The Truth About Fairy Tales by Annie Walker Page A

was by this sordid affair or ours.
                  “I don’t really want to talk about Ben with you.” Against my will, I remembered his question from last night. The one I’d chosen not to answer. Jackson wanted to know if I’d slept with his nephew. I had the sneaking suspicion that he believed I had.
                  “I was just...I just wanted to know if...” I couldn’t finish because I didn’t know what I wanted to know. Did I really want to hear that Ben was over me? Or did I hope he might be pining like a lost little puppy?
                  “I understand that you are…concerned about Ben, but don’t be. He’s fine and that’s all I’m going to say, so don’t push it, okay?” Well, now he definitely sounded mad. It was then that I decided this was crazy. What were we thinking trying to make polite conversation with each other when we had absolutely nothing in common? We didn’t even like each other...well, not like most people out on a date for the first time. Were supposed to like each other for crying out loud. We were just really good in bed. Really, really good in bed.
                  I was just about to toss my napkin on the table and walk out before my nice meal arrived, when Jackson, anticipating all my moves, stopped me.
                  “Tell me about yourself?” At his unpleasant little question, I remembered that fat little folder at his house that contained everything there was to know about me. Every little incriminating piece of my past that didn’t make me want to stay here with him any longer
                  “You already know everything about me.” I hated that my voice had taken on that little wobbly sound that was always there when someone came too close. “Why don’t you just look it up in your folder?” I tried to stand but he stopped me.
                  “Maggie, don’t go…please. Look, I’m sorry about the folder. Let’s talk about something else. Surely there’s something about yourself you can talk about with me? Why don’t you tell me about this career aspiration of yours? That sounds interesting and…safe.”
                  “No.” I had no intention of telling him about my career choices or anything else. I was here against my will. If he wanted me to stay, he could just think of something to say to fill the void; otherwise, we’d sit in this awkward silence for the rest of the evening.
                  “Okay, I’ll tell you about me. How’s that?” I wanted to tell him I already knew about him, but then I wondered, did I really? After all, I only really knew the stuff that his nephew had fed me. I’d never even heard of Jackson before Ben. Well, okay, so maybe the local newspapers touted him their golden boy. But most of those articles I didn’t really find all that interesting before Ben came into my life. Until then, Jackson had been just another one of those rags to riches stories. Although I doubt that Jackson was ever close to being in rags when he’d inherited the small manufacturing business from his father. They made some kind of product from the last century and they were just about ready for the graveyard when Jackson came along with his brilliant idea.
    He’d turned the company around, brought it up to the current century, and used the equipment in place to manufacture those little whatchamadoodles that his company was now famous for making.
                  I suppose I should have been impressed and, if I was being honest, I guess that I was, but I was determined not to let him see how blow away I was by him. Instead I let him talk, I kept my mouth shut, and my eyes focused entirely on my food.
                  In spite of the fact that the golden boy here had accomplished more at thirty-something than most people did their entire lives, this one-sided conversation of ours didn’t take long to come to an