he’s excited. He’s my fairy-tale prince and I have no idea if I deserve him or not, but I’m keeping him.
Quality of life: Bliss.
Ever so gently, he slips my black sunglasses on top of my head so he can see my eyes. “You have to stop looking at me like that, beloved. It messes with me in all sorts of ways.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Alice.” His smile is slow and warm and I feel it deep in my belly. “Ready to go higher?”
“Let’s do it.”
We have lunch at the hotel he’s looking to buy in Boulder. It’s an old five-story brick building in need of some love and care. The eighties redecoration with beige carpet and ugly corporate art is something else. Mostly the clientele seems to be budget travelers and sad people attending a conference on insurance broking. I’d be depressed too if I had to sit through that. But the hotel has good bones and an above-average restaurant. Though a hamburger and fries does generally please me.
Up in the national park, we stop at three lookouts until the air gets thin and my head feels weird. The views are spectacular. And the rocks and little growths of fungus and moss up high are fascinating. Penny was right when she said the real beauty was in the mountains. We do a drive-by of The Stanley Hotel where Stephen King got his inspiration for The Shining. It’s an elegant old sprawling white building with a hedge maze growing out the front. Perfect for an ax murderer to chase his family around. All of the tourists present, however, put us off taking a look inside.
While Beck meets with the owner of the hotel in Boulder, I play with my cell. Which turns out to be a mistake. On Instagram, there’s a whole bunch of new followers and I’ve been tagged in a ton of pictures. Me leaving the library charity luncheon. (Okay, so I’m glad that moment of victory got recorded for posterity.) The group of us outside the not-so-secret bar last night with Emma shielding her face with her hand. Beck and I climbing into his Bugatti this morning outside the Heritage. Every damn time we step foot outside our front door, basically. The level of interest in us is crazy. And the names they call me, the things they say…they bitch about my body, compare me to his exes, label me a gold digger and worse. All of these entitled, opinionated strangers. These haters and trolls. It makes my stomach churn.
I order a vodka, soda, and lime and by the time I’ve reached the bottom of the glass, I’m in a better frame of mind. Less emotional turmoil, more fuck the lot of them. I delete my Instagram account. As if anyone needs all that negative commentary in their head. Life is complicated enough without this shit.
Next I answer messages from Natasha and Hanae. At least with texting, it’s easy enough to keep things succinct and general as per the NDA. And I’m not lying; everything is fine. There’s a rambling emotional voice message from the lady I met in the bathroom line at the luncheon the other day thanking me for funding her literacy program. Interesting. Then Brian, executive assistant to Beck Elliot, forwards me an email from the gentleman raising money for school lunches. Said gentleman heartily thanks me for fully meeting their monetary requirements.
Curiouser and curiouser.
I have some questions for my boyfriend, but he’s still in his meeting. So instead, I call my mother. All of the family are alive and well. My niece is thriving and now saying “cow” accompanied by a moo. The child is an animal sound making virtuoso. Our conversation (with my mom not the toddler) is going great up until I ask her about cleaning out my apartment.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asks. “It’s only been a couple of weeks. You don’t want to give it a bit longer? We can help you with rent if that’s the issue.”
“No, Mom. I’m staying in Denver. A commitment has been made.”
“Just give it one more week,” she bargains. “To be sure.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Hmm.”
“Also, I signed an NDA last night,” I say. “So we have to be careful when we talk.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, voice gaining in volume.
“Calm down, it’s not a big deal. I signed an NDA to protect Beck and his family’s privacy is all.”