Call Me Daddy

4

Lumiere Hotel was a five star establishment in every sense of the word. Chandeliers scattered lights on the polished floors, glinting off expensive jewelries and exotic cutleries. Just as Maya said, it was a gathering of elites. While most of them dressed somewhat casually, little hints revealed their calibre— the watches, the jewelries, even the car keys.

“Apollo Tech Exhibition,” I read off a banner on stage. “Propelling innovation across all fields since the 2000s.”

Applause erupted as a man stepped onto the stage. His tall, broad figure was clad in a black long-sleeve polo and loose chinos. His arms filled his sleeves perfectly and the room seemed to fall under a spell when he spoke.

My pulse quickened as I watched him. He spoke calmly, like he commanded both authority and time

I swallowed with desire, liquid forming between my legs.

“Let’s go see my dad,” Maya said, reminding me she was still present.

Maya’s father was an Executive Director at some top manufacturing company and had been given three invites, excluding himself.

I followed after her and soon came to meet her father with a small company.

“Meet my daughter, Maya!” He said proudly, pulling her forward.

Maya confidently introduced herself and I. I tried to keep up, smiling when I needed to and nodding when it was called for, but it felt hollow.

I felt a small prick in my heart as I watched them, the absence of my father looming in my mind. I’d never had a reason to feel my father’s absence when Mom was alive. But now, it was painfully clear how alone I was.

Shortly after, I slipped away, leaving Maya to the circle. I wandered aimlessly, unsure where to go. Coincidentally, a waiter carrying a tray of drinks stopped before me.

“Just what I need,” I exhaled.

I took a couple drinks, determined to loosen up and enjoy the night. Then I noticed him again. He was off the stage now, swirling his drink in one hand as he listened lifelessly to a man before him.

When he was done there, he mingled with a small crowd at the edge of the room. I tiptoed around him, throwing myself into his light of sight, pretending to admire the decor or sip my drink. He made a light joke and I laughed, loud enough to be heard but not annoying.

He didn’t look. Not once.

I opened my clutch and took out a small bottle I got from Maya and sprayed it lightly over my neck and hair. Then, as if by accident, I stood beside him, my back to his and flicked my hair across his face.

He pushed the strands away, without as much as turning.

I frowned, unsatisfied with the results.

I tried again, a little more deliberately. I turned slightly, as if I wasn’t watching where I was going and walked towards him. We collided and I dropped my clutch. It fell right into his feet and I froze.

He bent over and picked it without any visible expression. “You dropped this,” he said, casually.

“So-rry,” I stuttered, receiving it.

Before I could restrategize, the LEDs powered to life, blaring across the room. It was my father. He was in a factory, dressed in jeans and a helmet, promoting some new electric engine.

His voice blasted through every in-wall speaker. “At Monroar, we believe in motion without limits. Your dreams should never stop and neither should you…”

The hypocrisy stung. For ten years, I had to live with the now, too uncertain to dream of the future. And now he spoke of dreams and motion. I was both hurt and furious.

My chest tightened and my eyes watered. I needed space, air— anything to escape my father’s presence. I turned down a corridor swiftly, past some guards and all the way outside.

“Sorry, Maya,” I exhaled. “I can’t stay.”

I walked down the street, steps unsteady from the alcohol. It hadn’t been more than five minutes since I left when a downpour started, as if Mother Nature intended to mock me.

The thought of going back crossed my mind but when I considered the reactions I’d get, I decided against it. I kept walking, my white dress now drenched and clinging to my skin. Even my hair plastered across my face.

A black Cadillac rolled up, taking my mind off the downpour. The windows rolled down to reveal the man from the stage.

“Get in “ he ordered, calmly.

“Are-are you sure,” I stammered. “I’m soaked.

“Don’t worry about that,” he assured. The seats are leather.”

I slid into the car and shuddered under the chill of the air conditioner. I tried to hide it, unsuccessfully.

“Vincent, turn on the heater,” he instructed the driver.

“Ironic,” I said, finding my voice.

“What is?”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention all night, little did I know I would end up in your car.”

“You have my attention,” he said, voice narrow. “What now?”

I pushed myself forward, climbing onto his laps, my breasts peeking behind my wet dress. I slid my hands down his chest, all the way to his crotch. When I felt a hard beneath, I leaned in for a kiss.

“Stop,” he said, pulling back. “You’re drunk.”

“Tipsy,” I giggled, leaning again.

“Same thing. I’m forty-eight,” he said, flatly. “I’m pretty sure that’s twice your age. We’re not going to indulge in pleasure tonight and regret tomorrow.”

I paused, then pulled back. “You don’t think I can make good decisions for myself?”

“I don’t think you can make any decision in this condition.”

“If you’re so disciplined,” I said, my hand pressing against his pelvis. “Why does your body say otherwise?”

He paused, looking down at himself. “I’m disciplined because I can do otherwise, even when my body says so.”

“Stop the car,” I said, softly.

“It’s raining. You’ll-”

“Stop the car!” I yelled, cutting him off.

The driver looked at the rear mirror as if for confirmation and only obliged when he nodded.

I got out, my clothes already half dried, back into the rain.

“All you do is get rejected,” I said to myself. “What made you think anything has changed?”