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When she came, Harlan held her tightly before pulling away and ejaculating all over her face and breasts. He freed her from the knotty twists of fabric that were her clothes and she stretched out. They spooned as the city outside was a quiet twinkling specter with the occasional siren calling out in the distance.
Mahira jumped in the pool and lapped it once before settling near Tory. She had abandoned the white one piece for a navy blue bikini, similar to the black one she’d given Tory a week ago.
“So where have you been keeping yourself? I knocked a couple nights ago,” Mahira asked, grinning slyly at her.
“I think you know enough to guess,” Tory told her.
Mahira laughed.
“I truly underestimated you, Victoria,” Mahira admitted.
“I think I truly underestimated myself too. Don’t worry about it.”
They hugged in the water.
“You’ll get your fifteen minutes of fame,” Mahira chimed at her.
“iGo is big. We are not. Unsung heroes of the digital age. We didn’t design the app, we just designed the design that helps people find the app,” Tory admitted.
“The industry will know of you. And that means something.”
As US cities announce plans for reopening in stages, the stock market made a slight recovery. Back in her loose fitting dark pantsuit, Tory paced waiting for Ms. Kalinski to knock at her door. When she saw Ms. Kalinsky and her familiar quirkiness, Tory was put at ease. She had started to feel like a part of the Nextthing.Net family over the course of the quarantine.
When Harlan introduced her to the CEO’s of iGo, they were thrilled and impressed with both Tory and the work. When one of them commented on the genius in presenting their brand colors in a gradient, she caught Harlan looking at her proudly.
As press from other online design magazines snapped photos of her, and her with Harlan, Tory felt certain that everything she’d decided for herself was absolutely right but still had no idea how to tell her parents about Harlan. It almost seemed that people would be less judgmental if Harlan were not older and wealthy.
A hard working older man only seemed to be respected more than a well to do man in this one area of life. The middle aged auto mechanic always seemed like a much more faithful mate than any man who slept with supermodels.
The news of Tory’s work at the Nextthing.Net studio traveled fast. Her phone was flooded with calls from past clients with new work and new clients who wanted work fast, her head was spinning. When she saw Jude Coleman’s name and face on her phone she cringed.
“Hello,” he said dismally. “I see you’re acquainted with Harlem Dawes. Sit on his lap yet?”
“What?”
“You know what I mean,” he insisted.
“I’m not doing anything inappropriate with anyone,” Tory defended herself.
“I want to come get you, take you back home before there’s nothing left to you for me,” Jude ranted. “These are dangerous times. I feel this thing taking you away from me, Victoria and you’re getting sucked in. I saw the pictures. You won a contest and now they are taking advantage. That’s what rich people do. You just need to come back home and do it with me. Life, I mean. Life. Good clean living back in ol’ Madison.”
“Listen, Jude. I don’t really know what I want right now. We’re not even together, remember? I’ve had offers just this morning from all over the country. The kind of jobs I’ve dreamt of my whole life, Jude. Don’t you want that for me?” she asked, becoming frustrated with him.
“I just want you to come back to me. We had made plans. Together. Plans for being together!” he blurted out loudly causing her to move the phone away from her face.
“That was in the past. It’s over. I have to go. Harlan is waiting,” she said, knowing she’d probably gone too far in vengeance.
And she cringed as Jude’s screaming became unintelligible. Standing on his back porch, the young man smashed his phone on the worn wood and stomped it to pieces.
In only his swimsuit, Harlan was running on an elliptical machine facing the big screen TV in the gym as he glanced occasionally at stock market figures scrolling across it a few yards away. The shotgun-like clacking of Ms. Kalinski’s heels thundered in the corridor. She marched in with a big tablet under her arm.
“Good afternoon, Meyerwitz is here to see you,” she said, curtly.
Harlan slowed and stepped off the machine smoothly.
“You know I let Ms. Stadler work in my office. Where is he? He can come and sit down here,” he said, reaching for a towel.
“I am here,” a small voice said, making Harlan freeze.
Ms. Kaminski unfolded a stand from the tablet’s drop proof case and stood in on a bench press nearby. On the screen, Barry Meyerwitz, one of Harlan’s attorneys, smiled at him.
