by K. T. Mara
Shaw and I attended Lady Mariett’s Prep School. It was an obnoxiously pretentious school for the elite. Each grade had only thirty students, and it was an elevator school, meaning we had the same classmates until graduation. You would think after fourteen years, with only thirty names to remember, he would know mine.
Nope.
Connor Alistair Shaw lived in his own blissfully ignorant mind. His ego took up too much of his brain matter for him to care about other people.
When we were in the eleventh grade, a ‘culture’ day was organized, where all the students had to present their background heritage. Shaw didn’t do the work. Instead, he showed up, and in in one sentence, declared that his great grandfather was the founder of this school.
The end.
And the teacher’s accepted it. It wasn’t fair, but that was how Connor Shaw’s world worked. He was rich. He was handsome. He was charming.
A lethal combination in the hands of a narcissist like himself.
He got away with things only powerful old-money families like the Shaw’s could.
And with his chiseled jaw, sharp cheekbones, and a face that could adorn any magazine cover, it seemed like Shaw had the world at his fingers.
He never worked for anything. Everything came to him effortlessly. I resented him the very moment we met. He was the most annoying, pompous son-of-a-bitch you will ever meet.
“Rachel, you’ve been seeing me for sixteen years now. Why have you never mentioned your dislike towards Connor?”
I scrunched my face in confusion, “He’s an irrelevant part of my life.”
“You saw him every day! That is very relevant.”
“I think we have differing opinions on its meaning.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Agree to disagree.”
“Wait,” Gus’ mouth dropped, elongating his already very long face. “You two went to the same preschool and college?”
We had the same major, too. Business administration. Yet he is COO while I’m stuck being his PA.
“That’s seventeen years of schooling together, Rachel! How is that not a big deal?”
Actually, I’ve known him since we were five. I unofficially met him at a charity gala our parents were a part of. I spilled my glass of juice all over his tux. My mom made me buy him a stuffed animal as an apology, but I’d rather not elaborate on that story to Gus.
Gus’ face turned into a sulk. Unbelievable – a grown man sulking like a child.
“You’re supposed to tell me every aspect of your life that’s bothering you. That’s what I’m here for, Rachel. I can’t help you if I don’t know everything. I feel like I’m failing you.”
I stared at him blankly. Guilt trips never worked on me. He needed to come up with better tricks. After sixteen years I’ve seen every single one he has. He kept recycling them, too, which was really pathetic on his part.
“Unless you can make him into a decent human being, I don’t see how talking to you about him will fix anything.” I leaned in and dropped my voice to a whisper, “You know, I heard rumors that he visits a shrink, too. If that’s the case, the shrink really sucks at his job.”
Gus started coughing uncontrollably.
I stood quickly and walked behind him. I placed my fisted hands on his stomach and steadied my right foot between his feet.
“W-what are you doing?”
“The Heimlich Maneuver. Don’t worry, I’m CPR certified.”
Which was kind of ironic, considering the things my family did.
Gus started wiggling uncontrollably.
“Are you having a stroke? I know how to handle those too.”
His arms began flailing like a drowning man, or a fish with really stubby arms.
“No, I’m not choking, and I’m not having a stroke either! Just let me go!”
I backed away, with my hands raised in the air. “Yeesh. Talk about ungrateful.”
He flashed me the stink eye, but his almost uni-brow killed any potential effect it may have had on me.
I diverted my eyes to my watch. “Can we move this along, Gus? It’s almost time for me to leave.”
He sighed. I should’ve been the one exasperated. I had to put up with his nonsense every session. He was incapable of staying on topic.
Gus scrambled behind his desk for something. He reached into one of the drawers, and pulled out a black book.
I reached across his desk and grabbed it. The book gave off a strong chemical odor that was giving me a mild headache.
“No.”
“B-but you haven’t even heard what I have to say yet.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need to. You want me to keep a diary of my day-to-day life. I am not interested; therefore, I will not do it.”
“Don’t you want to know why I want you to do this?”
I slumped back into my chair and pointed at his certification degree he proudly displayed on the wall.
“Because Duke University didn’t teach you anything useful, and your master’s degree is for show, so your only other choice is to make your patients do the work for you.”
Gus recoiled like he had just been slapped. My words tended to have that effect on people.
“Rachel, what have we discussed about your words? You need to be aware of how the things you say can impact other people.”
Seeing his disappointed expression stirred a bit of remorse, but by now, he should know not to take everything I say to heart. No one could have a relationship with me if they were overly sensitive.
“You always said you wanted my complete honesty during our sessions. You can’t pick and choose what I’m truthful about.”
Gus threw a piece of gum at me. I caught it before it hit my face.
I raised an eyebrow when I read the label. Juicy Fruit Blueberry – my favorite flavor. “You chew gum, and yet your breath still stinks?”
His cheeks reddened a few shades. “Why does everyone say that? It can’t be that bad.”
I shook my head. “People could smell your breath through a…”
“HAZMAT suit?”
I smiled. “Not what I was going to say, but that’s pretty funny. Good one, Gus.”
“That’s not mine, either,” he mumbled to himself.
I unwrapped the piece of gum, and plopped it into my mouth. “Your other client has good taste.”
Gus chuckled, “Interesting that you would think that.”
My eyes darted back to his, but he dismissed it.
“Now about the book…”
“I am not keeping a diary,” I cut him off. “I didn’t have one when I was supposed to, and I’m certainly not going to have one now.”
“I know you’re hesitant about this, but one of my more difficult patients has also agreed to this as well.”
“So they’re easy. I’m not.”
He shook his head. “Both of you have not shown any progress with other forms of therapy. This is our last resort. If this doesn’t work, I’m afraid I’m going to have to drop you as a client.”
I sat up quickly in my seat. “Why?”
Gus let out a breath I didn’t know he was holding, “You’ve been with me for sixteen years now, but I haven’t seen much improvement since our first session. I don’t think I can help you, Rachel.”
“Yes, you can,” I said adamantly. “You already have. I am a much better person than I was before I met you.”
I despised change.
It was one of the reasons I’ve stuck with Gus for so long, even though he got on my nerves the majority of the time. Why change something when it was working? People always assume that if something doesn’t work, the only solution is to change it. What if changing it only makes things worse? Some things are meant to stay the way they are.
When he didn’t move, I grabbed the book from his hands.
“I’ll do it, okay? I’ll write in the stupid diary.”
Gus perked up immediately. “You don’t have to call it a diary, Rachel.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wh
at else can I call it then?”
Gus shrugged his shoulders, “A journal, agenda,” his eyes widened and he smiled, “or you could call it a Little Black Book.”
“Is that what your other client is calling it? There’s no way you came up with that yourself.”
He dismissed me with a wave. “Nonsense.”
“Your other client sounds kind of interesting. Maybe you can introduce us?”
Gus chuckled to himself.
I stared at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” He stood up, and started heading towards the door. He opened it, and turned around. “I’ll see you next week, Rachel.”
I looked at my watch again. “We still have five minutes left.”
He waved his hand again. He really needed to stop doing that. It made him look like he has manic-flipper syndrome. “Five minutes, two minutes. Go enjoy your lunch, Rachel.”
A frown creased my forehead. “If I wanted to enjoy my lunch, I wouldn’t schedule my shrink appointment during it. Isn’t that common sense?”
Gus sighed again. He needed to stop doing that, too.
“Promise me you’ll keep an open mind about your new job. It may surprise you.”
Sure. By how surprisingly degrading it is. I nodded my head to avoid starting another argument with him. After all, he was kicking me out.
“I hope you have a nice week, Rachel.”
I waved goodbye to him. “Yeah, you too.”
Once I was in the elevator, I dug for a pen from my bag. I flipped to the title page of the book, scribbled out the word diary, and wrote in:
Then I quickly crossed it out, hearing how obnoxious it sounded. To come up with such a cheesy name, I really hoped the other client wasn’t missing a dick.
--------------------
Contact M
Name: Meredith Walt
Age: She won’t tell me. I’m also convinced the date listed on her resume is fake.
A.K.A: The lady who keeps me functional.
Occupation: My housekeeper, cook and self-appointed sleep-blocker, which we all know is worse than a cock-blocker any day.
Moods she invokes: Desperation. I need my sleep!
--------------------
“Connor wake up! It’s 6 o’clock!”
Uh huh. I nodded my head, but I had every intention of not leaving my bed. Meredith has been with me for sixteen years now, and although she has a voice that would shame any drill sergeant, over a decade’s worth of morning calls have blunted her voice. I’ve grown accustomed to the ungodly decibels screamed at me every morning. They have now become background noise.
She yelled for a few more minutes before leaving.
I thought I won this battle. Of course, I was wrong. So fucking wrong.
I didn’t know she only left to get a bucket of water. Ice water.
“Fuck!” I screamed.
“Watch your mouth young man!”
I sat up, completely soaked and shivering.
Connor: 0, Meredith: 1
“If you don’t want me to swear, don’t do stuff that will make me!” I jumped out of bed. The blankets, sheets, and pillows were soaked as well. Meredith smiled at me.
I glared back. “Your method may have worked, but you made a goddamn mess in the process.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “So what? I’m the one who has to clean it up. If I don’t mind, neither should you.”
Connor: 0, Meredith: 2
Craaaaaap.
I stared at the clock. “It’s only 5:25.”
“And?”
“You said it was 6.”
She shrugged her shoulders, “Close enough.”
In whose world is that close enough? “Your rounding is getting more ludicrous with age.”
Her cheeks puffed out. “I’ll have you know I am a woman in my late thirties. I am not old.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been a woman in your late thirties for ten years now.”
Connor: 1, Meredith: 2
Her cheeks turned bright red. If steam lines were real, they’d be coming off of her. I just needed to deliver the finishing blow. “What is your age, Meredith? At least give me a hint. Is it closer to menopause, or senior home?”
Connor: 2, Meredith: 2
I was very pleased with myself. I thought I might actually win for the first time. Then she killed me.
“At least I act my age! What kind of twenty-six-year-old man can’t even function on his own? I wake you in the mornings, make your bed, cook your breakfast, and do your laundry. Complain all you want, Connor Alistair Shaw. You may be some hotshot executive, but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be able to leave your bed!”
Connor: 2, Meredith: KO
Fuck my life. Just fuck it.
There was no reason I should be alive if I couldn’t even beat a middle-aged woman at a battle of wits. She was the reason I despised mornings…and the whole leaving bed part.
As I dragged my sorry ass to the bathroom, I almost stepped on the tail of my dog, Lector. He was happily nestled in his basket, having slept through his owner being attacked by a mad woman. I think he was also accustomed to the routine ruckus
Once in the bathroom, I locked the door. Meredith had a lot of tricks hidden up her pantyhose. I was not getting surprised twice.
Other than the usual Meredith encounter, my morning routine is fairly boring. I’m woken up at five-something – seriously this should be outlawed – brush my teeth, and pop some Lexapro. A floss container sat precariously on the edge of my counter. It has been in that spot since Meredith first bought it five years ago. Meredith has threatened me many times about a possible tartar invasion. She was like a prophet, predicting the apocalypse of my teeth, but my dentist charged me a grand every three months whether my teeth are sparkly diamonds or lemon yellow. I already took good care of the color of my teeth; I don’t see why I should do everything.
And I was lazy. Sue me.
Once I finished brushing, I reached for the razor.
“Connor!” Meredith screamed, most likely from the kitchen.
Just so you know, the kitchen and bedroom are on opposite sides of the apartment.
“Connor!”
“I’m coming!”
Well, I haven’t said that in a while. Fuck, it’s been a long time, and it wasn’t even in the right context, either.
I screamed, though I doubt she heard me. Unlike her, I couldn’t project my voice across a stadium. It took me, on average, seven minutes just to walk from my room to the kitchen. There was also a daunting flight of stairs. I was not exaggerating this at all. It was a spiral staircase resembling a slinky—an architectural beauty, but absolutely hellish to walk down when my body has yet to regain all of its motor functions.
“I’m waiting!”
Every morning with the yelling! I’m tempted to remind Meredith of the time, but she was the reason I knew what time it was. I should still be in bed.
“If I have to call you one more time, there will be no breakfast!”
That was not really a punishment. The past few months Meredith has been experimenting with healthy alternative cooking. That meant no bacon, eggs, sausages, or meat of any kind. So now every morning, I not only missed my bed, I also missed the concept of eating.
I ran down the staircase quickly, resting on the bottom step until the walls stopped moving.
In the kitchen, Meredith was holding my plate of green fugliness over the garbage disposal. She made a point to look surprised when she saw me, like I’d caught her right before she was about to trash my breakfast. I wondered how long she’d been standing there holding the plate.
I should have walked slower.
“It’s a good thing you arrived when you did.” She smiled as she set the plate on the counter island. Today my food was composed of grilled tomatoes, baked beans, and pile of Brussels sprouts. It was a damn green bonanza. If I ate that my colon would get more action than my dick.
There are no words
to describe how fucked up that is.
I stared at my plate trying to find a way to trick my brain into thinking I was about to eat crispy bacon, instead of soggy beans, but I doubt anyone had that kind of mental prowess.
“Connor, what’s wrong?” She glanced at me. “Oh silly me! I forgot your utensils.”
Yeah, like that was the fucking problem.
When she noticed I hadn’t touched my food after five minutes, she was livid. “Connor Alistair Shaw.”
Wow. She used my full name twice this morning. I was so afraid.
Please. I’m not seven years old.
“There are lots of starving children in the world who don’t have enough food to eat. You do not get to be picky.”
And that was why my family has donated millions of dollars to foundations that focus on global poverty. So the kids can have well balanced meals that have all the food groups, which included meat, but I knew if I told this to Meredith there would be a lot of yelling, and I was much too smart for that.
From under I table, I discretely texted Leonard to pick me up in three minutes and thirty seconds.
“You haven’t had breakfast yet, right, Meredith?” I pushed my plate toward her and bolted from my chair. “You can have mine. Leonard is waiting for me in the lobby. Bye!”
“Can’t he wait?”
“Nope.” Not that she could hear me. I was already out the door.
I couldn’t help it. I’m a person who avoided confrontation whenever possible.
--------------------
Contact L
Name: Leonard Polsky
Age: 55
A.K.A: My one-man rescue squad
Relationship: My driver
Moods he invokes: Relief.
--------------------
“Mr. Shaw,” Leonard tipped his hat. “Your office?”