ROMANCE: The Bad Boy Meeting

by Kevin, Amanda

  “Couple of us wanna get drinks tonight,” Darren said, wagging his bushy eyebrows.

  Angelica pursed her lips.

  Darren’s shoulders fell.

  She hoped he knew enough not to go any further with the invitation. Darren was a buddy. A pal. But she would never go as far as to put herself in an intensely social setting just to hang out with him, so she gave her head a quick shake, and turned to begin gathering her things for her departure.

  Once she made it home to her very modest, Portland apartment, she put in a microwaveable dinner, stuffed the hot pasta into her mouth, and went on to bed. The next morning, she awoke feeling no better than she had in going to sleep. It was Saturday, and Saturday meant going over to her mother’s place to help with gardening. Angelica didn’t hate gardening, or her mother, but somehow the two together were a little too much to handle. So after devoting less than an hour to the cause, Angelica quit, sitting at the patio table with one of her mother’s homemade fruit salads.

  “Phew!” her mother stepped up onto the patio, taking off her gloves and sitting across from Angelica. She took off her sunglasses, revealing two tired grey eyes. “Thank’s for all the help, Gel,” She said, the pop of her tupperwear punctuating that sarcastic remark.

  Angelica shrugged. “I didn’t come here for the flowers. I came for the fruit”

  Her mother scoffed. “I thought my days of being a personal cook were over,” She said.

  Angelica laughed at this, shoving a forkful of strawberry into her mouth. “You chose that life when you had me.”

  “Ha!” she gulped down a generous sip of water before saying, “You can’t blame me for your healthy appetite.”

  Angelica gulped. There was: another offhanded comment about her dress size. With her mother, they were a dime a dozen, constantly floating around her, thickening the air until it was nearly impossible to breathe. “Only for your food, Mom,” She said, hoping that a little complementing would divert the conversation that was bound to happen anyway.

  But she raised an eyebrow, eyeing her bulbous breasts. “Doesn’t look it.”

  Angelica dropped her fork accidentally-on purpose. “M-M-Mom.” There it was again: the stutter. A nervous sweat coated her forehead.

  “Just join a spinning class or something,” She said, shrugging her shoulders.

  You know it’s not that easy… “Y-Y-You kno--”

  Her mother reached across the table, patting her shoulder. “Just shake it off, Gel. No nerves here. Just me n’ you.”

  “M-Mom.” Angelica pressed her lips together. The harder she tried the more her insides rebelled against the effort.

  She shook her head, her lips folding into a frown. “I’m sorry it’s just… can’t a mother talk to her daughter about these things? I should be able… to.” Her voice broke at the end.

  Angelica reached for her hand. It was easier than trying to lie to her to calm her down. No. A mother couldn’t fat shame her daughter because seeing her curves made her uncomfortable. But this wasn’t A Mother. This was Angelica’s mother, and Angelica’s mother said whatever she wanted, however she wanted.

  “One of my girlfriends started taking a spinning class. Said you can go as fast or slow as you want. Can even sit in the back if you get shy…”

  “I don’t like spinning or biking.” This time the words came willingly.

  Mother stopped chewing, letting the bolus of food hang in her mouth before she gulped it down and said, “Well, if you want to reduce--”

  “I-I-I d-don’t want to red-duce.” Angelica said. Her fruit salad started to taste more and more bitter.

  “Well, how are you gonna find a husband like that?” Her mother asked, jabbing her wrinkled finger at her.

  “I’m not trying to find a husband.” Angelica lied. She had been looking for her prince charming practically since birth.

  Her mother sighed, folding her hands in front of her. “This is my worst nightmare.”

  Angelica raised an eyebrow. Her worst nightmare was drowning in a car accident. “I’m s-s-sorry.” I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m sorry my choices offend you. I’m sorry my lifestyle does not fit your misogynistic ways.

  “Don’t you want a man to come home to? Don’t you want someone to make fruit salads for? Don’t you want a house… and garden… a baby?”

  Angelica sucked in a deep breath, pursing her lips. “I just want a career.”

  Her mother pursed her lips. “What? At that station? You never even get in front of the camera. You can’t even talk to me sometimes, let alone the rest of the world.”

  Angelica had nothing to say to this. She kept her head down for the rest of the meal, focusing her attention on the crunch of the pineapple, the sweet juice of the strawberry. She could not deny the fact that her mother was at least a little bit right. Angelica found it difficult holding basic conversations with people. She always had, and yet, somehow, she went from a writer, to a journalist, to a newscaster and suddenly she wanted to be in front of people. She had a vision of herself; a better self. A self who could hop in front of the camera like it was nothing. A self she could love, truly love.

  Her lunch ended on a quiet note, with subdued goodbyes and enough frowns to last Angelica the rest of the week. Her mother helped her into her parka as they stood in front of her front door. As soon as Angelica slipped her hands into the pockets, she noticed a sharp business card. She pulled it out to find that it was the number and address to the nearest gym. Spinning.

  Angelica’s gaze returned to her mother’s face just in time to see her shrug apologetically. “I just want you to be happy.”

  Angelica nodded, staring into those big gray eyes, she could scarcely deny that truth.

  ***

  Angelica stood in the elevator at the station listening to her own breathing. It was just past four in the morning. She loved those quiet moments when it was too early, even for the newscasters. She could wander around the studio on her own, imagining a different life for herself. A smile played at her lips as the doors whooshed open, but it faded quickly. There was a light coming from an office on the far back wall of the floor.

  Someone was here.

  The elevator doors shut just as soon as Angelica stepped out. She tiptoed towards the office, squinting in the warm light. A part of her wanted to call out, another part of her wanted to do nothing. That part of her almost always won. Once she was close enough to tell, she could see through the blinds that it was clearly Clementine’s office: third door on the right. Angelica lingered there, wondering why Clementine, the one who always rolled in a clear ten minutes before her sound check, could possibly be at the station so early.

  “Who’s there?” Clementine’s sharp voice cut the silence.

  She had lingered too long.

  No one!

  “Angelica?”

  She sighed. She was caught. She stepped towards the door, knocking… and knocking… and internally kicking herself for knocking…

  “Jesus, Gel. Just come the fuck in.”

  Angelica jumped, yanking the door open so hard that it slammed into the wall.

  Clementine jumped, shooting her an annoyed look before returning her gaze to the computer screen in front of her. “What are you doing here this early?”

  Angelica shrugged. “N-Nothing.”

  Clementine sighed. “Okay.” She then turned back to the screen in front of her, the google search page reflecting off of her eye glasses. She glanced up at Angelica one more time before gesturing at the singular desk chair sitting in front of her.

  Angelica followed her non-verbal order.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about this sad station.” Clementine glanced back up to check that Angelica was still listening.

  Angelica was always just listening.

  “Anyway, what we really need is a special. Some kind of thing to really take us over the edge you know? So I’ve been looking at this guy, Blake Hancock?”

  Blake Hancock? The name sounded fami
liar.

  “He’s like Oregon’s biggest treasure. He’s got this massive estate up in hills. You know, where it’s always snowy. Apparently, he inherited the country’s most profitable logging company from his dad and now he’s working on a business merger with some tractor company.”

  Angelica failed to see the point in any of this.

  Clementine glanced up from the computer, her eyes alight with excitement. She swiped a lock of hair behind her ear and said, “Oh come on! He’s a fucking billionaire!”

  How was that supposed to help anything? What did that even mean? “So?” Angelica managed to say.

  “We could go do a study or something. We could travel up there and get the inside scoop. This guy is gonna be the Donald Trump and when that happens, I wanna be able to say we got there first.”

  A billionaire in Oregon? Fat chance.

  Clementine glanced up at her again, an impatient scowl darkening her face. “Just come over here and look at this guy. I know you’ll want to come with me.”

  Angelica’s eyes went wide. “C-come with you?” her lips hovered around the end of that word, as if she expected it to turn around and come back through her mouth.

  Clementine nodded. “You have to follow me around right? Wanna do a story? A real story?”

  Angelica doubted interviewing a billionaire about cutting down trees was a real story, but she leaned over Clementine’s shoulder anyway. Her heart nearly stopped at the image in front of her. It was the eyes. It had to have been the eyes. They were forest green, the pigment practically jumping out of the computer screen at her. Then, there was his face. It was squared off, a perfect, strong jaw. Bushy eyebrows. Lots of hair. An expensive looking suit draped his dense-body. He looked like a carpenter dressed like broker. It was the best of both worlds: the smart business man with the suit and the fancy razor and the handyman who always knew what to do when the faucet wouldn’t stop dripping water.

  She gulped down that lump in her throat. The thought of meeting him excited and frightened her all at once. So, she nodded, naturally. “I’m in.”

  Chapter 2

  Darren turned the van one last time and everything leveled off. They were all shaken from the nearly life threatening drive up winding roads and hairpin turns. One more massive hill towered above them, the road leading straight up. The cars that had periodically passed on the other side of the road eventually disappeared until there was no one. Beyond the hill, embedded in the ever-present clouds, was a mansion unlike anything Angelica had ever seen. Her hands left the back of Clementine’s seat for the first time during the entire drive as she took in everything from it’s dark stone walls, to the red shutters and the sharp edges.

  Darren popped the cigar out of his mouth and clasped the wheel. “All right., Just easing her up…”

  All three of them held their breath as he climbed that hill, the van cranking and whining in protest.

  “Jesus, Darren. Will you put that thing out?” Clementine snapped in a shaking voice.

  Darren’s eyes flashed wide in exasperation. “Do you want me to drive or do you want me to drive?”

  Clementine just turned away from him, because she did, indeed, want him to drive.

  Angelica released a sigh of relief as they finally made it to the top of that hill. She laid her eyes on the estate in front of her. It spanned as far as she could see in either direction. She imagined, in warmer climates, some sort of fountain might have dominated the roundabout driveway, but instead, there stood a massive weeping willow. Thoughts of “Colors of the Wind” flashed across Angelica’s mind as she stared at the piece, wondering why he would want such an oppressive plant in his front yard. Yet, she couldn’t deny that she was intrigued.

  “That took long enough.” Clementine muttered as she climbed out of the truck.

  Darren let out a sharp whistle. It echoed as he rounded the truck. “You ready, hun?” He asked, slapping Angelica on the shoulder as Clementine slipped her beanie off of her head to check her hair.

  Angelica nodded.

  Just when she began to wonder where the welcoming committee was, she heard the sound of a door being pulled open. She looked up just in time to see a man dressed in a cumberbund, a white button down, and a gray wool jacket step outside, holding the massive door open for someone else, a woman.

  Angelica peered at her as she stepped over the threshold and made her way towards her. Her long, down feather coat hung open, revealing a black sweaterdress underneath. Her thick, graying hair flowed down her sides and back as she made her way towards the three of them. Her lips, which she had covered in dark red lipstick stretched into an alluring smile. “Welcome to my home,” She said.

  Clementine shot her her television smile, her gloved hand shooting out towards her. “Thank you for having me-- … us. Clementine White.”

  The woman nodded. “Fiona Daniels.” She then turned her attention to Darren, a bourgeois frown darkening her face as she gingerly shook his hand. “My husband smoked cigars,” She said, a note to his breath and smell.

  Darren nodded, a knowing smile stretched across his face. Angelica could read his body language like a book. His stiff back and set jaw told her he didn’t like her… not even a little bit. “And how’s he?”

  She shrugged, waving her hand. “Nearly dead.”

  Nearly dead?

  Darren ducked his head as the four of them made their way back to the front door. “What happened to the guy?”

  Fiona nodded at the butler as she stepped inside.

  Angelica immediately took a whiff of the oak and cinnamon that filled the air inside of the house. She pursed her lips at the contrast between her worn snowshoes and the shiny, dark, hardwood floors.

  Fiona sighed. “He was in a hunting accident with my son. By the way, don’t mention that to Blake. He acts… strange.” Her voice dropped at that last word.

  A chill shot up Angelica’s spine. Before she could think too hard about it, Fiona clapped her hands together. “Well, my son is very busy at the moment. Something about a merger. But I will lead you up to his office.”

  Clementine gave an eager nod, then stepped next to Fiona, slipping her legal pad out of her messenger bag and scribbling this or that on it.

  Fiona took one step towards the daunting spiral staircase before coming to an abrupt stop. She let out a singular giggle, glancing at Angelica and the others. “Silly me. I didn’t even offer to take your coats.” She said before snapping her fingers.

  A different man in the matching cumberbund and button down appeared to take their things. Once their coats were stacked in his arms, he nodded at Fiona and disappeared.

  Angelica wondered wildly if she would ever see those coats again.

  “So anyway,” Fiona started, ascending the stairs. “Since you called me, I am sure you understand what makes this place unique.”

  “You don’t need to sell it.” Darren muttered.

  Clementine shot her a crooked smile, “Well, I called Blake.”

  Fiona laughed as they reached the landing at the top of the stair case. She stepped up to the railing, laying her arms on it, stretching them out to either side of her. “Don’t be silly, Blake doesn’t answer his own phone.” she said, her words falling lazily out of her mouth.

  “But you do…?” Darren cut in.

  Fiona ignored him, standing straight up and continuing on to the corridor on the other end of the landing. “I am essentially the most important person in household,” She said. “I keep the books, pay the bills, handle renovations, take care of his father…”

  By then, they were standing in front of a set of double doors. Angelica looked right past Fiona, her heart flipping at the knowledge that there Blake was, right on the other side of those doors.

  Clementine gave Fiona a curt nod. “Right. Thank you.” She said, before shoving her legal pad into her open messenger bag.

  There was the shuffling of feet before both doors whooshed open and Angelica found herself stunned, frozen in pla
ce in the presence of the man standing in front of her. He was even more glorious in person than through a computer screen. He towered over all of them, his height halfway to seven feet, his body of thick, dense muscle draped in black crew-neck sweater and forest green slats. He looked less like a human and more like a sculpture.

  Clementine swiped the beanie off of her head, shoved it at Darren and flipped her hair around, her thin arms flapping around as she shifted the thick mass of blond this way and that.

  “These are the reporters you were expecting?” Fiona said.

  Blake nodded, stepping aside so that they could enter.

  As Angelica stepped over the threshold, her stomach rolled around. She would have to walk right past to him. In three…. two… one… They were less than a foot away from each other. Angelica fancied could just smell the scent coming off of him.

  Fur?

  The doors shut behind them.

  Clementine sat down in the seat across from his desk without even asking him. She dropped her messenger bag on the ground by her feet and slapped the legal pad onto the table. Shouldn’t she have at least given him a second to catch his bearings? Asked some unrelated, get-to-know-you, questions before she whipped out the pad?

  Blake ground his teeth, crossing the room to his seat on the other side of the oppressively thick, wooden desk. He folded his hands on its surface, his gaze, even and barely seeing.

  “Do you mind if we…” Clementine gestured at the camera in Darren’s hand.

  Blake grimaced, then ducked his head ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed at Clementine in contempt. “If you must.”

  Angelica went hot with desire.

  “So, you must be pretty proud of this estate. It’s… well magnificent.” The great Clementine White sounded more like a flustered fan girl than an objective reporter.

  Stop blushing goddammit. Angelica glanced at Darren, searching his face for the same kind of disapproval that she felt.