by Shayne Ford
My frustration simmers in every word I utter.
“There’s must be something that you’re missing in this story. Something that you don’t know.”
“That’s exactly what I thought. Maybe he has something else going on and the night between us was nothing more than some stupid rekindling of the old stuff.”
“You mean like another woman?”
“Yeah... What else? He opened up to me–– it’s true, but at the same time I felt him guarded and secretive.”
I pause.
She sighs.
“For someone so smart, you are incredibly stupid sometimes,” she tosses at me out of nowhere.
My mouth falls open.
“What?”
“You heard me right. On the one hand, you say you don’t want to get involved with someone like Elan, although if he’d want me, he could have me in a split second. He’s just that cute.”
“Back to the topic, Liz,” I cut her off, annoyed.
“Yeah... About Ed. So you say you don’t like Elan because he is straightforward and wears his heart on his sleeve... as if that’s a flaw somehow.”
“I didn’t say that, but go on,” I say, irritated.
“Okay, but then you look at Edward Preston and expect him to behave as if he were Elan. You need to learn this man, Thea, or you’ll never get close to him for real.”
“And how should I go about that, smart ass?”
Silence is her response.
“Uh-huh... Now you’re quiet. Tell me. How am I supposed to learn about him when he doesn’t want to reveal stuff about himself and most of the time I have no idea what is going on? How? You should’ve seen him how quickly his expression shifted when Elan entered my apartment. And there was something else about him the night before. Up to the last moment, I was convinced that he’d never come upstairs. How am I supposed to know him when I can’t get close to him? The little things I know come from him, and we all know how mysterious and protective of his feelings he is. I don’t know what makes him happy and what makes him sad. He told me a few things here and there about his life and his past, but that was it. All I know is that he grew up without a father and his mother is gone. That’s pretty much all I know.”
I stop, running out of breath.
“What about his friends? Maybe you can ask them.”
I barely push back a sarcastic laugh.
“There’s no way I can ask them.”
“Their wives, maybe?”
“No fucking way. I’m not begging for information. Besides, it’s probably useless anyway. It’s more and more clear to me that he used this opportunity to get out of what he thought he had with me without giving me an explanation.”
“Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t care,” I say, raising my voice.
She waits a moment before she speaks while I try to catch my breath, my pulse throbbing in my temples.
“You’re too angry, Thea.”
“Damn right, I am. He’s just... Ugh. He is so annoying and so hard to understand. It’s like I’m slamming myself against a wall over and over again. He felt so close to me and so good, and all it took was some stupid misunderstanding, and he changed his mind. He refuses to talk to me, and I can’t make sense of any of this shit. Can you?”
Her response comes after a few seconds of silence.
“Well... No. I guess you have to figure it out on your own. Sleep on it. I’m sure you’ll get an idea. If not, just forget about him.”
Her words feel like a fist in my stomach.
“Is this some kind of reverse psychology?”
“No. It’s just that you have to find your own answers. I can’t do it for you and no one else can. Find them, no matter what they are. Good or bad, they’ll help you to get unstuck,” she says seriously while I shrink in my chair.
“Okay...” I mumble, my voice fraying.
THEA
By Thursday my patience runs thin.
For the past few days, I went through every single possible scenario and experienced every bit of twisted emotion.
I was mad, frustrated, melancholic, regretful, and then I was furious again before I slipped into a nostalgic mode and spent an entire evening staring at the pictures that we traded when we were nothing more than Ghost Man and Cali Girl.
Even the messages that we exchanged a while back made me smile before they made me cry and then, grit my teeth.
I couldn’t sleep or eat these past days I was so torn. Come Thursday I decide to go straight home after classes.
I change my clothes, make myself a cup of coffee and a ham sandwich, fish out my phone from my backpack and take a seat at the kitchen table.
Slowly, I sift through our last messages.
I take a few bites of food and wash them down with coffee before I start to type.
Me: Your silence makes no sense. If you wanted an abrupt ending to the time we’d spent together, you should’ve picked something different than some random misunderstanding. I thought that we were more than that. It bothers me to no end the fact that you didn’t even want to hear my explanation.
I press ‘send’, ponder for a moment and start typing again.
Me: I know that I was guilty of doing the same thing to you. I know that I frustrated you many times, but this was different, and you should’ve known better than that.
Another ‘send’, more waiting.
There’s not a sliver of hope in me that he’ll answer.
I bite my lip, and muse for a few more seconds. I’m sure I will regret this later on.
Me: Talk to me, please. My life has become a living hell.
I hesitate for a second before I tap ‘send’. That was wrong.
So wrong, I wish I hadn’t sent it.
Fuming, I toss the phone on the table.
I finish eating my sandwich and drinking my coffee before I pick up the phone again, sweep my finger across the screen and scroll down to the news.
Oh... I knew it.
But, of course.
There’s a much-publicized Valentine’s Day party coming up this weekend at Sexton International Resort.
I completely forgot about Valentine’s Day, not that it makes me any happier being aware of it.
I swing my eyes to the window. It’s snowing again.
The last thing I want to think about right now is a bunch of pink hearts, and red roses, candles, and chocolate desserts celebrating love.
My eyes shift back to my phone and the streaming news, different scenarios playing in my head.
I’m sure he will be there. I could probably talk to him if I go to the club, but the thought alone makes my stomach tie in knots.
No way I’m going there. What if I find him with someone else? Even if we are not together anymore, I can’t face that possibility.
Irritated, I push the thought to the side.
“Who cares?” I mutter, scanning the local headline news.
In a recent interview, James Sexton announces the expansion of Sexton Enterprise’s operations overseas. He’s recently secured the financing for the Asian branch...
Asian? I thought it was European.
My eyes go down the text... Looking for his name.
There.
Ed Preston speaks at a local Business Convention... My heart tumbles in my chest as my eyes jump all over the text.
There’s a video clip playing in the background, the caption snagging my eyes, the words sinking into me.
Edward Preston will be in charge with the newly created European Branch and plans on moving overseas next month.
My hand flies to my mouth as my heart shatters like a piece of glass slammed by a hammer.
I set the phone down and read the news again, hoping to be able to attach a different meaning to those words.
Oh, my... I can’t believe my eyes.
And yet, it’s true.
James Sexton and Lex Harrington will be running Sexton International Resort until further
notice.
That piece of information does nothing but confirm that Ed’s decision is final.
My lips part slowly as my hands slide down.
So that’s it...
Oh, my God. This is so much worse than I thought.
Him leaving in a huff that morning was nothing but a strategic move after all. Using Elan as a pretext, and making me feel guilty about it when all he wanted was to put an end to us. Knowing full well that there was no future for us.
My chin starts to quiver as my eyes get washed with tears.
This is worse than getting dumped via a text message. At least someone cared enough to type that crap. I didn’t even get a message.
He moved on so fast.
I couldn't even figure out what happened last Saturday morning and here he is, his suitcases already packed while I’m nothing but a snippet of forgettable history.
How fucked up is that?
I’m still looking for an explanation so that I can get some closure while he’s well past that point.
Was that all that was...?
I stare at my phone, drowning in disappointment.
With a trembling finger, I tap the clip and play it again.
His smile registers on my retina first, and then his eyes... Oh, his eyes. Carrying a slight dark shadow, but still very much warm... as if nothing happened. He seems happy, joyful. Looking forward to his departure, perhaps.
I’m bleeding anger inside.
But how could it be?
Is this the man I had in my arms? Is this the man who held me in his arms?
Was I drunk or high or something? What did I miss?
Are those the lips that trailed my skin, covered me in kisses, whispered soft words in my ears?
Are they?
Standing on a podium, he says a few words––a small smile lining his lips, his charcoal gray suit falling flawlessly on his body.
My eyes register the details fleetingly–– the elegant sheen of the fabric suggesting a silk blend, his bright white shirt and blue sapphire silk tie complementing the suit.
The vibe I get from him makes my insides crumble. He looks different–– detached, free, at peace with himself.
I don’t like any of it, not when I feel so horrible.
Pulse throbbing in my ears, I wait for him to finish his speech, anticipating more bad news. In the form of a woman, perhaps?
If he’s moved on so pronto, maybe his happiness has to do with finding his true love.
“A normal, affectionate woman...” I mockingly mumble to myself. “Ugh.”
My hands hit the table hard before I bury my face in my palms.
This man will be the end of me.
Flushed, my hair in disarray, I peel my hands away from my face and snatch the phone from the table again.
Ed Preston made the news again just after he finished his speech. In fact, he answered a few questions while he was embarking on the private jet that was set to take him to LA.
My heart flips again.
He’s in LA? Now...?
I check the time. Yup. Just about now. Images and thoughts start popping in my head, spinning out of control.
I have to stop this nightmare.
I jump up to my feet, not having the slightest idea what I want to do next.
The man is gone. He’s no longer in my life. That much I know. He wasn’t mine, never has been mine, and every little moment that he’s given me was nothing more than... I don’t know. An accident? The result of some twisted, inescapable chemistry?
Okay... All right. I got this. I can do this. I can move on, Mr. Preston, just like you did, but before I do that, I need to find out the truth about you, or I’ll lose my mind.
3
THEA
It takes me an hour to find the right outfit.
One simple cut dress with long sleeves, round neckline, and side zipper. The fabric, a fine wool crepe, has a little stretch, hugging my body perfectly.
It’s a classic combination of a black bodice and white collar and sleeves. It looks dressy, and elegant without being boring.
I straighten my hair, brush it all down my back, add a few coats of noir mascara to my lashes and a deep shade of red to my lips.
From the closet, I pick a maxi coat that ends at my ankles. The heels I put on remove the possibility of dragging it on the ground.
A car picks me up before seven o’clock. I give the man the address before I sink into my seat on the back bench.
My phone flashes a text message.
I pull out my glove and tap the screen.
Liz: Where are you? I stopped by your place.
Me: Going somewhere. You should’ve called.
Liz: I just did. Where are you going?
Me: Out.
Liz: ???
Me: I’ll tell you when I get back. It’s not important.
Liz: Oh, I think it is. You wouldn’t have sneaked out like that if it wasn’t.
Me: Nobody sneaked out. I’ll call you when I’m done.
I slide my phone into my pocket.
“You can stop here,” I say to the driver the moment lights explode in front of us.
“Are you sure, Miss?”
“Yes.”
I pay him the fare and climb out of the car. A long line of limos crawls toward the Casino. It would’ve taken forever if I waited in the cab.
My heart summersaults as I strut on the sidewalk and make a beeline for the entrance. The doorman greets me politely sliding the doors open for me as well as other guests.
Beams of lights sweep the marble-paved lobby, a wall of glass streaming in the view of the cars crammed in the front of the imposing building and the people waiting to get inside.
The place is magnificent, sheer opulence flashing everywhere. Huge mirrors, crystal chandeliers, stairwells and rugs softer than the snow outside decorate the impressive foyer.
I check my coat with the coat girl before I navigate through a sea of people until I reach the restaurant attached to the Casino Club. The atmosphere is a bit more settled and relaxed in this room. Round tables discreetly lit from above sit next to the walls, the servers busy catering to the people gathered around them.
I take a turn and stop at the bar where I am lucky to find a seat. Five minutes later, I start sipping gin and tonic, my eyes sweeping the room.
They should be here.
A few tables occupied by men and women clad in business suits, catch my eye. Their guests, I imagine. And this must be the business dinner that’s been mentioned in the news.
No sight of Lex Harrington or James Sexton, though.
“Looking for someone?” the barman asks, flashing a flirty smile.
I grin nervously as I set the glass down.
“Uh... Yes. Actually, I do. I am a journalist from a local student newspaper, and I would like to write an article on the Sexton International Resort and its global operations, especially on the Asian market,” I say without blinking.
The man’s lips curve into a grin.
Seemingly, he’s been around the block a few times and has seen liars like me before.
“Do they still have those?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do they still have newspapers?”
I give him a charming smile.
“It’s more like an online newsletter.”
“Oh, I see,” he says, pretending that he doesn’t register the lie. “So what do you need?”
“I was hoping that I could talk to one of the owners and ask him a few questions. I noticed that their guests are here, but not them.”
The man shifts his gaze as I finish speaking and motions to the corner of the venue.
“James Sexton just walked in.”
My head swivels in that direction, my eyes peeled wide.
Fashioning a simple white dress shirt, flawlessly tailored to mold on his athletic frame, and black pants with a designer belt and a matching watch on his wrist, James Sexton takes a seat at one of the tables after h
e shakes hands with his guests.
“Yes...” I say, my enthusiasm deflated a little. “That’s exactly what I needed,” I say to the barman who observes me quietly.
I’m not moving an inch as if my backside is cemented to the bar stool.
“All you have to do is to go there and ask him,” he says.
I wonder if he truly believes that it’s that simple.
He flashes another smile before he pulls away from me.
My gaze swings back to the other side of the room, my eyes falling on the man who steals the spotlight. All eyes are on him, men and women. And I’m supposed to talk to him?
James Sexton?
I was hoping to talk to Lex Harrington, to be honest. I can’t speak to James Sexton, not unless I want to eat my tongue.
My courage nosedives.
How in the world am I going to do that? He’s not going to waste his time with me.
For a second, my gaze hovers over him. He flashes a mesmerizing smile, owning the evening, the place and the entire universe.
I’m sorry. I can’t do that.
I shift in my seat, empty my glass, and set it on the bar counter. Next to it, I slide my credit card.
“That’s it?” the barman asks incredulously as he takes it from the sleek surface.
I give him a crumpled smile.
“Yes,” I mutter, in no mood to elaborate.
Acting as if he has no idea why I changed my mind, he swipes my card. My eyes stay on his face, staring blankly, more or less, when his gaze flicks up and slides over my shoulder.
“Now it’s a good moment,” he says, pushing my card back to me.
“What?”
I swivel my gaze in that direction as well.
“You can try to catch him now,” the man says as James Sexton rises to his feet and pulls away from the table, heading to a side door.
“He’s probably going to his office,” the barman says.
I feel as if I have no other choice but to follow his advice.
Between his encouragement, the effect of the alcohol, and the pressure of this newly-risen opportunity, I find myself springing to action.
Probably not the best action, but still action.
I snatch my credit card, grin wryly to the man, spin on my heel and cut my way across the room, my eyes glued to James Sexton’s shoulders.