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Jackson
I count to ten and then head back into the bedroom. I wonder if Zara is going to complain again about having to cook for me. Or ask me some sly questions about my family.
I've calmed down, and I’m willing to fuck one more time. After I make her come again, I will rationally ask her if she works for the New York Times or a tabloid and if hooking up with me was part of a story she was working on. The room is quiet as I look around and I wonder if she's fallen asleep again. Only as I look at her side of the bed, I see that she's gone.
"Good," I mumble to myself as I stand there, annoyed. "I didn't want to fuck an exploitive journalist anyway," I say to myself as I look at the used condoms on the side table and crumpled sheets strewn on the floor. I'm annoyed and frustrated and feel slightly desolate. I don't really know anything about Zara. I have no way of getting in contact with her and will almost probably never see her again.
The thought displeases me, and I'm not sure why. It's not like this was going anywhere. It's not like I was going to ask her for her number later in the morning. But the fact that she just left displeases me.
"Don't even think about it," I grumble as I sit on the side of the bed.
I take a deep breath and then grab my phone. I suppose it's time to face the music. I might as well listen to my father's messages now, see what he has to say, what issues he's got with me, and how he's going to try and talk me into working for him. I grab my phone, press Play, and listen to all the voicemails that he's left.
I sit there for an hour, staring at the phone after listening to his messages. They hadn't been what I was expecting. He hadn't told me that I needed to come work for the family company so I could learn how to run it. He hadn't told me how disappointed he was in me. He hadn't even mentioned that I was working for my best friend or asked how I liked playing second fiddle to someone else.
He said that he misses me. The thought makes me slightly sick. My father has never said that he misses me. In fact, he has never even said that he loves me. I’ve never even heard him tell my mother that he loves her. And yet he left several messages saying he wants to take me to dinner. He wants to chat. That there are things he's realized too late in life and he doesn’t want to continue the rest of his life focused solely on business. For a few moments, I wonder if my dad is dying and if he doesn’t want to tell me. Why else would he have this abrupt change?
I stand up and pace back and forth in the room. Something on the floor catches my eye. It’s a lipstick case that Zara must have dropped out of her handbag as she hurried out. I pick it up and put it next to my phone. I don't know why I'm keeping it. Maybe a memento, a token of this night, this very weird night. I sigh, and I'm about to pack up my stuff and leave when there's a knock on the door.
"Zara?" I call out, wondering if she's back and if she wants seconds of what I offered earlier.
"Room service," a young voice sounds on the other side of the door, and I frown. I head over, and when I open the door, there's a woman and a man holding two giant trays full of food and champagne.
"Can I help you?" I ask.
"Room service," they say. "Can we bring it in?"
"I didn't order room service," I say.
"We had a call, and it was definitely from this room and…" She looks nervously at her compatriot and then back at me. "Well, it's room service, and someone ordered it. Maybe your wife or…?"
After a couple of seconds, I burst out laughing. I know exactly what's happened.
"You can bring it in," I say, stepping to the side. "Touché, Zara," I say to myself. "Well played."
"Sorry. What, sir?" The lady looks back at me, and I shake my head.
"I asked my friend to make me breakfast this morning. I guess this is her way of ensuring I don't go hungry for the rest of the day."
"Oh, that’s very nice of your friend, sir," she says, and they hover near the door. I reach into my pocket, grab another hundred dollars, and hand it to them.
"Oh, thank you very much, sir," she says, smiling widely. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Is there?—"
"It's fine, thank you," I say. I watch as they exit the room, then close the door behind them and look back at the mountains of food and drink that Zara has ordered. I didn't even realize she'd been on the phone, but then I had been in the bathroom for a good ten or fifteen minutes.
I wonder where she is now. I wonder if she is wondering if the food has been delivered yet. I think of her big brown eyes, her long curly hair, the way her mouth parted every time she was about to orgasm, and the little squeaks that she made as she was coming. I think of the way her fingernails dug into my back. Delicious. It’s the best sex I've had in a really long time, but I need to move on from that. I need to think about what I’m going to do about my dad.
I look at the time and realize that while it's still early in the morning, it's not so early that I can't call my grandparents. I pick up my phone and make a call. My nana answers on the second ring.
"Darling Jackson, how are you?"
"Good morning, Nana."
"Good morning to you. Is everything okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" she asks.
