Absinthe

Chapter 35: Not So Fast But Furious

"Stop touching your lips and daydreaming about Jiwoo!"

"Agghhh!" I screamed as I fell off the edge of my bed, startled because Derrick had come into my room

uninvited.

"Pathetic," he murmured as he helped me back to my feet. "Where's the remote? You need to see

something."

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and my nervous system was still on haywire after Jiwoo's gentle kiss. I

couldn't do anything, not even get out of bed. I wasn't able to have breakfast or lunch, either, and to

think that it was now way past noon.

It hadn't been a sexy kiss. Jiwoo's lips had barely touched mine, and no tongue had been involved. So I

couldn't explain why I was still replaying everything in my head over and over.

"What's wrong?" I asked while pointing at the TV remote in response to Derrick's question.

"Eeeeew," Derrick said, covering his nose and mouth. "Did you even brush your teeth?"

I was unable to do that, too.

Derrick turned the TV on and flipped to a local news channel.

"Was there any casualty?" the news anchor asked, clearly worried.

"No, Purina. There were no casualties. Mrs. Gonzales was not injured," replied the field reporter while

the camera panned to Faye's Range Rover. The car had minor dents and a cracked windshield. The

other car, a Toyota Vios, was totaled beyond salvation.

"And the driver of the other car? Look at that—the damage is something else!"

"Yes, Purina. Eyewitness accounts have confirmed that Mrs. Gonzales' car rammed into the smaller

Toyota Vios more than 10 times. Her Range Rover is definitely sturdier, so the smaller car stood no

chance."

The camera panned back to the field reporter.

"Mrs. Faye Gonzales, wife of pharmaceutical tycoon Henry Gonzales, was seen slapping and kicking

the driver whom we identified as a certain James Marco Rodriguez. We are in the process of obtaining

video—"

"Holy hell, what the fuck is happening?" I asked Derrick, suddenly finding the strength and willpower to

stand up. "Where's my phone? Let's call Faye right now!"

"Do we know the motive behind what she did?" It was the news anchor once again.

"Witnesses state that they heard Mrs. Gonzales shouting expletives at this James Marco Rodriguez. As

of now, we don't really know the background story. Both Mrs. Gonzales and Mr. Rodriguez are in police

custody for investigation."

"Thank you very much, Kierran. Viewers, that was Kierran Davila reporting live. Stay tuned for more

news in the metro after this break."

"Live?" I asked.

"The live broadcast was yesterday. This was a replay."

Derrick handed over his phone, where a video clip uploaded on Facebook was playing. It was Faye

going ballistic on JM, scratching his face, kicking his shins, and slapping the shit out of him. She kept

shouting strings of insults, ranging from "pathetic loser" and "gold digger" to "a fucking callboy."

"I can buy you, your family, and this building!" screamed Faye in the video, with the person recording

saying Oh my god hysterically.

Derrick and I looked at each other. "You think she's out of jail now?" I asked.

"She was never in jail, idiot," Derrick replied. "The police probably just asked her questions about the

whole thing."

"Who's representing her?" Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Derrick shrugged. "Rob? Anyway, go get dressed. Let's go to her house and find out what happened."

I gave up on my usual skin care routine and finished preparing to leave in exactly 27 minutes. My skin

would surely get back at me for it in the future, but it was a small sacrifice to make. The issue was

about Faye, after all.

Derrick was waiting for me in the kitchen when I exited my bedroom. "Rob's handling the case. He said

there's nothing to worry about legal-wise. But it looks like he's having a headache because of the social

media backlash."

Oh shit. I could only imagine what everyone was saying by now: Wealthy pharmaceutical company

heiress goes wild, attacks innocent citizens.

"Let's just be there for Faye. I'm sure her husband's company has a team of publicists who'll handle

this," Derrick concluded. "I'm driving."

On the way to the parking lot, my phone rang. It was Jiwoo. "Hi!" I greeted.

"Hey," Jiwoo said casually. "I baked you something."

"I actually have an emergency right now," I said, keeping pace with Derrick as we headed toward his

Aston Martin Rapide. "One my friends got into something serious. Can I call you back?"

"Sure," Jiwoo answered, disappointment clearly in his voice. "These are really good, so you better

contact me soon. I can have them delivered if you're still busy later."

At that moment, my stomach growled. Derrick raised an eyebrow and mouthed the words Burger King .

"Hey, give me a sec." I pressed the mute button and turned to Derrick. "Are you hungry, too? Jiwoo

said he made something. Wanna go on the way?"

"Where?"

I unmuted my phone. "On second thought, my friend and I are starving. Where are you now? Is it

alright if we come by?"

"When you said 'your friend,' you weren't talking about that lawyer dude, were you?"

"Nope," I said. "It's the other one. The doctor."

"Derrick, was it?"

"Yeah. You met him that day you lashed out at—"

"Alright, let's forget about the past. I'm at Chef Maxwell's."

"Great! It's along our route. I'll call you back when we're near."

Once inside the Rapide, I couldn't help but marvel at the workmanship of the interior.

"This car is sexy as fuck," I told Derrick as he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

"You know it's a gift from mom and dad when I topped the licensure test, right?"

"Still," I said. "It's amazing!"

"Not as amazing as your Benz convertible."

"You know that's also a gift from my boss, right?"

"Yeah, because your performance was outstanding. It's also the same as if you had earned the money

to buy it."

"Nah," I said shyly. "It was my boss' way of bribing me."

"Same shit," Derrick said. "He was bribing you so he could use your skills to his benefit."

We were quiet for a few minutes before Derrick spoke again.

"You know what, for gay guys, our taste in cars is totally masculine," he said with a chuckle. "If we were

straight, models would be lining up to sleep with us."

"That's sexist!" I teased. "Straight guys line up to sleep with us, too. Look at JM."

Derrick laughed hard but still had his eyes on the road. "Faye's pretty slapping JM the way she did."

"She's always been hard-core," I said. "I just hope she didn't land herself in trouble all because of my

failed love life. Do you think they met by chance?"

Derrick shook his head. "Knowing Faye, I highly doubt that."

"Right," I said, getting more and more scared as I imagined what else Faye could have done that had

led to the confrontation.

"I'm sure she tracked JM down and sent in some men to intimidate and harass him. Did you see what

she did to his car?"

"That definitely sounds like something she would do," I said, shuddering at the memory of the video

where Faye repeatedly crashed her car against JM's.

"Call your boy toy now. We're almost there."

"Boy what? Whatever," I said, rolling my eyes. I rang Jiwoo's phone and asked him to meet us in front

of the parking lot entrance.

He was already standing there when we arrived, handsome in his plain white shirt and faded jeans

while carrying a big-ass box filled with God-knows-what. He nodded at us in greeting as Derrick rolled

down the window from my side of the car.

"Hop in!" I said.

"Thanks," he said as he gave me the box. "Hey, doc. What's up?"

"Hey," Derrick greeted back. "Hmmm, that smells great!"

"Yeah, enjoy!"

"Wait, aren't you coming with us?" I asked as Jiwoo stepped away from the car.

"Can I?"

"We're visiting Faye. Do you know her?"

"The owner of Unli-Liver Pharmaceuticals?"

Derrick and I nodded.

"We're high school besties, and we're on our way to see her now," I explained. "We can hang out after."

Jiwoo smiled and hopped into the backseat. We sped off toward Faye's ultra-exclusive subdivision.

"What are you waiting for, Mr. 50,000 a month?" Derrick teased. "We're hungry!"

"Hey!" I warned Derrick. That 50,000-a-month incident was a painful memory to both me and Jiwoo.

And though we had reconciled just yesterday, 3 months' worth of not talking was still making things

pretty awkward.

"Here," Jiwoo said, handing out some pain au chocolats.

I took a bite and noticed that while the butter and dark chocolate flavors were amazing, the viennoiserie

wasn't as crispy as I would have made it.

"We made a mess when we ate the ones BJ made last week," Derrick said after swallowing. "His just

breaks apart. One bite into that crunchy top and flakes scatter everywhere. It's still good, though."

I saw Jiwoo nodding from the rearview mirror. "How about the layers?"

I examined the cross-section of the bread. It was fairly okay, something you'd normally see in pastry

shops in the Philippines. "I would have folded it two more times to get more layers," I commented.

Jiwoo nodded again. "Thanks for the advice. I'll make better ones next time."

Derrick and I exchanged glances.

"What's up with you?" I asked, confused as to why Jiwoo was suddenly acting all kind and amicable

when it came to criticism about his food.

"Hmm?" he said, totally un-jerk-like.

"I mean, what's with the sudden interest in bread and pastries?"

Jiwoo shrugged. "It's nothing. I just realized that I'm bad at it."

"It's not bad," Derrick said. "These are better than what they sell at that French bakery. What do you

call it again?"

"DeliFranz?" Jiwoo answered.

"Yeah, that one. Yours is better than their bread. It's just that BJ's is on an entirely different level."

Jiwoo was quiet in thought. I stared at him from the rearview mirror, wondering if he was going to get

offended by the comparison between our bread-making skills.

"He can teach you, if you'd like," Derrick said.

"What are you doing?" I whispered as I smacked Derrick's thigh.

"Ouch!" Derrick winced. "I was just trying to get you laid—"

"I'd love to!" Jiwoo said.

The traffic light just turned red, so we had to stop. Derrick and I glanced back at Jiwoo.

"You'd love to what?" asked Derrick. "Get BJ laid?"