Adri Sinclair's Blog, page 2

#amwriting #MyRomanceMyRules #LockAndKey #ShortStory

Title: Lock & Key |Genre: Short Story Romance (Sweet, Clean, Fast) |||Eight years become a bridge connecting two souls. Two hearts meet half-way and time lost burns with the promise of a future found; together at last.|All rights reserved © Adri Sinclair 2017

Lock & Key



All rights reserved © Adri Sinclair 2017

“Okay baby, when I ditch these losers, I’ll be home with the only man for me. Don’t wait up honey, I’ll call when I leave… I love you too, bye!”
Fixing the little black dress, Tatum Ray mutters under her breath about this job and how it will be the death of her. She hates this kind of events, but when you’re the executive assistant for a niche promotions company, you suck it up and keep your boss on point—even if you’ve not met him, and he’s a regular jug-head for being late to his own damn gala.
“Miss Ray,” the suited gentleman glances through the foyer and taps his watch, “I don’t mean to rush you but–”
Liar, you meant to rush me, there are no buts about it! Problem is, his Lordship is absent.
“You should water the man by the pot-plant, he has grown roots,” she snaps on her way past the reception and feeling bad for taking her frustration out on him.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m nervous.”
“Understandable. There’s a lot of talk about your boss in there; he’s somewhat of a celeb, isn’t he?”
“Mate, I have no cooking clue. If he does not show up this instant,”
“Then what, Miss Ray? You’ll be late for your date, who isn’t waiting up for you?”
Oh hell! This isn’t happening! Please tell me Pot-plant isn’t… Shit-Fiddles-Fudgepie!
In a slow turn, Tatum Ray draws a deep breath and refuses to escalate her embarrassment to become a full blush. It is easy to do because she’s suffered a long string of such moments and this pales in comparison.
“Indeed,” she huffs, squares her shoulders and pushes her chin up. Up again. Then up more because the new boss is a giant up close. The moment her glance slips to his face, her heart drops as low as he is tall.
“Dram Asher,” she whispers.
“The only, shall we go, you’re late.”
He doesn’t recognize her; why would he? She’s spent eight years re-inventing herself. Took her mother’s maiden name, changed her name, lost three people in weight, fixed her teeth and her mousy brown hair is now ‘Fox Red’ from a box. Drastic measures, but when you live in a staunch religious culture and become the Delilah who may as well have cut Samson’s locks… You do what you must disappear forever.
Son of a gun has is the same though; except for the neat haircut, the tailored suite, and the laugh-lines at the corners of his eyes. Those sad-sad bloody puppy-browns.
“Yes, this way,” she swallows, steps aside to fall in one tiny pace behind him.
“It appears the pot-plant does not need watering, he couldn’t find his EA,” the deep baritone mocks her with humor, “Suppose it too, is a loser.”
The staffer shuffles in place, opens the door and avoids eye-contact.
Okay, I lied. He’s changed a lot and sarcasm doesn’t fit him.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs as she walks past student, “Here’s my card, if it helps, I’ll figure out a means to make it up to you.”
The guy smiles and winks, nods after Pot-Plant Asher, and gently touches her arm, whispers, “Good luck, you need it more than I do,” before he closes the door behind her.
She wants no luck at all. What she could do with, is a stiff drink to keep her cool until she can apply for a transfer. Had she known who the new CEO was, she’d declined the offer of promotion.
“For God’s sake lady, an introduction won’t go amiss.”
On these kinds of days, Tatum finds it hard not to fluff her bust and zip up the bossy boots. Her temperament brought her this far, but her temper drives her through the many business ceilings she’s faced along the way.
She’s about done it all, from cleaning toilets to cold calling, begging for investments and crying through tax returns.
“Perhaps I should make you a name-tag, then people can kiss your ass before they speak to you?” Then there’s her mouth. Her only real credentials. While it serves her well for the most part, in many others, it does not.

***

Dram Asher has done his homework, and when the last shares for “Splash and Burn” became available on the market, he bought them without hesitation. It took seven years, but he gathered the forty-five percent which puts him in the driver’s seat—along with the President—a person, it appears, who is a ghost buried in paperwork.
The only real name he found associated with the company, was that of one “Reece Johnson”. Assuming the trust-holder and the president is the same person, he didn’t bother beyond that as his investments yielded far more than even he expected.
The Gala was his idea, and he set it up to announce his active seat, but also to raise funds for the company’s charity-kitchen. He has a reputation as an investor and he counts on it to see the project in good standing for at least another year. The turn-out is huge. Everyone who is anyone with connections in the marketing arena, is there. Naturally, he made sure of that too.
Dram turns to peek at the pale bottle-red-head.
Her hazel brown eyes are emotional-green and the corner of her mouth pulls in tight to drag a dimple through one cheek. Had he known earlier she was his EA, he’d have approached her before eavesdropping on her private conversation. Her profile picture is drab and does her no justice.
From the moment he saw the curvy shape in the formal black number pacing back and forth, something nagged in the back of his mind and while he paused to figure it out, she took the call.
He admires her attitude, but she’s too big for her boots and he does not care for the way she calls him up for no reason. Heads will roll soon enough because he made it explicitly clear that nobody knows his name until this event; not even his EA. It is not because he harbors ego-buffing notions of importance; quite the opposite. He suspected the media would have a field day at his expense instead of focusing on the reason for it. He’s here to get a job done, not to impress paparazzi wannabes.
“And perhaps when you’re done clawing your ladder to the top, Miss Ray, you can figure out how to do your damn job,” he shoots back. Dram knows trouble when he sees it, and it now beams daggers at him through a blazon glare. His own behavior is less than habitual. Dram wonders why the upsurge in his bad mood aims to assassinate any chance he may have to get along with her. Unlike the articles about him, he isn’t a playboy but he treats women how he thinks is right; goddesses who can make his every wish come true. Well. Almost, every wish.
She barges past him, “Hi, hallo, people!”, claps her hands and stands in the middle of the floor. Amused, he watches; nobody else pays her any attention for the soft melodic voice she takes with them. Then a shrill whistle burst through the room past two fingers tucked between light pink, shiny lips.
Now that, he didn’t see coming.
All eyes turn on Tatum. Dram notices how only a few seems surprised by her actions, while others acknowledge her efforts with a nod, lift of a glass and smile. His eyebrow arches high.
She plants her hands on her hips and nods around the room.
“You all know who I am. You all know why I’m here. That over there is Dram Asher, the new CEO of Splash and Burn and he wants to meet the lot of you. Line up, have your story short and straight, get your checkbook out and hand the man your autograph. Remember how this works, the bigger your charitable heart, the easier it is to remember your name. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good evening.”
Dram’s disbelief furrows between his brows. Is this woman for real? His cheeks suck into his mouth and his temper jailbreaks his heart.
Sassy is a word he knows, and when he read her profile, it was a word that cropped up in reference letters for promotion. They mention her as a ‘no nonsense’ kind of person, a ‘ball buster’ and a ‘tenacious vixen’—all with the flair of complimentary support, not cited as vindictive criticism. He loved what he read, yet now, he realizes that what appears good on paper, isn’t translating with the same blossoming notions. This lady is not sassy; she is downright obnoxious. A trait he cares nothing for in anyone, let alone a person he relies on and works with every day.
“Where are you going?” he growls past his shoulder and under his breath as she pushes past him to the door. She pauses, doesn’t turn to him but speaks in a hush.
“Home. Oh, heads up big-shot; Anita Maser is a columnist with clout from the leading local paper. She has a habit of casting herself as a porn-star, but really, she’s merely after an expose. Sleep with her, and you’ll find limp-dick pics of you all over social media. Good. Night.”
“She’d have to find a limp-dick first,” he sneers in quick response, then wishes he hadn’t said it.
“Yeah, long-shot, that’s what they all think. Watch your back.”
“You can’t leave now,” he yells, but she already walks back the way they came. A glance over his shoulder reveals her twiddle a wave at him while she takes her phone out. After a short pause, she speaks loud enough for the people on the street to hear her.
“Hey, handsooome! Yes, that was quick, wasn’t it? Sure thing, pizza sounds good. See you soon.”
“Miss Ray,” a big hand closes around her wrist outside the door, “Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”
“I’ll bother plenty, Dram Asher, but only because I want to hear all the gossip before I head out of town,” her hand yanks free from his hold, her glance swings past him, she nods to direct his attention before she shrugs her shoulders and walks off.
“Mr. Asher! Hi, Anita Maser, Financial Who’s Who. My you are even better in person!” the little blond holds her hand out and Dram takes it with a distracted look over his shoulder.
The natural swing in the figure-hugging black dress of his EA conjures up nagging thoughts again.
“Yes, hi. Sorry,” Dram starts on a fast shuffle to the door, half turn to the columnist while he speaks in a hurry, “Family emergency. Please contact my office first thing in the morning for an exclusive press release? Thank, you’re a dear!”
“Miss Ray!” he calls, too late. She turns, waves, and ducks into a cab.
“Shit!” he punches into the air, turns around in place several times and drags his hand through his hair. He needs to figure out why there’s an urgency gunning for his sanity because a woman turned his career expectations upside-down before he’s even started on the new journey.
“Can I get you a ride?” the young man from before appears out of nowhere.
“Do you have a clue where that little demon spawn lives,” Dram snaps.
“I don’t, sorry.”

Next day

Early mornings, coffee and sunrise from the skyscraper office window, is Tatum’s thing. She’s always the first person on the premises, always the last the leave and always the ‘go to’ person when things go wrong. But everyone in the company knows not to speak to her between 6:30 am and 7:00 am; she needs at least three cups of coffee before she’s ‘people ready’—even her mug says it. Between 7:00 am and 8:00 am, Tatum reads and answers e-mails and puts out fires—most often ones she’s started the day before.
The earliest arrival, is Old Mrs. Gable. The woman does not work here anymore, but she still comes in every morning, checks on ‘her children’ and spends a full hour between 8:00 am and 9:00 am—when the office opens—with Tatum. She is a mother to them all, but to Tatum, she is the only family, confidant, friend and adviser she’s known for eight years.
Smog paints the clouds in a haze of pink sunrise, the bright fire flickers, and gleams over the windows and shiny roofs. It always makes her feel happy—there’s magic in the ugliness of the City. Nothing compares to the countryside. She misses it.
Tatum turns at the sound of the office door opening. She expects a cleaner as it is far too early for anyone else. Dram stands in the door, shoulder to shoulder inside the frame. His hair is a mess, he’s eyes are bloodshot, his shirt half-open with the tie loose. The Anita shade of lipstick on his collar rolls her eyes.
Even though she hates the shambles of the man where he stands, Tatum’s heart bounces into her throat at the second-sight of him.
It hurts too damn much to see him. He’s haunted her all last night.
Today she’s torn between staying and leaving. She knows she shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t let him get his hooks in her again. There’s too much on the line in her personal life and her career.
“Coffee, black, two sugars, a dollop of cream on the side with a sprinkle of chocolate—right?” she speaks to the window.
“I’ve not taken my coffee—never mind. Black, no sugar, please.”
Odd, but I suppose I’ve changed a lot too, so maybe not.
Tatum waits for him to open his office door before she trusts her legs to move without wobbling. All through their senior year, she’s had a thing for him. She helped him in secret with his homework, gave him a hide-out in their garden shed when things at home got too rowdy. He was a popular kid, even then. The cheerleaders fangirled over him, the boys all wanted to be him and he wanted to get decent grades and go off to Uni. It was his only escape from the small-town mentality. He always said he’ll make it big one day, and he’ll show his parents he’s more than they are. His mother and father weren’t nice people though. A ‘power couple’ in county politics on opposite sides. They forgot sometimes to leave their work at the office and Dram paid for it.
Her family was well to do; not too high up the elite scale, but not poor. Yet, she wasn’t the chosen one to be his future—which everyone had planned out already. That title belonged for her leggy, older sister Rose-Jade. It was a done deal. Until one night, at the creek.
The stars were beautiful, Dram was drunk, and she knew better than to believe a word he said. But he told her she was his heart. He made her believe she was more than a chubby-stand-alone. His touch was so warm, his breath sweet with rum and his big body felt safe against hers.
Then the sun rose, and he pecked her on the cheek. It was the last time she saw him.
He never told her he of his acceptance into Uni. He never told her it was an acceleration offer, and he’d be going that morning. She told no one of their night together either.
Tatum slaps the tear from her cheek, pours the coffee and forces the memory from her mind. This time she checks her boots, zip them all the way up and straighten her shoulders.
I’ll be damned if I let that crap back into my life.

***

Dram bites the inside of his cheek. He came in early in the hopes to avoid anyone sees him this way. He slept in his car the night before as he despises hotels. He forgot to pick up the keys for his new apartment.
His phone blew up last night, and by the time he checked his emails, the stream of ‘This just in’ articles flooded his Inbox requesting personal quotes, statements, and the likes. The charity fund grew by three times his projection and industry players he knows but have not invited, sent him invitations to their prestige social events.
Flattering congratulations of his new role shook his foundations, and every mention of “Tatum Ray, known for her sharp tongue,” or “Front-woman, Tatum Ray’s typical entrance, and exit,” floored him. He tried searching for her but found nothing but a frenemy relationship with the Anita Masers of the media world. Most of the press releases and other formal documentation from the company came from Reece Johnson.
She’s out there looking a picture of judgment in the hot heel boots, tight denim, and polo neck jumper. And she knows how he used to take his coffee.
How in the hell does she know?
Every day he thought of the reason for giving it up. He swore he wouldn’t touch it again until he sees a reason to be happy again.
“How much damage are we looking at,” Tatum pushes the door open with her foot and places the coffee down in front of him. He does not see her face, only her body from the waist down because his head is in his hands.
“What do you mean?”
“Okay. Did anyone see you come in? You look like shit, smell like day old rum, and have make-up on your shirt. I don’t care for the details, you’re not the first man—nor will you be the last—to fall into the limelight trap. I need to tell if I send out a fire-brigade, or hose down the blazes myself.”
Gods, she’s annoying already. You’d swear she owns the bloody company.
“Miss Ray; I am a grown man with a promising investment in my personal career. If there are any damage control to do, I’ll handle it. Nobody saw me coming in because I didn’t leave. Please get out of my office.”
She licks her lips and shakes her head.
“I don’t think so. You need to clean up. There’s an empty apartment one floor up for this situation—don’t ask, I know my shit and your ass isn’t the only one I rescue. We’re a PR company and this is not exactly the message we want to send,” she waves over her neck showing his collar “Do I expect a call from Anita or is that simply a very popular color?”
Dram bites his bottom lip, looks up straight into the confrontation and a jolt through his heart jacks him to his feet fast.
Those eyes. I know those eyes!
“Lead the way,” he huffs, all the anger and fire wiped from his mind. His hands clamp down in fists to stop him from shaking, “It… is the columnist’s lipstick, I guess. Thanks for the warning, I escaped her attempts and lipstick is the only part of her that got wasted on me.”
He stares, his legs lead-heavy and his mouth cotton-dry.
She checks the time and points to a safe on his wall.
“Access is on the side of your apartment key. The private lift,” she kicks at the bookcase and grins, “Cliché, but there it is; one floor up. On the same floor is a small formalwear, unmanned boutique, dress, and hand over the price-tags, I’ll do the rest. Breakfast will be here in an hour. You’ll have half an hour to eat before the staff gathers for morning boost– “
“Excuse me, is this stuff written down somewhere?”
“Yes,” she snips, “You’d have known if you read the documents sent to you—you signed them!”
Dram clenches his jaw, his muscles tight. From his pocket, he fishes the key in mention. Clever idea, as the place he stays in until he has time to find his own, is a company executive suite only a block away. As for the schedule of the day, he read it, but Dram’s mind is in a mess and it refuses to recall the information. His past chokes him and his future is a fight he looks forward to.
“I’ll be ready. Buy yourself a Noddy badge, Miss Ray, you seem to have earned first place in…”
Her phone rings and she does not hesitate one second to answer it.
“Hey Reece baby!” she yells excited, “You’re up early. Did you sleep well?”
Dram snarls. The tone she uses is the same as last night.
Yeah, now I know why you are all high and mighty, Miss Ray. I hit a nerve last night, didn’t I? Except, I said clawing when I should have said sleeping; the guilty conscious is on you though.
“No, my love. I saw your shirt on the bathroom floor. I’ll send you an e-mail when my new boss gets his act together. Oh, his name? Mr. Ashen. I will tell him you said hi, but he eavesdrops, so he knows now. I know. Yes, ten o’clock. Don’t forget to lock up after you leave okay?”
Dram opens the door. With a firm grip on her arm, he pushes her outside and slams it closed hard.
This conversation gives him far more details than he cares for. It pisses him off beyond anything logical. He doesn’t care what she tells the guy about him, but he doesn’t like how she… coos at him in that… stupid, pacifying tone.

One month Later

Dram checks the time and sighs. He is late from a meeting and thus, late to relieve Tatum from her post. Ten o’clock, every day without fail, she leaves the office for an hour. He knows it is because she meets with Reece. It still irritates him. She grinds to a halt whenever that ringtone chimes from her personal phone. She’s gone as far as walking out of major deals being negotiated; cut big names short with a lift of her finger and told him in no uncertain terms she doesn’t care what he needs doing at ten, she won’t be the one doing it.
He has a mind and…
Dram comes to a halt several paces from the office entrance. Tatum’s face rivals the brewing storm above. Her hands draw to her hips, her foot stomps and after the mini tantrum, she storms off in the opposite direction.
I can’t stand you having an affair, anyway. You’re a damn strong woman, why do you let a guy string you along…
On the corner, a kid breaks free from the hand holding his. He runs up to Tatum who scoops, lifts and spins him around. Then he recognizes the gentleman from the gala. The guy grins at her from ear to ear, pecks her cheek and like a proper, second-hand family they stroll off.
Dram glares after them.
Nice going, Miss Ray. I suppose this is one scheme to secure your place at the top, but did you have to pick up the bellboy too?
In a temper, Dram rushes back to his office.
“Good morning sonny, you’re a wee bit late, aren’t you?” the old, grey-haired lady, Mrs. Gable, greets him from behind Tatum’s desk.
“Mrs. Gable, to what do I owe the honor?”
The biddy looks him up and down, then nods as if agreeing with herself.
“Tatum-dear won’t be back for the rest of the day. She said I may keep an eye on you. So here I am.”
Dram smiles at the woman. He is fond of her. She’s the favorite grandma who spoils you rotten but clips your ear if you mess up, with love.
“Well if my assistant can take the afternoon off, so can I. How about we cancel all the calls, then I take you out for brunch?”
“You know she’ll kill us both?” the old women’s gray eyes shine with mischief, “But I won’t say no to get bragging rights with my gals.”
“Then maybe you should invite them too? Make a show of it?” he encourages with humor to which the woman clasps her hands together and nods.
“That settles it then, give me half an hour to clear the schedule; you call your gals and pick the place.”

***

Is that? Oh, my gods, it is!
Through the doors of the small restaurant, four old ladies and a gentleman enter. One of the old ladies is Mrs. Gable, who drapes a hand with pride and elegance over Dram’s arm. They hustle to a side-table, where Dram pulls the chair out for each lady. He kisses Mrs. Gable’s hand and sits down next to her.
Tatum chuckles in disbelief. The woman showers him with their attention and he beams at them all like the long-lost grandson.
“Isn’t that your boss?”
“Yeah,” she sighs, “I guess he’s ruined my entire schedule. But don’t she look happy?”
“Who?”
“Sorry, Luke, I forget you’ve not always been around. See the lady with the slight purple in her hair? That is Mrs. Gable. She’s a beautiful soul and looks how she beams at him.”
“Reece,” Luke taps the boys’ hand, “Do you think we have competition? And by ‘we’ I mean me, you’re a handsome little bugger yourself.”
“My mom doesn’t date,” Reece snorts, “But when she gets old, I’ll let you take us out okay.”
“Geesh, thanks, little dude, you’re not much of a wingman, are you?” Luke teases.
Reece giggles, but soon withdraws back to his collection of strings and keys which Luke guards with his life.
Tatum received a call from Luke a day after their early encounter. He asked her if she knew of a job that won’t kill him with stupid hours but still, allows him to finish his studies. It was only because he said “I’ll do anything, even if it means I walk your dogs,” she did something she’s wanted to forever; get a full-time caregiver for Reece. Luke was eager, and when he came to meet Reece, there was no doubt in her mind of a positive match. Reece is autistic–it isn’t severe, but with the lack of support in the local schools, her options dwindled.
A month later, Reece responds better and interacts beyond the phone calls, and not exclusive with her. Luke is good for him, and by Luke’s confession, the “kid keeps me grounded.”
Her eyes continue to peer in the corner’s direction. She must get out of here without being seen. Luke has an exam this afternoon, and she agreed to stay home with Reece after their routine breakfast.
“Heads up, Grandma Gable is on coming,” Luke warns, looking up from the game with Reece.
“Tatum-dear, I didn’t expect you here!”
Liar. You know I’m here every day, for one hour, and have been for the past eight years! It is in this exact place we met, sneaky old duck!
Tatum shakes her head, wags her finger and tuts at the old woman, who gives her a wink and a sneaky grin.
“Mr. Ashen is a lovely young man. The gals are in love with him,” she chimes.
“Ah. I’m onto you Momma Goose, but no. You know I don’t date. Besides, he won’t let me, will you Reece?”
Reece lifts his glance, looks his mother right in the eye and shrugs, “Yes I will.”
“Good lad!” Mrs. Gable holds out a finger to him as is her habit, and he pushes one of his against it. It is his version of a high-five.
“Well, I have no desire to, anyway. I thought you would make sure he gets in and out of his meetings?”
“Don’t be mad at her, it was my idea. She tried to talk me out of it,” Dram’s voice comes from the opposite side of the table. Tatum swallows hard, Luke sniggers and Mrs. Gable looks genuinely pleased with herself.
“Right, no. I don’t care,” Tatum does not know where to look. She wants to hide Reece, kick Luke and growl at the old woman who set this up with exceptional timing.
“Oh. I was going to ask if you’d care to join us. Hi, Dram Asher. I didn’t know you know one another.”
Luke smirks, takes the offered hand and shakes it.
“We didn’t, but she took pity on a poor student and now I have the best buddy in the world to hang with every day!” Luke enthuses. Reece keeps busy, his fingers tangle in the string while he stacks the keys in a tower. Luke finishes with whatever social pleasantries he deems necessary and focusses back on speaking in hush tones with Reece.
“W-we were leaving, Luke has final preparations to make.”
Dram looks at Reece with a side-long glance, steps in behind him and then grins slowly. Tatum clears her throat. She knows Dram likes keys and strings too, it is why she thought of it to help Reece.
“Excuse us,” her heart crashes against her ribs over and over.
Please, please go away. Please. Please.
Reece looks up, his dark eyes lift to Dram’s. Tatum’s body jerks, she bites her lip hard. Dram frowns, his voice husky, “Isn’t that something.”
“Come on little dude, we need to get going,”
“Mom,” Reece gives Tatum a key, “He has the special love mark too.”
“I know baby, but I don’t think he’d want a key, not—”
“I’ll take it. Where do you stay? Can I run you home?” Dram speaks with stress and Tatum ignores the question.
“We live at 23 Applebee road. Apartment 112,” Reece blurts out and Tatum wants to cry. She’s been trying to teach him the address since forever. It is not as if Reece doesn’t learn it, but his short-term memory is not steady and he forgets it the moment his attention shifts focus. Yet, this time he’ll blurt it out in one breath.
“No, no. You have company,” Tatum shields, gathering things together, shoving it in her bag. Her hands shake, her nerves shatter one piece at a time. Afraid her jitters may set off Reece Tatum suppresses her anxiety; he appears to be unaware of her turmoil.
“Nonsense, Tatum-dear,”
“Hey, buddy. I’m off to write that test, remember I told you? Do you want me to bring something when I’m done? We can celebrate?”
“Pizza!” Reece shouts.
Tatum Ray covers her mouth with the back of her hand, bites back all the emotions and lifts her chin. A little higher for Dram.
“My personal life is not your concern, Mr. Asher. Shall we go, babe? You ready?”

***

Dram Asher’s mind reels and his fingers trace over his face where a birthmark on the side is in the shape of a padlock key. An exact mark, in the exact place, adorns the little boy’s face. He knows what it is about Tatum Ray that nagged him from the time he met her in the foyer! It wasn’t her curves, but the way she moved. Tatum hides a problem with her hip which causes her to limp slightly. Her movements appear provocative, body language seductive, but all it is… is the signature walk of a girl he once knew as…
“Silver,” he croaks, “Silver!” he calls out louder. Her body stiffens, but she does not look back or turn around.
“Excuse me—and thank you!” he realizes the sneaky set-up from the old lady. Mrs. Gable grins.
“Well hurry son,” she waves him away, “You know the address.”
Dram grins. Old ladies are his favorite people of the world, but more so when they interfere with things that have nothing to do with them, but they know it must be done.
Long, determined strides take him after Tatum and Reece.
“What did I miss?” Luke asks confused.
“I believe, sonny, you missed nothing you need be concerned about. Now come on then, come sit with us and tell us all about this test of yours.”

Conclusion

Tatum’s hands tremble so much, the key won’t go into the lock. A big hand covers hers and with a steady grip, guides the key into the hole. Her jaw clenches but considering Reece, she does not resist.
“Silver, please, can we talk?” Dram whispers the moment the door pushes open.
“There is nothing to talk about. I—don’t know a… Sil-Sil-ver.”
“Like hell!” he growls, “That—is my son! You can sleep with the boss all you want to and even convince him… You owe me an explanation.” He ends in a calmer voice.
“Sleep with the who?”
How the hell did I miss that slide in her voice? It is my fondest memory of her!
“Mom, will Luke come?”
“Yes baby, he will, and he said he’ll bring pizza. Do you need anything?”
“No. Did you give your boss his key? You said the keys are special, like mine, he is special, see!” Reece touches his face with one hand and points to Dram’s with the other.
“I—I—I’ll give it to him handsome. It is s-super special.”
Satisfied, Reece switches on the stereo, finds his favorite book and sits down in the middle of the floor.
“Can we talk, when Luke is back to keep him company? I… can’t upset his routine and…”
“Fine. But I’m not leaving. I won’t interfere, Silver, but I’m not leaving.”
“Don’t, call me that.”
“It is your name,”
“Not anymore. It hasn’t been for… I’ll explain later.”
Tatum steps aside to let Dram in. Just inside the door, he holds his hand out and beckons with his fingers.
“My key,” he demands. Tatum scowls at him, lifts her hand and slams the key she’s fisted all this time, in the palm of his hand. His fingers snap closed to steal more of her touch. She jerks her hand away and Dram lets it go. Without a word, he sits on a stool in the open-plan kitchen and watches Reece and Tatum.
His body shakes, inside and out.
Reece looks like him, acts like him and speaks like him. Dram struggles to find names for the emotions inside him. Anger at Tatum, or as he knows her, Silver, simmers but then… There’s the tenderness in the exchanges between them and it affects him.
My son. I have a beautiful, smart, son!

***

Tatum’s fingers frump the tablecloth. She’s a bundle of nerves. They’ve not spoken one word all day and now, they sit across from one another at a private table in a dimly lit restaurant. Soft music plays in the background, and people speak in nothing more than breathy whispers.
Dram orders two spiced rums, one with lemonade and the other with cola.
“You… remember?” she squeaks.
“I remember every fuh-” he stops at her panicked glance at the other tables, takes a deep breath, and continues in a lower tone, “Every damn thing. Reece is my boy, Silver. Say it, so I can hear it from your damn mouth; then tell me why in the hell you kept it from me.”
“Kept it from you? You left me. You… took a piece of me, and left without a note, a word, a—a forwarding address!” She’s thought of this moment so many times in the early days. She had it planned to the last word; she wouldn’t explain a thing to him, and she’d walk away from him with her head held high. Now? Now she can’t think straight.
“I came back,” he groans at her, “I came back to find you, to tell you I don’t give a shit about their plans, I’m not doing it… But your father said you took his money and left. Nobody in that godforsaken patch-land knew where you were or what happened to you! I begged your sister and mother, Silver…” Dram’s face is pale. His mouth a bitter twist, “What happened? Tatum Ray?”
Did he come back? That isn’t what I expected to hear!
“You took my virginity with a drunken pity-shag,”
“No!” Dram yells out, people look at them but he isn’t bothered this time, pain bleeds through his words, his finger points right at her face shaking his head, “No… don’t call it that. Don’t you dare. That night changed, everything!”
“What will you have me call it, Dram? Love? You were drunk!”
“I was a lot less drunk than you imagined, Silver. Shit, I was delirious with happiness, I’ll give you that much. I was screwed up and torn inside, but I wasn’t drunk. I was scared, frustrated, and in love but I damn well wasn’t drunk!”
Tatum gawks across the table at him. He cannot lie or hide things from her. Over the past month, she’s had his number every time, and it amused him every time she called his bluff.
“Dram, you left. I was pregnant. I was fat too, and I hid it from everyone but my parents. My father was livid! I refused to tell them who the father was, and… I… told them I slept with too many people to remember.”
“Gods! That is as good as a death sentence! Why Silver? Why didn’t you come to me?”
“To you? I didn’t know where the hell you were! When you didn’t show up, I tried to find out if you were okay, and your mother? Yeah, she said you wouldn’t tell me at gunpoint. She said you were sick of me tailing you like a puppy, and she can’t blame you. Can you imagine if I went back to… I told no one, because that way, they couldn’t take my baby away from me. My father gave me money to ‘fix the problem’. I took it and left.”
Dram’s hand covers his mouth, his fingers tighten into a squeeze. He stares with sad-sad eyes, the same sad eyes she knows so, very, well.
“Reece Johnson, the company president, does he know this is not his kid?”
Tatum’s face turns from disbelief to humor. She giggles, albeit due to her nerves.
“You’re a special kind of idiot. Silver Johnson. Reece Johnson. I couldn’t give him your name, could I? And I didn’t want them to find me, so… I put the company in his name and managed it as his legal custodian until he is of age.”
“This is… YOUR company?” Dram’s hand drops on the table between them.
“Yes. Every time I made progress and had a little spare, I sold shares to inject a booster. Investors were scarce, but the shares’ worth increased and did the trick.”
“Do you remember our song?” Dram’s smile fills with emotions.
“No,”
“Liar,” Dram swallows, “But not to worry,” he lifts to his feet, walks around the table and kneels by her side and recites the words she knows better than her own birth date.
“You without me will find a better place to be.
You will sleep with fairy tales – they are your destiny.
I will chase the dust in stars because forever isn’t for me.
Second chances are a waste of time, so tell me now,
tell me you won’t forget this rhyme
Because you hold the lock, and I wear the key…”,
Tatum’s lip quiver, her eyes well up and she tries to look away from him but can’t. Her voice joins his with less than sighs.
“Ones and twos, remember me when you zip up your boots.
Threes and fours, say my name when you need more.
Fives and sixes, I know baby there’s no quick fixes but,
sevens and eights, a hundred years from now can’t be too late.
Nines but not tens… I’ll catch you on the wishes of all the ‘thens’.
then I’ll keep you in my heart for the perfect ‘whens’,
Forever and always, Nines, but not tens.”
Swallowing hard, Dram holds his hand out for her and tears run down his cheeks while he speaks in a broken voice.
“I swear it, I went back for you. Little more than a year later, I saw this article, about a new company. Clever PR—Splash and Burn—hammered home there is one share available. It sold a story on marketing plans and how well the company is doing! I bought it because the tagline for the advert said… I’ll catch you on the wishes of all the thens. I set up a network with traders, I threatened, blackmailed; hell, I did what I had to short from breaking jaws and laws. I had to know when there’s another share. Low and behold. Two became available, then three, then four. Each one with a line from that bloody song! Little did I know, Silver, you were the one who paid my debts, who busted your ass so I can make extra money and tell my parents where to stick their fortunes. Nine shares last, forty-five in total, a CEO seat and…. My perfect ten.”
“On the turn-side, you were the one who bought the shares and helped me built on the company!”
Around them, people stare and Tatum can’t stand them any longer. She lifts from her seat, pulls him up off his knees and whispers, “You, stupid dick, you made that song up.”
“I did, and only one person ever heard it.”
“I’m not sleeping with the boss, I’m only mothering him,” she sniffles as they walk out.
“Silver,” he stops on the sidewalk, gives her a pleading look, “You were the first and the last. I’ve not… Never.”
“I believe you,” she answers the unspoken question in his eyes, “Nor have I.”
Dram’s hand lifts to her cheek, his fingers trace her face as if to make sure she’s real.
His head dips in slow motion, his free arm rakes her closer with a soft touch.
“I missed you,” he whispers against her lips.
“I love you,” she speaks the three words she never had a chance to tell him.
His kiss is the same as their first; uncertain, gentle, patient. Heat builds in their bodies, longing claims their control and passionate moans stokes the fires.
For the first time since the first time, each surrender to the other.
Eight years become a bridge connecting two souls. Two hearts meet half-way and time lost burns with the promise of a future found; together at last.
***
On the corner, an old lady with gray eyes turns away and strolls off into the shadows with a wicked old grin, “Fairy tales my ass,” she laughs and vanishes leaving not a trace of her presence behind.

***The End***

 

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