CHAPTER 16
It’s her eyes. No, her lips. Her body, perhaps. Everything is toned and in shape. She barely has a waist. Her breasts are the perfect size for her frame, and her backside is plump and round like she stays in the gym doing squats, but I imagine she was just blessed that way.
Whatever the case, I cannot pinpoint one specific thing that makes Zimyra special. It’s her overall being that has me captivated. It’s also the fact that she seems blissfully unaware of how breathtakingly beautiful she is. Like she has no idea that men stare at her. When I was with her at The Promenade, she caught looks from just about every man who walked by. Maybe she’s used to it.
Even after all of her wonderful physical attributes, her qualities add to that beauty. She’s smart and friendly. She cares about people, and she’s a hard worker, like me. If, and that’s a big if , I was interested in marriage, she’s the only woman I’ve encountered in my thirty-six years that I would consider being locked in with. That’s saying a lot because I’m not the kind of man who sits around thinking about stuff like this. It’s really irking me that I’m doing it now.
As soon as the clock strikes five, I pick up my cell phone and call her. She doesn’t answer and while that’s usually a nonfactor for me, I find myself agitated by it. I immediately question where she is and what she’s doing like it’s any of my business. Like I have some stake in her life and need to know her every move.
Everything in me wants to immediately dial her number again, but I’m not that guy. I slide the phone into my front pocket and walk to the kitchen in search of food. I was forced to go grocery shopping earlier today because there are times I don’t like leaving the house – especially when I’m being lazy. Today is one of those lazy days, one I deserve since I’m back on maintenance duties tomorrow.
I take out a pack of ham and cheese slices, and take some bread from the pantry. Then I prepare a simple sandwich. I don’t cook, but I know how to put something between bread. According to my mother, as long as I can do that much, I won’t starve. That was one of her college tips for me.
Back at home, I have cooks, people who wash my cars, a housekeeper, a personal assistant, and an executive assistant. I’m busy chasing paper – I don’t have time to do anything out of the scope of that.
However, while I’m here in Columbia, I’m doing it all – well most of it. I was able to outsource my laundry, but as far as food is concerned, it’s restaurants and the lil’ something I’m able to whip up on days like today.
I grab a bag of chips – asking myself why I bought them in the first place. I usually don’t eat so recklessly. But, one bag won’t hurt. I’ll burn it off later.
My phone rings.
I take it from my pocket to see that it’s Boss Lady calling. I answer, “You stood me up.”
Her laughter tickles my ears. It’s a sound I’ve grown to crave.
“I did not stand you up. I called you right back.”
“And what was so important that you couldn’t take my call?”
“My mother.”
“Oh. Okay. I guess you can get a pass for that.”
“You guess?”
“Yeah. So, what’s up, Boss Lady?”
“I’ma hang up on you if you call me that again.”
I grin and say, “Is that not who you are?”
“It is, but— ugh . And why are you asking me what’s up ? You’re the one who insisted on talking to me precisely at five o’clock.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Mmm hmm…”
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m serious. I had a good time with you last night—was hoping a phone call would be an extension of that. So, what’s up?”
“Not much. I’m just now getting a chance to sit down after cleaning my apartment, folding clothes and all that.”
“You don’t have someone do all of that for you?”
“You’re funny.”
“What’s funny? I thought it was a legit question.”
“I don’t get paid enough to have housekeeping, if that’s what you mean, and even if I did, I wouldn’t hire anyone. I like doing those things. It builds character.”
“How does folding clothes build character?”
“My dad used to say that you appreciate things more when you worked hard for them, and then turned around and took care of them...some words of wisdom he left me with before he passed.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I say while thinking it’s yet another thing we have in common.
“Thanks.”
“My father died when I was young. My mother remarried and my stepfather raised me—took me in as his own. I’m grateful my mother chose a good man.”
“My mother didn’t try to meet anyone. She wasn’t married to my father, even though she was deeply in love with him. He ended up breaking her heart, but that’s all in the past now.” She yawns.
“What time do you go to bed on Sunday nights?”
“Ten.”
“Dang. You’re basically an old lady.”
“Shut up,” she tells me.
I laugh and say, “You are.”
“You better be going to bed early tonight. I got one heck of a list for you and Mauricio and it ain’t going to be no changing lightbulb stuff, either. You’re about to get downright dirty, so don’t come wearing your good clothes.”
“All my clothes are good clothes. I bought a new wardrobe when I got here.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I figured I needed to fit in with the culture.”
There’s that giggle again.
She says, “You act like it’s that drastic of a change. If you don’t go on somewhere…”
“It is a change. Y’all don’t dress like we do up north.”
“Jeans and T-shirts are universal.”
“I suppose. But let’s take you, for example…you be wearing those colorful pantsuits to the office. Women don’t dress like that in Bridgeport. They wear dark colors.”
“Yeah, because it’s so cold and depressing up there. I’m a sunflower. I wear vibrant colors that represent how I feel.”
I grin.
She asks, “What are you laughing at now?”
“I’m laughing at you describing yourself as a sunflower. I’m going to save your name in my phone under Sunflower .”
“Whatever, Axel. I’m going to go ahead and jump off this phone if you have nothing further to discuss with me.”
“I get two more questions, remember?”
“You and these questions…okay. What you got?”
“What were you doing before working at Atlantic?”
“I was working at a daycare.”
“Interesting. I never would’ve guessed that.”
“Yeah—I love kids. I went to college only because it’s what I was supposed to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Going to college was a requirement in my house. Plus, I had a full scholarship, so I definitely didn’t want that to go to waste, even though I had no idea what I wanted to do. So, I did what everyone else does who has no idea what to major in—I signed up for business administration.”
“So, property management is the field you decided to go into.”
“For the short term.”
“What’s the long-term plan?”
“Interior design. That’s my true passion. I’ve done odd jobs for people and companies. I designed my brother’s place, my place, I did the lobby, the clubhouse and the model apartment at Atlantic.”
“The stuff you did for Atlantic—did you come out of your pocket for that?”
“Why do you ask me that every time I mention something I did for the office?”
“Because I feel like these companies shouldn’t take advantage of their employees like this. If something needs to be enhanced or changed, they should pay for it out of their own bank accounts—not from the wages of their workers.”
“Okay, but in their defense, they have no clue what I’m doing down here. I don’t tell them things because they probably wouldn’t approve. The group activities I do…the coffee in the lobby—everything that the tenants love is a red flag to them for some reason, so I just keep it to myself. Plus, the furniture that’s in the lobby and the tour apartment was already there when I took this job. I just brought things to enhance them like the flowers, candles, pillows, throws, mirrors, pictures—you know—home accents.”
“You still shouldn’t have done that much.”
“Well, the tenants love it, so it doesn’t bother me. But in answer to your question, no, property management isn’t my end game. Interior design is. I don’t plan on being at Atlantic at all next year. I’m studying for my certificate in interior design, and then I’m starting my own business.”
“That’s good,” I say, but I’m not sure how to feel about the possibility of losing such a valuable asset to this company. The thought of her leaving has me dumbfounded. I know there will never be anyone remotely as good as her to fill this position.
“Axel?”
“Yes?”
“Oh, I thought the line disconnected. I’m going to do a few hours of studying before I go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yep. Bright and early.”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sunflower.”
She laughs and then hangs up.
As soon as she does, I immediately call Peter and when he doesn’t answer, I leave a voicemail:
Ay, we have a big problem. Call me back as soon as you get this.