Time is never a women's friend...
I think sarcastically as I lean against my grey truck. It's approximately fifteen minutes past seven and there has failed to be any signs of Olive emerging from the manner. Sighing, I glance down at my watch for what has to be the millionth time.
Grumbling beneath my breath, I mutter, "Les femmes, vous leur donnez du temps et elles arriveront des heures en retard et appelleront que c'est à la mode en retard. Mais nous, les hommes, appelons cela perdre notre temps précieux."
"The more French you speak, the more I hate it." Olive's voice echoes as she slips through the side door wearing a Prussian blue sweater dress and simple white pumps. The dress suited her pregnant form elegantly and as her curly golden hair cascaded down her shoulders my breath slowed as she was simply and utterly bewitching.
My lips tug into a smile as she frowns. "Oh? Are your ears too sensitive to such a form of elegant art?"
She rounds the truck heading for the passenger side and I'm expeditious to follow her.
"No, I just know you're talking about me, and I think it's unfair because I don't know what you're saying therefore I can't defend myself against your petty arguments." She huffs out as she goes to open the door but acting faster, I reach around her and take hold of the handle first.
"Oh, tu veux dire comme ça beau?" Laughter bubbles out as I open the door and she glares daggers at me as if she had a bet with her mind that I would never do such a gentlemen like act for her such as opening the door.
If that is indeed the case, then she is about to have her socks blown off at just how 'gentlemen-like' I can be.
Rounding the truck, I slid into the front seat and begin to drive down the seven-hundred-foot, paved driveway. Thick canopies of trees lined each side of the driveway, giving it a shady aesthetic. It wasn't until we turned onto the main road that Olive spoke once more.
"So, what's the point of this? I mean you verbally bully me and my friend in the woods and then all of a sudden you want me to go on some random and may I add, weird shopping trip with you." Crossing her arms over her chest she stares at me as if she truly cannot figure me out.
Good, it means my emotional walls stand strong and firm even against her attacks...
"We got off on the wrong foot...I cannot live with a person who distains me as much as you do. So, take this as my way of apologizing."
Lie...
I was overly used to everyone and everything hating me but the thought of her truly hating me was something that ate at my soul like maggots to a corpse.
Shaking her head in disbelief, Olive turns her whole body towards the widow and for nearly thirty minutes of our drive she did not utter a word not even spared me a glance. It annoyed me in a way I couldn't understand because why would this beautiful stranger ignore me?
"What's your favorite color?" She whispers while she continues to stare out the window like an orphan on a train to an unknown destination.
Stunned by her words, I barely had time to even think if I had a favorite color, "What?"
Sighing irritatedly, she twists around in her seat and turns her restrained glaze onto the road before us. "This is awkward okay! I'm in a freaking truck alone with my new boss! So just please answer the question so I can stop thinking about how creepy this is!"
She thinks this is creepy? Aw man then I probably should call off the axe murders I have planned to murder her later tonight...and probably the killer clowns too. But should I keep the cluster of spiders I have planned to crawl into her bed tonight?
Rolling my eyes, I grumbled, "Any shade of black and grey I suppose."
I'm a guy what does she expect? I'm not like women who pick one color and determined their whole lives around it. 'Oh, I can't wear this because it's not my shade' or 'Nope can't wear this because I only wear purple.' Truth be told, I think if you pick one color and deem that's your color for life then you are bland and perhaps even incredibly boring.
Nodding she takes in the information as if she was going to be tested on it later. If I was her teacher, she would automatically get an 'F' for the mere slight of her brings me annoyance.
But I doubt teachers are allowed to do that, right?
"Yours?"
"Don't have one, I can barely commit to a cereal brand let alone a color."
I bite the inside of my lip to contain my smile as she has a dry yet amusing sense of humor that I enjoy. Many men like women who have loud and laughable senses of humor, but what others find amusing I find boring. The quite women are the jewels in my eyes.
"Favorite animal?"
Favorite animal? Where is she even getting these questions? A nine-year-old's diary? We truly must've lived utterly different lives. Growing up I didn't dare attempt to play such childish games with the other children in the foster homes, for they all were too depressed and love-deprived to wish to experience anything that involved laughing nor fun. I can only imagine that Olive was the child who other children flocked to, undoubtedly, she was the cheerleader all the football players sought after and probably had the quarter back wrapped around her pinky. In a sense, I can view how she would have treated me in high school, and it is no different from the treatment I received from the other popular teenagers.
I wouldn't be shocked if she was also the girl next-door that all romance authors write about.
"Horses." It wasn't a lie, for half of my childhood I grew up tending to the Stallons of Montana and then now, I practically own a mini horse ranch. Horses are wild and free, something I grew up wishing to be. They are sociable, loving, and kind, but still never forget their strength. To me they are an animal that deserve great respect but unfortunately not many show it to them. Like dog's humans believe that horses too are simply among this earth to serve them as they have done for thousands of years.
"I don't see it..." She mumbles while staring me down as if I was the final test, she needed to pass in order to achieve her perfect grade.
Furrowing my brows and with eyes narrowed, I glanced at her. "Don't see what?"
"Well, you see I have this theory that whatever animal is a person's favorite it means that animal shares the same characteristics with the person. So, you see horses are social, positive, and steady minded."
"So, you're saying that I am none of those things." I have known Olive White less than forty-eight hours and already she believes she knows just what kind of man I am? Oh, what truly a shock she will have when or rather if she ever discovers who the true Seth Zamuel is.
Let's pray that day never comes...
"You remind me more of a lion...Your strong but you don't go around roaring about it, no, your strength comes from your silence. You don't feel the need to hide your feelings towards me, so I assume you don't have any kind of social etiquette. Therefore, in many ways you are like a lion in my eyes."
Her words appear to be so strange to my ears that even I, a deranged man, question rather or not she has all her marbles. Throughout my life, I have never experienced the thought of what emotions both humans and animals share. I suppose when everyone loves you, you have all the time in the world to think of such useless thoughts. Opposed to me, who was simply trying to survive and only thoughts that concerned my wellbeing clouded my mind.
"My ex-boyfriend always told me I reminded him of an eagle, because according to him I was dominant and very direct. But personally, I never saw it, and as the years have gone on, I wished to be more like a shark..."
My eyes slid over her body as why out of all the animals in the world she would desire to be more like a shark. For one, sharks live in the ocean and why would a heavenly woman as herself wish to hide among the seaweed of the deep blue sea when she can shine bright among the sunshine in the high skies?
She didn't keep my mind wondering for long as a whisper escaped from her lips.
"Because when you have the appearance of a monster no one dares to hurt you...."
My heart and mind agreed with her statement, if I had only looked meaner and more threatening then maybe they wouldn't have harmed me. Maybe, if I wasn't a kind and compassionate child then they would have ignored me and chosen another in my place.
The rest of the car-ride to the city was filled with silence that was not uncomfortable nor awkward, it was a silence that was warranted between us. However, when we found a place to park near the local out-let mall Olive broke free of her silent mood and bloomed to life with the excitement of a child going to the circus or perhaps a candy store.
As soon as the truck stopped, she jumped out and waited impatiently for me; truly embodying her inner child and not the one in her womb. "I've never been here before." She admitted quietly as we briskly walked across the parking lot until we reached the center of the stores.
This wasn't even the biggest mall in the city nor the richest but yet she has not been here? Are not all women addicted to shopping till they drop as the saying goes?
Exhaling, I grumbled, "Today is on me, pick out anything you want." Honestly, I must admit I don't know how to use words to express my regret. That is why today, I will shower her in gifts if it means she will at least tone down her distain for me. But is that even possible?
A smile beamed on her lips as her hands subconsciously rub her swollen abdomen. My eyes glance down and for a moment there I almost completely forgot about the child within her womb.
It didn't take long before Olive was pointing out stores; she wanted to visit. Three hours and countless stores later I found myself sitting in a soft velvet chair turned toward the hallway that was lined with dressing rooms fitted for the higher-class women of society. Inside one of the rooms was Olive, apparently, she saw a sign that mentioned this store was having a sale. Throughout the day she both shocked and annoyed me as she wouldn't allow me to buy anything unless it was one, either cheap or two, it was on sale. I insisted numerous times that it was in fact my money that we were spending, and I didn't care how much an item cost. But she was adamant that because she was spending my money, she needed to contain herself and not indulge herself. Truly defeating the sole purpose of this trip.
My eyes flickered down towards my watch and murmured under my breath as I realize it's been over thirty minutes since she last emerged from the dressing room.
It's a freaking clothing store, how hard could it be to make a decision?
Snapping my fingers, I beckon the young, brunette saleswomen over. The poor girl ran across the store in a pair of tall heels in only a matter of seconds.
"Yes, Sir?" Her tone overly breathless as she expresses her voice.
"My-." My mouth begins to fill with words, but then I stop myself for what is Olive to me? Normally one would complete that sentence with wife, girlfriend, etc. But she is hardly even a friend, so with very much distain I mutter out. "The woman I am with has been in there for over thirty minutes, if you will please go and see what the matter is then that would be deeply appreciated." I keep my tone clean and cut as there is no need to add any unnecessary emotions, but many will perceive this as me being rude and perhaps I am a rude man by nature.
Do I care? No.
The saleswomen's hurried into the dressing room as I assume if she does not hurry and inform me of what I wish to know then her paycheck will be on the line. I can only imagine what a horrible life it must be having to serve the rich all day and deal with pricks such as myself. Luckily, I didn't have much time to ponder those thoughts as the young saleswomen came rushing out of the dressing rooms looking as disheveled as a doctor who just delivered a baby or perhaps worse.
Scowling, I leapt from the chair and marched over to the entrance of the dressing rooms. "Is something wrong?"
Shaking her head, she mumbles out, "She said, she needs a bigger size..."
I blink slowly truly trying to comprehend how such a simple request could throw a saleswoman into a state of breakdown. "Okay, get her the bigger size." It didn't seem like an unusual request since Olive is pregnant.
The woman's eyes were down cast towards the floor but once my words reached her ears, she glared up at me. "This boutique doesn't have a bigger size! What do you think we are the big and tall store!?" Throwing her hands in the air, she storms off towards an older blonde saleswoman who sends me murderous glares as if I was the reason the woman has such weak emotions.
Shaking my head, I grumble and stalk into the dressing rooms as if I actually knew what I would say when I found Olive. Of course, it didn't take long as all I had to do was follow the sounds of uncontrollable wails.
"Miss White." Rasping my knuckles against the thin door I wait for her to answer but all I get is an earful of sobs. Sighing, I knock again, "Miss White."
The door slams open and there stands Olive wearing or rather trying to wear a black mini dress. But she barely has it over her breasts and some parts of her body stick out from the dress in awkward positions. Her mascara runs down her flustered cheeks and as the tears overflow from her eyes, I draw in a breath and mentally ask God for the strength to endure this woman.
"I look like a Pillsbury can when it first cracks open and the dough just slowly pours out!" Weiling, she circles her hands around her body. I bite the inside of my cheek to contain my amusement as yes, the dress fits her horribly. But she still looks cute, and the dress hugs her belly in an adorable way.
"Or just simply the Pillsbury Doughboy." I chuckle while she rolls her tear-filled eyes and slams the door in my face.
Sighing, but still maintaining a smirk, I once again knock on the door, "Miss White, there are still plenty of stores to look for a dress." Mentally I make a note to take her to the maternity store. It was strange, all day she failed to mention or even talk about the baby at all. It was almost like she forgot about it. In fact, she didn't even attempt to go into any stores that revolved around babies.
But how could you forget about something growing within you?
"You don't understand, my body doesn't belong in these stores anymore! It belongs in a circus; I'm the new freak-show and you might as well call my act 'how many muffins can she eat!" The sobbing begins once more but truly it never really stopped, just calmed for only a few moments.
"Excuse me sir." Gritting my teeth, I turn and see the older blonde saleswoman standing only feet away. She has placed her hands upon her hips and stares me down with annoying brown eyes. "You're mess of a wife is disturbing the rest of our clients." Her voice is filled with entitlement, and it enrages me.
For the first time in the last two days, it wasn't the fact that someone mistaken Olive for Cheyenna, my wife. It was the demeaning tone she used towards Olive. It was like a slap in the face from the past, it was the same tone Mrs. Kim, my social worker, used towards me whenever I spoke out about the abuse. So, to say it set fire upon my blood was an understatement.
Turning my 6'2 form towards the small yet plump woman, I watch as fear dances among her eyes rather as furry burns through mine as if there was an uncontrollable wildfire burning through my Iris's.
"Do you know who I am." I always hated people who used their names to frighten others but, in this moment, I nearly wanted to put the fear of death in her for who does she think she is insulting my wife's evil doppelgänger!?
Fear appears to grip her tightly, but she grits out, "A low scum piece of trash who doesn't belong in this store and tried to threaten me!" She shouts as her fake pearl necklace jiggles around her chunky neck.
Threaten her? I merely turned to see who dared to insult what might belong to Seth Zamuel.
"I am Seth Zamuel, the richest man in Texas and with a flick of my wrist I could own this entire God forsaken city including this pathetic place you call a store."
Her big and unpleasing eyes filled with the type of pure terror that I could only assume appears when an adulterous woman is caught in bed with a man that is in fact not her husband. Before either of us could speak any further words the dressing room door slowly and gingerly opens while a meek Olive stalks out with tears stanning her rosily cheeks.
Leaning into me she whispers, "Mr. Zamuel it's alright, let's just go before they call the police."
Scoffing, I glance at her form making sure she is in the clothes she arrived in before taking hold of her wrist and dragging her out of the store while many stand around watching as if this was the hottest new sit-com.
It would probably be labeled, 'Crazy Man Gone Wild'.
It wasn't until we must have walked a mile away from the store before Olive was jerking her hand from my grasp and gasping for air as if she were a newborn babe getting its first taste of earthly air.
"Slow down! I can't walk that fast!" Grumbling she fix's her wrinkled dress and glares at me.
Turning towards her I frown, "Take this as a promise, that store will be closed down by the end of the week." If I truly had my way, I would bulldoze it myself and set the rumble on fire until nothing was left but ashes. Then I would scoop up those ashes and put them in a bottle and ship them off to the owner with a letter saying, 'There you can still have the store by your side for the rest of your entire pitiful life.'
Proverbs 20:22 flows into my mind but I wave it off as if it were nothing but a cloud of dust for anger grips me to tightly in this moment for me to listen to the verse.
"That isn't what God would want." She speaks so unsurely as if herself does not understand what she is saying. "Or rather that's what the book says, anyway you hungry? Because I'm striving." She laughs awkwardly while stumbling over her words.
Blankly staring at her as if she grew two more heads as I've never heard a woman speak about the highest King with such doubt as if she believed her own tongue might be lying to her. So, nodding sharply I begin to trudge down the street towards the best Italian restaurant in Houston.
God could she really be the one?
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French: Les femmes, vous leur donnez du temps et elles arriveront des heures en retard et appelleront que c'est à la mode en retard. Mais nous, les hommes, appelons cela perdre notre temps précieux.
English: Women, you give them time and they will show up hours late and call it being fashionably late. But we men call it wasting our precious time.
French: Tu veux dire comme ça beau?
English: You mean like this beautiful?