All Chapters of The False Facade: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Blake"What's the matter with the model?" I spoke to the other line."The foyer," he replied with a burst of Russian accent. "It's a bit extra."I heaved a sigh. "In what sense?""In terms of width. Don't you think it's too wide?""Too wide you say." I sneered. "We are talking about a guesthouse here.""I'm aware," he said, "But I want a normal sized lobby. Not too wide and not too small.""Alright then. If that's the case, necessary adjustments will be made," I stated."Thank you, Mr. McGregor.""You're welcome. And one more thing, Mr. Smirnov.""Okay?""I'd leave you with the Chief Interior Designer. She'd be handling your calls.""Alright. Bye.""Goodbye."For the rest of the journey, I

 LauraI felt stripped.Not just of my clothes but my dignity. Yes, my dignity inclusive, because posing as not just anyone but Blake's wife, was a farewell to any respect I had for myself. I fought to stay put, to stay calm as those blank pair of blues sized me up. There was something with the way he fixed his gaze, that made me bitterly uncomfortable.Wanting to snap the silence, I jawed:"Good morning, Mr. McGregor."Still, that did not help matters. He merely stuck his stares to my eyes before trailing what I believe to be my hair with them.Then, they---his eyes---stopped below, around my thighs. A feeling of awareness spanned me as I tugged my coat closer.I'd initially kicked against Faith's choice of outfit. Mission impossible wardrobe was what she dabbed my disguis

 LauraI had never been angered as I was seated in the reception, before. Not even the pile of work I regularly buried myself in or the hair pulling nagging of Benny---my boss---had irked me to this extent.The bitter taste of frustration remained on tongue as I glanced at my watch.Ten minutes.It had been ten freaking minutes I had been in the reception, doing nothing but gaze. Everyone seemed to be engrossed in one thing or the other. The vast number of receptionists---ok, that was a bit of exaggeration---had their hands on work.There were three receptionists in total. All seated in a U-curved table. The frizzy haired lady stationed in front of me was currently attending to a middle aged blonde, the Asian male at the far right was on the telephone and at the same time scribbling some notes down. At the extreme left was a

 Blake  I can't believe this. I just can't believe this."Me too, Steve. I can't believe it.I never imagined I'd get back to Laura. I had thought she was gotten rid of after the crazy show she put up in my office. My mind had been made up: send her off, source for another candidate and have my life back. Laura was driving me nuts and I was at my breaking point.Gee, what had I been thinking to have selected her? What?Of course the signs had been there from day one, suggesting her insanity. Hadn't she been raining abuses on whom I supposed to be her boss? That should have been a red flag, yet I blatantly ignored it. I had gone ahead making my intentions known to her, with the belief that she was desperate for money. I had thought that her urgent n

Laura "Five down, three-sixty to go," I whispered, adding a cross on the table calendar.  I dropped the highlighter on the drawer beside and rolled back to bed, lying on my stomach. That had been my new style of sleeping since my grand entrance here.  Having a room all to myself wasn't in any way new: back in Boston, Taylor and I had our individual rooms; the case wasn't different in my Brooklyn apartment, since I shared my space with no one.  What made this a special case, however, was the warm homely feel this particular bed had.  The mattress was solid, not in any way clumsy or soft. I woke up eve

 Blake I tossed in a tablet of mint sweet before going ahead to put on my fez cap. Grabbing my carry-on backpack, I legged off the room. Toward the foyer. There she stood, her back on me, all draped in Prussian blue cotton pullover and a pair of leggings of similar colour. She let her hair fall loose; her feet, a boast of light tennis shoes. I cleared my throat, drawing her attention.  "How long have you been there?"  She turned, bringing the full extent of herself before me. The curls of her hair had been deepened and had a way of s

 Laura.Jet lags were the worst, tales from Faith and some survivors on net confirmed the harsh reality. I'd done my best in following the preventive measures; with an emphasis on 'best'. As much as the guidelines, rules and hacks that ensured a pleasant journey---for long distance travellers---were reasonable, they were far beyond achievable for me.Fair enough, I'd cut my craves for the airplane's complimentary coffee and had rather stuck to nuts and fruits. However, the idea of ditching my sleep to accommodate the far-stretched time difference between New York and Melbourne, was a no-no. At first, I made to go for it- staying awake like a bat and managing to listen to Blake's shallow description of his family. But then, who was I to decline the call of nature?I took no notice of the hum and buzz that went on at the terminal. My puffy ey

Laura Never take anything an Aussie tells you, word for word. That, for me, had become the latest quote. Quote of the decade, you might say. Courtney had told us that Blake's dad had gone down the road for some errand, and would apparently return in no time. I'd held unto that, diligently trying to ward off sleep from my eyes. Unluckily for me, my effort never paid of, as not only did I not get the chance to meet him, but I had also slept on an empty stomach.  It turned out that the patriarch had been in faraway Portland, settling one or two issues. That was the much I knew. "I've been a fool, starving my guest," said Mrs. McGregor as she dropped a teabag into he

Blake Hearing Laura say those words sent an unexplainable feeling to me. As funny as they sounded, I didn't find myself laughing---or better still, stifling a laughter. I'd have gone ahead to ask: 'are you kidding me?', the way her lips pinned together let me know she was far from cracking jokes. "What do I think of you?" "Yeah. Cos I don't get it anymore." This has got to be a joke. Just yesterday, she started one of her melodramas, and I tried---in my gentlemanliest way---to avoid creating a scene. I'd let her be, hoping that whatever ill feelings she had, would leave.&nbs

Laura"Yes, that way. Try to be poise," Blake's mom said.I did as she told me, inclining my body to the right angle. Placing the stick in the best position."That's right," she urged, "You can strike it now."I bobbed with confidence and struck the ball as hard as I could. My effort did pay off, as the ball halted just some inches from the hole."That's good," she said, nodding in approval. "You did quite well."And she was right: I'd done quite well. Right from when we began playing, what I'd managed to do was to thwack the ball thousands of yards away from the hole. If it wasn't that, then I'd shoot it to an entirely different direction. It really was a mess."Lemme try one more," Blake's mom said, setting her ball and stick in position. I looked on as she flexed the stick---I guessed, mentally warming