“Nope, wear long sleeves, pants, and closed-in shoes,” he said, bounding off the bed with a newfound energy.
“After what you just did to me, you seriously expect me to peel myself off this bed and get ready to go out?”
“Yep. I have an exciting morning planned,” he said, jiggling her butt cheek. “Let’s do this.”
“How about nope,” she said.
“Don’t want to hear it. Let’s move, Zelda girl. All of this stuff surrounding us has been heavy. I need some levity,” he told her, heading toward the bathroom. She could hear the shower start as she tried to roll over, but couldn’t seem to muster the strength.
With a might of effort, she reached the bathroom, flopping down on the toilet to relieve herself as he hummed in the shower, soaping himself from head to toe. A slight muscle ache in her left butt cheek made her croak as she stood, moving slowly to join him behind the glass shower door. Her fingers trailed across his soapy back.
“You don’t have a single ounce of fat on you, yet I have never seen you work out. You eat whatever you want. Tell me, Big Guy, how do you maintain all this sexy muscle mass?”
“There is a gym in the house, next to the dining room. It has a rowing machine and everything, but for cardio, I dance for an hour three times a week,” he told, adding soap to her sponge. “Turn around my spectacular woman, and let me wash your back.”
Turning, she placed her hands on the wall as he soaped her shoulders, hocks, and back of her thighs. Scott detached the shower head, rinsing the soap from her body, giving her the sponge. “You can wash your naughty bits while I get dressed. Don’t take too long my lovely lady, we are going on a date,” he said, smiling sheepishly as he troweled himself.
“A date?”
“Yes, I have never taken you on a date before. I think we need to get out and have some fun,” he said. “Again, long sleeves, long pants, and some closed toe shoes.”
He said it and disappeared through the bathroom door. Zelda showered quickly, dressing comfortably in a pair of loose-fitting slacks, long sleeves, and her favorite pair of kick-ass boots. For good measure, since Scott said it was a date, she wore no bra and a low-cut undershirt. He was nowhere to be found in the room as she grabbed her phone, seeing the message from Pip, responding that she and her beau were headed out for the morning and would see her later.
Zelda arrived in the hotel lobby to find Scott in a well-fitted pair of jeans and the eye of every woman that passed him by. For the oddest reason, she hid behind a pillar watching him and his reactions as women blatantly flirted with him or made almost vulgar suggestions. He never looked up except when the elevator dinged. The moment he lowered his head to the newspaper in his hand, she stepped from behind the pillar.
“Hey there, I hope this is okay,” she said, doing a little spin.
“Absolutely spectacular,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her out the door. Outside waiting for them was a Harley Davidson with a high rise bitch seat.
“I thought you said you didn’t drive?” she asked him.
“I said I couldn’t drive because of my eyes. That doesn't mean I don’t know how or can’t. My eyes are now fixed,” he said with a wink. He threw a leg over the motorcycle, handing her the extra helmet.
Zelda stepped up, holding his shoulder and then throwing her leg over the seat. Scott started up the bike and, through the speaker in the helmet, instructed her to hold on tight. Expertly, he maneuvered the motorcycle through the early morning traffic on the strip, riding down Las Vegas Boulevard, past the Fremont Experience, and out of the city. Her arms clung around his waist as the hustle and bustle of Las Vegas was left in the rearview mirror.
This morning belonged to them.
Dear Diary,
Today was the regional gymnastics competition in Houston. I was soooo nervus. The arena was packed with so many people. I did my best and Michael said he was proud of me but when I advanced to the finals, I threw up three times. I didn’t think I was going to make it through the floor routine and the balance beam because my stomach was churning so bad, it felt like I had to poop, like the running, squishy kind.
I didn’t do too good on the floor routine. I came in fourth.
Daddy looked really disappointed in me and want to know what he was paying so much money for since I was always losing. It hurt my feelings but when I looked in the crowd, over in the corner was Mr. Baut Batista. His hand went to his head, then over his heart and he held up one finger. It was like he was telling me being number one was in my head and in my heart.
The announcer called my name and I went on the floor for the balance beam. Just to check, I looked in the stands. Mama was praying. Grandma was reading her bible and Daddy was talking to some lady with a really big butt standing next to him. Michael was on his feet yelling that I can do it. My eyes looked for Mr. Batista who was sitting all by himself, holding up that one finger.
That one finger meant everything to me.
He believed I could be number one and so did I.
I got a running start toward that stupid 4 inch wide piece of wood, hit the springboard and up I went. I tumbled, twisted, turned and did the splits like a champion. I did four backflips and a somersault and landed without a hop. I stuck that landing like white on rice.
Momma was on her feet clapping. Michael was whistling and cheering for me. Daddy didn’t seem to care one bit but Mr. Batista, he was crying. He was crying real hard when they hung that first place medal around my neck.
The next day, I hung it on his doorknob, rang the bell and ran.
It was his win as much as it was mine.
I thought he should have it.
He earned it too.
Zelda Marie Fitzsimmons, Age 10
Chapter 7 – Sorting Through the Rubble
Saturday Evening, Las Vegas
The ride out on the motorcycle was the perfect start to the morning. Sharing a nice breakfast in a little out of the way diner looking down on the valley was as romantic as it was quaint. Zelda wanted to know more about her big strong man since he barely talked about himself or his life.
“Scott, you never really talk about your family life. I mean, you know all about my family and my screwed-up life, I don’t really know much about yours other than you were on the road most of your childhood. That and having sex with grown women,” she said with her nose crinkled.
“Nothing much to tell. I came home from living on the road and had some trouble adjusting to so many rules, and my Dad brought in Chandler,” Scott said.
“And how did it come about that the two of you ended up pledging Omega Psi Phi in college?”
“I had to teach Chandler how to be a black American man and he had to teach me how to be a white one. My Dad, bless his soul, knew how to run the museum. He didn’t know how to run the business, so during my teen and college years, my cousin ineptly ran the company until I was ready to take hold of the helm. My Granddad started the Vent Conference and the rest is, I guess, history. After college, I took over the business, and that has been it,” he said, watching her face closely.
“I know all of that, Scott. What I don’t know about is your relationship with your sisters. You said you have nieces and nephews, but you never talk about them,” she said.
“That’s because they are creepy as hell.”
“You sisters or nieces and nephews?”
“Both,” he said, chuckling. “The family resemblance is strong, but Rebekah looks more like my mother. Sarah, who is the oldest of the three of us, is a bit of a busybody who thinks that I’m fragile. My dark phase between the ages of 13 and 15 she believed was because I was heartbroken by a lady love.”
“Which was partially true,” Zelda said.
“No, I was stuck in a house with a shrew of an older sister who took all the energy from my mother’s soul and a baby sister who was entirely too clingy. My dad hid in the museum until dinner time, which left me as the only sane person any of them could talk to,” Scott said.
“I resented it, so I hid like my dad.”
“How is your relationship with your parents?” she asked, wondering after spending so much time talking about her own.
“Dad is the proverbial nerd. He knows his way around a hammer much like a rich woman knows her way around a kitchen. He is still cool in my eyes, though. We like to go fishing although he can’t bait a hook. Grayson, his butler, always has to do it for him,” Scott chuckled.
“Grayson?”
“Yes, he has been Dad’s butler, kind of like Chandler has been mine, since he was about 16 or so. Technically, he is retired, but he is so comfortable in his life, and my Dad actually just enjoys his company,” Scott said.
“Let me guess...he’s like family,” she said sarcastically.
“He is family. There is no like. When Dad got sick several years ago, my Mom was out of the country, so was I and Grayson handled everything. He took care of my Dad until we were all able to get home. He saved my father’s life,” Scott said.
“Cool. For that he gets an eternal bed under the stairs,” she said, frowning.
“Zelda, my world is a little different. Grayson’s father was my Grandfather’s butler and so on. His son would have been my butler, but Grayson was unable to have children. It is a symbiotic relationship between his family and mine,” he said.
“Oh, so the Berger’s has continued the indentured servant relationship through the millennia, which sucks ass. I am having some serious reservations about this. Are you telling me seriously, that what? Chandler’s children will be the servants to our children, Scott?”
“I doubt if Chandler will ever have kids,” Scott said.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, putting her fork down.
“No. I am not comfortable with having Chandler myself, which is why he is my brother.”
“Brother, my beige ass! I’d bet my neck that Chandler doesn’t see himself as your brother. Have you ever asked him how he feels about being your brother slash servant?”
“I have. He has been free to leave anytime he wishes, but there is something special about the connection and relationship we have, as is the relationship my father has with Grayson,” Scott said.
“Oh, I have got to hear your explanation of this,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.
“Imagine having someone in your life with whom you can be totally yourself. A person you can tell your deepest secrets to without any judgment or recrimination. To know there is one person in the world with whom you are truly yourself is rare. Even as close as you claim to be with Michael, he doesn’t know the real you,” Scott said to her with his bottom lip turned down.
“Michael knows everything about me,” she said defiantly.
“No, he doesn’t. The real Zelda, you hid in the pages of your diaries. His fear of the real Zelda he had erased from your memory,” Scott said. “Now, you have three parts of your life ensconced in three journals of an existence he had permanently removed from your head. Technically, you are just starting to live your life.”
Zelda had nothing to say.
Her head began to throb and she wanted to lie down for the rest of the day. Scott’s words hurt, and the idea of Michael trying to protect her by erasing her memories also blotted out a part of the essence of who she really was as a person.
“Zelda, are you okay?”
“No, I’m not,” she said. “Can we go back?”
“Sure,” he told her and settled up the check.
They rode back, Zelda gripping his waist as he maneuvered through the mid-morning traffic going back to the hotel. Anger simmered deep inside of her for Scott pushing towards the ugliness of Michael from hiding the truth from her.
“Talk to me,” Scott said. “Don’t shut me out.”
“I need time to process this,” she said.
“Understood, but Chandler never allowed me to do that...you know, what you are doing right now. He made me deal with my emotions which forced me to grow up and deal with life. That is why I said the relationship was symbiotic. As ugly as I was as a kid, Chandler taught me to love and accept myself as I was. The confidence I have has nothing to do with how I look, but how I feel about the person I am.”
“Whatever, Obi-Wan,” she said, unbuckling her boots.
“Listen to your heart, and follow where it leads you. Anger is easy. Fear is given. It is how you handle both that will determine who you really are in the end,” he told her.
“Oh shut up!” she snapped at him, anger coursing through her. “And just so you know, that date sucked!” she added, storming off to the bedroom.
Scott was going to go after her, but his phone chimed. It was Chandler.
“Hey,” he said in the line.
“Are you alone?” Chandler asked.
“More or less,” he said.
“A call came in on your private line from Samantha,” Chandler said. “Should I return the call and patch her through to you?”
“No, call her back and politely tell her to drop dead,” Scott said.
“Certainly, Sir, but might I ask, after all of these years, why she decided to reach out to you. The settlement, and...why now?”
“I ran into her yesterday,” Scott said.
“Are you okay? Should I fly out?”
“No, you are on vacation, and I am not a kid anymore. She is going to show up tonight, I already know it, but it is going to be a rude awakening for her,” Scott said. “I’m not the man she thinks I am.”
“Have you hired security?”
“No, she has to get past not only Pip but also Zelda. A very pissed off Zelda who is looking for someone to vent her anger on. Samantha is going to be the recipient,” he said. “It’s going to be a fun night.”
“Sir, I don’t mean to pry, but you seem rather happy that Ms. Fitzsimmons is angry,” Chandler said into the line.
“Yep. I have jumpstarted her healing process by moving her right into the anger phase. She has sat in denial and isolation for too long. The real conversation she needs to have with her brother is up next. There is nothing to bargain with him about so the healing can actually begin, and we can move forward,” Scott said.
“I pray that this does not backfire on you,” Chandler said.
“You and me both,” Scott replied, closing out the line.
SCOTT DRESSED IN A black suit with a red tie as he headed out to the West Coast Vent Conference with Danny packed securely in his carrying case. He blew Zelda a kiss as she sat in the corner in a large chair staring out the window with her arms folded across her chest. Her phone conversation with Michael didn’t last very long and by the looks of things, didn’t go quite the way she’d hoped.
The same could be said for Pip, who entered the door just as he opened it to go out. She actually growled at him as he walked by her. Halfway to the stairwell, Scott stopped, did an about face, and returned to the room. Cracking open the door, he peeped his head in, looking at the two women who were both deep in their own feelings.
“Hey, I hope you guys come over to hear me speak,” he said softly. “I am kind of worried that since my name is on the program, I may attract some unwanted fans.”
“Fans?” Zelda asked.
Scott arched one well-trimmed, formerly bushy eyebrow.
“You think SHE is going to show up and try to talk to you after you speak?” Zelda wanted to know.
“Who is this she you are talking about?”
“An old woman who molested Scott when he was a teenager,” Zelda said.
“She didn’t molest me,” he said flatly.
“You were younger than the age of consent, she was an adult, and therefore, molestation,” she said and nodded her head at him.
“This woman is back trying to cause trouble?” Pip wanted to know.
“I think so,” Zelda said, rising to her feet.
“Hold up, let me change my clothes and get my knife, and we will slice this bitch to pieces if she makes a move,” Pip said, pulling her hair ba
ck into a ponytail.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Scott said, sitting down Danny’s case.
“Gone ‘bout your business! Me and Pip, we got this,” Zelda said, heading to the bedroom to change. “Pip, be ready to roll in fifteen.”
“On it, doggone it,” Pip said, flashing gang signs from some imaginary group she belonged to in Fairy Land.
Scott worried he had activated two monsters, picked up the case and made his way back to the elevator. By the time he reached the conference hotel, the thoughts of the two gangsters he left in the hotel suite all but faded as conference attendees and dealers flanked him. Questions started before he even took to the stage as the afternoon commenced with eager learners that he was more than excited to teach.
It only took twenty minutes before the ladies walked into the hotel conference room one block away from the suites where they were staying, while Scott stood on the podium taking questions. Only a few minutes were needed to spot Samantha, who raised her hand to pose a question which probably had nothing to do with the care of the wooden friend Scott was holding. Zelda tapped Pip on the leg, pointing to the lady with her arm in the air. On a silent count of three, the ladies broke left and right coming into the seating area, one on one side of Samantha, one on the other.
“Put your arm down, you old pedophile,” Zelda said.
Samantha’s body tensed as Zelda poked her with a pen in her ribs. “Put your flabby arm down,” she said through tight lips.
“I’m not sure what you are doing here,” Samantha said, trying to not appear rattled.
“You know, I was thinking the same damned thing. Years later you run into your first victim and decide to what, buy him a drink and talk about the good ole’ days? It’s actually kind of sick,” Zelda said.
Samantha turned in her seat, making eye contact with Zelda. “So what are you supposed to be, his great savior? Trust me, Honey, based on what I know about that man, he doesn’t need any saving.”
“You don’t know that man. You knew a lonely boy starved for his mother’s affections. He was a child that you took advantage of with your horny misguided desire to be loved. Scott, a young boy at 13 he didn’t understand his body and you used that for your dark, demented pleasures,” Zelda said to her in a whisper.
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