Just A Woman (The Porter Trilogy Book 2) (5 page)

Before I stepped in, I texted Bracks the address and told him to come pick me up. I wasn’t running all the way to Rachel’s office with a bouquet of flowers. Her building might be close to mine but it was definitely hot this time of the year, and it would seem highly disrespectful to give her flowers that had wilted along the way to their destination.

When I walked in, the smell of the shop assaulted my nose, making me cringe and then smile. The smell instantly reminded me a little of Charlotte and my smile widened. I looked at the different plant life around me, taking in the colors of the flowers and watching the sunlight stream in, dancing off the glass vases and spreading rainbows onto the walls. The space was cramped and overloaded with arrangements on every flat surface, but it was charming and I knew that Charlotte would approve of, and probably love this place.

Standing up from behind the counter, I watched as a small woman pushed up her glasses and set down a pair of metal shears. “Can I help you, sir?” she asked, approaching me, her glasses falling back down to the tip of her nose.

I stared at her for a minute, wondering what I should ask for. I’d purchased flowers before for women I was sleeping with, but most women were simple. Roses were romantic and got me closer to my ultimate goal, sex. This was different, though, and I didn’t want to mess it up. Sympathy flowers were not my specialty.

“Yes, I’m looking for something, but I’m not sure what.” I shoved my hands in my pocket and looked around the shop. I wasn’t used to this feeling of nervousness and indecision and I hated it, but for her, I would tolerate anything. Besides, it wasn’t as if I would be seeing this woman ever again, or at least anytime soon.

I watched as the woman behind the counter took off her gloves and came around to stand in front of me. “Ok, well, who is it for, and why?” she asked, looking up into my eyes. I internally scoffed at the lust filling her flat blue pupils. I was used to girls flaunting themselves at me, but I didn’t like it. Never had, and never would, especially after being with someone like Charlotte. Someone who, although she appreciated my looks, didn't ogle me like a piece of meat. She saw me for me, not for my abs and my hair.

“My girlfriend’s father has passed away unexpectedly,” I said, shutting down any thoughts of flirting. I watched the hope leave her eyes as she turned away from me and headed over to the corner of the store.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Customary flowers range from Lilies, to Roses, to Tulips. This is our most popular bouquet for funerals.” She picked up a bundle of beautiful white lilies and carried them over to me almost reverently. There was a tag on them marking them as sold and I internally cursed.

“Can I pay and take these now?” I asked, hoping she’d say ok. I didn’t have the time to waste if I wanted to get these to her before she inevitably went home. I looked up at her to see she’s waging a war behind her eyes, deciding if it would be worth selling me this arrangement now and having to remake it for the original seller. I decided to make the decision easier for her. “I’ll pay you double.”

Her eyes widened and she nodded her head in silent agreement. Money was always a deciding factor, and again, I thanked my lucky stars that I had more of it than I could ever spend in one lifetime. I loved my money, and it helped afford me a better life, but even I knew money wasn’t everything, it was simply a means to an end.

Just then, the bell on the shop door chimed, and Bracks walked in ,handing me my wallet in the process. I took out a few hundred dollar bills and forced it into the hand of the sputtering flower shop owner and headed out the door and into the back of the waiting car. I probably had given her four times the amount of the arrangement, but I didn’t have time to waste waiting for change.

Bracks jumped in the front and took off into the direction of Rachel’s building. I smiled to myself. Despite everything that had happened today, Bracks was the most loyal employee and friend I had. I didn’t have to say anything. He already knew what I needed, sometimes even before I did.

I decided on the best approach while driving over. As much as I would have loved to be there and hand deliver the flowers, I didn’t want to upset Charlotte any further. I also didn’t want to just pay some random courier to run it up to her. It was impersonal. I wanted her to irrefutably know they were from me, even if I couldn’t hand deliver them myself.

“Bracks, would you be willing to take these up to her?” I asked, already knowing he wouldn’t miss the opportunity. Not only was Bracks a loyal employee, he had told me on more than one occasion that he liked Charlotte and thought she was good for me. I agreed wholeheartedly.

“Course, Boss.” He said matter of factly, with a grin on his face.

I reached into the briefcase that I kept in the car and found a pen and a piece of cardstock. I needed to write something to her, anything, but my mind was coming up blank. I ran my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes. I saw her face, her smile, her beautiful sparkling emerald eyes. Even in my mind, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was curvy in all the right places, despite her thoughts that she was overweight, because she wasn’t. 

“I’m sorry is always a good place to start...” Bracks said, eyeing me in the rear view mirror as I held a pen to the empty unmarked paper. I looked into his eyes, half appreciative and half irritated that he ruined my daydream, crashing into it with his sensible words, and smart ideas. Talking about her or me in the card would have put her off further. Bracks was right. Something simple was all that was needed.

I put the pen to the paper and wrote.

I’m so sorry, Charlotte.
Alex

**********

When Bracks got back into the car after delivering my flowers, I was anxious. Very anxious. I wanted to know everything she had said and did. Every hand movement, every breath. Rationality was not my strong suit at the moment and I didn’t give a fuck. This was my first pseudo contact with her and I needed information, badly. I yearned for it. I was desperate for it.

It took every ounce of my willpower not to fling my body over the front seat and strangle the life out of Bracks when he just shrugged at my questions. She had told him thank you and he had walked away. That was all I could get from him. I felt like a petulant child huddled in the backseat with my arms over my chest. Why couldn’t he understand that I needed to know how her eyes looked? Was she surprised to see him? Was she shocked at the flowers? Did she smile and did her eyes glass over like they usually did when a daydream took hold of her mind for minutes on end? What was she wearing? Was her hair up or down?

I pounded my fists into the leather, seething mad. I shouldn’t be mad at him. The only person I should have been mad at, was myself, and Robert Fucking Nelson. My anger had reached its boiling point, spilling out and over onto me, blurring my vision. I needed to hit something, hard. My thoughts momentarily shifted as the car suddenly stopped. Looking out the window, I saw a boxing studio mere moments before my car door opened and Bracks pulled me out.

He walked me inside, handing a card over to the boy behind the counter and shoving me into the corner, strapping boxing gloves onto my hands. I silently thanked Bracks again for thinking on his feet and stopping me from doing something stupid. As soon as the gloves were fully taped on and a mouth guard was shoved into my mouth, the reason for my anger came back full force, letting me tear into the bag hanging from the ceiling.

I pummeled the poor sand filled contraption for all I was worth. Within moments, I was drenched in sweat and my hands, wrists, and arms were screaming in pain, but I also felt the tension leaving my body with each thrust of my fist. It felt wonderful. After a while, I stopped killing the bag and stepped over, taking the towel from Bracks and opening my mouth to let him squirt in some liquid gold, also known as water. It tasted like tap, but I didn’t care.

Bracks handed me a duffel bag I didn’t know he had and I headed into the locker room. I was ready to head home, so I showered quickly and changed into jeans and a white fitted tee shirt, emerging a half an hour later. I jumped into the back of the waiting car and Bracks pulled away from the curb.

“Have you found out anything about Dimitri’s death?” I asked, not bothering to acknowledge my silent and deadly meltdown, or his interference.

“Some. It seems he was headed into the office and was hit from behind. When the driver tried to stop the car, the brakes failed, and they ran, head first, into a center divider. Both Dimitri and his driver were killed on impact.”

“Interesting.” It was the only word my adrenaline filled brain could think to say.

“The other car was gone by the time the police arrived,” he continued.

“Foul play?” I asked.

He shrugged, “Possibly. I’ve put out some feelers. As soon as I know anything, you’ll know.”

“Thanks, Bracks.”

I took the opportunity to lean back against the cool leather seat and let my mind wander and my eyes close. Should I attend the funeral? I knew Dimitri Hightower professionally, and although he wasn’t aware of it, I was in love with his only daughter. But I didn’t want to upset Charlotte with my presence.

Pulling me from my thoughts, I heard my phone “ping” in my pocket. I glanced down to an unexpected text message. My eyes widened in surprise and I felt a little bit of hope bloom in my chest.  It was from Charlotte. With slightly shaky fingers, I pressed read.

From- Charlotte Hightower (951) 555-0228

5:51pm

Thank you

-Charlotte

There were no more questions about my attendance. I was going to that funeral. She may not have offered me an olive branch, but it was two more words than she had said to me in over a month. I read the words over and over on the drive home. I was going to see her soon, and I was going to get her back.

Daydreamer Musings
July 16, 2015
Followers- 15

I guess I should be surprised that my followers have doubled in the past three days, but I can’t seem to be happy about anything. Tragedy seems to be the word that sums up my existence and honestly, I’m sick and fucking tired of it. It’s like the world is purposely out to obliterate me and cause me as much damage as possible. What the fuck did I do to deserve this?

I wasn’t close to Dimitri Hightower, my father, not even a little bit. I received the obligatory Christmas and birthday card, and every other year, I sat with him and his 4th wife and stepchildren on Thanksgiving. He’d call me every three or four months to check up on me, and he called me to yell at me for taking the interview with “him”. He wasn’t a bad father, he just wasn’t there.

But did I want him to die? No. Not at all. He’s still my blood, he is still my dad. I haven’t thought about him like a dad in so long. Sometimes, I remember happier times with him. Christmas when I was a little girl, sitting around the tree with him and my mom, opening presents, laughing. I think I remember a small black dog, but I’m not sure. I do remember him taking me to the zoo once. I sat on his shoulders while he walked me around the penguin exhibit.

I also remember the day he left my mom. I wasn’t much older. I heard my mom and him yelling. He was carrying a bag, and then the door slammed and he just wasn’t there anymore. When I asked my mom about it the next day, I remember her hugging me to her chest and rocking me, telling me it was just her and I now, and how sorry she was. I didn’t understand it. Where had daddy gone?

It wasn’t until I was in my early teens that I realized what had happened and what divorce was. I spent one weekend a month over at his house with his third wife and her children before I was finally old enough to tell my mom I didn’t want to go over anymore. My mom never made me go back. My father was in the middle of his next divorce when I stopped coming over.

Then, when all the shit happened when I turned sixteen, he popped back in to make sure I was ok, but I’m pretty sure he checked in to make sure I wasn’t going to embarrass him and his new wife; the fourth and current one. The incident had made the local news and the lies spread about me were pretty awful until the hearing proved what had happened. But you know the media, once they find a good story they run with it, and my dad couldn’t be caught up in a scandal.

But regardless of all that, he was still my father. He still gave me life, and now he’s not here anymore, and his wife is grieving so much she won’t even plan the funeral. I tried calling her today, but her housekeeper told me, in no uncertain terms, that she was holed up in her bedroom and the planning would be left to me. She wasn’t in a fit state to even help pick out flowers or a casket.

Of course, I felt overwhelmed and called my mom, who cried along with me. But her tears gave me the strength to do what needed to be done for my father. And so, I find myself today searching for caskets online. Luckily, in his accident, he wasn’t physically scarred too badly. I don’t really want to think about that though. Also, lucky for me, my dad had lots of money, I didn’t realize a wooden box that would be buried six foot deep in dirt would cost as much as it did.

I’ve ordered the flowers, I’ve booked the church, I even went out after I found out, and bought a dress. When my boss told me what had happened and sent me home, I wasn’t ready to go back to my apartment, and maybe the morbid side of me thought dress shopping would help soothe my heart and my brain. It’s a pretty dress and I really would have liked it so much more under the right circumstances.

I’m scared of the funeral, I’m scared of burying my father, and I’m petrified for my future, but what terrifies me the most is the thought that “he” might be there. They worked in the same industry and I know my father knew him and vice versa. But would he show up? Even knowing I will obviously be there, will he go against my wishes and attend the funeral?