Aquarius_Mr. Humanitarian_The 12 Signs of Love Read online

  “Oh yeah, get that promotion.” Perry chuckled as if it were nothing all that special. “But you are going, right?”

  “Yeah. Anything else?”

  “Anything else? I thought that was enough?”

  “Next time the neighbors contact you, Perry, call mom and tell her you’re calling the cops. I’m fuckin’ sick and tired of this shit.”

  Ending the call, he made his way back to his cubicle to shut off his computer, then grabbed his coat to begin the process of bundling up. It was a chilly January night. The sun had already set and the heat in the building seemed to not be working at full capacity, but he was certain it was all in his mind. He rubbed vigorously up and down his arm as his nerves bunched up. Feelings of anxiety and anger climbed all along themselves, the emotions itchy and raw. He watched the time tick on by, ignored his phone, and fell into a state of complete resentment.

  Thirty minutes later, he pulled in front of his mother’s apartment complex, white knuckling the steering wheel. He dropped his head, trying to get himself together and talking himself into not losing his cool. Getting out the car, he slammed the door shut and made his way towards the apartment. After pressing her buzzer, she answered.

  “It’s Aiden!” he yelled.

  He was glad she didn’t force him to fish for the keys out of his car. The outside door clicked open and he stomped up the metal steps, his rage ringing out along with each loud bang when his foot landed on a stair. He sank his teeth into his lower lip, almost drawing blood. Before he even reached his mother’s apartment, Laurel, the lady who lived across the hall, swung her door open and craned her long neck out. Her silky dark hair, threaded with strands of silver, was rolled tight in large curlers on only half of her head.

  “Thank God you’re here! She finally settled down. This is a nice neighborhood, a nice building, and we’re tired of this, Perry.”

  “I’m Aiden…”

  “Yeah, Aiden, sorry about that. I’m just upset and sick of this. Now look, I don’t want to have to call the police on her. I know she’s on probation but—”

  He put his hand up, cutting off the older woman at the pass.

  “Laurel, thanks… I got it.” He banged on his mother’s door, resting his weight on one leg and sucking on his lower lip, the iron-rich flavor of his blood flavoring his palette. He heard the woman shuffle closer, then the crunch of glass underfoot.

  “Just uh… just uh minute…” she slurred.

  Soon the door opened, revealing the short, petite woman who looked up at him with reddened eyes. Her drab, dark bronze hair, the same color as his but with far less luster, was slicked back into a crooked ponytail.

  Brushing past her, he turned on the light with a slap of his hand. She placed her arm over her eyes like some haggard old vampire exposed to the light of day.

  “Look at this shit!” He marched to the kitchen, grabbed a trash bag, and began to pick up broken plates, vases, and the like. “You think I’ve got time for this, Mom? You think I like this?! Jesus!” More crashing ensued as he picked up bits of broken glass and tossed it into the bag. “You didn’t go to work today, did you?”

  The woman said nothing. She walked in her rumpled, long-sleeved olive green shirt like some zombie across the living room, then dropped down onto the couch, crossing her frail arms over her flat chest. The table in front of her was practically invisible, covered as it was with empty wine and beer bottles, a box of cigarettes that was probably empty, and prescription bottles of her medication flipped on their sides.

  “I need more medicine.”

  He almost didn’t hear her, she’d spoken so low. Almost.

  “The doctor told you to stop drinking with your blood pressure medication, Mom. But you won’t. I am so tired of this. I can’t go more than three damn days without you acting out. You’re like a damn child! I don’t have any kids. I didn’t sign up for this.” He threw more cracked bowls and plates into the bag, grunting and biting back words that were far worse than the ones he’d uttered. His heart beat a mile a minute, his adrenaline through the roof, and his head hurt so badly, it felt as if his brain were swollen and pressing against his damn skull.

  Moments later, he used the broom and dustpan, and then the vacuum, too. The minutes turned to an hour of anguish. He washed her dishes that were piled up in the sink—the ones lucky enough to avoid her violent episode. He cleaned her counters, straightened up her bedroom, and washed her filthy bathtub.

  His joints hurt, the muscles under his skin tightened, and he drew stiff as he dumped himself next to her on the couch. They sat there in silence. She undid the ponytail, allowing the limp tresses to fall against her shoulders. He could smell the booze practically oozing out of her pores. The stench of stale cigarettes hung in the air and when he looked at her, really looked at her, he could see the oiliness of her hair.

  She probably hasn’t washed it in days…

  With a shaking hand, he brushed a few wayward strands away from her face, tucking them behind her ear. She smiled at him, showing small teeth like a child’s—a kinked smile with sullen, sad eyes.

  “You know I don’t mean it, Aiden,” she whispered, sounding much like a little girl. Her light blue eyes swam against watery pink ponds. Her eyelashes were webbed with fresh tears as she blinked several times, but he wasn’t certain if those tears were for her, or for him.

  “I know you don’t, Mom… I know. You need help. You’re killin’ me and Perry, it’s not just about you anymore. It really never was.” He sighed and looked away. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he looked down at his shoes. He wished he had it in him to feel anything but anger. He wished he could break himself down to a level where he was able to turn to her and tell her how much he loved her, but he simply couldn’t. It would do no good, and he saw no point in wasting tears on the matter. Just then, a memory from his childhood flashed in his mind…

  Their old house was big. The rooms seemed to go on forever in his little mind. He remembered smiling, his missing teeth on full display as he and Perry raced up and down the warped, wooden hallway yelling and screaming with joy and youthful exuberance. They could barely keep their balance on their skateboards as their giggles echoed throughout the place. It was just him and Perry all the time; he was often too embarrassed to have any friends over. Mom was often drunk, strung out, her clothing in disarray. From her mouth spewed profanity, hatred for the world, and the vileness of a million demons. She had inherited Grandma’s old house; it was a beaut and the talk of the town but they lost it after a few years due to unpaid back taxes. He was the happiest in that house, on that land, away from everyone. Just him and Perry in their own little world, until Mom came and made it all crash down…

  “I went to work today, Aiden… It was a bad day. I came home early.”

  He nodded in understanding and leaned back on the couch, then looked up at the ceiling.

  “Sounds like it, Mom. Sounds like it was a really bad day for everyone. I know one thing, though.” Sliding his hand over to hers, he grabbed and squeezed it. “I don’t think I can keep doing this. I feel like every time Perry calls me, I drown a little. I go down, a foot at a time, in the water. In a minute, I’ll be gone, all the way. I am not going to keep running to save you, Mom. I can’t… I can’t.” He took a deep breath as his chest drew tight. Panic gripped him. After a few minutes, he got to his feet, bent down and kissed her forehead. Then, he shut off the lights and left the building to drive away into the night…

  CHAPTER THREE

  She Looks Like a Movie Star, Like a Chocolate Candy Bar

  The building looked rather unassuming.

  Addison wasn’t certain what she’d expected. Perhaps a large, magnificent office structure, ten floors minimum with fancy windows and a lobby that boasted of high ceilings, plush seating, and a huge flat-screen television showing weather and traffic updates. Instead, she was faced with something rather ordinary. There could not have been more than five floors, the outside painted in drab gray, or
perhaps pewter was a better descriptor. The parking lot was filled with various makes and models of vehicles, some of a higher caliber, others that looked as if they might have rolled in on a prayer. Parking her navy-blue Bentley next to a 1995 Toyota Corolla, she walked swiftly through the cool air, face down, trying to beat the wind to its next brutal punch.

  The glass double doors swung open and she stepped inside, pleased to see a glossy white floor she was certain she’d slip on if not cautious. But, at least it was pretty. Taking careful steps, she made her way to the elevator, almost falling over when a small crowd of people brushed past her as if she were a ghost, invisible to the naked eye.

  Her heels were barely broken in. She hated heels, but wanted to look the part—an active member of the corporate world. Or any world, quite honestly. She’d dolled herself up, applied a muted mauve matte lipstick, contour and highlights, and her hair was gelled back into a conservative style.

  She felt good in her outfit—a knee-length cobalt blue skirt with matching blazer and a cream blouse. A delicate diamond necklace and earrings set completed the look. Upon entering the elevator, she covered her nose. The distinct odor of shit, or perhaps just a nasty fart, filled the air. The other two people in there didn’t seem to notice the nauseous aroma. They wore pleasant smiles and even engaged in small talk, but she found it stomach-churning.

  One of them did it, no doubt.

  She rolled her eyes at the two suspects. Once the doors opened, she gasped, taking a deep inhale and exhale after holding her breath for so damn long, she was certain she’d turned a horrid shade of red. Quickly pulling herself together, she placed one foot in front of the other and made her way to the front desk. A woman sat behind a computer, her dark brown wavy hair pulled into a loose up do and clipped with a gold clasp. The young lady cocked her head to the side and looked up at her, a smile spread across her pale face, warming her cheeks with a bright pinkish hue.

  “Hi, I’m here to—”

  The phone rang. The woman’s smile faded a tad as she held up one finger as if to say, ‘hold on’, and answered. While the receptionist spoke with the caller, Addison took a look around the place. Almost every plastic seat had an ass planted in it. A variety of people, mostly White, either filled out paperwork, played on their phone, watched The Price is Right on the TV screen, or stared off into space. None of them looked particularly enthused, and she sure couldn’t blame them. In her mind, this was an admittance of failure. You couldn’t cut it on your own, couldn’t get someone to hire you for the career you desired; it was the final ditch effort to turn a mess into a miracle. If you were here then you’d reached rock bottom in an act of pure desperation.

  “Ma’am? How can I help you?”

  Shaken out of her thoughts, Addison placed her hands on the edge of the front desk. “Uh, yes, hi. I have an appointment this morning with a Mr….” She quickly removed the papers from her pocketbook, unfolded them, and glanced at the name. “Mr. or Mrs. Summers.”

  “Aiden? It’s a he.” The receptionist’s eyes hooded and a strange smirk clipped the edge of her upper lip, giving her a sweetly devilish look. “He has Quade listed because we have two Aidens here, and it just makes things easier. Anyway, what time was your interview scheduled for?”

  “Nine.”

  The woman glanced down at her computer and began to type. “Ms. Blue?”

  “Yes.” She sniffed, trying to avoid an all-out sneeze. “Addison Blue.”

  “Okay Ms. Blue, please fill out this paperwork and Aiden will see you shortly.” The chipper receptionist handed her a clipboard with a mountain of papers. Addison took the bundle and made her way to one of the few unoccupied seats. She sat down, wedged between a woman holding a babbling baby with a staring problem and a man who was breathing hard and heavy through his open mouth. She tried to stay focused as she glanced at the papers, scanning the crap in advance. Page after page was filled with questionnaires, contact information requests, background check permission slips, personal collection data, and even a medical history information sheet. Out of the corner of her eye, to her left, the woman began to bounce the baby up and down on her knee and speak gibberish to the child, cooing and carrying on.

  Addison made eye contact with the chubby cheeked little stinker, the tiny tike’s head covered in bright red curls. She offered a watered-down smile to the child, but the baby simply stared at her, unblinking, just looking mad at the whole damn world. She took notice of the child being under-dressed on such a chilly day. Perhaps he was cold and instead of wailing, he found something to focus on. Addison simply wished it had not been her.

  A few minutes into filling out the papers, she took note of the heavy breather looking down at what she was writing from the corner of his beady, dark eyes. He crossed his beefy arms over his protruding stomach, which was crammed into an orange T-shirt with some sort of beer-slogan scribbled across it, the damn thing at least two sizes too small. She cleared her throat, hoping that would steer him away, but he remained vigilant, seeming quite interested in her birthday, last place of residence, and place of employment. Having had enough of his shit, she turned to face him. It seemed to take him a second to realize she’d done so, and then they glared at one another.

  “May I help you?” she balled her fist, mad at the whole goddamn world, just like the cold baby with the flame colored hair and unblinking, vacant blue eyes. The man simply rolled his eyes, grunted, and turned back towards the television. Looking back down at her paperwork, she continued on. It seemed to be taking forever, each minute passing like a small eternity, another year sliced off her pathetic life.

  “Addison Blue?” She heard her name called and raised her head in the direction of the voice. A tall gentleman in a gray business suit called her name from outside an oak wood door which led to an office. His hair was combed in a deliberately messy sort of way, and he sported a neatly trimmed goatee.

  “Yes, that’s me.” She stood to her feet and clutched the paperwork to her chest. “I haven’t finished filling this out yet but—”

  “Don’t worry about it. You can complete it back in my office.” He waved her over and she followed his lead, thrilled to get away from the heavy breather who smelled like motor oil and corn chips. Once she stepped inside the area, she was surprised to see it was so sunny and bright. The walls were golden with white trim and crown molding, and on them hung neatly placed artwork and motivational posters. Her gaze settled on a large cluster of spacious cubicles, some of which were adorned with floor plants and small decorations. Some employees worked at their desks, and some had clients before them. A number of cubicles sat empty. “Right this way.” She followed the imposing, well-built man, loving the scent of his cologne as it drifted behind his every leisurely step.

  He has great taste in clothing… He wears his attire well.

  She enjoyed the way he walked, his steps were long and slow—but not too slow.

  He had one hand in his pocket, his shirt sleeve raised up ever so slightly, exposing a nice watch. Nothing fancy, but it looked well taken care of; perhaps an object that had been passed down to him. The sounds of copy machines became the soundtrack to their jaunt, along with light chatter here and there. Soon, he veered off towards a spacious cubicle and pulled out a chair for her before going around the desk and sitting on a black chair.

  “Go ahead and have a seat,” he said, beginning to type on his computer.

  She sat down, feeling a tad like a fish out of water, unsure what to do with her hands and legs. She felt a chill in the room and a host of emotions ranging from anger to confusion birthed inside her, bubbling up like hot chicken broth on a stove. As the man’s fingers flew across the keyboard, she fidgeted in her seat, waiting, her nerves raw. Finally, he turned to her, hands clasped and an amiable smile on his face. His light green eyes twinkled.

  “You seem a little nervous.”

  “I am.” She broke out into an anxious laugh.

  “I don’t bite. Relax.” His lips curled in
to a smirk. “Everything is going to be fine. Would you like some coffee? Water maybe?”

  Taken aback by his pleasantness, she simply cleared her throat and clutched her purse close to her body. “Uh, no, but thank you. I’m fine.”

  “Okay.” Moving a few papers around his desk, he peered down at one then looked back into her eyes.

  “You’ve been out of the workforce for six years. Why?”

  “Well, not completely. I didn’t have a full-time job but I did do some work as a personal trainer, something that gave me a sense of control over my schedule, but no, I wasn’t using my degree or seeking the job that I am after right now.” He nodded in understanding. “I met my husband then got married and continued to do some personal training here and there.”

  “Yes, I see you went to college, obtained a degree in…” He paused and looked down at the paper before him. “Speech Pathology. According to these scores, you did well. And I did see you are a certified personal trainer, as you’ve already mentioned, which is great. You worked at a gym?”

  “Yes, and I had a few clients who had me go to their homes. I enjoyed it. My husband, I mean, my ex-husband didn’t want me to work full-time. So, I didn’t. That kind of impeded me though, because naturally some clients want to work out several times a week and I missed out on some lucrative gigs. Anyway, I’ve been out of work for so long now that I don’t even know where to begin.” She exhaled deeply.

  “Tell me what your vocational journey has been like thus far.”

  “Before I got married I worked as a speech pathologist at the hospital, in various departments. Once I got married, I quit my job. Now here we are and I can’t seem to get back in the field. I tried to find some work on my own for months, had some interviews, but things didn’t pan out. Not only that, I feel rusty, like I don’t know what’s going on or what to do. That’s why I’m here; not because I don’t want to work, but I can’t seem to catch a break. I refuse to ask my family for help. Maybe it’s pride, I don’t know, but I have always done things on my own and will continue to do so. All I need is a chance.” She looked down at her purse, then back into his eyes. The man stared back at her, as if sizing her up. As if awaking from a daydream, his eyes suddenly grew larger and he shook his head before turning back abruptly towards the computer screen. “Is everything okay?”