by Rachel Angel
“I felt angry about being abandoned by Dad too, during those years, even more than I had been before, but my friendship with you helped me keep it together. I talked to you so much more than Dad through that entire time.”
“And I talked to you more than anyone else,” Ian said.
“So, did they really cheat on each other? I’ve never asked. Too afraid to know, maybe.”
“I’m not sure. The response you saw that day was typical of Mom. She’d better at taking responsibility now, but it’s still tough. However, I think she needed to find something that completed her as a person. She realized that the problem wasn’t in the husband, but maybe in her. Of course, she’d never admit that, even today. Just my observation. So, she went back to what she knew best, the fashion industry, but she was already a wash-up, and not really taken that seriously, any longer. She thought it was age, which made her invest in that ridiculous cosmetics company in the Caribbean, but it ended up being rock bottom for her, when all was said or done. I really felt bad for her.”
I watched Ian as he spoke about his mother and I saw something admirable, a son who loved her regardless of her flaws. It touched me and while I didn’t like Evelyn, still, I saw how fortunate she was to have a son like Ian. Furthermore, it was easy to understand why she wanted to rely on him. He was strong, kind, and gentle like that. A modern day John Wayne.
“That’s pretty honorable of you,” I said, feeling a lump rise in my throat.
“Well, enough about me, Ana. Tell me all about your sports reporting career.”
“It’s really great. I love tracking people down and talking to them, getting a different angle on a story—one that’s interesting to the audience and gives a different perspective.
“I saw that T-bone thing. That was funny. That guy is crazy, isn’t he?”
“You know him?” I asked. He sounded like he did from what he said.
“He works out at Burn,” Ian replied quickly.
“Oh yeah, that makes sense.”
“So, what was your journey to this point? You’ve obviously worked hard.”
“Well, I had to do a little soul searching, I guess. I knew that I didn’t want modeling to be my career. It would have been easy enough, I had offers, but it wasn’t very challenging. Plus, my dream and passion has always lied in sports. When you have a dream, you have to go for it, right?”
“I’ve always been so proud of you, Ana,” Ian said, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “So, what’s your biggest goal right now?”
“Well, aside from figuring out the Vegas lifestyle for six months, I really want to hunt down The Masked Missile for an interview. He’s elusive, but I’m better.”
“And if you find, him what’s the first question you’ll ask him?”
“Why he hides from the media, instead of using them to promote good. I know he does a lot of celeb work, but don’t get why he doesn’t take advantage of opportunities to go one-on-one with reporters to help all those kids who may just need a hero like him, someone to look up to.”
“That’s a good question,” Ian said.
The look in his eyes was vulnerable and seemed reflective. There was a time in Ian’s life when he needed a hero. Perhaps a guy like The Masked Missile would have been someone to help him out earlier, at least give him hope that he’d be great regardless of what his mother was up to. “Ian, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were going through such a tough time with your mother. I don’t know what happened between my father and her, but I would’ve tried to get him to help her and you if you needed help. If you only would have answered me… Oh, Ian.”
I suddenly felt miserable and I lowered my head, staring at the pile of rice like the secrets of the world lied within its grains. Suddenly, I felt two arms wrap around me, making me feel like I was being protected by a large, warm blanket—one that was magical and made sure everything would always be okay.
“We can help each other erase the pain,” Ian whispered from behind me, his breath dancing on my neck. I turned and kissed his cheek and he put his hands underneath me and picked me up, easily holding me in his arms as I melted into them, knowing they were where I was meant to be.
Ian carried me over to the kitchen table laid me down on the opposite end of where the food was, leaning over me. He was so close and I leaned up, kissing his forehead and nose and then his lips, my tongue thrusting into his mouth with urgency, showing him that he could have me in any way he wanted.
His hands slid down my body and lifted up my dress, reaching for my panties. He slowly peeled them off, not losing eye contact with me. Once he tossed them aside, he slipped his fingers into me, their strength being used aggressively to make sure he reached my clit and made me more aroused than I already was. His fingers went in and out of me, slowly at first and then he added another until I was moaning against him, lost in the intense sensual sensation he was creating within me, building me to the point of release.
With his other hand, he masterfully unbuttoned my dress from the front, pulling my breasts out of the peach silky bra I had on. His fingers pinched my breasts and then he leaned over to kiss them as he kept sliding his fingers in and out of me, relentlessly going until I was writhing underneath him.
I want this man so much, I thought. As another moan escaped my lips, I heard my phone start ringing from the corner, once again taking me away from where I seemed destined to go. It rang and rang until I got up to answer it, while Ian stopped reluctantly, softly shaking his head no.
I could barely hear my voice as I said, “I have to check it.”
Aware that I was barely dressed and so wet that a slight trickle of my excitement was going down my leg, I answered my phone. “Hi…no, I’m good…yes, I’ll be back soon…okay, see you then.”
As I spoke the words, the mood left me and when I turned around, I saw Ian looking like an abandoned child—a sad look had spread across his face.
“Was that him?”
“Yes,” I answered, taking a breath. “I have to go, Ian. I’m sure we’ll see each other again since you live here and I’m here for awhile.”
I couldn’t bear to make any open ended plans, knowing that I was giving myself an invitation to be unfaithful to Pedro. In a most unexpected way, Ian’s presence forced me to really evaluate in a more serious manner what chances Pedro and I had for the long run. I wasn’t ready to toss Pedro aside. He was familiar and I knew what to expect despite our short time together—which was nice. Ian, on the other hand, wasn’t familiar and it was a bit exciting, but maybe too unstable for me.
“Don’t go. You belong here,” he said, grabbing my arm.
I tugged it away and got dressed, feeling so awkward and uncertain of everything. I feared to even say a word, not sure how to even leave the situation with any dignity. If Pedro wouldn’t have called, I would have let Ian have me completely, consuming both my body and emotions.
After I got dressed, I began to walk toward the door.
“Let me at least drive you home,” he offered.
“I’d rather take a taxi,” I said. Then I walked out of the door, not daring to look back, less I change my mind or give any promises to Ian of something that I may no longer be able to deliver. I was not a child anymore; I had responsibilities and an obligation to make good choices. I would never be like my father in relationships if I can help it.
Chapter 16
The past few days had been intense and unwelcomed, certainly unanticipated, too. When I’d gotten home from Ian’s, Pedro had surprised me yet again. He’d planned an elaborate dinner that came along with a marriage proposal that I couldn’t answer.
Talk about bad timing! If he suspected anything, I didn’t know. Or perhaps he did and the marriage proposal was his way of ensuring that he kept me as his girlfriend. However, he knew that I said I couldn’t commit to the type of love he felt for me, so he’d thrown it out there at his own risk. Being ever the amazing man he was, though, Pedro had taken it in stride, saying, “For you,
it is worth waiting, but I assure you, once you say ‘yes,’ you will be on a blissful journey for all of our eternity together.”
That accent made his words sound so romantic, because truthfully, if I watched a movie where someone said that I’d be gagging, not at all into it.
Then Pedro left, having to take a night flight back to LA, and life went on. I continued in my pursuit of finding The Masked Missile, trying to remain so busy that I didn’t have time to think about why Ian hadn’t called me or stopped by. He knew how to get in touch with me, but I had no idea what his phone number was. Perhaps that was for my own safety, so I didn’t just make a call in a heated emotional moment and start the momentum rolling for something I may not really want. And oh, the questions. Was I drawn to him for a one night stand; an opportunity to close out a fling that ended poorly? Or, scariest of all, was I drawn to Ian because I was meant to be with him?
I had no idea, but I did know that the time and distance away from him wasn’t helping me reach a satisfactory conclusion.
After a Skype with my boss, I went out to interview a few of the coaches who’d been in the MMA business since the beginning, working on a piece that talked about how the sport, itself, and its athletes had changed since it really became popular in the mid 1990s. Oddly enough, I was meeting up with them at Burn, but they’d booked out a small meeting room in the building that would give us some privacy.
Walking in with a camera guy right behind me to get footage of Burn and my interviewees, I smiled and went up to the attendant behind the main desk. “I’m here to meet with Sal Vicente and Maurice Tripps,” I said.
“Are you Ana Cartier?”
“That’s me,” I said, smiling at him and assessing him as he stared my chest. What was the matter with these guys? Hadn’t they ever seen boobs before? Mine were pretty good sized, but certainly small amongst the many falsies that inhabited the greater Las Vegas area.
“Just a minute.”
He made a call and an older man walked out toward me, having a limp from what appeared to be a stiff hip, and sporting his fair share of scars on his face, too. He looked rough, for sure, but his green eyes danced merrily.
“Ana, hi,” he said. “Maurice Tripps.”
I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He shook it and squeezed kind of hard, but I made sure I squeezed equally hard. I was up to the challenge.
“Nice grip,” he said, looking down at my hand.
“You too,” I said, smiling at him.
He gave a dry laugh, a smokers laugh, and then turned around. I followed.
As we went through another door, I thought of Ian. “Is this by the second workout room?”
“Whadda’ ya’ talkin’ ‘bout?” he asked, looking at me like I was crazy.
Had Ian lied to me about that? Why would he do something like that; it made no sense.
The interview was good and I adored both of the cranky old men with hearts of gold. I could see how they very much set the tone for anyone who would dare come to Vegas to live and train for MMA, whether they coached them or not.
There was one more question on my mind, but I waited until the end of the interview to ask.
“Hey, Maurice and Sal, any chance you can point me toward The Masked Missile? I have a few questions for him.”
My question caught the two off guard and they glanced at each other, before Sal looked at me and said, “That joker don’t work out at Burn.”
“Nope,” Maurice added, “not sure where he works out.”
“Joker? He’s the biggest name in MMA right now…and you two don’t know?”
“Nope,” Maurice repeated.
“Okay then, thanks so much. I’ve had a great time talking with you two. We’re going to premier this section before the big fight this weekend.” Then I nodded to my camera guy and we left.
Once outside, I turned to my camera guy and said, “They were lying. They knew who the guy is. I will track him down.”
“I have no doubts, Beauty—I mean, Ana.”
In my car that had finally been delivered from LA, I watched my camera guy take off and then paused before entering into the traffic on the busy road. Which direction to take, I wondered. Should I go and visit Ian or just leave things be? Maybe he didn’t want to see me. I could have hurt him again by leaving him to go back to Pedro. It wasn’t fair, but it was possible. If he really had abandonment issues, it could be tearing him up and I didn’t want to contribute to that. So there I stood, battling between ego and integrity. Finally, I decided to go and visit Ian.
I drove over to the casino and parked in the garage, making my way up to the lobby and going through to the private elevators. The same guard was there and I looked at him and announced that I was there to see Ian.
“Is he expecting you?” the guard asked.
“No, just a surprise.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t let you up there if I don’t have orders.”
I’m ashamed to say that I tried this, but I did. “Please,” I said, getting friendlier and flirtier. He was not affected at all. Of course, I thought. A million gold diggers a night probably tried that same trick. Fuck!
So my effort was cut down. Now I was faced with my own reality that I could control, which was figuring out an answer for Pedro, and also tracking down The Masked Missile. That man was keeping the fighter in me alive, making me more determined than ever to find him. I’d do whatever it took.
Chapter 17
I pulled into the garage of my building and my phone began ringing immediately. I looked down and saw Pedro calling. It made me feel so nervous. This one-on-one interaction was scarier than standing up and giving a speech in front of a room of hundreds, and even from talking to millions of viewers through a camera lens. Why? Because it was personal.
My cowardly side didn’t want to answer it, and save it for another time. However, I also had common sense, and that part knew it would drive me crazy if I didn’t answer, so I might as well get it done with. “Pedro, hi,” I said, trying to sound confident, although I sensed my voice was shaking.
“Hello, my love,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you and see if it would be okay if I came up tonight to see you. I thought that you might have an answer to my question.” His words were bold and direct, not poetic, but more urgent. He was nervous, too.
I had no good reason to say no to his request, but I paused. Just then, a text message came in and I looked down. It was from a number that I didn’t know. But the message was about someone I wanted to get to know.
“Just a second Pedro,” I said.
I muted our call and read the text: The Masked Missile is appearing at a fundraising event for bullying prevention tonight, arriving at 7 PM.
Yes! That was great news. Finally, a break and a place where he couldn’t elude me.
“Pedro, thanks for your patience. I’m sorry, but I have to work tonight. You can come tomorrow, though, I have the night free, and then the next night, the first MMA fights are airing so it’ll be extremely busy.”
“I shall take what I can get of you,” he said, but I heard the dejection in his voice.
“I really am sorry, but I’m here for work, primarily. You understand, right?”
“Yes,” he said, but I wasn’t so sure that he really did. He’d said he understood, but did he really? If I were to ever marry him, I wondered if he knew that this part of me wouldn’t change or go away. I’d never stop doing what I loved or forget my identity for a husband—and hopefully he wasn’t the type of man or husband who would ask me to do that.
I was walking into the front doors of the conference hall where the event was taking place and there were many kids running around, as well as highly polished adults, influential people that I always thoughtfully referred to as the “money makers.” They were the ones that charities relied on to keep their vision alive. Thank goodness for successful people who embraced doing good in the world.
Deciding to go into the restroom and chec
k my make-up before I entered the event, I slid in and assessed myself in the mirror. All was in order and I felt good wearing my jade green blouse and black skirt. My hair was pulled back and I was ready. “You can get this,” I said to myself in the mirror. Just as I said that, two kids walked into the bathroom. They heard me and they giggled, but looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was.
Then I left the bathroom and went left, trying to determine if the room I was looking for was to the left or to the right. I finally saw a small sign that said to the right; however, I saw someone down the left hall—The Masked Missile.
I started to walk, my heart racing with excitement and rehearsing what I’d say in my mind. This was it and the guy literally had no way to run from me without making a scene.
His back was to me and he was looking down at something—his phone, maybe—and I said, “Excuse me, do you have a few minutes for me?”
He turned around and a cocky grin was on his masked face, which startled me. I immediately felt this insane amount of energy from just his look alone, which made me almost forget why I was there. To interview, I thought repeatedly, like it was a mantra. I must have thought it a thousand times on rapid fire response, but in reality, it was just a split second.
“Ana Cartier, you’ve finally tracked me down,” he said. “I’m happy to see you. You are the one, after all, who inspired me to give my time and resources to stop bullying.”
I looked at him, shocked and happy he knew who I was, but as I looked into his eyes, there was something there, something familiar. It matched the voice, too.
“Ian,” I said, unable to take my eyes off of him.
“Ana,” he whispered, leaning in and kissing me slowly, and then backing away.
I was so confused, happy and drawn in, but really confused. Ian was The Masked Missile? Wow, how come I couldn’t sense that, and didn’t notice it earlier. I’d watched hours of footage and seen his picture a thousand times. The eyes never looked as blue as they did at that moment, when I was within a half inch of him.
