Necessary Rudeness

I wish you could hold me in your strong loving arms like you used to. You would say to me, “You are a beautiful Queen, armed with God's strength and my love, so you have nothing to worry about.” Then I would feel your warm gentle lips on my forehead and the world would melt away. 

Now your arms and lips are cold, and I will never know the last words you spoke. The driver of a Mack truck asleep at the wheel crushed your seemingly immortal body- taking the life I loved to be a part of. The days are longer. The nights are restless. I want you back, but I have to go on.
Two months ago the mere notion of living without one of the greatest men I have ever met would have sounded like a cruel curse handed down by the most vindictive God, but it is reality. It is my reality...
“She couldn't have loved him all like she say.” “Look at her, she's flirting with the best of 'em and just got promoted...” 

When you look at the equation 1+1=2. It looks simple. Our relationship was simple. I supported him and he supported me, when we saw each other. When we were apart the relationship still stood, solid even. We had no problems with being faithful, but sometimes it got hard for me. Sometimes I wanted to have someone that I could count on no matter what, no matter when. Then I thought about where his heart was, and that was the end of that inner dilemma. Still, there is something wrong with the equation 1+0=1. It looks empty. It looks sad. Not to mention, I just don't like odd numbers that are not factors of five. So I created other equations 1+4=5. The four would be one girlfriend, one guy friend, a male acquaintance, and a young mentee. Or the equation 1+7=8. The eight would be two girlfriends on a girl's night out, one fan, one crazy boss, a sexy chocolate male associate, and two kind married men that I just randomly met, (by kind I mean deliciously attractive). I don't do well with voids. I don't like empty space. The thought just bothers me. My one has been permanently removed from the equation, I do what I need to do to survive.
“Do you have those graphs ready for me Gina?”

“Well there was a problem with the participants. I could not get a complete sample of the target audience you wanted, but I pulled together data the best I could,” Gina said as she nervously fiddled with her clothes.

“The best you could,” I said to myself thoughtfully. “Too bad your best is a day late and a dollar short get out of my office,” I replied quite cooly. 

You see, my life has gone through the most late days and short dollars, so I have little sympathy. Through it all, bills were still due, tests were still given, and the networking had to go on. Fortunately, I saw my life as a drama being written by one of the greatest playwrights of all time. I was an excellent actress. I stood tall and smiled with the best of them until my man came to take the pain away, along with my clothes.

This afternoon I have to pitch a film idea to potential sponsors. Although, with half-decent data I'll have to pull out some old tricks to convince them that their money would be well spent and that this could actually win an Emmy, instead of coming close to a nomination, “Angela I am so sorry we couldn't give you the nod this year. It was so close, but we felt there was some slight disconnect...” Sure, there was a disconnect. It was between the message of equality, which exposes the truth and the safety of their empirical practices, but I'm not mad. This time I toned down the controversy and went for a more humanistic, simplistic approach. 1+1

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” I say brightly, as though there is nowhere else I would rather be. “The one thing I have always held the most respect for is honesty, and this new idea will honestly touch anyone who has a soul.” I open my presentation with this even though I know there isn't an Old White Guy in this business who hasn't personally signed a contract with Lucifer himself for all the riches to pass down generation after generation.

“Angela I must say you never cease to amaze, even when your competition is younger and fiercer.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Waldengate. I must say your charm never ceases to amaze me,” even though you get balder and richer off of the poor masses, I thought to myself with my signature smile plastered across my face. 

“However Angela, I believe I speak for everyone when I say, ah how can I put this, your ideas are a little too mature for the projects we're interested in seeing. Have a nice day.”

I could have climbed over the conference table and smacked his old, balding ass. “Too mature,” was his diplomatic way of saying that there weren't any hot, young people acting a fool in my piece. It was his way of saying we are trying to gray you out of the business. The funny thing is though, Mr. Waldengate and his ass kissers, I mean associates, couldn't be farther removed from the real world and from the people this business should want to serve because they are the loyal ones. Loyalty, however, has never had much of a dollar value, thereby meaning nothing to the OWGs taking vacation on the shores of Sicily.
I decided to pull myself together and let off some steam at happy hour at the sophisticated lounge downtown, Sunday Morning. The first sip of my apple-tini put my mind at ease. The first sip of my second apple-tini sent my mind swimming to back in the day. Old memories of when I first met Joseph J. Wills surfaced. It was actually in this very lounge. I had had a couple margaritas, so I felt particularly bold. I walked over and said ,“My name is Angela, I am a documentary film maker, and what are you doing in my neck of the woods.” His tone was so calm, calculated, and naughtily curious. I felt the connection instantly. It was intense, and I could have made love to him right then and there. “My name is Joseph, I am a stock broker for Harold and Hank Inc., and if I'm in your neck of the woods it may be time to buy some acres.” I knew he was special, because very few people can handle me once I've decided not to hold my tongue. 

We talked for hours. I found out where he was from, where he'd been, and what his favorite character on The Simpson's was. I told him about how I had come to find myself in the business, and what it felt like to be forced out, slowly. We shared our knowledge on subjects ranging from Philosophy to The Fugees. It was absolute magic, and the people grooving to the music in the background melted and meshed into something from a dream. All I could see was him. All I could see was his smile and his heart reaching out to me. My heart touched his. The connection was undeniable. 

“Well, it's getting pretty late. Ladies such as myself can't be out at all hours with the hookers and drug dealers,” I got up to leave, and grabbed my coat. 

“Let me call you a cab,” he touched my arm and ran his hand down to my elbow where his fingers lingered. I almost melted. 

“Oh no honey, I drive. I'll be seeing you around,” I was supposed to walk away right here, but
his gaze held me right where I stood.

“Well Ms. Angela, let me call you.” He was so presumptuous as to pull out his phone and wait for the digits to leave my lips, while I imagined kissing his. Needless to say, though, they did. Mr. Wills called me the next evening, and from there we started something so strong that death was what parted us.
As my mind continued to roll film like a classic projector, it hit me. If you want it, claim it, own it, and care as much as you can. This line of action applies to my business, not just love.
The one thing people never understood about me was that I always had two sides. Two dueling opinions, thoughts, and desires. Somehow Freud had me figured out. Although, both sides just wanted to be loved, one side by many, and the other side by one. I have always been a terrible flirt, “when the cat's away...,” but I never truly acted on the flirting to cause any real harm, or earn a reputation. My lady-like manner always won out, always captured the heart of some unsuspecting man, leading him to bend at my request. It is not an accident that I have been proposed to twice, nor is it a point of pride.  With each of them a piece of me died. The ring locking me into one set of behaviors when I would desire another. Of course this is not 1903, but society still speaks loudly and rudely if necessary. Sometimes I listen, and sometimes I love being the girl everyone talks about, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

From the Author
>> Occasionally my stories will read more like a screen play because I see what I write. Follow if you can. Comment if you can't. :)


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