Faith's POV
Cascades of rain pour from dark clouds, casting a dreary light upon Monday morning. An occasional streak of lightning stretches across the sky, Mother Nature's signature. Despite the storm there is at least one beautiful spot to this bleak morning: freshly baked cinnamon rolls with sweet sugary icing, the crowning jewel.
Sliding on my zebra patterned oven mitts, I pull eight round gooey breakfast treats out of the oven. Placing the baking tray on the cooling rack, I slide off my mitts and snatch a spatula. Depositing two rolls onto my plate, I grab a napkin and a fork then set them on the kitchen table before opening up the fridge to grab some cranberry juice and my icing. Pulling both out of the fridge, I almost drop the juice when I notice the lid to the icing is askew.
Dumping everything onto the counter, I tentatively open the top only to find, to my abject horror, that half the icing has vanished.
Flinging my body away from the counter, I march into the hallway leading toward the two bedrooms and bellow "Natasha! Where is the rest of my icing?" Natasha saunters out of her bedroom, Robin's egg blue eyes wide in the picture of innocence.
"Are you accusing me, the heath nut, of eating the icing from your cinnamon rolls?" Her lips pull up in a cocky half grin.
I cross my arms in front of me and widen my stance, blocking her path to the kitchen. With an air of deathly calm, I speak slowly, "Oh dear cousin, then why is there a dot of icing on your cheek?"
"What?" Frantically she wipes at both cheeks, muttering 'crap,' light skin flooding with a rosy peach color.
"Ha" I shout, throwing up my arms in victory, "You do have a sweet tooth!" Shuffling back and forth I do a quirky victory dance before I remember I'm agitated. No one comes between me and my baked goodies.
"I don't have enough icing left to cover them appropriately. My breakfast is ruined." My petulant tone of voice and my deep frown garners a look of concern from my roommate.
Leaning forward, her long arms envelope me in a giant hug. "I'm sorry Faith. I should have asked your permission, groveling before you O Queen of the Cinnamon Rolls." I hug her back, mumbling "oh shove it" before releasing a pent up sigh which carries so many emotions: irritation, confusion, exhaustion...
Tossie releases me to place her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look her in the eye. "This isn't like you Faith. You never raise your voice and despite your love of sweets, you always offer to share even if I decline 90% of the time. Talk to me."
Too embarrassed to admit that my overreaction to missing icing has to do with a guy, I shrug silently and attempt to change the conversation. "So, how about breakfast before work?" I try to duck out of her hold but she has an iron-clad grip, rooting me to the spot.
"Uh uh, spill. Now." Jaw locked tight, eyes diminished into slits, Tossie can be one intimidating woman. Must be part of what makes her such a great personal trainer and PTA; she doesn't accept any bull.
Throwing my hands up towards the ceiling, I 'throw in the towel' and all my frustration comes pouring out, crackling and exploding like a firework. "It's him. Ever since you forced me to look up who my mysterious rescuer is, all I see is his face everywhere I go. He's on the cover of a magazine in every grocery store, his movie poster is plastered on at least two Billboards I have to pass each work day, and his ridiculously perfect face and body haunt my nightmares."
A moment of heavy silence engulfs the two of us before Tossie is forced to release her hold on me to let out belly-rolling laughter at my expense. "Cuz, seriously, you're yelling about missing icing because you are dreaming about a hunk?" Her vast amusement does nothing but fuel my aggravation with one Zade Parks.
"I don't care that he is gorgeous or that he is famous. All I want to do is be able to go somewhere and not be reminded about Mr. Big Ego Maniac." Is that so much to ask? To want to pretend that the first guy I've noticed in years doesn't exist?
Taking a couple minutes to compose herself, Tossie offers no sympathy. "Do I need to quote Shakespeare here? I think it goes something like doth the lady protest too much?" Strutting into the kitchen, she puts together a protein shake while I sit down at the table to cold cinnamon rolls.
"I don't date and I certainly am not attracted to him. Yes objectively he is in great shape but personally he's a no-go. Not that it would matter. He probably has hordes of women vying for the status of trophy girl friend." Realizing I've ranted for too long, I stuff a roll in my mouth, an effective means of shutting up.
"You need to get out more. How about going on a double with Andre and I Saturday night? He has a friend Luca who is pretty cute and he's a lawyer so you would have a lot in common."
Grimacing, I shake my head in the negative. "No thank you. I don't date."
Smiling sadly, Tossie grabs her car keys and walks toward the door. "One day you will realize how much fun you passed on and wonder why you ever gave up on truly living."
She walks out the door and it isn't until the resounding click of the door closing that I emit a tiny whisper, "She's not living so why should I?"
****
Per my usual I arrive at my job by 7:15 am. Fifteen minutes to spare or fifteen minutes to squeeze in more work, depending on how you perceive the situation. For the past three years I have been employed as a secretary to first Mr. Henri Cage Sr. and then to his son, Dalton Cage, after Mr. Cage retired last year.
Eight years ago at age 15, I dreamed of becoming an archeologist or a ballet dancer, touring the world. Now I am content to hold the title of Secretary, welcoming the stability of the position.
My friend and co-worker Rhea complains constantly about the monotony of the mundane tasks we complete. Every time I watch her paste on a plastic smile for a potential client I have to bite down the laughter threatening to boil up. Studying at the local community college and taking night classes to work towards an associates degree in business, Rhea is ready to leave her 'secretary to Mr. Bryson' days behind.
Perpetually late, her vacant seat comes as no surprise. As long as she brings me one of those amazing blueberry zucchini muffins from Sunshine's Cafe, I don't care covering for her. Both Mr. Bryson and Mr. Cage have dumped a pile of files on our respective desks so I get to work right away, not wanting to make this another 11 hour day.
The rhythmic click clack of the computer keys as I type, the chimes of e-mails popping up in the inbox, the buzz of the printer as it spits out documents...a plethora of sounds which comprise a symphony, soothing in a hectic work environment. There is a void which occurs if complete silence encompasses the room. Noise replaces that emptiness with vibrant notes.
I'm fifteen files in when a Puerto Rican tornado clad in black 4-inch heels storms into the room. Tossing a muffin my way with excellent accuracy, Rhea drops into her seat, a stream of grumbling spewing forth.
"You'll never believe the morning I had. First, Enrique takes 40 minutes to get ready. 40 minutes! My brother doesn't look any better than before. That only gave me 20 minutes to shower, do my hair and make-up. I'm a mess." Patting her short, black hair in frantic circular motions provides no relief and her moan of vexation rings loud and clear.
Pretending to look for something in my purse which is under my desk, I duck down and allow a broad smile to emerge. Gathering myself, I raise back up, a look of commiseration doting my features. "That sounds awful Rhea."
Taking a gulp of her chai tea, she shakes her head, shoulders quaking. "That isn't the worst part. My car stalled between Broadway and 5th and the tow truck driver was a beast. He insulted everything from my clothes to my lack of mechanical skills before having the audacity to ask me out on a date! Are all American males that...that...?" She trails off, fuming in Spanish.
Valiantly attempting to maintain my composure in such a professional environment, my desk phone ringing is a welcome interruption. "I'm the wrong one to ask Rhea" I comment contritely before answering the caller in my best authoritative voice. "Good morning, Bryson and Cage Associates, this is Faith speaking. How may I assist you today?"
A rough throat clearing and a pregnant pause force me to repeat my greeting before finally a gravelly male voice speaks.
"Um, this is Dirk, from Tow's Away vehicle assistance company. I'm looking for Ms. Rhea Galarza."
My eyebrows furrow up in surprise and I glance in the direction of Rhea who is glaring mutinously at her computer screen.
"I'm sorry, she is unavailable at the moment. If you would like to leave a message I will be happy to pass one along."
A long sigh accompanies a snort. "I know you women. Always making excuses to blow off guys who aren't rich or look like GQ models. Tell her when she realizes there is more to me than my looks have her call me. 559-4241." He hangs up abruptly, a sharp click just before the constant buzz of the dial tone fills my ear.
"Rhea" I call out across the room, "guess who that was?" Rhea's puzzled glance swiftly morphs into the fierceness of a dragon. "If that was Enrique tell him I'm not talking to him and he can do his own laundry this week."
Checking to ensure both Mr. Bryson and Mr. Cage's office doors are tightly shut, the mirth threatening to consume me releases as I grip my desk, shoulders shaking. Through the fits of laughter I manage to choke out "You do...your brother's... laundry?"
Rhea's lips twitch before she loses the battle to remain stoic. High-pitched giggles echo my own lower-pitched sounds as Rhea bends forward from the waist, hands gripping her sides, unable to contain herself. "Let's just...say... he got tired...of wearing pink clothing... and traded me laundry...for cleaning the bathrooms."
Taking two deep breaths I am able to reign in my amusement. "As much as I enjoyed that story, it wasn't Enrique on the phone. It was Dirk, your new boyfriend."
Automatically, Rhea rears back in her seat, all traces of joy absent, as if she has been doused with a bucket of ice water. "The tow guy? He is not my boyfriend"
"Are you sure? He sounds like a real winner: belligerent, arrogant, and rude." I duck quickly to the right side of my mahogany desk as a pad of legal paper flies by, hitting the back of my chair before falling to the floor with a loud thwack.
"He even left you his number." I remain hidden behind my desk in case a paper weight is hurled in my direction.
"You know, that is great. I'll call him and make a date for you."
Reeling straight up I shoot Rhea a look of pure horror. "You wouldn't."
"I will if I have to hear about my boyfriend one more time." Sending me a devious smile of pure white teeth, she grabs the files littered across her desk top and starts ordering them from imperative to complete soon.
Miming zipping my lips closed, I turn back to my computer screen, hoping I saved the data I had spent an hour inputting this morning. A small sigh of relief passes my lips and my fingers unclench when I find what I am looking for. However, moments later my screen goes completely black leaving me with no clue as to what went wrong. Anything technical is out of my area of expertise so I make a quick call down to the IT department. Promising to send a tech within ten minutes, I busy myself with updating Mr. Cage's appointment book. I keep a hard copy in case of technical emergencies. Rhea pokes fun at my 'little black book' but it has been a life saver more than once.
Mr. Cage's first appointment of the day arrives and I escort the elderly woman into his private office. Just as I am returning to my desk a lanky young man enters into the room, limping over to meet me at my desk. His floppy hair has been bleached blond and drapes across most of his forehead, almost masking light blue eyes. Standing a few inches taller than me, he's so skinny I imagine him blowing over in the breeze. Glancing at the blue and teal badge attached at his breast I read Sam IT.
Reaching my right hand out toward him, I introduce myself, "Faith, Mr. Dalton's Secretary."
Gripping my hand tightly in his own calloused grip, he pumps my hand twice, "Sam, IT newbie." Releasing my grip, he stares at me for a few seconds before clearing his throat. Motioning toward my computer, he makes his way around the desk to sit in my chair. "Let's see what you got."
Punching various combinations of keys does nothing as does attempting to re-start the computer. After 20 minutes and no results IT Sam swings around. "I'll have to take it downstairs with me and bring you a temporary replacement. Stu's working today and has the magic touch."
Nodding my head in aquiessence, I lay my hands atop the large stack of files still waiting for attention. Meeting Tossie at the gym tonight may have to be postponed.