Riiiiing! Riiiing!
Amy sat at her desk finishing a report to give to a judge when the rather annoying sound of her telephone interrupted her. She was careful to minimize the word processing program before she turned to the beat up telephone that sat on the desk in her cramped office.
“Here For You, Amy Delaney speaking,” she answered, taking the receiver off the cradle.
“Miss Delaney, this is Tabitha again,” came the static distorted voice on the other end of the line.
“Yes, Tabitha, I was just working on your report,” Amy said, placing her forehead in the palm of her left hand, elbows on the desk.
“Yes, I just wanted to make sure that you were going to recommend that he stay in jail…you can’t let him get out.”
“Tabitha, as I have told you, the contents of my report to the judge are concealed until the date of the hearing,” Amy said gently, “If I told you what I am recommending, then I would lose my job and could go to jail, myself. You don’t want me to go to jail, do you?”
“No, no…I don’t want that! I don’t know if I could keep going without you, Miss Delaney!”
“Tabitha, it’s not me that has helped you move on, you’re helping yourself. Now please, if I’m going to finish my report and have it faxed to the courthouse in time for the hearing, I’ll need to get off the phone. Can we talk some more at your appointment on Tuesday?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll talk to you on Tuesday, Miss Delaney,” Tabitha said, quickly disconnecting from the call.
Shaking her head as she replaced the telephone receiver on the cradle, Amy caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that hangs on the back of the office door. She stood up, and walked over to it, examining her reflection.
She had always known she was attractive, with her long dark and hair and chestnut eyes, but she was a little insecure around the midline at times. She thought she looked great, but it was annoying when everyone seemed to be chasing the bean poles. Oh well, she thought, her ship would come in. Her sometime boyfriend, Todd, didn’t help matters. He was seeing other girls every chance he got. He had even had the audacity to come right out and tell her that her weight “kind of bugged him”, and that he didn’t know if he could see himself in a “real” relationship with her. God, what an asshole.
Sadness overwhelmed her as she thought over her last “steady” relationship she had had. That would be Justin. He had joined the Marine Corps immediately after high-school, and proposed to her on his last night in Black Rock before he shipped out for Iraq in 2005. He was dead by 2006.
This had been the trigger that led to her eating more than anything. But Amy had never been one to hide. So, rather than not fit in at all, she began to compensate for her perceived lack of physical appeal with “fat” jokes…usually at her own expense. She wasn’t even that big. She was just curvy, but she found her place making the jokes nonetheless. Sure, she had plenty of friends all through her college career at the University of California at Berkeley, but between grief over Justin’s death and her subsequent weight gain, her sex life had consisted primarily of one night stands ever since.
“Whatever,” she thought, “I am who I am, after all.” The older she got, the less she could constantly worry about it. She had a plan to start hitting the gym soon, but in the meantime, if guys didn’t appreciate her as she was, well screw ‘em…they weren’t worth her time anyhow. Of course she still had her insecurities, but she was beginning to feel better and better about herself. She was actually beginning to sort of revel in her curves. The guys didn’t know what they were missing.
“Oh my! Is that the time?” Amy said to herself, coming out of her mental wanderings. She had glanced at the clock on the bottom, right hand side of her ancient PC after typing in her password. “No wonder I’m so hungry!”
It was very nearly 1:45 p.m.
She got up from her desk, grabbed her purse, and began walking toward the door.
“Alice! I’ll be back! I’m getting lunch!” she hollered to her supervisor, the lead at the grief counseling agency that she worked in. Entering the hallway and turning to the right, she shouted out “Hey! Hold the elevator!” just in time to see the arm of a tailored suit ending in a deeply tanned hand extend itself to hold the elevator doors open.
Houston Storm was feeling hungry as well, and so decided to go to Giglio’s for lunch. He quickly placed a phone call to his valet, asking him to bring a car around.
“Which car, Mr. Storm?”
“I think I’ll take the Viper, Steven,” he answered. Hanging up the telephone hotline to his garage, he walked out of his 1,000 square foot personal office, and across the floor of offices inhabited by the rest of his staff, who handled all of the “nuts and bolts” of his company, Larger-Than-Life-Love Inc. The company controlled seven of the top ten niche dating websites in North America. Their premier website, “largerthanlifelove.com,” was deemed the most profitable web based dating site for the previous three years. Nowhere was this fact more obvious than in the lifestyle choices of the company’s founder, Houston Storm.
Having been named the “San Francisco Bay Area’s Most Eligible Bachelor” for each of the previous four years was likely a byproduct of being named one of California’s “Top Ten Richest Men” for the previous five years by The Californian magazine. Whether it was the actual rankings, or just who he was, the fact was that he found woman falling at his feet seemingly everywhere he went. He had absolutely no problem taking full advantage of this fact either. As a result, and probably coupled with the fact that he still had not even reached the tender age of thirty five, the paparazzi had already branded him as a “bad boy”. They seemed to have no more favored task than proving their label by keeping the tabloids supplied with an endless series of shots of him and his many female guests inside his Los Gatos mansion compound.
The truth was, however, that he had created his first website in his second year of junior college—Larger Than Life Love—in order to actually find that perfect woman. The only problem was, instead of drawing to him the kind of small town girl he really desired, his being rich and powerful brought all kinds of disingenuous women to his door instead.
After he walked to the elevator and punched the ground floor button, he had expected an uninterrupted journey down the seventeen floors of the Yuanfen Building, which was normally quiet by this time of day, but he was wrong. On the sixth floor, his elevator car picked up a young intern from the law offices on that floor She rode down to four before getting off. The door was just closing when Houston heard the voice of a young woman, calling for him to hold the door. Extending his expensively clothed arm through the door, he beheld the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.