Unsuitable Obsession - Part One Read online

  Rosalba’s eyes grew wide. “Oh sí, yes...Amber, your hair, usted es alto...so tall like me, boñita, you’re so pret-tie!” Rosalba presented, grabbing Amber and giving her a meaningful hug. Full-size arms around her body (and to be complimented on being pretty) what a marvelous feeling! Slightly taller than Amber, Rosalba was a comely woman, with gray streaked brown hair, a strong nose and sherry eyes. Here was a mother who loved her relatives, Amber recognized instantly, treasured everyone around her and showered them with her affection, her grace and her cooking.

  Amber was then twirled around to greet Victor’s father.

  “Papa, this is Amber.”

  Amber was startled once more with a huge fond greeting and a smack. Fabrizio was slightly taller than Amber, with a thick parrot chest stretched over bulky muscles, a man in good shape for his age. Fabrizio was also good looking and Amber couldn’t help but blush. “Nice to meet you Mr. Sanchez.”

  “Ella es hijo encantadora, usted está seguro que ella es su amiga?” Fabrizio guffawed, joking with his son. Amber was a lovely girl and Fabrizio teased Victor and asked him if she really was his girlfriend.

  Victor punched his father fondly, “Don’t Papa, and yes she’s my girlfriend.”

  Amber looked at Victor questionably. “What? What did he say?”

  Victor’s smile dropped. “It’s good, don’t worry, it’s very good.”

  Amber was astonished that day. Meeting aunts and uncles, first, second and third cousins, relatives she never believed existed but in books. There were so many names to keep track of, different faces, looks and personalities, she knew she would never be able to comprehend them all, and then finally, making his debut fresh from Harvard Law School, Victor’s older brother, Eduardo Sanchez. Victor called him ‘The pride and trophy of The Family’. All the hard work, the overtime Fabrizio and his uncles worked just so Eduardo could go to Harvard. Oh how everyone, including the relatives that didn’t contribute financially took credit in Eduardo’s accomplishment.

  Amber was guided over by Victor’s arm around her shoulders to his brother. Eduardo had his back turned towards them. Amber immediately recognized the man’s external appearance the moment they approached him privately. Her heart dropped, it was him!

  “Eduardo, I want you to meet someone,” Victor asked moderately tapping his brother on the collar. Victor wasn’t hesitant introducing this girlfriend to his brother. He felt confident not only in Amber’s facade, but with her admiration for him not to fall for Eduardo’s charms. Although Victor loved his brother immensely, Eduardo was brutal competition when it came to exclusive female attention. Girls Victor dated always seemed to plunge head over heels in love with his brother.

  Eduardo circled around and gazed at Victor first—his smile however weakened when his eyes straight away crashed into Amber’s.

  “This is my girlfriend Amber Fitzgerald,” Victor stated, proudly hugging her shoulders.

  “Nice to meet you Amber,” Eduardo gave to her understated.

  Boy, Victor’s brother’s presence was compelling; Amber couldn’t help but substitute stares. Amber was entranced by the sheer innuendo in his eyes. His smile so sensual—the reaction dropped straight to her toes. Eduardo Sanchez was so different from Victor Sanchez. Several inches taller than his little brother, Eduardo stood erect and swollen with pride. Nut-brown hair neatly combed behind his ears. Olive tone silk shirt opened slightly to show shades of darkened chest hair, a gold chain around his neck, black slacks creased to flawlessness, Italian leather loafers. Are those green eyes below those dark eyelashes? Oh yes, he was a pole apart from Victor; lovable inoffensive Victor, her boyfriend. Amber looked away from Eduardo and back at Victor. My boyfriend. Victor was harmless, never could hurt a fly kinda guy, Dodger Blue T-Shirt, and faded jeans, white Converse tennis shoes.

  Amber hugged Victor thoughtfully; he was the only fella she ever thought about lately. He was caring, loving, and welcoming, always doting on her, always asking her if she was happy, hungry, thirsty, warm, hot or tired. He had her heart at the moment, and—as she hugged the life out of Victor one more time—examined Eduardo Sanchez strolling away.

  “I think I love you Victor and your phenomenal family,” she gave to him happily.

  “Yah? Well, you know I love you Amber Fitzgerald.”

  They kissed lightly and Amber’s eyes closed and felt the softness of his lips, the affection in his emotion and the worship in his words. Well, you know I love you Amber….she thought over and over. And she did know it. He said it almost daily to her, it wasn’t forced and it flowed often; she could almost count on it.

  That night, as she disrobed for Victor (the very first night they slept together) she felt the adoration he held for her. It was slow and effortless, almost like a leisurely dance, coming together with little or no struggle and very, very sweet.

  Victor proposed to Amber the moment they finished climaxing. Would Amber accept? Oh hell yes! You see, although Amber very much wanted to be part of the great big Sanchez family, she also wanted to get out of her suffocating household. Her mother was on another one of her matrimonial pursuits and Amber was so tired of greeting yet another Father Figure. She wanted out, and out now.

  At eighteen, you had too few choices. Legally you were considered an adult, but under the same roof as your parent, you still heeded their responsibility. She didn’t want to be anyone’s responsibility; she wanted to live her own dream. Her job was just that, a job. It wasn’t a career, she’d never been ambitious or had the desire to attend college, so she took her skills as a typist and went to work as a receptionist in a law firm. She wasn’t making much money at first, or enough to rent her own apartment in L.A., so she had to find better employment, a second job, or at least, find something else that could aid her out of that tomb. Enter Victor Sanchez, he proposed to her, outstanding! This was her chance to escape. He was working, had a budding post with the City of L.A. and with two incomes coming in, she could well afford to get an apartment and obtain her freedom! Viola! What a great idea! Her train of thought flabbergasted her sometimes, she was acting like her mother and brushed aside the fact that she might be following in her same path, marrying to meet financial means.

  She did love Victor though, who didn’t? He wasn’t a Smelly Ape that’s for sure. He was pleasing, obedient to his parents and a jovial sort of character, who shared his affection daily, always helped his mother, sat down with his father to watch soccer, cuddled his nieces and nephews and even petted stray dogs. He was an excellent choice.

  After Victor left her room that night, Amber laid in bed awake just thinking about it: marriage, her and him, in a lifetime of wedded bliss. Her future was suddenly mapped out for her and plans for decorating an apartment, buying groceries along with not having to answer to anyone’s rules packed her dreams come true. Oh what a meaningful feeling; dreamt through rose-colored glasses, never foreseeing practicalities like utilities, laundry, unemployment and the possibility of never having children.

  Damn that decision…At sixteen, Amber wanted Teddy Turner’s (a senior who wore really cool corduroys and wallaby’s, by the way) attention so much she gave her virginity to him on his very first visit to her house. She wanted to show him her MVP trophy, but ended up showing him her underwear instead. The following day at school he ignored her, subsequently, making her feel like dirt. A couple of weeks later, she was pregnant and scared to death to get an abortion. On her way to the free clinic, she experienced unpleasant discomfort in her lower abdomen. Once there, the doctor informed Amber of her ectopic pregnancy and had to remove one of her Fallopian tubes. The comprehension had no dismal affect on a sixteen year-old that mainly wanted the situation just to end! During surgery, the doctor also found a mild case of endometriosis—scarring in her uterus as well—and informed Amber when she awoke that she would never be able to conceive normally again without the support of hormones or possibly through the aid of test tubes. Test tubes? Good Lord that was too much news for a sixteen year
-old to fathom. She wasn’t going to get married anytime in the near future, so why concentrate so much on her physical impairment? Now it’s all she can think about. Not being able to give Victor any children that would devastate him! Victor loved kids and the thought of her being barren made her cry. Amber squeezed her eyes shut, tried to focus on apartment hunting instead and was immediately interrupted by a sudden burst of Victor’s brother. Now why on earth would he enter her fantasy? Amber shook her head, buried her face under her pillow, felt her breathing go from calm to acceleration. She felt like a nitwit tonight practically ogling his body when they were being introduced. She got so tongue-tied, she even forgot to say hello!

  It simply wasn’t fair. No human being should be allowed to possess that much magnetism. He reminded her of some GQ model; one of those gorgeous men you never thought existed. Tan and exotic looking, he had a masculine jaw line but with smooth feminine skin tones, such a contrast, she doesn’t know how else to describe him other than “basically beautiful”. She’d never seen a man so devilishly handsome! It was those eyes that threw her off, those hypnotic heavy lidded grass green eyes. The elegance of his facial features sent her to a mystic abstraction, so romantic and gracefully interpreted and she felt like she was swimming through fog for the rest of the evening. She shouldn’t have shown him so much concentration either, trying to imagine what he’d look like minus his silk shirt. Lips pressed against hers, hands underneath her bra. Good Lord! The image wouldn’t go away. She rolled over to the other side of the bed and dug her head underneath several more pillows.

  Eduardo Sanchez Go Away!

  He was Victor’s older brother, so what, so what...so what…so what…oh my...was she in love with Victor? Amber suddenly hurled all the pillows away from her face like a cushiony volcano. If she were in love with him, then why was she suddenly having a sexual fantasy about his brother? Good Lord, she should be in love with him she was going to marry him!

  Rolling over in her bed, Amber became frightened all of a sudden—panicky and insecure. She was damaged goods and wasn’t too sure about her outlook for her new fiancé. Could Victor love her enough for the both of them? She was already enamored with his family; would passion come for him later?

  EDUARDO

  Persistence breeds determination, and determination creates boldness. So when a man owns his assertiveness, perceived as being accomplished with his intellect, then its deliberate self-assurance, arrogance and occasionally, conceit.

  And what does this mean? It means power to me. I’ve always known I encompassed potential. I like to win. I feel accomplished when I prevail. I like to know that when I walk into a room I command attention, that my presence of authority is immediate. I thrive on prestige. I was born to be successful. There is only way I’m determined to go, and that is up. Excel at school, exceed at my profession, and succeed at becoming abnormally wealthy by the developed age of thirty.

  No one is going to stand in my way, no one, and if someone gets offended along the way, then they should have never tried to ride my coattails to prosperity. I welcome complication. OK, I accept that I’m considered selfish in my need to fulfill my aspirations, but I have to be selfish. Call me vain, call me one dimensional, call me a master at domination, but whatever you call me, do it with envy. And I appreciate the smile I just gave you, which was my intention. Like I said, I always get what I want, I’m inflexible and oh so fortunate.

  As I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror, shades of confusion tickle my intellect. A weak laugh escapes my throat as I shake my head in utter disgust. It was a drive by, I must be catching a cold, I lost my composure tonight, my focus; she practically suffocated me with intrigue. Yah, she. It was a woman...

  Amber Fitzgerald.

  Turning on the water faucet, I lean down and rest my arms alongside the vanity. I continue to look at myself and shake my head, splashing cold water onto my face, it’s cold, it’s startling, but it’s temporary.

  My brother threw me for a loop tonight. Meeting his girlfriend had been a mixed blessing. Amber was unique, no doubt about that. The hesitation that I did feel was the mental preoccupation of what it felt like to kiss her. That unbelievable motivation engrossed me the entire evening and I can’t fathom why.

  Along with my mental power, I’ve been favored with a good-looking face. I hate that word—handsome. I like to say that I embody advantage. I like to be taken seriously; I’m a double threat, both in business and in my personal life. So when speaking to an associate, who happens to be female, the conversation always seems to detour into flirtation. Sometimes I’d like to shake her senseless and ask her to stop staring. Favored men can never be friends with a female; the notion of coition always seems to get in the way. I’d rather concentrate on improving my intellect.

  I’ve had girlfriends before, but on my terms. I’ve never allowed myself to care for someone beyond the physical. Love is for the lamebrain and I don’t have time to fall in love. I’m never alone; I’m constantly being approached. I’m a magnet for the opposite sex and I’m comfortable with the price tag. I decide when we’re together and I decide if I want to spend time with her. I hold all the control, not the female. Too many times have I witnessed men crawl on their knees through humiliation to accommodate their girlfriends or wives. I’ve learned my lesson at a very young age, and yes, I did demean myself by handing over my heart, while she accepted it, squashed it, only to ask for it once again. I swore I’d never allow another female to try and take my vulnerability again and I’ve been living by that rule ever since.

  As I continue to stare at myself in the mirror I notice the tiny blemish on the right side of my jaw; a mark, a flaw where I once shaved my face too close and caused a scratch on the bottom of my cheek. I took my father’s dull razor and decided I was “man” enough to start shaving. Stubborn at fourteen, I thought I knew what I was doing. My father showed me once, and I grabbed the razor out of his hand.

  Step One: Spread the shaving foam onto your face; Step Two: Take the razor and position it at an angle; Step Three: Gently take the razor and glide it across your cheek in one continuous motion.

  One continuous motion? What do you do when you forget to flex your jaw to accommodate the razor’s flat edge? Hope to God that the girls never stare hard enough to notice the two-centimeter disfigurement at the rim of my chin.

  I knew at the age of ten that I was engaging to the opposite sex, the phone rang off the hook. Girls used to chase me around the block or leave little notes in my math book. Junior high was a learning process, trying to master the skills at seduction, but in high school, I was a stud: Most Popular; Most Likely to Succeed; Most Desirable; Best Body; Best All Around, Homecoming King, but I didn’t care. It was all so meaningless, trivial. Not much effort to obtain such trophies. School was all that mattered. Class President, now that’s the title I was most proud of back then; straight A’s, those were my aspirations. But boy did those hormonal girls make it fatiguing for me to concentrate when the phone kept buzzing. The highest mark in Political Science would be tough to achieve if I had to stop studying to answer the phone with a hysterical female on the other end…

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  “When am I ever going to see you?”

  “Why don’t you come over?”

  “What are you thinking?”

  Constant nagging and pulling for my attention when all I really wanted from girls’ back then was sex and I had bigger and better things to triumph over. My associate’s degree at a community college, my bachelor’s at UCLA, then onto Harvard; Harvard Law School to be exact. Harvard Law School offered a legal curriculum unparalleled in legal education. It was a dream I aspired to, a determination I felt to pursue.

  Once there, the professors felt it necessary to single me out, my race, my skin color—their predetermination that I’d fail. A Latino didn’t belong there, but I knew differently. I was bright, I was relentless and I was strong-minded to pass each course. But then those insistent female
s were still all around me, tempting me with their hair, their lips—their curvy bodies, meeting them on the steps of the historic Austin Hall; Langdell Hall for class, pretty temptresses following me to my seat. College girls are no different than high school girls. Oh hell yes, they’d all fight to the death and exclaim that they’re at Harvard for their education, women’s rights or whatever the girl is into but I’ve proved otherwise. They are all identical once the blouse is subtracted from the body. Blonde, brunette, redhead and smart, brainy, extremely intelligent—they all want a piece of me. And oh how comical and obvious it is! I can always sense when a woman is attracted to my carnal charm; the way they curl their hair around their finger, their obvious nervousness in the way their voice cracks, their hands go every which way but calm and the apparent giddiness at some idiotic remark I happen to give out. I know all the signs; study their body posture, suggestive nuances. But they’re all just females and fulfill the need of the moment. And who am I to complain? There are unquestionably many, many moments...

  For now, I’m renting a one-bedroom/one bath bachelor pad on La Cienega Boulevard. After I pass the BAR, I’m going to purchase a condo somewhere along the beach: Malibu, Santa Monica or Pacific Palisades. I love the sea air, the wide expanse of the deep blue ocean. As I look out my window on top of the 15th floor, I notice the hustle and bustle of the streets down below. I’m part of that turmoil, and I love it. I love it! What a life I lead. My dictation of it thus far has been straightforward, all my goals have been met; I’m in charge. At least I was in charge, because now I feel like I’m spinning out of control.