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Chapter 3
Essex
I’ve never felt as comfortablein my own home as I did at Quintessa’s apartment yesterday, and that’s a problem. I have so much. She has so little and yet, herlittleis enough to satisfy me while my surplus leaves me discontented. A simple meal, conversation and just the air in her place had me wanting to stay a bit longer. That’s why I had to leave. The longer I stayed, the longer I’d want to stay. And then there’s the fact that it’s her.
The girl of my dreams.
The woman I could never replace.
She has no idea how I feel about her and that, in my mind, she’s already mine.
Since ninth grade, she was mine.
Finding sleep proved to be difficult yet again last night because of Quintessa coupled with the fact that I buried my mother yesterday. It’s not hitting me the way it should. I’m torn up about it, but it doesn’t manifest itself to others, especially my father. This morning I went by to smooth things over with him, but he wasn’t home when I got there – probably handling some business where mom was concerned. So, I returned home, where I sit on the deck and peer off into the ocean, agonizing over my life and the choices I’ve made. If I had to do it all over again, would I choose this life? A life of a CEO, of commitment to my work, of owning anything I want, doing anything I want, or would I be normal like…?
Quintessa.
A normal me is a better me. I don’t need anyone to tell me that. The truth I must grapple with is, my mother was right. Everything about me changed when I became Essex. When I started this company, I didn’t look back. I attributed it to growth, to what I owed myself for all the years I was tormented for being a person society didn’t accept. Essex DePaul is accepted, celebrated, and glorified. He’s a man who people either fear or respect. Stewart Dennis is the man who was expected to be a failure. A guy who would work in a fast-food joint and get high on his own supply while dreaming of a better life that was out of reach. Is that who I was supposed to be?
I stand up, pull my shirt over my head, step out of my boxers, and make my way to the beach for a swim. My access is private, so I don’t have to worry about anyone seeing me naked out here. It’s what I do when I’m frustrated. I let the cold water enervate me and shock my system until it distracts me from feeling anything associated with my day-to-day life. Most times, I use work as a diversion. Complicated deals and working with people who think they know the business better than I do is enough to accomplish that. But today, it’s the water that’s taking me away.
I dive in, instantly benefitting from its effects. Being naked in nature, allowing the ocean wash my cares away is freeing in every way. I swim further out and go under, but this time the water doesn’t seem to be enough of a distraction to lure me away from my woes. I can hear my mother’s voice asking me when I’m going to get married and give her some grandkids. She’s telling me if I don’t change my ways, I’ll be alone. She’s right. She was always right. Who would want to be with the man I’ve become?
I emerge from the water and scream into the open air. It’s a scream that reflects my anguish. My regrets. It leaves me panting and broken – severely broken – but I push it all away and dive under again, swimming back to the shore holding everything inside. I can’t allow anything to break me now. I have a company to think about. People count on me for their paychecks. I count on myself to pursue my dreams and live a good, quality life. Mediocrity can’t reside within me. Neither can vulnerability.
I use the outdoor shower by the pool to wash off the salt and sand, then head inside. I grab a towel, wipe my face and dry off. It’s a little after one in the afternoon. I’m surprised I haven’t heard from Quintessa since she’s supposed to betestingme today. I take my phone from the dresser. There’s a text from her that came through twenty minutes ago.
Quintessa: hey, I’m looking for Essex DePaul, the man who was at my house last night, not the one who be at work scaring folk. If this is him, can you respond back?
I grin to myself. Quintessa knows how to get me to smile – I’ll give her that much. Then again, she possesses power over me that she’s not aware she has. That’s another reason I had to leave her apartment yesterday. If I hadn’t, those lips would’ve been mine again and judging by the whimpers coming from her mouth when I kissed her in my office, she wouldn’t be able to handle it or anything else I did to her. I text back:
Essex: what do you want, sponge?
Quintessa: you ain’t funny.
Essex: then why are you smiling.
Quintessa: who says I’m smiling? You can’t see me
Essex: I don’t have to see you. I can feel that beautiful smile of yours through the phone.
She doesn’t respond right away. I don’t know if she stepped away from her phone or if my text caught her off guard. Finally, she responds with:
Quintessa: meet me at the Seacrest Boardwalk, main entrance by that burger place
Essex: where are we going?
Quintessa: the Seacrest Boardwalk…
Essex: where on the boardwalk exactly?
Quintessa: you’ll find out when we get there
Essex: do I need to wear some swim trunks?
Quintessa: nope
Essex: do I need to wear anything?
