The Executive Volume 1: A Mad Holiday

What happens when you have too much control? Don't cancel me.

Part 1:

It didn’t really feel like Christmas Day. I was in my own bed, but was having trouble recollecting the name of the young woman next to me. I saw the Tiffany necklace on her neck that I used to lure her over the night before. The necklace was never meant to be a gift for her, my assistant bought it for my ex-girlfriend. That was my own fault because I neglected to tell her I broke up with my girlfriend two days before Thanksgiving because she said we were “moving too fast” even though she had never seen the inside of my house. 

Speaking of my house, I slipped out of bed to find it hollow and empty. There was no Christmas tree, despite the eagerness of my assistant to come decorate. The only sign of celebration present was the half-empty bottle of Krug sitting on my coffee table. I glanced out of the front window to see her CLA250 next to my LC500. I don’t know if it was the sight of the Teutonic abomination in my driveway or the thousands of dollars of champagne I drank, but I had to find my toilet immediately. After my expensive vomit, I walked out to see my date standing outside the door. She was holding her Manolo Blahniks and the keys to the mini-Mercedes. 

She was headed to her parent’s for brunch and I let her go with a kiss on both cheeks. I quickly showered, dressed, and took a long swig from the last bottle of champagne that remained. I grabbed the keys to the low-slung Lexus and headed out the door. I took off out of my driveway into the deserted streets of Christmas Day. As I pulled into the parking garage at Publix, my phone began to ring. It was my secretary, Alania, I answered on the third ring. We wished each other a Merry Christmas in a cordial manner. She went on to tell me that she didn’t make it to Rhode Island for Christmas with her parents. At that moment her eagerness to come decorate my house crossed the front of my mind. I asked her what her plans were and before she could get the last word out I invited her to my house for dinner. 

As I bustled around the store picking out foods to cook, I thought about Alania. I tried not to think of her much because of the way she was so emotionally attached to me. But today it might be the only thing that keeps me from killing myself. At the register the young brunette behind the counter asked me if I was having a good Christmas. I was tempted to answer with a harsh “No.” But instead gave a nearly-robotic positive reply. She smiled sweetly as I handed her my platinum American Express. I slid the card back into my wallet and immediately grabbed my business card and handed it across to her with a suggestive “Merry Christmas” she put the card in pocket and pulled her hair behind her ear as I walked out of the store. 

The Lexus swam over the undulating pavement of South Blvd. as I cruised through South End. As I saw the NASCAR Hall of Fame begin to materialize my mind shifted and I turned on to the I-277 ramp. I was delirious, all I could think of was Christmas another year alone. I drove out of the city north along I-77, the treelines and apartments blurred as I passed. I ended up in Mooresville at the lake house we purchased around the time our daughter was born. My ex-wife, Camilla, didn’t want anything to do with it in the divorce, she was satisfied enough with half of the proceeds of the sale of our house in Quail Hollow. I decided to keep the lake house due to the soft housing market in 2008 and never let go. 

**********

I parked in the lower gravel driveway along the back of the house. I walked up and clicked the code on the keypad on the door. The house was cold, and the furniture was layered in a thick grey blanket of dust. The lower living room just contained an L-shaped leather couch, a coffee table, and an entertainment center containing an old plasma TV. I looked over at the door that opened to my daughter’s former bedroom. I saw a shadow move across the opening. As I slowly made my way to the doorframe I realized the silhouette belonged to my ex-wife, Camilla. She startled when she saw me standing in the door:

“The door code is still the same.”

“I never saw a reason to change it.”

She looked across at me and began to explain how she had an argument with her husband, the last of hundreds and how our daughter went to spend Christmas with her boyfriend’s family in Texas. She begins to sob and try to recollect memories we had in the house. I immediately stop her:

“You told me I was soulless and lacked anything resembling human empathy. You said those words in this very house.”

“I was angry. It was impossible to make you happy. I was tired, so damn tired.”

“Then you should’ve said that.”

“ The only reason I kept trying was that I could still keep seeing the man I married in you everyday.”

“He changed, huh? He isn’t the same knight in shining armor you married now?”

Her face twisted as she hissed:

“Yeah, you’re right. You win.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to leave the room. She grabbed my arm and I shook off her grip. She blew past me and stood in the door frame in front of me. She stood steadfast with tears pouring from her eyes. She kissed me gently on the lips as I gave the slightest resistance. As she rested back on her heels she blurted out between sobs: 

“I’m sorry!”

I pushed past her and walked out the house towards the car. As I reached for the handle, Camilla storms out on the gravel and shouts:

“I didn’t want it to end, you just never fought for any of it! You just sulked and ran away. You never fought for me! You never fought for US!” 

“I wasn’t going to fight in front of our daughter. Plus, you made it very clear you were done. That there was nothing else to fight for. So yeah, you’re damn right, I didn’t fight for it anymore.”

“Don’t leave me like this.”

I chuckle.

“Remember when I said that?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“That won’t fix 10 years of this. Look, if you’re still having a bad day tomorrow come to the house in Morrison. Merry Christmas.”

The traction control light flashed as the Lexus exited the gravel driveway. She was just standing there in the yard, staring into the shimmering water of the cove. I made my way quickly back into the city. By the afternoon, Southpark had woken up from its Christmas slumber. Sharon Road was blanketed in luxury cars headed to all the restaurants and bars. I turned into the gate from Morrison Boulevard into the shallow lots with mini-mansions covering them. I ran the Lexus down the alleyway behind my house and turned into the short driveway.

I pulled the Lexus into the middle garage space between my Ram 1500 and pristine SC400. Across the small, bricked drive sat a black 560SEC on body-colored AMG monoblock wheels. I stared at the Mercedes as I made my way into the house with my bag of groceries. As I laid the groceries out on the countertop, I asked Alexa to play my cool jazz playlist, and the speaker obliged. The room filled with the sounds of The Oscar Peterson Trio as I prepped the fresh vegetables and placed the pre-marinated ham in the oven. After a quick shower, shave, and change into a Robert Graham shirt, I made my way downstairs and finished preparing dinner.

**********

Just as the sun was setting Alania’s RC350 pulled onto the circular drive out front. I was slightly disappointed in her choice of a relaxed Alexander Wang mini dress as she walked through the door. The next hour passed in a boring haze. Time slowed back down as we sat on the couch in the living room while the jazz continued in the background. 

“I’ve worked for you for three years and watched you mope around during the holidays. I always wanted to cheer you up but I didn’t want to intrude. But, you know, you’ve always been very good to me. I always wondered.”

“Why do you care about me? Why care about anything? All that will do is hurt you.”

She looked at me puzzled:

“That’s not true.”

“But it is.”

“You’ve had just had too much happen to you to understand what you’re feeling.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I know exactly what I’m feeling. But I’m afraid to think about any of them. I’m scared, Alania.”

We kissed roughly through soft moans until I felt the warm tear roll down her cheek. I pulled my face back to see her sobbing almost uncontrollably. The emotion was absolutely overwhelming, I couldn’t react for a solid 30 seconds, then I returned to cognisance and reacted the best way I knew how. I kissed her neck and listened to her breaths sharpen as she continued to cry. By the time I made it to her breasts the sobbing stopped and her clothes melted away. Two hours later after knocking over furniture in various rooms throughout the house. We collapsed on the rug in front of my fireplace. Her nude skin glowed in the light of the fire. My mind was pleased with the view, I still had something holding me back from being happy with myself.

Part 2:

Christmas Day 2008. The stucco on the house was still painted a generically-Mediterannian shade of reddish-beige. In the driveway sat a brand new Porsche 911 Turbo, the temporary license plate read “1/12/09” as it sat next to my two-year-old Range Rover. The Porsche was a $180,000 way of telling women that even though I was single in my late 30’s, there was nothing wrong with me. Specifically, it was a way to tell women under 25 that I could do life-changing things for them.