Richard

“I don’t think I have to worry about that, I’m not going to sell. This island holds too many memories to let them go.” She had a far away melancholy gaze.

A part of me wanted her to sell, then she could move to Tranquility, be closer to me, closer to Richard.

I would have to put Rick on a shelf. Mac was not the type of girl that was going to stand for his shenanigans.

Did it matter? She didn’t live on the island, we could vacation here.

My mind was going a mile a minute. Making plans for a future with a woman I essentially met two days ago. She was my first crush, my first love. Was that why I never had a committed relationship? I was already in love and had been for the past fifteen years?

Before I could tell her, let her know of my intentions, she continued.

“Maybe I can partner up with the charter company, get them to back me so I can make this island livable year round. I could run a fishing charter, move here permanently.”

My big plans, my big dreams, shattered in less than a minute.

What was I thinking, anyway? I was not made that way, not made for commitment. My creativity, my prowess in the boardroom, it came from who I was, and these melodramatic feelings from my adolescence, that was not me.

I forced myself back into reality, and the reality was, I was going home today. Back to work, back to the boardroom, back to the responsible businessman everyone was counting on.

“How about that shave and haircut?” I cut in. I was no longer interested in her big plans for her future.

They did not include me, they never would.

“I will get the stuff ready, bring the chair in here,” she pointed to the bathroom. “Have a seat and let me take this off.” She removed my shirt as her hand gently brushed against my face.

She lathered my face and was steady, meticulous — she knew what she was doing. She took her time with every stroke of the blade. She lay a towel across my lap and proceeded to straddle me.

“I can only get to these delicate places like this, will you be okay?”

The way she said it, direct, made me understand this was in no way a sexual advance on her part. She had a job to do and she was going to it right.

It drove me insane, having her barely touching me, hovering just about where the bulge from my jeans could not reach.

I was happy for the towel. I knew she placed it there to allow for discretion.

When she finished, she took a hot face cloth and washed the remaining lather away. She gazed at my face, her breath caught in her throat.

Finally able to speak, “You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” was all that came out.

It took me a second to regain my composure. “Now how about that haircut?”

She was as skilled with this as she was with shaving. Her hands accurate, reliable, taking only what was required.

“All done, what do you think?” she sounded proud of her work of art.

I looked in the mirror. “Wow, you did a great job. Hello, Richard old friend, goodbye, Rick.” I heard the razor drop into the sink and panicked.

“Mac, are you all right? Did you cut yourself?”

She was white, trembling. I was stumped what had spooked her so horribly. “Mac, what is it, what’s going on?”

“What did you mean, goodbye, Rick?”

“Rick, it’s short for Richard.” I was still confused.

“You never once asked me to call you Rick.

Are you Rick or are you Richard?”

“Mac, you’re scaring me. What’s the difference?”

“There is this guy Rick, he lives on a sailboat, comes in once in a while. A real ladies man, charming, but not very sincere. He picks up women, one night stands, promises he will call, but never does.

I ask you again, are you Rick or are you Richard?”

“I’m both. There are the same person. It’s not like some split personality or something weird.

It’s hard for me to know who wants me for me…or for my name. I have a very healthy sexual appetite and won’t apologize for it. Sometimes I need to release the sexual tension. It makes me who I am in business, in the boardroom.”

Silence held the room.

“I don’t force anyone to come back to my boat with me. It’s two consenting adults taking care of each other’s needs. I don’t make any promises anyone expect me to keep. Yes, I take phone numbers, it’s something everyone does. I picked them up in a bar, not the opera. Most women don’t expect me to call them.”

“I met my husband in a bar,” she glared through me.

Her hand covered her mouth and tears flooded her eyes.

“Mac, don’t look at me like that, I’m still the same person you spent the past two days with.”

“We didn’t use protection,” squeaked out her voice box.

I approached to take her hand, and she pulled away. “Mac, I would never leave you stranded if something happened,” I reassured her. I was hurt she would think less of me.

“You fucking asshole. You think I’m worried about being pregnant? You're a manwhore, Rick.

A. Man. Whore.

How many women have you slept with that you didn’t use protection? What kind of diseases do I have to worry about?”

It was my turn to be defensive. “I always use protection. I didn’t plan on getting washed up on a beach with Florence Nightingale. You didn’t seem too worried about that earlier.”

“Michael and I never used condoms, we were each other first, each others only, until now.”

Then she threw in my face, “I’m on birth control, so you won’t have any unwanted responsibilities to worry about.” She wasn’t finished with me. “How many women? Earlier you said most women, how many is most?”

“Too many to count,” I admitted and turned my back to her. It was the first time I felt ashamed of my actions. If I was upfront with her before our first encounter, would she have let me take her? I had to wondered.

The silence was heavy, the tension thick. Finally she spoke. “Have you ever had a serious relationship?”

“Once, I dated the same woman for three months. I came home one day and she had bridal magazines scattered over the table. She was looking at Scottish castles to book for weddings. I told her I wasn’t at that point in the relationship. She said all women do these things, it didn't mean anything.

I asked my sister, and she assured me all women do these things when they plan on getting married. I ended the relationship,” I paused.

“A couple of weeks later, I ran into her and we hooked up.

She took that to mean we were going to continue where we left off. I made it perfectly clear that was not the case. It did not end well. She went nuts. I mean bat shit crazy nuts. I had to have security remove her from the building screaming how she was the only one who could give heirs worthy of the Van de Graaf name.”

Mackenzie shrugged her shoulders. “Once bitten, twice shy. So you decided all women were basically the same and only wanted you for your name?”

“No, but it makes things easier. I work long hours, travel days at a time. I have only myself to account for, no little woman disappointed at me because I missed another dinner, another birthday or anniversary. I saw what it did to my parents.

I see what it does to me.

To have the pressure of being the heir, the successor. I have a lot of people who depend on me. I don’t want any child of mine to feel that. I never had a choice of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was groomed since infancy for this.

I love this job, don’t get me wrong, but I never had the opportunity to see if I would have loved anything else more.”

She turned her back on me and remained silent.

I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist.

She slapped them, moving away from my touch.

“Mac, please don’t let me leave with this between us.”

Would she listen, understand, or would she let me leave, never wanting to see me again?