all find other positions, but there was no doubt this had become a major speed bump in their lives.

  The guilt I felt for the part I’d played was overwhelming.

  I walked into Mr. Cole’s office and found him staring out the window at the Chicago skyline. He wore his usual black suit, but his silhouette lacked that rigid posture I’d become so accustomed to. I wouldn’t call him relaxed or sad, but simply…different.

  “Hi,” I said, trying not to startle him. He was expecting me after my text this morning—our first communication since the world turned upside down—but he looked deep in thought.

  Hands shoved into his pockets, he slowly turned and looked at my face. I pretended not to feel anything from the gesture, but I couldn’t suppress the hope he might forgive me and still want me. Despite everything. Despite my having made an epic cluster fuck out of his life.

  “So,” I said, unsure where to start.

  “How are you healing?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Okay, I guess. They had to put pins in my arms, so that will take longer, but you already know that.” He’d hired Dr. Meyer to ensure I was put back together nicely.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  There was a long, long awkward moment of silence. “I don’t know what to say. Somehow, I’m sorry doesn’t seem to cut it.” He’d lost everything because of me.

  “I’m not sure you’re entirely to blame. Nancy Little and my mother had a hand in all this, too.”

  I knew that was true, but he hadn’t been counting on them to trust him. Still, I had to ask, “So at what point did your mother decide to throw me under the bus?” She’d had us followed by a photographer and then leaked the images to the press.

  How’d I know?

  Because I’d watched the press conference he’d held to clear the air. For me. And I believed him. Every damned word.

  He replied, “I’m guessing my mother decided after you and I went to Milan. That little tabloid episode probably gave her the idea.”

  “I’m so sorry I blamed you,” I said. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “Yes, you should’ve, and why didn’t you trust me?” I could see the hurt in his eyes.

  The truth wasn’t an easy thing to say, but I felt he deserved it.

  I cleared my throat, trying to push out the words. “Because I honestly didn’t believe someone like you could really ever love someone like me. It’s just like you’d said; I didn’t feel I deserved it. I wasn’t good enough. Not for you or anything.” But that didn’t mean I didn’t want him or the life I’d dreamed of.

  “You should’ve trusted me,” he fumed.

  Every single woman who’d been part of that book had come forward, saying they’d been paid off by B&H, arranged through Nancy Little, to severely exaggerate their stories. At what point she’d decided to approach C.C.’s competitor, no one knew, but all that would come out in litigation. Likely. But she had to have lost her marbles to go after him with such a vengeance, and what better way to do it than blow up C.C.’s reputation and devalue his company completely. B&H could then make a play to buy up all of their assets, including their factory and patents, for pennies on the dollar. It was such a deal, baby.

  Only Max had a plan to blow it all up and get the truth out there. He’d been armed and ready, already knowing everything B&H and Nancy Little were up to. His mother, however, seemed like a curveball. Still, he’d had it all handled. And then I ruined everything by telling Nancy how he’d lied and only pretended to care about me. I hadn’t accepted the money from her, so that created enough public doubt. Me against two women who’d put their stories into a book, only to suspiciously recant in the eleventh hour. It made it look like they’d been threatened by Maxwell Cole to recant, and I was the only one telling the truth. But I hadn’t. I had assumed the worst, erroneously.

  Max had no choice but to come out with his very, very private truth, because once the ball started rolling, he couldn’t fix the damage I’d created. He could only hope to lessen it.

  “So why did you sell C.C.?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “It was the only rational choice.”

  “I read the articles and blog posts and…there was no reason to fold, Max.”

  He’d come out to the public right after my accident, and he’d told the truth. About me, about his phobia, and about everything. He held nothing back, including pointing out the fact that I was right to have believed he’d betrayed me. He literally cried on TV, not a sob or a bawl, but a very touching manly sort of teary-eyed speech apologizing to me, to his customers for hiding his painful truth, and to his employees for letting them down. I’d never seen anything so heart wrenching and inspiring than this man standing in front of the world, telling women not to listen to anyone who tells them they’re not good enough because they weren’t born airbrushed. He closed with saying that he truly loved me and that the press’s behavior was a new low for humanity. “A woman is worth so much more than her looks, and Lily Snow is proof of that. She put her pride aside to help me because she cared. And I find that truly beautiful.”

  I had cried my eyes out watching that video on the Internet, but
knowing he announced the sale of his company to some Canadian corporation with an office across town, that he would be giving it all up, broke what was left of my heart.

  “I had one very good reason to sell C.C., Lily. You were right; my mother is toxic, and her willingness to hurt you was proof there could be no good in maintaining any connection with her.”

  “I thought going public would solve that,” I said.

  “I was fooling myself. She’d still be a major shareholder. She’d still be in my life. I want nothing to do with her. She’s done enough damage to you, me, my family—especially my sister, who I am now searching for.”

  So…was he saying he would’ve sold either way? I suppose I should’ve felt some sort of relief from knowing that, but I didn’t. At the end of the day, I hadn’t put my trust in him when I should’ve. I made a huge mess. The only silver lining out of the whole thing was that he might get his sister back.

  He continued, “I never should’ve traded ambition for what was right: being there for my sister and getting the hell away from my mother.”

  God, I couldn’t argue with that. If not for his sister’s sake, then for his own. He probably would never be quite right, but he’d get better if he put some distance between himself and the problem.

  “Did she really make you have plastic surgery when you were thirteen?” I asked. In his press conference, he didn’t give much detail other than to say his “obstacles stemmed from some extreme circumstances growing up.” Of course, I knew his mother had the same phobia as he did, and I also knew from Dr. Bloomfield how long ago he’d done Max’s nose—that perfect, straight beautiful nose. It had been twenty years ago and that would’ve put Max at thirteen. His sister had gotten hers done, too, at fourteen.

  “Her quest for perfection was a very big part of my childhood, but I’ve moved past it now. And I want to keep it that way.” Meaning, he didn’t want to talk about it.

  “I’m sorry, Max. I’m really, really sorry.” I’d already retracted everything publically, but it didn’t matter. The press seemed more focused on the B&H part of the story now. The executives were probably going to be indicted for fraud. “I can’t say it enough.”

  “None of it matters now,” he said. “C.C. is sold—all essential personnel are being moved over to their new home and the others are enjoying generous severance packages—I can let my mother fight in the courts with B&H, and you’re alive. It’s over. And I’m out.”

  “What will you do?” Not that he was broke. The press said he’d gotten a tidy sum for the company, shared with his mother of course, but now I knew the truth: This was never about the money for him. He was a man who loved living and wasn’t afraid of challenges. He loved to push people to their fullest potential and believed in being genuine. What you saw was what you got. No bullshit. Just…beautiful. Inside and out.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he said.

  “Max, I know you have no reason to forgive me or want to let me back in your life—not after you trusted me so implicitly—but you have to recognize that I was right about one thing: I am absolutely not and never will be good enough for you. You are completely amazing and strong and such an ass and you should’ve told me what you were doing or called me when the shit hit the fan, but nevertheless, I’m sure you had your reasons, which now, knowing you as I do, had to have been because you didn’t want to drag me into all this and you were trying to insulate me because that’s just the sort of guy you are.” I drew a sharp breath, pausing my rushed words. “But I am begging you to give me another chance. I’ll do whatever you want, go anywhere you want, say anything you need to hear, but please, please forgive me, Max. I honestly love you. And I have since the moment you looked at me. Really looked at me.”

  I waited for his reply, but all I got was a view of that pulsing jaw, that large hand running through his messy hair, and the other hand parked on his waist.

  God, how could I have let that fucking ugly voice inside my head tell me so many lies about him? How had I allowed myself to ignore my heart?

  “Thanks for coming by,” he finally said, giving nothing away and glancing at his watch, “but I’ve got to meet with my lawyers to settle a few remaining loose ends.”

  Body language says a lot, more than words ever could, and his said he didn’t want anything to do with me. Full circle.

  We ended exactly where we started: Maxwell Cole was repulsed by me. Only this time, it wasn’t because of my face and I couldn’t argue.

  I held back my tears—not for my pride, but for him. He didn’t deserve to feel bad for rejecting me. He really didn’t.

  “Goodbye, Max. And thank you for everything.” Thank you for being the only person to ever really take the time to see me.

  My name is Maxwell Cole. I am now thirty-four years old. I am six foot three, and I was once the man millions of women longingly stroked themselves to each night, wishing for a taste. I am also fucking ugly.

  Yes, they say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but so is ugly. And if anyone’s picture were to be posted in the dictionary, surely my photo would deserve the spot beside the word.

  No, I am not lacking when it comes to looks—a face that can stop any woman’s heart with a subtle twitch of my lips, and a body I’ve dedicated the last twenty years, several hours each day, to sculpting and perfecting, right down to the diagonal ridges that run below my six-pack and end right at my large dick.

  My bank account is nothing to sneeze at either. I am, by most people’s definitions, fucking handsome as hell and a great catch.

  Yet, there is a part of me, buried deep inside, that thinks so many ugly thoughts that sometimes I wonder if I’m human. How can anyone with a heart or a soul think such despicable things about women?

  Because I do.

  Those who fail to meet my standards of beauty have revolted me as long as I can remember.

  My mother beat those thoughts into me. She nearly drove my sister mad, too.

  But knowing those toxic thoughts weren’t my own, yet feeling them anyway, triggered a lifelong obsession. Ironically, I also found inspiration in these women who cause such deep emotional conflict inside me.

  Short, tall, small tits, big asses—didn’t matter. I found a certain fascination in these people who, despite their superficial imperfections, clearly loved themselves. I can learn from them, I’d thought. And I can be that voice that tells them not to listen to the Mrs. Coles of the world.

  That was why I founded C.C.—to prove to myself that I did not have to be a product of my mother’s illness. There was a sweet, twisted, vengeful beauty making billions by preaching to the masses how wrong her ideals were.

  But everything I had was built on lies. My lies. Because I shared her same sickness.

  Then I met Lily.

  It’s difficult for a man, especially one like me, to articulate how someone like her affects you. But the moment she refused to accept my disgusting, afflicted ways, the belief inside her that a person was more than what my eyes saw, I knew; I’d never seen a more beautiful woman. And that moment in Milan when I couldn’t stop smiling? That was when I saw her beginning to realize it also. If there was hope for her, there was hope for me.

  Unfortunately, too many assholes like me had gotten to her. She wasn’t a lost cause, but it would take some work to get her to see herself through my eyes.

  Only I’d failed. I’d failed to get through to her.

  She said that she didn’t deserve me, but it’s only because she had no clue what I’d been before I’d met her. And now, I needed to tell her everything, including how I had never planned to keep her as my employee. I’d planned to have her work by my side. Forever. Only, I hadn’t had the balls to come clean before it all went to shit.

  A fucking coward.

  Yet, here I was, standing outside her little store with daisies painted on the window that she’d created with her own two hands. Those soft, loving, sensual hands.

  I stepped inside her small clothing bout
ique, just a block from the main street in downtown Santa Barbara. I knew she had no employees—yet—worked twelve hours a day, if not more, and had paid off her loans from the settlement with those fucking news vultures who’d stalked her. She would never have full strength in her left arm again, the scar on her forehead would never fade, and despite the surgeries, her nose would always lean slightly to the right, according to Dr. Bloomfield.

  But I knew I would love every imperfection more than ever, because despite six months of separation, I couldn’t move on. And I had finally forgiven myself just like I’d forgiven her. Like me, she’d been blinded by that ugly voice in her head. But she’d also given me back my life. Lily was everything to me.

  “Hello, Lily.”

  She turned, and her beautiful brown eyes went from a warm friendly glow to trepidation.

  “Max? What are you doing here?”

  Looking at her face, now healed, took me by surprise. It still looked like her, but the bulbous nose was replaced with a thinner more delicate shape. That large square chin had been sculpted down into a rounded point. And those eyes that once had lids sagging over the sides were wide open and round. The scar on her forehead left a little mark that ran into her hairline, but other than that, I couldn’t see much evidence of the meat grinder her face had gone through during the accident.

  However, as I stood there staring at her, the beauty of her new face was completely lost on me. All I could see when I gazed into her eyes was us.

  “I heard you’re hiring a part-time assistant.” I pointed to the sign in the window.

  With a stern expression, she placed that petite hand on her sexy little hip in that feisty way I so adored.

  “I also heard you might be looking for a husband,” I added. “But I don’t have any experience. Think you might consider me anyway?”

  She smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  THE END