Choices

He carefully studies the face in front of him, scrutinizing the eyes, looking for clues, searching for reasons. A long, quiet stare is the only exchange offered, making him exasperated. Moments later, her voice fills the void as she delivers a few words in a no-nonsense business tone, because this meeting is meant to be all business.

“Do as I ask please, Joseph.”

The politeness isn’t necessary, but she uses it anyways. That is just her way. As for the full name, it is her way of creating the distance she needs, because until relatively recently, he was Joey, much like the kind and caring TV character she had a crush on decades earlier. When he doesn't move, she carries on.

“I don’t want to be angry with you, so please do what I am asking. That fact that I've known you for a long time and that you and Bill were good friends has no impact my decision. This is about me.”

Joseph "Joey" Gilpin is torn. Does she even understand how much we are talking about? Almost as if reading his mind, she continues.

“I know we are talking about more than the entire population of some midwestern towns make in an entire year.”

Damn right it is! What are you thinking? Looking to buy some time and get her to second-guess her decision, he leans forward.

“Is everything okay? I’ve known you for a very long time and this just isn’t like you.”

She doesn’t take the baited question but simply changes tack.

“Obviously you are having a hard time with my request, Joseph.”

She is the one now piqued.

“Yes, I am. I don’t think this is what Bill wanted. In fact, I know this isn’t what he wanted.”

As if you actually knew the real Bill. She ignores the belittling comment and continues.

“You have quite the view up here; the entire east side. You and I know the place well, don’t we.”

An insinuating inflection accompanies those drawn out last words. The east side is what Bill casually referred to as 'The home of the scum and the lowlife.’ It was also the place where she and Joseph grew up, a fact Bill seemed to conveniently overlook with his jabs.

She slowly gets up from the soft leather chair and meanders around the office, which is more glass than drywall. With her back to him and his antique mahogany desk, she coolly digs in.

“Joseph, you got here by working very closely with Bill. You didn’t question him, even when you knew you should have. You knew better, but you still went along with his plans and decisions because… it got you this office. This view. It got you away from there.”

She stares over the expanse of buildings below.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Is everything okay?”

He hasn’t budged. Her still back to him, she catches her own reflection in the window. The silhouette against the late afternoon sky is picturesque. At 45, she can still walk into a room and own it, but that has never been her style. Humble and gentle, always remembering where she grew up, that is her. But this is taking too long and time is short. Right now she needs to get the his stubborn mind moving in the right direction.

Pivoting around to face him, taking advantage of the pause in conversation, she softens her voice, deliberately forcing him to listen closely.

“Joseph, I’ve seen how you’ve glanced at me over the years. It is the same way other men look at me, even some women. I don’t mind. Really, it’s quite flattering. Sometimes, while Bill is out in the evening gallivanting with his little floozy of the day, I think about how people look at me. How they make me feel desired...feel wanted.”

She reads his face. Far more intrigue than surprise.

“In those moments...when I am all alone, I’ve looked though my closet, eyed certain dresses, certain…hugging tops, and wondered if I had the nerve to do it. After all, I am desirable, aren’t I?”

His eyes slide down for a moment, just enough for her to notice, before catching hers again. She is taking him on a visual journey and Joseph has jumped on this fantasy ride.

“You and Bill were close, but I also know you didn’t approve of his ways. You thought you would be better for me. You believe we have more in common.”

A long pause for effect. It was the same strategy Bill used on her many times. Silence has a funny way of creating suspense and tension, something she needs right now. Making sure to hold his gaze, she delivers the last line of this seductive and well-rehearsed monologue.

“Sometimes…I think so too.”

She crosses her legs and leans lightly against a pillar, knowing the angle highlights her hourglass figure. It also buys a few moments, allowing her to take a slow, deep breath. Her chest heaves, which leaves quite the impression on him. The truth is that while Joey is looking at her, she is thinking of someone else, and it is quickly getting uncomfortable.

“But this isn’t the time for me to think about those things. I need some business taken care of, and that is why I am here. I am asking you again Joseph, please transfer the money like I asked you to do.”

He seems to be a few steps behind. Perhaps his mind is still rooting through in her closet.

“Please.”

Joey perks up, his eyes revealing to her a decision he doesn’t yet know he’s made.

“Okay. Fine. It’s your money now. But I need to strongly advise against this action. You are talking about complete change. Everything will change. Have you thought of that?”

“I have, but thank you for the advice.”

Sighing, he strikes a few keys.

“Done.”

The account now only holds enough to pay this month's bills. There are still cars, homes, and art, but she plans for those.

“So what are you going to do now?”

She lies.

“I’ll figure it out, and when I do, I’ll be in touch.”

High heels wheel towards the tall, wooden door, but it doesn't budge.

When he doesn’t take the hint, she looks at him, tilting her head towards the exit. Noiselessly, the door glides open. She repeats the lie as she walks out, needing to string him along a little.

“I’ll be in touch.”

In the long elevator ride down, she replays a scene to remind herself that she has made the right decision.

*****

Serilda is sitting in a nondescript dark car, looking to verify what the private investigator told her. Although she has suspected since their anniversary the previous year, she has to see it for herself. The car is parked at the back of the lot, where street lights lose their battle with the shadows of night. It isn’t too long before the evidence emerges.

She is gently pulling him along by an arm, laughing like a little school girl. Turning around, they exchange some words. Bill points ahead and they stride, now side-by-side, towards his silver Artura. Bill is not the type who misses an opportunity to show off his wealth. Getting closer to the exotic supercar, it chirps and comes alive. She giggles excitedly as his hand slides down her back. It continues down further, onto the back pocket of her jeans, as he helps her into the passenger seat. She smiles up at him as the gull-wing door gently closes. Bill crosses in front of the car where the headlights illuminate his handsome features. He slips into the driver’s seat and steers the car in a slow crawl out of the parking lot before letting its horses run freely.

At the back of the lot, Serilda sobs. Sadness, but also anger and frustration in knowing she was right. She also knows something else; she needs to makes plans of her own.

Asshole.

*****

The elevator doors open and bright sunlight spills in. Walking through the foyer, a familiar voice calls out.

“Good day Miss Shields.”

“Good evening Frank.”

Frank, the elderly, dark-skinned security guard, has been there so long that he knows every secret hiding within the building walls, in the same way the nighttime janitor of a museum seems to sense art come alive and speak to them. Before she reaches the doors being held open by the concierge, she stops and turns around.

“Frank. Thank you. Enjoy your life.”

“I will Miss Shields, and you enjoy yours. Will we still be seeing you around?”

“I don’t think so. Too many bad memories.”

“I know. I am truly sorry.”

Frank never lies.

*****

Arriving in the U-shaped driveway framed by 20-foot palm trees, Serilda opens the sedan door before it is opened for her. The sun hasn’t started setting quite yet.

“Welcome back. Did everything go well today?”

“It did. Thanks for asking Vikram.”

“Shall I set you up with the usual?”

“No. Just a glass of water. I need to keep my head clear.”

“Certainly. I’ll meet you inside.”

As Vikram turns back towards the house, his hand gently brushes against hers and electrifies her skin. Tingling, suddenly she wishes she had a drink.

*****

“This is Vikram. I’ve hired him to maintain the grounds.”

That was their first introduction about a year ago. It was straight-forward. Bill poached Vikram from the country club after noticing the immaculate fairways. He needed better luck with his own grounds and Vikram certainly had the expertise. With a Ph.D. in chemical engineering, Vikram created unique fertilizers to handle the seasonal changes that passed over the fairways. Bill also learned that Vikram maintained the ponds dotting the golf course; ponds that never seemed overgrown with flowering rush or water lettuce.

After seeing impressive results with the grounds, Bill suggested Vikram also take on pool maintenance, for a small raise. Vikram hesitated, feeling like he was being taken advantage of. Countering with a more realistic offer, Vikram asked for a free room in the guest house in addition to the raise. With only a slight pause, Bill agreed and Vikram became another resident on the property.

*****

Serilda saw Vikram about the grounds each day. She always smiled, said hello, and made small talk. Vikram was an eager participant. His kind and non-judgemental demeanour made conversation easy. Soon, they were having lunch together on the days when Bill didn’t need her presence for something or other he deemed important. Vikram was inquisitive, asking questions in a way that showed actual interest in the pending answers. He gave his time with ease while never taking any of hers.With Bill, it was different. He alway took more than he gave. When it came to physical contact, he definitely took more than he gave.

It wasn’t long before Vikram knew more about Serilda than anyone else, even herself. He asked about things she cared about, things that mattered to her, and she answered truthfully, letting any semblance of guard down. At times he would lean in, holding her gaze, emphasizing his interest. In those moments, her skin would jolt alive, as if his fingertips were a source of profound energy. He was magnetic, and soon she felt a deep and emotional connection to him, but dared not say anything. Around the country club, Serilda heard stories of women who sought the arms of others. Those stories brought a certain distain to the air and it wasn’t a place she was interested in going. Still, her feelings towards Vikram quickly rose to the surface anytime he was near. Every-so-often, their eyes would connect in a way that was undeniable. Luckily, no one else was around during those moments. It was clear they both were in deep, but fighting it. It was a bright sunny afternoon when Vikram lost control, if only slightly.

While she sat by the pool, he posed a question that crossed an invisible line.

"How do you deal with it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You are clearly the giving type; a person who finds their way by helping others less fortunate find theirs. Then why do you take so much?”

“I don’t take from anyone."

Serilda replied with such force that it caught him off guard. She was clearly angry, but also wounded. Vikram paused and composed himself.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong to ask the question. Please, pretend I never asked. A fresh beverage?”

“Yes, please. Let’s forget about the last 10 minutes.”

But she never did. Vikram picked up on Bill's ways and was right to question her. Ever since the parking lot affair, she had been hesitantly mulling over plans for a post-Bill life, but now Vikram’s question helped erase the reservations she had. She needed to move on from Bill, something made easier one evening when he decided to take an evening drive after a harder-than-usual day at work, or so he said. The sun, low on the horizon, obscured the warning signs of the tight, cliffside curve. He was thrown from the car as it lurched over the cliff. He wasn't wearing a seatbelt. His female consort was still belted in when they found her dead.

*****

Serilda seats herself at the kitchen counter, avoiding eye contact.

“Vikram, I have something to say.”

He skin livens when he seats himself beside her.

“Actually, I’m going to grab a drink. Want anything?”

“No. I’m fine.

Walking around the deep, white marble countertop, she grabs a glass, pours herself a Syrah and takes a long swallow. Here we go.

“I gave away all of Bill’s money earlier today.”

She turns around to read his face, but he offers nothing.

“And…I am selling the houses.”

Still nothing.

“And the cars, and all the artwork. All of it.”

Silence. When she starts gulping down her wine, he painfully offers one word.

“Why?”

Barely in control, she steadies her voice.

“Because of you, Vikram.”

Now she can no longer control her words. The floodgates spill open and everything rushes out. When she is drained and staring in anticipation of something from him, she is met with more silence. It is anguishing.

“If I am wrong, or you don’t feel the same way, please tell me now. I am a middle-aged widow, about to be broke and have taken the biggest leap of faith in my life. Please tell me not to do it.”

His head down, he takes her hand and gently squeezes. He is sobbing. As he lifts his eyes to hers, she sees a tear has escaped and is rolling down his cheek. His lips part but he struggles to get words out. He appears troubled. Serilda prepares herself for the worst, convinced she has made a terrible mistake. Her stomach is in knots when Vikram finally says something, using the kind and soft manner in which he always speaks to her.

“Where shall we live?”

*****