Zillion

by Alexander Blackwood

  When I stood up I felt light-headed, barely tethered to the earth. Without a hint of inhibition, I reached out, slipped my hand between the folds of Reba's robe, and cupped her breast. So soft and hefty and warm. She made a breathy sound of surprise. Before I could caress the other, she gently removed my hand and tugged me forward.

  Instead of walking I seemed to float towards the bedroom. I felt yanking on my clothes and suddenly noticed Reba was undressing me. Pulling off my shirt. Unzipping my pants. I made no effort to help because, oddly, I felt outside myself. It was as if I were watching the entire scene from across the room. An instant later I was on the bed, my head sinking deep into the softest pillow I'd ever felt. I blinked and the room revolved slowly around me as if I were in the center of a whirling carousel. Just before the entire world went dark, the last thing I remembered seeing was Reba looming over me holding a syringe.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Mr. Grant, wake up!"

  I peeled open my eyes and saw Mr. Taft glaring down at me. "So this is your emergency, huh?"

  "What?" I blinked again and the hotel suite came into focus. Behind the hotel manager, a chambermaid stood beside her cleaning cart, watching from the doorway.

  Mr. Taft said, "When Marisol came and told me one of my doormen was sleeping in suite 645, I had to come see for myself. And what do you know, she was right."

  Now flashes of memory came rushing back. Reba and I drinking wine, Reba leading me to the bed, Reba beginning to undress me.

  "Well?" Mr. Taft said. "You want to explain what you're doing in this suite, naked in bed at eleven thirty in the morning?"

  At that instant, I realized he was right. I was completely naked beneath the sheets. Did Reba and I have sex? If so, why couldn't I remember? Why did I pass out?

  Mr. Taft gestured around the room as he continued. "Empty bottle of wine. Two used glasses, one stained with lipstick. Your clothes on the floor. I'll tell you what it looks like to me. You banged one of my guests then she checked out bright and early, leaving you to sleep off a hangover. That about right, Mr. Grant?"

  I tried to utter a denial, but my mouth felt incredibly dry as if I had gargled with a cup of sand. "I need water," I muttered.

  Mr. Taft smiled. "Sure." He went away and came back a minute later with a glass of water. As I reached for the glass, he tossed the water into my face. SPLASH! "You're fired. I want you out of my hotel in thirty minutes. And never come back!"

  CHAPTER SIX

  As I peddled north on Amsterdam Avenue towards home, the dulled fuzziness I felt since being rudely awakened by Taft began to fade. But as my head cleared, the shock and bafflement I felt increased proportionately. Not only had I lost a great job, a job I really needed, I lost it in the strangest way possible.

  I couldn't stop wondering what happened in that hotel room last night. Reba seemed genuinely nice and everything was going fine... right up until that second glass of wine. I was pretty sure that's when I began to feel off. And then there was the way Reba almost demanded I have that second drink. I didn't want to believe it, but no matter how I looked at it, only one thing made sense.

  Reba drugged me.

  But why? I don't have anything worth stealing. I still had both my kidneys, at least I was pretty sure I did. Why would a rich and beautiful woman drug me, Mathew Grant? The more I pondered the question, the more irrational my fears became. Maybe she recorded herself doing freaky stuff to my body and planned to upload the video to some fetish website. Maybe she performed weird experiments on me or implanted something that would force me to kill people, or even myself. But the same question kept rising to the surface.

  Why me?

  As I turned onto 106th street and coasted towards my building, I made a mental note to try to track Reba down online, but now I seriously doubted Reba was even her real name.

  I walked into my apartment and my roommate Wendall was where he always was, in his bedroom, parked in front of his desktop computer, either programming a video game or playing one. For someone who practically lived in a high-back chair and snacked on Combos and Diet Coke non-stop, he was in pretty good shape. I figured he must be one of those high metabolism types. Either that or he was secretly bulimic. Although he was only two years older than me, he kept his head clean shaved to hide his hair loss. His bald head along with the round glasses he always wore, gave him the look of a mad scientist.

  Eager to share my story with a sympathetic ear, I paused in his bedroom doorway and said, "Dude, you're not going to believe what happened to me last night."

  He replied without looking up from whatever he was doing on his computer. "I did notice you never came home. You get lucky or unlucky? If it's lucky, I want all the juicy details."

  "Actually, I met this-"

  "Wait." He pivoted in his chair to face me. "Before I forget. Rent's due next week and you're supposed to cover my half to make up for last month. Remember?"

  My gut went hollow. "Shit!"

  "Matt, come on. Don't tell me you forgot."

  "No. Well, yes, but that's not why-- Shit!"

  Wendell's eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me you don't have the money?"

  "I have my half and I planned to have the rest by the end of the week... but I was fired today."

  "Fired? Why?"

  I told Wendell about meeting Reba, waking up naked, and being busted by Taft. I added that I'd find a job as soon as I could, but he might have to cover my end of the rent for a month or two.

  In response, Wendell didn't say a word, he just pivoted back to his computer and began typing. A moment later the printer on his desk spit out a single sheet of paper. He nodded towards the printer and said, "That's for you."

  Puzzled, I plucked the still-warm sheet from the tray and read it.

  It was a 30-day eviction notice.

  I stared at Wendell in utter disbelief. He and I had been roommates for over three years. That didn't necessarily make us best buds, but I never would've expected him to treat me this way. While it was true, I had asked him to bail me out a few times in the past; I always repaid him in a timely fashion. Also, Wendell was pretty much loaded. Well, his parents were loaded, which was practically the same thing. They even owned our apartment, so really Wendell was just paying rent to his mom and dad. For this reason, it always irked me that he made a big deal about paying the rent on time. It was as if Wendell feared his parents would do to him, what he was now trying to do to me.

  "You're kicking me out?" I said. "Seriously?"

  "Yes, seriously. If you had just come clean and said you didn't have the cash we could've worked something out. But that story you just told me is insulting. Now you're just gaming me."

  "But I'm telling you the truth."

  "Let's see," he said, stroking his bald head. "A rich, beautiful older woman drugged you so that she could use you sexually? That's what you want me to believe?"

  "That's what happened. I think. Anyway, I know I was drugged for sure."

  Wendell's eyes narrowed. "Why you? If she's rich like you say she can score any boy toy she wants. Why go to the trouble of drugging you?"

  "I've been asking myself that same question all day. Maybe I'm her type. Or maybe seducing hotel workers is just her thing."

  Wendell laughed. "I like you, Matt, I truly do, but trying to take advantage of the fact that my parents own this place is not cool. I really think it's time for you to move--"

  A knock at the door interrupted my roomie's eviction speech.

  Wendell was a hardcore Amazon junkie, receiving no less than three or four packages a week. So when I crossed the living room and pulled open the door, I was expecting another delivery.

  It was not the UPS guy.

  Reba stood in the threshold in a black skirt suit, gripping a stylish briefcase. She smiled and said, "Remember me?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "I don't believe it," Wendell said to Reba. "You're real."

  Reba laughed. "Of course I'm real."

  We were n
ow all standing in the living room. Wendell was gawking at Reba as if she were Laura Croft come to life. He said to her, "When Matt told me he was drugged and used sexually by a rich older woman I just assumed he was bullshitting."

  "Dude!" I glared at Wendell. The fact that my roomie lacked a filter was usually good for a few laughs, but sometimes he went too far.

  "What?" Wendell replied. "That's what you told me, isn't it?"

  "For the record," Reba said. "Nothing sexual occurred last night between Mathew and me, but I did lead him on, and yes, I did slip something into his drink." She frowned at me. "Sorry about that."

  "Wait," I said. "You admit you drugged me?"

  "Don't worry. I used a very common sedative. Nothing harmful. There's a couple of mild side effects, like dry mouth, but it clears up quickly. How do you feel?"

  Physically I felt fine, but my mind was doing backflips. "I'm okay now... but why'd you do it?"

  "I'd prefer if you and I discussed that alone."

  "Aww, come on," Wendell said. "This is too damn freaky. I gotta know what this is all about."

  Reba said to Wendell, "I'm almost certain Mathew will choose to share with you later, but in the meantime I have something to keep you entertained." She pulled a business-sized envelope from her briefcase and handed it to him.

  Wendell stared puzzled at the blank envelope. "What is it?"

  "Only one way to find out," Reba said with a mysterious smile.

  After a moment's hesitation, Wendell ripped open the envelope and withdrew what looked like a rectangular slip of blank paper. He gasped. "Holy shit!" Hands trembling, he turned it so I could what was printed on the other side.

  It was a cashier's check for fifty thousand dollars, made out to WENDELL JENKINS.

  Mouth agape, Wendell turned to Reba. "Is this real?"

  "Of course it's real," she said. "Why would I give you a fake check?"

  That was it. I was a patient, level headed, open minded guy, but I couldn't take any more of Reba's games. Not when it resulted in me losing my job while Wendell pocketed fifty grand. I said to her, "Why would you give him a check at all? How do you even know his name? What are you doing? What is this, some sort of con?"

  Ignoring my impatience, Reba said to Wendell, "Do you recall responding to an ad three months ago regarding the search for a missing person?"

  Wendell scratched his dome as he searched his memory. "Oh, yeah. The ad said they were searching for a guy with weird colored eyes, so as a goof I submitted-" Wendell gaped at me. "Dude, I submitted your name."

  "What?" Suddenly Reba's reaction to my eye condition flashed in my mind.

  Reba said to Wendell, "Do you remember what else the ad said?"

  "Yeah. There was a reward. Fifty thousand dollars for information leading to the discovery of the missing person." Wendall smiled at the check, then stared at me as if seeing me for the first time. "Matt, what's going on? Are you like a fugitive from the law or something?"

  "No," I replied immediately, but at the same time I was struck with a wave of uncertainty. I rifled my memory for anything I might have done that would justify someone putting a fifty thousand dollar bounty on my head. But other than being late on my taxes once or twice, there was nothing. I turned to Reba. "Listen, lady, I don't know who you think I am, but you've made some sort of mistake."

  "Impossible," she replied with utmost confidence. "You're definitely the young man I've been searching for. After all, DNA doesn't lie."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "That's why you lured me to your suite and drugged me? To take a swab of my DNA?"

  Reba nodded. "I also took facial measurements and macro photos of your irises and birthmarks."

  "Facial measurements?"

  "Shhh." Reba pressed a finger to her lips, reminding me to keep my voice down.

  We were seated side-by-side on my unmade bed. Although my bedroom door was closed, Reba insisted we speak in whispers in case Wendell became bored of staring at his reward check and decided to eavesdrop.

  Reba continued, "I had everything tested this morning... and they're all a perfect match."

  "A match for what?" But even as I voiced the question I recalled Reba's keen interest in my adoption. I remembered the way she pressed me for details. Suddenly I was pretty sure I knew who Reba was and why she was searching for me. I said to her, "This is about my adoption, isn't it?"

  Reba smiled and nodded. "Yes... it is."

  "What are you, a private investigator?"

  "Sometimes."

  "Working for who? My birth parents?"

  She thought about it a second then said, "In a manner of speaking, I am. Yes."

  It surprised me that she answered my last question so casually. I assumed the purpose of the search and reward was to reunite me with my birth parents, so why wasn't she forthcoming with information? Why wasn't she pulling out photos and telling me how eager they were to meet me? She was holding back something more significant, but what?

  "Why are you being so vague?" I asked. "You've done your tests on me. We're alone. What is it you're not telling me?"

  Reba sighed. "I'm sorry. The thing is, this is not an easy thing to tell someone. You'd think it would be, but some things are so life-changing that--"

  "Lady, you're freaking me out."

  "Sorry." Reba took a centering breath then said, "Let me ask you a question. Have you ever heard of Max Zillion?"

  I laughed. That was like asking if I'd heard of Houdini or Michael Jackson. Before he died, Max Zillion was one of the richest men in the world, and also one of the most extravagant. He prided himself on doing everything bigger and better than everyone else. Unbelievable photos of his massive homes, luxury car collections, jets, and yachts still circulated the internet. "Of course I've heard of Zillion," I said. "Who hasn't?"

  "Do you know what happened to him?"

  "Kind of. He disappeared or something. In a plane crash, right? Years ago."

  "Eighteen years to be exact. Max and Racine Zillion's private jet crashed into the Pacific and was never found. Do you know what they were doing when they disappeared?"

  I thought about it. I remembered seeing the occasional story about their disappearance on TV, but I wasn't sure of the details. I shook my head. "No, not really."

  Reba dropped her voice even lower. "I'll give you a clue. Some call it the crime of the century."

  "That's right," I said. Then it came to me. "Their baby was kidnapped. They were searching for their son."

  "Correct. And although Mr. and Mrs. Zillion are gone, their estate has never stopped searching for their lost son." She paused and pinned me with joyful eyes. "Not until today."

  My heart thudded in my chest. "You mean... me? But--"

  Reba took my hand into hers and continued. "Your unique iris pattern, your birthmarks, your facial structure, and most importantly your DNA, all match the Zillions' missing son. Your name isn't really Mathew Grant, it's Arthur Zillion, Jr. You are the sole legitimate heir to an estate worth 102 billion dollars, which makes you the third richest man in the world."

  My breathing hitched and the room tilted sharply. The carpeted floor smacked the side of my face and everything went black.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I awoke in a luxurious wood-paneled bedroom beneath silky smooth sheets. The opaque curtains were closed, leaving the room dimly lit. Soft music played, and a pleasant flowery scent infused the air.

  My clothing had been replaced by midnight blue silk pajamas. The glitter gold monogram Z embroidered over my left chest matched the large golden Z plaque at the center of the bed's massive headboard. Both symbols served to remind me of the insane turn my life had just taken.

  Max Zillion was my birth father, and I was now a billionaire. Just thinking about it made my head swim. I'd more quickly believe I was the subject of an insanely intricate practical joke, if not for Reba's thoroughness.

  As I continued to take in my new surroundings, I wondered where Reba was and where had she taken m
e. As if my thoughts had been read, a gentle knock at the door disrupted the room's peacefulness.

  "Come in," I said.

  When the door swung open I expected Reba to enter, but instead, I stared at an angel.

  She was blonde, slender yet busty, and her face classically beautiful with light blue eyes. She wore a tiny, cleavage-friendly white tank top, and matching skin-tight yoga pants.

  In one hand she held a rolled towel, in the other a caddy containing small bottles of various colors.

  She approached my bed flashing a perfect smile. "It's good to see you awake, Mr. Zillion. My name is Topaz."

  "Cool. Like your eyes."

  "Yes," she said with a nod. "I'm here to give you a massage. Please remove your pajamas and underwear."

  I couldn't help laughing. "A massage? Right this second? Are you serious?"

  "Yes, Mr. Zillion. Your doctor requested a thirty minute light massage to relieve tension. I can undress you if you like." She peeled back the sheets and began unbuttoning my pajama top. Topaz was so close now that I could smell her floral scented perfume. The last thing I wanted to do was stop her, but this was a little nuts.

  "Hold on," I said.

  Topaz immediately stood back up.

  "Listen, a massage sounds great, especially from you, but first I'd like some answers. Like where am I?"

  Her brow tightened. "You're in your bedroom, Mr. Zillion."

  "I know that. I mean where? Like what city? How'd I even get here? And who's this doctor you mentioned?"

  "Doctor Kazue is one of your personal physicians, sir."

  "One of them? How many do I have?"

  Topaz shrugged. "I don't know the answer to that question, sir. If you like, after your massage, I can summon your executive assistant. I'm sure she can answer all your questions."

  "Who's my executive assistant?"

  "Rebecca Hart, sir."

  "You mean, Reba?"

  Topaz nodded. "Yes, sir."

  I was beginning to wonder exactly how long I'd been out. I already had a team of private doctors and an executive assistant, not to mention an incredibly beautiful private masseuse. Apparently, the world spun much faster for billionaires.