Don't Stand So Close

by Eva Luxe

  Then one day, when I was celebrating my birthday with ice cream and cake at Grecco’s, Martha walked up to me when I was picking a flavor at the counter— I think it was butter praline— and she turned to Jake who was also there and said, “Carolina, have you met this fine young man, Jake Wharton? He works at the skate shop across the street, and he is such a sweet kid. He sweeps up for me at night.”

  Jake turned eight shades of red. We each mumbled “hi,” and he walked away. And that was our infamous introduction.

  Still, throughout the years, he would always say “hi” to me and hold doors for me, which I thought was so adorable. The truth is, I was kind of full of myself. By that time, I had become pretty popular, and the guys were lining up. I probably wouldn’t have noticed Jake if he had laid down in front of me.

  I liked the bad boys, and one in particular— Taylor Hecht. He was dark, like super dark. He looked like an extremely mean but sexier version of James Dean. Funny enough, I’d had a poster of James Dean on my wall in fifth grade, and I’d swear on a Bible they were related in some way.

  Taylor smoked filter-less cigarettes and drank Jack Daniels right out of a flask on the front steps of school, and not one teacher said a word. One of the reasons, I always assumed, was that his dad was the most respected judge in the county. Looking back, he was probably having sex with every teacher in school, including the male ones.

  Still, I was so in love with him. I could not care less where his dick had been, as long as I was his main girl. And I was, for a while. The girls on the water polo team absolutely hated me for it.

  Why water polo? Well, those girls were the only jocks who were not only pretty— like cheerleader pretty— but they had the added element of being considered bad girls. All of them were stoners, and every one of them was blonde. They were creepily similar, but the guys didn’t seem to mind. They knew they could get laid easily if they attended a water polo party.

  Jessie Smith almost took me out once during cheer practice on the track field. I was coordinating a pyramid when she stormed over. Apparently, she had realized I was dating Taylor. She was big too— like a foot taller than me. Suddenly, I was looking at her nose as she confronted me, right up in my face. My teammates jumped back in a panic.

  “Hey, Carolina, why are you such a slut? Taylor and I have been dating for a year. You freaking know that. Is it too hard for you to keep your legs closed? Yeah, that must be it. I hear your dad is thinking about sending you out of the country before you bring home an STD and shame the Abbott family name.”

  Suddenly, as if a guardian angel had coordinated the timing, Taylor walked up in the middle of the scuffle, pulled me in close to his body, and started making out with me. Then he said to her while leaving me breathless, “Hey, Jessie, is there a problem?”

  She stormed away, and I was so wet I thought for sure everyone on the cheer team could tell.

  Jake happened to be coming out of the locker room and saw the embrace. He looked sad. All of a sudden, I started to see him differently, but I wasn’t quite over Taylor yet, even though I knew Jessie had been telling the truth— Taylor had been playing the field and dating both of us at the same time.

  I wasn’t ready to grow up yet. I still wanted to be with the bad boy even though I knew we were going nowhere, fast.

  Chapter 6 – Carolina

  At that point in my history, I was still notorious at school for being the good girl cheerleader with the bad, bad boy. It was a truly great feeling. It was like being a badass, but without the juvenile detention record.

  Not much has changed. I still like danger.

  Taylor picked me up every day in his sweet metallic silver Camaro, and I’d run out in my too-short cheer uniform and hop in the passenger seat. He’d drive away so fast, I’d nearly throw up. We had a routine, and I’d hoped it would never end, as kids do when they’re young.

  Every day, he’d drive away from the confines of school and park behind the Green Acres dairy farm. Just as I knew might happen, he’d swoop up without notice under my skirt. He’d just put his head under it and take over. It’s like he couldn’t get enough. I know I couldn’t.

  Some days, I thought I might fly off the planet he’d have me so hot. Sometimes he’d tease me, stopping right in the middle to light a Camel and look out the window in a squinting manner, leaving me wet and throbbing. I’d look over and he’d be contemplating some critical life decision— or at least that’s what I thought then.

  He’d hold his cigarette with his thumb and forefinger and smoke out of the corner of his mouth. I’d look at him like really? and he’d ignore me just a tad bit too long until I relaxed, and then he’d take me again.

  I would be moaning and sometimes screaming, and there was nothing I could do but surrender to it. I’d get so wet just replaying our afternoon activities in my mind over dinner during a conversation, that I’d have to leave the table. I figured then that if he ever left me, I’d probably never feel that kind of heat again. That part may have been right on.

  Jake wasn’t nearly that outrageous, or at least I didn’t think so, and I craved the element of danger. I noticed him trying to get my attention a few times, but it wasn’t to be for a long time. I was Taylor’s girl, and that was that.

  The summer of my junior year, I went to drop something off for my dad at Burlington Heights Community College. The football team would sometimes have scrimmages on their field, and there he was, Jake Wharton, now a junior.

  Holy delayed puberty! This was not the scrawny guy from years ago, and I suddenly couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was a quarterback on the football team now: muscular, and absolutely beautiful.

  He had the same dark wavy hair and olive skin, but the bulging biceps and washboard abs made it hard to believe he was the same gangly teenager all grown up. After I dropped off my dad’s files, I went to sit in the bleachers and watch him play.

  Taylor had cheated on me multiple times by that point, and I was over the whole bad boy thing anyway. As far as I was concerned, Jessie could have him.

  I watched Jake coordinate plays with his wide receiver. I watched him run and throw and connect the plays, and I remember thinking right in that moment, as if someone had handed me a script, I am going to marry that boy someday .

  After the scrimmage, I ran down to catch up with him. Much to my surprise, so did several other girls. I pushed my way to the front and called to him.

  “Hey, you. How goes it? Congrats on making first string quarterback for varsity. That means we’re gonna see quite a lot of each other.”

  He barely noticed me, throwing me just a cursory glance.

  “Yeah, cool.”

  One thing about my personality that has always served me well is that I never lose, and I thought, Oh no, he did not just ignore me!

  I walked right over to him and barked at him.

  “What, are you so conceited now that you think you’re too good for me? Better get over yourself. You haven’t won a game yet, and you’d better hope I’m cheering loud and not just saving face because it’s fourth quarter and you blow it. That wouldn’t be a good look. Oh, and by the way, I won’t cheer you on if you suck. See ya.”

  I stormed away, letting him watch my ass. When I looked back, he was watching me leave, and right there I knew I had him. I looked away and kept walking, and by the time I made it to the parking lot, there he was.

  “Hey, Carolina. What was that about? You took it the wrong way, I think. I’m not that guy. I’m not conceited at all. Anyway, are you still with Taylor?”

  I laughed and shook my head no.

  “Great. Want to grab coffee with me at Grecco’s? I need a huge coffee frapp or something. I’m beat. They are the best the way Martha makes them. Want to join?”

  I smiled, nodded again, and hopped on his super sexy motorcycle, leaving my car in the lot. To say I had a knack with men back then was an understatement.

  From that point on, we were inseparable, right up until the day we married on
my eighteenth birthday. We eloped, actually.

  He jumped out of bed one day after a completely epic round of lovemaking and said, “Let’s just do it. Fuck it. I don’t want to wait until we have the money or your parents think we’re ready. I’m ready. You’re ready. Let’s do it.”

  And we did it. We went up to a local ski resort and hired a minister to do the do, and that was it. The chair lift on the way down said Just Married .

  It should have said “just out of diapers,” but who knew? I thought I had it all figured out back then. Jake and I decided right away that we’d have kids. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, and he felt really good about his options for getting a coaching job.

  He had been recruited to a top school for football, and he played all four years. He didn’t make the pros as he’d hoped, but he majored in sports medicine and had big dreams. Unfortunately, I really didn’t. Only the little dreams, as I'd said.

  I graduated from high school and kind of skated through college taking fluff classes and cheering. I thought maybe I’d major in accounting, but when that was too hard, I opted for an associate’s degree in business.

  So, while Jake finished his last two years, I clubbed by night and cut hair or babysat by day. It was fine. I really had no ambitions beyond having Jake’s kids and being the coach’s wife. That was my plan, and I was fine with it.

  But, as I said, plans change. Mine sure have, without any input or agreement from me. Apparently, plans don't require one's permission to change.

  So, just when I thought sending my resume had been a complete waste of time, Garrett Mack had called me directly. Not an office manager, not someone from HR, but the lawyer for whom I’d be working, himself.

  I had just about fallen out of my chair when I answered the phone and he was on the line. After so many false starts, I couldn’t believe an actual job lead was calling me.

  "I wanted to let you know, I'd like to give you a chance to work for me," he'd said.

  He sounded dignified, sophisticated, so much so that my panties dampened at the sound of his voice.

  It's just because he's so important , I'd told myself. I really need this job—hell, any job— and the founding partner is calling me.

  I had to admit to myself that it might be more than that. I hadn't had sex since Jake took off, and by then things had cooled off considerably in the lovemaking department.

  Jake and I never had the kind of pussy- throbbing sex that Taylor and I had had. I had justified it by telling myself that sex with the good guy you marry is different than sex with the bad boy who breaks your heart. Plus, having sex to try to procreate— and repeatedly failing— is a lot less fun than having sex when you’re young and carefree like we had been in the beginning.

  Still, there was something else that could explain why I might be attracted to Garrett Mack. While researching the job in anticipation of applying, I'd seen a picture of him on the law firm website, and I had to admit that even thought he was a lot older than me, he was also way hotter than most of the guys I'd grown up with. And here he was calling me , wanting me to work for him.

  That would make any straight girl soak her panties, or at least that's what I told myself to keep from feeling so silly.

  I tried to forget about my strange attraction to the man on the phone offering me a job and instead just be happy that he was, in fact, offering me a job— a job I desperately need.

  "Thank you," I said, very happy for the opportunity to work for him. "When do I start?"

  "As soon as you can," he said, and thus my fate began to unfold—a lot sooner than I had anticipated. Even though I had to wait a couple months to get a job offer, now I was having to pack up and move across the country.

  Martha tells me the move will be good for me and that she is proud of me. I just hope she’s right. I also hope I can keep my attraction to Garrett Mack under super secret cover, since I'd be a damned fool to have a crush on my new boss.

  Chapter 7 – Carolina

  It’s Monday: my first full day in a new city, and my first day at my new job. I wake up disoriented and, at first, frightened for my very sanity. Here I am, alone. My husband had left me. And then I’d left town— and state— to take a cushy job for which I was less than qualified, to say the least. I’d also left everything and everyone I had ever known.

  As my glaring alarm goes off for the thirtieth time— I don’t want to be late on my first day, but damn that snooze button is always so enticing— I lift my head and then let it fall back onto the pillow.

  This is not a dream , I tell myself. You made your bed, and then you unmade it to sleep in, so now get up out of it.

  The bed in question is surrounded by boxes. Indeed, the entire townhouse I’m currently in is full of boxes. I’d rented it in a hurry; it’s the first one I could find in my rush to move to Albuquerque that looked half decent and it’s in a nice area of town— Nob Hill. The only things I’d unpacked were the outfit I planned to wear my first day at work and the coffee maker, both of which I now start scrambling to put to good use.

  I sigh, fearing I’ve made a big mistake. My inner voice starts screaming at me.

  Don’t cry, Carolina Abbott. Don’t you dare cry. Now is not the time. Don’t do it.

  I gulp hard and drag myself to the kitchen to grab my coffee from the coffee maker I’d just plugged in and turned on. As I drink the steaming elixir while standing on my new balcony, I notice a little red robin mailbox in the yard across the street.

  That mailbox gives me such a laugh. It’s no damn Twitter bird, but it’s the closest thing to one that I’ve ever seen. I calm down, thinking maybe that fate is letting me know it had wanted me to rent this place so I could see an ironic mailbox after all. Perhaps everything is going to turn out okay.

  Suddenly, I realize a kid about 12 years old is watching me as I sit in my tank and undies. Much to his disappointment, his mother spots me and covers his eyes. She shoots me a disapproving glare and hustles the kid back into the house.

  Geez, I think, it’s no worse than a bathing suit . Then I look down at my boobs and realize that my nipples are standing at attention in the slightly chilly air. But still, the kid’s probably gotten tons of hard-ons by now. Take a chill lady.

  I quickly get dressed in the clothes I’d left out— a conservative yet flattering gray skirt suit, which I assume is how legal assistants dress, although I have no idea— and head to my new job.

  When I arrive, I realize the parking lot is behemoth. This is no small-town firm. Back in Stone, when people need a lawyer for a will or God forbid a criminal case, we just park on the street in front of one of their little offices, which is usually out of their house. Apparently they do things very differently in Albuquerque.

  I park on level three and get lost. I have to take an elevator to the lobby level and then take a connecting bridge to the B building and then take the second set of elevator banks to the Penthouse, where the law firm is located.

  It is so overwhelming that for a second, I almost turn around and go home. Except that the new townhouse is only my “home” because my job is here, and I have no idea why I’d need to live there if I didn’t have it.

  Had Garrett Mack been mistaken? Why had he hired me to work here when I can’t even find the damn place? What if I can’t cut it here?

  I gulp hard for maybe the three hundredth time since moving and suck back tears— again. I have got to learn how to silence my inner critic or else stay paralyzed in fear.

  Finally, I reach the law firm and take the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. The posh blue carpeted double doors open to the reception area.

  I put on my biggest smile and step forward. There’s not just one but two receptionist desks. A prim and proper man sits behind one, but he doesn’t look up at me, as his nose is in some kind of paperwork.

  Instead, a snarky-looking female receptionist looks in my direction and holds up a finger at me. She’s answering a few different lines and clearly not enjoying it. She wea
rs black cat-eye glasses and has matching hair— black, not cat-eyed. She stabs at the buttons on the telephone with wicked-long bright red fingernails.

  Occasionally she adjusts the mouthpiece on her headset as if this is a must, and she lifts up her butt in the chair and repositions herself. Still, she never looks up at me although she must know I’m here.

  “Marks, Sanchez, Reed and Mack, can I help you? Connecting. Marks law firm, this is Erin. No, you didn’t call a dry cleaners.”

  She slams her finger down onto a button on the switchboard and rolls her eyes in exasperation. Finally, she looks up at me again, during a pause in phone calls. I know it’s now or never, so I open my mouth.

  “Hi, I am starting today. I am Carolina Abbott. I’ll be executive assistant to Garrett Mack.”

  She sighs and, as if it’s killing her, utters, “Yep. I’ll page him.”

  I back away.

  “Mr. Mack, she’s here. Yeah, your new hire. Caroline or Carolina or whatever. Yep. I’ll tell her.”

  She looks at me yet again, and says, “He’s ready for you. His executive assistant.”

  She snickers. I just stare back at her.

  “You know that’s just a fancy way to say old fashioned legal secretary, right?”

  I nod, having already thought it was a silly title. But because it’s what Garrett had used as the job description on the phone, I figured I should go with it.

  Suddenly the male receptionist behind the other desk looks up and glares at her.

  “Erin, don’t be rude to the new hires.”

  She ignores him.

  “Go down there, take a left at the watercooler and a right as soon as you hit the men’s room,” she instructs me, pointing a scarlet-nailed finger toward a long hallway to her right.

  I have no idea what she means, but I start to head off on my way. I’m not about to challenge her and start my new venture off on the wrong foot. Who knows, I might need her help sometime.