The Destroyer
- Thread starter Kritter
- Start date
freshPotatoes
Contributing Member
That was beautiful !!!
Lakewalker
Contributing Member
Thank you. The last chapter was very beautiful and reminded me of one of the last conversations I had with my Grandfather. He also fought in the war and shared with me things he hadn't spoken about to other family members. I felt privileged to share just a piece of his story.
Kritter
The one and only...
Green neon reflected off the wet pavement outside the Starbucks, the air still fresh from the rainstorm that blew through earlier in the day. Inside, the place smelled like coffee and lemon cake, and the line for the counter ran ten people deep. Mallorie sat on a stool by the window, updating her blog while she waited on Armando. She caught her own reflection in the glass and removed her scarf, worried that it made her look more like a stewardess than a businesswoman. She’d spent an hour that morning trying to decide what to wear for their kickstarter launch, before settling on a simple blue dress and black short-sleeved suit jacket. She put the scarf back on again, tied it, untied it, tied it and moved it to the side. Using a small mirror, she added another layer of mascara, and then stood and gathered her things to join Armando in his cab.
He was immersed in a phone conversation when she got in beside him. His eyes met hers in acknowledgement. “Okay, we’re on our way. We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said, speaking to the programmer who had been in charge of putting together their website. He put the phone in his suit pocket and smiled at her. “Excited?”
“Very,” she admitted, feeling nervous, dumb, incompetent and miles out of her element.
“Remember,” he said reassuringly, “this is just day one, so don’t get disappointed if you don’t see big results right off the bat.”
She nodded, and then swallowed, half-wanting to burst into tears, her stress level through the roof. It had been fun spending money and putting together a business, but if they didn’t get the backers and orders they were expecting, all of it would end this week and they’d be left with nothing. There was the dreaded feeling that no one would like her shirts or care about her project. Her shirts were stupid. Her project pointless...
“Hey,” Armando said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”
Her eyes locked on to his, taking what strength she could from his confident face. She took a deep breath and then another, watching his eyes trace over her outfit.
“You look very nice,” he said, putting up his finger while he took another call.
Mallorie turned her head and stared out the window, hearing his girlfriend’s voice. The woman called him constantly. He sounded irritated, though, speaking to her with short, clipped responses, punctuated by him hanging up on her mid-sentence.
“Sorry.” He put the phone away. “I can’t deal with her anymore. She’s completely unreasonable. She doesn’t understand any of this.”
“The kickstarter?”
“Business...in general.” He shook his head, annoyed. “And she’s an enormous Yankees fan.”
Mallorie laughed at his petty complaint. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There is when you call me in the middle of a meeting to tell me A-Rod’s been suspended. Or that someone hit a home run, or that someone bought a hot dog.” His voice grew unusually tense.
“Sounds like she’s just checking up on you.”
He snorted, rolling his eyes skyward like she’d just nailed the true cause of his irritation. He reached up to loosen his tie and collar before bending to retrieve his laptop. “Have you seen the completed video yet?”
“No,” she said, leaning in, eager to watch it.
He smirked, bringing up their kickstarter page, which was due to go live in one hour. “It’s hot. You’re gonna love it.”
---
Four computers, one laptop and assorted video equipment lay spread across the multiple desks and tables that made up Hugo Lloyd’s living room. His chair rolled around the hardwood floor as he worked deftly between them. From Mallorie’s point of view, for his scant $300, he’d been the most valuable asset to their business so far - working with Armando to help set up tiers of incentives and gifts. The highest tier donors would be invited to the launch party, a fancy affair they had to host if the project was fully funded.
“I like your blog,” Hugo said over his shoulder in greeting. “You did a good job with it.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, untying her scarf and laying her purse on a table. His home was a split level 50’s relic, his modern electronics clashing with the dark paneled walls and brown shag carpet that had greeted them when they walked in.
“There’s Triscuits and stuff.” He nodded to a cheap metal tray full of crackers and cheese. “How do you like the website?”
“It looks great,” she gushed. “I love the graphics.”
“Yeah, I did that myself...and the logo. I got your Facebook page up, and we picked up about 500 followers on twitter,” he added. “Mostly other clothing designers but all that matters right now is the numbers.”
“Couldn’t get your shirts into the hands of anyone famous?” Armando teased.
“Actually...” She grinned, breaking out her camera and bringing up the photo of Louisa and Brooke.
“What?” Armando squinted at the digital screen. “Is that...is that Brooke Durham?”
“Yeah.” Mallorie laughed at the sound of his surprise.
He took the camera from her hands and sank into a chair, studying it at length. “How on earth did you get this?” he asked.
Mallorie blushed. “It’s a long story.”
“One I’d like to hear,” he said seriously.
“Well, we were looking for something in that building’s basement...”
“We?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re friends with this girl?”
Mallorie nodded. “Something like that. Unfortunately, the picture is useless. We were all filthy dirty.”
“Useless?” He boggled, his eyes growing wide. “Mallorie, this is perfect. It’s more than perfect...it’s genius.”
She smirked at him like he was joking, before tilting her head at the sound of his excitement. “Really?”
“They look just like the women in these old photos. Like the women on your shirts. And look how proud and beautiful they look, despite being all dirty. You can see the glow of achievement on their faces. Hugo...,” he turned to the man. “Can we get this picture up on the site?”
Hugo gave a lopsided shrug. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
“And put a caption underneath it.” Armando stretched his hand out in front of him. “The Beauty of Achievement.”
“I like it,” Hugo said, glancing at the clock. “Okay, we’ve got ten more minutes.”
Mallorie took a seat and pulled out her notes, listing every news site to hit. They wanted to make it more than a launch - they wanted to make it a news item, and she was offering interviews to whoever was interested.
Armando walked behind Mallorie’s chair and put his hands on her shoulders, bending down so his face was next to hers. “You did a great job,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Good luck.”
"You too," she whispered nervously.
He was immersed in a phone conversation when she got in beside him. His eyes met hers in acknowledgement. “Okay, we’re on our way. We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” he said, speaking to the programmer who had been in charge of putting together their website. He put the phone in his suit pocket and smiled at her. “Excited?”
“Very,” she admitted, feeling nervous, dumb, incompetent and miles out of her element.
“Remember,” he said reassuringly, “this is just day one, so don’t get disappointed if you don’t see big results right off the bat.”
She nodded, and then swallowed, half-wanting to burst into tears, her stress level through the roof. It had been fun spending money and putting together a business, but if they didn’t get the backers and orders they were expecting, all of it would end this week and they’d be left with nothing. There was the dreaded feeling that no one would like her shirts or care about her project. Her shirts were stupid. Her project pointless...
“Hey,” Armando said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”
Her eyes locked on to his, taking what strength she could from his confident face. She took a deep breath and then another, watching his eyes trace over her outfit.
“You look very nice,” he said, putting up his finger while he took another call.
Mallorie turned her head and stared out the window, hearing his girlfriend’s voice. The woman called him constantly. He sounded irritated, though, speaking to her with short, clipped responses, punctuated by him hanging up on her mid-sentence.
“Sorry.” He put the phone away. “I can’t deal with her anymore. She’s completely unreasonable. She doesn’t understand any of this.”
“The kickstarter?”
“Business...in general.” He shook his head, annoyed. “And she’s an enormous Yankees fan.”
Mallorie laughed at his petty complaint. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There is when you call me in the middle of a meeting to tell me A-Rod’s been suspended. Or that someone hit a home run, or that someone bought a hot dog.” His voice grew unusually tense.
“Sounds like she’s just checking up on you.”
He snorted, rolling his eyes skyward like she’d just nailed the true cause of his irritation. He reached up to loosen his tie and collar before bending to retrieve his laptop. “Have you seen the completed video yet?”
“No,” she said, leaning in, eager to watch it.
He smirked, bringing up their kickstarter page, which was due to go live in one hour. “It’s hot. You’re gonna love it.”
---
Four computers, one laptop and assorted video equipment lay spread across the multiple desks and tables that made up Hugo Lloyd’s living room. His chair rolled around the hardwood floor as he worked deftly between them. From Mallorie’s point of view, for his scant $300, he’d been the most valuable asset to their business so far - working with Armando to help set up tiers of incentives and gifts. The highest tier donors would be invited to the launch party, a fancy affair they had to host if the project was fully funded.
“I like your blog,” Hugo said over his shoulder in greeting. “You did a good job with it.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, untying her scarf and laying her purse on a table. His home was a split level 50’s relic, his modern electronics clashing with the dark paneled walls and brown shag carpet that had greeted them when they walked in.
“There’s Triscuits and stuff.” He nodded to a cheap metal tray full of crackers and cheese. “How do you like the website?”
“It looks great,” she gushed. “I love the graphics.”
“Yeah, I did that myself...and the logo. I got your Facebook page up, and we picked up about 500 followers on twitter,” he added. “Mostly other clothing designers but all that matters right now is the numbers.”
“Couldn’t get your shirts into the hands of anyone famous?” Armando teased.
“Actually...” She grinned, breaking out her camera and bringing up the photo of Louisa and Brooke.
“What?” Armando squinted at the digital screen. “Is that...is that Brooke Durham?”
“Yeah.” Mallorie laughed at the sound of his surprise.
He took the camera from her hands and sank into a chair, studying it at length. “How on earth did you get this?” he asked.
Mallorie blushed. “It’s a long story.”
“One I’d like to hear,” he said seriously.
“Well, we were looking for something in that building’s basement...”
“We?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re friends with this girl?”
Mallorie nodded. “Something like that. Unfortunately, the picture is useless. We were all filthy dirty.”
“Useless?” He boggled, his eyes growing wide. “Mallorie, this is perfect. It’s more than perfect...it’s genius.”
She smirked at him like he was joking, before tilting her head at the sound of his excitement. “Really?”
“They look just like the women in these old photos. Like the women on your shirts. And look how proud and beautiful they look, despite being all dirty. You can see the glow of achievement on their faces. Hugo...,” he turned to the man. “Can we get this picture up on the site?”
Hugo gave a lopsided shrug. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”
“And put a caption underneath it.” Armando stretched his hand out in front of him. “The Beauty of Achievement.”
“I like it,” Hugo said, glancing at the clock. “Okay, we’ve got ten more minutes.”
Mallorie took a seat and pulled out her notes, listing every news site to hit. They wanted to make it more than a launch - they wanted to make it a news item, and she was offering interviews to whoever was interested.
Armando walked behind Mallorie’s chair and put his hands on her shoulders, bending down so his face was next to hers. “You did a great job,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Good luck.”
"You too," she whispered nervously.
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sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you for the new chapter.
freshPotatoes
Contributing Member
I reckon there's going to be a backlash. Thank you Kritter !
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Kritter I don't know how how long we can hang of the face of this CLIFF!!!!!!!!!! so please post as soon as possible 
. Thanks for a fantastic story and for taking the time to share it with us.
Wayne
. Thanks for a fantastic story and for taking the time to share it with us.Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
Nothing was like Mallorie expected it to be, but everything worked as planned. Their press release was well received, and offers for interviews came pouring in. It was crazy, exciting, hectic and frightening all at the same time, and both she and Armando loved every minute of it. She couldn't even sleep that night, staring at their donation page, giddy with the thought they might succeed. But her thoughts kept running back to Armando's using Brooke's photo before she'd asked if it was okay. She'd have the opportunity tomorrow, though, since she'd promised Clara she'd join them to whatever mystery location her sister had planned. However, meeting them at the hotel was out of the question, so she had another interesting location in mind.
---
Columbia was perfect. Mallorie had spent the last forty minutes just walking around its campus, wanting to get a sense of Armando’s world. Until that summer, she’d never given much thought as to where she would attend collage, but her mind was made up now. She would go there - with Armando - and since Matthew Durham was footing the bill, she’d get herself the biggest dorm room. Excited and motivated by the thought, she almost missed the limousine as it pulled up to the curb.
“Let’s go, Mally,” Louisa beckoned to her from a rolled down window.
Mallorie blushed, aware that the students around her turned to look in her direction. She tossed her bag over her shoulder and flipped her hair, strutting to the cab with her chin up, briefly enjoying the feeling of importance that came with her artificial wealth. Clara wrapped her arms around her neck the second she got inside.
“Why’d you wanna be picked up here?” Brooke asked, peering out the window.
“Just taking a look at the campus. So, where are we headed?” Mallorie asked, wanting to be sure she wouldn’t end up anywhere near Matthew Durham.
“We’re taking Clara to ride a horse,” Brooke whispered, not wanting to spoil the surprise.
---
Miles of heavily tree-lined highway passed by in a blur, the drone of the road equaled only by the drone of ladies’ conversation. Clara pasted her nose to the glass to catch glimpses of the river beside them, and then she started talking to herself out of boredom. Mallorie bit her lip at the road sign ahead. After they had crossed the George Washington bridge, it was clear the horse was in New Jersey, and as they took the turn for Alpine, it sealed her dreaded notion that Brooke was taking them to her home. The only thing that calmed her nerves was the knowledge it was Thursday, and Matthew Durham was probably at work.
“Oh, by the way,” Mallorie mentioned with equal tension, drawing Brooke and Louisa’s eyes. “I’ve been working on a project to build a monument to the women who worked during World War II. The one’s who took over the men’s jobs?” She paused, noting their blank expressions. Removing her laptop from her bag, she brought up the artist’s render. “This is the monument we hope to make...and we plan to put it in Staten Island, and everyone who donates will get one of those shirts...like the one I gave you the other day.”
“That’s nice,” Brooke said blandly.
“So..." She gave them a roguish grin. "I was wondering if you both wouldn’t mind if I use that picture I took the other day?”
“What picture?” Louisa narrowed her eyes. “You don’t mean the one where we’re all dirty?”
Mallorie gave her a weak smile. “Yes?”
“Absolutely not,” Louisa said, sounding outraged. “God forbid anyone saw me like that.”
“But it’s for such a good cause,” Mallorie tried gently. “You can tell people it was staged, but it goes so perfectly with the theme. Just think of the message you’d be sending to young women about the beauty of achievement.”
Louisa drew in a stiff breath and raised an irritated eyebrow at Brooke.
“Is this thing legit?” Brooke questioned, taking a second look at the design. “You’re really planning to do this?”
“Yea, we’ve got a kickstarter going for it and everything, and it's almost a quarter funded. Come on,” Mallorie begged again. “That picture would be so cute with this project.”
Brooke gave a shrug of indifference. Louisa looked out the window.
“So...is that a yes?” she asked nervously as they both rolled their eyes skyward.
---
Rising up from a mile of bright green lawn, the Durham’s home was the definition of palatial. It stood like a great gray beast of a wall, lined with tall white columns and covered with gleaming windows. A working fountain, encircled by pink roses, sat in the middle of their driveway. It drew Clara’s interest right away and the second the limousine doors opened, she bolted towards it with delight.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Mallorie asked her, sticking close to the car, afraid to enjoy the view until she was sure the mansion’s Lord and Master wasn’t on the grounds.
“Is this where Obama lives?” Clara questioned her seriously in Spanish.
“No,” Mallorie laughed. “This is Brooke’s home. So who all is here?” she questioned her sister.
“No one right now.” Brooke strode straight to the door and led them inside the freezing cold abode. “God,” she gasped. “My father’s insane. They need to turn the air conditioner down in here.”
Mallorie entered with some trepidation. The house felt oddly vacant as she took in the opulent foyer. It was cavernous and dark inside, and ghostly silent, save for the scrape of an ice maker somewhere in their kitchen. The decor was ultra modern without a touch of personality or warmth. Brooke didn’t even turn on the lights as they made their way through a long hallway, ending up by the sliding glass doors that led out to the patio.
“There’s an echo in here,” Clara noticed, shouting out the word, adding an assorted bird and animal sounds to the desperately needy room.
“The stable is out back.” Brooke opened the door, ignoring the child’s wonder. They walked past a pool and tennis court, which both stood with equal indifference, and circled around a large riding ring with a single, two stall stable. “This is my mother’s horse,” she said with an apologetic tone, as if the animal was sub-standard and required explanation. She entered his stall and led him out. Clara made a hasty retreat behind Mallorie’s back.
“It’s just a horse,” Louisa laughed, belittling the child’s fear, and then she paused and tilted her head. “Oh,” she said softly, changing her tone at the sight of Clara's large, rounded eyes. Kneeling down, she put her hand out in invitation. “If you’re afraid, we’ll ride him together. Will you ride with me?”
Clara wrapped her arms around Mallorie’s waist, carefully studying the animal. She gave Louisa a tentative nod, watching nervously as Brooke put a saddle over his back.
“Just think of him as a really, really big pony,” Louisa said with a smile, standing up to give the horse a pat. Her analogy had some impact as Mallorie felt the child relax.
---
Brooke took a dozen pictures of Clara and Louisa before posting her favorite to Facebook, eschewing the Big Sister program and encouraging others to join. Mallorie laid on a chair by the pool, watching them ride from afar.
“She’s so brave.” Brooke smiled, taking a seat beside her. "I really think we're helping her."
“It’s really great what you’re doing.” Mallorie sat up, her eyes tracing over Brooke’s home again. “It must have been nice growing up here.”
Brooke shrugged, giving the house a once over herself. “It was all right.”
“You don’t sound too enthused,” Mallorie noted.
“It was kind of lonely,” she said, looking out over the endless lawn. “My brothers both played with each other and my parents were hardly here...and we're like miles from the next house. I spent a lot of time playing by myself, but I'm not very interesting,” she added with a small laugh.
“I’m sorry,” Mallorie said sincerely.
Brooke turned her head to Mallorie, studying her face. “I believe you. You know, I didn’t really know what to think of you the first time that we met. But...you’re so real and down to earth. And then, when you climbed up on that boiler...” She laughed, her smile widening. “That was great. I really want to be more like you. Brave and crazy like that." She leaned forward, shaking her head as if she'd made a fresh determination. "I’m really glad we met.”
“Me too,” Mallorie said, biting her lip as the phone rang in her pocket. She glanced at it, seeing Jada's number, and turned the ringer off.
---
Columbia was perfect. Mallorie had spent the last forty minutes just walking around its campus, wanting to get a sense of Armando’s world. Until that summer, she’d never given much thought as to where she would attend collage, but her mind was made up now. She would go there - with Armando - and since Matthew Durham was footing the bill, she’d get herself the biggest dorm room. Excited and motivated by the thought, she almost missed the limousine as it pulled up to the curb.
“Let’s go, Mally,” Louisa beckoned to her from a rolled down window.
Mallorie blushed, aware that the students around her turned to look in her direction. She tossed her bag over her shoulder and flipped her hair, strutting to the cab with her chin up, briefly enjoying the feeling of importance that came with her artificial wealth. Clara wrapped her arms around her neck the second she got inside.
“Why’d you wanna be picked up here?” Brooke asked, peering out the window.
“Just taking a look at the campus. So, where are we headed?” Mallorie asked, wanting to be sure she wouldn’t end up anywhere near Matthew Durham.
“We’re taking Clara to ride a horse,” Brooke whispered, not wanting to spoil the surprise.
---
Miles of heavily tree-lined highway passed by in a blur, the drone of the road equaled only by the drone of ladies’ conversation. Clara pasted her nose to the glass to catch glimpses of the river beside them, and then she started talking to herself out of boredom. Mallorie bit her lip at the road sign ahead. After they had crossed the George Washington bridge, it was clear the horse was in New Jersey, and as they took the turn for Alpine, it sealed her dreaded notion that Brooke was taking them to her home. The only thing that calmed her nerves was the knowledge it was Thursday, and Matthew Durham was probably at work.
“Oh, by the way,” Mallorie mentioned with equal tension, drawing Brooke and Louisa’s eyes. “I’ve been working on a project to build a monument to the women who worked during World War II. The one’s who took over the men’s jobs?” She paused, noting their blank expressions. Removing her laptop from her bag, she brought up the artist’s render. “This is the monument we hope to make...and we plan to put it in Staten Island, and everyone who donates will get one of those shirts...like the one I gave you the other day.”
“That’s nice,” Brooke said blandly.
“So..." She gave them a roguish grin. "I was wondering if you both wouldn’t mind if I use that picture I took the other day?”
“What picture?” Louisa narrowed her eyes. “You don’t mean the one where we’re all dirty?”
Mallorie gave her a weak smile. “Yes?”
“Absolutely not,” Louisa said, sounding outraged. “God forbid anyone saw me like that.”
“But it’s for such a good cause,” Mallorie tried gently. “You can tell people it was staged, but it goes so perfectly with the theme. Just think of the message you’d be sending to young women about the beauty of achievement.”
Louisa drew in a stiff breath and raised an irritated eyebrow at Brooke.
“Is this thing legit?” Brooke questioned, taking a second look at the design. “You’re really planning to do this?”
“Yea, we’ve got a kickstarter going for it and everything, and it's almost a quarter funded. Come on,” Mallorie begged again. “That picture would be so cute with this project.”
Brooke gave a shrug of indifference. Louisa looked out the window.
“So...is that a yes?” she asked nervously as they both rolled their eyes skyward.
---
Rising up from a mile of bright green lawn, the Durham’s home was the definition of palatial. It stood like a great gray beast of a wall, lined with tall white columns and covered with gleaming windows. A working fountain, encircled by pink roses, sat in the middle of their driveway. It drew Clara’s interest right away and the second the limousine doors opened, she bolted towards it with delight.
“Isn’t it pretty?” Mallorie asked her, sticking close to the car, afraid to enjoy the view until she was sure the mansion’s Lord and Master wasn’t on the grounds.
“Is this where Obama lives?” Clara questioned her seriously in Spanish.
“No,” Mallorie laughed. “This is Brooke’s home. So who all is here?” she questioned her sister.
“No one right now.” Brooke strode straight to the door and led them inside the freezing cold abode. “God,” she gasped. “My father’s insane. They need to turn the air conditioner down in here.”
Mallorie entered with some trepidation. The house felt oddly vacant as she took in the opulent foyer. It was cavernous and dark inside, and ghostly silent, save for the scrape of an ice maker somewhere in their kitchen. The decor was ultra modern without a touch of personality or warmth. Brooke didn’t even turn on the lights as they made their way through a long hallway, ending up by the sliding glass doors that led out to the patio.
“There’s an echo in here,” Clara noticed, shouting out the word, adding an assorted bird and animal sounds to the desperately needy room.
“The stable is out back.” Brooke opened the door, ignoring the child’s wonder. They walked past a pool and tennis court, which both stood with equal indifference, and circled around a large riding ring with a single, two stall stable. “This is my mother’s horse,” she said with an apologetic tone, as if the animal was sub-standard and required explanation. She entered his stall and led him out. Clara made a hasty retreat behind Mallorie’s back.
“It’s just a horse,” Louisa laughed, belittling the child’s fear, and then she paused and tilted her head. “Oh,” she said softly, changing her tone at the sight of Clara's large, rounded eyes. Kneeling down, she put her hand out in invitation. “If you’re afraid, we’ll ride him together. Will you ride with me?”
Clara wrapped her arms around Mallorie’s waist, carefully studying the animal. She gave Louisa a tentative nod, watching nervously as Brooke put a saddle over his back.
“Just think of him as a really, really big pony,” Louisa said with a smile, standing up to give the horse a pat. Her analogy had some impact as Mallorie felt the child relax.
---
Brooke took a dozen pictures of Clara and Louisa before posting her favorite to Facebook, eschewing the Big Sister program and encouraging others to join. Mallorie laid on a chair by the pool, watching them ride from afar.
“She’s so brave.” Brooke smiled, taking a seat beside her. "I really think we're helping her."
“It’s really great what you’re doing.” Mallorie sat up, her eyes tracing over Brooke’s home again. “It must have been nice growing up here.”
Brooke shrugged, giving the house a once over herself. “It was all right.”
“You don’t sound too enthused,” Mallorie noted.
“It was kind of lonely,” she said, looking out over the endless lawn. “My brothers both played with each other and my parents were hardly here...and we're like miles from the next house. I spent a lot of time playing by myself, but I'm not very interesting,” she added with a small laugh.
“I’m sorry,” Mallorie said sincerely.
Brooke turned her head to Mallorie, studying her face. “I believe you. You know, I didn’t really know what to think of you the first time that we met. But...you’re so real and down to earth. And then, when you climbed up on that boiler...” She laughed, her smile widening. “That was great. I really want to be more like you. Brave and crazy like that." She leaned forward, shaking her head as if she'd made a fresh determination. "I’m really glad we met.”
“Me too,” Mallorie said, biting her lip as the phone rang in her pocket. She glanced at it, seeing Jada's number, and turned the ringer off.
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stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks for the chapter and not leaving us hanging for to long Kritter.
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
I'd knock out a chapter a day if I could but real life gets in the way sometimes. :P
Kritter
The one and only...
It's the next day. She was just waiting at the college for Brooke to pick her up, because she didn't want to go to the hotel...I'll try to clarify it. (*fixed it, should make more sense now, thanks)
((( Sorry, this chapter is a mess, but it needed to be in here, so until I can figure out how to fix it, just ..stick with me. It's hard to deal with transitional stuff when you've got insanely cool things waiting in the wings...because this story is just two chapters from EXPLODING..and I want to get there soo badly...because THAT'S the stuff I love to write. :P ((First world problems)) ))
((( Sorry, this chapter is a mess, but it needed to be in here, so until I can figure out how to fix it, just ..stick with me. It's hard to deal with transitional stuff when you've got insanely cool things waiting in the wings...because this story is just two chapters from EXPLODING..and I want to get there soo badly...because THAT'S the stuff I love to write. :P ((First world problems)) ))
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sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you 
Kritter
The one and only...
Good, thank you. Anytime you guys get lost at all, let me know. Sometimes when you already have the story in your head, its easy to miss information gaps like that.
(**********I just realized I left off the last sentence of that chapter too...So everyone go back and read the last line, lol...)
(**********I just realized I left off the last sentence of that chapter too...So everyone go back and read the last line, lol...)
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Kritter
The one and only...
Time was ticking away. The week had centered around donation totals because in reality, they were pre-orders, allowing them to make a bulk purchase from the manufacturers, which in turn brought down the price. Profit they made on top of that needed to pay for both the monument and the launch party, so even though they were hoping to raise $50,000, every penny was needed. The problem was, with twenty minutes to go, they were still $3,600 short.
“We’ll get it, don’t worry.” Armando smiled confidently from Mallorie's dining room table, making a few last pitches to the online veteran’s organizations.
After she’d looked over the thousands of T-shirt start-ups who never got past their first 5%, it made her feel good, knowing he’d believed in her idea’s potential. “If I had known...” She shook her head, glad she never perceived how badly the odds were against her. For a moment, she grew lost in watching Armando, fascinated by his cool focus. He was mature in a way her classmates weren't, and she loved his serious nature, and she selfishly wished he would break up with his girlfriend.
He glanced at her and pointed at her computer. “Get back to work.”
She smiled, feeling even more distracted. It was nice just being alone together, instead of in the noisy, crowded Starbucks. She only feared her mother would come home early and freak at a man in the house. Okay, concentrate, she told herself, her eyes flicking towards the clock. “Fifteen more minutes.”
“Come on, amigos,” Armando quietly begged, keeping his eye on the numbers. A few more smaller donations trickled in. The apartment grew tense with the sound of their fingers clicking against keys, as they sat side by side on their laptops, trying to find those few last donors to carry them over the crest.
Mallorie frowned at the minute counter. “Ten minutes. We’re not gonna make it.”
“We’ll make it.” He put in a desperate plea to the art community, hoping the artist’s render might draw in some interest. The space between each second of waiting grew more and more intense. He glanced at her with a pensive look.
“Eight minutes.” Mallorie bit her lip, watching the total crawl upwards. “And we still need $3,200.”
Armando closed his eyes and started praying out loud, calling on the spirits of the women in their pictures and at least a half dozen saints.
“Six minutes,” Mallorie whispered, watching only $20 more dollars roll in. Her eyes started to well with tears, struck with the sinking feeling that her dream was about to be shattered. “Five minutes.” The ring tone on her cell phone went off. She glanced at the number and picked it up. “Jada, I’m sorry, I’ll call you right back. I’m really busy right now,” she said, cutting her friend off and hanging up before she could say a word.
“Three minutes.” Armando took his credit card out and laid it on the table. “There’s no way this is failing. I’ll put it in myself if I have to.” He started entering his card information as the second hand made another pass.
“Two minutes, hurry,” she said, watching him, willing him to type faster, but suddenly the donation total rolled over $50,000. Both of them blinked at the page and then at each other. “Oh...my...god,” Mallorie gasped. “What just happened? Did we do it?”
Armando stood up and leaned his palms against the table, staring at the screen as the kickstarter wound down its final minute displaying a “Fully funded” banner. He turned to Mallorie and let out his breath. “Well, Congratulations. You’ve got yourself a business.”
Mallorie jumped to her feet and hugged him, overwhelmed with tears of joy, and then she backed away and wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
“Get your stuff. We’re going out.” Armando put his credit card back in his wallet and bent over the computer again, bringing up the donors. “So...guess who put us over the top,” he said, turning his screen in her direction.
Mallorie glanced at the name on the final donation and shook her head, breaking into a grateful grin. “Brooke Durham.”
---
Alone in their own cozy corner of the steakhouse, they relaxed and basked in their glory. Mallorie's cheeks were warm and glowing, matching the glass-enclosed candles on their table. It was an elegant choice on Armando’s part, but he repeated that money was no object each time she balked at the menu’s prices. They toasted their new business with their soda glasses and clinked them together for luck, before sharing an awkward silence. She had no idea what to talk about outside of their business, having never really learned very much about him.
“How does your other business do?” she asked. “The street musician thing? The one you almost won for last year?”
“BuskerNation.com,” he said. “It does really well. It pulls in about $3000 a month, but it probably could do better.”
Mallorie’s eyes widened. “You’re making $36,000 a year just from a website?”
“Between the membership and advertising, yeah,” he said, sounding casual about it. “And now we’ve got this.” He smiled, pulling out a notebook, dropping right back into business. “I’ll take care of contacting the printer and the distributor tonight, and you need to contact Mr. Gant at the shipyard to get moving on the monument permits. And...you wanted to enter the competition, right?”
“Yes. I can’t believe this is really happening.” She laughed, beaming at him with appreciation.
He leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on the table. “What made you decide to do this to start with, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Mallorie sat a moment in quiet contemplation, going over the story of the trumpet and the shipyards, but that was only where she got the idea. The ‘why’ was a very different story. It was her desire to meet her father in a comfortable environment where she had a valid reason and ready-made excuse for being in his presence. She lifted her eyes and studied Armando’s face, noting his genuine interest, and then she sucked in her breath and let it out. “How good are you at keeping a secret?” she asked softly.
“We’ll get it, don’t worry.” Armando smiled confidently from Mallorie's dining room table, making a few last pitches to the online veteran’s organizations.
After she’d looked over the thousands of T-shirt start-ups who never got past their first 5%, it made her feel good, knowing he’d believed in her idea’s potential. “If I had known...” She shook her head, glad she never perceived how badly the odds were against her. For a moment, she grew lost in watching Armando, fascinated by his cool focus. He was mature in a way her classmates weren't, and she loved his serious nature, and she selfishly wished he would break up with his girlfriend.
He glanced at her and pointed at her computer. “Get back to work.”
She smiled, feeling even more distracted. It was nice just being alone together, instead of in the noisy, crowded Starbucks. She only feared her mother would come home early and freak at a man in the house. Okay, concentrate, she told herself, her eyes flicking towards the clock. “Fifteen more minutes.”
“Come on, amigos,” Armando quietly begged, keeping his eye on the numbers. A few more smaller donations trickled in. The apartment grew tense with the sound of their fingers clicking against keys, as they sat side by side on their laptops, trying to find those few last donors to carry them over the crest.
Mallorie frowned at the minute counter. “Ten minutes. We’re not gonna make it.”
“We’ll make it.” He put in a desperate plea to the art community, hoping the artist’s render might draw in some interest. The space between each second of waiting grew more and more intense. He glanced at her with a pensive look.
“Eight minutes.” Mallorie bit her lip, watching the total crawl upwards. “And we still need $3,200.”
Armando closed his eyes and started praying out loud, calling on the spirits of the women in their pictures and at least a half dozen saints.
“Six minutes,” Mallorie whispered, watching only $20 more dollars roll in. Her eyes started to well with tears, struck with the sinking feeling that her dream was about to be shattered. “Five minutes.” The ring tone on her cell phone went off. She glanced at the number and picked it up. “Jada, I’m sorry, I’ll call you right back. I’m really busy right now,” she said, cutting her friend off and hanging up before she could say a word.
“Three minutes.” Armando took his credit card out and laid it on the table. “There’s no way this is failing. I’ll put it in myself if I have to.” He started entering his card information as the second hand made another pass.
“Two minutes, hurry,” she said, watching him, willing him to type faster, but suddenly the donation total rolled over $50,000. Both of them blinked at the page and then at each other. “Oh...my...god,” Mallorie gasped. “What just happened? Did we do it?”
Armando stood up and leaned his palms against the table, staring at the screen as the kickstarter wound down its final minute displaying a “Fully funded” banner. He turned to Mallorie and let out his breath. “Well, Congratulations. You’ve got yourself a business.”
Mallorie jumped to her feet and hugged him, overwhelmed with tears of joy, and then she backed away and wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
“Get your stuff. We’re going out.” Armando put his credit card back in his wallet and bent over the computer again, bringing up the donors. “So...guess who put us over the top,” he said, turning his screen in her direction.
Mallorie glanced at the name on the final donation and shook her head, breaking into a grateful grin. “Brooke Durham.”
---
Alone in their own cozy corner of the steakhouse, they relaxed and basked in their glory. Mallorie's cheeks were warm and glowing, matching the glass-enclosed candles on their table. It was an elegant choice on Armando’s part, but he repeated that money was no object each time she balked at the menu’s prices. They toasted their new business with their soda glasses and clinked them together for luck, before sharing an awkward silence. She had no idea what to talk about outside of their business, having never really learned very much about him.
“How does your other business do?” she asked. “The street musician thing? The one you almost won for last year?”
“BuskerNation.com,” he said. “It does really well. It pulls in about $3000 a month, but it probably could do better.”
Mallorie’s eyes widened. “You’re making $36,000 a year just from a website?”
“Between the membership and advertising, yeah,” he said, sounding casual about it. “And now we’ve got this.” He smiled, pulling out a notebook, dropping right back into business. “I’ll take care of contacting the printer and the distributor tonight, and you need to contact Mr. Gant at the shipyard to get moving on the monument permits. And...you wanted to enter the competition, right?”
“Yes. I can’t believe this is really happening.” She laughed, beaming at him with appreciation.
He leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on the table. “What made you decide to do this to start with, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Mallorie sat a moment in quiet contemplation, going over the story of the trumpet and the shipyards, but that was only where she got the idea. The ‘why’ was a very different story. It was her desire to meet her father in a comfortable environment where she had a valid reason and ready-made excuse for being in his presence. She lifted her eyes and studied Armando’s face, noting his genuine interest, and then she sucked in her breath and let it out. “How good are you at keeping a secret?” she asked softly.
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stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks for the new chapter Kritter, I hope Mallorie did not just make a BIG mistake.
Wayne
Wayne
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you, the more people know the sooner the secret isn't a secret any more.
momengineer
Senior Member
I have a veerrrryyy bad feeling she should have called Jada back...
Kritter
The one and only...
The soft, silken strains of a saxophone played from the speakers above their heads, lending the perfect soundtrack to Mallorie’s story. She’d meant to tell him in a casual way, but her voice grew weak when she mentioned she’d only learned this two short months ago. It was awful, and it still bothered her, but she hadn’t realized how much until that moment.
“The Matthew Durham,” Armando said when she was finished, the same way she had said it herself. He’d listened to her with sympathy in his eyes, absorbing not just her words, but the way she tensely rubbed her hands together and how she winced more than once while she was talking.
“Yes.” She laughed nervously. “It’s just so...” she started, and then stopped, finding herself choking up on the word.
Armando reached across the table and put a hand on top of hers. “Okay,” he said, “I can see you’re really upset, so...just give yourself a minute.”
“I’m all right.” She smiled, knowing she didn’t mean it but the fact that he cared and understood made her feel a little better. Plus, there was his hand, gently holding hers, his thumb making tender passes across her knuckles. “It’s just so sad,” she managed to get out.
He nodded, taking measure of her face before letting go of her hand. “So, do you have actual proof?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “There was a paternity test done. My mother has the papers.”
“And is his name on your birth certificate?”
“No.” Her heart sank, remembering the sting she’d felt the first time she’d seen the certificate with its glaringly blank line. The absence of a father’s name was difficult enough to handle, and even understanding the circumstances now, it still felt like rejection.
Armando contemplated her words and then knotted his brow. “So explain to me again why your mother’s only getting $250 a week?”
“Apparently, they had a contract.” Mallorie rolled her eyes at the notion that to Matthew Durham, she was a business transaction. “The money won’t stop when I turn 18. He’ll keep paying as long as I’m alive. Plus he completely covers my health insurance and all schooling costs right on through graduate school if I want.”
Armando shook his head. “That’s not the great deal considering his yearly income. You should be getting at least four times that much...so...like $52,000 a year. Over 18 years...” He took a pen and pad from his shirt pocket and started scratching out the numbers.
“It’s $936,000,” she said. “I’ve done the math. But when you add in college and insurance on top of that, and then extend the payments over a lifetime...”
“He’s still making out.”
“Not enough to rock the boat.”
“Are those your mother’s words or yours?” he questioned.
Mallorie smiled. “Both...but if he could maybe just give me an opportunity...”
Armando clasped his hands together and rested them against the bridge of his nose. “So the competition is your way of approaching him safely.”
Mallorie nodded. “Do you think I have a chance?”
“To win? No,” he said honestly. “But to place high enough to make the banquet? Absolutely.” He leaned back as their steaks were delivered, taking a moment to process her situation. “So, his daughter knows?”
“No.”
“But you’re friends with her.”
“Yes,” she answered weakly, knowing he was capable of piecing that concept together.
“Are you going to tell her?”
Mallorie pursed her lips, unsure of her answer. “I don’t know. I’d like to.”
“How do you think she’ll react?” he asked, picking up his knife.
“This smells delicious.” She leaned forward to breathe in the grilled meat, her mouth watering as she put butter on her baked potato. “You know the last time I had a steak? I had to be...at last three years.”
“Well enjoy it. You deserve it.” He grinned.
Mallorie smiled in memory of their successful kickstarter, almost having forgotten all about it. “To answer your question, I have no idea, but we get along really well. I hope..” she paused as his cell phone rang.
He glanced at the number and shook his head. “Excuse me.” He stood up and answered it as he walked away, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Mallorie tried to eat her steak and mind her own business, but her eyes kept lifting to him as he paced in the corner. She strained to make out what he was saying.
“No,” his voice rose before dropping again. “I’m not going to have this conversation. We’ve been over this.” He glanced at Mallorie and pursed his lips, turning his back to her. “Maggie,” he said, using his girlfriend’s name, “I’m sorry. You need to stop calling me. I’m busy.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket and took a deep breath, before returning to the table.
“Sorry,” he apologized, giving her a pained look. “I broke up with her the other day and she’s not exactly taking it well.”
Mallorie froze, a piece of steak poised right before her lips. “You broke up?” she said, lowering her fork.
“Yeah, I just...I need someone who shares my interests," he said earnestly. "There isn’t enough time...” he stopped mid-sentence and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said again, not wanting to list all his problems.
I share your interests, she wanted to scream so badly she almost let it slip, but instead she tried to keep her cool. “What other interests do you have besides business?”
“Music,” he said, his voice growing velvety warm with passion. “Music is my life.”
“Oh, that’s right...you’re a Music major, and I don’t even know what you play.”
He smiled, glancing down at his steak as he took another bite. “Guitar mainly, but...I can play pretty much anything. I plan on being a music teacher.”
“Like...in a high school?”
Armando nodded. “That or have my own store where we give lessons.” He grinned at that thought, exposing the most adorable dimple on his right cheek. Mallorie blushed at the sight of it. His eyes lifted towards hers with a tempting smile “I’ll have to play for you one of these days.”
“I’d like that,” she said, biting her lip as her own phone started to ring. “Sorry,” she apologized, picking it up, wishing Jada would pick better times to call. “Jada, what is it?” she said with impatience.
“Eddie died,” her friend sobbed. The line went dead after that.
“The Matthew Durham,” Armando said when she was finished, the same way she had said it herself. He’d listened to her with sympathy in his eyes, absorbing not just her words, but the way she tensely rubbed her hands together and how she winced more than once while she was talking.
“Yes.” She laughed nervously. “It’s just so...” she started, and then stopped, finding herself choking up on the word.
Armando reached across the table and put a hand on top of hers. “Okay,” he said, “I can see you’re really upset, so...just give yourself a minute.”
“I’m all right.” She smiled, knowing she didn’t mean it but the fact that he cared and understood made her feel a little better. Plus, there was his hand, gently holding hers, his thumb making tender passes across her knuckles. “It’s just so sad,” she managed to get out.
He nodded, taking measure of her face before letting go of her hand. “So, do you have actual proof?”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “There was a paternity test done. My mother has the papers.”
“And is his name on your birth certificate?”
“No.” Her heart sank, remembering the sting she’d felt the first time she’d seen the certificate with its glaringly blank line. The absence of a father’s name was difficult enough to handle, and even understanding the circumstances now, it still felt like rejection.
Armando contemplated her words and then knotted his brow. “So explain to me again why your mother’s only getting $250 a week?”
“Apparently, they had a contract.” Mallorie rolled her eyes at the notion that to Matthew Durham, she was a business transaction. “The money won’t stop when I turn 18. He’ll keep paying as long as I’m alive. Plus he completely covers my health insurance and all schooling costs right on through graduate school if I want.”
Armando shook his head. “That’s not the great deal considering his yearly income. You should be getting at least four times that much...so...like $52,000 a year. Over 18 years...” He took a pen and pad from his shirt pocket and started scratching out the numbers.
“It’s $936,000,” she said. “I’ve done the math. But when you add in college and insurance on top of that, and then extend the payments over a lifetime...”
“He’s still making out.”
“Not enough to rock the boat.”
“Are those your mother’s words or yours?” he questioned.
Mallorie smiled. “Both...but if he could maybe just give me an opportunity...”
Armando clasped his hands together and rested them against the bridge of his nose. “So the competition is your way of approaching him safely.”
Mallorie nodded. “Do you think I have a chance?”
“To win? No,” he said honestly. “But to place high enough to make the banquet? Absolutely.” He leaned back as their steaks were delivered, taking a moment to process her situation. “So, his daughter knows?”
“No.”
“But you’re friends with her.”
“Yes,” she answered weakly, knowing he was capable of piecing that concept together.
“Are you going to tell her?”
Mallorie pursed her lips, unsure of her answer. “I don’t know. I’d like to.”
“How do you think she’ll react?” he asked, picking up his knife.
“This smells delicious.” She leaned forward to breathe in the grilled meat, her mouth watering as she put butter on her baked potato. “You know the last time I had a steak? I had to be...at last three years.”
“Well enjoy it. You deserve it.” He grinned.
Mallorie smiled in memory of their successful kickstarter, almost having forgotten all about it. “To answer your question, I have no idea, but we get along really well. I hope..” she paused as his cell phone rang.
He glanced at the number and shook his head. “Excuse me.” He stood up and answered it as he walked away, his voice dropping to a whisper.
Mallorie tried to eat her steak and mind her own business, but her eyes kept lifting to him as he paced in the corner. She strained to make out what he was saying.
“No,” his voice rose before dropping again. “I’m not going to have this conversation. We’ve been over this.” He glanced at Mallorie and pursed his lips, turning his back to her. “Maggie,” he said, using his girlfriend’s name, “I’m sorry. You need to stop calling me. I’m busy.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket and took a deep breath, before returning to the table.
“Sorry,” he apologized, giving her a pained look. “I broke up with her the other day and she’s not exactly taking it well.”
Mallorie froze, a piece of steak poised right before her lips. “You broke up?” she said, lowering her fork.
“Yeah, I just...I need someone who shares my interests," he said earnestly. "There isn’t enough time...” he stopped mid-sentence and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said again, not wanting to list all his problems.
I share your interests, she wanted to scream so badly she almost let it slip, but instead she tried to keep her cool. “What other interests do you have besides business?”
“Music,” he said, his voice growing velvety warm with passion. “Music is my life.”
“Oh, that’s right...you’re a Music major, and I don’t even know what you play.”
He smiled, glancing down at his steak as he took another bite. “Guitar mainly, but...I can play pretty much anything. I plan on being a music teacher.”
“Like...in a high school?”
Armando nodded. “That or have my own store where we give lessons.” He grinned at that thought, exposing the most adorable dimple on his right cheek. Mallorie blushed at the sight of it. His eyes lifted towards hers with a tempting smile “I’ll have to play for you one of these days.”
“I’d like that,” she said, biting her lip as her own phone started to ring. “Sorry,” she apologized, picking it up, wishing Jada would pick better times to call. “Jada, what is it?” she said with impatience.
“Eddie died,” her friend sobbed. The line went dead after that.
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sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you for another chapter.
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Kritter thanks for the new chapter, I believe that some lives are about to become much more interesting. Great story!!!!!!!!!!
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
Mallorie stood at Jada’s door with a penitent face. She didn’t care that the old man died. She couldn’t even fake caring, but she understood her friend was upset. It hadn’t stopped her from finishing her lunch or returning to her home to deal with her business, but now that she dwelt on it, she realized she probably should have come sooner.
Jada opened the door with a inscrutable expression, leaving it agape for Mallorie to enter. She walked towards the living room without looking back. “I went to the library yesterday, and that old lady who sits out there told me he had died the night before.” She flicked her head towards the beaten-up instrument case on her couch. “They said he left this for me. He wanted me to have it.”
“The trumpet.” Mallorie smiled.
“I’m gonna learn to play it,” Jada said, picking up the case and laying it on the table. “You know, like, in his honor.”
Mallorie laughed, finding her words ridiculously melodramatic.
Jada turned and glared at her, shaking her head in disappointment. “I called you four times yesterday after I found out.”
“I know. I’ve been really...”
“Busy?” Jada cut her off. “No you haven’t.”
“Yes...I have,” Mallorie snapped. “Our kickstarter ended yesterday and we barely got it funded...not that you seem to care.”
Jada snorted. “Why should I care about your stupid business? Half your ideas were mine anyways. I got you the models...I put together the outfits, I helped you with your stupid blog. So where was I when you launched it or when you had your final count down?”
Mallorie pursed her lips and stared at her feet, feeling suddenly guilty. She gave a weak shrug. “Well...if you wanna do something now...”
“I’m busy,” Jada interrupted. “I got my own things planned.”
Mallorie crossed her arms. “Like what?”
Jada smirked, nodding towards the sleeping bags she had piled up near the door. “Me and Daniella are gonna camp out for One Direction tickets tonight. My father is gonna take us.”
“Oh.” Mallorie’s face sunk, feeling the burn of not being invited, especially since she would have loved to join them. The sound of jostling keys and packages interrupted their conversation, as Jada’s father entered the apartment followed by all three of Jada’s brothers - each one holding his own shopping bag. Their loud banter and laughter filled the air.
“Back to school shopping,” Jada’s father groaned. “Why’d I have four kids?”
“You could have stopped at one as far as I’m concerned,” Jada quipped.
He walked over and gave her a tender embrace, before offering Mallorie a frigid glance of acknowledgement and heading for the kitchen.
Mallorie lingered awkwardly by the door. “Well...I guess I’ll see you back at school.”
“If you can find the time to go on your...busy schedule,” Jada said smugly, lifting her head and walking out of the room.
---
The department store was packed. Metal hangers slid across racks, shirts were picked up and left unfolded, pants tried on and tossed aside. Dozens of mothers and daughters crowded the clothing section, debating the look and fit of every item.
“This is cute, I like this.” Valeria held out a high-collared, ankle-length dress.
“Mom, I’m not a nun,” Mallorie said.
“Don’t make fun of nuns,” her mother said sternly, continuing to browse. “What about this?” She pointed to a pencil thin skirt. “For your business?”
Mallorie stopped to look at it. “Maybe if it was a little bit shorter.”
Her mother shook her head disapprovingly, before moving deeper into the department. School was just a few days away and Mallorie felt excited, with $280 of her own money in her pocket. Windfall that had come from her business in its first real week of existence. The rest was reinvested so they could continue to buy in bulk, but it was more money than she'd ever had on her in her life. She perused the classier outfits in hopes of having clothes that served a dual purpose.
"Why isn't Jada with us?" her mother inquired casually.
"Because we're not talking." Mallorie strolled towards the discount rack.
"Why?" Her mother followed behind her.
"Because she wants me to spend all my time with her," she exaggerated, pulling a blue cocktail dress off the rack and displaying it to her mother. “What about this...for you?” she said, trying to change the subject. “Maybe you can wear it out...on a date...with a man.”
Valeria blushed and waved away the thought, starting to walk on, but Mallorie remained persistent.
“You have to have something to wear to the launch party. And look at the massive discount,” she baited, pointing to the tag.
Valeria sighed, returning to her. “Hmm.” She took her time examining the dress and then held it up to her shoulders. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful. You’ll look beautiful in it.”
Her mother took a deep breath. “Maybe.” She placed the dress in their cart, giving Mallorie a playful glance that indicated she would buy it. “When is that party?”
“We have to wait until the monument's done, so not until January, probably, but it’ll come fast,” she promised, circling away as her phone rang with an incoming text message. She ducked into the shoe department and sat down on one of the chairs, glancing around to make sure her mother wasn't close before bending over her iPhone .
‘Did you go back to New Hampshire?’ the text read.
Mallorie bit her lip. Brooke clearly knew she was no longer staying at the hotel, but at this point, that worked in her favor. 'Yeah, I'm sorry. Back to school,' she responded, relieved that she would no longer be expected to join their Thursday outings.
'Yeah, me too,' Brooke responded. 'When will you be back?'
'Probably around Christmas. Oh, and thanks so much for your donation. I'll see you at the launch party!'
'Okay, keep in touch,' was the quick response, followed by a smiley face.
"Mallorie?" her mother appeared, looking annoyed. "Let's go. You can talk to your friends after we shop." She held up the dress again, admiring it. "So who else is coming to this party of yours?"
"The top twenty highest donors and..." she stopped mid-sentence and folded in her lips, glancing down at her phone and back at her mother. "Oh shit," she whispered to herself.
Jada opened the door with a inscrutable expression, leaving it agape for Mallorie to enter. She walked towards the living room without looking back. “I went to the library yesterday, and that old lady who sits out there told me he had died the night before.” She flicked her head towards the beaten-up instrument case on her couch. “They said he left this for me. He wanted me to have it.”
“The trumpet.” Mallorie smiled.
“I’m gonna learn to play it,” Jada said, picking up the case and laying it on the table. “You know, like, in his honor.”
Mallorie laughed, finding her words ridiculously melodramatic.
Jada turned and glared at her, shaking her head in disappointment. “I called you four times yesterday after I found out.”
“I know. I’ve been really...”
“Busy?” Jada cut her off. “No you haven’t.”
“Yes...I have,” Mallorie snapped. “Our kickstarter ended yesterday and we barely got it funded...not that you seem to care.”
Jada snorted. “Why should I care about your stupid business? Half your ideas were mine anyways. I got you the models...I put together the outfits, I helped you with your stupid blog. So where was I when you launched it or when you had your final count down?”
Mallorie pursed her lips and stared at her feet, feeling suddenly guilty. She gave a weak shrug. “Well...if you wanna do something now...”
“I’m busy,” Jada interrupted. “I got my own things planned.”
Mallorie crossed her arms. “Like what?”
Jada smirked, nodding towards the sleeping bags she had piled up near the door. “Me and Daniella are gonna camp out for One Direction tickets tonight. My father is gonna take us.”
“Oh.” Mallorie’s face sunk, feeling the burn of not being invited, especially since she would have loved to join them. The sound of jostling keys and packages interrupted their conversation, as Jada’s father entered the apartment followed by all three of Jada’s brothers - each one holding his own shopping bag. Their loud banter and laughter filled the air.
“Back to school shopping,” Jada’s father groaned. “Why’d I have four kids?”
“You could have stopped at one as far as I’m concerned,” Jada quipped.
He walked over and gave her a tender embrace, before offering Mallorie a frigid glance of acknowledgement and heading for the kitchen.
Mallorie lingered awkwardly by the door. “Well...I guess I’ll see you back at school.”
“If you can find the time to go on your...busy schedule,” Jada said smugly, lifting her head and walking out of the room.
---
The department store was packed. Metal hangers slid across racks, shirts were picked up and left unfolded, pants tried on and tossed aside. Dozens of mothers and daughters crowded the clothing section, debating the look and fit of every item.
“This is cute, I like this.” Valeria held out a high-collared, ankle-length dress.
“Mom, I’m not a nun,” Mallorie said.
“Don’t make fun of nuns,” her mother said sternly, continuing to browse. “What about this?” She pointed to a pencil thin skirt. “For your business?”
Mallorie stopped to look at it. “Maybe if it was a little bit shorter.”
Her mother shook her head disapprovingly, before moving deeper into the department. School was just a few days away and Mallorie felt excited, with $280 of her own money in her pocket. Windfall that had come from her business in its first real week of existence. The rest was reinvested so they could continue to buy in bulk, but it was more money than she'd ever had on her in her life. She perused the classier outfits in hopes of having clothes that served a dual purpose.
"Why isn't Jada with us?" her mother inquired casually.
"Because we're not talking." Mallorie strolled towards the discount rack.
"Why?" Her mother followed behind her.
"Because she wants me to spend all my time with her," she exaggerated, pulling a blue cocktail dress off the rack and displaying it to her mother. “What about this...for you?” she said, trying to change the subject. “Maybe you can wear it out...on a date...with a man.”
Valeria blushed and waved away the thought, starting to walk on, but Mallorie remained persistent.
“You have to have something to wear to the launch party. And look at the massive discount,” she baited, pointing to the tag.
Valeria sighed, returning to her. “Hmm.” She took her time examining the dress and then held it up to her shoulders. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful. You’ll look beautiful in it.”
Her mother took a deep breath. “Maybe.” She placed the dress in their cart, giving Mallorie a playful glance that indicated she would buy it. “When is that party?”
“We have to wait until the monument's done, so not until January, probably, but it’ll come fast,” she promised, circling away as her phone rang with an incoming text message. She ducked into the shoe department and sat down on one of the chairs, glancing around to make sure her mother wasn't close before bending over her iPhone .
‘Did you go back to New Hampshire?’ the text read.
Mallorie bit her lip. Brooke clearly knew she was no longer staying at the hotel, but at this point, that worked in her favor. 'Yeah, I'm sorry. Back to school,' she responded, relieved that she would no longer be expected to join their Thursday outings.
'Yeah, me too,' Brooke responded. 'When will you be back?'
'Probably around Christmas. Oh, and thanks so much for your donation. I'll see you at the launch party!'
'Okay, keep in touch,' was the quick response, followed by a smiley face.
"Mallorie?" her mother appeared, looking annoyed. "Let's go. You can talk to your friends after we shop." She held up the dress again, admiring it. "So who else is coming to this party of yours?"
"The top twenty highest donors and..." she stopped mid-sentence and folded in her lips, glancing down at her phone and back at her mother. "Oh shit," she whispered to herself.
Last edited:
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you
stjwelding
Veteran Member
Thanks Kritter
Wayne
Wayne
Kritter
The one and only...
Rain hammered against the windows of Mallorie's apartment. The storm had rolled in overnight from the north and dropped the temperature thirty degrees. She donned a light pink sweater over her faded jeans while she waited for Armando to arrive. Her eyes darted to the clock, making note of the time - still two hours before her mother got home. The knock on her door sent a delicate shiver up her spine.
"Hey, come in," she said, smiling as she stepped aside, allowing her soaking wet business partner to join her. His hair was tousled from the wind and his shoulders dotted with raindrops. Laying his briefcase and computer bag down, he started to unzip his jacket, revealing a tight, black shirt underneath.
"Well, I guess that's it for summer." She backed towards the table, where her laptop sat ready, next to a pile of school books.
"You think?" he teased, rubbing his hands against his muscular arms to chase away the cold. He laid his jacket over the back of a chair and opened the briefcase, pulling out a folder. "I know you've seen the numbers."
"Yeah." Mallorie pulled her hair over her shoulder, taking a seat beside him. She could smell the sexy scent of his cologne, which was made all the more enticing by his close proximity. "Not great."
"So, here's our problem...and why sales are slumping," Armando started, laying out a couple of papers. "People loved the idea of your project, but now that the monument is fully funded, they have no incentive to buy the shirts at this price."
"Well, can't we attach a new charity to it?" she asked, leaning in closer to look over his papers, which held a list of potential advertisers.
"Sure." He raised an eyebrow at her with an ominous tone. "Which one?"
"Oh," she said, understanding his point. "Guess I'll have to do some research."
"Something to benefit veterans, I guess." He stood up from the table.
"Yeah, but I want to keep with the women's theme."
"Then female veterans."
"Is there even such a thing?" she asked.
"I have no idea," he said plainly, slipping his hands in his front pockets and walking into the living room, examining the photos on the wall. "Is this your mother?"
"Yeah." She glanced over at him and smiled. "That was from when Hurricane Sandy hit. They'd just gotten our electric back on after like two weeks and everyone went outside for this huge impromptu block party."
He smiled, his head tilting curiously down the hallway, catching a glimpse of her hastily-cleaned room, and then he crossed the floor to peer into her mother's room. "You have a guitar?"
"Yeah, my mom's."
"She plays?" He gestured for permission to enter and pick it up.
"Really bad Boleros." Mallorie nodded.
"What about you?"
"Not at all," she answered, continuing her search on veteran's causes.
He carried the instrument back into the living room and sat down on the couch, strumming his fingers lightly across the strings. "It's really out of tune."
“It’s ancient,” she acknowledged, leaning back in her chair, watching him work the tuning pegs. He plucked out a fast scale and then began to play the opening strains of a song. Mallorie cocked her head, finding it very familiar.
"I warn you. I don't sing very well," he cautioned, looking down at his hands.
She expected him to play something folksy and melodic, the same way her mother did, but instead he started to deliver a much more alternative sound.
"Oh, that's Lifehouse," she said, recognizing the tune, feeling smart when he glanced up at her and nodded. His voice was unexpectedly raw and yet soft, with the same hungry growl in his throat as the original singer. Mallorie stared at him, her lips slightly open, her breathing slowed, her entire being lost in his words. When he got to the chorus, his gaze lifted to hers.
"And it's you and me and all of the people, and I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you," he sang, his eyes never straying from hers.
Mallorie broke into a smile at his deliberate engagement. Her cheeks grew flush with unrestrained adoration, her lashes fluttering wildly. Her heart started pounding against her chest, her ability to maintain her cool being tested to the point of failure. His eyes dropped to the guitar again, his head nodding in time to the music. He reached the chorus a second time and locked eyes with her again, singing the words directly to her with a daring smile and a devilish gleam in his eye, enjoying her flustered expression.
"This song is probably about as old as you are," he said at the end of the chorus, stopping the song. Laying the guitar down, he walked back to the table. "You like it?"
"Yes," she said breathlessly, unable to take her eyes off him, convinced her heart would explode if he tried to kiss her.
"Good." He smiled, taking a seat back in front of his computer. "My throat is a little hoarse from the weather."
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Sure, um...water would be fine."
"Okay." She jogged into the kitchen and stopped to take a deep breath, her fists shaking in excitement. For a second, she thought to call Jada and then remembered they no longer talked, even in the two classes they shared together. After getting a hold of her senses, she returned to the table with water for him and a glass of soda for herself.
"So...who's getting the money?" he asked, diving straight back into business.
They spent an hour reading through every possible charity, before deciding on the American Women Veterans Foundation, and then they started amending the wording on their website. Mallorie glanced up only when her phone started buzzing. She titled her head and picked it up.
'Are you watching the US Open?' Brooke texted. 'I'm so in love with Rafa.'
"Who the hell is Rafa?" she questioned Armando with narrowed eyes.
He leaned against her shoulder to read the message. "Rafael Nadal...from Spain. He's like...number one in the world."
'Oh, yeah, great game,' she quickly typed back, having no idea what she was talking about, and then she stood, pointing to the clock. "You've gotta get going. My mother is going to be home any minute."
Armando nodded, gathering his things and putting back on his jacket.
"Oh, that reminds me," Mallorie said. "I screwed up. Both my mother and Brooke are going to the launch party, and they can not be in the same place at the same time."
"Or they'll explode?" he joked.
"One of them will," she said seriously. "And I don't know what to do."
"Tell your mother it starts at 7:00, and tell Brooke it starts at 9:30, and just make sure your mother leaves before she gets there." He looked around to make sure he had everything with him.
"That...is a really good idea." Her eyes darted to the clock again and she pushed him towards the door.
"Do you have a date for that party yet?" he asked, stopping just outside it.
"No." She smiled stupidly.
"Well, then I guess you'll just have to go with me." He started walking down the hall.
"Okay," she called after him, practically dying as he glanced at her over his shoulder with an adorable grin. She closed the door and squealed, running wildly around her house before jumping up and down on her bed with teen-aged excitement. She froze when she heard her mother enter.
"Mallorie?" her mother's voice demanded her presence. Mallorie peered nervously out into the living room. Her mother had put her purse down and was sniffing the air around the table. "Who's been in this house?" she asked, picking up the second glass, her eyes scanning suspiciously across the apartment.
"Jada," Mallorie answered
"You're talking to her again?"
"Yeah."
"Mm hmm," her mother said, not buying her answer at all. "And what is my guitar doing out?"
"I was just messing with it."
"You...were messing with it." She narrowed her eyes, walking over to inspect her daughter's room, opening her closet and bending to look under her bed.
"There's no one here," Mallorie said in frustration.
Valeria crossed her arms and leaned back on her heels, her eyes beaming lasers at her daughter. "You know you are not allowed to have boys here when I'm not..."
"Mom, I know," she interrupted.
"Who...was here?" her mother said again, unwilling to accept any other answer.
Mallorie sighed, looking down at her feet. "My business partner...Armando."
"Armando," Valeria repeated with a deep, mocking voice, sounding overly impressed with his name. "And how old is this boy?"
"He's twenty," Mallorie said weakly. "But he only just turned twenty the other day."
"I see," her mother's voice grew dangerously calm. "Well, you tell Armando...if I ever...catch him...alone with you in this apartment..." She made a fast slashing motion with her hand. "I will cut off his balls," she growled angrily.
"Mom please." Mallorie winced, wishing she wouldn't over react.
"You just tell him that...from me," she said, pointing her finger at her daughter.
"Mom, he's a really nice guy. He's not like that. We just don't have a lot of places we can meet," she complained.
"Do you have one place where you can meet?" her mother questioned.
"Starbucks," Mallorie said weakly.
Her mother nodded as if they both knew that location was sufficient. "Starbucks. Not here. And you're grounded for a week for lying to me."
"Mom, that's not fair," Mallorie whined, but her mother's eyes ordered her silent.
"Do you want to try and make it two?" she asked.
"No." Her daughter pouted.
"Is your homework done?" Valeria questioned.
"No," Mallorie groaned out again, walking with her head down back to the table.
"School work first, business second," her mother said sternly. "You're not your father yet."
"Hey, come in," she said, smiling as she stepped aside, allowing her soaking wet business partner to join her. His hair was tousled from the wind and his shoulders dotted with raindrops. Laying his briefcase and computer bag down, he started to unzip his jacket, revealing a tight, black shirt underneath.
"Well, I guess that's it for summer." She backed towards the table, where her laptop sat ready, next to a pile of school books.
"You think?" he teased, rubbing his hands against his muscular arms to chase away the cold. He laid his jacket over the back of a chair and opened the briefcase, pulling out a folder. "I know you've seen the numbers."
"Yeah." Mallorie pulled her hair over her shoulder, taking a seat beside him. She could smell the sexy scent of his cologne, which was made all the more enticing by his close proximity. "Not great."
"So, here's our problem...and why sales are slumping," Armando started, laying out a couple of papers. "People loved the idea of your project, but now that the monument is fully funded, they have no incentive to buy the shirts at this price."
"Well, can't we attach a new charity to it?" she asked, leaning in closer to look over his papers, which held a list of potential advertisers.
"Sure." He raised an eyebrow at her with an ominous tone. "Which one?"
"Oh," she said, understanding his point. "Guess I'll have to do some research."
"Something to benefit veterans, I guess." He stood up from the table.
"Yeah, but I want to keep with the women's theme."
"Then female veterans."
"Is there even such a thing?" she asked.
"I have no idea," he said plainly, slipping his hands in his front pockets and walking into the living room, examining the photos on the wall. "Is this your mother?"
"Yeah." She glanced over at him and smiled. "That was from when Hurricane Sandy hit. They'd just gotten our electric back on after like two weeks and everyone went outside for this huge impromptu block party."
He smiled, his head tilting curiously down the hallway, catching a glimpse of her hastily-cleaned room, and then he crossed the floor to peer into her mother's room. "You have a guitar?"
"Yeah, my mom's."
"She plays?" He gestured for permission to enter and pick it up.
"Really bad Boleros." Mallorie nodded.
"What about you?"
"Not at all," she answered, continuing her search on veteran's causes.
He carried the instrument back into the living room and sat down on the couch, strumming his fingers lightly across the strings. "It's really out of tune."
“It’s ancient,” she acknowledged, leaning back in her chair, watching him work the tuning pegs. He plucked out a fast scale and then began to play the opening strains of a song. Mallorie cocked her head, finding it very familiar.
"I warn you. I don't sing very well," he cautioned, looking down at his hands.
She expected him to play something folksy and melodic, the same way her mother did, but instead he started to deliver a much more alternative sound.
"Oh, that's Lifehouse," she said, recognizing the tune, feeling smart when he glanced up at her and nodded. His voice was unexpectedly raw and yet soft, with the same hungry growl in his throat as the original singer. Mallorie stared at him, her lips slightly open, her breathing slowed, her entire being lost in his words. When he got to the chorus, his gaze lifted to hers.
"And it's you and me and all of the people, and I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you," he sang, his eyes never straying from hers.
Mallorie broke into a smile at his deliberate engagement. Her cheeks grew flush with unrestrained adoration, her lashes fluttering wildly. Her heart started pounding against her chest, her ability to maintain her cool being tested to the point of failure. His eyes dropped to the guitar again, his head nodding in time to the music. He reached the chorus a second time and locked eyes with her again, singing the words directly to her with a daring smile and a devilish gleam in his eye, enjoying her flustered expression.
"This song is probably about as old as you are," he said at the end of the chorus, stopping the song. Laying the guitar down, he walked back to the table. "You like it?"
"Yes," she said breathlessly, unable to take her eyes off him, convinced her heart would explode if he tried to kiss her.
"Good." He smiled, taking a seat back in front of his computer. "My throat is a little hoarse from the weather."
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Sure, um...water would be fine."
"Okay." She jogged into the kitchen and stopped to take a deep breath, her fists shaking in excitement. For a second, she thought to call Jada and then remembered they no longer talked, even in the two classes they shared together. After getting a hold of her senses, she returned to the table with water for him and a glass of soda for herself.
"So...who's getting the money?" he asked, diving straight back into business.
They spent an hour reading through every possible charity, before deciding on the American Women Veterans Foundation, and then they started amending the wording on their website. Mallorie glanced up only when her phone started buzzing. She titled her head and picked it up.
'Are you watching the US Open?' Brooke texted. 'I'm so in love with Rafa.'
"Who the hell is Rafa?" she questioned Armando with narrowed eyes.
He leaned against her shoulder to read the message. "Rafael Nadal...from Spain. He's like...number one in the world."
'Oh, yeah, great game,' she quickly typed back, having no idea what she was talking about, and then she stood, pointing to the clock. "You've gotta get going. My mother is going to be home any minute."
Armando nodded, gathering his things and putting back on his jacket.
"Oh, that reminds me," Mallorie said. "I screwed up. Both my mother and Brooke are going to the launch party, and they can not be in the same place at the same time."
"Or they'll explode?" he joked.
"One of them will," she said seriously. "And I don't know what to do."
"Tell your mother it starts at 7:00, and tell Brooke it starts at 9:30, and just make sure your mother leaves before she gets there." He looked around to make sure he had everything with him.
"That...is a really good idea." Her eyes darted to the clock again and she pushed him towards the door.
"Do you have a date for that party yet?" he asked, stopping just outside it.
"No." She smiled stupidly.
"Well, then I guess you'll just have to go with me." He started walking down the hall.
"Okay," she called after him, practically dying as he glanced at her over his shoulder with an adorable grin. She closed the door and squealed, running wildly around her house before jumping up and down on her bed with teen-aged excitement. She froze when she heard her mother enter.
"Mallorie?" her mother's voice demanded her presence. Mallorie peered nervously out into the living room. Her mother had put her purse down and was sniffing the air around the table. "Who's been in this house?" she asked, picking up the second glass, her eyes scanning suspiciously across the apartment.
"Jada," Mallorie answered
"You're talking to her again?"
"Yeah."
"Mm hmm," her mother said, not buying her answer at all. "And what is my guitar doing out?"
"I was just messing with it."
"You...were messing with it." She narrowed her eyes, walking over to inspect her daughter's room, opening her closet and bending to look under her bed.
"There's no one here," Mallorie said in frustration.
Valeria crossed her arms and leaned back on her heels, her eyes beaming lasers at her daughter. "You know you are not allowed to have boys here when I'm not..."
"Mom, I know," she interrupted.
"Who...was here?" her mother said again, unwilling to accept any other answer.
Mallorie sighed, looking down at her feet. "My business partner...Armando."
"Armando," Valeria repeated with a deep, mocking voice, sounding overly impressed with his name. "And how old is this boy?"
"He's twenty," Mallorie said weakly. "But he only just turned twenty the other day."
"I see," her mother's voice grew dangerously calm. "Well, you tell Armando...if I ever...catch him...alone with you in this apartment..." She made a fast slashing motion with her hand. "I will cut off his balls," she growled angrily.
"Mom please." Mallorie winced, wishing she wouldn't over react.
"You just tell him that...from me," she said, pointing her finger at her daughter.
"Mom, he's a really nice guy. He's not like that. We just don't have a lot of places we can meet," she complained.
"Do you have one place where you can meet?" her mother questioned.
"Starbucks," Mallorie said weakly.
Her mother nodded as if they both knew that location was sufficient. "Starbucks. Not here. And you're grounded for a week for lying to me."
"Mom, that's not fair," Mallorie whined, but her mother's eyes ordered her silent.
"Do you want to try and make it two?" she asked.
"No." Her daughter pouted.
"Is your homework done?" Valeria questioned.
"No," Mallorie groaned out again, walking with her head down back to the table.
"School work first, business second," her mother said sternly. "You're not your father yet."
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stjwelding
Veteran Member
I understand. Great story Kritter
Wayne
Wayne
I assumed it was because her sister was one of the highest contributors... and her mom knows who that is. Thus it will all come out about how she spent a lot of her summer with her sister... who had no clue.
sssarawolf
Has No Life - Lives on TB
Thank you
