by Tina Martin
I’m entertaining his proposal now. Can’t believe I am, but I am. Accepting it means that not only will I be able to help my father. I can help myself. I’d have somewhere to live. I’d have a car. I’ll show my father I can make it. He doesn’t really need to know how I made it. The illusion of success will be enough to satisfy him.
“Now that I have your attention, I think we should sit down and discuss this somewhere more comfortable than a bus stop. Do you agree?”
“I, um—”
“Let me take you home and we’ll talk about it in the car.”
I’m still on the fence. I lean forward to look for the headlights of the bus but public transportation doesn’t rescue me.
“Okay. Fine,” I say, feeling cornered. Well, conflicted is more like it because how can I so quickly say no to something that can change my father’s life so drastically?
He stands.
I stand with him and follow him over to his car where he opens the door for me. It shocks me that he could have a touch of gentlemanlike qualities when he’s otherwise so rude, forthcoming and direct.
I get inside his overpriced whip and brace myself for the ride home yet again with a man who I referred to last week as a psycho. Guess I’m crazy, too since this is my second voluntary ride with him.
He turns onto Central Avenue, heading towards The Plaza where he makes a left at the light where the public library sits. Then we ride down the two-lane road divided by a center island of barren trees. Houses are on both sides.
He’s quiet.
So am I.
He turns up the radio. More rap music. Lil’ Wayne. Kendrick Lamar. Mona Lisa. Unedited.
A billionaire who’s not lost on rap. There’s something seriously sexy about that.
Chapter Eight
Magnus
I pull up in the driveway of her father’s home and shut off the engine. I purposely didn’t talk to her on the ride here because I need to be careful to cover all the bases. She needs to know what she’s getting herself into.
I look at her taking a moment to take in the beauty of the angles of her face. She’s a beautiful woman and I know we’ll make a beautiful baby but it’s not her beauty that drew me to her. It’s just – her. She’s a mess. She’s raw. She’s innocent. She has a heart of gold. She reminds me of Nicoletta.
“Can you really get my father moved up on the list?” she asks, twiddling her gloved thumbs.
“I guarantee you I can get him moved up to the top five.”
“That would be life-changing for him.”
“And you. A million dollars will change your life and open many doors for you, Shiloh.”
“I think a baby would change my life more than a million dollars.”
“You’re right.”
“How do you know?” she asks.
“I just know,” I respond. “When you said you wouldn’t have a baby by a man who wasn’t yours, what did you mean?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t have a child out of wedlock.”
Bummer…that’s what I thought she meant. Just needed to be sure. “If that’s holding you back from accepting, I’d be willing to do that, too.”
She lifts a manicured brow. “You—you’d be willing to do what?”
“Marry you, but I need you to understand some things about this whole ordeal.”
“Which is?”
“All I want from you is a baby. I don’t want a relationship. I’m not playing house. I don’t even think I want to be friends with you. I don’t have it in me to be a friend to you. I will respect you. I will treat you like a lady. I will give you the world if that’s what you require, but all I want is a baby. If you agree, sign the contract. You’d need a clean health screening as well. I’ll furnish you mine. If you’d rather we get a marriage license before anything commences, I will amend the contract to add that.”
“Okay,” she says, reaching for the door handle.
I grip her arm and quickly let go when she stops trying to get out of the car. “I need an answer now.”
“Of course you do.”
“I’m serious. I need an answer now or the deal’s off.” I have no desire to walk away from her but I had to give her a sense of urgency.
She sighs heavily. “I’ll do it.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow so we can get the marriage license. I’ll have the amended contract so we can get that signed at my lawyer’s office tomorrow as well. What day can you move in?”
She looks at me like the question is over her head. Her decision to do this hasn’t sunken in yet. Or she’s battling with the idea now since she knows I’m serious about it. She needs something from me and I need something from her. This is a win-win situation.
“What day would you like for me to move in?” she asks.
“Preferably Saturday.”
“This Saturday?”
“Yes. I don’t work on weekends and I can make sure everything takes place correctly and according to plan.”
“How can you be so nonchalant about all of this?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re asking me when I’m moving in, saying we’re going to get a marriage license and whatnot like it’s a transaction.”
“It is a transaction,” I tell her. Feeling the need to reiterate what I told her a moment ago, I say, “Look, I need you to understand that I’m not looking for a relationship—”
“I get that part. I’m merely a vessel to house your child—a surrogate.”
“Yes. A surrogate. That’s a good way of looking at it. Do you think you could live with that?”
She sighs heavily again. The weight of the world is literally on her shoulders. I knew this would be a lot to dump on her. She doesn’t handle stress very well.
“Um, I don’t—”
“You’re changing your mind again,” I tell her.
“This is not normal,” she says. “This is not how I imagined I would have a child with someone.”
“Me either.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“Simple. I’m worth billions of dollars and if I drop dead today, I have no one to leave it all to. No one. That’s why I want a child. Someone to carry on my legacy, take this money and grow it into bigger things than I did. To pass it on to their children and their children’s children. So on and so forth.”
“Have you considered doing this kind of thing with an ex-girlfriend?
“No.”
“Why not?”
I frown. That’s one thing I hate doing – explaining myself. I’m a grown, rich man. That automatically exempts me from having to explain anything to anyone, even to her.
“I’d rather not,” I respond. I see disappointment wash down her face. “I need a definite answer from you, Shiloh. No bull. Tell me straight up, right now, if you’re going to do this.”
Another heavy sigh…
She massages her temples like that’s somehow helping her process this. I’m sure she’s thinking of her father. The kidney. Saving his life. Bettering his life. She answers, “Yeah. I’ll do it.”
“That doesn’t sound too convincing.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“If you don’t want to do it, say you don’t want to do it.”
“I said I’ll do it,” she says with frustration in her raised voice. “What time are you going to be here tomorrow?”
“I’ll pick you up at 8:30. We’ll leave from the courthouse and swing by my lawyer’s office. He’s in Uptown as well, so it shouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.”
She grips the straps of her purse and opens the door, getting out of my vehicle without offering me so much as a thank you for the ride or a good night. She just got out, closed the door and headed to the steps of her home – her father’s home.
It’s only after she enters that I put the car in reverse and back out into the street. She’s left her smell behind – that delicious scent I want to bottle up and sleep with at night. The
scent that has me desiring her not just for the purpose of having my baby but because I’m awaiting her touch, anxious to know what it feels like to lose myself inside her body.
Chapter Nine
Shiloh
“Lo, is that you?”
“Yes, Papa,” I answer. I don’t know why he always asks me that. Who else is it? It certainly ain’t Selah and it’s for darn sure not Shelby.
I can hear a Western playing from his loud, bedroom TV. I walk there to see him lying on the bed with two pillows stacked behind his head. I walk inside, take the remote and lower the volume to a more comfortable setting.
“Now what you done come up in here and do that for?” he asks.
“I need to talk to you about something, Papa.”
“‘Bout what?”
“Your dialysis and all that.”
He fans it off. “Don’t waste yo’ breath, Lo. I done told you time and time again—let me worry ‘bout all that. If I’m gon’ die, I’m gon’ die. We all gon’ die of something or ‘nother.”
“Papa, stop,” I say growing irritated by his negativity more so than his ranting.
“It’s the truth.”
“Okay. It’s true. We’re going to die, but what kind of outlook is that to have on life?”
“It’s just the way it is, Lo.”
“Then that’s all the more reason to live the best version of your life while you still can, right?”
“Yeah. Sure,” he gripes. “What you tryin’ to get at?”
“What if you could get a kidney transplant sooner than later?”
He takes the remote and turns the volume back up, enough to where it hurt my ears but he seems fine with it.
“Papa, I’m serious,” I raise my voice to say so he’ll hear me over gunshots and galloping horses.
“I’ve been on that list for years. It ain’t nuttin’ happening and it ain’t nuttin’ moving.”
“But what if you were able to get moved up on the list? Would you be willing to proceed with the transplant?”
“In a beat of my lonely heart,” he says.
And that gives me my answer. I had to go through with this baby thing even though I wasn’t mentally prepared to do it. Nothing in me wanted to do it. I didn’t know anything about Magnus except he was rich and extraordinarily good looking. I needed to change that.
* * *
Later that night, I take my beat-up laptop to the kitchen and do a little research on billionaire, Magnus St. Claire. He’s thirty-six. All the pictures of him online are fly. Most news articles I find are stories about his philanthropy work. How he donates to charities and college foundations. He gives money to feed the hungry and helps people displaced by Hurricane Michael. He wasn’t one of those cheapskate billionaires who acted like they were down to their last. He was giving money away left and right and the man was still filthy rich.
There are stories of how his company, MJS Communications, had acquired smaller data companies who couldn’t compete with the massive empire he’d built. Some magazines called him a genius due to his innovative ideas and new technologies he’d developed in the communication field. I see many pictures of him dressed up, looking sharp but something is always off about his face. He looks lost behind his smiles.
I do a search on his last name, one that stands out – St. Claire – and find a company called St. Claire Architects located in University City. I read about the owner, Ramsey St. Claire and the executives there who are his brothers – Royal St. Claire, Romulus St. Claire and Regal St. Claire. They favor Magnus. I wonder if they’re related.
I find an obituary for a man named Micah St. Claire. Said he left behind five sons and one daughter. I see other St. Claire names come up but no notable information on them.
Like all of us, I’m sure Magnus has a story, but he doesn’t come across as the type of man to divulge details of his life with anyone. He told me to my face he didn’t want to be friends with me and that’s after asking me to give him a baby. How can you not want to be friends with the mother of your child?
Rude bastard.
But wait – men do that all the time, right – even the ones who claimed they loved the woman they were with. Then when a baby comes along, they’re running from child support and calling the mother all kinds of thots and whores. So, I guess it is possible to have a baby by someone you don’t like, but the idea of it makes me sick.
“What’chu doing in here, girl?”
I nearly jump out of my chair. Papa scared the daylights right out of me. “Papa, what are you doing up?”
“Came in here for some water. What’chu you still doing up?”
“Surfing the Net for an apartment since my own flesh and blood has kicked me out on my behind.”
“Now, now—stop your mess. You know I wouldn’t do that, Lo. I’m only giving you a lil’ nudge.”
“Yep—right down the front porch steps with a trash bag full of clothes.”
He laughs while opening the freezer door. He takes out an ice tray, pops out nearly all the ice cubes in a glass and puts the tray back in the freezer.
“Hey, Papa, when Mr. St. Claire came by here the other day, what did you tell him?”
He shrugs. “General stuff.”
“Like what? Did he ask you any questions?”
He pulls out a chair and sits with me. “He did. Mostly ‘bout you. He wanted to know ‘bout your temperament.”
“My temperament? That’s a weird thing to ask.”
“I guess he figured it was okay to discuss wit’ me since I’m yo’ daddy and all.”
“And what did you tell him about my temperament?”
“I told ‘im you were a spitfire as a lil’ girl but as you got older, you leveled out. A little. You’re an old soul. Yep, that’s what you are, alright. An old soul, just like yo’ mama was. And caring, too. You like to look out for people. St. Claire seemed pleased with that.” He sips water. “Why didn’t you tell me you found yourself somebody?”
“Because technically, I’m—” I was close, so close, to telling my father I wasn’t in a relationship with Magnus, but then how would it look when I married the guy and had the man’s baby? He’d think I was lying. So, I shut my mouth and let him believe what he wanted to believe. I didn’t add to it nor did I take away from it.
“Would you ever consider getting married again, Papa?”
“I don’t know, Lo. You know your mama was the love of my life.”
“But don’t you miss having a companion? Someone to keep them ol’ bones warm at night?”
He chuckles. “I got enough pillows on my bed for that.”
I reach for my papa’s hand. His hands are large, wrinkly and dry. Just by looking at his hands, you could accurately guess his age. Those hands have been through life and many hard times.
“I know what’chu mean, though,” he says. “Sometimes, I entertain the thought of being wit’ someone again, but what am I ‘sposed to do when I want that person to be your mother and she’s gone? No one could ever come close to her.”
I watch my papa bite back his pain before he stands, pats me on the shoulder and tells me to have a good night. He was a man still in love.
He had good reasons for feeling this way. My mother was the best. Their relationship was one of those sappy, lovey-dovey types of love. Sure, they had arguments like any other couple, but they always came out victorious. Me, Selah and Shelby never had to wonder if an argument would be the end to them. Mom and Dad set the perfect example for us of love in its truest, purest form.
Now, I sit here questioning what kind of example I’m setting for a child I have yet to have. When he or she is old enough to understand, what do I say when they ask about how me and their father met? Who wanted to know they’re the result of a transaction?
Chapter Ten
Magnus
With the marriage certificate signed, we head to my lawyer’s office. Last night, I forwarded the contract to him – he said I was insane – then reluctantly
agreed to meet with me today. His main defiance for my decision came when I told him I didn’t want a prenuptial agreement. The contract should’ve been enough to lay out my intentions for my future child and Shiloh but he argued how an ironclad prenupt would ensure that when me and Shiloh parted ways – and we would part ways – she wouldn’t be entitled to half of everything I own. What he doesn’t know is, I hadn’t planned on splitting anything with anyone because I wouldn’t be around to do so. So what if the money went to Shiloh? I have enough confidence she’d do the right thing by my child. She’s that kind of person.
I glance over at her as I turn into the dark parking deck, press the button for a parking ticket then proceed after the flimsy gate lifts. I find a park on level one. She’s sitting as still as the concrete beams holding up this structure. I don’t play the guessing game with other people’s emotions – especially women – but I imagine she’s having second thoughts about this now.
Meanwhile, I’m finding it difficult to keep my eyes off of her berry-tinted lips. My mind drifts to the things I could do to her in this darkness. It’s been nearly two years since I’ve slept with a woman. After Nicoletta, I didn’t have desires. That is, until now. Being close to Shiloh spikes yearnings in me that irritates my soul. I don’t want to desire her. I just want this baby.
“Shiloh.” I say her name to get her attention.
She blinks out of her trance. She’s frowning when she looks at me. “Yes?”
“We’re here.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She still doesn’t move. I can’t even tell if she’s breathing.
I get out of the car and walk around to get her door. She rotates and keeps her legs together like she’s wearing a dress. She’s not. She has on a pantsuit. A black one. Looked new like she’d purchased it specifically for our courthouse appointment like she was making a point – wearing black as opposed to wearing the color most women wear on their wedding day.
