by Fiona Murphy
It doesn’t matter it will be twenty years in six weeks. It doesn’t matter I’m now a titan in my field so large no one could take me down. There’s no way I will ever take the chance of history repeating itself. I’m too much like my father, not just in looks but in temperament. Even though I’ve grown a beard to hide the resemblance that was surface, it was there in the way emotions ripple deep within me. I don’t know if it’s an Italian thing I inherited from both my parents or what. I’ve spent years, decades fighting to be cool, cold, to think only with my head, going with my gut only in the rare times it wouldn’t hurt my business. Anger is only free with my brothers; the only other time it’s allowed to surface is during my daily workouts.
The women I’ve fucked didn’t need to inspire lust or desire. I preferred when they didn’t, those who did were limited to a few nights only. It isn’t completely about the murder-suicide that brought my world crashing down when I was eighteen. It was the years before their deaths that had me at sixteen vowing to never marry.
My mother tortured my father with her constant affairs that went from a secret to blatant and had me hating them both. I hated the way my father kept taking her back, pretending like he didn’t see her coming home with her hair mussed up and her makeup gone. I thought of him as weak; I thought of her as a whore. There was no way I was going to go through what he did in the name of love.
Love is what my father called it; I called it an obsession. My father swore when he met my mother it was love at first sight. A nice Italian girl from his neighborhood, she was the sister of an old friend who was one of the few to welcome him back to Chicago from Yale University. My parents were married less than two months after they met, and it only took that long because her mother was adamant it would be a church wedding.
When I was young, I do remember them both being happy. Then my father did something that angered my mother. She wanted one more child, hopefully a girl. My father believed three children was enough, as working in the prosecutor’s office he didn’t have a large salary. He didn’t want to have more kids than they could afford, so he had a vasectomy without telling my mother.
One night when she was home, drunk on wine and memories, she told me that she felt since my father took away her voice in their marriage, they were no longer really married. She loved being a mother, she grew up wanting nothing more, and she didn’t have a baby anymore. For a few brief minutes, I felt sorry for her.
We were independent kids and very close with my father, but it was because he actually paid attention to us. He taught all of us to play the piano, long, patient hours where he shared his love of music. He helped us with our homework, and he also ran patterns with me for football and pitched baseball for Enzo.
My mother grew impatient with us quickly over the smallest things. As soon as we had opinions of our own, wanted to do things for ourselves, she lost interest in us. Slowly she began preferring to spend her hours working as a real estate agent. A profession started as a way to keep busy grew to consume her time and attention.
No, I’m not going back in the past. Nor my mind when it comes to a woman. Not now, not in another twenty years from now.
3
Alicia
Entering the huge gleaming building, my breath catches at the hive of bees that just got knocked over in my tummy at the idea of seeing Cesare again. Damn it. I thought I had this crazy attraction under control. Twice I’ve gone a whole day without thinking of Cesare. This was a silly crush, it would go away soon.
This was probably simply because Cesare was one of the few men who didn’t shrivel in horror from being around my fat ass. Most men I encountered either acted as if they found my weight and me offensive or they looked through me as if I wasn’t even there. It’s stupid to go gaga over a guy just because he not only managed to look me in the eye, he smiled at me.
Men aren’t something I have much experience with. I’ve been overweight since I was eleven. After finally having a home where there was always food in the cupboards, I got a little carried away. As I got older, the pounds got worse. At only twenty I had a fall that really messed up my knee and made exercise and even walking the city painful. Time and time again, the few times a man caught my attention they made it clear I was too fat to be attractive to them.
In the beginning it hurt, more than I would ever admit to anyone. But gradually I saw it as a good thing. After growing up watching my mother twist herself to get and keep man after man, to the point of abandoning her kids to make a man happy, I decided I would never become her. All my energy went to Bethany and work, the energy that wasn’t left over I didn’t want to waste on anyone but me. I’m more than content with the way my life is. As the years have gone by and I’ve watched women around me struggle within relationships, dealing with men who cheated, men who didn’t help with their kids or bills, I’ve considered myself lucky.
I have two vibrators I make use of about once or twice a month that I’m satisfied with. At least my way I always came, which I have found out not all men make sure happens for their women and I think is really sad. I’m also more than content to live vicariously through the books I read, mysteries, thrillers, even an occasional romance, but they never changed my mind because I knew they fantasy. My life might seem empty from the outside but it’s the way I like it, really.
I don’t want to be attracted to Cesare Sabatini. He’d laugh, then go back to the models he’s usually with if he knew my crazy thoughts. Even if by some insane, one in a million chance he was interested—as the little voice deep down whispered when his eyes roamed over me, and he seemed to like what he saw—he’s still so out of my league I’d be chewed up and spit out without a thought. I wouldn’t know how to handle the fallout of it ending so it’s better if I just don’t go there at all.
I spend the morning filling out paperwork until my hand cramps up. Then I’m taken on a dizzying tour of the four floors that house Sabatini Properties. The floor I’m on holds the human resources department as well as a large legal department. On the next floor is a busy marketing department—unlike most real estate agents who have to do their own marketing, Dante and Cesare feel having a marketing department frees agents to do what they are supposed to do, which is sell. The space is also shared with interior designers, three women and two assistants who go into a property that’s empty and stage it or bring a property that isn’t quite up to par to the Sabatini standard. The third floor is devoted to the management of the commercial properties. There’s also a small IT department tucked into a corner. As we go up in the elevator, I’m informed the top floor is for all the agents, residential and commercial, so they can be close to Cesare and Dante.
Jeanine is waiting when the elevator opens. “We’re going out to lunch, then we’re working it off by shopping. We have to get you up to Sabatini standards. I think you look great, by the way.” Jeanine holds up a gleaming black card. “On the company card. You’ll get yours by the end of the week.” She hits the button to go back down. “You’ll use the card for your clothing allowance and for things like ordering gifts for our clients, which is something you will do a lot. Those gifts and when to send them have a spreadsheet all their own.”
A black Town Car slides in front of us as we step out onto the street. Jeanine opens the door then motions for me to get in. I’m quick to move over for her to get in beside me. “Nice, right? Dante and Cesare are adamant about us using a car to get around. You also get a car at the end of the day to get home. For them, safety is a huge thing. When we go Christmas shopping, Hannah and I get a scary-looking guy to follow us around.
“So what sounds good? Porter’s is a great steak place, or I’m good for Goldfinches, which has a bit of a wider menu. They have really great yummy hot sandwiches.”
I shrug. “I’m not picky, whatever you want is fine with me.”
“Henry, Goldfinches it is, please. This is Alicia—she’ll be taking over my position when I leave at the end of the week.”
The older African
-American man nods at me with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hi, nice to meet you too.” Jeanine’s running commentary on how her day has been going lasts into the restaurant, all the way up until we’re seated with our menus.
The moment the waitress walks away, Jeanine drops her menu. “I heard you took one look at Cesare and went gaga over him.” I’m stunned she knows. Her laughter is light, not mean. “It’s no big deal, it happens all the time to everyone from new employees to clients to the delivery girls and boys. Hell, it happened to me the first time I met him.” My eyes go big, and she laughs again as she nods. “Hello, the guy is stunning in every sense of the word. Sure there are gorgeous men in calendars, movies, and billboards, but to see one in living flesh—it takes your breath clean away. Then he opens his mouth, and you get that he’s very real, kind of an asshole, with all the faults and foibles of any man, but he smells much better.”
Air comes out of me in a whoosh of relief. “Right? It’s normal. It will pass. I was just surprised to see him when the elevator doors opened. Once I get to know him, it will be no big deal.”
The waitress is back, and we quickly give our order. Jeanine sips on her soda. “I know I’m not supposed to drink this stuff, but this kid demands the sweetness. Anyway, you’re right, no biggie especially once you start working with him and Dante. Sure, Cesare is mainly Hannah’s problem, but you’ll still be on the hook for dinners out with Cesare. You know that little speech about Dante being an asshole and using money to smooth over any issues? It was Cesare’s speech when it came to dealing with Dante’s assistants before I lasted longer than six months. Dante stole it.
“Don’t worry, Dante has already shut down Debbie from flapping her gums about you going gaga over Cesare.”
“Is she how you found out?” I cringe in embarrassment.
“No, Dante asked me about you. He wanted to know you’re not going to cause any problems and are professional. It’s no big deal, don’t look so stressed. Seriously, like I said, this happens to a lot of women and several men who have worked in the office.”
“Dante isn’t annoyed with me?” Is it too late to get my old job back?
Jeanine giggles. “Nope, he does feel like chopped liver, though. I assured him he’s just as hot as Cesare, it’s just Cesare has something different, maybe because he’s so big and powerful looking. Dante mumbled something about women and their intelligence before asking for another espresso.” Jeanine rolls her eyes. “Although for a minute there it was almost like Dante wanted to know more about you, as if he was happy about your interest in Cesare. Which I’m sure was my own wishful thinking because as far as staff goes, for Dante and Cesare, we’re off the menu entirely. They have no problem if there is mingling between us, but for them, it’s a strict no pen in the company ink kind of thing.”
“I don’t want Cesare’s pen in my ink.” Okay, that came out much louder than I intended. And it sounds totally weird hearing it out loud. Crap, Jeanine goes still as her eyes run over me.
Slowly, she shakes her head. “Don’t do it. Cesare isn’t as much of an asshole as I joked. At the same time, when it comes to him and women, he can’t change the stripes of a tiger. He’s not in it for anything other than sex, and once he’s had what he wants he walks away without looking back. I can’t even hate the guy for it. You know about his parents, right? Dante says Cesare refuses to even consider a long-term relationship, let alone marriage, to avoid having the past repeat itself. It’s sad because the thought is insane.
“Cesare genuinely cares about people. When it comes to the company, his decrees are downright eons ahead of other companies for taking care of his employees. Like my maternity leave, no other company out there has one like it.
“Most everyone can set their schedule the way that meets their needs. The pay is the best in the city and most of women make more than the men who work here. The agents don’t work on commission, they are guaranteed a base rate of pay of fifty thousand so they get the benefits along with paid time off. While that means they don’t make as much in commission, because we get a cut there are agents who apply for years to work here.
“Also, I don’t know if you noticed, but there are more women than men, eighty percent women to twenty percent men. Cesare and Dante leave many of the decisions to the employees—there aren’t managers who run around demanding sales and projections like in other property firms around the city.
“But as much as I genuinely like and respect Cesare, you’re too soft and dare I say inexperienced to deal with him.” The question is there in the tilt of her head. Her light blue eyes shimmer with concern.
I shrug. I’m not ashamed of being a virgin. I guess at twenty-nine and it not being for some religious reason—I consider myself more atheist than anything—it’s definitely not the norm for women my age. “Even if I weren’t a virgin, I’m very aware getting involved with Cesare Sabatini would be a complete disaster. I’d much rather have a good job where I’m not living paycheck to paycheck than a few hours with a man who won’t remember my name six months later.”
Jeanine’s eyes widen. “You’re a virgin?” Crap, she hadn’t figured it out. “Wow. How is that even possible? You’re a pretty, smart, interesting woman. Zack admitted he often thought about asking you out but didn’t want to ruin the good working relationship you two had.”
Another shrug is all I give as I wonder if she really means it. Then I glance up, and the confusion on her face is sincere. I had no idea Zack thought about asking me out. I’m relieved he never did. Zack is a great guy, I just don’t see him like that. “I don’t know, I was busy with Bethany for years and didn’t have time for men. When I did...” I shake my head as I remember. “Thank you for your kind words, from men all I get are how lucky I am that they’re willing to be seen with me, so I’d better give it up or at least give them a blow job for their time and money they spent on the date.”
Her hand is soft on mine as she squeezes lightly. “I’m sorry, there are some assholes out there. You’re a pretty woman and a wonderful person. I believe there are men out there who would think they were lucky to date you. Don’t give up on men entirely, they aren’t all bad, and some are even worth all the shit you’ve gone through to get to them.”
I shrug again, not convinced. “I really am happy the way my life is. Men aren’t the end all and be all to making your life complete. If it’s meant to be then it will happen.”
Jeanine looks like she wants to say something else, but the waitress bringing our plates cuts her off. Thankfully, once I ask about work, Jeanine accepts the change of discussion. We keep talking about what I’m to expect throughout lunch.
Pulling up outside the store, I stumble as I get out of the car. “Here?”
Giggling like a little girl, Jeanine pushes me forward. “I told you, they aren’t stingy. Dante wants you ready to go as of today.”
The next hour is a whirlwind, leaving me with my head spinning and utterly exhausted. At first, I’m overwhelmed by the number of clothes Jeanine considers basics. I have a rainbow of button-down silk blouses that cost more each than the last six shirts I’ve bought combined. Mock turtlenecks in cashmere so soft I don’t want to take it off, and two different style blouses also in silk and also in a rainbow of colors at prices I have to stop looking at before I have a panic attack. Suits, both pants and skirts, are lined up and put to the side so they can be altered per the instruction of the stylist Lydia, who is amazing.
Not even my underwear is left to the imagination—I’m measured when Lydia doesn’t like the way I look in the first blouse. I find out I’m not the 38D I thought I was but a 42DD; it’s so annoying that I instantly feel better in the new bra, one of twelve also in a variety of colors and styles.
Then Lydia brings out a rack of dresses that blow my mind. I’m afraid to touch them, let alone try them on. Both women override my opinions on the dresses. Some are too damn clingy, and all I can think about is how fat I look in one or another. Jeanine
smacks my arm hard.
“Oh my god, woman, stop saying that shit about yourself right now. What would you do if I called you fat?” The moment she says it, it feels like a whip cracking against my skin. “Exactly. If it’s not okay, and it sure the fuck isn’t okay, for me to call you fat, then you’d better not call yourself that fucked-up word.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch Lydia nod. It hits me then: Jeanine’s right. If it hurts my feelings for her to call me fat, then I shouldn’t be calling myself fat. Well, fuck, how am I going to stop doing something I’ve been doing for what feels like forever?
***
Alicia
Once a time is set for the store to deliver the clothes later tonight, we’re finally back in the office. I’m worried we took too long, yet no one is in the least bothered. Hannah greets me warmly and chats with me as Jeanine gets settled. Dante simply responds “good” when Jeanine instant messages him that we’re back after spending an insane amount of money.
“I told you, he’s not stingy. Okay, let’s go over these emails. As you can see, Hannah has gone over the box. We share both Dante’s and Cesare’s boxes, so if either one of us is away from our desk, their emails never go unmonitored.”
I nod as I start to make notes. Over the next few hours, I’m engrossed in everything Jeanine says. Except for this tiny sliver of me that is waiting, tense with the need to see Cesare, and with each passing hour the tension grows. I hear his voice once as Hannah leaves his office. A little after four thirty Hannah leaves for the day.
“Dante comes in between nine and nine thirty—he’s a night owl. You’ll come in at eight thirty to prepare his day and stay until five thirty, or if they need you you’ll stay later. If you are going out for a dinner meeting, then you leave at three and a car will pick you up. Don’t worry too much about late nights because it doesn’t happen often and they do their best to make it up to you. Like if you need to stay until seven or something, then you can come in late the next day or take a longer lunch or leave early. Dante will usually ask you how you want to do it.”
