Chapter 5

• I've had mental chats with Victoria ever since she moved out eleven years ago. To be honest, during the wee hours of the night, I have even spoken to her aloud; on my own, when I'm lonely.
• Asked what she thought. Pleaded with her, yelled as loud as I could.
• Should I buy this building with my money?
• Let's discuss this through, please. Time is still on your side.
• You gave up on us, but why?
• I'm at a loss for words now that I'm standing close to her, gazing into her glistening eyes and smelling her sweet, vanilla perfume. Does her skin still taste like whipped cream, I wonder?
• I examine her cautiously, like a circus tiger tamer. She's short-circuited my head so swiftly, it's unbelievable.
• Her speech has sounded wobbly, like my insides, ever since I ambushed her on the sidewalk. I never imagined that I would feel so anxious seeing her again. I get a surge of lust when I hear her sweet, southern accent. It's a constant sensation that fluctuates according to how much or how little I'm thinking about her. That current is more like a tsunami rushing through my veins now that we're back together.
• I have to focus on the current work at hand.
• which is difficult because the newsroom stinks. Not as good as I recall. There's a half-eaten pizza and a stack of yellowed newspapers in the corner, and the place smells like onions. It's been fifteen years—has anyone cleaned this place? It doesn't appear to be. I had never understood Victoria's fondness for the mayhem seen in newspapers. I used to go see her a lot at the school newspaper where she worked as a reporter when we first met. I was first drawn to her because I could tell she was more alive while working in her newsroom or late at night when composing a piece for the paper. However, her aspirations to become a famous reporter and journalist stood in our way. That, as well as a host of other issues.
• Hanna, whom I always called Hannah, virtually jumps into my arms while I'm trying to disguise my displeasure at how shabby everything appears at the Times. Although I'm truly happy to see her, having her around also adds a little bit of complexity. I thought she was retired for good.
• How unexpected, Hannah. Are you visiting us? I hope, at the very least, that the older woman is simply passing through. Hanna was not a part of any of my efforts to purchase and liquidate the paper. I want to ruin the legacy left by Victoria's father and possibly Victoria in person. Not some naive old lady who has only ever been a faithful worker. And one who, back when I was dating Victoria, had shown me such kindness.
• "I still work part-time, sweetie. I'm almost done with my pension and social security, but Victoria needs me." Hanna gives me a wink.
• The fact that she is almost done working is, in a way, a relief. When it comes to business, I try not to be as much of an asshole as I can be—that is, I try not to put pensioners on the streets. I don't want Victoria and her father's transgressions to be borne by the paper's employees. With a sickening feeling, I realize that Amelia is also employed here as my eyes dart to her. But since she is heavily pregnant and wears a ring, her spouse undoubtedly works. She will be alright.
• I smile at Hanna. I can't be sucked into these people's lives here. I have to handle this just like any other purchase. Layoffs will occur if they are necessary. The newspaper will close if I feel it has to for me to turn a profit.
• This is the commercial world. Alright, for the most part. And it's my pleasure. I'm very happy Victoria called you after she finally realized her mistake. The TV-attractive boy she was dating never appealed to me."
• Hanna's revelation that Victoria is seeing someone else gives me a jolt.
• I look across to Victoria, who is snorting angrily and rolling her eyes. Her head tilts to one side, exposing a neck that begs for my lips.
• "No, not anymore." Why does she correct Hanna so quickly?
• I chuckle at that Will Farrell film and give Hanna another embrace. I want to give her as much information as I can about the firm and Victoria, so I'm going to promise her lunch.
• "Let's proceed with what you came here for, Miki." Victoria seems irritated.
• "Why do you think I came here?" Now that I've seen her nervously using her left index finger to scratch the cuticle of her right thumb, I feel a little more grounded.
• "Dating an anchorman." I try not to seem serious, but something is growing inside of me. Over the years, I had kept tabs on Victoria via the Internet and had come across a picture of her with that TV guy in a local magazine. I took it for a professional partnership. I look at her finger again, feeling for a ring. Nothing. Her only jewelry is a pair of silver studs in her ears; she doesn't even appear to be wearing anything.
• As we enter her office, Victoria beams charmingly. Was she in love with the anchor? Was her heart broken by the guy? What caused their breakup?
• I give a broad smile, the same fake smile I wear when I have to go to Miami red carpet events. I had always had academic challenges from Victoria. Sometimes, like when she moved away to pursue her career aspirations, in very frustrating ways. After leaving me, she never glanced back, as if I were merely a footnote to something greater and more meaningful. When we were younger, I wasn't enough for her.
• I'm here to tell her, quite frankly, that I am everything she could have ever imagined, additionally to demonstrate to her how unfulfilled her life has been. Look at this awful office - that first Christmas break, I'd gone in here thinking it so imposing, so scary, because it had been her father's. It now has a dump-like appearance and a musty stench, as if something drowned and perished in the corner. Alright, for the most part. Occasionally, I catch a whiff of Victoria's perfume, which is a welcome diversion from the musty odor. However, each time my nose picks up on her sweetness, I inhale more deeply to relish the scent before it disappears.
• I'm hesitant to sit on this loveseat, sofa, or whatever it is because I'm worried about becoming sick or that these stains will somehow go on my clothes. For this specific appointment, I had gone to considerable lengths to select the best-tailored suit available from the Beta store. I pull on my French cuffs and give Victoria a serious look.
• She held the file in her hand and fanned herself. She asks Amelia, "Is the air working in here?" and she shrugs and mumbles something about always being sweaty. I growl in annoyance as my phone rings. I pull it from my pocket and glance at the screen. UNKNOWN, it appears. Just as I'm going to disregard it, I remember that this is how occasionally the Spanish lawyer's number appears. And I have to respond if it has to do with the high-rise I'm developing in Madrid. I'm too busy with tasks to be able to spend a month here in St. Augustine. However, I need this closure for my well-being, and sometimes personal progress requires putting the business on hold.
• This trip was, in my opinion, the ultimate breakthrough—an exorcism.
• "I'm sorry, I need to take this." She seems shocked as I gesture to my phone.
• No, Victoria, I won't be prioritizing you anymore. I sense her gaze following me as I leave her office.
• "Yes?" I say. I always answer the phone in this manner. Not a shit. It was my uncle who taught me that. He had never earned enough money to move out of that tiny Hialeah cinder block house with his wife, but he taught me to skip the unnecessary details and get right to the point. Every day I miss him.
• "Miguel?" The woman speaks in a high, upbeat voice.
• "Who is this?" I scowl.
• The person on the other end is laughing. "This is me, Miguel. Zoey.