by Katie Dowe
Settling in and propping up the bejeweled sign that read, ‘open’ Natalie was ready for business. It was a sunny day and the sunlight streamed through the ceiling portals on the roof of the departure area where other entrepreneurs like herself offered memories in the form of trinkets for sale. The type of women Natalie aspired to be were the ones who usually stopped by.
It didn’t matter if they were young or mature; they all carried an air of authority and a softness of grace in their walk and manner. The clothes always said ‘I am woman hear me roar,’ and their tones and body movements communicated that they were in charge of themselves. This was the type of woman Natalie wanted to become.
The day after the pizza incident so many years ago Natalie had peed on the little stick and discovered she was indeed pregnant - she and Jason had never discussed what a child could mean for them and she wasn’t sure how he would react. As the universe would have it, days after her discovery Natalie and her husband were invited to Sunday lunch at Mark Graham’s house. He was a senior manager at Jason’s firm and he was known to butter up the associates being eyed for promotion - this was Jason’s big opportunity.
Natalie was prepped subtly for the occasions with randomly dropped tips about etiquette and appearance. She understood what was expected of her. Arriving at the man’s country estate around eleven thirty, they were ushered in by a butler where Mark’s wife and two lovely boys greeted them. Mark would soon join them and after a pre lunch drink, the meal was served.
It was over the snow peas that the smaller boy Aden, threw a tantrum. Screaming and crying as though he was being asked to eat poison. Aden refused to go near the peas. Tears streamed down his face and snot bubbled at his nostrils as he flailed his hands in desperation. Then Cameron, the other son, began his negations of Play Station time. He was currently allowed one hour a day it seemed and he quite loudly put forward his case for an additional two.
The argument grew loud and Mark and Jason struggled to keep their political conversation going. Eventually, tired of the competing volume, Mark and Mary Graham excused themselves and the boys from the table to regroup. When they were alone Jason hissed in Natalie’s ear his dislike of children and his nonexistent desire to be a father. She didn’t know what to do with the information.
Ruffled from the experience, Jason made a point of asking her about birth control on the way home. She lied, of course she was on the pill and was never late on her cycle. It was a tangled web she wove.
There were no close friends to call for support in the city so like the iron woman she was, Natalie went to the clinic all alone. At home Jason never asked why she was in bed and in pain. He never offered her pain killer or a cup of tea. Maybe that wasn’t what husbands did. She never got over it and not a living soul other than the nurse and doctor at ‘Your Choice’ Clinic knew of her transgression. She was alone.
*****
Today, many years later as she placed the full length mirror just outside her station, Natalie took a second to see if she really had evolved. Maybe it wasn’t an evolution, but a return to her former creative self - the only thing different was the additional pounds she never shook after the baby. No longer slender, her womanly hips now fit perfectly in her white skinny jeans. The orange maxi tee shirt covered her ample bosoms and flowed to her ankles, the waist high slit allowed the hems to flutter as she walked and with the addition of the multicolored strappy sandals she looked just as fiery as the phoenix on her logo emerging from the pit of fire.
With smooth caramel skin and eyes as black as night Natalie needed little makeup and had an aura of quiet confidence about her but she was dissatisfied with that. She wanted to be louder. Because of this she chose a twist out hairstyle with the blond streak at the front- her own signature statement. Natalie wanted a little wildness to add to her look - it was how she felt on the inside anyway.
Enough daydreaming, it was time to get to work. There were three orders set for today and she needed them finished. The bulk of the traffic came in the afternoon and if she was to make headway, Natalie needed to start as early as possible.
Working diligently and pausing ever so often to deal with customers and the phone, Natalie was able to complete the first two necklaces and had begun to work on a third when the first pitter patter of rain started. Of course the woman on the intercom had announced pending rain, but she was so busy, she hadn’t heard it .This was no regular rain though, and soon the skylights over head became dirty and gray with storm clouds and streaks of gold lightening could be seen in the flurry.
Becky ran a smaller booth than Natalie’s. The tall redhead made hand crafted soaps and lotions with delicious fragrances and the two had become friendly in the last few months but Natalie secretly found her a bit strange. She drifted closer when the intercom voice announced the possibility of flash flooding. “Did you hear that Natalie?” She asked, obviously worried. “You think we will be stuck here?”
Controlling her own worry, Natalie said, “Girl I don’t know but I hope not. My car has an aversion to water… I don’t know how she will act when it’s time to drive home.”
The women both laughed at the joke before noticing a sudden influx of potential customers. Rain always did this. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait, so eventually bored travelers found their way into the area, hoping to find something to occupy their time.
Dashing back over to her section, Becky laughed loudly at a question from an older woman, while Natalie turned her attention to the women now surrounding her booth. Four ladies bought earrings and the fifth bought and an entire set while ordering another for her best friend - when it rained it certainly poured.
Thankful for the business Natalie always tried to make each client feel exceptional and gave each one a complimentary toe ring. Each one all but squealed with joy at the idea of receiving something free. It was easy to make women happy. Settling back down to complete her last order of the day, Natalie hummed a tune and became lost in her own creative world.
“Excuse me,” a male voice said through the haze of beads and metal, “May I ask about the materials this piece?”
Apologizing for her inattentiveness, Natalie rose from her chair to be met by the deepest green eyes she had ever seen. They were the focal point on a very handsome face. “Certainly” she replied and approached the counter very aware the man was watching her. Why would she feel so jittery within seconds of meeting this man?
He was tall, very tall and his shoulders and chest filled out his very modern gray suit. His smile was warm, almost summer like and his jet black hair carried a gray streak at the front very similar to hers - interesting.
Clearing her throat after realizing she had been staring, Natalie said, “Ah, this piece is made from vegetable ivory and copper. Is it for someone special?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered if it came out the right way. The English language was a fickle thing.
His laugh was throaty and deep and deep dimples appeared the more he laughed, “My goodness, I’d like to give it to someone special, but unfortunately all the women I know seem to be allergic to me.”
They both laughed again and surprising herself, Natalie said, “Aww come on, don’t lie to me. You may get zapped by lightning now that the heavens are open.”
“Nah, I won’t get zapped. I was actually just trying to make you look up. I had been standing there for a while and I feared you would never notice me.”
Shocked that she had ignored such a handsome customer, Natalie apologized. “Wow, I’m so sorry. I can get quite engrossed in my work.”
Suddenly serious, he added, “No need to apologize… it was well worth my wait.”
Not sure if to interpret his message as a flirt or not, Natalie shyly looked at her shoes. What did this white man want with her? Sure he was cute but did she really want vanilla mixed into her coffee?
Raising her eyes to see five long fingers outstretched toward her, Natalie heard him say, “I’m Brett Haughton.
”
After a moment of contemplation she too raised her hand and connected it with his, “I’m Natalie Johnson.”
They shook hands for a while, both trying to break the hold, but seemed unable to. Natalie was the one who finally withdrew and Bret smiled, knowing that females were like that. The woman on the intercom spoke once more announcing that the all clear would be given soon and that all flights previously grounded would be departing as soon as possible. That was Brett’s cue to leave.
Lingering a while longer, he reached into his jacket pocket to produce a black card with his name and number embossed on the shiny surface. “Call me if you have the time Natalie. It was… pleasant meeting you.”
Taking the card from his hand, Natalie read it and glanced up to see him walking away. What interesting things the storm brought. With a smile she settled back down to her work wondering why Brett Haughton wanted to chat with her. In her world flirting was odd.
After Jason, she had sworn off all men and ignored their propositions - that is, until now. Maybe something new and different would bring her from the depression the world didn’t know she suffered from. Like her granny used to say ‘anything good is possible.’
Chapter 3
Brett’s father was a very traditional man. He believed lineage, family ties and proving one’s self before receiving positions of power. Brett was sure the man hated him. Unfortunately for the pair, there were no other brothers or sisters to create a barrier between father and son so they were forced to endure each other’s presence.
Yes his father had money - lots of money and Brett never suffered from lack, but his father never took any time to teach his son the things a father was supposed to. He was scolded for no reason and when there was no choice but for them to share space, Brett’s presence was barely tolerated.
The old man became ill shortly after Brett’s twenty fifth birthday. It was terminal the doctors said and the disease would soon eat away at his very existence, including his mind but that wouldn’t stop the old man. Crafty as ever, he created a will with many caveats to be fulfilled before the fortune would be disbursed.
There was the threat of his cousin William taking the helm. He had always been perfect in his father’s eyes, but Brett saw darkness in him and the haunting memory of him over him as a child, pounding Brett’s face into a bloody mess never left him. Of course Brett’s father believed William’s story about him starting the fight. Brett’s bashed in face did help the story swing in his favor and the month long punishment was served begrudgingly.
Three years and two months had passed since the old man died and Brett had yet to fulfill the final task before being named head of the Haughton group of companies and all the accompanying estates. If the final caveat was not fulfilled before his thirtieth birthday all controlling rights would be handed over to good ole William. The clock was ticking.
At present, William was Brett’s partner and all major decisions were made by them with the board members somewhere in the mix. Currently on the table was the matter of going paperless and the implementation of flexi-time to certain members of staff. Will could understand the paperless theory as it would cut costs, but the matter of flexi-time seemed to be a sore point.
The seed that grew the Haughton fortune was planted in a small sweet potato farm many years ago by Brett’s grandfather. The man and a few farm hands tilled the soil and sold the produce in the local markets and some even made it to a few other states. As the years went by, the Haughton brand grew and they were soon approached by the government to undertake an overhaul in the city’s dying agricultural sector. The deal was simple - the farmers who had abandoned their arable land because of hard times, would lease the Haughtons the property for ninety nine years at a very reasonable price. The property owner would get half and the government the other, with a promise of reinvestment if needed.
At the end of the ninety nine years, the succeeding generation of Haughtons would decide if to buy the property for what it was worth in the current market minus the money they had already spent on the lease. Everyone benefited- there was employment, the Government made steady income from the lease and taxes generated from sales, and most importantly, the Haughtons became filthy rich.
In the early nineteen nineties, it was rumored that Brett’s father had an affair and subsequently fell in love with a Mexican maid who worked for him. The woman supposedly made him some spicy sweet potato fries and the dish won his heart. A strife maker picked up on the romance and the authorities mysteriously got a tip that the woman was illegal. After her deportation, Mr. Haughton moved into another bedroom in the mansion and called up his board members. There was a new venture to be undertaken.
It took three years and several bribes to get permission, but soon twenty percent of the agricultural lands were transformed into factory spaces and ‘Spice Sweet Potato Fries’ were born. The company did well almost instantly and made a smooth entry to the food market. In the years to come, instant sweet potatoes, sweet potato stuffing and pie were added to the manufacture list. The profits were staggering.
Twenty four years later, Brett was happy to oversee the blooming empire; the only thorn in his side was William. He fought Brett tooth and nail in every small choice and refused to make any decision easy. One of their latest battles stalled their more recent enterprise and Brett wanted a quick resolution. The matter of entering the clothing industry had been on the table for months and William was being a prick about the direction. No one anticipated entering the cut throat industry, but as they were already roped in, there was no choice.
It started when Haughton Industries decided to sponsor a scholarship aimed at sustainability. The participants were challenged to demonstrate the various ways the sweet potato waste products could be utilized. The winner didn’t invent any rockets or telepathic devices, instead she developed paint. Mixing the sweet potato starch with some form of chromeotology and crystals, the young woman, Penelope Santiago, managed to create a pigment that changed in the light and temperature. The awesomeness of the colors was displayed in a small fashion show where she showcased her clothing designs as well as the new pigment. It was a smash hit.
Social media caught wind and so did the stalwarts of the fashion industry. Everyone held their breath, waiting to see if the Haughton Group of Companies would give this young entrepreneur the push to stardom. William was the hold up. He wanted to give her the initial prize scholarship winnings of just ten thousand dollars. Brett saw the value of having someone so creative on their team and believed they should invest in the young woman with her own store front and brand. Who knew what else her brilliant young mind had in store. And then there was the value of her patent. If they helped her in the right areas surely they could have an exclusive license for a while.
After many long hours of debate and coffee in Brett’s large office, William caved. Snatching his phone from the cradle he pressed random buttons until his secretary answered. “Joan, book me the next flight to New Orleans and call the PR people, we have a press release that needs to be sent out.”
William sat there, dismissed but he didn’t seem to know it. Brett ignored his presence, shuffling papers and tapping his keyboard. Finally getting the message, he rose from his chair and buttoned his jacket. Clearing his throat, he declared, “I have work to do so I'll be off now.”
Brett grunted and glanced up to see his cousin walk away. They looked so similar. Their height and features were the same, but William’s hair lacked the gray streak and his aura was ominous. Oh how Brett wished he could correct this one mistake in his blood line. Joan buzzed back, there was a flight leaving at one in the afternoon and the press release would be online within an hour. All systems were go.
Grabbing his jacket and briefcase, Brett headed out the door for home where he would grab a change of clothes and set off for the airport. It was time to make a young woman’s dreams come true.
On the ride to the airport, Brett rolled up the glass separating him and his Limo
driver before pouring himself a stiff scotch. He really needed to relax. His life was filled with all work and hardly any play. It was truly boring. His divorce from Priscilla was the last exciting event to take place in his life. That’s right - it had been exciting to watch her squirm at the alimony she would be getting. Her face was priceless when the judge decided that an in house masseuse and resident dog groomer for her poodle called Kitty were not necessary.
Her long neck grew longer still and all color drained from her face rendered almost emotionless by numerous Botox treatments. Flipping her bone straight midnight black hair over her shoulder, she looked at Brett’s mother in astonishment. Yes, Marilyn had chosen to support her now ex daughter-in-law and sat on her side glowering at her son’s selfishness. How dare he deny her these luxuries after he had spoiled her with them? It was really too bad for it to end this way, but having a spoiled brat wife and a mother without boundaries was too much for one man. Brett had to get rid of one of them and society took more kindly to a man divorcing his wife than abandoning his mother. Bye bye Priscilla.
Brett had convinced himself long ago that his ex wife’s sour personality had given her a sour womb and she was hence rendered barren. This was a problem for Brett, who knew a child was the final thing his father demanded from the grave. Finding a surrogate wasn’t as easy as it sounded.
Several ways to conceive this child ran across his mind, but none seemed right. A good few ladies had presented themselves to be bedded but none would dare ruin their perfect figures with something as burdensome as a child. The others that would offer bodies to house his child, but this lifelong connection to them would be more of a prison sentence as they merely would see the baby as a pay check. It was a dilemma he has yet to figure out.
The skies above the airport were gray, but it was hardly anything alarming. The driver moved at a leisurely pace following the snake of traffic all leading to the same destination. Not waiting for his door to be opened, Brett emerged from the Limo breathing in deeply the cool air, waiting patiently for the driver to retrieve his bag.