segment 22

He wasn’t handsome, but did convey a confidence  that told her he didn’t need to be, which was almost more alluring then some direct aesthetic quality.

“With Marquet, you know, the department store?”

“Of course.” Ala remembered every Christmas loading the car trunk with gifts her mother bought from Marquet. The leisure suits, silk scarves, cashmere gloves; none of it her taste, a bit too senior, but very popular in her mother’s collection of friends.

“I started in Colombia, that’s where I’m from.  I only moved here about ten years ago.”

“Your English is good.” It was better than good really.  Very articulate and deep.

“My mother taught me.  She was American.  She moved to Colombia after meeting my father.”

“I see.  So, do you have advice for me?  I’m just starting out in this direction.  Before I sold ad space for a magazine that had nothing to do with fashion.”

“So, much of the business is about how you project yourself, so people trust your style. I’d say, you’ll have no issue in that department.” His eye darted her body for half a second.

Ala felt herself blush and was embarrassed.

“Well that’s good news.”

He removed a card from his pocket.

“Tell you what, I live three blocks away. Come over tomorrow. I may be able to help you with a job.”

“Seriously?” She grabbed the card, almost too quickly.

“Yes.”

“Well thank you, Emmanuel.”

He nodded just as Mrs. Neely came up  from behind and handed him another drink. Ala knew that Mrs. Neely was desperate to sleep with him, she could tell by the way her hand ran up and down the wet glass.

He would never sleep with her; Ala could already tell this from their two minute conversation.  Too sloppy. Too chatty. She looked around and didn’t see her parents anywhere.  Strange of them to go to bed so soon, but then again, it was strange for them to be here in the first place.

She could tell Mrs. Neely had a small window of time and did not want her husband to see her spending too much time around Emmanuel. It felt like the time had come to leave.

Not wanting to go home to the dark house, she rummaged through the shed and found her old ten-speed from high school.  She rode down the street, quiet except for a few cars making there way toward the highway. She found the path that she and her friends used to take to get to the brook, and sped down the hill with her arms in the air, stretching high above her head.

Apparently having more balance at fourteen years old, she swerved so severely that the only nice thing about the fall was that no one was around to witness it.  She lied there for a moment, eye level with the brook, hearing the trickle over the rocks and seeing sparse beams of reflected light taking over the surface of the water.

She wondered how long she could lie there without someone finding her.  Ten hours, twelve hours, maybe even  days?  Was anyone around that could read her mind, who knew her that well? The answer was bleak.