Never in a thousand years did Hazel George think that her father, the great and self-possessed man, would come calling at her door. Aside from the minor issue of him having disowned her nearly half a decade ago, he was not someone that would willingly put himself in a place that was not up to his standards of living. Thus Hazel's dumbfounded shock to open her creaky old door to find him standing there as if he was holding himself as far from all the 'poorness' that seemed to practically emit from the hall way of her studio apartment, located in a less than noble neighborhood of downtown Chicago.
Hearing, rather than seeing, the door open, he turned his disgusted gaze away from the wall he had been all but glaring at and fixed Hazel with a look that she would describe as sizing up. For less than a moment, his eyes told stories of disappointment, disgust and regret. The disappointment and disgust Hazel understood without explanation, but queries about the regret that shone through was filed away for later analysis. He adjusted his expression, showing her a wolfish smile that she would have probably mistook as a real one if she had not known him as well as she had come to know him.
"Hazel." He sprouted, stepping forward.
Hazel gripped the door, forcing herself to stand her ground. The whole scenario was a battle ground about to unfold.
Lionel George, her father, was a man of practiced preciseness. He never did anything out of character. Nor did he ever go back on a promise he made, especially one her made to himself. Lionel George had promised never to acknowledge her as his daughter if she diverted from the path he'd set. And as she had, he'd disowned her.
Yet, there he was, standing at her door, smiling uncertainly.
"Hazel, my dear, how have you been?"
Hazel stared at him, her hand still gripping the door, whilst the other hung heavily by her side, stiff in the cast that covered it. Her hazel eyes scanned over his face, trying to decipher whether it really was Lionel Steel. The head of dark hair, chestnut brown eyes that held naught but prejudice and the sturdy frame just half a head taller than her suggested that it was indeed her father. She blinked, still processing.
"Can I come in? It's been a long time." he said, clutching his briefcase.
"Fa– Mr. George, what are you doing here?" her words held a coolness and steadiness she could not emotionally feel in that moment.
"Oh Hazel, my darling little girl, will you forgive me? Can you find it in your heart to dear?"
Hazel's eyes narrowed dangerously, "The last time I checked I was a 25 years old woman who, if my memory serves me right, was disowned years ago. Mr. George, I haven't been your 'little girl' for a long time."
Her father's face seemed to tighten as he sighed, "Please, Hazel, can I come in?"
"I'm sorry but I would rather not talk to you. Goodbye."
Trying to execute a flawless exit by shutting the door – her door – in his face, Hazel pushed the thing, but of course the darned door decided to stick, creaking like the piece of junk that it was.
"Stupid door." she cursed kicking it. The only thing she achieved was a bruised toe to go along with her severely bruised ego.
Lionel looked her over, taking in her ratty tee and faded jeans cutoff shorts. The Hazel George he remembered was an orderly young woman who would not have dressed like a homeless rat. He glanced around again, but then again her so called apartment could not be truly considered a home now could it. By the looks of her apartment behind her, everything had changed. He would have thought that she would have snagged some gullible rich boy and lived off him. But who would willingly want to marry someone as wayward as his daughter; that was the real mystery. Not only was she not up to standards with her living arrangements, but she looked like – well he wasn't sure what she looked like. Aside from wardrobe, her hair, which she always dyed brown, was now the fiery red she was born with.
Perhaps, Lionel thought to himself, it was mistake to come and allow her to help. She obviously wasn't the eager and proper child he had once known.
"Hazel? Can we put our differences aside and think of your mother, and your sister? For them, please allow me twenty minutes of your time."
Hazel paused, eyeing him up with her uncanny hazel eyes, still holding onto the door with a vice grip, "Ten minutes."
She took two steps aside, letting her most unlikely house guess in. She would have thought it more likely the president himself would turn up at her door rather than her father. She watched him walk purpose fully to the love seat by the windows, not looking around. He seemed to hesitate before he sat.
When he had made himself comfortable on the only couch she seemed to have, he looked over to see Hazel perched on her painting stool. She gave him a questioning look, urging him to begin.
So he began, "My business is failing, was failing. With appropriate steps and wise decisions, I have managed to pull it out of bankruptcy but it isn't growing fast enough. Soon, it will fail again. In the meantime, my life savings are being depleted, between paying staff and maintenance–."
Hazel held up her hand, stopping him, "What does your business have to do with me? Or rather, how is that any of my concern, you know since I'm a stranger?"
Lionel, pursed his lips after allowing a sigh, "Let me get to it. As I said, my funds aren't holding up too good. We are going to lose the house in a matter of months, maybe less. Your sister was taken from school because I can't afford to pay the tuition. Your mother's doctor has waited but the man needs to be paid."
"I can't help you with any of that." Hazel pointed out, crossing her arms.
"I agree." He said, looking around. A sort of distasteful agreement flashed in Lionel's eyes before he could cover it. Hazel stood, as if to see him out, but he rushed on, standing too.
"However, someone offered to help my business but I can't do it alone."
"I still don't see my involvement..."
"Hear me out. I have been offered the help of an investor. Mr. Steel, he's offered to invest in my company if I bring something to the table. We talked and he's come up with an ultimatum. An ultimatum that will decide whether or not your mother is taken care of, whether your sister gets to grew up in even the most normalness of life. An ultimatum that–."
Hazel held up her hand again, feeling exhausted from their conversation, "Cut the dramatics. What does all your melodrama have to do with me? The last time I checked, none of you cared about me so why and how could I possibly help you?"
