Just a Number (Downtown #1) (17 page)

Dash

T
he flight to LA, after the convention, was been a shitty one. The travel part wasn’t the problem. It was the fact that I was going to my new location. To my temporary apartment in a city that could also be housing corporate-girl. I was stuck now. I had no plans of commuting to New York for a while. No escape. Maybe she wasn’t in the state at all. I knew I could find out for certain from Rex. But I made him promise me that whatever he knew about Willow, he wouldn’t tell me. She said no details. I knew her rules. I agreed to them, again, like a fool. As easy as it would be to be in contact with her, I refused to cheat.

At least I was busy for the next couple weeks, settling in. I had meetings with clients in the film industry. I wanted to scout some locations for both sunrise and sunset yoga. I knew I should leave sunset yoga alone. There was always a remote chance of attending the same class as Willow. Of course, if she was living on the East Coast, I was safe at sunset. With her love of fashion, I had wondered often if she was a New York corporate-girl. I had possibly been living near her all along and I was about to be living three thousand miles away from her.
That would be my luck!

Maybe I would get lucky again. After all, we had been thrown together three different times in three different locations. Who could say that it wouldn’t happen again? If I had it my way, fate would step in and that dark-haired beauty would be in my arms forever. Under me. Over me. Twisted around me.
God, I loved her flexibility.
Mostly, though, I loved her attitude about life: live in the moment, live life to the fullest. But, what I hated—maybe not
hated
; hate is an ugly word—what I disliked was that while she was so open about so many things, she was personally challenged. Not emotionally; I felt what she was feeling.
That
couldn’t be denied between us.

Shit! I needed to stop that train of thought. I had things that needed to be done
. Even though it was the weekend, I had to go meet with some Harrison dude decorating my office. Meetings were scheduled with some new people in hopes of setting up future product collaborations. Not to mention my father was coming into town, and I had to clear a path to the guest room. Most of my stuff I refused to unpack to pack again. I was going to take my time looking around for the right place to settle into permanently. In the meanwhile, boxes were everywhere, leaving me with an unsettled uncomfortableness.

Once my father arrived, a week after my feet had been firmly replanted in my hometown, I started feeling a bit more relaxed. I was getting into a groove: Walking to do sunrise yoga at a few different spots. Going to get coffee rather than making it at home. Sitting outside by my rooftop pool and reading the newspaper, the
New York
and
LA Times
.

I was still in the New York frame of mind, walking and hiring car services to cart me around. My buddies told me I should buy a convertible Porsche and get into the California swing of things. Even my dad, a fellow carless man, agreed.

Scheduled to attend an event together, we enjoyed a nice chat on our way. A new museum in town was having a reception and ribbon cutting ceremony for the installation of one my mother’s sculptures. Hers would be joining other artists’ pieces in the museum’s open areas. Listening to the speeches, I started zoning out. After you’ve heard one dedication, you’ve heard them all. It wasn’t until I heard a crying child that my head snapped up from solemnly focusing on the cracks in the pavement. Probably looking forlorn to some onlookers as they introduced my mother and her creation. Alert, I began to scan my surroundings and then, I saw her.

The attractive British woman and her white cat, with orange markings and eyes the color of Willow’s. They appeared to be putting on an impromptu show for a distraught little girl wearing pigtails, possibly the one I heard crying in the crowd. The cat looked happy performing: Sitting on command, lying down, rolling over, raising up on his hind legs, and shaking hands. He appeared equally delighted with a pat on the head and a treat, of some sort, the woman pulled from her leather coat pocket. I was shocked by his doglike behavior and even more so when the woman winked in my direction.
Did she remember me? No. She couldn’t. Right?

Shaking my head, I looked back and they were walking off. I wanted to chase after them, but I was being called to the installation area for the actual induction ceremony for my mother, Bernadette Oliver’s, masterpiece appropriately titled
Passion
.

My mother always pushed her motto
follow your passion
. My business was all about focusing on passion. Passion was the driving force behind everything she had taught me. If you don’t have it, success will never be yours.
“Let it guide you, Dash.”
I heard her words vibrate through me as they did the last time she spoke to me from her hospital bed. Her voice was crystal clear as was my father’s, standing next to me in the courtyard of the museum, directing me to the reception.

My father, the perpetual businessman, pushed sales. His standard speech was forever imbedded in my head. “You have to not only sell your product, more importantly, you have to sell yourself to clients. They must feel you, get you, trust you, and believe you love what you’re selling.” Then, he always ended his sermon referencing my mother, “Like your mother always said, be passionate about what you do in all aspects of your life.”

They agreed on something—lots of things—except fidelity. My mother ignored it for years. Her avoidance of it ended with the death of my little brother. She needed my father and he wasn’t there. He looked for comforting away from home more often. Maybe it was that my brother was the spitting image of my mother. I’m still not sure, but neither handled the loss well. Three years they lived in misery until they just couldn’t it anymore. Fortunately, the transition was subtle as my father had already purchased an apartment in New York a year before they made their separation legal and permanent.

What did I learn from them? Believe in yourself. Be passionate in your career and in your relationships. Nothing is everlasting, no matter how much you love each other. My mother and father both claimed their love was just not enough to conquer the pain they felt when they were together. Tragedy, in their case, pulled them apart, rather than strengthened them.

I listened to them. I loved what I did; I brought positivity to people, eliminating the negative. My clientele base was vast. I owed my success to both of them. I wished my mother was with us. I wanted her to know I followed my passion, that my father still loved her and supported her artwork. Most importantly, I wanted her to see that his dedication and salesmanship attributed to her
Passion
being celebrated. Along with that sculpture being part of a museum collection, several of her other pieces were on display around the country, and a couple abroad. She was an acclaimed artiste.

Making our way around the room, greeting many museum benefactors and art lovers, Russ Oliver, my father, captivated his audience with words of praise for my mother’s works of art. Listening to the love reflected in his speech, my mind wandered to
my
dark-haired beauty with deep red lips.

Where was she?
I was asking myself the same questions, going over the same thoughts in my head, again.
Had my move brought us closer or farther apart?
Not that it mattered. She wasn’t interested in permanent. She said it was unusual for her to revisit the same man more than once. No, she didn’t tell me any of that personally; I overheard a conversation with her friend. She did tell me that she had not slept with anyone since we met. I hadn’t accepted an offer of sex since her unknowing, drunken bar room solicitation. For the first time in my life, I only wanted one woman—
Willow
.

I really needed to get those thoughts out of my head. I had no idea if I would ever see her again. I had no idea where to find her without violating her rules.
Her and her fucking rules. I wanted to break every one of them! Damn it! She was supposed to be just a number.
But, it appeared that I was just a number to her.
How did that happen?

A week later, my dad was gone. He was probably happy to leave. Tired of my mopiness… my abuse of meditation.
I admit it, I meditated so often, even I thought it was on the verge of being incessant.
The worst part for him could’ve been that I dragged him to my sunrise sessions and even to one sunset yoga class not taught by me. My father wasn’t a faithful follower of the yoga practice, but he did use it from time to time to relieve minor aches and pains. Knowing that I was feeling a different kind of agony, he appeased me.

After his
escape
, I had a new routine. Several appearances were set, and I found that getting around the LA area was not as easy as I thought. For a few appointments I was able to take the subway. I wished it was more expanded like New York, I really liked being carless. While using a car service was somewhat convenient, I had to resort to renting a car on more than one occasion. The traffic was horrible in all directions, at all hours. That, alone, had me hating the idea of driving. With all of my on-the-road commitments taking priority, I stopped trying to make it into my work office during the day, and spent the evening hours behind my new desk, taking care of paperwork and whatnot.

A few nights I skipped the office altogether and met my buddies at a bar. I had the need to mix a little pleasure with all the business I was involved in daily. One night we were back to the same bar I encountered the once mysterious corporate-girl; she was a no-show. Not that I truly thought I would see her, but a guy could dream. A couple times that we bar hopped, I was so fucking tanked, I was lucky that I found my way home. I mean, so bad that I contemplated renting a room at the first hotel I saw. I wasn’t that young anymore, it was harder to recover. The next time they suggested a night out, I suggested going out to dinner or I was out. Of course, I was razzed and gave in to meeting them in a bar.

“What the hell happened to you, old man?” Trey was still in party mode.

“He met his dream woman.” Rex rolled his eyes.

I groaned and took a swig of ale. “I have a lot going on right now. I didn’t think relocating and starting this new adventure would kick my butt. Last time we went out, I almost shared a cardboard box with some homeless guy.” I laughed, but I was telling the truth. “I can’t drink like the old days.”

“I still say it’s that woman. Ask and I shall deliver,” said Rex before downing a shot of something that had just been place in front of him, compliments of some chicks sitting nearby, and looked at me, intently. He often posed that offer; I always refused as he dangled it in my face. “Maybe she’s
it
—your soulmate—the one!” I swatted his words away, shaking my head no.

“Romeo, give up. You’re getting too mushy with all that romance shit you’re writing.” Trey jumped in to save me and turned the conversation around to focus on our finally-out-of-the-author-closet friend. “You hook up with that Tommy-girl yet?”

“No. We’re just writing sex, not doing it.” Rex didn’t seem thrilled about that.

Afraid that they would keep me out too late, I made a play to take off. Besides, I wanted to steer clear of Rex’s loose lips after his consumption of too many drinks. I had a feeling something was going on with him and Thumbelina, and I wanted no part. Not to mention, I didn’t want to hear him say anything about Willow. Fate would either step in or it wouldn’t.

Willow

T
he day had finally arrived; the merger was complete. Building walls had been torn down and new ones erected to take over the entire fifteenth floor. New executive offices had been decorated and new assistants graced extra added cubicles. On the day of our first bi-monthly meeting since the expansion, we were finally going to get a glimpse at the new partner. I would get to see who was questioning some of my proposals and requests. So far, we had been able to make compromises, though we had never spoken or communicated. Suze was our go between, which was fine by me. It kept me from arguing with authority. Not to mention, it was probably allowing me to keep my position within the company.

Nervous about the meeting, I was in my office a whole hour earlier than I needed to be. Looking for a distraction, I answered some personal emails. Well, most of them. The last email I read, I had no clue how to answer. Of course, it was another puzzling admission from my mother going back over our family history as if I hadn’t already lived it.

From: Marian Dane

To: Willow Dane

You’re the strong one!

Today at 4:00 AM

Hello Dear,

Thanks for the e-reader, Willow. And the gift cards. Sylvia is helping me load it later today. She said they were a great way of hiding romance novel covers. LMAO! She taught me that one. She said you’d know what it meant. I learned the smiling face thing too :) You could probably teach me more than she has been. I wish I could say I taught you something useful. I didn’t teach the boys anything, either. The boys needed the business. You didn’t and your father knew it. The boys needed him. I think he saw your drive and maybe he did it the wrong way, but he pushed you. He never wanted you to take over his business. He wanted you to find something you loved. Not like something he stepped into. He never wanted to own car dealerships. He wanted to be in car racing. The closest he got was sponsoring cars later in life. Kids came along. Money became the objective. The business got big fast. He expanded to several cities. Commercials. He was a household name, Dane Motors. Sure the boys went to college. There’s no denying they’re smart. Mark dropped out and went to work with your father. Besides, Carol was pregnant with their first one. Once Shawn graduated he came straight into the business. He met Shannon and well, you know the rest. What you don’t know is that your trust fund is not from your grandfather. It’s your share of the car business. That’s why it keeps growing, not due to investments or to interest. He didn’t completely take the company away from you.