Loving Tiago

by Shayne Ford

  I replaced the nude gloss with a shade of dark red lipstick, and other than mascara, I didn’t use anything for my eyes.

  Less is more indeed.

  The only problem is that I can’t put a genuine smile on my face.

  “You seem preoccupied,” she says as she dismounts the stationary bike and starts stretching.

  I watch her elongating her muscles while controlling her breathing.

  “Are you still stressed out because of your job?”

  “No.”

  My voice is clipped, my smile rueful.

  “No reason to be,” I continue.

  Truth be told, my job is hardly on my mind of right now.

  I expect to have a shitty day at work. What am I saying? I expect an entire week of drama.

  But I’m less obsessed with it right now since I know that I can quit whenever I want.

  Even so, I need to talk to Tiago before I put in my two weeks’ notice. I need to know what happens to us if I take this step. Whether he’ll be history for me from now on or not. Whether I can do something to straighten things out or not.

  I owe it to myself, and him as well.

  My mind wanders away as I pour myself a cup of coffee and stir a dash of cream in it.

  “So what are you up to today?” I throw at her distractedly before I taste my coffee.

  It’s too hot, but even so, the warmth moving down my throat changes my disposition, rendering me more optimistic, while the caffeine entering my bloodstream gives me a boost of energy and clarity, although the sensation is fleeting, temporary.

  “James, Tiago, and I will be at the auction house this morning. Then we’ll have lunch and spend the rest of the day together, hopefully, before we all fly back home tonight.”

  My mind hits a little snag when I hear Tiago’s name.

  “Has James talked to Tiago since last night?” I ask, hiding my expression behind my cup of coffee.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she says, balancing her left leg, and bringing her knee up to her chest.

  “Yup. He texted him this morning. And, um... He was on the phone with him a few minutes ago. Why?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that he kinda stormed out last night. I thought that maybe something happened to him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  There’s no innuendo in her voice, no inquisitive inflection.

  It’s not as if she suspects anything–– although I’m clearly fishing for information; she just wants to hear an explanation.

  I shrug, tense, and in a bad mood again.

  “Nothing in particular. It’s more like a gut feeling. I don’t know much about Tiago Rossi, and I find it quite difficult to read him.”

  My voice carries the light touch of sincerity and the weight of frustration that I now have a hard time to conceal, but the nuance escapes her otherwise sharp perception.

  “Something bothered him last night,” I toss at her, hoping that some random detail she would throw my way could help me regain my insightfulness when it comes to him. And help me understand where he could be right now.

  “Was he home when James talked to him?”

  I struggle to sound casual, but my breaths roll way too fast, and my tension heightens as my heart drums in my ears.

  She shrugs, killing my last shred of hope.

  “I have no idea. I doubt James asked him.”

  Naturally. Why would he?

  “He might’ve spent the night with his woman for all I know,” she says when I least expect it.

  My heart sinks.

  “What makes you say that?”

  She shoots her eyes my way and looks at me somewhat baffled, and I suddenly become aware that I begin to sound weird with all my pesky questions, and my morbid curiosity.

  “It’s just a guess,” she says.

  Strangely, by not giving me a definitive answer, she stirs me up even more because now my mind begins to fill in the blanks.

  Flashbacks of Tiago and Andrea dance in front of my eyes, enhanced by my imagination.

  A faint smile tugs at my lips.

  “I guess you’ll find out today,” I mutter.

  She gestures dismissively.

  “He doesn’t bring her to the auction–– that much I know. And when it comes to lunch? I don’t think so. But he might surprise me. Why don’t you join us for lunch?”

  I rush to decline her invitation.

  “Why not?”

  I take a deep breath before I continue.

  “I can’t leave work. It’s a new rule the new people have implemented. We can’t go out unless we meet clients for lunch.”

  “Why do you still care about their rules? You’re leaving anyway.”

  I set my coffee down, breaking eye contact for a moment.

  “You make a good point, but it’s not worth the aggravation. I’m planning on resigning by the end of the week, but for now, I want to keep things calm and get through the next few days without much drama.”

  “Dinner, then?”

  I swing my eyes to her.

  “Okay.”

  It doesn’t sound like a definitive answer–– it wasn’t intended that way, because I’m still pondering over her words.

  My heart pounds vigorously in my chest. My mind says no. My heart–– as bruised as it is, says yes.

  “We’ll be at Daniel at six o’clock. East 65th between Park and Madison Avenue.

  “I know where it is. It’s just that...”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure I can make it.”

  The reality is I’m not sure I can’t face Tiago in a public setting, especially with James and Rain in the audience.

  It would be a big gamble, but that’s not all.

  He might be accompanied by his escort slash employee slash new friend, old friend.

  “Why not?” she asks.

  “It’s too early. I might not be done with work by then.”

  “No worries,” she says, gesturing faintly. “We’ll be there for a while. We’re hopping on the plane around ten, so you can come when you’re done.”

  She sounds enthusiastic about the idea.

  Any other day, this would’ve been a great plan, but now, it feels like stepping on a minefield, the perspective of screwing things even worse than I’ve already had, making me sick to my stomach.

  “I’ll see,” I say in a soft voice, planning to call her later on and tell her that I’m not going to make it.

  EVE

  Things unfold in a blatantly crass disregard for my plans–– as it’s been happening lately.

  Minutes after Rain and I hang up, I enter the walk-in closet.

  Risking to be late again, I rummage through the hangers, pick up a dress and also a business suit and quickly shed my layers of sadness and indecision expressed so accurately by my gray skirt and preppy top.

  I lift them and study them for a moment before I check them against my frame. I toss the dress to the side–– too frilly for work, and keep the red silk blouse.

  The business suit features a pencil skirt with back zipper and a small slit, and a tailored jacket with broad shoulders, narrow lapels and bejeweled button closure at the waist.

  The color–– a deep shade of navy complements the red silk blouse. I opt for a set of white gold jewelry comprised of a necklace and small earrings, a gift from Rain that I never got the chance to wear and toss a glance in the mirror.

  I change my shoes too, my heels gaining an inch in height, straps wrapping around my ankles.

  My look erases the idea of a broken heart if, in fact, I muster enough courage to show up and face him later today.

  I’m telling myself that I need to dress up just in case. And by dressing this way, I make an effort to hide my shattered heart under distinguished elegance.

  I don’t know what I'm thinking, showing up at work all decked out. Part of it is venting my frustration–– that much I know. Another fear I have is that I might be walking in on Tiago and that woman.

&n
bsp; Whatever lies ahead of me, it’s better if I wrap myself in layers of smooth brushed wool, delicate silk, and beautifully crafted jewelry in hopes of shielding myself from what’s to come.

  I’m ten minutes late when I leave home, because, of course, I spent some extra time straightening my hair and curling my lashes, but luckily the cab arrives earlier than estimated, and the traffic is light for a good portion of the road, so I get to work on time.

  I enter the firm with a group of people, breathing a sigh of relief as I check the time. My sharp look attracts a few pairs of eyes before I take a swift turn and walk into my office.

  A cup of coffee–– the second one for the day, waits for me on my desk. Next to it, sit a few folders.

  “Well, good morning,” Lilian says, careening into my office right after me.

  I glance over my shoulder.

  A smile brightens her eyes.

  “What happened?” she asks, dragging her gaze down and up, a questioning look on her face.

  She’s too young to be my mother, but in many respects, she acts as if she is.

  Perhaps, her maternal instinct kicks in every time she sees me sailing treacherous waters, stumbling, and trying to learn to become a better adult.

  She gestures curtly, pointing to my outfit while I set my bag on my desk and shrug out of my coat. A moment later, I place it on a hanger.

  They say you become the person fit for the clothes, or you can change your behavior based on what you wear–– I’m not so sure if that’s how the saying goes, but I sure feel that way.

  Swept by a wave of newfound confidence, I smile.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” I say, pointing to the cup while fingering my button and opening my jacket.

  Pretending that I haven’t heard her question, I mull over the answer.

  I have no idea what to say, though.

  Considering how dramatically my ties with Tiago have been severed, everything else seems of little consequence.

  At this point, I couldn’t care less about my performance evaluation, the new work schedule, the pissy people plotting in their offices and making life miserable for all of us, or even that Andrea woman who thinks she’s got a shoot at Tiago Rossi.

  At this point, all I want is to make it through the day, holding on to the crazy belief that no matter what, things will be okay in the end.

  I raise my gaze to Lilian.

  Her eyebrows are still lifted as she waits for my response.

  “Is there a special occasion?” she asks quietly.

  “No. Not really. Unless, the fact that my workload is about to increase tenfolds counts as one,” I say, ticking my chin and pointing to the stack of folders sitting on the table.

  “Oh, yeah... About that,” she mutters before she slides smoothly away from my desk, closes the door, and pivots to me.

  Panic washes over her face as she looks at me.

  “I’ll keep the door closed only for a moment. I don’t want to get into trouble. They’ve already said that the doors need to stay open at all time, and no idling and personal conversations are allowed.”

  Neither of us smiles.

  “Actually, what I’m about to say is hardly personal,” she says, a shred of concern flitting across her face.

  She gestures to the folders.

  “They want every member of the Creative to work on all accounts.”

  My lips part in surprise.

  “Really? What happened with a specialized team is assigned to a certain client? Isn’t that what made us successful after all?”

  “I know. I know all that. Everybody does, in fact, but they want more brainpower to work on each account.”

  “It’s not going to work.”

  She shrugs again while I slide into my chair.

  What else is there to say?

  “This is unproductive,” I say after pondering for a few moments. “We’ll step on each other’s toes, and aggravate the clients. And all of that for what? To create this new expectation that their money can buy more than anywhere else? It’s stupid. And it will backfire. Everybody knows that the power of advertising lies in the geniality of those exact few words and images that move the needle, make an impact, and get ingrained into the consumer’s psyche, driving sales.”

  I slap the desk in frustration when the door snaps open without warning.

  “Please keep the doors open at all times,” Marina Lore barks without looking at us before she propels herself down the corridor, checking more doors and cubicles.

  “Talking about micro-managing,” I throw under my breath, dawning on me that Lilian has closed the door to protect me more than herself.

  For a moment, I’m tempted to confess that I intend to submit my resignation on Friday afternoon, but something stops me.

  As she quietly walks to her office, I feel bad.

  All these changes screw with people’s lives. They'll make life miserable for some, and unbearable for others, and many will end up losing their jobs.

  If I leave, Lilian will be reassigned to someone else, and I’m sure she’ll do a fantastic job, but even so, I fear that she’d end up leaving.

  As I run an empty gaze over the folder, fragments of a conversation Lilian and I had sometime back echo in my head.

  She and her husband planned on buying a new house and taking her kids down to Florida to visit her parents. She might need to put this on hold, now that things change so fast at work.

  A growl of frustration dies between my lips as I notice Marina coasting up and down the corridor.

  There’s nothing I can do to stop all this from happening. All I can do is let the things flow.

  Frosted, I watch the woman patrolling up and down the hallway when a thought shapes up in my brain.

  3

  EVE

  I still don’t know if I should meet Rain for lunch or not. And by Rain, I mean her brother-in-law.

  I’d break the new rule at work, and risk a lot, but I’m tempted to give it a try.

  I dwell over the idea throughout the morning, fidgeting in my chair, making useless trips to the cafeteria and popping in Lilian’s office more times than I care to count, my productivity going right out of the window as my mind keeps whirling scenarios and possibilities.

  I go back and forth, trying to convince myself that it’s a stupid idea, and I should just give up.

  I still think that it is. But I don’t want to give up.

  There’s a long list of reasons why I shouldn’t attempt to do it, at the top of the list, and the most important one... I’m not sure it’s realistic to walk out of the firm without getting myself in trouble, reprimanded, or even fired on the spot.

  And in the end, even if I manage to get out and talk to him, I would probably accomplish nothing.

  And yet, I can’t help myself, so come lunchtime I begin to unfold my ploy.

  First, I text Rain.

  Me: How was your day so far?

  I set my cell down next to my laptop, my eyes swinging back and forth between the corridor and my phone screen as I wait for her reply.

  A few colleagues stroll down the hallway, heading to the cafeteria.

  Come on, Rain. Write me something.

  My phone hums with an alert.

  Rain: Good. Yours?

  I need more than that.

  Rain: Can you talk?

  Me: No. Still at the auction?

  Rain: We’re about to leave for lunch.

  There you go.

  Me: We?

  It takes a few more minutes until she sends another message.

  I shuffle papers around, start working on my computer, shoot my gaze to the door a hundred times before my phone flashes her reply.

  Rain: Lex, Dahlia, and Tiago are here with us.

  Yes.

  Me: Have you taken any pictures?

  Rain: Plenty. I’ll send you some.

  I wait. And wait.

  Lilian pops in the doorway.

  “Aren’t you going to eat something
?”

  “I want to finish this first,” I say, tapping a folder with my index finger. “Where are the bosses?”

  “They have lunch in the conference room.”

  I flick my eyebrows up.

  “Business lunch,” she says in response to my questioning look.

  My phone prompts me to break my stare, claiming my attention with a quiet alert. I tip my gaze down.

  Rain: Sorry for the delay. We’re already at the restaurant.

  A picture fills my screen.

  I recognize the place. It’s one of the newer restaurants in one of the posh hotels on Park Avenue.

  Rain: More pictures later. I’m hungry. Can’t you stop by?

  “Everything okay?” Lilian asks.

  “Yes.”

  I’m a bit jumpy, nervous.

  “Um...”

  She cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “Listen,” I say, smoothly collecting my phone and pushing out of my chair. “I need to make a personal call,” I add as I grab my coat and take a few steps in her direction.

  She walks into my office so that no word gets out.

  “If anyone asks, you have no idea where I am,” I say quietly.

  As the words fall from my lips, my mind goes over the details of my bold plan–– taking the elevator down, walking out of the building and heading south. Hailing a taxi and making the trip to the hotel.

  With a bit of luck, I could be there in less than fifteen minutes.

  I check the time. It’s twelve-fifteen. By one o’clock I could be back.

  Hopefully, nobody will notice that I was gone.

  “Where are you going?” she asks, a dash of concern rippling through her voice.

  “Not far from here. I just need to get out of the building for a few moments.”

  It’s better if she doesn’t know.

  “Okay.”

  “Text me or call me if anything crazy happens.”

  “I will,” she murmurs, pallor setting on her face.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back in no time.”

  “Hurry,” she says in a conspiratorial voice.

  She spins around as we both make the trip to the door.

  “Wait a moment,” she murmurs before she checks the corridor. “Okay. It’s clear now. Avoid the reception area and the elevators. And use the Emergency exit. It’s the last door on the right at the end of the corridor.”