Lex (Unconventional Hearts)

by S. K. Logsdon

  “Did you poison it?”

  Yes, that was a bit forward, but I had to ask.

  Chuckling, he shakes his head with a slight grin. “No, I didn’t poison it. It’s tea from Barbie’s; I picked it up before I came over. I figured you’d like it, Lex.”

  The way he says my name it’s like he’s fucking it, all smooth and sensual, with a slight hissing sound at the end. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.

  “Don’t call me Lex. Only friends call me that. And let’s face it, you, Sir, are not my friend.”

  Yes! Point for Lex, I am seriously upping my game today. Apparently, jerks bring out the best in me. Sassy Britches would be so proud.

  “Listen…about that.” He sits forward in his chair, like he’s uncomfortable.

  With an attitude, I raise my hand to stop him from speaking and thankfully, he catches my drift.

  “No, Mr. Masterson, you do not get to discuss your rude behavior with me. Tell me why you are here and then please leave. I have a meeting at eleven and lunch at Dolly’s at noon. So please get on with it. I’m a very busy woman.” I cross my arms, resting back in my chair and cross my legs. Even though I know, he can’t see them behind my desk. I’m full of attitude today. I wish I had this much confidence all of the time.

  “I’m your eleven o-clock meeting; I just came in early to talk with you about it and to apologize. Barbie said that was your favorite tea, and I got one just like it for myself. I figured a classy lady, such as yourself must have good taste in drinks. I was right. This is the best tea that I’ve ever tasted.” He smiles, and I frown, rolling my eyes.

  Classy lady? Phul-ease… First, I’m a spoiled brat who makes a man sign a contract under sexual duress, and now I’m classy. Whatever.

  “Please, leave your assumptions, whatever they may be about me…outside. Business time, now out with it.” I snap. I’ve had more than enough time with him in my office. He keeps looking around like he’s going to find something to point out to tease me about. Good thing I have impeccable taste and my office expresses that in full force.

  “Okay, sorry…Le…Ms. Keagan. Donald is coming in with the other representatives from Saks, including a woman named Rebecca Songs, to replace Mr. East. We have some documents that Kim, your lawyer, will need to review before we decide if we will escalate this through the judicial system or not. I wanted you to know firsthand that I’m trying to expedite this matter without having to step in front of a judge…”

  “How noble of you.” I roll my eyes, cutting him off, and I bite my bottom lip, to keep myself from chewing his head off. I realize the pompous ass is doing his job, but I don’t have to like it.

  “Stop doing that.” His sharp husky tone fogs the air.

  Squinting in confusion, I open my mouth to ask him, ‘What?’

  “Biting your lip.” He explains, beating me to the punch, shifting awkwardly in his chair and sucking hard on his tea, swallowing the mouthful of its contents with a loud gulp.

  “Why?” My stronger voice has suddenly flipped a one eighty, to weak and small. Maybe it’s my adrenalin plummeting, or maybe it’s, how his Adams apple bobs in this throat so sexily when he swallows. I have no idea. However, the climate in my office has changed from disdain to something else entirely.

  “That lip of yours has to be one of the reasons he claims duress, Ms. Keagan.” The softness of Mr. Masterson’s face has left me speechless. Somehow, he went from hard and business like, to soft and pliable in the matter of a minute and his tone is sweet, yet firm. Now, this is for sure how he gets women into bed. This is even better than how sexy he looks when he’s hard and dominate. Not hard, hard, I mean firm. We’re not talking dicks here. Or are we? Crap!

  Sitting in silence, I’m not sure what to say to him. I’m not sorry for biting my lip. It’s a habit I’ve had for years. It started as a kid when I was in pain or stressed. When you get punished even harder for crying out, you find a way to suppress the screams and yelps. Biting my lip or cheek has always been my safe house, my way to keep the brutality down to a hard seven on a scale from one to ten. One being nothing and ten being hurt so bad you pass out and have to go to the hospital. I’ve had a few tens in my life. But, I learned starting at the age of four, to bear it internally and not show weakness.

  Daniel summoning me though my intercom—that we barely use, breaks us out of our strange silence of watching and waiting.

  “Thirty minutes.” Daniel explains, which means I have half an hour until my meeting with Mr. Masterson. That should give me plenty of time to calm this dampening in my panties, that’s just started.

  “Okay, thank you, Daniel.” I retort and sit up in my chair, turning my attention to my computer and the email I promised myself I was going to send today, to the Suit Master.

  “Thank you for the tip, Mr. Masterson, I’ll see you in half an hour. Now please excuse me, I have a very important email to write.”

  Without a reply, Gage stands, grabs my completely full cup of tea and places it closer to me on my desk. “Please, Lex, I want you to have this. I know you don’t believe me, but I am very sorry for treating you unjustly on Saturday. It wasn’t your fault. I was already in a terrible mood because my ex-wife promised to call my daughter and didn’t, which left Emma devastated. Then my long distance girlfriend never emailed me as I had hoped. It was rude of me to have taken it out on you.”

  I don’t even get a chance to respond, and he’s out the door, shutting it behind him. Now I do kind of feel like a jerk for lashing out, however, not bad enough to apologize. He was very crude and hurtful. I gained two pounds eating that ice-cream this weekend because of him and I had to do extra yoga on Sunday and this morning to make up for the overindulgence.

  Okay, so how about that email.

  The last one I got was yesterday, from the Suit Master. He basically said he was sorry I wasn’t interested and he wouldn’t bother me again. It was composed diplomatically and very sweet. The entire time I read it my stomach was twisted in knots for not writing him back sooner. I’ve been a bit busy and preoccupied in my own stuff. To be honest, the more I think about the possibility of dating I get somewhat excited. Then, I take into consideration all my partner would have to give up or endure in regards to my past. And reality smacks me in the face, leaving the prospect of dating a messy emotion that renders me ill.

  From: Lotionlady316

  To: Suitmaster6979

  Dear Suit Master,

  Sorry I’ve taken so long to write. You were right in your first email stating I would probably want to delete that message and run. Although, you should know your email stuck with me all of last week. So, I have given in and decided to write back. Please don’t take my lack of eagerness personally. I didn’t start this dating online fiasco until my best friend nagged me into it. It’s new to me and it’s intensely overwhelming. I can see how a woman or a man could easily be objectified based on looks. I couldn’t tell you how many emails I have received this week, with the same distaste that I am sure you have experienced yourself. Your emails have given me hope in the male race. It’s refreshing to know not all of you are shallow perverts who think women want to be greeted with a penis picture.

  I’m elated to hear you are an Edgar Allen Poe fan, too. He isn’t my favorite literary writer, but he is among some of those I deem greater than most. I can’t decide if it’s his dark, yet grim beautiful take on things or something else entirely that has made me love him since I began reading his works in grammar school. I’ll never forget the first time I read The Tell-Tale Heart; it was unique and piqued my interest from the first sentence.

  I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to say in these things. You are my first correspondent on this site. Would you like to tell me Suit Master, what it is you do for a living? Is the dog in your profile picture yours?

  I guess this is enough to start with. I don’t want to ramble.

  Sincerely – Lotion Lady

  Rereading through my honest, yet composed
email, I send it off and it’s time to put my big girl panties on for the up and coming fiasco in the boardroom. Where I will be officially debating my company’s innocence in regards to this stupid matter of being sued.

  “My dear, Lex, what is the matter?” Dolly with her over the top poofy head of dyed curly red hair asks, coming to sit next to me in one of the four booths inside the Dairy Dream. Wrapping her arm over my shoulder for comfort, she pulls me into an awkward side hug, against her fluffy body. She’s a rather large woman. In an adorable, sweet, can’t help but love her, kind of way.

  “I’m fine.” I mope, leaning into her warming side embrace.

  The restaurant door opens with a creak and I glance up to see—him. The most awful man on the planet and tailing right behind him is Corey. I’m not sure what I should refer to him as. Cute? Sweet? I don’t quite know. I haven’t heard from him since our date on Saturday, not that I’ve expected to. Although it does seem a bit odd that they would both be here for lunch, I come here quite often and I can’t recall a time either one of them have dropped in.

  “Janet we have customers, and I’m sitting with Lex.” Dolly yells to gather the teenager Janet’s attention. Dolly hires mostly young college students to man the facilities, besides herself of course.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Janet approaches the window that separates the front customers from the back.

  Trying to ignore the eyes that I know are plastered on me, I close mine and let Dolly hold my head against her. Patting and slightly rocking me. The only thing that’s missing would be a ‘there, there.’

  “You going to tell me what happened?”

  I shake my head. I don’t want to worry her with my work nonsense. Even though that work crap is going to cost me three million dollars to settle outside of court. The meeting today was a bunch of showboating and over exaggerating, leaving me to sound like a dirty little whore who fucked my way up the ladder in life to get men to sign documents. That’s how nasty ol’ Mr. Masterson explained it. And that woman that came with them, wow, what a piece of work, I tell ya. She had feminism written in big bold letters all over her. There is one thing to work in the league with men and another to dress and look like one. And here, I thought Roni was bad. Not even close. Plus, her showboating contained lots of name drops of who she’s met and knows, like it was supposed to intimidate me. It didn’t. It just made me realize how much I love being a girly girl with a firm head on my shoulders. I don’t know what I’d do if I was a corporate stooge like those clowns.

  I’ve been given until Friday to make my choice, whether I should sign and give away three million. Or take it to court and open my company up to a bunch of felonious accusations that could possibly deter future customers from selling my products. I can’t decide which is worse. Falsely paying money for something I know I didn’t do, or being dragged through the mud. There’s no winning, either way.

  Oh…and here’s the kicker of it all. The company still wants me to supply their stores. This is a lawsuit based on a personal matter not the contract itself. They’re fine with that. I think this is the formal way to have a corporate temper tantrum when I don’t give them what they want. I know it happens. I just never thought it might backfire and I’d be the one getting fucked in the ass with no lube.

  “It’s just crappy work stuff, Dolly, don’t worry about it. It’ll blow over eventually. I just wish it was the weekend already so I can relax at home and watch White Chicks another thirty times.” I whine. I know I sound like a big baby, but my feelings are hurt.

  It’s my company and I can mope if I want to.

  Janet bouncily comes out from behind the counter, her curly blonde hair swaying from side-to-side, bringing me a thick chocolate peanut butter shake and a basket of onion rings. I already had a salad, but I’m still hungry. It’s time to eat my feelings again.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank them.” She points to Corey and Gage sitting across the small room at another booth. I’m trying not to pay attention to them. But I can feel them looking at me and I know they’re talking about me, because they’re whispering. It’s high school all over again.

  Kissing me with bright red lipstick on my forehead, Dolly retreats back to the back, and I’m left with Dolly lips perfectly imprinted on my forehead. It’s a badge of honor people wear out of here, if she loves you. It’s not as bad as it seems. Although it will take some serious scrub time to get the stain off my skin once I leave here.

  Deciding I’m not eating the guilty, bribe of food. I grab the basket of onion rings and the white Styrofoam cup as I slide from my booth and confidently stride over to them, nothing like confronting your worst enemy face-to-face.

  “Hey, Lex.” Corey smiles, chewing on a fry. Corey is an architect and I heard rumors he had started working for Archie. That’s Archer McDougal’s nickname, he’s in his early forties and runs a small architectural firm on the outskirts of town. They work mainly with country homes and barns, and yes, rhyming once again with his company name. Please don’t make me tell you everyone in this town because it wouldn’t be pretty and the amount of rhyming stores would put you off. I love it. Outsiders…not so much.

  “Hi, I don’t want your food. I’m sorry.” I slide it to Corey.

  “It’s not from me.” He points a fry at Gage. “It’s from him.”

  Well isn’t that just dandy of him? Inserting internal eye roll here.

  “I’m sorry about the meeting, I know it was brutal.”

  Apologizing to me? Are you flippin’ serious? And the worst thing is he sounds like he might actually mean it. How stupid is that?

  “Brutal for who? You or me? I don’t recall anyone calling you a whore.”

  “I didn’t call you a whore.”

  Great come back genius —not!

  “No, not that exact word. But you did it in your fancy schmancy lawyer lingo. Which is much worse.”

  It’s true, when someone calls you a whore, you’re a whore. Point blank. However, when you do it with lawyer talk, it takes four sentences with descriptions and big words, to end up with the same conclusion. You know it’s true.

  Lawyer man slouches in his seat, with a deep frown, and now he refuses to look at me. Corey is chewing away on his burger and fries, all smiles and light chitchat. Not sure what to say and knowing I got my point across, I dismiss myself and head to the counter and say goodbye to Dolly.

  With my hand on the door to leave, Corey turns to me. “I hope we can get together soon. Not this weekend but maybe the next, my daughters will be with their mothers then and I’d love to try and make up for what happened on Saturday.” His eyes dart straight to Gage with that last statement.

  “Sounds good.” I mutter and leave without sparing a moment’s glance at Gage, the too hot for his own good, jackass.

  Strolling back into my office after that disastrous lunch, my stomach’s angry with me. It seems as though it always acts that way around Gage. Daniel must be out to his own lunch because he wasn’t sitting at his desk when I arrived moments ago.

  Plopping down in my chair, tugging off my heels and setting them on the floor next to my desk, I tug the clip out of my long hair. It’s relaxation time. Clicking the music remote on my satellite in office radio, I’m welcomed with my favorite station. Old school country music permeates the air with the likes of Patsy serenading me with Crazy, one of my all-time favorite country songs.

  Humming and tapping my barefoot on the floor to the music, I scoot my chair up under my desk and move my mouse to wake up my computer. I’ve got end of the month reports due that I have to look over. Research on what’s the next color of lipstick we are going to produce and free my email from clutter.

  Looks like someone by the name of Suit Master happened to email me back. I giggle and blush like a giddy teenage girl as I excitedly open his email. I can’t believe he got back to me so fast!

  From: Suitmaster6979

  To: Lotionlady316

  Monday 11:45 a.m.
>
  To Lotion Lady;

  I’m pleased to hear back from you. I wasn’t sure I ever would. How’s your Monday going so far?

  I’m sitting here at work, stressed, and unable to decide what route to take with these clients of mine. I’m a criminal lawyer, by the way. Please don’t hold that against me. Most of my caseloads involve abuse in one form or another, saving the world, placing one abusive scumbag behind bars at a time. That’s my expertise and it’s a rough one. But since I was six, I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. An honest one, if that helps any.

  What do you do for a living? Or is that too personal? I know you asked me but I don’t want to pry.

  About the dog in my main photo, your assumption was right on the money. That’s Babs, my lab, who keeps me warm when I get lonely.

  Do you have any pets?

  In regards to your fascination with Poe, the Tell-Tale Heart is a great short story. I’m more of a Raven fan, myself. And as much as I can appreciate Poe’s work, I’m a Yeats and Tennyson aficionado, stems all the way back to my Comparative Lit class when I attended Harvard. Needless to say, my horizons were broadened after I finished that course.

  See, I’m not sure how much I am supposed to share or not to share. Reading your profile has left me feeling like I know you so much already. A kismet connection, if you will. That’s why I couldn’t stop emailing this past week. I promise I’m no stalker. You intrigue me, is all I’m trying to say.

  Until Later - Suit Master

  I think I just met my dream man, maybe not a perfect one, because I know little else about him. But a lawyer who specializes in abuse cases, if that’s not knocking directly on my front door, I don’t know what is. If only someone like him had been around when I was a child.

  He has a dog, who he loves. I can read between those lines, plain as day…and…he loves poetry. What kind of man likes poetry? Seriously, think about it. He’s like a 1965 Château Latour, a rare and exquisite find.