What Can You Not Buy With Money?

I awoke on my little floor nest thirty minutes before my alarm went off at 9:30 PM. Getting ready was easy… for the first few minutes. As I finished showering and began getting dressed, my movements grew sluggish and struggling. I had hurried home from work and collapsed on the floor and passed out. I was too ashamed and fearful to try to visit Walker again. There was a possibility that Walker would make a move on Lucy, and I didn’t dare risk interrupting it. Thankfully, she wasn’t home yet which justified my excuse.

I grabbed the least funky smelling pair of jeans and a shirt as I stared blankly at my clothes. I had no idea what to wear at the dinner. I was nervous, but felt confident enough for it not to be so bad. I grabbed the best pair of black jeans and the same shirt I wore to work earlier that day and pulled it in my backpack. I managed to quickly put on the necklace Lucy made for my birthday as a masochistic reminder of finding a way to make it up to them.

I carefully crept past Lucy’s closed door, a cruel memory of the abandonment at the hospital striking into me like needles of guilt. Before I managed to leave the apartment, I was surprised to see Lucy waiting for me on the couch, dressed in the clothes she wore at the hospital yesterday and a cup of steaming cider cradled in her hands.

“I managed to get the key made,” she murmured as she stared me down. “It’s on the counter.”

I turned to see a small silver piece of metal, which I reached and took. “Thanks,” I looked at her and swallowed as I thought of something to say. “I—”

“I broke his heart,” Lucy took a sip from her mug. She looked away for a second distractedly but quickly returned her cold gaze. “When you left, he told me he wanted to marry me.” She let out a soft sigh, a small smile on her face. “The poor guy. He grabbed my hand and had me look him in the eye.”

Hearing those words saddened me. I gripped my backpack a little tighter. “Why don’t you?”

Her eyes turned surprised. “Because I’m a good friend but would make a horrible spouse. And you,” she shook her head in disbelief, “had taken all the respect I had for you away. I get that you need to pay half the rent, but if you really like him you would have let that phone call go to voicemail. I’d rather see Walker happy with a girl than a cheaper rent.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but decided against it. “You’re right,” I cleared my throat as it began to throb painfully. “I don’t like him that way yet. But I think I’m starting to.”

“If you do,” she carefully annunciated her words, “end up with him, don’t take him for granted like I am.”

I didn’t understand why she was telling me this, since it seemed that she was suffering a suffocating guilt herself, but I nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I wanted to escape.

“Wait, where’re you going?” Lucy called out to me.

“A business meeting in Paris,” I called out as I quickly fled the room and waited outside, close to the curb.

At exactly 10:00 PM, a limousine pulled up with tinted windows blocking my view of the inside. The chauffer quickly left his driver’s seat and opened the back door for me.

I entered into a thick carpeted interior. Seats were facing each other, and it was dimly lit by the small overhead light. I saw a glimpse of a small refrigerator and little glass drink wares held in place on small shelves supporting their fragile frame.

“Where’s your dress?” Burgess demanded in front of me, arms folded. I was in a state of empty confusion to see him free from his usual business attire. He wore cargo shirts, a polo, and a pair of sunglasses were placed in his collar for future use.

After recovering from shock, I shrugged. “I don’t have one,” I paused when he gave me the Look of Death, but I thought I saw a flavor of… worry that continued to confuse me. “I have black jeans and the shirt from yesterday—“

He winced as though I just vomited all over him. “Oh God,” he covered his mouth and looked out the window for a second before his blue eyes flashed to me. “You have no idea how important this is, do you?”

I took a seat across from him, placing my bag carefully in front of me as a vain attempt for a shield from his whipping words.

“I’m sorry, but this is the best I have.” I was in constant fear that I would be fired.

Burgess leaned back and took a deep breath. “Fine, we’ll have to be fashionably late. You wouldn’t happen to know your measurements, would you?”

“No,” I hated how he sneered at me.

“Fine.” There was a long pause as the limo stopped at an intersection. He continued, “Parlez-vous français?”

I snapped my head to his direction and stared at him blankly. “Excuse me?”

He sniffed as he crossed his legs. “Can you speak French—ever take any classes?”

“No,” I quickly added, “I took Spanish though…”

“Like that would do help here,” he snapped, and my rejuvenated hatred for him ate away at my skin. “The company can’t afford any slipups with Slater. One slight offense and the deal’s off.”

“Instead of whining about how important it is, help me and tell me what to do,” I threw back, but quickly covered my mouth in surprise at my malice.

I caught a smirk change his face. “So you do have a spine. Good. Slater and I have an interesting past. It involves her sadistic personality and refusing to give me what I want. And she loves drama. She may even start a war between you and her own assistant, purely for the entertainment.”

“Why?” I couldn’t understand what he meant.

“Because she can,” He returned to his current task. “Always give eye contact. Looking away is insulting. Even if her gaze may intimidate you, look through her if you have to.”

I nodded as I repeated his words mentally in hopes of memorizing it. I felt like an eager nerd in front of a teacher.

“When we meet Slater, she will greet us in either French or English. Apologize for not being capable of speaking her home language and don’t make any unpleasant noises. Always place your hands on the table during dinner. You’ll attract poor attention if you don’t. And make sure you never lead the conversation. Follow Slater’s actions and mimic her etiquette. Never use your hands. And expect to eat a large meal, or you’ll offend not only our host but the employees at the restaurant.”

I let out a gasp as I tried to keep his lecture in my head. It felt worse than listening to nails against slate. I was beginning to get a new headache. He was thrusting nervous energy into me.

We arrived at the San Diego International Airport. I was nervously fiddling with my bag strap and we continued to zoom past the entrances of the futuristic building. Through wide windows I could see a heavy crowd of people with suitcases dragging against the ground. As we drove over a small bridge to the other side of the airport I could see great aircrafts proudly waiting to transport people.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we passed the many throngs of gate entrances.

“To the plane,” Burgess snapped in annoyance.

“No, I realize that,” I tried not to sound sarcastic, “But we’re passing the Europe section…” I sounded like an idiot as I realized he was probably taking me to a private jet or some fancy airplane that only the elite and privileged flew. Hostility and envy began to crack lightning in my vision.

We drove in a wide paved landing strip. A small jet stood in patience for us to arrive.

A few men that resembled the secret service stood in wait for us. They let Burgess climb the stairs into the plane, but they stopped me from taking another step forward.

“Please give us your bag and spread your arms apart.”

I half jokingly thought I was going to have to suffer an anal probe (excuse my vulgarity) but they scanned me with a black device that beeped when it landed on the Smartphone in my back pocket. They inspected it closely but were satisfied.

“Be sure to turn your cell phone off while in flight,” a guard handed it back to me.

Not daring to infuriate any of them, I quickly nodded and turned the phone off.

Compared to the warm Californian breeze, the internal cabin of the plane was filled with cool recycled air. It was a much fancier plane compared to movies I’ve seen. My boss was seated at an enormous recliner by the window, a cell phone in hand as he spoke rapidly in French. I appreciated the ironic snort I accidentally let slip. I was beginning to grow a spine around him.

“Oui. Oui. À bien•tôt,” he hung up and asked without looking at me, “Are your legs still unshaved?”

My face burst into a colorful prism of reds. “That’s—personal!”

“Not when you wore that skirt,” Burgess continued to be unphased at my humiliating terror while maintaining his reproached expression. “I’m sure you know that French women tend not to shave. But I think it would be safe for you to wear a long gown to cover them.”

I was speechless at his rude attack. Another seat near Burgess was my comfort as I slumped into the cushions. “How long will it take to get there?” I groaned inwardly.

“Twelve hours,” Burgess continued to deny looking me in the eye.

I was outraged. “For a dinner?”

“Suck it up,” Burgess snapped. He took out of his briefcase a book and a reading glasses case.

Silence drowned the jet as it began to take flight. I looked around, wondering what I would do. I didn’t bring any books and I didn’t own an iPod. I quickly stole a view of Burgess then quickly looked away in hopes that he didn’t realize I was entertaining myself by admiring his well carved face and guessing what book he was reading. I wanted to ask if he had another novel, or even a magazine. (I also secretly wanted to ask if I could read over his shoulder, but that idea wasn’t even worth contemplating about.)

I pretended to be fascinated with the tear on my backpack when I performed another ninja flash of my eyes, hoping to steal another glance at his face. My entire frame dissolved in a cruel crash as my eyes didn’t greet his peach face reading calmly in literature—I was welcomed by a cold blue glare from his short tempered eyes. I was doomed.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for me already,” Burgess surrendered ignoring me as he took off his glasses and placed his book on his lap. “So don’t play dumb.”

“That’s—not—it,” I felt my face ignite aflame. I quickly looked away as we switched roles from the one who watches to the one who ignores.

To this guy, falling meant feeling a physical desire for him. In a way, I was like a regular fan of his—though I tried to convince myself how much of a wingnut moneybag he was. I felt very shallow for overlooking everything and falling to eye candy.

I looked at him again, to see he changed his position in his seat. He was resting his chin in his hand as he continued to stare at me stubbornly and didn’t look away as I had. I was becoming unnerved.

“Sorry,” I blinked as I tried to keep his gaze. He was a challenging opponent. I faked a small cough so I could prolong any more conversation. “So… you speak French—” My words faltered as he snorted at my obvious remark. “Do you speak any other languages?”

Burgess raised an eyebrow and straightened up as though being cautious. “Yes.” Silence followed.

“…Spanish?” I guessed, trying to keep the tattered conversation on life support.

“Yes, is this going anywhere?”

“I’m just trying to learn more about my boss,” I spoke delicately.

“Fine.” Burgess’ voice was agitated, but a mix of bemusement and pride showed in the curved corner of his lips. “I speak fluently in four languages, not including English. I also studied Latin in college and studied abroad mostly in Europe.”

“Wow,” I tried to resist fawning over him but I was beginning to be impressed and it was leaking out of my mouth. “But you’re still a young guy.”

I was stroking Burgess’ ego to the point that it began to sound corny and smothered in cheese.

“I graduated from Harvard Business School last year just after my sixteenth birthday, and am currently studying Law.”

“So when is your birthday?” I had that twinge in my stomach that cautioned me to not ask any more questions, or else suffer dire consequences.

“August 19,” He paused as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal a Rolex. “We have about eleven more hours.”

He stopped speaking, and I didn’t try to ask another question. But the intensity that the silence invoked was enough to make me crack slightly. I started thinking about Walker in the hospital and what Lucy told me that morning. It brought my mood even lower.

A flash of random desperation to stop thinking about them quickly diverted my attention back to Burgess. It was a bit of a queer eccentric thought on my part, but I wanted to know if he had a sense of humor. He was a rare one, I’ll give him that. He didn’t seem the slight bit ordinary or normal, but even he must have a bit of some comical qualities that he had. I wonder if he did anything silly.

My sick mind conjured up an idea of him as a little kid along with a mini Walker. Surprisingly, it was believable to imagine them as a quarreling pair of boys. They were as alien to each other that it made sense.

I wanted to ask Burgess about the lollipop that Walker stuck in his hair, but fear froze me. Instead, I giggled at the thought of it.

“What’s so funny?” Burgess demanded, his expression was that he thought I was insane.

I had to save face, and a joke managed to rescue me. “Just a little joke I remembered. Here it goes: Two guys walk into a bar.”

A long pause as Burgess waited for me to finish. Impatiently he pushed, “…and?”

“You’d think one of them would have seen it,” I quipped.

He was emotionless for two seconds, but then his mouth twitched and he snickered a little. He covered his mouth as though ashamed and his face was starting to become a tinge of pink. “Funny,” He continued to resist laughing.

It’s a great feeling, making someone laugh, or almost laugh in this case. Especially when your audience is a person that never does.

“All right,” Burgess surrendered, “That was hilarious.” His mood seemed to have elevated and he no longer an angry hostile takeover.

“You could tell Madame Slater that joke,” My chest filled with fluff.

Burgess’ eyes continued to extract and dissect my face, as though searching for anything else that was hidden behind my skin. “That necklace. Who gave it to you?”

I looked down and carefully touched it. “A friend. It was a birthday present.”

Burgess nodded slowly, interest flickering in his movement as he leaned forward.

His attention compelled me to continue. “I just met her a few days ago, and we’re roommates.”

It would have been entertaining on a third party when his faced quivered and looked partially squeamish. “So…” He awkwardly paused. “You’re on that kind of team?”

It took a few moments to understand what he was saying, and I couldn’t help but defend myself in nervous giggles. “No—no, we’re just friends. I’m not...” I looked down as my face reddened. I was so pitiful.

There was enjoyment in Burgess’ eyes, the corner of his lips twitching as though he would burst into laughter. A hint of gentle mocking lingered in his voice, “You’re so naïve.”

“What do you mean?” Our conversation had become less angry, but the intensity of our words coated my mood in a thick film of grime.

“A girl you just met happens to shower you with help and a nice gift. Doesn’t that seem a bit too affectionate at such short time?”

An image of Lucy possibly liking me struck into my brain and fried it. Her refusal of Walker would have fed the fire of this theory, but the fact that she encouraged me to pursue him diminished these flames. “We’re just friends,” I dragged my words painfully.

Burgess cleared his throat and changed the subject, “Ever been to France?”

I gave him a hard look, purely out of the passive tone he used. “This is the first time I'm leaving the country.”

“This experience will seem like a shock for you, but as long as you do everything I tell you to, you’ll be fine.” Though he sounded confident, it was more out of self assurance than any comfort toward me. As I reexamined his face, I saw the slight tint of dark brown shadowing his lower eyelids with lines sharpening his exhausted features. I didn’t fully understand how serious and important this meeting with Slater Enterprise was, but I didn’t envy Burgess' position.

“I will. I’ll look everyone in the eye all the time, apologize for not speaking French, won’t make strange sounds, hands always on table, follow host, never handle food with hands, and eat a lot.” I paused, and added a little too proudly, “And I haven’t shaved in months.” Repeating his words had been a strain on my memory, but the relaxed sigh that Burgess breathed made me feel a swell of satisfaction.

“Good,” He smiled and checked his watch again. “You’ll have to excuse me,” He reached to his briefcase and took out a laptop. He traded it with the book, which he handed out to me. “Here, it’s better than staring at me the rest of the trip.”

“Thanks,” I halfheartedly stood up and retrieved the novel. It was leather bound; thick and heavy. On the spine, imprinted in gold paint gleamed Selections from the Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales. I looked at him as though waiting for a punch line in a joke, but he was busy caressing the mouse pad of his laptop, ignoring my questioning expression. A few mocking and cruel thoughts ran through my head, but I quickly scolded myself for looking down at him. This small book was tearing down the illusion of him in my mind of him as a deity that permeated maturity. Yet I felt humbled and reminded that he was a human.

I opened the book to the first short story, The Juniper Tree, and began reading.

Long ago, at least two thousand years, there was a rich man who had a beautiful and pious wife…

As I read the disturbing and tragic tale, a dull exhaustion lolled me into a peaceful sleep. The little chant from the story rang in my ears.

“My mother, she killed me…
My father, he ate me…
My sister Marlene…
With all my bones clean…
Wrapped them in a silken scarf…
Buried beneath the juniper tree…
Me, my, oh what a beautiful bird am I…”

I jolted awake, my heart racing, the plane trembling and skidding down the runway. I stretched and withheld a great yawn as I asked, “What time is it?”

“5:49 PM here; 9:49 AM in San Diego,” Burgess collected his things. “You drool when you sleep.”

I reflexively wiped at the corner of my mouth, which had a slight crust of dried saliva. I felt woozy and drained. As the plane halted, I unbuckled and tried to keep my balance on my feet. My body was stiff and uncomfortable from the long hours of immobilization.

After a few moments of waiting, the jet’s door was opened and Burgess left the plane. I stumbled out and was greeted by a radiant dusk and I could almost feel my skin sting in protest to the loss of sunlight exposure for the day.

There was a European black car many yards ahead, where the driver stood sternly with the door to the back open.

Burgess was walking briskly, an easy feat with his very long legs. I had to scurry to keep pace with him, and he began to ignore me again. His phone rang, and he answered, speaking in rapid French.

As we drove off through the unfamiliar stone paved alleys of the foreign country, I excitedly kept my eyes out the tinted windows; my heart thumping like a little rabbit’s fleeting foot against my chest.

From afar, a great mountain that fought the Paris sky was the Eiffel Tower. I kept my gaze trained upon the wonder, but the driver drove us in between a tight street that blocked the skyscraper from my vision.

“When we get in, don’t touch anything. A man named Craig is going to be your stylist. Do exactly as he says—even if it’s embarrassing, it’ll be necessary.” The car froze in front of a building with clearless windows. A simple logo splattered across the doors like shameless graffiti.

The door opened, and Burgess waited for me to take the lead. He was beginning to show traces of discomfort as we entered the building. I was greeted by a magnificent interior, where slender and pouty women strutted about. Their boldly made up faces studied me, their darkened eyelids flapping as they scanned my body up and down. I felt like a naked frog among beautiful scientists.

“Ah,” a medium sized Frenchman with his hair slicked back and in a tasteful suit eagerly stepped toward us, “Monsieur Burgess… and this must be Mademoiselle Hall,” he shook Burgess’ hand in a hyper fit, leaned over as though to kiss him upon the cheek. Burgess cleared his throat and took a step back, causing the man to quickly retreated and grab my hand. His lips grazed my cheek and he flushed as he rapidly spoke. “So, Mademoiselle needs to prepare for her first formal dinner?”

“We can be late to our seven o’clock,” Burgess nodded. “Just be sure to make it perfect, Craig.” Burgess turned his head and asked, “Where is Christabel?”

“Oui, mon chéri?” A warm voice that would best be compared to melted chocolate smoothly approached with high heels clicking the hard floor. I was struck by a gorgeous individual who had her hair held up and cascaded in a tomboyish hairdo. Her dark blue painted lips were smiling up at him. “Venir avec moi, s'il te plait.” She touched his arm and my envy radar exploded. I turned away, but in the corner of my eye saw Burgess smiling at the lovely Christabel.

“Please,” Craig patted my shoulder as Christabel had done to Burgess, “come with me. So you are eighteen and never been to a feast? My dear!” He brought me into a private room where two female employees that were a sharp reminder of Christabel stood with measuring tape. “Stand on this stool,” Craig gestured to the little wooden platform.

I stood and half thought Karma would cause the little thing to shatter under my much larger feet, but I miraculously remained rigid. I was immediately flocked by the women who started measuring my bust and hip size.

“I’m thinking evening autumn. Something that shies away from black, but safe enough to impress Madame Slater.”

“Do you have any dresses in purple?” Purple is my favorite color.

Craig nodded, a grin still on his face. “Yes, yes,” He brought out the ‘s’ sound as he thought it over. “I believe we have a few dresses in your body type.”

The back of my neck twinged at how he worded it.

“You have a fascinating body shape,” Craig continued to surmise. He caught my expression of shocked disbelief. “Now, don’t get me wrong, you have a fine figure. It’s solid, strong, and stable. You’re not one of those shameless women that eat and eat—no!” He paused. “You just don’t have that appearance that I am... used to handling.”

“Thanks…” His patronizing felt as shallow and empty as an oxygen tank. And I am quite sure he had just called me fat, and insecurre thoughts suddenly rushed in my head. Was I fat? I thought that I was an average weight. I never had been told differently.

“Now, don’t get depressed,” Craig’s smile was filled with shame. “I could help you improve yourself. Shall I speak to Monsieur Burg—“

“No, no,” I shook my head quicker and with humiliation. I wanted to hide in a corner and burn to ash. “Could we just… get this over with?” My polite manner had vanished.

“Of course,” Craig snapped his fingers and the women quickly left into an enormous closet, and another pair appeared into the room. “For now, we will pamper you for preparation.” The women took me into a great bathroom, where they began a bath. Changing in front of these ladies was a torture that burned into my stomach as I had to undress and have them wash me. As I adapted to the exposure, they massaged my scalp and enveloped me in the scent of roses.

“You have strong and healthy hair,” One of the ladies murmured in very fractured English. “And very fine lips.”

“Thank you,” I closed my eyes.

“Please open your mouth,” one woman asked. I opened my eyes to see dental floss twisted on her fingers.

I hesitantly relaxed my jaws as she violently started cleaning my teeth. And I felt so violated it was almost as though I was being raped.

When my bath was done, more women appeared to provide for me. They threw a robe over me and pushed me into a cushioned seat. They started buffing my nails, another was painfully plucking my eyebrows (which was ironic, compared to the normally lack of hair removal of these women) and they started grooming my hair, which involved quick tugs that made my eyes water at the corners.
“And some lingerie afterwards?” One lady mischievously winked at me. She was holding up a black mesh that looked like a lacy sin sewn together.

My face was so hot my skin could have been blackened from the scorching heat. “No thanks…” I softly muttered as I stared at the article of clothing.

Craig entered the bathroom as the ladies began applying eye shadow over my eyes. “Ah, she is almost fini?”

“Oui,” the woman who was painting my lower lip kept her intense gaze at my mouth. “Where is the dress?”

“Right here, let the transformation be completed!” Craig exclaimed as he left the room.

I pulled up the dress, adrenaline swimming through my veins as I wondered what I looked like. The dress was a soft and delicate shroud of deep lavender that stirred a lot of happy emotions inside of me. They gave me a pair of matching high heels that I stumbled and struggled to slip into. One of the women handed me the necklace that Lucy made for me, the soft pastels of the stones accenting the dress.

When they helped support me out of the bathroom, I felt tall and mighty. Confidence seemed to surge itself in my heart despite what happened earlier as I took steady steps off balance toward the corner where mirrors angled to face each other diagonally. Craig was beaming, and the women nodded in approval as I took a step into the glass reflectors.

My face was unrecognizable at the flawless skin and the glossy hair that was carefully piled and held into a lush curtain of curls. I held my fingers over my face in a vain wish to touch my cheek, just to be sure this person was myself. One of the ladies provided me with a dainty purse, and I opened it to find that the cell phone was inside.

“Parfait.” Craig grinned as he gestured to the door. “You’re ready. Good luck. Have fun,” He brought me back to the main lobby, just in time to see Burgess waiting. He had gone to a similar transformation, though his was much less traumatizing in change. He still looked like a flawless diamond. The crisp black tuxedo and his carefully styled hair were merely a pillow to prop the gem.

What swelled my body with pride and excitement was his raised eyebrows at my appearance. He seemed at a loss for words as he continued staring at me.

“So… what do you think?” I hated putting on the awkwardly unsure girl persona, but I couldn’t help but beg for his approval—and appraisal.

“You look delicious!” Christabel popped up from behind him, her face shimmering in her excitement. “I’m sure a lover back in the states would faint for being so awestruck to the point of injury!”

I smiled in confusion at her passionate speech. I looked at Burgess imploringly, which he slipped his hands in his pockets and quickly looked at the door.

“Thanks, Craig. You did a good job. Just put it on my tab.”

“Thank you,” Craig bowed like a gentleman, “for your generous business. But there is a matter I’d like to discuss with you…” Craig took a step closer and pulled Burgess away with surprising command. “Ce sera seulement un moment.” He took Burgess to the corner and began whispering quickly in French.

“So,” Christabel started circling me in heated speed. “You’re going to meet Slater? Be careful, she is a very troubled woman—but do not judge her too harshly. She is an auntie to me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t…” I quickly went into defensive mode, “I’m just here to do my job.”

Christabel nodded disinterestedly. “I’m just warning you that Madame Slater is intimidating when you first meet her. Just take into consideration that she has her problems too.”

I nodded, feeling an impending doom awaiting to happen at the dinner. I turned to look at Burgess and Craig, who were heatedly arguing in French. Burgess looked annoyed and brushed Craig away as he started walking to the exit, waving at me furiously to follow. Craig kept yelling a string of French words after him.

“Thanks for this,” I waved at my face and dress, not sure how to express my appreciation. “Thank you so much, and tell Craig thanks too,” I quickly exited the building.