3
Axel
*Six Years Later
"I'm sorry?" I inquired.
The journalist, seated across from me in my living room, seemed momentarily taken aback.
She repeated,"Is there anyone in your life at the moment?"
I furrowed my brow and uncrossed my legs. "I don't think your readers would find that particularly captivating, would they?" I remarked.
The Times journalist chuckled, as though I was being unreasonable. "Mr. Linden," she continued,"you've amassed a fortune exceeding ten billion dollars. Your place in society can only be expressed in ten decimal places. Moreover, you're one of New York's most beloved philanthropists, involved in a range of charitable activities, from art galleries to children's food programs and international aid. Are you telling me people won't be interested in your love life?"
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. I had to concede, she had a point. So far, the interview had revolved around my lifestyle and preferences. Now, were we segueing into discussing my love life? Was this interview intended for the business section or the gossip columns?
"Actually," I replied with courtesy, "I'm currently unattached. My restaurants and bars keep me occupied most of the time."
"Really? No dates or girlfriends...?" the journalist probed.
"I've been on a few dates. But you could say I'm a workaholic."
"You were spotted with Sandra Simons, the supermodel, last August. Did that lead to anything?"
"We're just friends," I clarified.
"And what about Katherine Ziegler? Rumor has it you ended your relationship just a few weeks after—"
"Katherine's wonderful," I stated. "But both of us are highly dedicated individuals. Managing a billion-dollar enterprise doesn't always leave room for a relationship."
The journalist then shifted the focus to my early childhood.
"There's not much to tell," I replied. "I was born in Philadelphia and moved to New York about ten or twelve years ago. By the way, is it getting late?"
As it was a Saturday, my plan was to head to The Blue Orchid, my flagship restaurant in uptown Manhattan, to check on things. But first, I needed to change out of the gray Henley and dark chinos that I had worn for the interview. My publicist had suggested a casual attire, but I never felt at ease leaving my home without one of my suits.
My suits were like my armor, helping me blend into a world of immense wealth, luxury cars, and high fashion to which I didn't naturally belong. I chose an exquisite blue tie from Hermès, expertly knotting it in my signature Windsor style around the collar of a white Dior shirt. I slipped into a dark navy suit and summoned a driver.
From the tinted windows of the nondescript black Mercedes, I observed Manhattan passing by. I couldn't help but marvel at the city's beauty. When I first arrived in Manhattan, I was captivated by its allure, the grandeur of the towering midtown buildings, gleaming in the sunlight, and the long, straight streets that appeared to be paved with gold. In the distance, I could spot the green expanse of Central Park as the car cruised down Madison Avenue toward the Upper East Side.
Upon reaching The Blue Orchid, I had the driver drop me off at the restaurant's entrance, and I entered through the front door. It was a busy Saturday lunchtime, one of our peak hours, and the dining room buzzed with patrons delighting in the extravagant dishes placed before them. From across the room, I caught the popping of a champagne cork and couldn't help but smile; it was one of my favorite sounds.
"Good afternoon, Mister Linden," greeted Cherise, the maître d'.
"Cherise," I replied. "I've told you to call me Axel. How are we doing today?"
"Just fine," Cherise assured. "We have two parties of ten and one party of four still expected. Zeke asked if you could spare a moment. I'll get in touch with him."
"No need," I said. "He's in his office, isn't he? I'll head up now."
The truth was, I could have spent the entire day observing The Blue Orchid's bustling dining room.
Many people envision restaurants as chaotic places, filled with noisy crowds and chefs shouting. However, the reality was that these descriptions applied mainly to subpar establishments. Truly exceptional restaurants were oases of harmony, where everyone worked together seamlessly, and diners relished a delightful experience. Despite the cacophony of conversations from a hundred patrons around me, being back in this environment brought me a sense of peace. The Blue Orchid felt like a second home to me.
As my gaze shifted to a nearby table where diners were being served a platter of roasted duck with spring vegetables, a familiar fragrance in the air caught my attention. It wasn't the aroma of the food.
My head turned, following the captivating scent of a perfume. It triggered a vivid memory from the past—a smoky bar in Bali, a beautiful woman with a graceful figure, vibrant red hair, and striking green eyes. She moved with the grace of a dancer and carried an infectious, radiant smile, a complete contrast to my disposition.
I briefly reminisced about her, the woman I had spent a passionate night with in a dimly lit room as the world outside seemed to stand still. There was no one quite like her. I couldn't help but recall the voicemail from six years ago, the anxious tone of the voice, the last remnant of our time together.
"Axel? It's Linda. We met in Denpasar. I need your help. I don't want anything from you, but please, get in touch with me."A pang of guilt washed over me as I recollected that message. The memory dissipated as I proceeded through a discreet door at the rear of the restaurant. I ascended the original wooden staircase, preserving the establishment's classic features. On the landing, I continued up to the very top floor, where Zeke Wilcox's office was located.
I knocked on the door, using our customary five-knock code to signal my entry. But to my surprise, I found my business partner, Luca, seated at Zeke's desk, his feet propped up.
Luca turned to look at me, a news program playing on the computer, and a plate of spaghetti from the kitchen resting on his lap. His initial look of surprise softened almost instantly into his signature confident smile.
"Lex," he greeted me, his voice dripping with charm. While I had a knack for business, Luca excelled in exuding charisma. He promptly removed his feet from the desk and rose to his feet. "How are you, man? It's been... well, a while since I last saw you."
"I'm here almost every day, Luca!" I retorted. "If you dropped by a bit earlier in the day, you'd catch me."
"I hear you, buddy," Luca laughed, pushing aside a stack of papers to make room for his lunch while perching on the desk. "But I've got some exciting plans in the works with my friends. Can't wait to share it all with you, Big A."
"I'm sure," I replied, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes.
Luca always had some scheme up his sleeve. His current obsession was casinos, and our company's expense account had funded numerous extravagant "market research" trips to Las Vegas. Yet, he had his merits. When a commercial air conditioning unit needed replacing, Luca had it covered. If the chef required twenty pounds of prime rib on short notice, Luca could procure thirty, often at a Lindenr cost. He was shrewd, I'd give him that.
"Well, when you're not too occupied with your exciting endeavors, could you handle the paperwork for renewing our liquor license? You're the authorized signatory, remember?"
"I'll ask Zeke to do it," Luca muttered, engrossed in his phone.
"Zeke," I calmly responded,"won't always be here to navigate the paperwork for you. How about you handle it yourself, huh? Or should I start reviewing all those dinners you had comped last month?"
Luca rolled his eyes, and for a moment, I detected a hint of anger on his face. But it quickly faded.
"Your wish is my command, pal," he said snidely.
With that, he swished out the door, stopping briefly to select one of his stylish pocket squares from his jacket and use it to wipe his mouth. "The boss wants to see you," he informed someone on the stairs, and I stepped out and greeted Zeke as he ascended. We exchanged a fist bump on the landing.
"How's it going, 'Lex?"
"Couldn't be better, brother. If I can get Luca to contribute a little more around here."
"Hey, with the state of our accounts, it's clear that miracles can happen, right? Did you finish up the Times interview today?"
"Yeah, some lady who couldn't resist prying into my love life," I replied.
"But, Axel," Zeke said innocently while scratching his mop of ginger hair, "you're married."
I shot him a skeptical glance. "No, I'm not!"
“Yeah. Was working at Bellaire—you know, the place in Brooklyn that just closed? She’s good, Axel. I think she could go far. You wanna talk to her?”
“Of course,” I said. I tried to talk to every new hire at the Blue Orchid. I wanted to make sure they felt like part of the team.
“Hey, LINDA!” called Zeke. “Get up here!”
I froze. I didn’t even put two and two together right then—but that name. It was like hearing a familiar tune to which I didn’t know the words.
I watched, silently, as a redheaded woman rounded the staircase and made her way up the stairs. She was attractive, with slim hips and a graceful walk. As she did, the scent of the perfume hit me again, and I looked into the wide, green eyes of the girl I’d met all those years ago.
“What is it, Zeke?” said Linda, laughing as she bounced up the last few steps to meet us.
For a moment, I thought it was a ghost. She hadn’t changed at all. Still just as beautiful as ever, her hair long and tossed over her slim shoulders.
But now the smile was quickly evaporating, and I saw Linda’s mouth open a little in shock as she stared at me. A dark, warm desire filled my body at her presence. But it was replaced by a sickly, cold feeling, tiny pinpricks of heat on my face, as the shock spread across our faces in tandem.
“You,” she said, almost silently.
“Axel Linden,” said Zeke, oblivious. “Please meet…”
“Linda Ryder,” I croaked.
“Yeah, how did you—” said Zeke.
“I have to go,” said Linda.
“Oh,” said Zeke. “Sure. Well, it was great meeting you today. I’ll be in touch, okay? I’ll just get those files for you, okay, Axel?”
He turned and went into his office. I watched him go past.
Then it was just the two of us, alone on the landing.
“It’s been a long time,” I said.
But Linda turned. She went down the stairs and before I knew it, she was gone.
I went after her, my heart pounding.