by Shayne Ford
“Well, like I said... I had no idea who the fuck she was. And the only reason she chatted about herself and confessed to me that she was married, was because she wanted to see me again.”
“Oh, really? Tell me about it,” I say, resting my elbows on my desk, and clasping my fingers together.
He chuckles.
“What?” he asks, smirking.
“Did she say her husband no longer fucks her or gives her attention, and she suspects he fucks someone at his office?”
A smile creeps up his lips.
“And did she say, she had her eyes on you for some time, and couldn’t believe how hot you are in real life and how much chemistry there is between the two of you?”
He nods.
“And moments later, I’m sure she said she’d never seen a cock as big as yours and no one has made her come as hard as you have.”
His chest rocks with laughter.
“Yeah... she said all that.”
“You want me––”
It’s his turn to jerk his hand up in the air.
“I got it. I see where you’re going with this. She doesn’t mean a thing, and I’m not gonna see her again. And if it pleases you I’ll make myself scarce next Friday.”
“Good. Fuck, Ed. See, that’s my fucking point. You do stupid shit out of boredom. You are in no place to preach to me.”
“Got it. I’ll keep my dick in my pants and start going to that place... What’s the name again?”
“Silver.”
“Maybe you can come with me.”
“Maybe.”
Smiling, he drinks his cappuccino.
Suddenly dark, I look out the window.
DAHLIA
“So?”
“So, nothing. There’s a very small probability I’ll get the job,” I say.
Chris picks a bowl of salad and a bottle of water before we walk to the corner table in the break room.
“You sure you don’t want to eat?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I can’t right now.”
“What did he say?”
“It’s not what he said. We both agreed that my lack of experience is a big drawback, considering the environment in which I’m supposed to work and the fact that there is no room for error. He told me bluntly that he doesn’t have the time or desire to babysit me and I can’t blame him. I also think he was too quick to make a judgment call.”
“And in the end?”
“He said he’d decide by the end of the day. As far as I’m concerned he’s already made it in that room.”
“You don’t know. Sheila said you are her first choice. She’s not stupid. She wouldn’t have picked someone she wouldn’t trust to do her job. It’s her ass on the line too. Don’t lose hope.”
“Well, it’s almost noon. He said they’d call either way. If this thing doesn’t work out, I have a waitress job lined up at a seafood restaurant.”
A chuckle rolls off her lips before she catches a glimpse of my gloomy face, and her smile fades out.
“Are you serious?”
“Mmm-hmm. I’m out of money, and in debt up to my eyeballs. All the money we had left after my dad died is now gone. My mom has two jobs and barely makes ends meet. I can no longer rely on her. Besides, I spent so much time, money and energy on school, hoping that once I’m out, I can make some money to fill those holes. I can’t sit on my butt waiting for the perfect job. I want to pay my own rent and buy my own food.”
“I think you should wait for their call. I have a good feeling about this.”
I nod, rather in appeasement, knowing full well, I’m not gonna get this job.
“What do you think about him?” she asks, and we connect eyes for a moment. “Lex Harrington.”
“He’s handsome, and hard to read...” I say, and then I start laughing, making no sense.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, grinning.
Slowly, I shake my head before I bury my face in my hands. I stay still for a moment absorbing the absurdity of the situation. I finally raise my eyes.
“He said he needed someone to read his thoughts–– metaphorically speaking, of course, and I promised him that if he’d give me a chance, I’d learn him in and out, and get to know him better than himself. ”
“That’s one bold thing to say.”
Quietly, we giggle for a few moments before we finally quiet down.
“The thing is... I couldn’t grasp him. I’m sure his secretary knows all his quirks. As a man, he feels like a puzzle to me. He was looking at me and often times through me as if his mind was wandering far away. His face got me distracted a few times. It was hard not to. He’s textbook handsome. Those lips, and jawline. I’ve never met a man like him. I caught him studying me a couple of times. I am sure it was accidental. ”
“Why would you say that?”
I shrug.
“I don’t know. He was really cold. I spotted a faint curiosity in his eyes, and disappointment for some reason. That struck me as odd. The man knows nothing about me. I didn’t feel him present all the time. He was in and out of the moment as if he was constantly visiting some memory from the past. Is he single?”
“He’s not married if that’s what you ask, and I’ve never seen him with anyone here at work, but that doesn’t mean much.”
“No, no... That’s not why I asked. He seemed constantly distracted, his mind wrapped in something else. And for some reason, it didn’t feel as if he was thinking about work. Anyway, at least I got the chance to meet him, and his partner.”
“Edward Preston?”
“Yes.”
“Mmmm...” she moans. “He’s a cutie.”
“That he is.”
“And a bit of a bad boy.”
“Is he?”
“Uh-huh,” she says, uncapping the small bottle of water.
I wait for her as she gulps half of it down.
“They both are if we are to believe the rumors. Maybe now, not so much since their friend, James Sexton, is off the market, but their reputation precedes them. There are a lot of stories circulating. I don’t know if they are true or not. Most of them are from a few years back, so it’s hard to tell, but easy to imagine.”
I get lost in my train of thought when her eyes flick away from me. My eyes follow her gaze to the door.
“Really?” Chris mouths to Sheila Lane who motions to me and gives me a thumb up.
Chris’ hand cups mine.
“You got the job,” she mutters, and I look at her in disbelief.
“What?”
“She’ll call you later on, but you got it,” she says and turns to me before I get the chance to glance in Ms. Lane’s direction again.
5
DAHLIA
Sheila Lane calls close to five o’clock on Friday afternoon when I almost run out of hope.
I spent half of day trying not to get attached to the idea that I have a job.
She officially makes the offer, and I rush to accept. The salary is way more than I expected.
The weekend goes in a whirlwind. My first days on the job slip away fast too. Sheila Lane shows me the ropes, and, as expected, I quickly take over answering the phone, sorting through business emails, and organizing Lex Harrington’s traveling schedule.
The least stressful things turn out to be, creating the presentations, reports and varied other documents.
From Sheila, I learn that he wants all his important meetings scheduled in the morning and all his flights in the afternoon. He likes his hotel room quiet, and whenever he travels, he prefers room service to eating in a restaurant unless he has company.
He likes to work out daily, doesn’t eat sweets, and is an avid collector of cars. Once in a while, he flies to New York or London to the big auctions houses to bid in person, just for the fun of it.
As Thursday draws to an end, Sheila shows me how to fill out his business expense reports before she points to a separate private account that comprises solely personal expenses, of which, I’m t
old, he likes a report as well.
Not too bad, I conclude as I finally get ready to get home.
“Everything is ready for tomorrow morning?” Sheila asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Okay, sweetheart. You have my phone number. Text me with anything out of the ordinary, stuff you’re unsure of, or anything crazy going on. Hopefully, none of it would happen,” she says as we walk out of the office.
She closes the door behind us before we walk across the corridor and we take the elevator all the way down. We split in front of the building.
One hour later, I’m finally home.
It’s only the moment I sink into the bathtub and let the warm water roll over me when I realize how stressful these four days were. Every minute of every hour. And yet, it feels so good to be able to earn a real paycheck.
I lean back–– prop my head against the edge of the tub, and close my eyes.
A few moments pass by before the phone starts vibrating on a small table not far from me. It’s Chris, and then mom. And then an unknown number.
I set the phone back on the chair and wrap my fingers around my glass of wine. I take a sip, the aromatic liquid washing over my taste buds, warming up my blood.
This feels good.
There’s only one thing missing to make this evening perfect. And it’s not the music playing in the background.
I smile. Hmm... Almost Blue. My favorite tune. Chet Baker and his trumpet. Then the soft sound of the piano and his voice.
A sad, beautiful song that spurs a longing in me I haven’t had the chance to quench in some time.
Smiling, I run my hand over my eyes and wipe a stray tear. Of joy and sadness.
Grappling with mixed feelings, I swallow the few last drops of wine when the phone rings again. It’s the same unknown number. I check the voicemail. There are no new messages.
Ten minutes later, I wrap myself in a robe and shuffle across the kitchen when I hear a knock on the door. My heart leaps to my throat.
I don’t expect any guests, and not many people know where I live. I just moved here a couple of months ago. Other than mom and Chris, no one else visited me.
Quiet, I tiptoe to the door. The building is located in a relatively safe area, but the entrance is never locked, and there is no security personnel of any kind. Anyone could walk in the building.
On top of that, I don’t know most of my neighbors.
Phone clutched in my fist, I take a few more steps, and listen. No sound comes from behind the door. I push up on my toes and take a peek through the peephole.
My blood quickly drains out of my body.
It can’t fucking be.
DAHLIA
The door opens with a groan.
“Elsa?!”
My voice sounds shattered.
The girl in front of me raises her eyes. Her light blue eyes connect with mine, framed by long curly locks.
She wears ripped jeans, a T-shirt, and white sneakers. A backpack is slung over her shoulder. She doesn’t look much different than the day she ran away from home.
We spend a few moments in silence before I step to the side and motion her inside.
“Come in...” I say.
I enter the kitchen.
Still gauging my reaction, she lingers by the door as if she’s not sure whether she wants to stay or not.
I study her for a moment, the memory of her as my sweet, innocent looking, little sister coming back to me. She’s no longer that.
“Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head. I pull a chair out for her and point to the table.
“I make sandwiches anyway. I haven’t had dinner.”
“Okay,” she says with a soft voice.
“Let me get this for you,” I say, grabbing the strap of her backpack.
She lets go of it reluctantly. It’s heavy, and the canvas straps are worn. It quickly dawn on me, those are all her belongings.
Knowing her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s on the run again.
“Are you in any kind of trouble?” I ask, bracing myself. She stays quiet. “Are the police looking for you? Feds? Angry men? Women?” I say trying to make a joke, but she doesn’t even crack a smile.
“Did you just call me?”
She lowers her eyes and nods.
“How did you know where I live?”
“I tracked down Tracy.”
We both grew up with Tracy.
She left for college, found a man and never came back home. We still talk on the phone once in a while. Younger than us, Elsa tagged along.
My sister never made friends amongst people her own age. She always looked forward to getting older and living on her own.
I wonder if any of that has changed.
“Does mom know you’re back?” I ask.
I grab a loaf of bread, the cutting board, and a kitchen knife.
Slices of bread fall on the plate.
“Smoked salmon? Ham?”
“Salmon is good,” she says.
“Does she?”
“No,” she says with a strained voice.
For a few minutes, I focus on making the sandwiches and let the silence fall between us.
“What do you want to drink?” I ask, sliding the plate in front of her.
“Water is good,” she says, pulling out of her chair, and heading to the sink.
She washes her hands and comes back to the table.
My eyes follow her.
Her hair is longer. Same color as mine, but curly like mom’s. Tall and lean like me, she looks s bit different than two years ago. Her body shape has changed slightly. She has curves, and her chest has perked up.
We start eating. I can tell she’s hungry.
“Where were you all this time?”
“One town over,” she says, quietly chewing on her food.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
Her question comes back to me like a boomerang, wrapped in a bratty voice.
If she thinks she can piss me off, she’s wrong. If there’s a gene for kindness, I sure got two of them. I can be mean if I want to, but never with the people I care for.
My mom was furious with her, and my uncle and everybody else, but they all had to make peace in the end with the fact that they needed to let her go.
She was–– still is, like a feral animal you can never catch or domesticate. She was her daddy’s little girl, and as much as I loved my father and missed him after he passed away, it was nothing like what she must’ve felt.
A stupid car accident took his life. And that angered her the most. A drunk driver crashed into my dad’s ride while he was on his way home from work.
One Friday evening. Five minutes away from home. He never made it. After his premature death, Elsa spun out of control, and nobody was able to stop her.
I wasn’t angry with her.
I sensed her pain and desperation, and it was different than ours. Still, I never understood why she had to leave. She had no money, and she barely finished high school.
“Why did you have to leave, Elsa?”
“What else was there to do?” she says, still tormented after all this time.
“We reminded you of him?”
She nods, and I think she also swallows her tears.
“Nobody can control that,” I say, suddenly sad.
“It made no sense,” she says with a broken voice.
Something tells me this is the first time she’s actually able to open up and talk about it.
“We all felt the same, but none of us ran away.”
“I couldn’t stay there any longer. I didn’t want to live with mom, or go to school.”
“So what did you do all this time?”
“Worked.”
“What kind of work?”
“Whatever paid me to survive. Recently, I started to dance,” she says.
Something in her voice doesn't sound right.
We both took dance classes in high schoo
l. Contemporary dance. I loved it. She started one year after me, just because she saw how much I enjoyed it.
“Where did you live?”
“The town I work in.”
“What happened to that place?” I ask, suspicious.
“I didn’t renew the lease.”
“Why?”
“There were some issues.”
“Legal issues?”
She sways her head side to side, avoiding my eyes.
“Not exactly.”
“But you no longer have a place to live.”
She nods softly.
“Is that why you’re here?”
She raises her eyes.
“Temporary... I can find a room at a motel.”
“That’s not why I asked you. You can stay here if you need to, but I have to warn you I just started my first job. I haven’t even gotten my first paycheck.”
“I have some money,” she says and pulls away from the table.
She picks up the backpack from a chair, fishes inside a pocket and scoops out a stash of rolled bills.
“How much is there?” I ask as she places it on the table.
“It’s not much. 2K. You can use if you need to until I get some work again.”
I ponder for a moment.
“Do you have a car?” I finally say.
“No.”
“How did you get here?”
She picks a piece of cheese from the platter, and munches on it, buying herself some time.
“Friend,” she says.
“Boyfriend?”
She shakes her head.
“I no longer have one.”
“Why?”
“Problems,” she says, cryptic.
I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry.
Elsa used to be an angel. If there was a book with angels, her face was on the cover.
“Are you running away from him?”
“Something like that...” she admits.
A sigh of relief falls from my lips.
What can I say? It could’ve been worse.
“May I ask you why you’re hiding from him?”
“I broke up with him,” she says curtly.
I gather there’s more to the story.
“Are you gonna tell mom you’re here?”
Her eyes stay glued to the bottle of water, her blood draining from her face.
