CHAPTER 9

 
 
Clarice woke one week later with an
ultimatum for herself. She was going to have a baby. Forget about
love. She had all the love she needed right here. What she wanted
was a family, and what better way than to have a baby?
Being a single mother was perfect. She could
give all her love to the baby. She had enough to spare and enough
laughter to share around the world. She didn’t need a man. What
with every single man around her acting like jerks and Casanovas,
she hadn’t time for the emotional rollercoaster of love and
heartbreak. And thank the Lord, because when that glasses guy
Darcy, or Rarcy, or whatever ditched her, there was no heartache.
Yes, it was better to have no feelings involved at all, just a
clean and sterile transaction, like her dental instruments.
But where to find this sperm that wouldn’t
involve relationships and heartache? Then the proverbial light bulb
flashed above her head, and she scrambled off her bed in her pink
pajamas and went straight towards the phone.
A few minutes later, Clarice had an
appointment for a consultation at the fertility clinic.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll pop in at lunchtime.
Thanks,” she said before placing the receiver down.
At last, her first goal had been decided. By
the end of this year, she was going to get herself pregnant by way
of artificial insemination.
 

 
Fluffy blue coats or fluffy pink coats? Blue
socks or pink socks? To scan or not to scan? Which room should she
put the cot in? How long should she breastfeed? What color should
the blanket be? What name should she give her baby? Dorian? No, too
Casanova-like, like that Dorian Grey from that movie. Dori? No, too
much like Nemo. Sally? No, too simple. Cassandra? Hmmm, sounds
nice.
“Clarice?” A voice poked through her
thoughts.
“Yes.” Clarice jerked up her head, realizing
she had just walked into the dental surgery.
“Clarice,” Gracey said, shaking her head at
her little boss who was once again daydreaming about who knows
what. “Wake up from your daydreaming, dear. We have a new
representative from the Silverton Hotel asking to speak with you
about the upcoming hygiene conference being held in Queenstown this
year.”
“Conference? Queenstown?” Clarice asked, not
registering what Gracey had said.
“Clarice, my dear, are you getting any sleep
at all? Where are you today? Off to La-la Land again?” Gracey
asked.
This was the usual case for Clarice. If she
had a certain thought in her mind, it showed right on her face. She
had never been good at hiding emotions.
“Sorry, I was thinking about some
things.”
“Mind telling me? I’m all ears.” Gracey
loved hearing gossip from her colleague, but Clarice wasn’t ready
to spill the news yet. Well, not to Gracey anyway. No matter how
good the woman was, she was like a wildfire. Give her one small
piece of bacon, and she’d turn it into a full-on roast pork.
“Ah, not at the moment. Still sorting stuff
out. When I’m ready, I’ll let you know,” she said.
“Great, darling. I’ll be waiting, then. Now
for this…” Gracey turned her attention back to the information at
hand, which was the Dental Hygiene Conference being held in
Queenstown, and all the representatives. “The representative of the
Silverton Hotel wants a word with you about the conference.”
“Why would the representative of the
Silverton Hotel want to talk to me? I’m only one of their guest
speakers,” Clarice asked.
“Because you’re the all-time important guest
speaker, that’s why. He said he needed to go over some stuff with
you about the layout and things.”
“But the event is being held in Queenstown.
Why am I going to the Silverton Hotel in Auckland, then?’
“Because they also own the Silverton Hotel
in Queenstown and it’s exactly the same layout. Plus, it’s just to
meet the representative.”
“Right, fine then. Where do I meet him?”
“At the Silverton Hotel,” Gracey told her
again. “Dear, where has your head gone? It feels like we’re talking
around the table here. Get back to Earth, dear.”
“Yes, Gracey. I’m sorry for being away with
the fairies.”
“Well, I blocked you out for the afternoon
so you could suss out all the details involving the conference.
Happy?”
“Yes, happy, Gracey. Thank you,” she said,
then walked into her surgery room with the patient’s files in her
hand while her head was once again swimming with her baby
thoughts.
The afternoon rolled around faster than
Clarice could say cheese, and by one p.m. straight on the dot, she
was at the entrance to the fertility clinic.
Nervous and palms sweating, she held on to
the doorknob and drew forward. No backing down now, Clarice,
she told herself. You are ready to become a mother. You are
ready for this.
“What?” That was her first reaction when the
consultant came back to her. “You mean to say I can’t even see the
man that donates the sperm?” she asked when the consultant outlined
their guidelines.
“Yes.”
“Why not? How do I know he looks nice if I
can’t see his face?”
“I’m sorry. It’s part of our policy here. We
value our donors’ privacy, so to show their pictures to potential
clients would pose a risk to their lives.”
“I don’t understand how seeing the man would
make me go out and kill him.”
“Well, let’s just say if you don’t like the
look of your baby, you might feel differently.”
“I wouldn’t do that. Isn’t that why I asked
to see his face first? If he’s handsome, then surely my child would
be handsome too.”
“That’s not generally the case with
babies.”
“Ah, this is so frustrating. This is so not
happening.” Clarice wanted to scream. Here she was thinking that
everything was going the way she had planned, but now this. Was God
trying to stop her from having a family? She tried reasoning with
the consultant one more time. “If I can’t even see his picture, how
am I supposed to decide whether he would be the right one for me?
After all, I am bearing his child. What if you lie to me that he’s
intelligent, gentle, and sensible, then I ended up getting the
wrong sperm from someone else? How do I make sure that doesn’t
happen?”
“We always make sure it does not happen
again.”
“Again? Are you saying it happened
once?”
“Yes, just once.”
“This is crazy. I’m going crazy.” Clarice
felt like tearing her hair out of her head.
“Miss, please calm down. Why are you so
flustered?”
“Why am I not out of my chair, screaming
right now would be a better question. Have you any idea how old I
am? Thirty. I’ve never had a baby before, and I am scared if I wait
any longer, I won’t be able to conceive at all. And right now I
want a baby. One good, healthy, and beautiful baby that has all the
traits I’ve listed on that piece of paper there. Smart,
intelligent, kind, etc. And now you tell me I can’t even see the
person who will donate the sperm. I want a baby. I want a family. I
want a companion when I grow old.” There, she lashed out everything
that was bearing on her chest.
“You could always get a dog,” the consultant
suggested nervously.
“I don’t want a dog. I’m scared of
dogs.”
“How about a cat?”
“I’m allergic.”
“A goldfish, then. They live in the water,
have no fur, and aren’t as scary as a dog.”
“No, no goldfish, no cats, and no dogs. I
want a baby.”
“Perhaps you need a sedative to help you
relax?”
“I am not mad and screaming at the top of my
lungs!” Clarice went mad and screamed at the top of her lungs. “I
am merely frustrated with my life right now. So you don’t need to
give me any sedatives. I’m leaving.”
After a good long, aimless walk around the
area, munching on chocolate chips, Clarice calmed down a bit. Her
mind was still bogged deep in thought when she heard the blast of a
horn jolting her awake.
 

 
“Why you no-good bastard of a son. You’re
making me crazy,” Clinton shouted, newspaper in hand, running
around after Hunter like they were playing chase.
“Calm down, Dad. You don’t want the whole
department to know you’re fighting with the future heir,” Hunter
said when his father stopped to rest on the armchair, out of
breath. Hunter came to comfort his father, patting him on the back
to help him with his breathing.
“Future heir? Hunter! What am I going to do
with you?” Clinton said once he recovered, swatting his son’s arm
as a consequence for defying him yet again. “That one simple task
and you couldn’t even do it for me.”
“What do you want me to do, Dad? She was
practically a mannequin. She didn’t even speak to me for fifteen
minutes. The only time she said anything was when the waitress came
to order our meals.”
“She’s shy,” Clinton explained.
“Shy my ass.” Hunter snarled.
“Don’t you speak with that tone, young man!”
His father rang his ear.
“Ahh, Dad, I’m sorry,” he yelled until his
father let his ear go. “But why are you so persistent in matching
me up with some random girl anyway? You know I don’t like it.”
“She’s not random. She’s the daughter of the
CEO of one of our most important client’s here. And I am sick and
tired of you behaving like a Casanova. Get real. This girl, she
would be good for you.”
“Why does it have to be her?” Hunter asked.
Surely his dad could pick up someone better than the jukebox, aka
Caroline. Caroline was more his cousin’s type. Quiet, mature, tall,
skinny. Yep, it was everything Anton would desire in a woman.
“Because she likes you.” His father
gasped.
“But she doesn’t even know anything about
me. And for the record, I don’t like her,” he declared.
“What don’t you like about her?” Clinton
asked. He couldn’t understand why a girl as beautiful as Caroline
would not catch his son’s eye. She was the epitome of beauty, the
perfect wife for his wayward child.
“Because she’s too quiet. Too boring. She
doesn’t hold my interest. She’s not my type. And the list goes on.
You get the gist, Dad.” He listed his dislikes of Caroline to his
father.
“You have a type?” Clinton asked, astonished
that kids these days had types they went for.
“I do, Dad,” he said to his father, whose
cheeks were puffed up like a helium balloon. “Look, stop. You might
have an aneurism, and then what’s Betty going to do?”
“The question is what are you going to do if
that happens?” Clinton asked. He wasn’t sure if he could rest in
peace if his only son continued to behave like this, like a boat
without a sail, floating on the sea, being carried by the wind in
any direction it blew.
Clinton didn’t like the thought of his son
having no prospects ahead of him. But looking at the past
twenty-three years, his son hadn’t improved at all; in fact, his
behavior was getting worse. All day, his son played around, having
no responsibility, only increasing his horrible attitude. He was
sure Caroline would be his savior. He got so mad when Anton
informed him of the outcome, that his son had just left the table
without as so much as a proper explanation. How could he make his
son be a gentleman? What could he do to make him learn? His son
needed to take responsibility.
“I’ll become the heir of the company, of
course,” Hunter stated simply. Actually, he should have said Anton
would be the heir, but he just wanted to piss off his father, since
his ear was still throbbing.
“Hunter, you’re going to make me die early
here.” Clinton smacked his palm against his forehead in
frustration.
“Oh, Dad, calm down. Look, I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to just up and leave her like that. I did tell her I
had some business to attend to.”
“That’s the same thing as ditching the
girl.”
“I said I’m sorry,” Hunter whined like a
little kid.
“Yes, you should be,” Clinton said. “I had
to ring Caroline’s father and apologize on your behalf. Do you know
it could cause a strain between our companies?”
“It’s that serious?” Hunter asked.
“Damn right, it’s serious, Hunter.”
“Sorry you had to apologize on my behalf. I
hope I didn’t cause a rift between you two.”
Saying sorry doesn’t pay for what’s
already been done, Clinton thought. His son would still be a
playboy, ditched on the side of the road, where no one in high
society would acknowledge him. Why couldn’t he be like Anton?
Reserved, intelligent, and a good team leader. Clinton had to think
of a way to reform his son. And that must include Caroline.
Then an idea struck him.
“Look, all is forgiven, but you must pay me
back,” Clinton said to his son.
“Pay you back?” Hunter asked, his face a
mask of confusion. “Dad, I live off your money. You’re basically
saying you’re using your own money to pay yourself.”
“No, I don’t mean payment in monetary terms.
I mean in the form of action and consequences,” Clinton said,
smiling, as the plan formed inside his head. He couldn’t wait to
see his son all grown up and responsible.
Hunter didn’t like where this conversation
was heading. He recognized the smirk on his father’s face, the one
he’d inherited and often pasted on his own face when an evil idea
popped in his head. He even dreaded asking, “How?”
“Go to Queenstown next week.”
“Choice!” Hunter slammed his palm on the
table in happiness. And here he thought his father was going to
come up with some ridiculous idea, like another matchmaking
scheme.
Queenstown meant skiing, and he loved
skiing. Plus, there was also an abundance of other dangerous sports
the South Island had to offer—jet skiing, sky diving, abseiling.
How crazy! He just couldn’t wait any longer.
“With Caroline,” his father finally
added.
Hunter’s excitement died down like a flat
battery. He knew it. And here he thought he could have another fun
holiday. What a way to take the candy from a child.
“What? Why?” Hunter whined in
disappointment.
“You are going to escort Caroline to
Queenstown. She’s never been to that part of the country before, so
I think you could be the perfect candidate for it.”
“I’m not perfect, Dad. Why don’t you ask
Anton? I’m sure he would be happy to escort such a lovely lady like
Caroline,” he suggested.
“No, Anton has to work. He’s too busy
organizing the Dental Hygiene Conference over there. So you’re the
only one left. Unless you want to help organize the conference and
leave Anton free to entertain Caroline.” Clinton pretended to ask
his son, offering the choice of whether to have another holiday or
work. In the end, the choice was his son’s alone. And whichever he
chose, his son would fall into his trap.
“No, I’ll entertain her,” Hunter interjected
before his dad could come to a decision for him. Escorting Caroline
around Queenstown would definitely be boring, but not to the extent
of death, which was sure to be the result of organizing the
conference. That was definitely not his cup of tea.
“Just as I thought,” Clinton said. Right
into the trap. “So we’re settled, then?”
“Yes,” Hunter grumpily agreed.
“Now, get out of my sight before I have a
heart attack for real,” his father shouted.
“Yes, Dad,” Hunter grumbled under his breath
as he closed the door of his father’s office.
Hunter hated being told what to do. And
right now, he hated being forced to go to Queenstown with Caroline.
And his mood just got worse when he saw Winton, his father’s
secretary, out near the elevator.
“Master Hunter. How are you today?” Winton
spoke, rubbing his hands together.
“Foul!” Hunter said in gloomy monosyllable,
putting on his D&B shades, even inside the hotel lobby because
it just made him look cool, while he continued heading to his car.
Winton’s little feet trailed after him like a little servant’s.
Hunter didn’t like Winton. The man always
had this sneaky look about him, as if he were hiding some secret or
something. But because Hunter hardly came into the company, he
didn’t know what the man was up to. Maybe he should be more
careful. Come into the company more often—if not to work, at least
to get the free chocolate bar that was out for the guests’
indulgence.
“Foul mood? Can I do anything to help
alleviate it?” Winton asked, hoping to please Hunter, but it only
had the opposite effect.
“Yes,” Hunter said, turning to face Winton.
And with a loud voice, he ordered, “Get out of my sight.”
“Oh, Master Hunter, I would very much like
to get out of your sight, but Master Anton would like a word with
you,” Winton pointed out as the reason he had been following
him.
“Don’t speak like you’re my teacher,
Winton,” he said, then stalked off, leaving Winton to stare at his
retreating back.
“I wonder what’s wrong with Master Hunter,”
Winton said, scratching his head in confusion, then made his way
back to his desk.
“What do you want?” Hunter chimed in the
middle of the meeting being held between Anton and his associates,
regarding the upcoming Dental Hygiene Conference in Queenstown.
Anton looked at his cousin, poised in
mid-speech, when Hunter burst into the meeting room. Shaking his
head in resignation at his cousin’s usual behavior, entering the
meeting room like a five-year-old in the middle of a tantrum, he
gestured for Hunter to seat himself near the corner, where there
were a handful of toys and books.
What does he think I am, a kid?
Hunter thought, fuming as he slouched himself down on the plush
black couch. Now he really felt like a little kid who’d been
grounded. Why was everyone treating him like a child these days?
First his dad ordering him around and now Anton gesturing for him
to sit in the corner like a disobedient little boy.
Blast this! He stood from the couch
and slammed the door so loud it almost vibrated off the hinges,
then stalked off to his car, leaving Anton apologizing to his
associates for the racket he had created on his way out.
After driving for a full ten minutes,
Hunter’s mood still did not improve. In fact, it only deepened his
already foul temperament because there were traffic jams every
three seconds. The one time he got stuck in traffic for only
fifteen minutes, he ended up cursing the lights and nearly went
insane until the cars began to move again at their snail’s
pace.
What the hell is wrong with Auckland
today? he cursed. It’s only goddamn two o’clock in the
afternoon. Rush hour wasn’t until five, when most everyone
headed home from work.
After successfully moving away from the main
highway, Hunter found himself in a part of town that wasn’t quite
the area he would normally populate. There, many houses were too
small for his liking. How could people live in such cramped
spaces?
Because Hunter was born with a silver spoon
in his mouth, he didn’t understand. Even his apartment in Central
Auckland boasted more than the usual three bedrooms, and the square
footage was beyond ample.
In this area, the houses were too small, the
footpaths too small, and the road was also goddamned small. It only
fit one car. As for the scenery, there was hardly anything to look
at, just some random bushes here and there. It wasn’t worth a
second glance.
Where was he, anyway? In a dump?
And then he miraculously saw her, the
avocado woman, aimlessly walking down that narrow road, ambling
towards town like she had amnesia.
What was she doing? Did she want to kill
herself? What if a car came zooming past? She would surely die. If
not, then she would at least suffer some internal injury that would
require weeks in the hospital.
Wait! Why was he even concerned about the
welfare of this avocado anyway? Shouldn’t he be teasing—
Ahhh. Hunter gave an evil smirk when
a brilliant idea emerged in his head. Just the perfect person on
which to vent his anger and frustration. Then with a blast of his
horn to its full capacity that was sure to awake even the dead, he
alerted her attention to his presence, announcing to her that the
Greek god had finally arrived.