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“I see you sealed two deals already.” He sits in the chair next to Gerry.
I grin. “What can I say?”
Andy shakes his head as he drops the original contract on my desk. “Did you let the sweet granddaughter know what they agreed to by selling the company?”
I gave him a knowing look. “I couldn’t break her spirit anymore. Once she was well fucked, the reality was hitting her. It’s in the contract; they can read it, but it’s not going to matter at this point.”
“Yeah, that poor girl couldn’t get out of here fast enough.” Gerry purses his lips.
“Start the process.”
“And that’s why you’re the man … the fucking man!” Andy points as he all but skips out of my office.
“You make that crazy fool a ton of money.” Gerry smirks as he swaggers to his desk.
“I pay you a mad amount of money too,” I remind him.
“And I’m worth every damn cent.” He blows me a kiss, laughing.
AMELIA
Idread even bringing the estate sale up, but I really would like to go check it out. I knock on his office door. “Hey Eric, do you want to go check out this estate sale? I don’t have any guests coming for the next few days.” I walk over to see what he’s working on. “We could stay overnight.”
“God,” he blurts out, clearly irritated. “I don’t know … I can’t think about it right now. This shit isn’t fucking working!” He slams his hand down, making me jump. Then his cell phone rings. Inhaling deeply, he balls his fist at the device cussing the poor ass who made it ring. “I wish everyone would stop fucking calling me,” he yells, “fuck it.”Yep, there it goes… his phone sails through the air.
I turn, leaving him to it. It is so annoying … one simple question escalates into a string of obscenities. There’s no conversation … not even the ability to have one!
“Amelia … Amelia,” he yells. I don’t answer … there is no reason … he’s already pissed off. I sit down on the couch with my laptop to look at the estate sale.
“What did you want?”
“Nothing … I was just going to see if you wanted to go to this estate sale.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” I look up from the computer; his face is distorted like a snarled-up bulldog.
“I’d really love to shake that money tree you seem to think we have.” I look at him. “You have no concept of money or the fact that people actually have to fucking work for it,” he yells.Great, now he’s taking whatever pissed him off out on me—the doormat he married.
“Just forget it.” I recoil and toss my laptop aside to leave the room. I don’t want him to see he wins again … the tears are getting harder and harder to fight.
“Where are you fucking going?” He’s so unattractive when he acts like an adolescent.
“Downstairs, I don’t feel like listening to you rant and rave.”
“Fuck it,” he hisses as he slaps the wall, storming back into his office. I jump at his actions.Yep, and there it is. This is my life … my husband. I walk out on the side porch, letting the screen door slap. The garden is my secret oasis; I pull the single wooden swing that dangles from the sea oaks covered in Spanish moss. The swing was hung by the previous owner for their little girl. I sit on the wooden seat, rocking back and forth with my eyes closed, listening to the birds singing. It’s so peaceful here. Bright lush greenness everywhere, with rich pops of color from the flowering plants; you can’t see anyone, it’s like a wall of life. I close my eyes: listening to the town's traffic, faint pedestrian voices, and Clydesdale-drawn buggies click and creak over the cobblestone streets. I smell the restaurants cooking the evening orders and birds squawk at the marina.
Sometimes I like to imagine I have a different life: married to the love of my life, a husband who adores, respects, and gushes over me. And of course our sexual desire would be through the freaking roof. Sometimes I wonder if he’s out there, somewhere thinking if there is someone meant for him.
I twirl my fingers around the rope as I twist my seat until I cannot twist anymore. I bend my knees under the seat and spin out. I laugh, remembering doing the same thing as a child. Only as a child I didn’t feel nauseous afterwards. I do it again, begging for punishment I reckon. I rock back and forth staring at the plush green carpet dreaming of something … someone. A tear slips down my cheek remembering the feel of a first kiss; the heat, the passion.
I exhale, even more depressed than before. I’m pathetic, standing in the courtyard looking at the door. I really don’t want to go inside … it’s going to be miserable.
Taking a deep breath I walk inside. Eric’s walking aimlessly around, talking about a deal.How annoying!He acts so nice to a client. I wonder what they would think of him if they heard the way he really speaks … the way he truly acts. He hangs up as I walk into the kitchen.
“Let’s go to dinner. I don’t feel like waiting for you to cook.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. He’s too preoccupied with the text he’s sending.
“Okay, let me get my bag.” He’s on the phone again when I return. I whisper, “I’m ready.” He swings his arms at the phone, frowning like I made a huge interruption. I roll my eyes. He leaves me to sit and wait on him for another thirty minutes. He really has no regard for me.
