What Can You Not Buy With Money?

The silence was heart shattering as we sat in the car. Curiosity was begging me to ask what the yelling was about, but intuition dared me not to at the risk of making Burgess even angrier.

“Don’t listen to him,” Burgess spoke in frustration.

I looked at him, wondering what he was talking about.

“You look fine to me, so there’s no need to get insecure about yourself. You women need to learn to toughen up and not feel so dependent on what others think of your appearance.” Burgess, for once, couldn’t look me in the eye as he flustered and turned to stare out the window. “You’re healthy and as long as you are, you're fine.”

I studied him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You care about appearances, don’t you?”

Burgess turned to me with passion in his eyes, “I need to maintain an attractive physique purely to make it easier for my work. Every small detail counts in making a deal. The smallest flaw could cost the company millions. Looking good makes convincing people easier.”

“That’s contradictory,” I protested.

“You’re my secretary. You’re a personal assistant whose job is self explanatory: personal. I didn’t hire you because you’re pleasing to the eye. No,” His intense stare was swallowing me whole, “I jumped at giving you the job because you were the only person who approached me as you did. You didn’t try to impress me with your looks but instead you intended to force me into apologizing to your friend. You’re quick to the point and you showed loyalty and selflessness—even though your friend wouldn’t have done the same for you. Craig feels you need to lose a few pounds, I say to hell with him. We’re done discussing about your body, and instead let’s keep our professionalism.” He paused to clear his throat, his face beginning to glow a light pink.

“I thought we were already doing that, sir.” His words were spreading through my brain like wildfire. It was flattering to see him act as ruffled as he was, though I expect many guys to act this way when it involved a girl’s body mass. “Thank you.”

He remained silent for the rest of the trip, and fatigue kept me from trying to spark another conversation with him. Wee arrived at the front of Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athénée, where valets stood erect as they reached a gloved hand out for me to take. Unsure, I placed my hand and he helped me out of the car.

I looked at Burgess as a lost duckling would to its elder, and I saw him arrogantly walk by the uniformed workers as he entered the restaurant. I quickly followed.

I was greeted by the light sound of crystal caressing silver and the gentle harmony of a violin sonata.

A prim and proper waiter looked us over in a dismissive sniff as he began speaking to Burgess in the lovely unfamiliar tongue.

We were led past the symmetrically patterned tables and in a back corner where a well aged woman in a low cut gown sat with her hands clasped together, watching us with a morbid fascination. Her assistant, a bony boy close to Walker's age was hunched in poor posture as he glumly stared at his wine glass. He was a dark shadow to the left of his employer.

When the woman stood up, the boy shot up onto his feet and quickly turned to face us with a bright red flush creasing through his cheeks as he coughed slightly.

“Benjamin,” The woman reached her hand out for her guest to take as she gave him a soft kiss on each cheek. “And this must be…”

I held out my right hand timidly, trying my best to shine my brightest smile. “Mary. Sorry I can’t speak French,” I rushed as I quickly looked over at Burgess who was nodding in approval.

“It’s fine,” Slater’s eyes began darting across my face, scanning it with dominating curiosity but quickly broke her intense stare and smiled at Burgess eagerly. “Please, sit—sit!” She took her seat and everyone followed. “Burgess, you’re assistant seems to be a meek girl! She and my darling Pierre will get along nicely!” She quickly whispered a few words into the boy’s ear that was so muffled I couldn’t tell if it was French or not.

Pierre’s face blushed and his eyes froze onto my face. “Hi, it's a pleasure to meet you.” His accent was so thick I began to worry that I wouldn’t be able to understand him.

“Hi,” I swallowed and kept myself from looking away.

“I… like your necklace,” Pierre smiled in awkward intensity.

“Thanks… I,” I paused in dire search for something to return the compliment about, “like your cufflinks.”

He quickly fiddled with his sleeves as he looked down at his wrists. “Thank you.”

“Parfait! Perfect!” I turned my attention to the host, who gave Burgess a smirk along with an eye twinkling wink. “So, Monsieur Burgess, may I recommend Vin Gris as, how you say, Rosé Wine.” She picked up her glass filled with a blushing light red liquid that danced in the restaurant’s light and delicately sipped from it, her lipstick lightly smearing onto the glass.

A waiter approached with a darkened bottle as though holding a precious god child. He began speaking, resulting in me zoning out at the familiar yet incomprehensible words.

Burgess and Slater dominated conversation with the waiter, their words rapid as they threw sidelong glances at each other in an almost spiteful competition. The maître d’ looked overwhelmed and beginning to show displeasure in the slight curl of his shaved upper lip.

I almost jumped at the sudden movements to the left of my back as a busgirl quickly crept from behind me and placed a wine goblet to the upper right corner of my plate.

“Thanks,” I nodded at her in appreciation. She obliviously moved to place another glass on Burgess’ section and scurry away to the other side of the room.

“So,” Pierre cleared his throat and his shy demeanor quickly diminished as an eager spark crept into his voice. “What’s it like in the States?”

“It’s,” I remembered to keep my hands on the table which I quickly did, “it’s very…” An anxiety attack struck as I realized that the world I lived in my entire life was the scary side of Mira Mesa. I couldn’t say anything without showing to Slater or Pierre that I wasn’t born in wealth as they were. In fact, Burgess had just recently showed me a different shadow of the world—as did Walker and Lucy.

I remained quiet, fear striking me as I tried desperately to think up a few words to say. Pierre continued to stare intently at me, as though secretly enjoying me squirm. It was as though I had judged him too soon with the impression that he was fragile and afraid. At that instant, he looked impassioned. I realized that this was perhaps part of Slater’s scheme, as Burgess had warned me before. I had to act ready and prepared to defend any attack that Pierre struck me with.

My mind landed on Walker, hospitalized. The saddening memory was enough to fill me with guilt as I remembered how kind he was at work as he made me my first California rolls. And then I was struck with inspiration. I smiled at Pierre.

“It’s like any other place. There are the good and bad. But there are a lot of decent people living there, and they’re really fun to be with. And there’s this Sushi restaurant my friend works at as a cook. He’s very funny and he makes delicious food.”

“Oh, Sushi! I’ve heard of this… it’s raw fish?” Pierre wrinkled his nose and smiled at me with sympathy topped off with disdain.

“Ah, America,” Slater interjected as she sat back in her chair. “What a splendid place. A pity what with the troubles the country is facing. It’s a shame GM had gone bankrupt.”

“Shame,” Burgess shrugged with lack of interest as he took a sip of wine. “Mary,” Burgess turned to me. “You haven’t touched your wine. Are you unwell?” His eyes were warning me as he quickly turned to face Slater.

Alcohol has been a taboo for me, and I figured it was because my mother drank so much of it. I had this strange little fear that if I ever took a drink, I’d pour my sorrows and search for the solution to the end of that one glass. And then, it would escalade to the bottom of a bottle. And then no empty container would satiate the painful thirst. I believed that alcoholism was a curse that ran in the family.

But if I displeased Slater, or worse, Burgess, then there would be more consequences than the internal struggles of my psyche. I reminded myself that only I was able to let myself succumb to an addiction, and I took the glass and rested my lips on the brim. The smell of the liquor was nauseating and I struggled to not show my displeasure as I tried to take a drink.

The first time I tasted wine was when I was seven years old. I was curious to know why my mother enjoyed drinking it so much that I thought it must have been heavenly nectar that was impossible to resist. The smell startled me, and the taste had been horrific. At that moment, as I was swishing tap water over the sink, I swore that I wouldn’t ever drink something that tasted so poisonous again.

I thought it funny that I would break my own vow. Surprisingly, I didn’t choke as I half-heartedly feared I would. I tried to give the illusion that I was tenderly savoring the drink, but secretly I was begging for an excuse to run to the nearest sink and throw up. An image of my mother, slouched on the couch with a whiskey bottle in hand made me quickly pull the glass away as I stared glumly at the half filled glass.

A server arrived with a well catered cart that had piles of food decorating the platform on wheels. I half expected a plate of snails, but thankfully each plate had dainty little servings of delectable cuisine.

The waiter began speaking with vibrato as plates were served to each of us.

“After dinner, we will discuss business back at my home,” Slater explained as she began sinking her fork into her meal, cutting the pieces by translucent slivers.

“Thank you,” Ben proceeded in English. “Will you have rooms prepared for us?”

I gave him a look, startled at the idea of not returning back to San Diego anytime soon. His eyes quickly moved to give me an unrecognizable look and he returned to his colleague.

“Of course. Sadly, you missed Terra. She’s on a cruise to the Mediterranean this season.”

“Pity,” Burgess quietly stared through the Madame.

My puzzled expression opened Pierre’s mouth as he explained to me, “Terra is Madame Slater’s daughter and the heir apparent to the Slater Enterprise.”

“Oh,” I nodded and asked Mrs. Slater, “How old is Terra?”

Beaming, Slater boasted, “She is nineteen and already a success partner in the music industry.”

“Do you have any other children?” To witness a strong and successful mother was refreshing and almost a fantasy I thought never existed. Admiration began to blossom for Slater.

“No, she is my one and only.” Slater paused with a pleasant smile on her face. “Tell me about yourself, my dear Mary. What’s your family like?”

A blush was creeping it’s away across my cheeks as I quickly looked at Burgess who was emotionlessly waiting for me to answer. The pressure was suffocating.

“They’re… your typical family.” I awkwardly sat as Slater kept her blunt eyes onto me. A few flashes of my mother stroke into my mind and the shame I felt was tragic.

“You’re beginning to look uneasy,” Slater murmured as she began picking at her meal. “So we’ll change the subject, all right?” Her eyes flashed to Pierre’s then back. “Tell me, I’ve been dying to know, how did you manage to convince this uptight fellow to hire you? I’d assume he’d of settled for a man after what happened with his last one.”

“Ha ha,” muttered Burgess sardonically. “Like that’d stop the fluke from making a pass at me.”

Slater giggled and directed to me, “Have you gotten used to his haughty character?”

I smiled and tilted my head in denial. “I’ve never met a guy as asinine.”

Slater continued to laugh merrily, her cheeks bright red from the constant refills of wine that she consumed. She was one of those content drinkers; the ones that find true joy in social spirits. My first hand experience with a heavy drinker made it easy to tell that she was already drunk. I feared that I wouldn’t be returning to that little condo with Lucy or to tell Walker how sorry I was anytime soon.

“What a word!” Slater’s slurs were barely audible. It would have been almost impossible to tell without the slump of her shoulders or the lack of hand-eye coordination she had on her hands as she tried to take a piece of food with her fork and missed greatly. “You’ve just made my night! Asinine, Burgess,” She pointed her fork at Burgess who looked uncomfortable and distracted as he shot me a shocked glare. “You’re an asinine young boy who’s trying too hard to grow up. When was the last time you’ve had fun? When you would play Duck Duck Goose with that Walker child and Terra?”

I had decided to escape Burgess’ harsh look by taking a sip of wine, which I had just choked at the sound of Walker. Everyone around began to stare, including the strangers in tables afar.

“W-Walker? Charles Walker?” I tried to clear my throat of the stinging warm rose wine. I met him when I was ten.

“Yes,” Burgess slowly nodded as the dark shadow of realization blended into his face. “You know him. How’s Choking Charles?”

“Ben!” Slater hissed in Walker’s defense and for once I saw a glitter of anger in her eye.

“He’s a friend of mine,” I explained and decided to play the game of dumby with the crowd. “How do you know him?”

“He was the heir apparent to the Walker Corporation,” Burgess paused to think. “We met on my ninth birthday party. He was thirteen, and Terra Slater was turning eleven the next week.”

This sudden revelation hadn’t fully registered in my psyche. I couldn’t imagine Walker to be a part of Burgess’ world of spontaneity and wealth. It was almost impossible to imagine Walker in any other world except where he was now. But there was one thing that made me wonder, the ‘was’ in Burgess’ statement. What had caused Walker’s loss of the throne to a family’s business?

Feeling powerful eyes on me, I turned to see Slater leaning forward with sparkling entertainment shimmering in her face. Her eagerness began to creep me out. “Tell me, how’s he doing? Has his conditioned improved?”

“Walker is in the hospital,” I explained as more guilt continued to bury me under its immense weight.

Burgess, who had begun to take a sip of the wine as well, gagged and swallowed in disdain. “That boyfriend of yours is Walker?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I defended. Slater’s eyes widened and her smile deepened as she ate up the intensity. I asked her, “How do you know Walker and his family?”

“It was so long ago…” Slater mused as she carefully tucked an imaginary stray hair behind her ear. “Little Charles and his parents were good colleagues of mine. Of course,” she let her eyes train onto Burgess, “Ben and his father were also very prominent in our social circle. Often, the three companies would try to strengthen our ties by a simple means of friendship. Silly as it sounds, it gave the three heirs a close bond where they shared a great deal in common—something that is almost impossible to find due to many people hoping to use them merely using them for money, power, and status,” She cleared her throat and tossed her hair over her shoulder in a childish way, “Sadly, due to our distant locations the friendship was more of a courteous tradition whenever a party or special event was held. It had become shallow and for naught. And of course, there was the issue of Walker’s health.”

Though it was a nosy question that I had no right to pursue, I asked, “How did Walker become so sick?”

“When he was born, he had been stricken with a severe case of pneumonia. He almost died because of it,” A solemn frown wept onto Slater’s face. “After that, his lungs became so weak that he couldn’t engage in much physical activity. Whenever a play date was held, he wasn’t allowed to go outside during the heavy allergen seasons. Sometimes, he’d have to stay in a pure oxygen chamber to breathe normally.”

“Has he gotten better?” Hearing Walker’s tragedy was painful to swallow. It made all the compassion and guilt I had for him grow.

“The last time I saw Walker was when he was eighteen. He wasn’t dependent on an oxygen chamber any longer. His allergies weren’t as severe so he could live in a warmer and greener climate. But I haven’t seen him in at least three years.”

I nodded and my curiosity continued to get the best of me. “Mr. Burgess, you said that he was the heir apparent. What do you mean?”

Burgess shrugged as he caressed his wine glass. “The Walker Corporation went bankrupt five years ago. It turns out that the co-CEOs, Walker's parents, had spent every cent in their personal accounts and the company treasury on the medical bills for Charles over the years. They had hoped that they would find a way of properly treating his lungs. The company was shut down.”

“What happened to his parents?” I asked as I swallowed in nervousness.

Burgess raised an eyebrow. “So Charles doesn’t tell you much about himself, does he?” He looked uncomfortable—sad, even. “His parents committed suicide as soon as the company crashed.”