Who the fuck names their kid, Brendon, anyway? Oh, yeah. I know who. Two self-absorbed people who want to break the norm in order to be unique, but not so much that they’d be rejected from the country club.
Luckily, my mother saw the light. Thank God. My father? Well, he didn’t. I guess it’s hard to see the light when you are the eclipse.
I scoff as I keep walking, stuffing my newly bought bus ticket into my black bag. Good old Victor Foxx. Hard-nosed businessman. Rainmaker. Dad.
He always was a rainmaker. Literally. A foreboding storm cloud of a man, he wrought defeat and destruction over any competitor he’s ever faced, crushing all dreams and aspirations with a tornadic force that could rival any F5.
He will make you regret every business venture you’ve ever undertaken. He will make you wish you were never born. And I’m his prodigy.
Or so he thought.
As his successor at Foxxhole Publishing House, I was expected to fall in line. I was expected to take up his duties. I was expected to do his dirty work. I put up with it for a long as I possibly could.
Until he made me fire Kat.
It was humiliating: a degrading experience for even me.
I called her boss’s office –that fucking Gregory Sears. He picked up on speakerphone, left the room and had me terminate her. I fired her on speakerphone, for God’s sake. How fucked up is that?
I affected the proper business tone, executed my proper task, and quit as soon as the call ended. Walking out of my office never felt so damn good. I cut up my Amex corporate credit card before tossing my badge to the unsuspecting secretary. And then, I took off.
Bet Victor didn’t see that one coming.
The first people I told after I arrived home were Chris and Griff. They were excited about what I’d done, even more so about Kat. They were only concerned with the result, not the guilty road it took to get there.
They’d been scoping out Kat for months at Journey Life, preparing for a big push for additions to our new start-up. “Tripping Out!” is our new travel magazine, and the only baby any of us have ever had.
As a business and founding partner, I wildly shared in their enthusiasm. Still, as a man with a shred of integrity and an alleged person of repute, the whole ordeal disgusted me.
I’d hardly done any research. I barely knew anything about Kat.
From the outside looking in, I understood how the firing must feel. There was only one way to go from Journey Life… and that was down. Foxxhole was the irrefutable pinnacle of publishing, with enough star-power and respect to rival Random House. It was a formidable giant in the world of print.
Getting fired from Foxxhole was the equivalent of having your career take a sudden and certainly deadly nose-dive. No chance of recovery, little opportunity for survival. And Journey Life was one of the “shining stars” of Foxxhole.
Yeah, right. It was nothing more than a joke.
Journey Life. “Because traveling isn’t a hobby. It’s a calling.”
Sure it is. If you could call sun-bathing in Palm Springs and hot-tubbing in the Colorado Rockies a “calling.” All Journey Life cared about was catering to the need (and greed) of wealthy vacationers who wouldn’t understand the concept of a true journey if it kicked them in the gonads.
Bolstered by the cash flow from chic restaurants and even “chic-er” hotels, Journey Life’s primary concern was advertising tourism spots that revealed nothing about the true culture of the cities and country-sides in which they were carefully crafted.
So when the article on the Oasis reached my desk, I jumped all over it: went for the gusto. It was a commentary written about an enclosed expanse of land amidst the Smoky Mountains that featured some of nature’s most beautiful, organic landscaping.
It was the mountainous equivalent of an oasis: a breathtaking paradise capable of giving you the very best of Southeastern wildlife, greenery and camping.
I agreed to let Chris and Griff pursue Kat and lure her over to our side thanks to that beautifully written journalistic piece alone: the piece that turned out to be her downfall.
And that’s why I’m here: to see the story through. I’m going to find the Oasis. And it’s going to be the launching pad for a real travel magazine: our magazine, Tripping Out!
The voice over the intercom interrupts my reverie, making me jump. I’ve forgotten my credit card in the ticket line. When I go to retrieve it, I fake a smile at the same attendant. I leave the bus terminal before I can have another flashback, sneering at the name on the card.
It’s not Brandon; it’s not Brent. Some bastardized hybrid of the two.
I often think about changing my name. Leaving this one behind me. Yeah. New name, new me. I’ll become who I was meant to be. Maybe one day.
Fuck Brendon Foxx.
***
ELEVEN DAYS AGO, ON ANOTHER SIDE OF TOWN
Kat
I slam the door to my apartment: kick off my high-heeled shoes. My stockings are shredding on the pavement as I walk, but I keep trucking anyway.
I stuff the box of bedroom items into the backseat of my car; I ignore the few that start to spill over the sides.
My hair is neat.
My skirt is smooth.
I climb behind the wheel as if nothing’s wrong.
If any bystander passed, they’d see a woman going to work. If they dared to look closer, they’d see a fumbling, blundering mess.
I got dressed today as if I still had a job, and I broke down in my foyer the minute I realized I didn’t. I broke my lease, canceled my utilities, and now I’m sitting in my parking space, thinking about the traffic on the way.
I prepare to head to my sister Elena’s house to drop off my personal things. I’m on the highway before I even realize I’m out of “Park.” I’m reliving yesterday as if it never truly passed; I experience the same emotions as if they’re happening to me now.
A hush of voices follows my every footstep to Greg’s office; a discernible whisper is on every mouth in the room. Everyone knows, like I know, what will happen, and I try to keep my head high as I glide by every desk.
I can smell the staleness of rancid coffee sitting in the corporate break room. I can recall Greg’s voice as if it were still in my ear.
I come into his office to the sound of voices. His… and another’s: some disembodied voice that floats calmly to my ears from a small black speaker.
The conversation between Greg and I is short: the tone pleasant, but it ends unexpectedly. When Greg leaves, I am relieved that I’ve survived. But the voice over the phone seems flustered by Gregory’s quick exit.
The unidentified man’s voice trails off after Greg’s departure, and I expect him to end the conversation, but then he suddenly starts talking again.
To me.
I am completely blindsided when he reveals his name. His voice is deep, almost sexual, and I’m caught off-guard by the man’s latent charm.
His tone is unsuspecting and strangely convincing, soothing me into a calm with no second thought. It’s like listening to a sultry lullaby, and I’m the child being nursed to an early sleep.
The commendations are swift and unexpected; the voice is complimenting, oddly seductive. All the while, the axe is sharpening on the other end of the phone line, and when it drops, its cut is quick and to the core.
I stumble out of the office afterwards like a war victim, and my emotional wounds are bleeding me out with each step. A whole day later, the wounds are now infected. I wince in pain every time I think his name.
How naïve of me to think that I could ever trust Greg: to fall for him and his toothy ass grin. I used to believe the bullshit that he fed me, and I did it all with my eyes wide open.
And that Brendon Foxx: boy, was he good. He almost had me going with that pep talk: complimenting me about my talent. He seemed so genuine, sounded so truthful. He almost convinced me that my potential would be used after all.
A honk startles me as a reckless driver passes my window
. I’d give him the middle finger if my hands weren’t trembling so violently.
Alas, I need to make it to my older sister’s in one piece. I know she’d kill me if she really knew what I’ve got planned. But I don’t need her approval or Gregory Sears’. In fact, I don’t need Victor Foxx’s or Brendon Foxx’s, either.
I’m going to make it to the Oasis. I’m going to write that damn article.
And I’m going to make sure that they regret ever letting me go.
Foxx
Goddammit, I regret ever letting her go.
I hang up the phone on my desk, glancing at the calendar on my office wall. It is the last call that I will take this evening. It is the final marker in another workday gone by.
It’s been six weeks. Six weeks since Kat disappeared from my life. And every second of them has been absolute torture.
Every day, I replay Kat leaving the bed-and-breakfast in Tennessee. Every sunrise, I hear the squeal as the B&B owner’s car peels away with her inside.
Jack, the owner of the “The Little Stay-Inn B&B” was sympathetic, but his disapproving wife was all too happy to whisk a hysterical Kat away. I spent two hours half-dressed in coffee-splattered shorts before I could work up the nerve to answer Chris’s distressing calls to my room.
And though my mornings are mini-movies of watching Kat kiss me (and our little love shack) goodbye, the nights are even worse: so, so much worse.
Each night when I crawl into bed, I can feel her body against mine. Every time I close my eyes, I can hear her moan my name. Or Trevor’s name.
I rip the calendar off of the wall, throwing it against the glass door of the office. I almost snicker at the thought. My office. Brendon’s office. The office of a man that Kat doesn’t even know.
The quintessential rich kid: the golden boy of Foxxhole. “Heir” to the throne.
She doesn’t know the man that stands here in an Armani suit. The man with the perfectly-coiffed hair and shiny gold cufflinks. The man that’s been using every single resource at his privileged-ass disposal to find her.
In fact… I’m due for an update on the status of the search…
I get up from my leather company chair, quickly making my way down the long hallway of our Tripping Out! headquarters.
For the third time this week, I start to knock at Chris’ door. I decide against it, pushing the opaque glass door to the side so that I can step inside of his office.
When I see him sitting calmly at his desk, I nearly fly into a rage.
“What the flying fuck, Chris? I’ve been calling your cell all goddamn day.” I round his large wooden desk, taking up space behind its counter.
Chris’s red face is staring intently at a computer screen. He pushes away from his desk with a sound sigh and stands to face me, looking impish in his t-shirt and khakis.
“I know,” he says: annoyed. “I’ve been too busy answering calls on my business phone. You remember the business, don’t you? The magazine that you, Griff and I started? Yeah, that one.” He turns his back on me, pulling his chair back out to sit down.
I slide the chair from his clutched grasp, pushing it far across the floor. “Well, this pertains to the business, Chris. Now, what have you heard about Kat?”
He throws his hands up in acquiescence, clutching a handful of curly hair with his fingers. “Nothing, man.”
“Nothing?”
“No, Foxx. Nothing.” He steps closer. “Look, we followed her trail back to Ama’s. We know at some point she went back to Memphis. She’s not in Tampa. She doesn’t seem to be in Tennessee. Kat doesn’t want to be found, ok? She seems to have made it a point to disappear.”
The words cut into me, twisting deeply, but I recover rather quickly.
“She couldn’t have just upped and vanished into thin air, Chris. She had to have left a trail. Find her.” I point a finger into his chest, clomping my way back to the door.
I know I’m being an arrogant ass, but I want answers. More than I want answers, I want Kat. I want her back.
Chris calls after me, stopping me in my tracks.
“Ok, Mister Foxx, just because you’re dressed like the boss doesn’t mean you can treat me like you’re my boss. There are three partners in this company.”
I look down at my suit, the silk tie, the alligator shoes. I never did break the habit of dressing “strictly business.” But he’s right. I know he’s right.
I just couldn’t give two shits right now.
“Yeah?” I retort heatedly. “And there’s only one financier, and that’s me. So, just do what the fuck I’m asking you to.”
“Foxx, get the fuck out of my office.”
“I’ll beat your goddamned ass.”
“You haven’t been able to since we were eight.”
The words fall off of Chris’s lips and die instantly. They’re followed immediately by our resounding laughter. I can’t believe I acted exactly like my father just now.
Chris, Griffin and I have known each other since we were in Pampers. We fight like we’re brothers because we mostly are. I overpower and outweigh Chris by about five inches and twenty-five pounds. The preposterousness of his statement is not lost on either of us.
I walk over to where Chris stands, reaching over for the “bro-hug.” We break apart warmly, still clutching each other’s shoulders when Griff walks through the door with plenty of jokes in tow. We don’t hear the end of it for the next thirty-seven seconds.
When he finally stops laughing at us, Griff clamps a hand on my shoulder. Chris tells him all about the “almost-fight,” and Griff squeezes the arm that has just recently healed. I wait for the additional barrage of jibes.
“It’s been six weeks, Foxx, and you’re still looking for this girl. Look, I get how much of an asset she would be. Hell, I wanted her bad, too...”
His words make me stiffen.
“But the point is…” Griff continues, “we’ll find Kat, eventually. In the meantime, we’ll get a replacement for her and…”
“Replacement?” I step back from them both. “The hell we will. It’s Kat, or it’s no one.”
Griff runs a frustrated hand across his dark buzz cut; his movements are scarily identical to the ones Chris just went through ten minutes ago. My friends will go bald by thirty if they keep dealing with my hot-headed ass.
“What’s the big fucking deal?” he throws at me. “She’s a writer. A great one, yes, and yeah, you know how much Chris and I wanted her for the magazine, but listen, Foxx… if the answer’s no, then the answer’s no.”
“It’s not NO!” I boom at Griff.
My outburst nearly bursts the seams of my suit jacket, and I know that Chris and Griff are completely at a loss by my response. My secrets are slipping readily from my grasp, and I realize that I cannot hold them any longer than I already have.
Griff glances at Chris and then back to me. His wheels are turning; I can see them spinning in his head.
“Waaaaiiiit a second, Foxx,” he states plainly. He squints his eyes suspiciously at me, his dark brows pulling together. “What the hell did you do?”
“Nothing,” I manage to say, feigning complete nonchalance. Still, my response is too quick, and they aren’t as oblivious as I thought.
“I mean, it’s not like you pumped and dumped her,” Chris pipes in.
“Oh, fuck, so you did pump and dump her?” Griff concludes. Their response sounds almost rehearsed. We’re way too fucking close to not see right through one another. “Way to fuck up any possible business relationship there, Foxx.”
“No, I didn’t. Well, technically, I did pump… I mean, sleep… it wasn’t like that!” My frustration boils over. “I care about this girl. She’s fucking amazing. If you could just see what I got to see with her…”
“I don’t think you’d let us see exactly what you saw with Kat, Foxx,” Griff remarks on a laugh.
I stare at him with a blatant hostility that Chris luckily catches before I explode. Griff is joking, as usual,
and normally I would let it slide, but suddenly I want to beat him to a messy pulp. Him… and any other man that would dare overstep his bounds.
I don’t want to think of anyone touching Kat the way that I have. As far as I’m concerned, when it comes to her, only one man exists… and that’s me.
Chris gives me a playful punch, diffusing my hot temper. He clears his throat, reaching for a small folder on his desk. He hands it to me. Inside are notes, and he speaks while I read.
“We’ve checked everything, Foxx. We checked her emergency contact list at work. Her apartment’s empty. Her phone’s disconnected. We’ve hit up each and every member of her immediate family. Nothing. She’s gone… and nobody seems to know anything: at least anything they’re willing to tell.”
Griff steps forward, chiming in. “What are you going to do? How are you going to find a girl you never really knew?”
I close the manila folder, tossing it to the side. Oh, but I do know Kat. I know her more than most could ever claim. I know her anger; I’ve touched her tears. I’ve seen her hardened, tough side… and her soft…
It’s safe to say that I know Kat Lexington.
My Carmen Sandiego has found her match in me: two souls searching for their own versions of paradise. It seems like all my life I’ve searched for paradise. Paradise doesn’t really exist.
But bliss does.
Paradise is a physical location, a fantasy world; bliss is a state of mind. And the closest thing I’ve ever found to it is when I’m next to Kat, touching Kat, inside… of Kat.
And yet, in some way, Kat herself is my paradise. She’s as close to ecstasy as I’ve ever gotten… and the one place I’m not allowed to go.
She’s my paradise forbidden.
And now she’s gone: disappeared. Taken my stuff and run just like I feared. Only now my “stuff” is more than just the physical; I want her to come back and restore whoever Trevor Cassidy was.
He understood something that Brendon Foxx never did. He understood that paradise is not perfection: that it’s simply the one place where you feel at “home.”
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