The Finish Line
by Josephine Kent
Romance/Short Story
Copyright ©2013 by Josephine Kent
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to my late grandfather, Joseph. He passed away in May, 2013 after nearly a century of 'living well'. Besides having been a beloved musician, writer, friend, and yes, a man who genuinely appreciated the ladies, my grandfather dearly loved his family. He lived to see four generations of his greatest legacy to the world. Unfortunately, while I inherited his talent for prose, the gene for music dodged me completely. Dada, if I could, I would "listen to you sing and then laugh".
Prologue
Some part of her consciousness was telling her that she should be angry. That she should be hurt. Some part of her screamed that she should be grateful that Hilliard had left her bed before she had awoken to the inevitable awkwardness. Yet, as she gripped the note that bore his sprawling script, she was numb.
“Alexanna, thank you,” it read. “Just wanted to say goodbye. Hill.”
“Thank you,” she mouthed the words as she climbed from her bed. She would not think about how she had reached out for her one time lover this morning, only to find the curt note which was written on a sheet of her own stationery. She would not think about the fact that he'd spelt her name wrong. It was Alezanna, not Alexanna. The one time she'd done something so foolish the guy didn't even know her name. She couldn't really say much because she didn't know his full name either. All she knew was that he was Hilliard. Maybe if she'd written a note she would have misspelled his name as well. She should forgive him for a slight she had no right to feel. But today wasn't the day for that.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would think about this; but today she would think only about how she was going to crawl out of her bed.
Chapter 1
A month to the day later, Alezanna was again sitting in the conference room of Griffin Hill International Bank when a sudden bout of nausea propelled her out of her chair. Desperately, she searched but there was no bin or bathroom in sight. Mortified at the thought that she would spew the contents of her stomach on the plush blue carpet of the bank, Anna ran into the hallway, jerked open the nearest door on her right and rushed to the bin beside the desk. Dimly, she was gratefully aware that the floor in this room was wood instead of carpeting.
There was something about the sight and smell of vomit that made Anna continue to heave and retch even after she had nothing left to spew. When someone thoughtfully gave her a bottle of water and instructed her to rinse her mouth, Anna thought the powerful hands were divine. And when the stranger knelt behind her and held her stomach tight until it stopped rebelling and her gagging was controlled, she decided even if he looked like a beast she would love him forever. When he gallantly lifted her to the plush executive chair and put a damp kerchief on her brow, before removing the bin and himself from the room, Anna began to bawl. Her tears began as a result of embarrassment over her weakness, but rapidly morphed into a much more treacherous emotion.
It was as if a dam had broken and all the grief that she had been unable to express over the past six months had somehow found an outlet. She folded her hands on the desk and sobbed bitterly into them, blinded by her heartache. The gentle hand that brushed her hair and back seemed vaguely familiar, and that made her cry even more. For the first time that she could ever remember, Anna cried. She cried for the curt note Hilliard had left her. She cried for her mother who had died of a heart attack while driving eleven years before. And for the father who, after fifteen years as a boxer, perished from an aneurism in his brain not long after her mother's death. But, she cried mostly for the beloved grandfather who had raised her, and succumbed to colon cancer only six months ago.
Though Lorin Dux had left all his earthly possessions to his granddaughter, his sole valuable possession amounted to a crumbling tower in the middle of a sea of exclusive hotels. And now, Anna was sick and puking all over the bank that she was trying to borrow from in order to retain and upgrade said tower. This bug that had been bothering her for weeks now wasn't going anywhere. She’d have to go see the doctor. And pay him. Finding the funds for that would require her to not only milk a stone, but make cheese from dust, because everything she had was tied up in that hotel.
“Alexanna, come now. Whatever it is cannot be so bad as that.” Tenderly, Hilliard brushed her hair from her brow. He had been staring out the window thinking about Alexanna Dux when the door to his office was abruptly shoved open. At first he had believed the intruder to be his assistant returning rather quickly from his smoke break. That was until he’d heard the retching and had turned to inquire about Kevin’s wellbeing. Imagine his surprise to see the woman who occupied his thoughts claiming cruel ownership of his trash can.
Now, he felt her shoulders tense as she recognized his voice. She looked up. Her expression of acute disbelief was swiftly replaced with horror.
“Come, sweetheart,” he said gathering her close and pressing her face to his chest. Somehow, she had found him, but he did not understand why she was reacting this way. At first she fought his hold, but by measured degrees the fight seemed to go out of her. She melted into his chest and cried like someone who had lost everything she held in the world. Instead of releasing her, he held her closer.
It was another five minutes before Anna was able to compose herself. Hill was there with his soaked gray shirtfront and now wrinkled jacket, pouring a cup of coffee for her. “I’m sorry, Hilliard. I don’t know what came over me.”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “Looks like you needed to tear up for a bit,” he said easily, trying to pass off her crying as nothing. Depositing the Blue Mountain brew before her, he settled into his chair across the desk. “Want to talk about it?”
Anna’s eyes flared wide. “No.” Nervously, she shredded the napkin he had given her. Somewhere along the way she had lost the kerchief. The scent of the coffee was making her nauseous again.
Taking note of her agitation, Hill sought to distract her. “No? Did you just happen to wake up this morning and decide it was a good day to make a mess of my office?” He knew he sounded snide, but he had a big problem with Anna. It was as if she was covered in a diamond shell that was extremely appealing on the surface, but he knew that the true gem deep within was equally untouchable because of that beautiful shell. "If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask."
When he had first seen her, her aloofness was something to be conquered. It had taken him long hours of observation to learn the best way to approach her and not be treated with cool indifference. She must have been feeling weak that night, because he'd taken one chance, and won the woman he'd wanted more than any other woman in his life. He'd convinced himself that if he put everything he had into making love to her, she'd loosen up and he would get to see who she really was. The only thing he'd discovered was that, even when he was inside her, this woman had not been completely with him. It was the reason he'd given up and left the next morning.
He'd even started begging. Him! He'd begged for her to touch him in return before she'd gingerly reached up and passed her hand over his shoulder, her face turned away. If he had not stood in her bathroom after disposing the condom, and seen where her wetness remained glazed on his upper thighs, he might have convinced himself that he’d only been jerking off to a cold fantasy. Still, he'd gone back to bed and tried again. And again. Finally, her aloofness had become unbearable to him. Wanting to just be with her, he had drawn her close while she slept. Even unconscious, she'd resisted - isolating herself on the edge of the bed.
She was gorgeous, but she w
as ruby trapped in ice. So why couldn't he get past that night? Or the morning after when he'd sat on the edge of her bed and watched her sleeping in the pink and gray light of dawn. Hill had sought in vain for the words to explain what she did to him internally. Whatever it was, it just was. There were no words to define a feeling that left him so powerless. And so, he'd left a brief note and hoped their one-night stand would become a forgotten regret.
It hadn't.
“Your office?” Anna queried. “This is where you work?”
Hill’s lips quirked. “And live. My home is at the top of the building. But, I also spend a lot of time in New York and London.” It also helped that the bank was named for his grandfather and him, Hilliard Griffin III. “It is good to see you again, Alexanna.”
She groaned and covered her face. “I have to go.” As she rose from her seat, a knock sounded on his office door.
“Come in.”
“Excuse me, Sir.” Kevin Luckly poked his head into the office. “Mr. Campbell’s appointment did not show up. He asks if you would prefer to meet with him now rather than this afternoon.”
Pulling herself together, Anna lurched to her feet. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to meet with Mr. Campbell, but -”
The scent of her sickness still permeated the air. With a wave of his hand, Hill stayed Kevin's progress into the office. “Kevin, Alexanna and I are old friends. She ducked in to say a quick hello.”
“Will Mr. Campbell still see me?”
“I believe so, Ma’am. If you would give me a few minutes, I’ll make sure.”
When Kevin left the room, the door quietly clicking closed behind him, Hill turned his full attention to her. “May I ask why you were meeting with Jon?”
Anna met the beautiful gray gaze. For years she had read about ‘dove gray eyes.’ She had always thought people referred to the color and not the soulful gentleness in them. When she’d met Hilliard a month before at the blues club where she moonlighted as a singer, Anna had been caught by the kindness that seemed to come from his soul. Hill’s deeply set eyes were soft-gray and framed with long, spiky lashes. Though his entire package was desirable, from his tightly waved black hair to the soles of his six foot five frame, and the leanly muscled body of an athlete, Hill’s greatest appeal was his eyes. They made her want to trust him, to confide in him, and to lean on his strength.
“No.” A vise clamped over her heart as she remembered the note he'd written her after their one night together. That had stung. And he hadn't even spelled her name right. Obviously he had not wanted her to contact him, nor did he want to contact her because he had neither left nor asked for a phone number. Why did he now act as if they were “old friends?”
“Look. I'm sorry for the mess." She waved her hand to where the trashcan had been.
"No. It's okay." He studied her broodingly. "Why were you so sick? Rough night?" Hill wondered if she'd taken someone home with her as she'd done with him, but quickly dismissed the thought. She was too cool for that.
Anna saw where he was going with his questions and shrugged. "Hilliard, thank you for everything. I'll say goodbye now.”
How she relished saying the words back to him. As she departed without looking back, Anna did not see him wince at her recitation of his parting words. Outside his office, she stopped at the desk next to the door and was told Mr. Campbell was still willing to meet with her. She ducked quickly into the employee restroom before going to the meeting. She wouldn’t go begging for money - if that was what it came to - with vomit on her breath.
Anna arrived at home strangely exhausted. Mr. Campbell had not given her any idea of what he had been thinking. Instead, he had listened to her proposal to restore The Flamboyant Grand Hotel and to pay off the debts left by her grandfather with the loan he would grant her. Her grandfather’s illness had eaten away at their finances terribly, so that what remained of Anna's inheritance from her parents was only enough for her to stay four months ahead on the bills, and pay the property taxes for the year. Still, four months isn't much when time is measured in cash.
With a sigh, she stripped off her shoes, skirt, shirt, and bra on her way to bed. Everything stayed where it fell, in a trail to her bedroom. Collapsing onto her bed, she picked up where she had left off in Hill’s office. It seemed that when you hit rock bottom, all you could do about it was have a good cry.
Chapter 2
The pounding was insistent. The phone was ringing. Groggily she reached out to answer. “Hello.”
“Alexanna?”
“Yes?”
“It’s me. Hill, I mean.” His voice sounded strange.
The pounding continued. Anna smiled into her pillow at the caress of his voice in her ear. “Hi, Hill. What's up?”
“I am at your door right now. Can you open it?”
In her grogginess, she had allowed herself the brief fantasy that they were together as a couple and this was a loving call. Reality intruded on that fantasy when she realized Hill would never come over, nor would he be whispering into her ear when she woke. That snapped her out of the dream haze, real quick. She 'squinted' her eyes, wincing when the glue of stale tears pulled at them. The incessant pounding on her front door turned into a playful rat-at-tat. “You’re outside?”
His chuckle was a sweet sound. “Yes. That's me knocking.”
“Oh.” He remembered my address? Then she asked the only the only reasonable question. “Why?”
Hill paused. “Do I need a reason?" When she didn't immediately answer he said, "We need to talk.”
Anna went to the bathroom to wash her face. “We’ve already said all that we needed to say to each other.”
We haven't said anything at all, he thought. That's the problem. “I also wanted to see you. See how you're doing.”
“Your concern is touching.” Her tone didn’t sound touched. Anna peered at her reflection in the mirror. It seemed as if no matter how many times she washed her face, her eyes wouldn’t open fully. “Look, Hilliard. I have to go.” She was only wearing briefs, her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes were swollen and her face puffy. “I can’t see you right now, and I assure you that I did not intentionally run into your office. I'm not hunting you down. So it's safe to say we can forget we knew each other.”
Hill rested his arm on the doorframe and leaned his forehead against it. He had known she did not want to see him, but he had expected to at least get in the door. That she would at least listen. He wasn't experienced with women who made him work for it. Sure, she'd been an easy lay, but he suspected something must have been going on with her that night, because this woman was hard in everything else. “Would you go to a late dinner with me, then? After work?”
“I’m not hungry.” Anna belted her robe around her waist then went to the living room to pick up after herself.
“Are you aware that I can see you moving around in there?”
She glanced up at the frosted glass front door. “I know, and I don’t care. Goodbye, Hill.”
“Pete’s sake Alex, stop saying ‘Goodbye.’” he snapped angrily.
Choosing not to correct his chosen nickname, Anna twisted her lips to the side. “Why Hilliard, if you don’t like me saying that word, then you should probably leave before I can say it again.” Anna stood directly on the other side of the glass door to confront his silhouette.
“No.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Goodbye, Hill.” Anna hung up the phone and deposited it on the table beside the front door. Steeling herself against another urge to cry, she went into her bedroom to prepare for work. She swore she wasn't normally a crybaby, but with all the stress she was under, the outlet was quickly becoming her favorite form of free therapy.
Anna arrived at The Jelly Roll just in time to change into her costume and hand Eddie her music. The bandleader was surprised that she had chosen new songs. Dressed in a long, beaded black gown, with her hair piled into a high bun, and her ears dripping with jet stones, she was a vision. As
she stepped onto the platform, she knew that her outfit was over the top, but years in the spotlight had taught her that if you gave people the glamour they desired, they didn't look beyond the immediate impression. As long as her face was stunningly beautiful with the aid of skillfully applied makeup, no one would suspect that she had spent most of the day retching, feeling miserable, and deeply unhappy.
When the applause died down, Anna spoke, “Not many of you know that my grandfather passed away six months ago.” Her voice was husky and smooth. “My parents and I lived with him when I was little, and after they died, we took care of each other. My grandfather was more than a grandparent to me. He was my best friend, my brother, my father and mother. He was my treasure. The best thing I had in this world.” Her voice softened tenderly as she thought of him.
Anna paused, remembering burnt macaroni, and fly-fishing, a paddled bottom, and bear hugs. Tears slipped from her eyes, and she quickly dashed them away. “Until tonight, I was unable to sing for him in memoriam, but I’m ready now.” She gave the audience a tight, hopeful smile. “Father - that’s what I called him. Father would always sit in that seat there.” Anna turned. For the first time in a month, she faced the seat that her grandfather used to listen from, the self same seat that Hill had occupied on that fateful night. She gasped when she saw who occupied the small two person table. Hill was there, gray-eyed and beautiful in a dark sweater and t-shirt. She regrouped quickly, the only evidence of her discomfiture being that initial gasp. “Tonight, I just want to sing for him. If you would indulge me, please.” Her guileless smile encompassed the entire audience. “I would appreciate it if you permitted me sing a final goodbye to my truest love.”
Someone in the audience shouted, “Sing your blues, girl!”
The strings intro to If You Go Away/Ne Me Quitte Pas fell like crystal notes on the floor. At the familiar sounds something in Anna broke away. Her voice, husky yet clear, enchanted her listeners. She sang as if she had only four minutes in Heaven to tell her grandfather of her love for him, and the loneliness since he'd left. Tears streamed down her face, but Anna did not care. Never mind that her mascara was waterproof. The mask she had painted on for the audience stood no chance against the emotion behind her song. Her grandfather had taught her that true love was not vain enough to care about appearance. True beauty was steadfast and sincere.