by C. L. Donley
“There you go again, shutting things down before they start. You gotta learn to think big, Cynthia. Then the resources come. Think about that.”
She honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. His dad owned the fucking building. The hell was he even talking about?
“You really shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for you,” she answered back.
He gave her an even bigger heart melting smile.
“Is that you giving me a taste of my own medicine?”
“Maybe.”
He flicked his cigarette and headed back inside, his hands retreating to his pockets. “Later, Cynthia.”
“Good talk, Ben.”
Cynthia shook her head as Ben left her side, remembering Virginia’s pep talk when she first got hired. They’re cute, they’re young, and they’ll try to flirt with you.
“Be nice, but don’t encourage them,” she finished out loud. She was pretty sure she’d done that. Even though all she wanted to do is try her worst without using anything but her eyes. She could try telling Ben to just go away. She didn’t know him very well, but she knew he wouldn’t take kindly to that. She didn’t want to ever find out Ben was the type of guy Virginia warned them about. It’s not gonna end bad for them, it’ll only end bad for you.
* * *
Cynthia requested more time in back of house after that conversation outside the service entrance. And Cynthia changed up her routines so that they barely caught each other’s breaks.
On the night the associates got their bonuses several weeks later, however, the Dvorak Group held a banquet. The kitchen staff catered and all the associates were there, including Ben. Cynthia’s limbs had been quaking the whole night, she was so nervous to see him, and every time he stole a glance in her direction it sent shockwaves to her heart because it meant he’d caught her doing the same. Ben cornered Cynthia after everyone had been served.
“Are you stalking me, Cynthia?”
She smiled. “If it pays time and a half, then yes that’s what I’m doing.”
“Any progress with culinary school?”
Cynthia rolled her eyes as she shook her head.
“What?” he grinned.
“I should’ve never told you that.”
“What, that you have dreams? You’re right, I am the wrong person to tell.”
“If it means that you’re going to badger me about it every time you see me, then you are the wrong person.”
He chuckled a bit and hung his head, as if nervous. “I just don’t want you to wake up one morning and realize that it’s been ten years, and you still work in the cafeteria of the Dvorak building. Is that so wrong?”
Cynthia didn’t notice, playing devil’s advocate. “You never know, I could become head chef on my own, without having to go into debt.”
“Not all debt is bad, you know. Sometimes it’s necessary. And I hate that school is getting such a bad rap. School exists so that you won’t be a moron. It would make me very sad to see you excel here.”
“And why’s that?”
“If I’m not one day getting postcards from you from exotic and faraway places, it would make me very sad.”
“Or whatever we’ll be sending each other in the future.”
“There’ll still be postcards in the future, Cynthia.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she answered as though she knew something he didn’t. He chuckled.
Across the room, Sol Dvorak noticed that his son seemed to be spending a lot of time chatting up the help.
“So… I have a school thing that would be perfect for you to go to. I want you to come.”
What?!
“Are you joking?”
“Nope. Friday. You’ll have to wear something nice.”
Cynthia’s eyes widened a moment.
“I… usually dye my hair on Friday nights.”
“Cynthia, you’re breaking my heart, here. You’ve known me for a long time.”
“If serving you breakfast and lunch for four months is knowing you, then the answer is definitely no.”
“It isn’t. Aren’t you curious about me at all?”
Cynthia had to laugh as she shook her head.
“Your dad has been watching you talk to me for quite some time, so I don’t know how that would go over.”
Ben stopped abruptly, with a wrinkled brow and a smile. “My dad? How do you know who my dad is?”
Cynthia chuckled as if he were adorable.
“I… figured it out.”
“How?”
“Sorry, was it supposed to be a secret?”
“No, it’s just… how long have you known?”
“Awhile. I mean, I didn’t know your last name at first, but I always suspected.”
“Shit.”
Virginia didn’t mention that they were all clueless about themselves. Cynthia felt that should be remedied.
“Everyone told me not to bother you, that you were the owner’s son.”
“Who’s everyone?” Ben’s brow wrinkles further.
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. I just… if you knew, you didn’t let on. I’m impressed, I guess.”
“If I agreed to go out with you, I’d find out anyway, right?”
“…Sure.”
“It’s okay not to pass for regular, you know.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“Okay. But if it makes you feel any better, I probably would’ve figured it out.”
“What would make me feel better is if you agree to go see Princeton with me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything suitable for a night like that.”
“Let me buy you something.”
“Ben…”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Why?”
“Because I just became a junior associate and I need to see what’s under that chef’s hat.”
Cynthia chuckled.
“You’d like it,” she divulged.
“Really?” he asked in wonder.
She let another laugh escape as she nodded.
“Benjamin, you’re missing the party,” Joshua, one of his father’s cronies came to fish him from the banquet table.
“I’m waiting for a new smoked trout platter,” Ben fibbed.
“He’s not bothering you, is he?” Joshua addressed Cynthia with a smile, his cordiality a very thin veneer.
“No, sir, he’s just… being polite.”
“Cynthia here is thinking about going to my alma mater. We were just having a conversation about that,” Ben filled in, with a thin cordial veneer of his own.
“Cynthia?” the man inquired.
“That’s what her name tag says,” Ben conspicuously replied. “The same name tag she’s worn every day for three months.”
“Well, let Cynthia get back to her work so that she’s not reprimanded by her boss.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” Ben looked at Joshua, letting his agitation show.
For the first time, Cynthia saw Ben become the boss’s son.
Oh boy.
She looked over at Virginia who quickly turned her head away from the scene, obviously having been looking at them.
“Sir, I can have a server bring you whatever you like once it’s ready,” Cynthia suggested quickly, her head down as she switched out platters.
Ben’s jaw clenched. It seemed like every person in his life was there to remind him who he could and could not associate with, to uphold some invisible barrier that needed constant maintenance and surveillance. It irritated him. They had to do that because it wasn’t real. Everything real just exists, whether people liked it or not. And yet the people around him were eager to hold up illusions. Even his sister Valerie, who was as down to Earth as a Dvorak could get.
Even more, it irritated him that a smart girl like Cynthia knew how to comply. No doubt many people had convinced her that it was “smart” to do so. It was all a sick game of control.
Ben returned the stare until Joshua finally stood down, ultimately knowing his place. He walked away and Ben finally turned his attention back to Cynthia, who was acting very very busy.
“Listen, I don’t know what I said to you the last time we talked, but it seems like you’re acting weird, and I think it’s whatever this place is doing to you.”
Cynthia was sure her heart was going to pound itself right out into the open. Ben was agitated, and some of it was aimed towards her. He’d felt her absence. And he didn’t like it.
“Next Friday night. You’re coming with me.”
“I need this job, Mr. Dvorak,” she said.
“Don’t do that. Not you too.”
“Not me what?”
“You may be the only friend I have in this entire building. Don’t take that away from me.”
Cynthia sighed, looking over at the other side of the room, where she seemed to have caught the attention of the CEO. Ben seemed unphased. She returned her attention to the large metal catering trays.
“I have no idea what to tell my mom,” she made the excuse.
“Tell her the truth. That I’m taking you to see the Princeton campus.”
“She’s going to have to… meet you and all that.”
“That’s fine with me.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes again.
“What, you never been on a date before?” he smiled.
Cynthia couldn’t control her blush. It wasn’t a date with an unavailable guy, it was worse than a date. It was something “friendly,” without boundaries. And she couldn’t deny she was into it. A work-free day with Ben. Telling stupid jokes and trying to get her to open up. She wanted him to keep prying at her like a stubborn oyster. She wanted him to keep trying and failing. Dusting himself off undeterred and trying again.
“A date? Is that what this is?”
“No, but it’s what all moms think this is.”
“I was more of a ‘sneak out of the house’ kind of girl,” she said. He laughed.
“When your mom comes to pick you up the night before, I’ll come out and say hi, let her know the plan. The next day, we go. It’s at 7, but we can go straight from here.”
He conspicuously had it all planned out. Cynthia only felt— never saw— multiple sets of eyes on the two of them.
“If I say yes, will you get away from my station?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Then yes.”
Cynthia didn’t see Ben again that week at all, until her mother came and picked her up the evening before, just like they had planned. Ben came limping his way out to the service entrance on his break. He loomed over the passenger window of Bev’s van— also Bev and Cynthia’s house, unbeknownst to him.
“Wah say, Cynthia’s mom,” Ben debuted his Grenadian slang. Cynthia gave her mom a funny look and cracked up. Bev eyed him with amusement, genuinely impressed.
“I’m good! Wah go, Shatta?” Bev sent back.
“Taking a trip?” he says when he sees the trunk area stacked with boxes and bedding.
“Some’ding like dat,” Bev answered, with a much stronger accent compared to Cynthia.
“Cynthia tells me you’re from Grenada.”
“I am.”
“How long since you’ve been back?”
“Oh my. Since Cynt’ya was about 10. For her faddah’s funeral.”
“I’m so sorry. My condolences.”
“T’ank you, dear.”
“I hope Cynthia explained to you what we’re doing. I’ll have her home by 10.”
“Ah’ll be pickin’ her up,” Bev insisted.
“Are you sure? It’s a bit of a drive.”
“It is, but not from where ah go t’school,” Bev assured him.
“I could just stay with you,” Cynthia piped up in Ben’s direction. The corners of his mouth went down as he shrugged.
“If… that’s okay with your mom, it’s okay with me,” Ben managed a response so diplomatic Bev wondered if Cynthia was barking up the wrong tree. Bev’s eyes met her daughter’s.
“He lives in the city, I can go straight to work. No subway fare.”
Bev felt a little strange even being there. Cynthia was 21, an adult now in every way. If she was going to sleep with some boy, why did Bev need to know about it at all?
Either Cynthia genuinely didn’t think this would lead to more sleepovers, or she was so afraid to tell her mother what a terrible job she was doing, that she was going to have to get a boyfriend just so she could sleep in a warm bed this winter.
“Call me when yuh make it back, enuh.” Bev replied.
“I will,” Cynthia agreed.
“Okay. T’morrah den?”
“Tomorrow. Bye, mama.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Gordon,” Ben said, his world-class manners exceeding their own.
“Call me Bev,” Bev smiled, instantly charmed.
He did call her Bev. Every other day when she came to pick Cynthia up. And she called him “Benji,” the first person ever to give him a nickname. Soon, she stopped having to pick Cynthia up altogether. Because Cynthia was going to his place after her shift when he wasn’t home. And when he usually just spent the few hours he had to sleep in his office, he instead rushed back to his place, where he would wake Cynthia, no matter what time of night it was, and they would sometimes talk. And eventually, make love.
The first time he woke to her face, her body in his bed, it startled him the way it made him feel. It was borderline guilt. Maybe he felt like he was cheating. Maybe he knew that he was. Even though he’d told Melanie about Cynthia. Even though he’d mentioned matter-of-factly that she was staying there sometimes, when they talked on the phone. He’d convinced himself that if he could talk about it openly that it was a sign that there was no danger.
But the day Cynthia asked if they would ever know what it was like to kiss, he knew he was a goner.
“One day we will,” he’d answered. He couldn’t say ‘yes,’ but he sure as hell couldn’t say ‘no.’ His answer scared him. It meant he longed to be free to kiss her. He knew that already, but he didn’t know he planned to make it a reality. Not until he knew that Cynthia might be feeling the same.
7
Present Day
When Cynthia arrives at the agreed upon restaurant location, it is Esmee who greets her first, dressed in a little black dress. Cynthia deduces that she is at most a size zero. In the black dress, she practically disappears. Esmee greets her with a hug as though they’ve known each other well.
“I’m underdressed,” Cynthia says when she sees Ben in a dress shirt and slacks. Cynthia dressed casually but elegantly in long loose khaki trousers and a sleeveless white shirt equally loose, a wife-beater but expensive looking. A turquoise pendant hung from her neck and hovered over her modest cleavage.
“Nonsense, you’re our celebrity guest,” Esmee insists. “I’m sure you’re familiar with Benjamin’s monotone wardrobe. Or was he more casual back then, when you were together?”
Ah. We’re getting formalities out of the way, I see, Cynthia thinks.
“I seem to recall a t-shirt or two,” Cynthia teases him.
“When Benjamin said the two of you used to fancy each other I couldn’t believe it,” Esmee marvels.
“How’s our investment coming along?” Ben asks, ignoring his wife-to-be.
“Dismally,” Cynthia replies.
“Didn’t Barrett handle the building codes problem?”
“It’s not the city, it’s me. I can’t seem to get… inspired. Or maybe I’m too inspired. It’s making me indecisive.”
“Didn’t you already have big plans?”
“I did. But then… I started changing things.”
“The unlimited budget,” Ben smiles.
“The unlimited budget.”
“I can get rid of it.”
“Please d
on’t, it’s glorious,” Cynthia sighs.
Ben laughs. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes for Esmee to feel left out.
“Tell me everything,” Esmee says, putting a hand on hers. “How did you become the elusive ‘Cynthia Gordon’?”
“I hardly know,” Cynthia chuckles.
“You’re notoriously guarded about your life in the press. Is it true you’ve only been at it five years?”
“Well… not exactly. My first project was technically my first house. This beat up old rehab that my mother and I found. Dirt cheap. We bought it with cash…” Cynthia’s voice tapers off.
She wants to shoot herself, talking about what she did with the check right in front of him. She can feel the bile rising up. Esmee reaches out to touch her hand again.
“I’m sorry. I know losing your mum was hard. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my mum, I’d go stark raving mad.”
“It’s… okay,” Cynthia dismisses with a shake of her head. She doesn’t dare look at Ben as she presses on.
“Um, so it took about three months to fix it up. It was just the two of us. I was afraid to hire anyone else out so… we did a lot of the labor. That we had no business doing,” Cynthia gives a laughing roll of her eyes at the memory. “But I learned a lot that way. I figured out I had an eye.”
“Someone just came by and offered to buy it straight away?”
“No. We lived in it for a few years. Then my mom passed and I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. But it hurt even more to sell it.”
“Not for long. Selling a flip for pure profit. You must’ve made a pretty penny,” Ben mutters. His tone sends icicles up and down her spine.
And now he knows. She just wishes he understood.
“Indeed,” she admits.
“You turned right ‘round and did the same thing again,” Esmee infers.
“Yes. Only this time I hired a crew. Same crew I still use. Lived in that one and watched the prices in the neighborhood.”
“And then the girl with one house bought two,” Ben deduces.
“And so on and so on,” Cynthia concludes, thrilled to be done with the story.
“Well, you’re a genius. Everyone knows a Cynthia Gordon job when they see one. You did the white party in the Hamptons.”
“Well, I just did the design and I left. For free, actually. I didn’t want to, Gabe forced me to. He’s always forcing me to see the big picture. I only knew the guest list after the fact. I heard it was a great party.”