7 Kills + An Apple

Thirty-Two: Lonely Day

Kalypso Queen

The night outside is shining brightly with a millions of billions of stars. They are far and near, and I can't recall a time where I'm free to gaze at them without a care in the world. My iPhone and Blackberry are both ringing and buzzing with messages, but I'm sure Helen will pick up any calls through the Cloud. I prefer to remain unavailable at night. Or at least, for tonight, I will be.

I look through the recent text messages. Some from the Board, demanding my current location. Some from my mother, who are asking me to pick up some shoes in Paris. Some from Minerva, who is asking whether or not I can meet her in Florence.

I answer my mother's text first. I call her and say, "Hello, Mother. I won't be able to pick up any of your shoes. Just call the stores and ask them to deliver them to you."

"No! I need it right now! I have a shooting in two hours."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in London," she says, almost screaming into my ear. "In London! I need those shoes. If Glamour sees my shoes right now, they will never let me get the shoot. Seriously, I need it here. Can't you fly—"

"Mother, just pay someone. You have an assistant. You can just ask her to fly it all the way to London. I have a call from the Board. I need to go, Mother."

"Kalypso!"

But I end the call.

Mother is always panicking about shoes. Every inch of her has to look perfect, even though she is only human. She is not Aphrodite, though people love to call her that. She isn't Greek though. She is Korean. It is weird, and Mother always ignores me whenever I point out that fact. She doesn't like it.

I don't recall any Korean goddesses of beauty.

I start up another one, and I move out of the master bedroom to stand on the balcony. "Hey, this is Kalypso. Minerva, do you want me to call back?"

"No. Still a good time. A little bit late, but I think my body can handle a few minutes of no sleep." She laughs, and I can easily imagine her in her hotel room. She always smiles with ease, not like me. "How are you doing?"

"Someone is slowly buying off stocks. To do a hostile takeover," I inform, tapping on the metal rails. "But it doesn't matter. How is Florence? Beautiful as ever?"

"I wish you are here."

"I'll be in Florence to do an inspection," I tell her.

"But there are no fashion shows in that month," she reminds me, knowing my schedule better than I do. "I don't understand why you have to go so late. And at that time."

"Do I need to remind you that you can make your own fashion show?" I glance towards the buzzing sound on my desk. My darn Blackberry is calling out for me again. "You know you can do anything you want. You have the money, and if you need more, you can always ask me. Of course, I'm going to need a lot of free advertising and tasting. Maybe even an open bar?"

She laughs loudly. "Oh, my gosh. You and your corporation. I swear they are always one and the same. Without you, Capello International loses its number one action warrior."

I tilt my head. "Well, without you, fashion will never be the same."

"No. There are still people ahead of me in this field. I'm designing my clothes, and people are buying them up, but I don't have enough recognition. I'm not that big and out there," she says, pointing out true facts.

Although the media loves to dish Minerva out as a dumb supermodel, she does know her business well. She knows her business like how I know my wines. Better than most people think. Better than almost everyone, because it is in our blood.

"I love you, Kalypso," she says, her voice getting softer.

"I know." Then I add, "Good night. You need a lot of rest to walk the runway tomorrow. I'll be crossing my fingers, Minerva."

"Thanks."

Then she ends the call.

I sigh, and then I ignore the ringing of my Blackberry. I let it ring on and on. Finally, it lets the call go to voicemail.

It is an interesting feeling of letting go.

But another phone call takes its place.

I can see Minerva's action of throwing it against the wall to be a wise act. How did a stupid device suddenly get so demanding?

I walk back into the bedroom, and then I turn it off.

There is a knock at my door.

I open the door, unsurprised to see Brandon Prince standing there. He looks ruffled and tired in his shirt and sweats. With messy hair sticking up in all directions, he asks, "Is that thing ever going to be silenced or do I have to throw it out of the window?"

"I turned it off."

"Good," he says, relieved. "Maybe I'll get a decent night of sleep."

"Jet lag?" I note the disheveled appearance and lick my lips. "I got used to it years ago. Did you know it is daytime back in the United States?"

"Yes. I want to sleep. And I can't." He looks like he's on the brink of ripping out his hair from pure frustration. He is that annoyed and peeved and pissed. "Your phone has been keeping me up for five minutes. Sorry."

"Why apologize?" I furrow my eyebrows. "What do you need to be sorry for?"

"Nothing. Do you have sleeping pills?"

I raise my eyebrow. "Seriously? That is the way you're going with this? Sleeping pills. Why don't you get some tea and work overtime if you can't sleep?"

"Tea results in the opposite of what I'm trying to do."

"True," I muse, thinking it over. In my gray pantsuit, I walk to the balcony and look over the spacious gardens. The pool isn't drained, and I know that Cara has prepared it in case I want to swim. "Why don't you go swimming?"

"I don't have swimwear."

"Go in your underwear or briefs." I shrug. "I don't care. I doubt anyone is going to see it. If you are really concern, you can run over the local supermarket and get one. I'm sure the swim will tire you out and help you sleep. It always worked for me."

"Thanks." But he stays there.

I turn around. "Don't you have somewhere to go?"

"I looked in your USB drive," he admits. His actions doesn't surprise me at all, but it is his confession that does. "Why do you have a bunch of grocery lists?"

I tilt my head, and then I turn back around to look down at the blue pool of water below. "Well, I used to get groceries myself before I hired Cara. Cara was my father's housekeeper. I hired her. She has been with me since I was fifteen."

"And what about the pictures? Graduation photos?"

I stiffen. I didn't realize I left them on there. "I graduated from University of Southern California with a MBA. I must had left it on there by accident."

He fires off another question, acting more like the FBI agent he truly is. "I asked Helen a question about you and your smiles. Is it true the last time you smiled was at your younger sister's birthday party?"

"Sounds about right," I admit. "I never smiled since. At least, I don't think so."

"Will you smile for me?"

This. This. This question throws me apart, and my mouth drops in surprise. Now, I don't usually smile. Smiling makes me look approachable, and I prefer to be aloof and distant from my employees. I'm not their friend, and they shouldn't trust me—at least, while my father is controlling the company. Better to make my father look like an absolute saint than have me as one. At least, my father has a reputation of being nice and kind to employees—which prevents him from turning down any good proposals such as upping the wage for grape pickers.

"No," I answer, after the longest moment in my life.

I turn around, and I'm surprised by the fallen look in his face. He takes his leave, finally letting me be. But for once, I don't have a ringing cell phone which will take away from my loneliness.