Seeing Clearly (12 page)

"What? No. Of course not. I mean I
like
him, but things would never work with us."

I let out another long sigh, contemplating whether or not to continue. Angel was the mother figure I needed in moments like this. I was about to tell Angel Ramirez something I'd been holding inside for the past few days. I had been carrying the weight of these emotions, and I needed to get them off my chest.

"It's just that he's the only guy I've been with in a long time, so I know he's…" I paused and took another deep breath. "I'm a few days late on my period."

Chapter 16

Joel

I thought I'd have no problem going back to life as usual after a Gretchen fix, but being with her a few days ago at my property in the hills only served to wet my appetite. The memory of her all sprawled out on that quilt stayed with me in a way I wasn't entirely comfortable with. I couldn’t stop my subconscious from bringing up vivid pictures of the girl… and every time I thought of her, I felt that same tug like I was being physically pulled toward her.

I tried to make contact with her the day after we were together in the woods, but she didn't want any part of it. I asked if I could go with her to South Central. She refused me, which only resulted in more working out. I was in better shape than my personal trainer.

"Are you okay Mr. Perrin?" Betty's odd greeting caught me a little off guard as I entered my office. The bubbly receptionist was filling in for my assistant Gina since she had to leave town for a family emergency.

"Fine. Why?" I asked.

"Gina said you never come in later than eight." Betty looked at the clock on the wall to emphasize her point. "Yes indeed, and now that you mention it, you seem a little distracted too."

"I'm good, Betty. And as far as being late, Gretchen forgot to tell you I run an hour behind when I go to the gym before work. Most of the time I come straight here, so it's rare, but you shouldn't worry when I'm late."

"Who's Gretchen?"

"What do you mean, 'who's Gretchen'?" I asked, incredulous. The sound of her name spoken aloud made me instantly on edge. Was Betty some kind of mind reader?

She just looked at me like
I
was the crazy one. "You said '
Gretchen
forgot to tell me you run late when you go to the gym'," she said. I just stared at her as I tried to remember. Had I really said that?

"I meant
Gina
, obviously."

"Okee dokee," she said, her eyes wide. "I
guess that was just a little slip then."

"Yeah." I said. I tried to pass it off as no big thing, but Betty knew I wasn't the type of person who made slips, was late to work,
or
distractible. She asked me one last time if I was okay before moving on to the day's agenda.

I had an extremely busy week ahead. The new plant was on the verge of being fully operational, but I still had some things to iron out with the board members of the American Optical Association, which resulted in several last minute meetings. As if that wasn't enough, I had to deal with some licensing issues with my line of goggles and the U.S. Olympic committee. Obviously these were all very good
problems to have, but I was expecting the next few weeks to pass in a blur since I'd be so consumed with things at work.

I was usually very focused, determined, and organized, but lately there was an underlying thought in my subconscious that
was taking up a lot of room. Sometimes it was closer to the surface, and sometimes it was further down where I hardly noticed it, but it was
always
there.
She
was always there. Gretchen.

Having her was becoming a
goal
, and that was a little scary considering how consumed I could get with my goals. I'm the type of person who sets them and doesn't stop until they're realized. When I was thirteen-years-old I made a list of things I'd like to accomplish… and one-by-one, I've checked off
most
of the list. All except two things.

Number six on the list is: Marry a smart, stable, funny, honorable, loyal, beautiful girl, and never ever, no matter what, get a divorce. (Please bear in mind that I wrote the list at thirteen, but I still think it's a good goal.)

Number seven is: Have a son to whom you'll pass your name and fortune… maybe a few of them, and a girl or two.

Yes, I actually wrote those exact words on a piece of paper. Even the bit about
"to whom you'll pass your name"
. I still have the handwritten copy in my desk drawer.

Numbers one through five all dealt with personal and career goals. Anything from,
making a difference in the world
, to
running a marathon
. When I wrote it, I didn't know exactly what my career goals were… I had no idea I'd be working with plastics at that point. Plastics are just the means I used. I knew it would be science of some sort, but at thirteen, I didn't know specifically what I'd be doing.

Either way, goals one through five, and also eight, were already taken care of. But the two goals that hinged on finding a suitable mate were still unachieved. Those two left
way
too much out of my hands. I prefer being in
complete control
of any given situation, and love brings too many variables.

Lately, I'd been trying to talk myself into believing that Gretchen could be the one even though I knew there was no way I could feel
stable
in a relationship with someone who does love scenes for a living… nor was I sure how
loyal
or
honorable
it made her. I knew the list was just a stupid list, and ultimately, I should just be with the person I wanted, but the fact of the matter was… I couldn't be with Gretchen because I wouldn't be able to handle the jealousy.

Realizing thoughts of Gretchen were again surfacing; I turned my attention to the two voicemails that accumulated while I was talking to Betty. One was from Rachel and one was from Paul Smith. I decided to call Paul back first because his
voicemail said he had a proposition for me (which, of course, peaked my interest).

Paul: "What's up Joel, did you get my message?"

Me: "Yeah, you've got my attention… what's the proposition?"

Paul:
"My son, the oldest, wants to see how you make the goggles. You know, maybe take a tour of the plant and talk to you a little bit. He tried a pair of them a few months back and hasn't quit talking about them. Said they shaved three seconds off his fastest time in the pool."

Me: "No problem! I'd love to give Jack a tour. I'll get Betty to make a window this week."

Paul: (laughing) "Just like that? You didn't even hear the proposition."

Me: "I don't want anything for showing your son around, Paul. If anything
, I owe it to you. Don't forget I called in a favor when I needed you to get me past the guard the other day."

Paul: "Oh, that's right! How'd that go?"

Me: "Like a dream, thanks to you. Bernie and I are pretty much best friends now."

Paul: "Yeah, she's
all right isn't she? Naw, you don't owe me anything for calling Bernie. I was planning on offering my tickets to the Lakers game tomorrow in exchange for you showing the boy around. I can't use them anyway, and they're amazing seats. You'll have fun."

Me: "You don't have to do that, Paul, seriously. I don't mind showing Jack around.

Although I refused, by the end of the conversation Paul had given me six courtside tickets for tomorrow night's game in exchange for spending a couple hours with his son Jack on Friday afternoon. Paul's friend (who also happened to be his lawyer) owned an unprecedented,
six
courtside season tickets. His family had passed them down for generations, and he routinely got offered absurd amounts of money to sell them off. Paul's family got to use them for a game or two each year, but this time his wife was in bed with the flu. Paul was offering me six seats "on the wood" among the likes of Hollywood's most famous. I thought the deal was extremely one-sided, but Paul kept saying how excited Jack would be to learn he'd be taking the tour.

I placed a call to Rachel Blake w
ithin seconds of ending the conversation with Paul. Not only to return her call, but also to see if she and Collin wanted to come to the game. I knew Rachel was having a birthday this week, and I figured since I hadn't heard from Gretchen about any plans… there likely weren't any.

Rachel: "Hey Joel, I'm glad you called me back. I emailed you the sample ad for Time. I need to have it to them by tomorrow, so look at it and let me know if you want any changes."

Me: "I'm sure it's fine, but I'll look at it in a minute and shoot you an email if I see anything."

Rachel: "Okay, see if you think the logo needs a drop shadow behind it, or if it stands out enough as it is."

I laughed at how
down to business
she was being on a day when I mostly called to ask about birthday plans and Laker games.

Me: "Hey, aren't you having a birthday this week?"

Rachel: "Yeah, it's tomorrow… but, don’t worry, we're not doing anything. I don't want you to think you're not invited. It's a busy time of year for everybody with Christmas and everything. I've never been good at birthdays anyway. I'd just as soon not have a big hoopla."

Me: "What about a basketball game? I have six tickets to see the Lakers. Not just any tickets either, they're really good ones."

Rachel: "Wow. Really? I've only been once and it was a lot of fun. Are you sure you don't mind? Who's all going?"

Me: "Paul Smith offered them to me just minutes ago on the phone because he couldn't use them. Something last minute. He was planning on bringing his family, but they can't make it, and now I have six tickets. I only need one or two, so you can use the rest of them to invite whoever you want."

Rachel: "Do you want me to ask Gretchen? Because I bet she'll say yes if I do."

I was surprised by her question so I took a few seconds to gather my wits before I responded.

Me: "Honestly Rachel, I don't know what to tell you. Five or six days ago, maybe a week, I went to her work and we spent the afternoon together. I talked to her the day after. You know, trying to check in and maybe hang out again. Anyway she wasn't receptive, and I haven't talked to her since. I'm not saying I've been completely fair to her… but lately, it's been Gretchen avoiding me and not the other way around."

Rachel: "Don't feel bad it's not just you. I've had a hard time getting her to call me back the last few days too. I think she's really busy at work. But I know Gretchen well enough to know she would want to see a Lakers game if we were all going."

Me: "To answer your question, I definitely want you to ask her. I'd like to see her. Like I said, I don't really know where she stands." I paused. "Oh, and Rachel?"

Rachel: "Yeah?"

Me: "Just incase it comes up, I'm not too keen on her bringing a date."

Rachel: "Well, duh, Joel. As if I would
ever
let that happen. If I wanted to see
a fight
I would watch the UFC instead of a basketball game."

Me: "Ha-ha very funny."

Rachel: "Seriously, Thanks for the tickets. It's gonna be fun. I'll text you as soon as I hear what Gretchen decides."

I was torn between denying that I wanted to hear about what Gretchen decided, and thanking Rachel
for saying she'd let me know. I ended up not really responding which was only a little awkward. We said our farewells and hung up with the understanding that we would be in touch over text, or email, or both throughout the day. I never did clarify whether I'd be needing
one
ticket or
two
. Rachel was smart enough to know that I was waiting to hear if Gretchen was coming or not before I decided if I would ask someone else. (Yes, I was planning on asking someone else to come with me if Gretchen said no. I certainly couldn't wait around forever for a girl who was doing nothing but trying to avoid me.)

Before lunch that day, I had back-to-back visits from personal couriers. The first was a guy Paul sent to deliver the tickets for the Lakers game tomorrow night, and the second was a guy Ian Craig sent to deliver the photo of Gretchen and me. It had been reframed in a gorgeous,
heavy frame. The thing looked like it'd been hand-carved by a master craftsman. Ian had chosen it, and he'd gone all out since he didn't have to frame the forty-nine other prints he had for sale that night.

Betty signed for it, assuring the courier that I was right there inside my office, and she'd deliver it post haste. I heard the whole conversation because Betty's speaking voice was a good ten decibels louder than the average person's.

"It's heavy, Mr. Perrin." Betty was groaning with the effort as she opened my office door while holding the huge, framed photograph. "Oh, boy. It's a big one." I was already crossing the room to help her, but she was moving so fast that she was halfway into my office before I met her to take the package off her hands. "What do you think it is?" She looked at me like it was the most interesting mystery ever.

"I know what it is."

"Yeah?" she asked. She stood stone still, waiting for me to give her more information. Perhaps she even wanted me to unwrap it right there in front of her, but there was no way I was about to do that. That would just lead to questions I didn't have time for on a day as busy as this one.

"It's just a picture. I'll probably open it l
ater and you can check it out." I was thankful that the explanation was enough to nudge her on her way.