“How’d you end up here?”
Lance saw the change cross over Brooklyn’s face even before she set her cup heavily on the table and demanded, “Why? What difference does it make? I’m here and that’s all there is to it. Stuck until spring.”
Softly, “I meant in Colorado. How did a Kansas girl end up here?” He spread his arms wide. “Not here.” He pointed down.
“Oh. Oh god, that was rude of me. I’m sorry.” Brook buried her face in her hands for a few minutes, then sat up, shoulders back and spine straight. “You may not believe this, but I used to be pretty. Real pretty.”
Lance was incredulous. “Used to be?”
“Yes, used to be. Anyway, that’s what everyone said: ‘Brooklyn you are beautiful, you should be a model. Brooklyn, you should be in the movies. Brooklyn, you need to go to Hollywood’. It was enough to turn anyone’s head. I’m afraid I was a little conceited. I soaked up their words and held them close to my heart. After graduation, I worked in an office complex in Wichita long enough to make the money to head for California. Then, I kissed my mom and dad goodbye and headed out to make it big, to become the next Isabeli Fontana or Kate Moss. Boy, was I ever naïve.”
“What happened?”
“Reality happened! I went to L.A. and was turned down by all the agencies I applied to. ‘You’re too fat; you’re too skinny; you’re too short; you’re too tall; your features are too symmetrical! Blah, blah, blah. When I was down to the last of my savings, I got a job at a major investment firm as a pit-secretary. I was just another face in row after row of desks for two years and then moved up to the position of one of the vice-president’s secretary’s secretary. Unfortunately for her she became seriously ill and had to resign. Fortunately for me, I was offered her position.”
“Okay, now you’re in L.A., not Colorado,” Lance stated, raising one eyebrow in question.
“Right. After a few months I was asked to sit in on an important meeting between several branch offices. One of the gentlemen present was from Denver. He took a liking to me and flirted outrageously outside meetings, sent flowers, asked me out; you know, the whole routine. It was against policy to date within the company so he asked my boss if I could attend a business dinner meeting to take notes for him. Of course, since he was high up in the Colorado office, the request was granted. He began coming to L.A. more and more often, always lavishing gifts and praise on me. And then, one bright August morning, during a serious meeting, he stood, climbed on top the table, walked across and dropped to a knee in front of me while slipping a jeweler’s box from his suit pocket. Flipping it open he asked, ‘Brooklyn Cheyenne Johnston, will you marry me?’”
“Needless to say, the whole room went dead quiet. I stared helplessly at the giant diamond shining at me from its bed of rich blue velvet and couldn’t utter a sound. The other men and women in the room started to find their voices and I heard several comments. ‘He walked across the damn table. He can’t marry her, she’s a simple secretary and plus, that’s fraternization’. Scores of voices weaved around me as I stared at the box. Finally, I raised my eyes to meet his and answered, ‘Yes! Yes, of course.’ He jumped from the table, scooped me up in his arms, and carried me out of the room, saying over one shoulder, ‘you’ll need to find a new secretary, Brook resigns.’”
Brook was grinning foolishly when she finished telling this story. “That’s how I ended up in Colorado. Oh god, we were so in love!”
“Were?”
“What? No, are. We are so in love. But sometimes I wonder if his proposal was an act of sorts, you know, to make himself look superior in front of others; not really to impress me, but to make himself impressive. But, anyway, that’s when I married Clark Edison Parrish, moved to Denver, and entered the life of the rich.” Here she frowned slightly. “Not that I ever really fit the mold, but Clark seemed happy to have me and I was happy to please him. Clark liked to show me off. God, I sound so vain, but those were his words, not mine. ‘Brook, wear that slinky black number I got you last month in Paris. I want to shine when I walk into the club tonight.’ Or, ‘Brook, you look dazzling in the diamonds I got you.’ Or, this was probably his most used line, ‘Brook, you outclass every other woman in the room. Everyone can see what a lucky man I am’.” Brook blushed, pausing as she thought. “Of course anyone would look good in the clothes and jewelry Clark draped me in. Still, it was always nice to hear.”
Like she needs wrappings to be pretty. Lance thought. Surely she knows how gorgeous she is.
“Now the club. That is one place I do not fit. The Club is posh. The first time Clark took me there I almost fainted from fright. The only thing that saved me was working for vice-presidents of a major firm for so long. You had to be able to take anything they could dish out; those men and women could be ruthless. Anyway, we entered a foyer bigger than my folks’ living and dining room together. A crystal chandelier practically dripped ice. It sparkled like diamonds, softly illuminating the surroundings. The ballroom was magnificent. I can’t even begin to describe it, and to tell you the truth, I don’t want to.” Her expression turned sardonic. “Then there were the people. Snob city. There are actually women who walk with their noses in the air. I saw first-hand how ugly conceit and arrogance can be.”
Lance laughed and Brook said, “I’m not kidding. They tilt their heads back and look down their noses at others. I always get this treatment. They let me know right away that I'm nothing special. I’ve never been able to fit in, even though Clark has belonged since before he was a man. Clark was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He just has no idea what life is like for regular people.”
Brook played with the handle of her coffee cup. “The wives of Clark’s associates are atrocious. I can only stand one of them; Lizzy Bendershen. She, like I, married into the fold. We are outsiders and it wouldn’t matter if we visited those ladies every day for thirty years, we will always be outsiders.” She leaned back in her chair and shrugged at Lance.
“But, anyway, I got off the subject. As I was saying, Clark gave me a wonderful home, beautiful clothes, and fantastic cars. And even though we aren't as close as we were in the beginning, life really hasn’t been too bad. At least not until he sent me for that book.” She stopped suddenly, a look of panic turning her face pale, and clapped a hand to her mouth.
“What? What’s the matter?” Lance took a step towards her but she held up a hand to stop him.
Quietly, so quietly he could just barely hear her, “Clark sent me to pick up a gift for his boss. It was at a bookstore, a seedy bookstore in a bad, bad part of town. I almost turned around but I didn’t. I parked and even went so far as to get out, leave the parking lot, and step onto the sidewalk. I was surrounded by porn and tattoo shops. Someone said something nasty and I turned and hurried back to the car. That’s when,” Brook whispered. “That’s when the man hit me, shoved a gun in my face, and stole my car. Oh my god! But he didn’t just steal the car…” She looked up into Lance’s eyes. “He stole me, too!”
Brook broke down and cried. She wouldn’t say another word and Lance didn’t try to make her. Gently, oh so gently, he approached the table and sat next to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she turned him, burying her face in his chest. They sat like this for a long time, Lance offering the only thing he could, a sympathetic shoulder and genuine concern.