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August
––––––––
Sitting behind my desk, I felt my phone vibrate in my jacket pocket. Pushing the papers away, I placed my pen down and pulled it out. I didn't recognize the number, it wasn't familiar and the area code was one I didn't know.
Fucking telemarketers.
Lately, for some unknown reason, I had been getting a lot of those automated computer phone calls, telling me my factory warranty was about to expire and this was their last and final attempt to reach me. It was becoming annoying as fuck.
"Hello?" I said, resting back in my chair, my tone unfriendly and not welcoming at all.
"Hi, my name's Ella Day, I'm calling about the ad in the paper."
Sitting up straight, I pushed the phone closer to my ear because her voice was so soft. "I'm sorry, you said you were calling about the ad?"
"That's right." I could hear an audible exhale and sense the nervousness in her voice.
"Well, the position is still available, if you're interested. We would just need to sit down and go over a few things together first."
"I actually wanted to ask about that. What is the position for, exactly? The ad doesn't really say, so it's hard to know what the job is."
Clearing my throat, I tried to pick my words wisely. I had learned from past responses to my ad that it wasn't a good idea to just lay it all out up front. There was nothing conventional about the position, and it definitely wasn't a conversation for over the phone.
"Well, to be completely honest, before I get into all the details, I prefer meeting with potential canidates in person. It really helps me to see if you're a fit for this."
"Um, okay. So, you want me to come in for an interview?"
An interview wasn't the word I would use to describe the meeting. This had to do with more than just what she knew, what she was good at, and what skills she had. This was more personal.
"Let's do this, I'm free tonight, how about we do dinner? Six o'clock at the Red Tavern sound good?" There was nothing but silence filling the receiver, and it made me wonder if she was even still there. "Still with me?" I asked, giving a little chuckle.
"Uh, yeah, I'm here, sorry—it just seems like an odd request is all. Most interviews are done in an office or a home if it has to do with child care or something."
Pushing my chest against the desk, I looked out the big window beside me. "Well, what I can tell you is this isn't your typical job. But it is important for me to meet you before I can make any decisions."
"I understand that, but dinner seems really personal. I'm going to ask you upfront, this isn't an ad for sex is it? Because I'm not a call girl, I don't do things like that."
"No, no, no," I said, unable to hide the laughter in my voice. "Dinner is just so we can meet and I can tell you in person what I'm looking for."
"Why can't you tell me over the phone?"
Letting out a soft breath, I laid my head back against my chair. "I understand that this seems awkward, but in order for this to go any further, we need to meet in person."
"Alright," she said, her tone uncertain.
"Alright, you'll meet me for dinner?"
"Yeah, we can meet."
"Perfect, I'll see you tonight then."
Pulling the phone from my ear, I heard her call out. "Wait!"
"Yeah?"
"How will I know who you are? I don't know your name or what you look like."
"My name's August, just tell the hostess you're meeting me, she'll bring you to the table." Hanging up the phone, I had a glimmer of excitement run through my body.
It had been weeks since anyone who sounded serious actually called about the ad. Most of the women I heard from where exactly what Ella questioned me about, they were prostitues looking to make a quick buck.
That wasn't what this was. This was serious, this was business, this was my future. I didn't want a quick roll in the sack, I wasn't looking for a single night of fun to get off.
This had to do with my life as I knew it.
Through the intercom, I heard my secretary ask, "Mr. Burke, are you available right now?"
"What is it, Diane?"
"Your mother is on line two."
Sighing loudly, I reluctantly agreed. "Yeah, I'll take it," I said, picking up the phone and hitting the red flashing button. "Hey, Mom, what's going on?"
"August?" she asked, frantically, as if she didn't realize it was me.
"Yeah, Ma, it's me. What do you need?"
"August, is that you?"
"Ma, it's me, you called me at the office, remember?"
"Oh, good, it is you. I thought maybe your secretary sent me to the wrong person." Letting out a relieved breath, she said, "You sound different, why do you sound different?"
"I sound the same as I always do. But I can't talk long, I'm in the middle of something. What do you need?" I was trying so hard to not get annoyed with her, but that was difficult to do.
My mother was not your typical mother. She wasn't someone who coddled you when you got hurt or snuggled you when you got sick. My mother was a whole different breed.
When I was nine years old I fell off my skateboard, cut my knee open pretty bad, and needed stitches. My mother's tender touch was a fifty dollar bill and a cold facial eye mask.
She kept insisting that it was perfectly suitable to use the eyes mask because it took the swelling down from under her eyes, so it was going to work for my knee too. It didn't do shit.
One of the maids had to drive me to the hospital and got my knee taken care of. My mother was lucky that we were Burke's, anyone else would have been charged with some form of child neglect.
"Don't talk to me in that tone, you know how I feel about it."
"I'm sorry, but I'm at work, and I'm in the middle of finalizing next weeks orders."
"Well, listen to you, Mr. I'm too good to talk to his own mother."
Hanging my head, I ran my palm across my jaw. "Did you need something?"
"Is it a crime to call my only child and see how he's doing? I mean it's not like you make time for your mother anymore. I hardly even know what you have going on in your life."
"You're being dramatic."
"Am I, August? Am I really?"
"Look, as much as I love our little chats, I have to get this done because I have dinner plans tonight."
"Dinner plans?" she asked, her voice low and curious. "Girl or guy?"
"Ma, I'm not having this conversation again."
"August, it's an innocent question. You know it's fine either way, I won't judge you. Some of my favorite hair stylists are gay. And let me tell you, those men create magic."
"It's a girl, Mom."
"Do I know her? Is it Michelle Rivers? You know how much I love her, her mother and I still—"
"Good talk," I said, rolling my eyes and not letting her finish. "Mom, but really, I need to get back to work."
"Where did I go wrong with you? You know Michelle tells her mother everything, there's no secrets between them."
"And that's good for them, but I'm thirty-four years old, I don't need to tell you everything anymore."
"You really like cutting my heart out of my chest, don't you? You know losing your father was hard enough on me. I don't ask for much, August, but you could be a little nicer to your own mother."
Here we go again. . .
The poor me card had been played out for years. If she didn't use it for every little thing in her life, I'd probably feel bad for her and have more compassion. But this wasn't new, it was how she got her way.
The sad part was it worked her whole life on everyone else, I just wasn't that person, and I knew it bothered her. She couldn't get to me with her grief striken pleas, no matter how many times she tried.
And as much as I knew it hurt her when my father died, she acted as if they had still been married when he passed. The truth was they had been divorced for over a decade, and until his death, all she would do was criticize every little detail of his life.
He had too many girlfriends, too many cars, too many Armani suits, too much this, and too much that. It was an endless game for her of how much she could shame him in his choices, and make herself look like a saint.
Suddenly, he was gone and now she talks about him like he was a damn angel and had never done anything wrong to her or our family.
"Alright, good talk, I'll call you later." Quickly, I hung up the phone, not giving her time to say anything else.
She was a tough woman to get along with, an even tougher woman to live with, and the worst person to be required to love.
Don't get me wrong, I loved her because she was my mother, but it was hard as fuck to balance the natural love you have for the woman who gave birth to you, and the person they actually were.
Self-centered.
Materialistic.
Cold-hearted.
And, full of drama.
Spell that out and you get Fran Burke, my mother.
"Diane," I said into the intercom.
"Yes, Mr. Burke?"
"No more calls today, I need to finish the invoices for next weeks orders and get out of here on time."
"Sure thing, consider it done."
I spent the next hour typing in orders and emailing invoices to the various bars and restaurants we supplied. With no distractions, I was able to finish everything in record time, leaving me plenty of time to run home and get cleaned up before meeting Ella.
I wasn't getting my hopes up with this one. After multiple disappointments with previous women, I was starting to doubt I'd be able to make this happen.
But I always got what I wanted, no matter how much I had to fight for it.
This was no different.
If I liked her, I planned on taking her.
Simple as that.