by Knox, Abby
11
Fletcher
Tracking down Chad’s home and work addresses were not difficult.
The guy is an open book on social media, both professional and personal.
If he’s going to be sending dick pics to women, he should really try being more anonymous.
I arrive at his downtown office building in Austin shortly before he’s scheduled to leave work. Yeah, like I said, this guy’s an open book.
I walk right in to his workplace without even a second glance from the reception desk, where a gaggle of twenty-somethings are playing some sort of game involving flipping a water bottle. I’ve been here 15 seconds and I’m already annoyed. They buzz me right in. Austin is fucking awesome.
I look around the office and it’s one of those open-concept free-wheeling advertising agencies where people shoot hoops instead of work. Must be nice.
And just like that, I spot the peckerwood I’m looking for. I stroll over to his work station like I belong there.
“May I help you?” The guy, Chad, looks like he might actually be stoned at work. He pupils are tiny and he has the dumbest, spaciest smile I’ve ever seen.
I glance at my watch. “I’m your 9:30.”
He looks confused at first but I see him trying to pull himself together. “Right…” he says.
“The Dallas Cowboys account.” I am talking out of my ass, of course, but it gets his attention.
He glances around the room to see if my presence has caught anyone’s attention. I can tell from his stupid face he knows he’s about to poach a client from a colleague. Even though I’m not a real client, this tells me he’s not only a sender of unsolicited dick pics to women who have already turned him down, but he’s also an asshole at work.
“The Cowboys! Right. Good to see you again, pal,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let me show you to the conference room.”
But I’ve already got a plan in place. I talk him into joining me outside for a coffee at a place I saw on my way in.
When I get him outside, he doesn’t notice that we’re headed away from the street, toward the alley. And then after we traverse the alley, we’re behind the building in an even more remote alleyway.
“Hey, where is this coffee place?”
When I’m clear of any cameras or windows, I take my moment. I pin him up against the damp concrete wall with my hand around his neck.
My voice comes out in a rasp. “Leave her alone, dickweed.”
“Wait, what?”
“When a woman says no, what does she mean?”
His voice tremors and he’s starting to sober up real fast. “You… you aren’t from the Cowboys?”
“Answer the question before I cut off your micropenis.”
“I’m calling the cops,” Chad says.
“Good luck with that, I pocketed your phone on the way out.”
“How did you…”
I squeeze a main artery and his eyes bulge. “Answer the fucking question, Chad. What does it mean when a woman says no?”
He’s grabbing at my hand but manages to squawk, “No, she means no, is that what you want to hear?”
I let go of his throat but I keep him pinned against the wall with my forearm across his puny chest.
“Does it mean go ahead and send her a dick pic?”
He smiles, “Aw, man, is that what this is about? Shit, I send a dozen of those out a week, I got to keep my options open. You know how it is.”
“I’m talking about LuLu. You don’t call her, you don’t text her, you do not create fake accounts to follow her on social media. You disappear voluntarily, or I will make you disappear.”
I slap his forehead so hard the back of his head hits the concrete and he yelps in pain. I let him go and he rubs the back of his head. I start to back away, thinking we’re done.
“Oh her? Is that what this is about? The one with the fat ass? She’s thirsty and I was just playing along.”
In half a second, the little shit is up against the wall again, but this time, I’m only holding him in place with my thumb, and it’s pressing on the upper cartilage of his nose.
“Pal, there’s something you need to know about me. I’m polite with everyone I meet, but I always have a plan in place to kill them just in case I have to. You don’t want to fuck with a guy like that. I could finish you off with this thumb right here…”
There’s a crack in the nose cartilage and he cries out. I continue, “And nobody would ever find the body. Nobody would be looking for it either, because I’m guessing you’re a piece of shit. Are you a piece of shit, Chad?”
“Fuck you, man.”
“Nose bone or eye socket? How would you like this thumb to change your life?”
* * *
Of course I don’t kill the guy.
I have no intention of killing him.
I don’t even mean to break his nose, but commenting on my sweet LuLu’s ass? Well, that’ll get your nose busted.
But something about that confrontation pounds me with a hammer of anxiety. I don’t know if it’s him or me.
After I drop his ass off at urgent care for his busted nose and begin the long drive back home, my hands are shaking.
I can’t drive straight through in my current condition, but I manage to get myself the fuck out of Texas, at least.
I purposely pick a hotel with no mini-bar in the room. One not even close to a real bar. I don’t want to let booze soothe the dark thoughts that might come back.
I lay in my hotel bed that night with the TV on. I choose to play The Office on Netflix, one episode after another, until I fall asleep. It’s the only thing that will work. That, and thinking about LuLu.
I pick up my phone and see several texts from her:
“Hope you’re OK. Where are you?”
“I’m not mad. Just let me know you’re OK.”
I text her back. “I’m good. Taking care of some emergency business. Be back a little later than expected, but I’ll be there for you.”
I wonder if she’s read my dating profile yet. I wonder if I’ve made a huge ass of myself. And I also wonder if she’s too good for me. Look at me. I’m a mess. I can’t let her spend the rest of her life worrying about my mental and emotional state.
I rub my eyes and turn off my phone. I turn up the volume on the TV and close my eyes. The sounds of Jim and Dwight arguing soothe me to sleep.
Silence and darkness would only let the nightmares back in.
12
The day of the event has arrived and it could not be more perfect, thanks in no small part to Fletcher.
In fact, there are a few things I’ve completely forgotten about and he’s taken upon himself to see through. For instance, the centerpieces.
I take one look at them and I realize I didn’t pick them out. Fletcher did. Huge glass vases filled with red and white flowers and black curly willow, with balloon bouquets that resemble Valentine conversation hearts and Red Hot candies. It’s pretty adorable and I’m not so sure that Wendy and I should not have taken him up on the offer to plan the wedding.
The whole place looks better than I had imagined. Sophisticated, cool but also warm and cozy.
The only problem is, there is no music. I specifically picked out the perfect playlist to set the mood, but I don’t hear it.
I seek out the hotel’s event coordinator to ask about this last-minute hiccup.
“It seems the sound system is on the fritz, so you won’t have access to a microphone either. But the room has very good acoustics.”
I shake my head. “This is not acceptable,” I say. “I paid to use the sound system for the day.”
“We can refund you the cost of that,” she says.
I look around the room at the more than 200 participants, milling about the ballroom during the meet and greet hour. There was supposed to be a soundtrack to all of this. Ella Fitzgerald. Frank Sinatra. Dean Martin.
“Do you see all these people?” I ask her. “No amount of hot
el ballroom acoustics is going to help me speak to all of them at once. I have a whole itinerary here and it requires a sound system.”
The event coordinator shrugs, “I can try to find a maintenance person to look into it, but our main guy is on vacation…”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Or not hearing. I no sooner pinch the bridge of my nose than Fletcher is by my side.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him in a week and I don’t know whether to punch him or hug him.
“Problems?”
Oh my god, he smells good. Oh my god I missed him. And, oh my god, what an ass for leaving like that.
I set my mixed feelings aside for the moment as I explain to him about the sound system, even though I know absolutely nothing about sound tech. He gets it immediately.
“On it,” he says, and then he’s gone like a thief. Again.
The event coordinator looks around, baffled. “Where did he go? What’s he doing?”
I pat her on the shoulder and say, “I have no idea, but prepare to be amazed by my guy.”
I mill around the room to assess everyone’s mood. They seem pleased with the refreshments and the prices at the cash bar. Every participant has two drink tickets with the price of admission; I don’t want anyone getting totally soused at this jamboree.
All of them have been personally vetted by me. After going over everyone’s profiles, I met in person with each and every one. It seems excessive, I know, but that’s the signature of my business. I have a sense for people. If people didn’t believe in it, this event would not have sold out in less than two hours.
I’m clearing away some empty cups that someone has left behind, when I’m suddenly blasted with some big band jazz music.
I look up. There’s a shadow moving around in the tiles of the dropped ceiling, I don’t know how Fletcher got up there. I don’t know if I want to know. But somehow he climbed up there, into the ceiling, and fixed the sound system. He waves to me and give me a thumbs up.
In response, I put my hand over my heart and blow him a kiss and mouth the words, “Thank you.”
I see that elusive flash of a smile. Even at this distance I can see his perfect teeth and the way his eyes dance when he looks at me.
I’m about to go test out the microphone when a thirty-something woman stops me to ask for my autograph.
“This is a first,” I say, chuckling.
“I have followed your blog since the beginning and I have read every testimony about you and I believe you have a gift. I haven’t been able to afford your services, so I was so excited to be able to come to this event. I just had to meet you,” she says.
I’m truly touched and I give her a hug. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
We chat for a bit and then once again, Fletcher is at my side. Now he’s got that amazing smell and also a bit of sweat and dust on his face. I blush, thinking I would love nothing more than for him to smudge some of that sweat and dirt all over my naked body.
I introduce him to the woman as my husband, and he shakes her hand quickly before darting off yet again. This time he’s on the stage, fiddling with the microphone.
I excuse myself and go up on stage with my giant pink binder.
People start to clap excitedly. I walk up close to Fletcher so he can hear me and I say in his ear, “My personal assistant and tech guru and private investigator. What would I do without you?”
I give his hard bicep a squeeze as I speak into his ear. “If you ever disappear on me again, I’m going to spank you, husband.” I brush some dust off his black turtleneck and smile up at him.
There is a moment where I think he’s going to kiss me. He leans in. I suck my breath. He veers left and kisses my cheek and pats me on the arm. He murmurs in my ear. “It’s all you, baby girl. You did all this.”
He hands me the microphone and I nearly drop it because my hands are shaking at the sensation of his voice against my ear.
Every nerve ending in my body is asking for him to come back. Pick me up and carry me out of here.
I hold the mic and look out at the audience.
Why did I do all this? Did I organize this entire event just to get closer to Fletcher? All along I said it was to keep my mind sharp while I was taking a break from clients, but the truth is, I did this for him. I want him. He’s all I ever wanted.
They are looking back at me expectantly.
A romantic ruse or not, I have to deliver to these people what they paid for. So I give my speech.
I introduce myself, I introduce my right-hand man, who seems to have disappeared again. I thank everyone for coming, and I explain the plans for the day.
Nobody is required to do every activity that I’ve set up, but everyone is encouraged to do it.
“And my motto as always, ‘Give everyone a chance!”
To my utter shock, everyone says my motto along with me. Clearly they’ve all been following my blog and my career online.
“Any questions before we get started?”
Someone in the audience calls out, “When will you be writing a book?”
The voice is oddly familiar, but I can’t see the gentleman. I laugh, but everyone else claps. This is so bizarre. I have a following and didn’t even know it.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Is anybody here from Random House?”
The audience laughs. I take a moment to look out over the crowd. The lights are not down and I see Fletcher standing off to the side, arms folded in front of himself, his eyes homed in on me. The look on his face is something that sparks in me something far beyond lust—though, there is that. There’s always that.
He looks proud of me. Proud to know me.
A goofy grin creeps over my face before I can stop it. I have to look away.
As I do this, my gaze lands on someone else.
Him.
He’s here.
The one I’ve been trying to avoid.
Oh shit.
I go on explaining to all the attendees how the day’s events are going to play out. Everyone is free to use any of the matchmaking stations we’ve set up, all of them, just one, or none of them, if they prefer to mingle.
While I’m talking, I feel the blood draining from my face. I push on even though I want to run and hide.
I wrap up my speech, everyone claps and mills away into their first matchmaking station.
I glance back at Fletcher. I know with one look that he sees the anxiety in my face. He eats up the distance to where I’m still standing on the stage and lifts me down to the floor before I can object.
“Where is he? He’s here, isn’t he?”
I nod my head.
He grits out, “I’m going to find him and pound him into the ground if that’s OK.”
I put up my hand.
“No, Fletcher, that’s not OK. He hasn’t made any physical threats, and I don’t feel like bailing you out of jail.”
He huffs and grips my shoulder with a protective hand. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
I say, “I’ll check my database again. If he’s signed up for this under a false identity, then we can ask him to leave. That’s all we can do.”
His jaw ripples; it’s obvious even under the scruff.
“I’ve never seen you so worked up, Fletcher,” I say. Before thinking, I put a hand on his chest. He locks eyes with mine and I can feel his heart pounding.
“Good thing you don’t know what he looks like. I’d almost feel sorry for what you might do to him.”
Fletcher takes my hand and presses it flat against his chest and says with deadly seriousness, “I do know what he looks like. I’ve gotten intimately familiar with every social media account he has. And … I went to Austin to talk to him in person.”
“You what?” I say. “Some weak asshole pesters me online and you decide to escalate it?”
Fletcher removes his hand from mine and touches my chin. His face softens, but not enough to make me any less afraid of what he might do.
&nbs
p; “That’s sort of like saying I might have a harmless schoolboy crush on you. Understatement of the year,” he says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“He sent you a dick pic, and I made sure you never saw it.”
“Oh my god. Still, what were you thinking?”
“LuLu,” I say, “I couldn’t fucking handle anyone treating you that way. I just can’t handle it.”
I look at him and I don’t know what to say. It’s outrageous for him to have that kind of reaction to a simple dick pic. Unfortunately, women get unsolicited photos all the time. People can’t go around beating the shit out of them for that. Still … Shit, it’s actually turning me on, knowing what Fletcher did. It makes zero sense but I’m horny just thinking about him getting in Chad’s face on my behalf.
We hold this moment between us for a beat, “Use the walkie talkies,” I say. “We can keep radio contact all day while I’m working. If I see him, I’ll let you know, and vice versa.”
“Not a chance,” he says. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, not for a second.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to be keeping an eye on Lars? He’s probably literally climbing the cliff side of the mountain with no gear right now,” I say.
“Nope. I showed him a picture of the guy and he’s outside watching the entrances.”
“Are you kidding me? He’s probably frisking people and scaring the shit out of them as they go in and out!” I hiss.
Fletcher scoffs. “You didn’t hire security for the event, so I took it upon myself.”
I squint at him. This was not the mood I wanted to set today.
I hold up my walkie talkie and press the “talk” button. “Lars, are you on this channel?”’
“That’s affirmative, Tweety Bird.”
“Excuse me?” I say, dreading the explanation for my brother calling me that.
“Tweety Bird, that’s your code name.”
I roll my eyes. “What is this, the Secret Service?”
Lars replies, “Roger that, Road Runner’s covering the interior of the building and the exterior perimeter is being secured by…”