by Antoinette
She felt eyes upon her once again, that uncomfortable feeling of being followed. This time she did notice a guy trailing not far behind. She sought out her personal shopping assistant in the store, a woman named Krystal, first thing. She greeted the woman, didn’t say anything about feeling stalked, but rather gave her packages to Krystal behind the counter while she shopped, then Krystal led her over to women’s apparel, where she offered suggestions and paired garments for her to choose from. After they’d chatted awhile and looked at garments Krystal pulled for her to consider, London saw the suspicious man enter the store and then confided that she felt she was being stalked. Krystal subtly looked around to check the man’s behavior and agreed that he was acting a bit strange. She silently alerted security by pressing a button on her radio. They would now be monitoring her location by video and sending officers to the area.
London and Krystal continued shopping, and the creeper remained in the area, but someone from security had arrived, according to Krystal. Minutes later while Krystal walked away to pull more clothes for London, she felt herself being jerked backward. The strap of her bag caught in the crook of her arm. London turned, screamed, and pulled back, holding on to her purse despite the pain. She also kicked at the man and aimed to bury her two-and-a-half-inch boot heel into his groin. Her move worked. The purse snatcher fell back to the floor. The security guy was next to them by then, putting the guy in a hold. Another security person from the store appeared.
“Are you okay, ma’am?” asked one of the officers.
“I’m fine, thank you,” replied London. The stalker was up on his feet and handcuffed. The security officer took a breath, looked at her, and said, “That was impressive.” The other officer smiled.
“Thank you. My kickboxing classes finally paid off, I guess.” She chuckled as she flipped her hair back over her shoulder and grinned. Krystal was standing at London’s side looking at her customer with an expression of awe.
“Wow, London. You’ll have to share your trainer’s name with me,” said Krystal, smiling at her.
London was a bit shaken up, but she and Krystal had a mission to complete. Krystal brought her a bottle of water and sat her down to look at the great outfits they collected, including snug-fitting black leggings paired with a long charcoal and silvery gray cashmere sweater that plunged into a V-neck to accentuate her cleavage. The sweater was accessorized with a black elastic belt that sat high on her figure, emphasizing her tiny waist. To top it off, she chose three-inch platform black zippered over-the-knee boots.
“Now that’s an outfit to kick some ass in, London.” They both laughed. Krystal was still energized by all the excitement as she gathered up all of London’s purchases. Since there was still almost three months left of winter, she also suggested a new black leather midlength trench coat with a faux-fur neckline, stylish hats, scarves, and gloves to accompany London’s practical wintry selections. London also made some lavish jewelry purchases to help her cope with the nakedness she was feeling on her left hand. She paid at the register, surprised to find that many of her clothing purchases were discounted at clearance pricing, and she thanked Krystal graciously with a thirty percent tip for her services. She felt empowered as she sauntered out of the store, toting her new wardrobe collections with an assortment of fashions suitable for every season.
As the brisk air hit her face outside the mall, she felt revived. She had taken charge of her emotions through a therapeutic shopping trip. She had fought off an attacker without getting hurt. She wouldn’t want to have to do it again, but she was proud of herself. London had grown tired of being pushed around and taken advantage of by men, and the attacker had picked the perfect moment to mess with her. Maybe she had been helped by the early morning sugar high of that cinnamon roll. She patted her stomach and smiled.
She loaded her purchases and climbed into the SUV and noticed that her cell phone was on the car charger. She was surprised that she hadn’t even missed having the phone on her, but then again she wasn’t looking forward to anyone’s phone calls right now. She checked it and saw that she had several voicemails from Deacon. She only partially listened to the messages, each one a repeat of the last with him begging for forgiveness, begging to see her. She deleted them all, shrugged it off, and tossed her phone into her purse. She felt rejuvenated and happy to still have so much time left in the day. She wouldn’t let anything stand in her way. She was now determined to head home and take down the Christmas decorations. Her adrenaline raced through her body as she drove and she felt the need to burn off some more pent-up aggression in a productive manner.
She put away her purchases at home and noticed the light blinking on the answering machine. She listened this time to each message, all from Deacon. She gazed out the window watching the new afternoon snow falling to the ground in a fresh blanket of white. Inspired for her own fresh start to a brand-new year, she bundled up and headed out to the yard to take down the decorations. Those twinkling lights had continued to mock her as she thought about her future.
As she untangled the strands of lights from the trees, her mind wandered, seeking guidance on how to straighten out her own life and make sense of what would come next. She boxed up the lights and set them in the garage, then made her way up to retrieve a few letters from the mailbox before heading back inside, her skin chilled from the bitter wind.
She brewed a fresh cup of java, fuel for a second wind so she could continue her tasks indoors. She warmed up by the fire, sipping her coffee as she boxed up the décor from the Christmas tree. She fondled the ornaments gently as she placed them into the container, each one drifting her thoughts back to special memories of Christmases with Grams. She thought about the real meaning of her grandmother’s lessons and realized she had really never paid any attention to them.
London had made herself available to dozens of men without compunction or personal values. She had hidden her feelings, not wanting to think about what she was doing. She just did it. Now, she faced the failures in her personal life. She wasn’t too proud of her shortcomings and vowed she would no longer be that person and that she would start right now. Her value had to come from within, not without. . . . Men could use her only if she let them, and that would stop. She was almost as bad as a prostitute. She didn’t charge money—she had her own—but that was the only difference. She was taught—and knew—that she was worthy of love and a good man. Where had she gone wrong? She was being guided by lust, not love, and it was not right. She knew there could never be another Deacon in her future and that saddened her very much. She also knew life was just beginning for her and she was young enough to start all over again. She hauled the boxes up to the attic, bidding them a fond farewell until next Christmas, when she hoped things would be different. With each decoration that she took down she felt like she replaced it with a positive thought. No more fast sex. No more letting herself be used only for pleasure. She sighed at that one. She always enjoyed the thrill of a man’s touch. She would miss that so much, but the heartbreak that came from that touch was not worth the pain. There would be some pressure on the man of her choice, and that pressure would be that he would have to respect her first. Next time I won’t allow my need to please someone get me into a situation such as a three-way that leads to a broken heart. I’ll never get involved with a married man. I’m paying for the bad karma I created by being with one. She spied her grandmother’s Life Lessons book again and opened it to page one. “REMEMBER, DEAR GRANDDAUGHTER, ‘NOTHING STARTS WRONG AND ENDS RIGHT.’ ” “Oh, Grams,” she said out loud. “You were so right.” She sipped her coffee and thought about her grandmother. One thought that entered her mind was the advice of pleasure without pressure. It worked great for her grandmother since she had already been married and had the security of being loved in her life before she was so promiscuous. However, London didn’t have that love, and in searching for it, she lost a part of herself, a valuable part . . . her self-respect. She must rebuild and her thoughts from this
day would help her.
She worked up an appetite while tidying the house, but had no desire to cook. So she popped a frozen dinner into the microwave and sat down at the table to read through her mail. She opened an annual bank statement showing savings and interest on one of many accounts her grandmother had left to her. This aggressive account had incurred a large sum of interest, more than four hundred thousand dollars, in the past year. London basically lived off the interest on all of the funds from her inheritance. Her expenses were covered and she rarely ever had to tap into the principal investments except for an occasional very large purchase. And now she had an unexpected windfall to spend.
The good news perked up her spirits. The microwave beeped, she sat to nibble at her turkey medallions and mashed potatoes, and contemplated what to do next. She poured a large glass of white wine to celebrate and made a toast. “To Grandma, thank you for this gift and the bright future I have ahead of me. I will once again make you proud as I manage the wealth and knowledge you’ve passed on to me.” She finished her dinner and made her way up to bed, feeling satisfied with the day’s accomplishments, yet mentally exhausted. She fell into a deep sleep and a very inspirational dream.
London found herself in Le Château de Versailles, back in the Hall of Mirrors. She was surprised at her own reflection as if she were Queen Marie Antoinette, smiling proudly back at herself. She was surrounded by unknown masked men lurking in the shadows as she looked into the mirrors, but when she spun around, they disappeared. She strolled along, admiring herself and her royal attire, exploring the castle with a newfound freedom. A guide suddenly appeared before her, another masked man wearing a tuxedo. He didn’t speak, but he led her through a secret passageway behind one of the mirrors to hidden rooms she never knew existed. She floated through each room, amazed with appreciation as he unveiled treasures, magnificent heirlooms, and regal furnishings. She felt a passion running through her, but this was a different type of romance. It wasn’t about men or sex. It was her love for the French style, her curiosity for the era and its old-world charm. She found herself in the queen’s grand apartment, enchanted by the crystal chandelier overhead and the bright gold accents that surrounded her. Her masked man took her by the hand and swept her off her feet as they danced through the exquisite chambers. When the song was through, he kissed her gently and laid her down on the bed, leaving her breathless in the silence. She reclined, taking delight in the luxurious fabric as she stared up at the awe-inspiring ceiling painted by the great rococo artist François Boucher.
London awoke and sat up as chills ran over her body. The dream had been so vivid. It was still dark outside, and she snuggled farther into the covers and pondered the meaning of the dream she just had, the details becoming clearer now as she stirred, unable to go back to sleep. The masked men seemed obvious. But what were the treasures in the castle’s hidden rooms . . . they filled her with a new and wondrous childlike curiosity. She wished she could fall back to sleep and return to the castle. She had felt safe and powerful there, surrounded by extravagance and protected from harm.
Suddenly, she had an idea. Use the four hundred thousand dollars to open a shop—an antique store. She would create her very own miniature French palace, filled with exquisite treasures so others could enjoy what she had seen. She’d buy the building in downtown Tarrytown that had once belonged to her grandmother. She had seen a For Sale sign in front of the building. She turned on her laptop at 4:30 a.m. to search for commercial property listings.
She couldn’t sleep anyway. The property was listed. She clicked to email the real estate agent, Brandon Thomas, sending a message to contact her.
She showered and thawed out some cinnamon rolls she had bought yesterday and made a cappuccino, daydreaming of her new future. When the phone rang she looked at the clock. It was 8:00 a.m. and the name that showed on the phone was Brandon Thomas. His office was a block away from the store. He could meet her there as soon as she wanted. She fired up the SUV and raced into town to find him waiting out front. “Mr. Thomas?” He smiled and shook her hand.
“I knew your grandmother and worked with her real estate investments, including this building. She was a wonderful woman. I believe I even met you here when you were very young.” London smiled at this older man who made her feel so comfortable.
The building hadn’t changed much since she had been a little girl. A jewelry store occupied the space when she was visiting with her grandmother’s tenants.
As London walked through the rooms, she could feel her grandmother’s hand like a breeze through the window. She began making mental notes of what she wanted and where. The ceiling was still painted in scenes depicting love in the Renaissance days, with cherubs touching each other fondly—this was straight out of the previous night’s dream and the royal bedchambers. The leaded glass windows showered rainbows all over the walls. She couldn’t wait to begin transforming the interior. Although the exterior was a simple brick façade, the entry was impressive and the ornate French tiled roof added stylish sophistication. There was even a full basement to accommodate a massive storage for her inventory.
The space was perfect. She would have an inspection done and she agreed to the asking price. She wrote him a check for the down payment and he let her know he would have purchase documents ready to sign the next morning, pending the results of the inspection. Mr. Thomas gave her the keys and headed back to his office to draft the papers. She called Max. Even though they hadn’t spoken since the fall, when he’d crashed his truck, she knew that he was the best contractor for the job and would give her an honest assessment of the building’s potential. Max’s business was slow during the winter season. Lucky for London, he was willing to help her and had the time. She paced the floors as she awaited his arrival, visualizing the different pieces of furniture she would place in various corners of the rooms. She was a perfectionist and wanted only the best. Research would be important in getting prime French antiques. There was a gorgeous fireplace on one wall with bricks laid in an arch formation around the opening. She could picture a blazing fire with two Louis XV chairs on either side. Those would not be for sale, but for her and her guests to relax in and enjoy the ambience of the store.
Her mind raced with thoughts of inventory, orders, expenses, and income. She felt exhilarated and empowered thanks to her grandmother, who had given her the financial leg up. She would and could accomplish this on her own. She would fulfill herself. No man was involved in bringing her this joyful sensation. She had something to be passionate about . . . besides passion itself.
She named her new venture Le Magasin d’Antiquités, French for “The Antique Shop.” The sound of Max’s diesel truck pulling up to the side of the building pulled London from her thoughts.
He took a look at the exterior before coming in. He was as adorable as ever, London thought, with his piercing blue eyes and defiant wispy blond hair. He wore a tan Carhartt work coat, khaki cargo workpants, and dirty steel-toed boots. Yes, London felt herself tingle, but she stifled the feelings, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.
Max stomped his snowy boots off on the cobblestone walkway and entered the shop.
“Hi, London.” He greeted her warmly with a gentle hug and a peck on the cheek. “I was so glad to hear from you. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch since I saw you a few months ago. We were so swamped working eighteen-hour days trying to finalize our jobs before the first snowfall, and before I knew it, too much time had passed. I had good intentions about getting back with you, but it felt awkward after so long, if you know what I mean. So, how have you been?”
“I’m doing well, thank you,” London replied with a grin. “And it is a modern world. I suppose I could have called you too, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”
Max looked at London inquisitively. “I heard you got engaged. I ran into Paris on New Year’s Eve at a party and she said you were getting married.”
“I was, yes, but it was quite possibly the shortest engage
ment ever. Look, I don’t really want to talk about it, but . . . I found my fiancé in bed with Jen.” London felt herself blush in embarrassment as she divulged so freely to Max. “We had a threesome and . . . well, afterward he made his choice. I suppose it’s as simple as that, so now I’m just trying to move on.”
Max tried but didn’t succeed in hiding his astonishment. She immediately regretted revealing that part of the story.
“Oh, London. I’m so sorry. I was happy to hear that you’d finally found someone special, but you deserve so much better.” Max was kind, gentle, and caring, in direct contrast with his rugged exterior. The sincerity in his voice reassured her and she was no longer bothered by the fact that he hadn’t called. She understood what it was like to be busy at work and lost in daily responsibilities. Her heart was very forgiving of him and despite all of the men who had let her down in life, Max was still unique, genuine, and honest.
“So, let’s take a look around the inside and see what you’ve got going on here,” Max finally said, breaking the silence as he proceeded to inspect the structure. She gave him a tour of the building, explained her remodeling ideas, and shared her budget allowance for renovations. He explored the basement and the upstairs, then went back outside to conduct further careful inspection of the foundation and the roof. She tagged along, following him down the cobblestone beside the tall and narrow building, watching him kicking at the brick façade and examining the mortar joints. She cringed as he climbed up the fire escape on the back of the building to the rooftop. The roof was icy and snowy and he slipped just a bit as he ascended.