This Crazy Rich Boy

Claire wakes up early. Today is a big day. THE big day. Michelle's coming, and they have to put on a unified front somehow. She's supposed to play by ear how Michelle's going to behave in the office, how the dynamics between her and Gabriel is going to play out. A lot of unknowns.

She might not have even slept at all. Her mind played out the events of the day, how Gabriel did the unthinkable and confessed his feelings. It was a big risk, she appreciated that. She would have said yes right then and there, but there was something that prevented her—she wanted to be sure. She wanted to "test" if Gabriel really did know what he was doing, if Gabriel's feelings were real, and not just him trying to turn her into some sort of a "rebound girl." She'd see how this would play out in the coming days, but even now Claire wonders if she could control herself.

She got up early, had a little breakfast, accepted from Lucille her outfit for the day, courtesy of Miss Cassandra, and before she could proceed to her Jacuzzi session, she remembered her new iPhone. She hadn't fully taken it out of the box yet, but it's supposed to be ready to use, with all the numbers of key people in the company already saved in the phone's memory. Gabriel, or the IT Department, really went out of their way to make it as foolproof as possible.

This would be the first time Claire would be using such a phone. The last time she used one of these was during her first year in college some years ago. It was a cheap feature phone, the kind that only sent text messages. He liked that phone, despite its age and its severe limitations. But she was walking in an alley one night when a man robbed her, demanded her wallet and her gadgets. When the man saw the kind of phone she had, he almost laughed—the nerve!—yet he still ran away with it, the goddamn ȧsshole.

And now, these new-fangled contraptions seem so shiny and sleek and complicated. She knows how to use these as she has seen how these work and she's not completely clueless, but there's still a learning curve. She takes out the iPhone from its carton sarcophagus, admiring its pristine screen and how premium it feels in her hand. One look at the screen and she "gets" the icon for text messages, or making a phone call. But there's a lot of other icons on the screen that she's clueless about. She glances at the wall clock and realizes she's running out of time. She takes the phone with her, as she dips her nȧkėd body in the Jacuzzi. She finds the icon for the camera, and is delighted when the few test shots she took look gorgeous. She takes a photo of the view in front of her—the skyline of a city that's just starting to wake up—and she couldn't get over how the photo looks amazing on the phone's screen.

She examines the back of the phone and wonders about the alien-looking multiple cameras. "Jesus, these are the phones they make now?" she wonders. "Are these still made by humans?"

She's exploring the different features of the phone when suddenly it rings.

"Good morning, beautiful," she hears a man's hoarse voice so clearly.

"Gabriel?"

"Yeah," he says. He sounds like he's still in bed.

"Are you still in bed?" she says. "We're supposed to be at the office earlier than usual, remember?"

"Yeah," he says. "I can make it. Don't worry."

"So how are you? Are you feeling well?"

"I feel amazing," he says, not really sounding amazing at all. "Thank you for last night's kiss. I couldn't forget it."

Claire giggles. "You know we've kissed before, but this is the first time you're thanking me."

"I know," he says. "I just want to let you know how happy I am. Even if you haven't actually said yes. I feel like I've already won something."

This makes Claire's heart aflutter, but she doesn't say anything.

"Has my brother called yet?"

"Miguel?" Claire's brow knits. "What about him? He hasn't called. I don't think he has any reason to."

"Well, you know him. He tends to appear when you least expect it."

"Don't worry. I'll manage his expectations if I do hear from him."

"Does this mean we're officially a couple?" Despite the ragged quality of Gabriel's voice, his excitement still shows.

"Oh, no," she says, "not yet, of course. Let me think about it, Gabriel. I want to make sure about things. But I'll tell Miguel about your confession, and I'll tell him...I'll tell him I'd like to give you my time, to know you better."

Gabriel smiles, a smile she doesn't see. He's not mistaken about Claire; she's genuine. She knows what she wants, and she doesn't let herself be swayed by her emotion. So unlike him, which is why he realizes how much he needs someone like Claire in his life.

"Still, I'm happy," he says. "The happiest I've been for as long as I could remember." A pause. "Are you getting ready for work? Having breakfast?"

"Well, ye—" she hesitates. She doesn't want to tell him she's still far from being ready. So she says, "Yeah, I'm almost out the door."

"Can we FaceTime for a bit?" he says. "Just to see you for a second."

"What facetime?" she says.

"You don't know what FaceTime is? Just tap that icon that looks like a video camera or something. It's just right there."

Claire squints as she looks at the screen. "Oh, there." She taps the icon. The screen transforms into the FaceTime screen, and now she can see Gabriel's face, so puffy and disheveled, yet his eyes seem so big and round, as though he has seen something shocking.

And right under Gabriel's face, is her face.

"Claire," Gabriel says, "I think you're not ready yet."

"What?"

Gabriel makes a face that conveys a multitude of emotions.

In a mad moment, Claire is suddenly seized by a realization—Gabriel can also see her! And there, in all their glory, are her brėȧsts, accentuated with luxurious soap suds. And as she realizes that, she's so surprised (and feeling utterly stupid altogether) that on reflex, she accidentally throws away the phone so hard that it flies straight into the adjacent concrete wall. The phone makes a pitying cracking sound, like a small glass thing that micro-explodes.

"Oh, my God!" Claire huffs. "I think it's broken!" She bolts up from the Jacuzzi, water splashing about in the room in her panic. She kneels on the floor and looks at the poor phone. Of course, it's not only broken; it's actually pulverized. The previously sleek screen is now a glass surface of spiderwebbed brokenness. She holds it up, like a scientist would hold a dead mouse specimen in a lab, and mutters, "Oh shit."

Gabriel's head throbs and he feels dizzy, but in his arrogance, he believed he can defeat this fever with an act of will—he's been doing it since last night. But now nothing seems to be happening. He's starting to feel that he's officially sick, yet he called up Claire to see if the sight of her could make him well. But the result is mixed. FaceTime has been over but Gabriel is still staring at his phone for a long moment, uncertain whether to laugh or feel sorry for Claire. Of course, he's seen it, Claire's wonderful bosom, and now he's a man in a cauldron of confusion. He's been trying to take it easy, trying not to think too much of Claire ever since last night, but now it would be impossible—this laughable mistake only strongly reminded him of Claire's extraordinary beauty. Jesus, he thinks, she's clumsy and brainy and stunningly lovely all at the same time. How all these confusing qualities hopelessly draw him to her even deeper, he could never fathom.

Today is a big day, he reminds himself, Claire's image still etched in his head. But as he tries to stand up from the bed, the room spins; he takes one step forward, and it gets worse, the room spins even faster. And before he could tap a number on the phone to call up help, darkness wraps its thick, choking wings around him. Gabriel collapses on the floor, still clutching his phone, with no one around to give him help when he needs it most.