Sunday, August 4, 2013

Revised Chapter 1- Carson Bradley (Get to know him better)

Chapter 1
     These damn drinks are never stiff enough when I need them to be.  The fucked-up corner I forced myself into is now leaving me trapped. I’m hours away from marrying a woman I don’t love. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t…that’s the problem. I slide my empty glass towards the bartender and he attentively asks, “Would you like another one, sir?”
     “Yes, but this time, make it neat instead of up.” I firmly request. The damn ice will only dilute my buzz.
     “So you like it neat?” A beautiful brunette woman sitting three bar stools to the right of me flirts with her raspy voice. She's seductively dressed and obviously on the prowl for a man to fuck. I noticed her sending sexy body signals my way earlier, but I purposely ignored them. In my state of mind, nothing appeals to me, but this drink in my hand. I slam the clear vodka down my throat and relish the burn one last time. My body turns to face her, and I unexpectedly flirt back.
     “Yes, I do and what’s your preference, Ms.?” I finally offer her the attention she's been begging for, even though I really don't have the time or patience for it.
     “I like it up and dirty.” She replies with an implying wink.
     I don't pick up women at bars. I have more willing women throwing themselves at me than I can handle. However, tonight is her lucky night. I'm emotionally fucked and my nerves are raw. She'll be a good distraction from my anxiety. I know it makes me an asshole for using her this way, but I’ll deal with the guilt along with my regrets afterwards.
     First, I'll have to delay my flight to St. Maarten. I pull my phone out of my pants pocket and make a call to my assistant.
      “Owen, I need more time in Boston. Have Captain Franco reschedule our flight for later this evening.” I hesitantly change our plans as I scribble on a paper napkin. I’m angry with myself. Why did I let it go this far? I should’ve never fallen for my mother’s power of persuasion.
     I’m thankful Owen isn’t able to visually witness my volatility. I take pride in concealing my personal emotions from the world. Sometimes I do it so well, I fool myself.
      “Mr. Bradley, the forecast for this evening isn't favorable. We should leave as soon as possible to avoid the predicted storm. The groom should not be late for his own wedding.” He lucidly replies.
       Owen’s main priority is to ensure all aspects of my business and personal life run perfectly smooth, and he’s damn proficient at it. But for once in my life, I don’t give a shit about punctuality or staying on schedule. In fact, I wouldn't mind not showing up at all. I ignore his warning and firmly ask him to carry out my request.
     “I have one of the best pilots in the nation. I’m not apprehensive about a tropical storm. Call Ms. Sorte and tell her not to expect me until sometime tomorrow. I will not leave the premises until I'm absolutely convinced my executives are confident covering my position for the next five days.” I fabricate an unlikely ploy to convince him that its work I’m uncertain about, not my wedding. He knows it’s implausible. My executives are paid an exorbitant amount for their unquestioned capabilities. I’m relieved that he obliges and doesn’t challenge me again.  
     “Ms. Sorte will be informed, the flight will be delayed and pickup will now be 9:00 p.m. this evening instead. See you then, Mr. Bradley.” Owen replies in his monotone voice.
      I swipe the phone screen to end the call and write, ‘Ritz Carlton’ on the same napkin I’ve been scribbling on.  I settle both our bills with the bartender, tuck the napkin underneath her drink and walk away.

     I check into the Ritz Carlton alone. With my instruction, concierge discretely escorts her to my room fifteen minutes after my arrival and leaves her in my company. I'm lounging on a leather sofa in my dark gray Gucci suit, as she confidently makes her way towards me with her hot, curvaceous body. Her clothing peels away, piece by piece, as she gets closer. I’m positive this isn't her first time. She takes one last step and is now standing completely nude in front of me boasting her pendulous, perky breasts. I’m unaffected by them because my mind is somewhere else and so is my erection.
      “An hour, possibly two is all I have. No kissing.” I impassively tell her. I'm normally not this cold or heartless, but I'm struggling tonight. She allusively smiles in response.
      She lowers herself to her knees and spreads my legs apart. I hear my zipper and then immediately feel her warm, moist lips around my semi-hard cock. I throw my head back and close my eyes. She does all she can to excite me, but I fail to respond. What the fuck am I doing? My brain slaps me back to reality. I gently grab her wrists and push her off me. I zip my pants up and raise my body up and over hers. I look down into her confused eyes and apologize. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. It’s not you. It’s me. Please take advantage of the room and any services you want. It’s all paid for.” I strut out of the room and leave her sitting naked on the floor, speechless…
      What’s wrong with me? Even though I don’t love Bianca, she deserves better than this. How did I fuck up my already shitty situation so badly? It doesn’t matter now. I need to make it right. Meaning, I will fly to St. Maarten and marry the woman my mother believes is perfect for me.
     As I ride the elevator down to the main lobby, I try to regain my composure. I almost fucked a woman, whose name I don’t know, to prove to myself that I don’t love Bianca and that I shouldn’t marry her. Who does that? And where did it get me? I’m still on my way to St. Maarten and now, I also have guilt and regret to deal with. The elevator doors open, I step out and march towards the exit. The doorman hails a cab for me. “Bradley Pharmaceutical Enterprise” I tell the driver and step in. Owen will be coming for me in about an hour so I have to mentally prepare myself.
     As I blankly stare out of the cab window, I begin to recall the events that led me to this not so happy ending…
     For over ten years, I’ve dedicated much of my time to my pharmaceutical enterprise. I discovered the cure for early stage cancers and it kept me very busy. I didn’t know how to balance work and play, so my mother took it upon herself to make it her part-time job. She sought out eligible bachelorettes for me through her many social functions. I dated a few of them just to show her my appreciation for her efforts, but none of them offered me a connection I felt deep enough to pursue. It wasn’t entirely the women’s faults.  I can admit that I have an emotional handicap.  I refuse to allow anyone into my life, even Bianca, the woman I’m supposed to be marrying tomorrow.
     My mother had witnessed my years of self-torment. It broke her heart to see me debilitated because I had lost the one person who meant more to me than all the wealth I accumulated after her death. I mourned Emily for years. In fact, I probably never stopped mourning for her. I isolated myself from society. I basically had no life. The only two things I committed to were school and cancer research. I became obsessed with trying to find a way I could’ve saved Emily from that vile disease. My obsession led me to stumble upon a targeted cure for all early stage cancers. The success only made my situation worse. It isolated me even more because I spent all of my time trying to find the ultimate cure for cancer. Then to make matters go from bad to worse, I lost the one friend I made after Emily’s death to cancer, also. Professor Steward reached out to me when I was a freshman in college. He believed in my determination and guided me under his wings. Together we developed the drug that has made me one of the wealthiest men in the world. Unfortunately, Professor didn’t live long enough to reap the reward of our success. He lost his battle with pancreatic cancer. After his death, my obsession to find a cure for cancer sprung out of control.
     My obsession did not settle well with my mother nor would it for any mother. She became really concerned for my mental health. My mother intervened by creating a distraction for me. She helped me plan my first Lymphoma Yacht Function. It worked! I was completely excited about contributing to a fundraiser that benefitted cancer research and services. This little baby step led to bigger steps, like dating. After I got over my anxiety of the first date, eventually I felt more comfortable and sought the company of more women. I didn’t mind having my choice of beautiful women willingly offer themselves to me.
     Dating was one thing, but commitment was off limits for me. Again, my mother intervened. She couldn’t handle the idea of me not settling down and having children. I was approaching thirty at the time. She relentlessly pleaded with me every opportunity she had. She justified that she wasn’t getting any younger and that all her friends inconsiderately boasted about their beautiful grandbabies when she had none. Her brainwashing worked. I started to believe that she deserved happiness and grandbabies.
     My mother introduced me to Bianca a little over two years ago. She met her at some cancer fundraiser and fell in love with her for me. Bianca is no ordinary woman. She screams sex-appeal. She’s a beautiful platinum blonde, blue eyes with large supple breasts. She turns both men’s and women’s heads when she enters a room. Just like any typical man, I was not immune to her sensuality, at first. We had an amazing physical attraction. She knew how to satisfy me like no other woman could. She was also very accommodating.  Bianca did everything right to please me except for touching my heart. She didn’t know how to or maybe I didn’t allow her to. Regardless, I just couldn’t make myself love her, no matter how hard I tried. Several times I wanted to break off our engagement, but somehow, someway, my mother convinced me to stay with her. I guess I can blame my mother for loving me too much, but not for the shitty predicament I’m in. This is my fault for not being a man and ending it when I should’ve.

     The cab driver drops me off in front of my building. I give him my usual over the top tip and he thanks me for my generosity with a huge smile. The cool evening air feels nice. My tensed body and mind welcomes it as I walk into my building. I enter through a private side door and ride the elevator up to my office to wait for Owen to pick me up for our flight to St. Maarten. Tomorrow, I’ll be unhappily married to Bianca…