On 4/19 (On 4/19 and Beyond 4/20) (5 page)

“It’s a finer gallery, so I would think a cocktail dress would be appropriate.”

“Hmm, okay. Well, if I can’t get something like that, what would be next best?” Chelsea had a credit card and was considering charging a dress, with the intention of paying it off once John gave her some money.

Irene hesitated for a moment, wondering if it had to do with what she could afford or if she was simply unsure of what was proper. “Would you like to meet and pick out something together?”

“Really? You would do that?” Chelsea sighed, relieved. She was so far out of her element that she hardly even trusted her own judgment as to
what to wear. In her world, there was never a need to get
that
dressed up. Back home, even at weddings you just wore your Sunday best. A cocktail dress? Why, she’d never even had a cocktail.

They agreed to meet that evening after Irene got off work. Irene suggested Rodeo Drive, which caused a knot to form in Chelsea’s stomach. Whatever she found there would cost much more than she was comfortable charging on her card. Regretting having agreed to meet Irene, Chelsea wished she had never called her. Too late to get out of it, she decided she would look around with Irene, then when they were done, she would go elsewhere to find a dress, something discounted.

After hanging up from Chelsea, Irene went into John’s office and held out her hand, saying, “Give me your credit card.” Without asking why, he did so. On her way out of his office, she said over her shoulder, “I am taking your little girl shopping for big girl clothes.” Hearing him chuckle behind her, she never looked to see his face, but she was sure he was amused.

Chelsea feigned interest in a few things at the first two shops, but decided on nothing. Never agreeing to try anything on, Irene watched as Chelsea looked at price tags even prior to looking at the dress, which answered the question in the back of her mind. Chelsea was clearly concerned about the cost. Smiling at that thought, she wondered if Chelsea had any idea the kind of man she was keeping company with. John was worth millions, maybe even nearing the billion dollar mark. To walk in on the arm of John Keller, Chelsea needed to look extraordinary, not simply off-the-rack. He could certainly afford whatever they purchased that evening, and Irene intended to see that she was dressed properly.

Finally, in her usual snappy tone, Irene encouraged, “Chelsea, find something you like. Stop looking at the prices.”

Embarrassed, Chelsea admitted, “Honestly, I can’t even afford to be shopping here. I was going to charge something, but these prices are much too high. Do you mind if we go somewhere else?”

The look in Chelsea’s eyes momentarily softened her heart. Never one to gush or succumb to womanly emotions, Irene found the feeling to be foreign but not altogether unpleasant. Already she liked the girl,
if for no other reason than she made John happy, but the look she gave her was tremendously humble and obviously sincere. Totally out of character for her, Irene reached out and pinched Chelsea’s cheek, reassuring her, “You won’t have to charge anything. John is buying. We can pick out anything we like. So enjoy!”

For a moment, Chelsea stood there looking at Irene. She was older than John but not by much, probably in her early to mid-fifties. With short, rather boyish looking hair, solemn suit, and heels, Chelsea could only imagine what a professional woman such as Irene thought of her relationship with John. Her embarrassment growing, she whispered, “This is not what it looks like.”

While sensing her embarrassment, Irene assured her, “It’s exactly what it looks like. You need a dress, and I have your sugar daddy’s credit card. Now get to shopping.”

Even though she sensed it to be Irene’s attempt at humor, Chelsea felt sick at her stomach at her comment. What else could it be but exactly what Irene said? He bought her a car, was buying her clothes; it
was
exactly what it looked like. So caught up in the impropriety of their arrangement, it took a moment for her to realize Irene was addressing her.

“I looked at John’s calendar. He has several events coming up, so we’ll get you a few things.”

By the time they finished, Chelsea had four dresses, several pairs of shoes, and a handbag for each outfit. The bags she loaded into her car contained items worth more than all she owned combined. When she sat down and closed the car door, Chelsea began to cry. What in the world was she doing? How could this not lead to something bad? What she was doing had to be wrong in some way. But so far, she’d done nothing but accepted a few gifts from a man who could obviously afford them.

Trying to reel in her emotions and disregard that inner accusatory voice, Chelsea thought back over the past two hours. Irene, while extremely blunt, turned out to be surprisingly fun while shopping and even half sweet on several occasions. She seemed to find great satisfaction in spending John’s money, offering to buy Chelsea much more than they actually purchased. They stopped their marathon for a quick dinner, and of course Irene put the dinner on John’s card.

While they ate, Chelsea found out that his wife died of cancer more than ten years before. Mentioning nothing more than that, Irene said little else about John. Clearly, she was the most loyal of employees, and by her tone when she spoke of him, Irene admired John greatly. Chelsea understood that completely. Still, she found herself recounting all that was said over dinner with him and the sense of awe that he stirred within her. Again the extraordinary possibilities the next year promised danced through her mind. It was hard to even imagine what might be in store for her next.

More than a little apprehensive, Chelsea pulled in front of the gallery and stepped out of the car. A valet slipped behind the wheel. As if she were living someone else’s life, she moved in a fog through the front doors. From the looks of things, she appeared to fit right in, dropping her Benz off at the valet, wearing an outfit more expensive than her last car was worth, and smiling as if she had a clue what to do at a gallery, when in truth, she was just a farm girl playing dress-up. She was so far out of her league that she wondered if she could possibly keep up the pretense for an entire year. No doubt, John would catch on, admit his mistake, and find a loophole to get out of the contract. Could she blame him?

Inside the gallery, she moved through the exhibits as if she knew what she was looking at, and at first didn’t see John. Surrounded by strangers in an environment that was totally foreign to her, she felt terribly out of place, nervous even. Moving to look at one piece of what someone must consider art, she stood paralyzed, pretending she fit in, pretending she understood it. Whatever it was, it was a mystery.

“Do you like this?”

Thankfully, it was John. He’d quietly come to stand just behind her. Turning to look at him, relieved, she sighed and shook her head. “No, not really.” Once again he had on a dark suit and white shirt, and compared to the other men in the room, he looked more sophisticated and stylish than any of them, but more than the suit, it was his attitude that set him apart, so confident and unaffected. It was the very first time she looked at him and felt an unusual queasiness in her stomach. Actually,
the feeling affected more than her stomach, it rose clear up into her throat, making it feel restricted. Her heart was thudding angrily against her ribs, and she feared that maybe he sensed her nervousness. Biting at her lower lip, she tried to refocus her mind on anything other than how handsome he looked and how surprisingly he affected her.

“You look amazing.” Once he saw the receipts for hers and Irene’s shopping excursion, he expected nothing less. Her dress was shimmering silver, a long slinky tank top, but in the gallery lighting, her eyes sparkled even more than the dress. Standing there, admiring how beautiful she looked, he was glad he’d invited her. Mundane events such as this would be much more bearable with her along. He liked her sense of humor, and he especially appreciated how real she was compared to the rest of his world. Lately, he found himself exhausted by the pretense of people.

“Have you seen anything you do like?”

“No, not so far.” Tucking her hair behind her ear, she looked down, admitting, “I’m rather uncultured when it comes to art, especially this kind.”

“Impressionism?”

“Yes. I simply don’t get it. Most of it is like a picture my niece would paint and my sister would hang on her refrigerator.” As soon as she said such a thing, she worried he was a collector. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” He could see the embarrassment in her eyes. During their time together, he was determined to help her get past that. She apologized too often for giving her opinion.

“I realized you may be a collector or, well, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

Chuckling, he assured her, “You have not hurt my feelings. As a matter of fact, I’m not a fan either.” There was a clear look of relief on her face when he assured her she had not hurt his feelings. Actually, the thought of hurt feelings caused him to chuckle again. As if that were possible. What he did learn through this brief exchange was that her heart was tremendously tender. He would bear that in mind, as it was not a trait he had encountered in a woman in many years. His tone was often one of severity, so in dealing with Chelsea, he would have to learn a little delicacy.

After some time, she asked, “So if you’re not a fan of this, then why are we here?”

“An associate’s wife owns the place.”

“So this is business?”

“Everything I do is.”

Pondering that, she watched his interactions with new eyes as he spoke to one person after another. One thing she noted early on was that he commanded much respect. Rarely did he approach others; instead, he waited for them to come to him – and they did. At any given time, several people hovered, as if awaiting their turn with the king. John’s manner, while his appearance would seem casual and unconcerned about his surroundings, was actually quite intense. He missed little that went on around him. His eyes gave him away, at least to her they did.

On several occasions throughout the evening he introduced her to whoever he addressed. Each time, she felt quite comfortable, as he simply said her name without attaching any label to it. It was never, “This is my friend, Chelsea,” or “This is my date.” On the first few occasions, he said, “This is umm, Chelsea,” as if he were unsure of how to introduce her. Eventually, he settled into, “This is Chelsea,” and a few times he added, “She is a student at the business school at UCLA,” his tone suggesting he was proud of her.

As they walked around the gallery together, him guiding her through the crowd, he would often place his hand on the small of her back. Early on, it caused her nervousness to return, since it seemed to draw attention to them as a couple, but eventually, she found it felt quite natural for him to do so. The gesture felt more protective in nature than suggestive.

Once while he spoke with a group of gentlemen, Chelsea excused herself to go to the restroom. On her return, just before reaching them, a man stopped her and asked if he could get her a drink. Before the question was fully out of his mouth, John was there by her side assuring the man he would get her a drink if she needed one. Though his tone was rather abrupt, his motive did not seem at all territorial, rather protective, as if he were watching over a younger sister. From that point forward, she felt oddly at ease with him. And if she were not mistaken,
he seemed to settle in to a new level of ease as well. He became more relaxed and open, at least with her.

If anything did make her uncomfortable, it was the way women so openly admired him. Maybe assuming she was his daughter, several women made it no secret that they were out to get his attention. Not as if she were jealous, but she did find it ill-mannered behavior from those who were supposed to be the elite. They were no better than college girls desperate to catch the eye of some boy at a frat party. It didn’t take her long to see, however, that John didn’t have a roaming eye. Actually, he seemed quite oblivious to their stares. Without question, his mind was geared only toward business.

After ending a conversation with a consultant he’d done business with earlier in the year, John took the opportunity to get Chelsea alone and say, “Chelsea, I’ve noticed you often apologize when you give your opinion. You should stop doing that. There is nothing wrong with having your own viewpoint. Actually, I admire the way you think on many things. Don’t be afraid to say what you think. I’m a big boy; I can handle it.”

She could hardly argue with him. Most often, she carefully chose her words before speaking and usually regretted what she did say. Wanting to somehow seem more mature or refined, she found that she was portraying herself as someone she wasn’t. Since she disliked that quality in others, she found she despised it even more in herself. Chelsea came to the conclusion that if she was going to make it through the year with John, she was going to have to be herself, even if that meant he might no longer be interested. After all, he’d paid for her tuition already, so if he did renege on their deal, he could hardly take the money back. At the worst, she would find a job to cover her monthly expenses, something she was planning to do prior to meeting him anyway. Determining she was less concerned about the financial aspect of such a thing as their agreement ending, she instead found herself feeling disappointed with even the thought of not seeing John again. Still, she had to be who she was.

“Okay, I will give you my opinion on this gallery. I think it’s ridiculous that these people meander around, acting as if they like any of this supposed
art
. In truth they’re doing it just so they will seem intelligent
or forward-thinking. To pay this kind of money for any kind of art is wasteful.” The look on his face gave her no clue as to his reaction to her words. Continuing anyway, she said, “There are starving children who could eat for years for the price of one painting. Honestly, this sickens me,” she spat, “knowing the desperation of the rest of the world in light of the money in this one room.”