Life Before Damaged Volume 2, Page 2

  "I understand completely, Mr. Granz. The information we have at the moment can't be divulged, yet. One of the witnesses is still in a coma and considered to be in critical condition. If this person wakes up, we will see if he can corroborate what we already know. If... well, if he doesn't make it, we're looking at involuntary manslaughter and will be dealing with a whole different set of charges. We don't want any of our main suspects to know we are onto them at this time. They might bolt before we have a chance to make any arrests, and most of them have the means to disappear."

  I lean against the wall outside Dad’s office and stifle a scream with my hands. Someone’s in a coma? Oh, my God! Since Saturday morning I've been playing ostrich, keeping my head in the sand and focusing solely on the material damage. Now the words "involuntary manslaughter" keep ringing in my ears, and I can't get them out. I killed someone. Dear God.

  I lean forward, grasping my stomach, trying not to dry heave. They’ll hear me, and there’s no way to explain why I’m lingering in the hallway, puking.

  Bitchy Me escapes her exile and forces me to straighten up and slap a smile on my face. She also points out that confiding in Dad is now off limits. I’m on my own.

  I hear chairs being pushed back, and Daddy thanking the detective. Before the door opens, I try to look as unaffected as possible, adjusting the collar of my black blazer and flattening the pleats in my tweed pencil skirt. I'm sure my face is as white as a ghost, the blood having drained out of it.

  The police officer exits my dad's office. He looks me over once, noticing the way I’m standing too still and the beads of sweat in my hairline. His eyes narrow slightly, but he just nods in my direction without a word, walking down the posh hallway filled with enormous golden frames of Dad’s art collection.

  The paintings speak volumes to visitors. The Rembrandt says we’re wealthy, the Madonna and Child says we’re old money, and the final pieces proclaim our stability; we’re not going anywhere. The artwork alone is worth millions of dollars. It screams power. The fact that it’s in his office, as well as our home, says he’s not afraid to show off his wealth. Daddy knows what he wants and what to do to succeed.

  I’ve always enjoyed watching visitors react to seeing Daddy’s money displayed on the walls. Their resulting body language says a lot about their character. This detective ignores the paintings and heads directly to the elevator. Money obviously doesn’t impress him, and I’d bet displays of power worry him. Some wealthy families think they are above the law. Daddy does not. I hope the detective can see that.

  THE FALL OF THE PERFECT PRINCESS

  11:14 am

  When I’m poised enough to manage it, I knock on the doorjamb and smile. Dad is sitting behind his desk, resting his head in his hands. He’s aged visibly over the past few days. Frown lines etch his face and dark circles rim his eyes. I think his thinning brown hair may have more gray mixed in than usual. That's another weight on my shoulders. I wonder how much more I can take before my spine snaps in two.

  I take another step forward and clear my throat, alerting him to my presence. He looks up and it takes him a moment to realize it's me. He smiles warmly, like I'm his ray of light during this storm. I can’t take it. I want to tell him, but when he looks at me that way, my confession is lost.

  "Hey, Princess, have a seat." Dad motions to one of the leather chairs across from him, and I sit down, legs crossed, back straight, fingers wrapped tightly around my knees.

  I study the various family pictures he displays on the corner of his desk. There's one of me at age ten, dressed in a tutu and holding my very first pair of pointe shoes. Another photograph shows my parents and me the day I graduated from high school. A third photograph, taken during spring break vacation a few months ago, is of Anthony and me sitting on the deck of Dad's sailboat. The photos are the typical display of a proud father.

  "You wanted to see me, Daddy?"

  "I did, and thank God you don’t have any bad news. Another second with that man and I would have lost it. Kids, Gina—a bunch of deviants are threatening to destroy this family and everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve.” His voice stills and he breathes in slowly, leaning back in his chair. A smile tugs at his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  “I shouldn’t trouble you with this, but it’s hard. And I’m sure you heard. You have a way of being within earshot when things are dire. I admire that about you. You’ve grown into the type of woman who defends her family, protects them in good times and bad. I’m proud of you, Gina, no matter what happens next.”

  He clears his throat and leans forward, placing his thick fingers on his desk. “Enough sentimentality. You already know how I feel about you and your mother. The reason I called for you is because I need you to do something. I'll be meeting with our insurance company and our lawyers this afternoon, and I want you to sit in on the meeting. Granz Textiles will most likely be sued by some of these hooligans, trying to squeeze money from us for having been victims while on our property."

  He says the word "victims" with venom and disgust. I try to swallow the bile in my throat, knowing I am the biggest hooligan in this scenario. I bury every other emotion deep within. I can’t let it show on my face. He thinks so much of me and I messed up so badly. There’s no way to fix this, not now, not ever.

  "Listen, Gina, I want to know where we stand before the lawsuits start coming in." Lawsuits with an S, as in multiple lawsuits. I close my eyes and the tension shows on my face, I can’t hide it anymore. Daddy leans forward and takes my hands. “We can get through anything if we stick together. Remember that.”

  The words feel like a hot knife, cutting through me in a clean swipe. Feeling gutted, I sit there, mouth gaping. He has no idea I was the one who let them in to the warehouse. I should tell him, spit it out, and then run for Jersey, or the subway. Those are two places Dad will never go.

  Say it. Tell him. I open my mouth, but suddenly his smile returns and his old eyes sparkle with life again. I can’t do it. I nod and mutter, "Of course, Dad. I'll be there. Anything else?"

  "Come to think of it, yes. And this is good news.” I crinkle my brow wondering what he’s thinking. Dad continues, “Cancel whatever plans you have for tonight. I'm having dinner with Anthony to discuss the details of the testing phase of my new project, and I want you there, too. I doubt you have any objections?" His small smile widens, making his laugh lines crinkle a bit.

  This is surprising news. Anthony is scheduled to work night shifts at the hospital for the next couple of weeks. Between work and school, finding time off is difficult for him. The last time I saw him was briefly over lunch—one day last week. Tonight, I get to sit down face-to-face with him and admit what happened with Pete. He has a right to know.

  "Of course I'll be there, Dad. Sounds great."

  "Wonderful, and I'll email you all the documents for today’s meetings. Try to look over them beforehand." Dad straightens his tie and smoothes his suit. I get up and head toward the door, but Dad calls my name. Standing in the doorway, I turn to look at my father.

  "It's times like these your mother and I realize how blessed we are to have a daughter like you. We don't say it often enough, but we love you, Princess. Now stop worrying. We’ll get through this."

  UNFRIENDLY COMPETITION

  6:12 pm

  "Good evening.” A young waitress with long jet-black hair stands by our table, notepad in hand, with eyes only for Anthony. “My name is Kitty, I’ll be your waitress this evening. May I get you anything to drink while you wait for your other guest to arrive?"

  "I'll have a glass of your Chardonnay, please." I tell Kitty, but she doesn’t respond.

  "Make that a bottle, Kitty." Anthony adds, handing the wine menu back to the waitress and giving her a friendly smile.

  “Yes, sir.” The waitress leans toward the center of the table to light the candle, smiling at Anthony seductively. Her crisp uniform is unbuttoned at the top, awarding him an unobstructed shot of her lacy lingeri
e-trimmed cleavage. Seriously? Am I invisible? I fake-cough loudly and she reluctantly straightens and heads to the bar to fill our order.

  We're seated at a table set for three in one of Daddy's favorite restaurants, still waiting for him to arrive. The soothing atmosphere, with its low lighting, rich colors, and soft jazz music calm my jitters and smooth my waitress-ruffled feathers.

  With all the speculation about the fire at the office, I’m grateful for surprise quality time with my boyfriend—even if it means fighting our waitress for his attention. Due to his overbooked schedule, I haven't actually seen Anthony in days. It's a wonder he's here tonight at all, but I’m happy he is. The sight of him is refreshing and grounding; he keeps me normal.

  Anthony looks at his watch, then glances around the restaurant. "What time did your father say he'd be here?" He rubbernecks, searching again for my father.

  "He should be here any minute,” I shrug. "I guess he's running a little bit late, but I don’t mind. It gives us time alone." I give him a shy smile and entwine our fingers together, but after a cursory squeeze, Anthony lets go of my hand and fusses with his napkin instead.

  Anthony is tall, with a slender build and light features. His blond hair, blue eyes and soon-to-be-a-doctor status, make him a catch for both my father and me. Over the past couple of months, Granz Textiles has been working on developing a line of revolutionary medical-grade fabrics. To hear my father and Anthony brag about it—which they do incessantly—the new line will revolutionize the medical field. The project, and Anthony’s close involvement with it and my dad, is how we met.

  Dad founded the Granz Scholarship as a one-time opportunity for a student going into their last year of medical school. In exchange for a very generous amount of money to cover tuition and living expenses in that final year, the student would collaborate with the medical division of Granz Textiles during the testing and approval phases of our new line of medical products. The contract comes to term when the FDA officially approves the product. My father was head of the scholarship board, of course, and had final say in who was chosen. Anthony won the scholarship without contest. Needless to say, he was quite taken by Anthony. So much so, that he insisted Anthony become part of our family by pushing us together as a couple. Anthony is a great guy—sweet, respectful, smart, hardworking, dedicated, and handsome—I didn’t mind being set up with him. It’s a win-win situation for all of us.

  Anthony wasn't born into money like I was. His lower social and financial status makes him consciously grateful to my dad for this opportunity—and considerably more attractive to me. I've always expected my dad would have a say in my eventual marriage, but I imagined he would prefer someone wealthy and likely a silver spoon-fed douche-bag-brat. Anthony and I aren't engaged yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if he asked my dad for his blessing soon, a blessing my dad will give without hesitation. I swear those two are inseparable sometimes.

  "I'm so surprised you're here,” I say. “How did you manage to get the time off?"

  "I told the hospital I had an urgent meeting with the scholarship board." He gives me a small wink. "Did you look over the project files your dad sent us today?"

  I nod and try to hide my disappointment. I can't blame Anthony for his enthusiasm—this project is all he ever talks about—but I’d hoped to focus on us in these stolen private moments. Is just a little romance asking too much?

  "Yes, I did,” I say with a sigh, “and I doubt he will like what I have to say about it. It’s not feasible. With his proposed production methods, we will run out of funds before the testing phase even gets under way. The alternative you proposed during our last meeting was more cost efficient." I make a frustrated noise. "It doesn't really matter what I think, though, he probably won't listen to me."

  Anthony gives me a reassuring smile.

  "I'm sure he will. Even if you weren’t his perfect princess, you are brilliant at what you do. He'll listen to you. Together we’ll convince him you’re right about this." He squeezes my knee under the table, but removes his hand before I can lay my hand over his.

  I'm in such need of physical contact right now, but Anthony has never been too keen on public displays of affection. It’s understandable with his line of work. Who wants to be able to imagine their doctor groping his girlfriend during their next Pap test or breast exam? Awkward! I shudder at the thought. Consequently, I’ve learned to expect a discrete amount of physical distance from him in public places.

  Kitty shows up with our wine and pours a little into Anthony’s glass for sampling. As she waits for Anthony to taste the wine, she gives him a flirty smile and he winks back at her. Satisfied with our selection, Anthony nods to the waitress and she fills up my glass. She then turns to fill up Anthony’s glass, leaning over too much and giving him a second eye-level view of her boobs.

  “Let me know if you need anything else.” The waitress says directly to Anthony, biting her bottom lip and practically undressing him with her eyes before she walks away. I choke on my wine. Coughing, I look incredulously back at Anthony, hoping he’s as outraged as I am, but find him ogling her rear end as she walks away. What the hell!? I slap him on the shoulder with the back of my hand.

  “Ow! What’s wrong, babe? You look troubled.” Anthony grumpily rubs his shoulder where I slugged him. It wasn’t that hard of a slap.

  “Uh, you’re flirting with Kitty, that’s what’s wrong!”

  ***%%()

  TO FLIRT OR NOT TO FLIRT - THAT IS THE CONUNDRUM

  6:35 pm

  Anthony glances back at our waitress, who’s now surrounded by a group of big-breasted hussies, similarly attired in crisp white shirts with the top few buttons undone. They all look in our direction, predatory looks on their faces. Anthony smiles and waves at them, sending them all into a fit of giggles they try to hide by turning their backs to us. Anthony turns back to me and frowns.

  “Babe, there’s nothing wrong with innocent flirting. It’s not like she slipped me her phone number or anything, and that little exchange probably made her night. Not that you’d know, but being a waitress is a really hard job. Customers can be really rude and demanding. Thanks to my flirting, we’ll probably get excellent service now. Where’s the harm in that?” He takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, before letting it go again. “I’m leaving with you, Gina. That’s all that should matter.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that when you’re in a committed relationship it’s okay to flirt with someone else as long as the flirting doesn’t go anywhere serious?”

  “I’d say that’s a fair summary of what I said.” Anthony takes a sip of his wine, completely unaffected by this topic of discussion.

  Now the door is wide open. I wanted to come clean and this is my chance. I can’t let this sit any longer. I have too many secrets inside me, and I don’t want to keep this one any longer than I have to. My fingers trace the circular base of my wine glass as I muster the courage to start. “Okay, well, remember last Friday night, when Erin and I went out?”

  He nods, taking another sip of his wine.

  “Well, someone was flirting with me and I’ve been feeling very awkward about it. I want us to be honest with each other, and the memory has bugged me since it happened.”

  Anthony puts his glass down and places both palms flat out on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something big.

  “Did you sleep with him? Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Regina? Are you leaving me?”

  “Oh, God! No, nothing like that! It’s just that, well, he was extremely persistent and...” I trail off, unsure what to say.

  Anthony’s face relaxes and the tension leaves his shoulders.

  “Let me guess. You felt flattered and special, and a part of you liked it, but now you’re feeling guilty about it, right?”

  I nod in shock. That pretty much sums it up—well, except for the part where I realized our sex life is boring and I need more passion in my life.

  Anthony continues
, “But you didn’t sleep with him?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Then it’s a non-issue. I don’t know why you’re so worried, babe.”

  Pause. Stop. Rewind. This is not the reaction I was expecting from him.

  “So, let me get this straight. If a guy comes on to me and I flirt back but I don’t have sex with him, you’d be okay with that?”

  “Sure! It’s only flirting, Regina. It’s harmless fun. You’re young and you can’t get any prettier. You should be proud men are attracted to you and enjoy it while it lasts. We’re only young once. Besides, it’s great for my ego, too.”

  What the hell? He’s basically repeating what Pete said, about being young once and taking full advantage of my youth, but it doesn’t feel the same when Anthony says it.

  “Hold up. How would my flirting with another guy be good for your ego?”

  “Because it says my girl is so hot other guys want her and she feels confident enough about herself to let it show. See? All good, harmless fun.”

  I fold my arms across my chest and look at him skeptically. He can’t really be okay with any of this, can he?

  “Okay, hypothetically speaking, what if the guy kisses me? What then?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for his answer. Although Pete never actually kissed me on the lips, he did steal a couple nibbles on my neck.

  Anthony’s eyebrows furrow, considering my question. “Do you kiss him back?”