Letters to Tammy

I watched her walk into the office, eyes downcast, chocolate brown hair falling over the side of her face. I marveled as she seemed to glide past me, such graceful movements. She wore a well tailored cream colored suit, showing off her curves, and reminding all the men in the office that she is a beautiful woman. I watched as the women glared and the men gawked, she reminded unaware, of the all attention.

“Miss Abbey,” a man walked up to her speaking broken English, “you’re ten o’clock is waiting for you.” He pointed in my direction.

Her oak eyes met mine, “Follow me.”

In her tone you could hear hidden despair. I got up and followed her, wondering why a woman so successful and beautiful was so sad. When we entered her office the first thing I noticed was a frame that said sisters, with her and another girl smiling ear to ear. She must have noticed my gaze.

“Beautiful isn't she?” A sad smile crept across her rose colored lips.

“Si, she is very beautiful.” When I looked at her she was crying. “I am sorry. What did I say wrong? Please Madame forgive me.”

She just shook her head and signaled for me to close her office door so I did. Not without checking first to see that no one saw her crying before shutting it all the way.

“I am so sorry.” She was laughing through her tears. “I am usually not like this.” She placed her hand over her mouth.

“I can leave if you see fit, we can reschedule.”

“No,” I saw desperation flash in her eyes, “allow me to regain myself. I will be fine in a moment.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, who is the girl?”

“Tammy,” her tears had stopped just as suddenly as they started, “my sister. She passed a year ago today. We would have been 28 last month. Now it’s just me.” She cleared her throat. “So Mister Alejandro, tell me the nature of this appointment.”

“Well Madame Abbey, the company has being doing so well since you have arrived here in Spain ten months ago. My company is impressed with the growth in circulation, profits, and employees. We specialized in managing accounts and we’re here to see if you required an accountant.”

“Are you an accountant?" She looked shocked.

“I used to be,” I smiled, “I am now the owner of this accountant company. May I ask why you appeared to be so shocked when you asked?"

“Well to be briefly unprofessional, you are to good looking to be an accountant, model maybe, but accountant no. Perhaps it’s just a stereotype that had the thought pop into my mind like that.”

“Perhaps,” I laugh, a bit flustered at her calling me good looking.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for a woman to refer to me as such but for some strange reason coming from her it felt different. As if all the other women were saying out of desperation what she said out of genuine truths. Or maybe it was the way her eyes looked sultry against her olive skin.

“We do need an accountant.” She halted all my thoughts.

“Well, that’s good to hear. Shall I leave you a copy of our portfolio for you to look over?”

“Yes that will be good. Thank you for coming in.” She grabbed my hand; I felt the warmth of her fingers.

“Of course,” I released our handshake.

“I will be in touch.” I knew that was my cue to leave.

‘I hope so.’ Crossed my mind as I exited her office, with the warmth of her skin still on my mind.