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Chapter 6
(Ross)
After nearly four years of not seeing her, I was shocked when I saw Anastasia standing over the stove, cooking for the execs of my newest store. Granted, I had chosen the location because I knew that’s where Anastasia was from originally, and I had hoped to bump into her, or find her again. In all those years, I never got her out of my mind. Or out of my broken heart.
She left without saying goodbye; she just ran away, and she never told me why. Never told anyone why, as far as I knew. One day our relationship was blossoming into something much bigger, much more permanent, and the next day, she was gone.
As I approached her, I had a mixture of feelings swirling inside me. I was upset, happy, angry, excited, and scared. Yes, scared that she would reject me outright, scared that in my absence she had gotten married.
I had planned for that moment when we met again. All the things I would say, do, the way I would act. Yeah, right. That went out the window as soon as I spied her sweat-soaked self in that humid little excuse for a kitchen.
“Anastasia?” I had to be certain it was her. With her hair pulled tightly away from her face, and in a uniform and apron, it was a bit difficult to tell for sure. My eyes said maybe it was her and my heart said it was her.
She stopped cooking and looked at me. “Yes?” She leaned forward a bit. “Oh, my God. Ross? Is that you?”
Laughing, I nodded. “It is. Fancy seeing you here. So Worldwide Cuisine is your business?”
She nodded and smiled. “Yes, it is. And I take it that W&P is yours?”
“Indeed. So, you look busy, could we talk later?” I tried to keep an even keel although my emotions were running from one end of the spectrum to the other.
She averted her gaze and began cooking again. Her answer was short and left no doubt in me that she knew what I wanted to talk about. It also left me with no doubt that she wasn’t thrilled about it.
“Sure. Seven tonight.” She turned back to cooking and away from me without waiting for a response. She was busy and wanted to be left to her job. I respected that and left her alone.
It was the most difficult dinner party I had ever sat through. The minutes and hours ticking by as I listened to the drivel being spouted by the attendees and all the while knowing that Anastasia, the love of my life, was only a few yards away. I wanted to go to her. At the same time, I thought with the way she reacted to me earlier that it might be a very bad idea. Nevertheless, I found myself leaving the after-dinner party at half past six.
Anastasia was just leaving the kitchen when I entered. Had she been about to run out, run away from me again?
“Anastasia! Hey, wait up!” I hurried through the room and to the door where she waited impatiently.
“I have a lot to do still. There’s cleaning and packing up the equipment. I have to help them, Ross, I really don’t have time for a chit-chat right now.” She turned to walk away.
Taking hold of her arm, I turned her back to me. “You’re the one who suggested seven as our meeting time.” I looked around and saw that most of the equipment, hers anyway, had already been removed. “It looks like all your things have already been taken out. You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you?” I grinned, hoping to sound playful, not like it hurt me to know she was trying to run away again.
“No, I’m not.” She sighed and rolled her eyes, ran her hand over her hair, and gave me an exasperated look. “Listen, I just don’t think us talking right now is a good idea. I mean, really, do you?”
She had never faltered in her words to me. She had always been articulate and intelligent. “Well, yes, I do think it’s a good idea. I think you owe me an explanation for the way you left, Anastasia.” There it was out, and I couldn’t take it back. That wasn’t how I had wanted to say it, but it worked all the same.
She turned to me with all trace of good humor gone. “No, Ross, I do not owe you any explanation. You are a married man, remember? We were no more than an office hookup, and an occasional weekend hookup. So, you took me out on the town—no more than you’d do for an expensive call-girl. So, no, I do not owe you an explanation.” She pulled away from my light grip and stomped off toward the elevators.
My heart was crushed. Had she really felt that way about all I had done for her? That I considered her no more than an expensive call-girl? Where had I gone so wrong with her?
Taking an elevator, I tried to catch up to her, but she was gone by the time I reached the parking lot. Her employees who were still packing up one of the catering trucks, would not give me a shred of information about their boss. In a way, I was glad—that meant they wouldn’t be apt to give out personal information about her to anyone, and that was good. On the other hand, I was furious. Couldn’t they see that I loved her, or I would not have been out there begging for information about her?
Finally, one of the younger women said, “Hey, mister. Don’t worry about it. She wasn’t really giving you the brush-off, she just had to go pick up her kid at the sitters. She’ll be home in a little while. Call her.” She jumped into the truck and the driver drove away.
Looking from W&P to the road and back again, I tried to digest what the girl had just told me. Anastasia had a kid.
That sealed the deal. There was no way she would come back to me. She already had her life, her family, in Kansas. Her business was doing well. What more could she want? Definitely not a reminder of an office hookup, as she had so indelicately put it.
I went back to the party, making excuses and apologies for running out. I wooed the guests and drowned my aching heart with too much booze.
That night, I slept it off in a hotel with a call-girl, a hooker, if you will. Not my finest moment, but what did I have to lose? Not Anastasia. She was obviously already long gone and out of my reach for good.
As Candy left the next morning, I realized that I had been living restricted since Anastasia left. I had lived as if I thought she would be back. I had taken lovers, but none of those relationships were anything other than sex for the sake of sex. I am still a man and I needed sex to remain healthy and partially content.
Besides, Anastasia had taken at least one lover—she had a kid to prove that point.
All day, I kept seeing images of Anastasia naked, riding some crude, dirty cowboy type. It was the setting, I’m sure. The Midwest landscapes. The images in my head unlocked all the pent-up anger and hurt that I had kept locked away for nearly four years.
The hotel room never stood a chance. I destroyed it in a fit of rage and jealousy.
I have never been jealous of anyone in my entire life. Until that moment. I was horribly jealous over Anastasia. She had been mine. No one else had a right to see her naked, to touch her delicious curves, or taste the sweet nectar of her sex.
My flight back to Massachusetts was set to depart the next morning but I stayed in Kansas. I wasn’t sure what I planned to accomplish other than paying for the damage I had caused to the hotel room. Leaving without talking to Anastasia was not an option for me at that point.
I would find her, and we would talk it out until I was satisfied.
