Alpha Incorporated

IV - viii TO VEIL FULL PURPOSE

The tamales aren't as spicy as she had expected, and the cold beer that William bought actually tasted okay, a lot different from the Genesee they drank back home. Sitting together on the deck, the evening breeze cool now, Isabella places a blanket over her capris and looks at William. She takes a sip of beer. "You know, I have told you a lot about me, my family, my home. Tell me more about you. Who is William Fryer?"

She notices that Fryer, who throughout the day had been laughing and smiling, childlike in his demeanour, has suddenly become a little more serious. It is only a subtle change in tone, but Isabella can feel that it is like someone else has just entered the room, interrupting their pleasant conversation.

He takes a long sip of his beer. "Oh, nothing too interesting. I grew up in the Palo Alto area, son of a first generation Valley techie. Public school, suburbs, lots of malls. I was a videogame pioneer, you know. Survived the evolution from the pre-internet dark ages. Degree in Business Psychology from Palo Alto University, then HR training. Pretty boring life really."

"Never married?"

"To be honest, I never put in the time to find the right woman."

Isabella catches herself thinking, for a instant, that just maybe, this man, the man sitting next to her on the deck chair, his feet resting on a pillow lying on the teak coffee table, the same table where, inches away from his bare feet, her feet share the same pillow, and maybe, just maybe, this might be, for her, the—. No. She can't think that. That would be too perfect.

She needs to be a realist here. To think that this man, ten years older than her, would have any interest in her is absurd. He has an established career; she probably doesn't even have a job anymore. She still doesn't know much about him: in the full day they spent together, he hasn't told her about his family, his interests, his goals. He is very much a private man. It is little wonder that she has no idea how he feels about her.

This is the first time that a man, or a boy, has spent this long with her, alone, without making some type of advance. With the others, there has always been, at some point, a hand on her leg, or an arm around her, or the guy standing too close, or, usually, a suggestive comment that would make it clear what the guy's intentions really are. Isabella is not the kind of girl that guys are afraid of. She, sometimes, wishes she was the type that men would believe to be out of their league, one who would, by her very presence, command respect from them. No, she was just too nice. Too meek. Sometimes she feels like a lamb, preyed upon by the wolves.

But not with William. She watches him on the chair, the way he laughs with her, the way he treats her like a friend. He offers her the last beer. She declines. He puts it back, unopened, into the bag with the takeout food wrappers. "Go ahead", she says, but he gives a "Nah" motion with his hand, as if it is impolite to have a drink without her. But he is like that. He waits for her to sit before he does, he holds doors open for her, he stands when she does. He waits for her to finish speaking before saying anything, for her to start to eat before he does. She is unsure of how to respond to this. Should she take these acts as demeaning or as signs of respect? And why should she deserve respect? Because she is of a different gender than him? Because she is a woman? Because she is pretty, and young? It makes her feel uncomfortable, not because she thinks that he is intentionally degrading her, but that his courtesy is old-fashioned and, well, a little misplaced. Besides, no one has ever treated her like this before. Except maybe Father Luke, but that was different. He was a priest.

Or maybe Isabella just wishes he wouldn't be quite so polite. Because, maybe, deep down, she might be wishing that he would do something. She might want him to make some kind of move. If he did, say, slide his foot against her leg, he could pretend it was an accident even. Then she would have to decide how to respond. She expects that the instant his flesh were to touch hers, she would shiver with excitement. She might even slide lower in her chair so that her bare leg would slide against his foot again, or maybe she would close her eyes and he would think he heard a hushed moan buried in her exhaled breath. She might give him a sign, an invitation, that he could choose to respond, or ignore. And if he did respond, then what would she do?

Isabella thinks of the beach house. It is quaint, certainly not extravagant by any means, yet tastefully decorated and comfortably furnished. And it has bedrooms on separate floors. When they came in, with no luggage other than the the few things they bought on the drive today, William immediately made it clear that she could have the third floor bedroom while he would stay on the lower level. He told her how the balcony overlooking the ocean has an incredible view and that, after all, she has been through a lot, and might want some time by herself to figure things out.

And now, after a glorious day with this man, after sharing so many laughs, having a few beers, letting him wipe the salsa spill from her chin, they are almost lying together on the deck of a fabulous house on the beach, in the fading light of a Pacific sunset, the last thing she wants is to be alone. The thing she wants to figure out, right now, involves his lips touching hers.

Then, softly, he speaks. The first tone of his voice sends a shiver through her. His words are almost a whisper. "You know, Isabella—"

Yes, William, yes.

"You have had a long day. Do you know that we really didn't sleep last night? Except for that brief snooze this morning, we have been awake for two days now. You must be exhausted."

No, William, no. She does not want him to leave. She wants him to stand, to step in front of her lounge chair, to lower his arms to her and open his hands. She wants to reach up and place her hands in his, to feel his grip tighten and feel him firmly pull her to her feet. She wants him to help her rise, to encourage her to stand tall before him, to support her while she finds her balance, to let her stand by herself, before him and everyone else, and to become the person she can be, the person she is. Isabella, now. Then she will be able to love him.

But she says: "Yes, it has been quite an adventure, William. Thank you, for everything."

"Please, there is no need to thank me. You have been the brave one through all of this. But you do need to think through the next steps, figure out what it is that you want to do."

"What would you do, William? You know more about this kind of thing than I do."

He smiles. "You might not believe me Isabella, but this is actually the first time that I have helped a person escape an abusive situation by substituting her with a vengeful ex-fiancée who has sex with him, feigns death, and then runs away to a house on the beach with the presumed dead girl. Not exactly within my pay grade at Alpha."

Isabella sees the ridiculousness of this storyline: part comedy, part tragedy, part romance. This is a plot that no one would ever believe. That is why they are going to talk to lawyers tomorrow. Fryer has arranged that too.

"You are right. But, I am confused. I just wish I knew what I should do. I mean, Angelo deserves to be punished. Men like him shouldn't be able to be free to abuse and hurt women. Thanks to you, it wasn't me that physically suffered, but think of all the women who didn't have a Mr. Fryer to pull them out just in time. Think of all the women who have suffered because of Angelo, or because of all the other Angelos out there. I want to do something for them."

"I think you have done enough, at least for tonight." He stands and straddles her legs as her feet rest on the coffee table. He reaches his hands out to her. Like she had imagined, she takes his hands, she feels his firm grip on her. There is a tingle that starts down low, shoots to her spine and up her back. She feels her skin tighten. All from his touch.

Isabella stands and is facing him. They are inches apart. She can feel his heat, inhale his breath. And there is that moment: suspended, timeless. She is looking at him but not processing. Her thoughts are frozen in space, somewhere between his touch and her consciousness, those thoughts are stopped. They never reach her, she will never know what she feels at that perfect moment in time.

"Well, off to bed you go."

She breaks from her trance with the sound of his voice.

"Yes, William, yes."

Isabella drops his hands, turns and makes her way upstairs. From below, William Fryer says goodnight.