by Tina Martin
“Are you okay?” I ask, closing the door.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says sharply. Her heels drum on the concrete and echoes in this enclosed space. She walks in a way that has me visualizing her breasts bouncing up and down beneath her coat. “Where are we going?”
“To see my lawyer,” I tell her.
“I know that,” she says with attitude. “I meant, what floor?”
“Then you should’ve been more specific.”
She rolls her eyes.
“He’s on the fifteenth floor. One-five. We have to take the parking garage elevator to level three to get to the skywalk, take the skywalk to the building then take another set of elevators up to the fifteenth floor. Any more questions?”
She glares at me.
I stare back into her eyes and I already feel like I’m looking into what my child’s eyes will look like in addition to the soft, glowing skin. The innocence. The beauty.
“If I have any further questions, I’ll ask when we’re in front of the lawyer.”
“If you have questions, you can ask me right now before we get up in there.” We walk across the skywalk. She walks ahead of me intentionally, not ready to register that we’re together. When we reach the second set of elevators, I press the up button and we step on. There’s no one else inside. Only us, riding to the fifteenth floor.
The things I could do…
She smells like what has grown to be my favorite scent. I want to ask her what it is but I’m afraid she’d stop wearing it out of spite. So I inhale the aroma and remain silent, standing in the back corner of the elevator, staring at her. Her back’s to me. Her hair is still balled up like she wears it at the bistro. I wonder what she’d do if I pressed the stop button on this elevator, removed her ponytail holder, ripped off her coat and went for the button holding up her pants.
I clear my throat as a way of clearing my thoughts and ask, “What’s your question?”
“I was thinking this whole thing through last night and I want to know I will have rights to my child. I don’t want you thinking you will buy my child away from me.”
“That’s never been my intention.”
She looks back at me. “Then what is your intention?”
I turn away from her to hide the irritation in my features. “Didn’t we already have this discussion?”
“No. When we discuss anything, it’s always what you want. What you need. What your goals are. You never asked me about mine. Not once.”
“That’s because it’s none of my concern.”
“Oh, really? I’m going to be the mother of your child and you don’t care to know anything about me?”
“That’s correct. The only thing I need to know about you is your ovulation schedule so we can get this baby made. That’s it. I told you, we’re not friends. I have no room in my life for anything more.”
She tsks. “But you have room for a child?”
“Yes. Don’t question me when I’m paying you. When I’ve already paid you.”
“How? I haven’t provided you with any of my account information?”
“I took it upon myself to create an account in your name.” I remove my wallet and hand her a bank card. “Here. It’s all yours.”
She snatches it. Frowns.
“And I also managed to get your father’s name to the top three on the transplant list. Don’t ask how. Just be thankful.”
“How?” she asks anyway probably because she knows it’ll irritate me.
I don’t respond. I glance up to see how many floors we have to go before we reach fifteen.
“I asked you a question,” she says.
“Some things, you don’t need to know and won’t be privy to where I am concerned. And you should probably drop the attitude before we get into the office.”
“Why? Scared I’ll embarrass you in front of your lil’ lawyer friend?”
“Not at all. Just fix your attitude, Shiloh. You have a smart mouth.”
“I need one to combat your rudeness. I say we make a good team.”
I look at her. Team is a trigger word for me. Nicoletta used to say that. We made a good team. And she was right. We did until she died. I look at Shiloh and I don’t see a team. I see a source of annoyance.
The elevator opens on fifteen. She exits first and follows me to the Law Office of Irving Tippens. He’s been my lawyer for fifteen years and has always been a good adviser. I hold his advice in high regard which is probably the reason he’s confused about how, since beginning this quest to find a woman to have my baby, I haven’t listened to not one suggestion by him.
“Magnus,” he says when I walk into his office with Shiloh behind me.
“Irving. How are you?”
“I’m here…about to pop a blood vessel thanks to you. And who do we have here?” he asks, looking at Shiloh.
“Hi. I’m Shiloh,” she says, reaching to shake his hand.
“I’m Irving Tippens, Magnus’ lawyer. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Shiloh.”
“You as well.”
I watch the two shake hands, then I take a seat. They both join me. We have plenty to cover so we may as well go ahead and get to it. If Irving could take his eyes off of Shiloh, maybe we could’ve started by now.
“Shiloh, you’ve already signed the contract, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Are you fully aware of the requirements Magnus has laid out for you?”
“Yes. I’m aware.”
“And you agree to the terms?” Irving asks.
“Yes. What choice do I have?”
“You had a choice,” I remind her. “You chose a million dollars.”
She glares. “No. I chose to save my father’s life! Don’t get it twisted.”
I stifle my tongue and flash a brief smile. Irving is looking at me like he’s confused. I’m sure he is.
“Ay, Magnus, let me holla at you in the hallway for a minute,” Irving says.
I stand and head for the door.
He follows.
When we’re standing right outside of his office, he looks at me and asks, “Mag, are you sure you know what you’re doing, man?”
“We’ve had this discussion, Irving.”
“We have, and—”
“And you know I’m a man of my word. Whatever I say I’m going to do, I do it. That’s always been the case and there’s no need to change it up now. I’ve already made Shiloh my wife—”
“Which was never part of the original contract,” he reminds me.
“And that’s why I had you amend it. This is what she wanted and as I told you before, I was willing to concede. I don’t understand why you look like you’re on the verge of a stroke.”
“You didn’t do a prenupt. That’s why! She didn’t sign a prenuptial agreement. That should be enough for you to worry about your wealth, your company—everything you’ve built is now shared with her. Everything!”
He’s overly animated, talking about my worldly possessions like it’s his. I grin it off and shake my head. I understand he’s my lawyer and this is what his job entails, but he needs to understand he works for me, not vice versa. I’m calling the shots.
“Irving, I’m not worried about a prenupt. I trust her.”
He chuckles. “Oh, that’s golden, Mag. You trust her. My God, man. What’s happened to you?”
“Nothing’s happened to me and you need to get ahold of yourself.”
Irving grabs his head and rests his forehead against the wall seething with frustration. Then, when he’s able to get some balance and stability over his own emotions, he asks, “How can you possibly trust someone you just met?”
“I didn’t just meet her.”
“Oh, come on, Mag. Just because you followed this girl for a few days and chose her to be the future mother of your child doesn’t mean you know her.”
“It wasn’t a few days. It was more like three months and I do know her. I know enough to know she’ll be good to my child.�
��
“Just out of curiosity—how do you know that?” he asks. “And don’t chalk it up to some weird intuition nonsense.”
“I’m going to say this, and then we’re going to go back inside. For three months, I’ve watched Shiloh. I’ve seen her struggle with her job. I literally watched her car break down one day while she was trying to leave work. I could see the exasperation on her face. But she never gave up. She may have wanted to, but she didn’t. She kept going. No car? Fine, she took the bus. She can’t waitress all that well, but she doesn’t quit. Her skills are sorely lacking and therefore, her tips suck. I know this because she never made enough money to fix her car. But I watched this woman leave work every day for two of those months and give some homeless guy—you know the one who was recently on the news who got hit by a car on Central Avenue—she brought him a plate of food and something to drink every night. I’m sure the boss didn’t let her do it for free, but she did it. Every. Night. I chose Shiloh because she has a heart of gold. I trust her. She wouldn’t do anything to harm me or my business, and she would love and protect my child. I’m sure of it.”
Irving nods. “Alright.”
“You’re good now?” I ask.
“Yeah. If you’re good, I’m good. And here I was thinking you picked her because she’s a doll. My goodness, she’s beautiful.”
“She is? I hadn’t noticed,” I say, then hide my amusement. Shiloh is beautiful. She’s any man’s dream, except mine. I lost the love of my life, and Nicoletta could never be replaced no matter how pretty or extraordinary the woman is.
“She has a mouth on her, though,” Irving says.
“I know. I don’t mind it. I just need to get used to it again.”
“Again?”
“Yeah. Nicoletta was the same way when I met her. Bossy. Questioned everything. She’ll come around once she learns the order of things.”
Irving raises his brows. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yep. I didn’t tell you this before, but this ain’t my first rodeo. The first two times I did this, I had no contract. Didn’t involve you. Didn’t say a word. I wanted to keep it private.”
“Magnus, you’ve done this before?” Irving asks. His eyebrows nearly touch the ceiling.
“Yes, minus the marriage part. The first woman I approached agreed to follow my rules, and she did. After four months, she still wasn’t pregnant, so I cut ties with her and she went on her way. The second girl followed the rules but couldn’t get pregnant after four months either. She blamed me. Said there was something wrong with me. Wanted me to get my count checked. I wasn’t willing to do that. I cut ties with her but she’d gotten too attached. Wanted to impress me. Buy me gifts. Wanted to sleep with me other times when we weren’t trying to get pregnant. I refused her. Sent her packing. I think I broke the girl’s heart, but she knew what it was from the jump. Knew what I required.”
Irving frowns. “You let her go?”
“Yeah. I let her go. What was I supposed to do?”
“You mean to tell me you were with both of these women for four months and you didn’t feel anything for either of them?”
“Not a thing. I just wanted a baby. After the last attempt, I took a two-year hiatus. I haven’t touched a woman since. Then I saw Shiloh and something told me to try again.”
“I’m assuming it’s the same something that told you to marry the girl.”
I shrug.
“This is reckless, Mag. Aren’t you the least bit concerned this could all go wrong? And why are you so focused on having a baby? It is because of…because of—?”
I know what he wants to ask even though he hesitates. He wants to know if this baby will be a substitute for the son I lost. The son I loved so much. In some ways, yes, but like Nicoletta, MJ can’t be replaced.
“No. I have a plan and I have my reasons. Now, if we could please get on with this…”
“Okay, brother. Let’s do it,” he says opening the door.
I return to the chair next to Shiloh. She’s out of her coat. Her legs are crossed, and she’s reclined in the chair like she’s gotten cozy in Irving’s office.
“Jeez. ’Bout time. I’d almost fallen asleep.” She yawns, stretches her arms up in the air. Her chest juts forward.
Again, I smile at her. From my time observing her at the bistro, I know her ways. She’s restless. Always have to be doing something. Asking something. Taking somebody a drink. Giving people more than what they asked for. Serving other waitresses’ tables when she doesn’t know how to properly work her own. That tells me her intentions are pure though she doesn’t have the adequacy to follow through with the proper execution.
“O-kay,” Irving says, bringing his hands to a clap to get our attention. He starts skimming over the contract. “One-million dollar payment…forfeit half of that if your union doesn’t result in pregnancy after four months…baby carried to term…eat healthy…doctor appointments…agreement needs to be kept confidential.” He looks up at both of us but focuses on her when he asks, “Will you be moving in with Magnus, Shiloh?”
“No,” I answer before Shiloh has a chance to, hoping to leave it at that so Irving can keep it moving.
“He’s banned me to the guesthouse,” she speaks up to say. Then she looks at me and asks, “What’s so good about the main house? It’s not fit for us lowly peasants?”
“All you need to know is that the main house is off limits to you,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“Every question doesn’t require an answer.”
“They do when I ask them,” she fires back.
I’m unfazed. “Continue, Irving.”
“Okay, let’s see here,” Irving begins clearly amused by this tête-à-tête between Shiloh and I, one in which he has a front-row seat.
“Why is the main house off limits?” she asks again. Interrupting.
“I live in the main house, Shiloh,” I say keeping my voice even. She’s trying to rile me up. Won’t happen. “There’s nothing in there you will ever need.”
“You’re there. I wouldn’t need you?”
I look at her. She’s good – knows how to get my blood pumping with her words and smart comebacks. “Everything you need will be provided for you in the guesthouse. Continue, Irv—”
“Oh, so that’s how you’ll do it,” she says like she’s figured something out. “You’ll inject me with your poison in the guesthouse so the main house holds no memories of me when you’re done.”
Inject me with your poison…
I glance up at Irving. He’s turning a shade of red like he’s straining to hold in laughter. I look at Shiloh. I think this might be rare form for her. Her legs are still crossed. The shoe on the foot of the crossed leg is dangling off of her panty-hose-covered big toe. She’s empowered. She’s not scatterbrained like she is at the bistro. This girl – woman – sitting next to me today is different, and she should be. She’s giving me her body. Knows I’m desperate for this baby if I’m willing to give her marriage, a million and her father a real shot at a kidney.
Inject me with your poison…
I shake my head at her choice of words. Poison. I got some poison for her alright, and plenty of it.
“Okay,” Irving says trying to take back control of the meeting. “Shiloh, did you have any questions about anything in the contract?”
“What’s the point of asking questions when my sperm donor won’t answer any of them?”
Again, I look at her. Expressionless. It angers her that I show no emotion to her instigations.
“I have another question since it isn’t in the contract,” she says. “I need to make sure that if I get pregnant, Magnus won’t try to take away my parental rights.”
“I told you I wouldn’t,” I tell her.
“And I’m supposed to take your word for it? All you have to do is wave around your billions and get somebody to take my child away from me. I won’t allow it. I want it in writing,” she demands.
I
give Irving a single head nod, gesturing for him to make it happen.
“I’m adding it as we speak,” Irving says.
“Thank you,” she tells him.
I glance over at her. She was much quieter earlier (I liked her a lot then) but when she gets to running her mouth, she’s a force to be reckoned with. She’s nervous, I know, and since I need her to do this for me, I try not to rock the boat too much. I let her think she’s in control.
“Is there anything else I need to add before I print this off?” Irving asks.
I look at Shiloh.
She looks back at me.
“Anything else?” I ask her.
She flashes a fake smile. It disappears quickly. “I need to know how often you’ll attempt to knock me up. Once a week? Twice a month?”
I frown. I never liked the phrase ‘knocked up’ when it came to a woman getting pregnant. It sounded derogatory and took the beauty out of it. A pregnant woman is a beautiful woman. Having a body that’s magnificent enough to house a new life is a superpower. Men can’t do it. Only women. I used to marvel at Nicoletta’s growing belly when she was pregnant with my son. I’m sure I’ll do the same now with this child.
“See,” she says, crossing her arms, looking at Irving. “No answers.”
“Don’t use that term,” I tell her.
“What term?” she asks.
“Knocked up. That term, and we’ll talk about a schedule when we leave here.”
“Great.” She tightens her already crossed arms. Her glossy lips protrude outward.
I glance up at Irving. He’s grinning. “Uh…I’ma go ahead and print this,” he says.
“That’s fine,” I tell him.
Shiloh doesn’t say a word more. She sits there and silently protests.
Irving pulls the document that’s not even two pages long from his printer, then walks it over for final approval. Once I inspect it, I sign and hand it to Shiloh. She snatches the paper and scribbles her John Hancock in chicken scratch. I’m sure it’s not her true signature but it’ll work.
“Is that all?” she asks, looking directly at Irving.
“I do believe so,” he tells her.
