Behind The Mask

Chapter Three

A cool breeze comes through the window and ruffles the curtains, finding its way into the house. It’s nighttime now. The stars are out, and someone in the building opposite mine is being serenaded.

It's the butcher's daughter. She’s being serenaded by the grocer's son.

It sounds sappy, and like something from a nineteen-century novel, but it’s happening right outside my window.

To others out there, it’s the most beautiful thing anyone can witness, but to me, it’s cliché and a complete waste of time and resources.

I sit on the thin rug, by the table, and slowly place of fork, full of scrambled eggs, into my mouth. While love is in the air out there, it doesn’t get to my window.

The graphics playing on my laptop screen don’t have my full attention either. There’s no concern from me about the lead actor who desperately trying to save a woman, who I conclude has half a brain. Who sees danger and runs straight into it?

That chick over there.

The male actor is charming, but not charming enough to drive away my real life problems.

Apparently, my next door neighbor did not appreciate my outcry in the afternoon. He stuck his head outside his window and out rightly told me,

“No one cares, Donna! Now, if you would please shut the f-“

I didn’t let him finish. I couldn’t. With red cheeks and teary blue eyes, I hurried inside.

My phone vibrates and I tilt it upwards to view the caller ID. It’s Marlene.

I ignore it and lift another fork to my lips. The vibrating stops. A sigh escapes my lips. It’s such a lonely life I live, with no job, no friend, no…

The phone vibrates again and I snatch it angrily.

“What is it, Marlene?” I snap. “Why won’t you stop calling?”

Marlene sighs. “I’m sorry, Donna, okay? I don’t want you staying mad at me. Every time you stay mad, something stupid ends up happening to you.”

I pause and look from the left to the right, and back at my phone. I lower my voice. “Did someone say something to you?”

Marlene groans. “I knew it! Something stupid did happen! I’m requesting for a video call now.”

I accept and I place my phone in a holder.

I'm not about to admit it to her, but it feels good to see her again, even if it’s only through the phone. She looks pretty with her rosy cheeks and green eyes twinkling. Her dark brown hair is up in a ponytail, and I can’t help but notice the jersey she’s wearing.

“You're at Jeremy’s, aren’t you?” A teasing smile plays at the corner of my lips.

The blush on her cheeks tells me everything I need to know. “No way, Donna. We are not turning this ship around. Come on, spill. What happened to you? Or, better yet, what did you do?”

I wiggle my brows and begin to narrate everything that happened after her call. I tell her all about the little girl and the stranger I chased down the street, the pigeon s**t, my neighbor's cursing, and finally the ongoing serenade.

Marlene's laughing so hard, her eyes water. She places her head on the table and throws her head back, and I’m happy that my crazy day can put a smile on her face.

“You know my favorite part of this story?” She says, and I shake my head. “It’s the part where pretty Donna, with the angelic glow, called you a total idiot.”

“Shut up,” I say and bite down on my lip to stifle a laugh. Turns out, the minute I shared the unfortunate events of the day with Marlene, I didn’t feel as bad as I did earlier.

We talk more about everything and nothing at the same time. I know I said I was lonely, but it wasn’t true. Not with Marlene in the picture. She makes fun of the tasteless scrambled eggs I have for dinner, but I can see genuine concern in her eyes.

She’s fighting within herself to not bring up the one topic I shut out two years ago. She promises to visit me, but we both know she can’t. She only says it to comfort me.

The door creaks open behind her and in walks Jeremy, her boyfriend, with two grocery bags.

Marlene and I share a knowing look. It’s a sad one. She can’t let Jeremy know she’s in contact with me.

“Hi, babe,” his gruff voice resounds in their room. “Oh, sorry, you’re on the phone, yeah?”

I take my face off the camera and I hear her say, “Yeah, give me a few seconds, my love. It’s a video call with my, uh, cousin. Denise. You remember Denise, right?”

“The one in Madrid?”

“Exactly. Hey, Denise… I’ll have to go now. But, uh, you do know I love you, right? Take care of yourself over there. We’ll catch up some other time.”

I can’t see her face, but I know she’s trying to not cry. I'm trying to not cry too, but my body betrays me. A hot tear rolls down my cheek, and I swiftly wipe it away.

“And, uh, Denise?” Marlene pauses. “If Madrid gets too hard, know I’m here waiting with open arms.”

The call disconnects and I'm left with nothing but silence. The serenade must have been done with too because no sound of music comes through my window.

I fold my arms around my legs, and I place my head on my knee. I begin to sniffle, right before I cry.

I cry so hard, my chest starts to hurt. But I don’t stop. Not until a notification bubble pops up on my laptop screen.

The tears sting my eyes, but I sniffle and move closer to the laptop. It’s a bit blur, so I wipe away the tears and sit on the rug with folded legs.

I peer closely. It’s an email notification. I'm about to regard it as a spam mail and ignore it, but the sender’s email address gets my attention.

I gasp. The tears dry up instantly. “There's no way.”

I don’t click on the notification yet.

My fingers are swift on the mouse and keyboard. I open up a new tab on my browser and type in Al Industries, Inc.

The result is remarkable. Al Industries, Inc. Is one of the leading companies in the business industrial sector, worldwide, engaging in technology, media and telecommunications.

There are also rumors launched by bloggers that they also engage in power and utilities. From what I know, that covers major power plants, solar, thermal, hydropower, and possibly lots more renewable companies across geographies.

My mouth hangs agape. These people, whoever they are, are in for serious business. They are sitting on lots and lots of money.

I frown.

I am excited that they considered me worthy enough to receive a mail from them, though I do not know the contents, but they are a powerful group; and, a powerful group means a powerful leader.

I clear my recent search and type in CEO of Al industries, Inc.

The result comes out - Tyler Allen. Managing Director / Founder of Allen Industries, Inc. Later renamed as Al Industries.

The name doesn’t ring a bell, so I click on it.

It takes a while to load, but when it does my jaw hits the ground. I expect to see an older man, maybe in his early or late fifties, with silver-gray hairs and piercing dark eyes.

Not a thirty-year-old stud, looking enthralling with dark low taper fade hair and grey eyes –those kinds which mirror your soul if you stare into them long enough

His business profile is no doubt record-breaking and his photo on the side is just the icing on the cake that everyone needs.

He stands tall in a navy blue double-breasted suit, with a black turtleneck peeking from underneath, and glares at the camera like he owns the entire world and all the people in it.

He doesn’t laugh or smile. He lets his eyes do all the talking, but the photo comes out perfect. And, oh, coconuts! He looks like a professional model.

Still, a powerful group means a powerful leader.

He is the representation of everything I hate. Holders of power and wealth used to oppress minorities.

Well, his company did send me a mail.

I shrug and return to click on it. The contents load and my eyes grow wide until I can feel them popping out of their sockets.

Galloping gremlins!

So, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. When I first arrived in Brooklyn, two years ago, I had enough to sustain my cost of living. I got an apartment, stocked up my fridge with a lot of goodies, and even scored a job as a cashier at a merchandise store.

Shortly after, they cut me off. The reasons were never explained.

It wasn’t so bad. I still had enough savings to get me through the first year and a half. Then, I got another job as a cashier again, but at a bigger merchandise store.

I later realized that merchandise stores and I weren’t cut out for each other, because shortly after, they cut me off too.

Marlene advised me to use my degree. Initially, I didn’t want to but being jobless in a big city doesn’t give you much of a choice. So, I listened.

During the cause of my job search, I got word of a job vacancy at a company called Al industries, Inc. I didn’t bother to check them out. I just needed a job, and desperation made me apply.

Shortly after that, I did get a job, online, but not at Al Industries. It was a freelance writing gig and, as long as it paid the bills, I was ready to go wherever it wanted me to.

Five months ago, the project suddenly got called off, and I received the pay of half the sum that was agreed upon. And, that’s how we got here.

Fast forward to the present.

Waking up to the smell of rotten mac and cheese in a faulty microwave, chased a stranger down the street, got pooped on by a nasty pigeon, and was cursed at by my neighbor, but going to bed with the image of a congratulatory message on my mind.

Informing me of the position I have at Al industries, Inc. As the personal assistant to the powerful leader, Tyler Allen.