Ask Me

by M. Malone

  Suddenly he laughs so hard that he bends at the waist trying to catch his breath. “Dio, I can’t even imagine it. You wouldn’t last a day if you had to wear an off the rack suit.”

  I scowl but it’s hard to maintain my anger while he’s chuckling. “So I’m a snob, is that what you’re saying?”

  He claps me on the shoulder. “No. You know I don’t think that. But you have very exacting standards. I wonder what would happen if you allowed yourself to have even a little bit of fun sometimes. You might even enjoy yourself for once. Try it. I dare you.”

  His eyes suddenly go to something over my shoulder. “I have to go. If I see Mamma, I’ll try to distract her for you. Give you a few more minutes of peace.”

  The balcony doors shut behind him and finally, I’m alone.

  Not that I would ever admit it to him, but his words pierced me to my core. He didn’t mean anything by it but seeing myself through his eyes was a bit shocking.

  Am I really that bad?

  Perhaps I have become jaded over the years, so used to all the finer things in life, but I didn’t think I’d lost touch with reality. We’ve always had money so one could argue we’ve never exactly been regular people but there was a time I was considered the life of the party, enjoying friendships with people from all walks of life. But as my career grew, my leisure time dwindled and then became non-existent.

  And so did my fun.

  Fun is the one thing that I can definitely say is missing in my life. All work and no play would make anyone unhappy. Add in the stress of maintaining a public image, especially one as high profile as mine, and its no wonder I’m feeling out of sorts. I need to go back to the way things used to be, when I was just starting out and no one knew my name. My friends were there because they liked me and not because I could get them entree into exclusive parties or get them followers on Instagram. I was happy then.

  Suddenly, the idea that seemed so ridiculous when Philippe said it is all I can think about. Going out into the world and having a little fun outside of the exclusive bubble I live in.

  That’s a dare I’m willing to take.

  2

  * * *

  The next few weeks are brutal and I don’t have to time to do anything other than make sure the empire I’ve built doesn’t fall. But off and on, Philippe’s idea plants itself in my mind and spreads it’s roots through my imagination.

  The idea is too tantalizing to ignore. And I’ve always been a sucker for a dare. I send a message to my assistant to have a few things waiting for me at my hotel and then promptly forget about it.

  Until there’s a knock on the door on a random Friday afternoon.

  My mind runs blank for a moment as I try to remember which luxury hotel I’m staying in this week. It’s not fashion week so that narrows things down a bit. I open the door to Reginald, the concierge at this hotel. My memory is still fuzzy until my eyes fall to the discreet Fitz-Harrington logo on the plastic bag in Reginald’s hand.

  Ah, that clears it up. I’m in the States again. I only stay at the Fitz when I’m in Washington D.C.

  “Your requests, sir. I hope you’ll find them satisfactory.”

  “You were able to find everything?”

  He looks stricken. “Of course, Mr. Lavin. Well, I didn’t go personally but one of the maids lives in Virginia and was willing to visit …” he lowers his voice, “Wal-mart to pick these up for you on the way in to work this morning.”

  Reginald presents me with the bag reluctantly, as if the items I’ve asked for are so unsavory that he can’t bear to sully his hands.

  The thought makes me smile. You’d think I asked him to procure hookers or drugs by the look on his face. Instead the bag should contain a pair of jeans, a plain cotton T-shirt and a pair of Nike athletic shoes in size eleven.

  “Thank you, Reginald.”

  As I take the bag, I discreetly slip him some money. He doesn’t blink so that must mean I got it right and gave him dollars this time instead of euros. Traveling so much, it’s easy to get confused occasionally about which cash to use when or what language to speak where. Although I have to give Reginald credit. When I spoke to him in Italian upon arrival, he responded as if he understood so he must have a working knowledge of several languages.

  I do appreciate excellent service.

  Trying not to appear too eager, I close the door gently and carry the bag to the bed. The first thing I pull out is the T-shirt. It’s actually a bundle containing three separate colors, white, red and black. I decide on the white one. My brow furrows at the thought of wearing this rough material next to my skin but I quickly forget about that when my hands land on the denim. It’s stiff and much thinner than I expected. But hell, it’s not like I’ll be wearing them for that long.

  It only takes me a few minutes to change clothes. The shoes fit perfectly and are very comfortable. The finishing touch is a baseball cap given to me by the head of my advertising agency. As the creator and namesake of my own fashion line, people give me clothing all the time. Designers who want to work for me, rivals who want to crush me, you name it. But it’s not that often I get a gift just because. At the time, I found it amusing since sports have never been my thing but I’m glad I held on to it.

  It completes the perfect disguise.

  The presidential suites have their own elevator so I make it downstairs quickly. This will be the real test. Whether I can walk out without anyone calling my bluff. My heart pounds as I cross the marble lobby, the new sneakers sticking slightly. But no one says anything and no one stops me. A few seconds later I’m standing outside, blinking into the sunshine. Part of me wants to cheer but my feet keep moving, traversing the concrete walk that takes me away from the hotel and into the stream of people outside walking to their destinations.

  I laugh aloud. Now that I’ve “escaped” I realize that I don’t know where to go. My plan didn’t extend much further than my disguise. The bright yellow of a taxicab catches my eye and I raise my hand to hail it. I can always go get some coffee and then figure out where to go next from there. I haven’t found a coffee shop yet that can produce a decent espresso but there’s a small cafe near my advertising agency that does a fine cappuccino.

  It’s an experience riding through the streets of DC and my senses are attuned to take it all in. Over the past few years, all I’ve done is work with singleminded focus on expanding my fashion brand and achieving my dreams. Now I have everything I ever wanted but none of it seems to mean a damn.

  Ennui, is what the French call it. Boredom. A dissatisfaction with life in general. Something that makes no sense when you’ve finally gotten everything you want.

  The taxi pulls over in front of the coffee shop and I hand over several bills. Once I hop out, someone is climbing into the cab before I even clear the door. The young woman doesn’t say excuse me or even look at me. A smile tugs at the edges of my lips. It’s not often I feel invisible.

  Normal, I remind myself. This is what it’s like to be normal.

  Lately, there’s been something angry inside of me, a dissatisfaction that has only spread. It’s like I’m looking for something but I don’t know what it is or how to find it. But I’ve had a growing feeling lately that what I’ve been looking for is connection. I’m surrounded by people constantly who want something from me or want to be me. But rarely anyone who sees beneath the surface.

  As I stand there on the curb, watching people flow around me, it hits me that I could just walk away from it all. Right now. I tilt my face up and enjoy the sensation of the sun on my face. It’s strange to just stand here, enjoying the moment, having nowhere to be, no appointments to keep, no investors to impress. When was the last time I did something just for the fun of it or for the delight of trying something new? How long has it been since I was free to be just Andre, instead of Andre Lavin, fashion mogul and internet sensation?

  How long since I really lived?

  Too long, I decide. Maybe this is crazy. When my brother dared
me to try picking up a woman like a normal guy, I thought it would just be a little bit of fun. But the more I think about it, the more the thought resonates. What if I wasn’t Andre Lavin, reigning emperor of fashion?

  What if I was just… me.

  My existential crisis in the middle of the sidewalk is interrupted when a mother pushing a huge stroller rolls over my foot. She offers an apology. Then she asks for my number. I accept the first and refuse the second before limping into the coffee shop. Hopefully, a shot of sugar straight to my veins will help. That’s essentially what the drinks that Americans call “coffee” are anyway, milk and sugar boiled together with a small bit of actual coffee thrown in for good measure.

  With gritted teeth I order a latte. When in Rome, as they say.

  By the time I have my coffee in hand, the pain in my foot has subsided enough and I decide to take a walk. My advertising agency is right across the street, but I definitely can’t go there looking like this. But I can walk around and enjoy the weather and the opportunity to do nothing. Before I left, I turned my cell phone off, something I never do, and I can only imagine how many emails and calls are being ignored right now. The thought gives me a little bit of forbidden satisfaction.

  On the way out of the coffee shop, I sip the latte and try not to wince at the overly sweet taste. Suddenly something slams into my stomach and I have to juggle to keep my hot coffee from flying out of my hands.

  “Ouch!”

  A mass of brown hair slaps me in the face before it settles around a heart-shaped face dominated by a pair of big, amber eyes. Those eyes blink at me several times before it registers that she’s leaning unsteadily against me.

  “In a hurry?”

  At the sound of my voice, her eyes latch on to mine before she takes a slight step back. Her cheeks flush slightly before her eyes scroll leisurely up and down my body. Somehow her gaze is as provocative as a physical touch would have been. By the time she gets back to my face, my heart is tripping over itself and my mouth is dry as dust. What the hell?

  “Yes, I am. I’m very busy and … have lots of important things I need to do this morning.”

  Her insistence is even more adorable because she flushes bright red as she says it. She’s obviously not a very good liar. Which is refreshing.

  “Is that right?” I raise my eyebrows playfully, enjoying the chance to tease her a little. Hey, she just stared at my dick. I don’t think a little teasing is out of bounds.

  “Yes, really.” She huffs a little, tugging on the bottom of her skirt as if making sure it hasn’t ridden up. Petite but curvy, she looks like she’s about to rip through the buttons on her blouse if she breathes too deeply. I wonder if she’s outgrown her clothes or borrowed them from someone else. Either way, they don’t do her justice.

  “Oh no,” she gasps, her eyes fixed on the front of my shirt. “Did I do that?”

  I glance down to see the remains of my latte all over my T-shirt. Normally a brown stain like this would be the death knell for a piece of fabric but it hits me suddenly the other benefit of wearing these ugly clothes. If the cleaners can’t get the stain out, I’ll just throw it away and buy another T-shirt. The thought makes me smile.

  Her brow crinkles in confusion before she rummages in the huge bag hanging off her arm and produces two napkins. “I am so sorry. But you don’t seem too upset about it.”

  “I’m not. The coffee was shit anyway. I’m still not sure how Americans drink that stuff. Give me a good strong espresso any day instead of that sugar water.”

  Her answering smile is so bright that I have the urge to shade my eyes. Looking at her is like staring into the sun. I want to but it’s just too much for my eyes to take in. The thought is perplexing. She’s beautiful, yes, but I see beautiful women all the time. Occupational hazard.

  But those women aren’t talking with you for no reason.

  The women in my world always want something, to be cast in one of my runway shows or to be on my arm at a movie premiere. This one doesn’t care about any of that. She’s smiling for no reason at all.

  She turns to leave but there’s a trash can right behind her. I put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from bumping into it and she glares at me. I snatch my hand back.

  “Just trying to keep you from running into something else.”

  Her eyes narrow but then she glances behind her. “Oh. Thank you.”

  She waves and then keeps walking. I turn to watch her go, suppressing a low growl when I see her curvy ass twitching in that tight little skirt.

  “Madre di Dio.”

  3

  * * *

  The fate of my future lies in the hands of the man sitting in front of me. I silently send up a little prayer to the patron saint of screwups.

  James Lawson is the head of a fancy marketing agency and my only chance at getting a job. All of the other companies I contacted didn’t bother to call me back. I suppose my resume wasn’t that impressive. Not surprising with it’s grand total of half a degree and two jobs including waitressing and three weeks as an office assistant at Bob’s Car Wash.

  It’s hard not to stare so I focus my eyes on his tie instead. It’s a deep maroon color and there’s a silver thread running through it that makes it look expensive.

  Everyone I’ve met since moving to the “big city” looks expensive.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Cassandra.” James smiles kindly, folding his hands on top of his desk.

  “Of course. Well, everyone calls me Casey. I just moved here from a little town called Gracewell, Virginia. I’m excited to finish my marketing degree and gain some valuable experience in the industry at the same time.”

  He listens attentively to my well-rehearsed spiel and I can only hope he doesn’t notice that my voice shakes slightly. When I made the impromptu decision to move to Washington, D.C. I was high on adrenalin and humiliation. I have a knack for catastrophe and the past two years have been particularly brutal. Halfway through my college career, I was doing well, keeping my grades up and happy with my boyfriend. Until I discovered that the man I thought I was going to marry was already married to someone else.

  All the stress affected my grades until I had to withdraw from school. My mom barely scraped together the money to send me in the first place, she definitely couldn’t afford to pay for classes that I wasn’t going to pass. At the time getting a job seemed like the best plan. Until my new boss heard the rumors about why I left school and figured I was fair game. When I rejected him, he told everyone I came on to him.

  I guess when you have a reputation as a homewrecker, the truth no longer matters. People in Gracewell believe I had an affair with my boss and nothing, certainly not the truth, was going to convince them otherwise.

  My shoulders slump slightly. Honestly, being this much of a fuck-up is kind of exhausting. Worse, was knowing that my mom had to hear those rumors. It wasn’t easy for her to return to her hometown, pregnant and unmarried and I think her worst nightmare is watching me go down the same path.

  But that’s why I’m here. After two years of working at the diner, I enrolled in online classes and made a decision. I knew if I didn’t get out of Gracewell now, I’d end up settling down with one of the guys I went to high school with and finishing my degree would be just one more dream I never got to fulfill. I’m determined not to allow that to happen.

  I’m twenty-three years old. It’s now or never.

  “Well, I can see that you have some experience as an assistant and that you worked as a waitress through high school and for the past two years. So you have customer service experience. Excellent.”

  I blink in surprise. It almost sounds like he’s helping me, spinning my sparse work experience to make it sound more impressive.

  “Yes, I dealt with all types of people working at the diner. Most of them were regulars but we have a lot of truckers who would stop through as well. They had some of the best stories.”

  James nods along enthusiastically. “Fantasti
c. That’s exactly what we need here at Mirage. A friendly face that can engage all of our different clients. We’d love for you to start right away, if that works for you?”

  I nod in disbelief and before I can process what’s going on, he’s on his feet. Not sure exactly what’s happening, I stand awkwardly and grab my bag before following. The next ten minutes are a whirlwind of handshakes and smiles as James introduces me to Hannah from HR, and a bunch of other people whose names escape me.

  “And now I’ll leave you with Anya who is going to handle your training.”

  For a moment I just stand there with my mouth hanging open, trying to figure out what happened between sitting down for the interview and now.

  “Are you okay?” Anya asks after I’ve been standing there blinking for a few moments.

  “Yes. Just not sure if this is real. I didn’t think I’d actually get the job. I don’t have fancy experience, not the type I thought I’d need to work here.”

  Anya’s smile softens. “I’ll tell you a little secret. We’ve had horrible luck with all the receptionists we hired through the temp agency. And all of those people had the “fancy” experience. I think James is just looking for someone who is not crazy and can work the phone system at this point.”

  That makes me laugh. “I think the jury is still out on the not crazy part but the phone system, that I can handle.”

  Anya crosses her arms. “I have a feeling you’re going to fit in really well here. Come on, I’ll introduce you around.”

  I follow her in a daze, still not sure if this is really happening. Ever since I arrived in the city three days ago, it’s been one disappointment after the other. First the perfectly normal hotel I booked online turned out to be a crappy motel in what is apparently one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. I figured out just what kind of place it was on day one when I tried to leave my room and found a girl giving some guy a blow job. Just right there in the parking lot.