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Zach Jameson
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ZACH STOOD BY THE DINER's front door, stunned. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, but he thought he could still hear the echo of the bell jangling when Betty stormed out. After she'd shot him down and bailed. Had he ever been shot down by a woman before? He didn't think so. Not even when he was still in high school, and most guys were getting turned down all over the place. He had what his mother had liked to call a golden tongue and his brother, a whole lot less affectionate of the subject, had told him was dumb luck. Personally, he didn't know which one it was, and he didn't care. He had never cared before, that was. At the moment he found that he cared a whole hell of a lot. He had basically zero experience being rejected, by chicks or by anyone else for that matter, and he didn't know how he was supposed to take it. He guessed it wasn't a problem many of the population wouldn't sympathize with him on, but there you go.
“Hey, boss, what the hell is going on here? Someone glue you to the floor or something?” Matty asked as he ambled up by Zach’s side.
“No. No, they didn’t.”
"Then what gives? All I'm saying is that I ordered you a beer and a Ruben and if they get to that counter before you do, I'm not responsible for what I'll do."
"That's fine. You can have them. It turns out I'm not hungry, after all." He could feel Matty watching him, but he didn't return the eye contact. He didn't feel like talking. Not even close.
“Where’d that cute little waitress go, anyhow? Betty? I had to order from one of the other chicks. What’s that about?”
“She got fired, that’s what it’s about. She’s gone.”
“No shit? That blows. Doesn’t make any sense, either. She’s the best waitress I ever had, here or anyplace else. Maybe not for you, going to the swanky places you go, but–”
“No, Matty, I couldn’t agree more. She was the best I ever had, too.”
“So then what the hell happened?”
“I got her into trouble being where I shouldn’t have been. Come on.”
Matty looked like he would have liked to ask a half dozen more questions, but he knew better than to argue when Zach was in the kind of mood he was in. That was the employee part of him operating, and he was damn good at his job. He was the kind of guy that rolled with a plan whether he knew what the end game was or not, which was a good thing. Zach had a plan now, and he needed Matty to keep his mouth shut and his opinions to himself for it to work. He eased himself back down on his stool and smiled brilliantly when a waitress appeared immediately before him. She looked like the cat who'd caught the canary and Zach had to force himself to continue looking glad to see her. He wasn't, not glad at all, but he was good at getting what he wanted even when he had to bullshit to get there.
“Thank Christ,” he said in a moan, “does this mean you’re going to be our server now?”
"Yes! Yes, that's exactly what it means. My name is Melanie, and I just have to tell you, I am beyond thrilled to be your server today. Just beyond!"
“Well, I’m very glad to hear it, Melanie. You have no idea how glad. I’m hoping you have a better attitude than your predecessor.”
“My what now?” she asked with her head cocked to one side.
“Sorry. The chick that came before you. Betty, I think her name was.”
“God, I hope you think I’m better than her. But if you don’t mind me asking, what was your trouble with her?”
“She just struck me as somebody who would rather be doing something else. Not exactly a turn on when you’re expecting service from somebody. Did she have somewhere else she was supposed to be or something?”
“Ugh, probably school. She’s like, putting herself through college or some junk like that. Seems like a waste of time if you ask me.”
“Sounds like. And what classes was she taking? Do you know? Just curious what kind of things waitresses think they’re going to be getting up to.”
"I don't have a clue," Melanie answered, sounding a little impatient now. Zach needed to be careful. This one was clearly a bitch, but she didn't seem to be stupid. If she got the idea that what he was really doing was pumping her for information so that he could go find Betty, she would clam right up. If he couldn't get somebody at The Bellevue to tell him where he could find her, he might never see her again. That shouldn't have mattered, seeing as he hardly knew her, but for some reason it did.
“Of course you don’t. Stupid question.”
“Why do you say that?” Melanie’s implied question was whether or not he thought she was too dumb to know the answers to his questions. He needed to tread carefully with this one, for sure. She was the kind of snake that bit.
“She just doesn’t seem like your kind of person. That’s all I mean. You strike me like a girl who likes to have more of a good time than her. Please, though, correct me if I’m wrong. By all means. I like a woman who can challenge me.”
Once he’d said that, all of the suspicion disappeared from Melanie's eyes. She giggled, a sound that struck Zach as somehow obscene, and started twirling bottle black hair around one extremely long nail. She leaned forward on the countertop with her elbows propped on its surface and Zach was treated to a free show of exactly what she was working with.
“Is that so?” she asked, biting her lip suggestively.
“It is. I like to cut straight to the chase. Say what I want up front.”
“I think the two of us are going to get along just fine.”
Zach heard the sound of the bell over the door chiming again, but he didn't think much of it. It was one of those sounds that was easily shoved into the background where it belonged. This time, though, listening would have been a good idea. It would have saved him a whole hell of a lot of trouble, that was for sure. He was getting ready to figure out how to steer the conversation back in the direction that he wanted it without tipping Melanie off when he got the feeling that there was somebody watching him. A lot of people ignored feelings like that, but Zach trusted his instincts. He turned to look over his shoulder and felt instantly sick.
“Nice. That’s really nice. Guess it’s a good thing I put my foot down, huh?” Betty was standing in the doorway, her previously forgotten coat dangling from one limp hand. It was the coat she had come back for, not him, and she must have seen enough to give her a seriously shitty impression of what kind of man he was. He stood up quickly enough to knock his stool over and hardly noticed when Matty caught it. He took a step towards Betty, who almost simultaneously took a step back towards the door.
“Hang on, Betty. It’s not–”
“What I think? Is that what you were going to say?”
“Um, yes, actually. That’s exactly what I was going to say.”
“Of course it is. That’s what guys always say, right? What I’ve always wondered is whether or not there are people who believe that crap.”
For the second time that afternoon, she turned and bolted out of The Bellevue. The difference was that this time, Zach followed her. Before he could lay a hand on her, she whirled on her heel and looked into his face. The way her eyes were blazing, it was his turn to take a step back. He'd pissed off plenty of women in his life, mostly for not meeting expectations they'd come up with for where a relationship was going, and he knew what it looked like. Betty was pissed. She was whatever you called it when a woman was five steps past pissed.
“What?!” she snapped, drawing the attention of several curious passersby, “What do you want, Zach?”
“I just want you to listen to me for a minute. I know you think I’m full of shit–”
“You’re right there.”
“I wasn’t hitting on her. I was trying to get information, for Christ’s sake!”
“About what?” She laughed bitterly, “The fastest way to get between her legs?”
“About you, alright?! I was trying to get her to tell me how I could find you without her knowing that’s what she was doing. I wanted to find you. I need you to hear me on this.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I told you, I know what it looked–”
“That’s not what I mean. What I’m saying is that I don’t get why you’re trying so hard. Just let it go, okay? There are plenty of stupid waitresses out there who will be more than happy to go along with whatever story you tell them. I’m just not one of them.”
“Fine. Alright, then let’s try something else.”
“Zach, seriously, this–”
"Just go out with me long enough to help me out!" he blurted the words out and then instantaneously wished he could take them back. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face closely. He had no idea how he was supposed to make this next scheme sound palatable or even if he could. He only knew he needed to give it his best shot. For maybe the first time in his life, he was at the point where he had nothing else to lose. Except for his dignity, maybe, and he was pretty sure he'd given that up when he'd chosen to follow her and make this scene in the first place. All he needed for confirmation on that point was to look at the street traffic, who hopefully wasn't getting any of this on their cell phone cameras.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” she asked, her voice low. In that voice was the unarticulated threat that she reserved to kick him in the balls if she didn’t like his answer. Unfortunately for him, he kind of doubted that she would.
“Look, my situation isn’t the same as a lot of people’s. I have certain expectations put on me.”
“So does everyone else.”
“Not the same kind.”
"Why, because you're rich? Because your family is rich, too?"
“That’s some of it, yes.”
“Poor you. I don’t see what that has to do with me.” She was looking less and less sympathetic all the time. He couldn’t say he blamed her, either.
“Just go out with me until I can get my dad off my back with the whole fiancée thing. After that, I won’t bother you anymore.”
"Fiancée? I'm sorry, I must be having auditory hallucinations. Did you just say, fiancée?"
“I did.” Zach held up both of his hands, palm side up, in a warding off gesture. Whether he was trying to keep her from freaking out or to keep her from decking him in the face, he wasn’t entirely sure. Both, probably.
“Are you talking about your dad’s fiancée? Are your parents divorced or something?”
“No, I’m not talking about my dad.”
“Then who? Who’s fiance are we talking about, Zach?”
“Mine, Betty. We’re talking about mine. Except I don’t want to marry her. It wasn’t my choice. I don’t even like her.”
"Okay, enough! Seriously, stop it. I don't want to hear any more of this!"
“But–”
"No! No more buts! I don't know what your deal is and I don't want to know. Maybe you get off and messing with people like this. I don't care. I'm not going to be a part of it. Just leave me alone. I'm not going to help you, and I don't want to see you again. Got it?"
Betty turned and hurried down the sidewalk, her coat still dangling from one arm, and her purse clutched close to her side. Zach was kind of a gym rat, and he could have caught up to her easily enough, but what was the point? He'd tried to make things better and had only succeeded in fucking things up royally. Not only that, but any chance of getting the bitchy one inside to tell him what he wanted to know was shot now, too. He couldn't have screwed this up better if it had been what he'd set out to do.
“Hey, boss. I’m gonna guess that didn’t go your way?” Matty headed towards him, approaching with a certain amount of caution.
“You could say that. You would be sugar coating it, but you could say that.”
“What do you want to do now?”
“Home, Matty. I want to go home.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
ZACH WAS PRETTY SURE that for most people, home was the place they wanted to go when they needed to recharge. It was where the people you loved were, where the things that made you happy waited for you to have the time to pick them back up again. For Zach, that wasn't always true. For starters, he didn't get to spend enough time in his fancy penthouse loft for it to feel really lived in. Every time he walked through the door he got a vaguely disoriented feeling like he was entering a hotel room instead of the place where he lived. There was also the fact that he hadn't ever collected artwork or memorabilia that made the place his. He had hired a well-renowned decorator when he had first moved in, and she had done a bang-up job. Still, his place wasn't necessarily reflective of his own, and none of the things it contained came with personal stories attached to them.
Then there were the less sentimental, more practical reasons for home not always being the place of rest it should have been. The biggest among these was his dad, who was so often at the root of one of Zach's sources of discontent. The man paid no attention to the laws of boundaries or personal space. He showed up where he wanted when he wanted, and because he was who he was people let him do it. On more than one occasion Zach had spoken to the doorman working in the lobby of his building about not letting his dad up without consent. He'd tried asking, threatening, and bribing, each more than once and with more than one person. Every time he was given apologies and promises of compliance. Not one person had yet to follow through. It left Zach saddled with a kind of gut-sick anticipation every time he put the key in his lock, a rush of adrenaline that he could do without. He was as much a fan of gambling as the next guy, but Russian Roulette wasn't one of his games.
“I need to move,” he muttered to himself as he slipped his key into the lock, “stop this shit for good.”
The door opened, and he stepped inside, setting his briefcase down by the door and leaning against it with his eyes shut. He was very, very tired. He couldn't remember ever being so tired in his life, and so riddled with nerves, sadness, even. There was no justifiable reason he could think of for it, either. No time in the gym and no hard partying the night before. The closer he had gotten to thirty the more brutal his hangovers had become, which made him more hesitant to cut loose. There was nothing physically wrong with him to make him feel this way, which meant the only thing it could be was his confrontation with Betty. Except that didn't make any sense to him. For starters, he didn't know her all that well. It was a point he kept coming back to over and over again, but it was true, goddammit! He didn't see how he could be so worked up by a chick who'd only been a tiny part of his life for a couple of weeks. Second off, he'd never had a person get to him this way before, and so he was baffled by the fact that it happened at all. Not just with Betty but with anyone. Back in college, he had dated a girl named Sylvie for almost two years. They had both been twenty when they'd met, and everyone had thought she would be the one he settled down with for good. She had what his parents liked to call ‘the right pedigree.’ She was your standard blue blood American princess, the kind of girl who made other girls feel bad about themselves just because they weren't her. That his family had expected him to propose to her hadn't been the end all, be all. Even at twenty-one, he'd been well on his way to comfortable with ignoring his parents' wishes. That Sylvie had expected him to propose had been harder. She was a nice girl, all in all, and he hadn't wanted to hurt her, but he hadn't felt anything for her beyond that. He had spent basically zero time mourning her. If he had felt that little for a woman he'd been with for two years, he didn't see how he could be so worked up over Betty. And he'd managed to fuck it all up fantastically.
“Zachery! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting.” Zach cracked his knuckles, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. He should have known the old man would be there. He should have smelt the scotch rising into the air.
“Dad, you know you wouldn’t have to wait if you called ahead of time and told me you were here.”
“Do you honestly think I would do that? How foolish do you think I am?”
“It’s not foolish. It’s common courtesy. You know, the socially acceptable thing to do? I thought you were into that kind of thing.”
"Stop it, Zachery. Don't be a smart ass with me. You and I both know that if I called ahead to let you know I was coming, you wouldn't be here."
“And that would be my right. I’m an adult. I don’t have to come when you call.”
“Watch your mouth,” his father warned, his eyes blazing the way Zach remembered from his childhood, “and think before you speak. You are indebted to me whether you like to admit it or not.”
"I started my business on my own. I didn't take money from you, and I don't owe you my success."
“Don’t you? Do you honestly think you would have made it so far without the name I gave you upon your birth? My name?”
"If this is why you came, I've gotta tell you, I'm not in the mood. You can just go right now." Zach moved for the door handle, and his dad held out his hands. He didn't say he was sorry, nor was he likely to do so, but he composed his face into something resembling polite, and Zach let his hand drop back to his side.
“You’re right. This is going nowhere. And as it happens, I came here for a reason.”
"Yeah? What's that? I'm not lying; I'm brutally tired."
“It’s about Miss Wollenschire.”
“I told you, I don’t want to fight.”
“Nor do I. I just thought you should know that the two of us discussed matters after your abrupt exit at dinner.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.”
“You should be. I’m pleased to say that she is on board, despite any friction she may have detected. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, that one. She will make a lovely addition to the family.”
“You’re kidding, right? Dad, I don’t want this. I don’t want to marry her. I don’t know how many ways I have to say it before you understand.”
“I understand, boy. I understand perfectly. I just don’t care.”
"Nice," Zach said, disgusted and defeated. He had no right to be surprised. This was the kind of man his father was. Looking for paternal nurturing from him was about as effective as looking for a hug from a brick.
"You think I can't touch you. You don't have to say it for me to know it's true. It's painfully clear. You would be wise to understand that I can and I will. If you push me, son, I will push back with force, unlike anything you might anticipate."
“What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
“You’re supposed to fall in line. And you should do it sooner rather than later, for both of our sakes.”
Zachery had nothing else to say. It was a good thing, too, because his father wasn't sticking around to listen to anything more. He set down his half-drunk glass of scotch, of course not giving a shit that it was expensive and he was wasting it, and slid past where Zach still stood in the hallway. Once Zach was finally alone, he slid down to the hallway floor and put his head in his hands. Hearing that Lucille was still on board after the stunt he had pulled at dinner was a bad sign. Most self-respecting women would be outraged by his behavior, as they should be. Betty had been outraged, and she wasn't anywhere close to being an heiress with royal blood. If Lucille was still in, there were motivations that he didn't want to think about, but thinking about them was the only thing he could do. When he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, it was an unconscious thing, just a nervous tick he'd been doing for all of his life. He pulled the slip of paper out of his pocket without thinking about that, either, unrolling it on instinct and with no real thought. He looked down at it, started, then smiled.
“Holy shit. How–?”
It was a phone number. It could have been anyone’s number, absolutely anyone’s, but he knew whose it was all the same. Amidst all of the day’s shit, one good thing had emerged. He had a way to get in touch with Betty again. Whether or not she would talk to him remained unseen and, probably, unlikely. Still, he had more of a chance now than he’d had thirty seconds ago and right now, that was enough.
