This Crazy Rich Boy

Claire couldn't believe what she's seeing: Gabriel emerging out of the rain, like someone in a dream. And she panics: what if he gets sick, pneumonia or something? This rain may seem romantic, but it's very cold, and that could kill you.

"Gabriel, what have you done?" Claire mutters. "Why? Did I forget something? Did you just walk in the rain all the way from the building?"

"I'm sorry, Claire, I just…" Water drips down Gabriel's face, and he keeps running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair to keep it from covering his eyes. He wants to see her, to see her eyes, as he says things he had left unsaid for the longest time. "There's something I must tell you. Something very important."

"You could have said it to me earlier," she says. "You didn't have to run in the rain. Come, this umbrella is large enough for the two of us. You'd catch a cold if you stay out there too long."

Gabriel upraises a hand. "No, I'm fine, Claire. This rain is nothing. I just need to get something off my ċhėst. Is it alright if I say it?"

By now Claire is so confused by this antic that all she manages to do is nod her head.

"Well, I don't know where to start, but here it goes. I've hired you for one job, but even I didn't expect I'd come to the point of changing the way I look at the whole thing. I've changed. You have changed me. I'm no longer very concerned about getting revenge on Michelle. I want a new start. And if I'm fortunate, I'd want a new start with the finest woman I've ever met." He sighs. "Maybe what I'm trying to say is, I just want to know the truth."

"Truth?" Claire's brow creases. "Truth about what?"

"The truth about what you said earlier." Gabriel pauses, waiting for her to recognize it. But she doesn't seem to be arriving at that particular recognition.

"I don't…" Claire mutters, getting lost in the jumble of words Gabriel is spewing. "What are you trying to say, Gabriel?"

A beat. In the distance, thunder booms. "I just want to know, is it true that you won't ever fall in love with me?"

"You mean the phone call? Earlier, when you snapped at me angrily, is that what this is about?"

"No, this is about more than that," he says. "This is about me liking you."

"What?"

"I like you, Claire," he says, trying to smile through the rain. "I like you so much."

Some old guy, wearing a trench coat, stops in the middle of them, looks at each of their faces, then looks around. "Where's the camera?" he says. "Are you shooting a movie scene? Is this a TV drama? Come on, where is it?"

"This is not a movie," Gabriel snaps at him. "This is real life. Move on, nothing to see here."

But the old guy, he gazes at Gabriel's face, as though recognizing him. "Hey, you look familiar. Are you one of those movie actors?" He turns to Claire. "And you, aren't you one of those supermodels? Jesus, you're shooting a scene! So where is it? Where's the camera?"

"There's no camera, man. I'm trying to say something here."

"Well, you're standing there in the rain, you're telling her you like her. So this couldn't possibly be real. You must be filming a movie. This is a great scene!"

"No, this isn't," Gabriel snaps. "Please move on."

But the old guy doesn't budge. He makes a few tentative steps back, as though to give them space for their "scene." "Can I just watch here?"

Jesus, Gabriel thinks. But he controls his temper. This moment must not be spoiled. This is a make-or-break point, and if he yells at this old guy, he might scare her away. So he tries to ignore him. He turns back to Claire, who looks like she's trying to not laugh at the whole thing. "Claire I mean it. I like you. I really like you."

"Come on," the old guy watching them says. "You can't even say you love her? Who wrote this goddamn screenplay?"

"Shut up," Gabriel says. "I'm telling you for the last time, move on. Nothing to see here."

"You're doing it wrong, kid," the old guy says. "You ran all the way, in the rain, just to tell her you like her? You have to be better than that. Do you know that old Billy Joel song, 'Tell her about it?' Huh? Do you want me to sing it for you?"

Gabriel looks at him, wondering where he'd come from and what is happening. Why is this old guy here cramping his style? He waits; probably the old guy would leave if he only gazes at him so intensely.

But the old guy, he actually sings. "Tell her about it, tell her everything you feel, give her every reason to accept, that you're for real…"

"He's right," Claire finally says, gazing at him. She's no longer smiling; her eyes say this is now a different ballgame.

"Okay," Gabriel mutters. He turns back to Claire. "Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Claire, you drive me crazy. I think about you all the time. My life is complicated, but when you came into my life, it became much more complicated, but in a good way. A great way, in fact. And I won't exchange that complication for anything else in the world. I think what I'm trying to say is…. I can't live without you. I love you, Claire. My life has turned upside-down in the past week that you've been here with me."

The old guy says, "Now that was beautiful. Attaboy!"

Claire says nothing. She just gazes at him. Then she says, "You will catch a cold if you stay in the rain too long. Come here, you crazy rich boy. I don't want you getting sick just for the sake of saying those corny lines."

As if entranced, Gabriel obediently approaches her and gets under her umbrella. "It's not corny. It's what I feel."

Claire makes a face. "I don't believe you."

"What?"

The old guy, their "special audience", also says, "What?"

"I don't believe a single word you said."

"I'm saying the truth, Claire. This is how I feel. This is how I've been feeling ever since I've met you."

Claire gazes at her. "Okay," she mutters. "Okay, but let me table that for another time. It's such a big ask, Gabriel. I didn't expect it." She sighs. "But for starters, walk with me. Let's get your clothes changed. You'd get sick with your crazy antics, Gabriel Tan. What were you thinking, running in the rain like that just to tell a woman you like her?"

"Well, I would do more—"

"No excuses," she snaps. "Here, hold this umbrella for me. I will try to think about what you said, but be nice. Because girls like me may change their minds all the time. You're not the only crazy person in the world, you know."

"Got it," Gabriel says snappily, like a grateful footsoldier. "But wait," he says, then he approaches the old guy, their "special audience," who couldn't stop smiling at them.

"Thank you," Gabriel says.

"Thank you for what, kid? I was just watching a movie scene unfold. It was the finest specimen of cinema I've ever seen in my life."

Gabriel smiles; if this nice old guy insists he just watched a movie, then so be it. His heart, his head is too up in the clouds to argue. He's just happy. "I don't know how to thank you, but maybe this might suffice, somehow." He takes something from an inside ċhėst pocket of his Armani coat, which turns out to be a checkbook. Gabriel quickly writes something on it, tears away a check, and hands it to the old man. "Here."

The old guy's face lights up upon seeing the check. "You must be kidding!"

"I'm not," Gabriel says. He smiles. "My name is Gabriel Tan, please look it up. This is my way of saying thank you for saving my life."

Gabriel shakes his hand, but the old man is too stunned with the check he's holding that he bȧrėly shakes it back.

Gabriel runs back to Claire and takes the umbrella from her. He offers an arm, which Claire takes. "Let's walk you home, Madam," he playfully says.

"Oh, thank you, Sir," she says. "I thought we were going to stay and live forever in this one rainy spot. I'm glad we'd be finally moving on."

"Well, that's the plan. But you still haven't said anything about what you feel… How about…"

Claire and Gabriel's voices trail off, as the old guy watch them walk away. He still couldn't believe what he's holding. He looks at the check again in his hand. It is signed, and the amount written is a million bucks. He thought he was watching a scene from a romance movie, but it turns out, he's the one who has a happy ending. A million fuċkɨnġ bucks. Is this real? So first things first to find that out, he tells himself. Where's the nearest bank?