My Little Farm Girl

That’s when I also learned that along with the magazine, he owned a movie studio and a newspaper, as well as a whole slew of other things that I couldn’t wrap my head around. The man I’d met hadn’t seemed like the mogul type, but apparently that’s what he was.

I was like a sponge soaking up every ounce of information I could get about him. Of course all the girls thought he was the hottest thing on two legs, though none of them had ever spent any real time with him.

They all seemed to think he was this bigger than life persona, way beyond their reach, and nothing at all like the man I remembered buying me a burger and talking to me about my dreams.

I tried to keep my interest well hidden and was sure I had succeeded since no one seemed to catch on to my infantile crush. I pretended ignorance whenever his name came up and that just garnered me more information.

All the while as I bustled around from place to place carrying out aunt Marion’s orders, I felt more and more depressed. Now I knew I could never have him. If these girls who were way more sophisticated and beautiful than I didn’t think they stood a chance, then there was no way I would ever be in the running.

Not to mention the fact that I still didn’t know what had gone on between him and aunt Marion before I came here. And if she was his type, then I’d already lost the race before it begun.

She might be a it touched in the head, but she still is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen and that’s including some of the models I’d seen going in and out of the building in the last week.

She is the typical blonde blue-eyed beauty, with a body that most girls half her age would die for. It was hard to believe that she was the same age as momma, not that momma looked old or anything, it’s just that aunt Marion had access to certain things that momma didn’t, that kept her looking years younger. I don’t think momma’s homemade skin potions could keep up with whatever aunt Marion could afford.

It was too bad about her personality though, or whatever sickness made her lash out sporadically. Without that little hitch, the woman would’ve been almost perfect.

So it stands to reason that if she couldn’t hold onto Callan, then there was no way I was going to, granted I could even catch him in the first place.

I lowered my red face as I sat at my desk going over the papers I’d just been handed. I had to proof something for my aunt before she sent it off to copy. The butterflies in my stomach kept me from concentrating and I read the same line three times before it made any sense to me.

There was no guarantee that I would even see him, but just knowing he was back had me on pins and needles all day. By end of day when there was still no sign of him, I finally relaxed, though the disappointment was like a bitter pill.

Aunt Marion seemed a little on edge when we got home that evening and I wondered if it had anything to do with him being back. I would just die if he came to see her. I don’t know why I felt this strongly about it; I just knew that I couldn’t bear it, seeing those two together.

I did my usual nightly ritual of a rushed bite to eat in the kitchen before hiding myself away in my room.

All that night I tossed and turned as I worried about whether or not I’d see him again. I was actually starting to lose some of the memories of him, the way his hair curled, or that crinkle at the corner of his eye when he smiled. They were so crisp and clear in the beginning, now they were fading fast.

***

In the morning I was in more of a rush than usual. I had the odd feeling that something was going to happen, what, I couldn’t say.

I would be happy just to get a glimpse of him, it seemed so long, and no matter how I’d scolded myself throughout the night, it was no use. I was already halfway in love with him and I’d only seen him once for a few brief hours.

Instinctively I knew that these feelings were nothing like I’d felt before, no teenage crush this, is what I jokingly told myself as I pulled the brush through my wayward hair.

I was going to fuss a little bit with my appearance but aunt Marion started to have one of her fits outside the bathroom door so I just passed the gloss across my lips and left it at that.

“What took you so long in there? Ugh, your hair, what a monstrosity, you want to be an actress the first thing you need to do is get rid of that ugly mop on top of your head…” She had that ugly sneer on her face, but it seemed even worse that before and I had that sense of genuine fear again.

I wasn’t sure why she hated my hair so much, the others were always raving about it, and though I’ve complained about it a time or two, I didn’t think it was as horrible as she made it out to be. Would she force me to cut it if I didn’t want to?