by Samson Weld
The clerk was busy with a client so the two New Yorkers stood in retreat, fidgeting next to their luggage. The silence between them was almost uncomfortable. That in itself felt strange since they had been friends for so long. Nick felt as if they were drifting apart. Then again, it was inevitable since Stanley was now a married man. They had less and less in common.
They mechanically checked their phones—the usual emails from work and Facebook notifications. After a while, Nick grew tired of the small screen.
He said, "Did you know that cranberry companies hire basketball players to test for ripeness?"
"The hell?"
"That's how you can tell if cranberries are ripe. You can dribble them like a basketball."
"Bullshit," Stanley snorted.
"Swear to God. Read that somewhere."
“Good to know in case I ever get shipwrecked on a cranberry farm. Oh, and what kind of idiot spends his free time learning useless trivia like that anyway?”
At that, Nick offered his hand to him. “Hi, I’m Nick Eversull, nice to meet you.”
They laughed and the customer in front of them finally moved away. They stepped up to the counter and a middle-aged man in an immaculate black suit looked up at them as he took the clerk’s place. He was an assistant manager, often on weekend duties, and he brightened at the sight of Nick.
“Mr. Eversull, how good to see you! Welcome to Montreal.”
“Thank you, Henri.”
“I see the suit, here on business this time?”
“What’s business without pleasure?”
Henri smirked knowingly. “Of course. I see your usual room has been prepared for you. The other room you requested is just down the hall.”
They went through the process of signing in and when it was time to print out the keycards, the machine jammed.
“It will be just a moment,” the manager assured them, stepping aside.
Nick and his colleague turned around as they waited. They spotted a man in the middle of the lobby. Just on the dark side of fifty, he was tall and impeccably dressed. He was surrounded by three cronies who were laughing just a little too hard at his jokes. Very few people didn’t know who he was.
“What’s he doing here?” Nick asked.
“Probably buying the hotel.”
“I thought he was only a corporate raider.”
Stanley shrugged. “Hey, he’s William Aylward, man. He does whatever he wants. If he wants to buy a hotel, he buys a hotel. If he wants to eat lunch in Tahiti, he takes his plane and flies over. If he wants to drink fresh virgin blood, he opens the fridge.”
“It’s great to be a billionaire.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“All people with money are not assholes. Look at me.”
“Case in point.” They both chuckled. “I met Aylward once,” Stanley said dismissively. “Remember, job interview? Believe me, he’s an asshole.”
Henri returned and signaled to them that the keys were ready.
~ ~ ~ ~
Once they were settled in, they both met downstairs in the lobby bar. They sat at the counter and ordered sandwiches. While he waited, Nick pulled out his cell phone, browsed the Internet, and found the number he wanted. He dialed it.
“Yeah, hi. This is Nick from New York, we exchanged e-mails last week. I’m just calling to let you know I’m in town, at the Vu3 as promised. Everything is perfect on my end and I look forward to meeting with Suzy tonight at ten. I’m in room three twenty-five.”
He put his phone away and barely noticed Stanley looking at him with an incredulous expression.
“I can’t believe you, man.”
“What?” Nick asked innocently.
“You just danced the mattress polka this morning and you’re gonna do it again tonight?”
“You better believe it.”
“You must have the highest libido ever.”
Nick shrugged. “It’s not just about sex, Stanley. It’s a hobby.”
“I like fly-fishing myself.”
The soft drinks and sandwiches arrived. Nick wanted to explain himself and he waited for the bartender to move away.
“It’s really a hobby.”
Stanley rolled his eyes. “Bullshit. You’re just calling hookers to your room.”
“No,” Nick replied, shaking his head. “It’s more than that. It’s a… passion.”
“If you weren’t my best friend, I'd say that it’s disgusting. I mean, sure, no red-blooded American is against the possibility of nailing a great piece of ass, but what you’re telling me is that you get your jollies off ordering girls like pizza.”
“It’s not like that, man,” Nick said. “Seriously, we’re thousands out there doing this. It’s about the thrill of the hunt, the pleasure you get when meeting a girl that surpasses all your expectations.”
“Don’t tell me it’s not about sex, Nick.”
“Okay, it’s a little about sex.”
“So what, you’re into kinky shit?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“And why do you do it? What’s the point of hiring hookers…”
“Escorts.”
“Whatever,” Stanley said, chewing on a couple of crispy fries. “What’s the point if they don’t do anything your run-of-the-mill Staten Island receptionist won’t already do?”
“It’s, I don’t know, different. But it’s worth it. It beats dating, man.”
“I doubt that.”
“Think about it, Stanley. Think about what it costs cruising bars, taking girls out on dates. You go to a dinner, a movie, the most you get is a kiss and if you’re lucky she says ‘let’s do it again sometime.’ You have to do the social dance, play your cards right, send flowers. And while this is going on, nobody’s getting laid. You know what the dating scene is like, man.”
“Well, not me. I’m married, remember?”
“You get the picture.”
“You could use apps. You know, like Tinder.”
“It’s the same as dating.”
“It’s more socially acceptable.”
Nick shook his head, knowing he was right in theory although not in practice.
“You don’t have to impress anyone with escorts. A couple hours of hot steamy sex and then she leaves you alone. You don’t have to talk about your feelings and you don’t have to see her again if you don’t feel like it.”
“All fun, no guilt.”
Stanley split open his sandwich and unceremoniously picked off the tomatoes.
“What’s that?” Nick asked.
“In some circles, they call them tomatoes.”
“It’s the best part.”
He reached over and snatched the discarded slices from his friend’s plate. He inserted them into his own sandwich. Right then, a gorgeous slender woman walked over to them. She beamed at Nick and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Salut, mon beau.”
“Melanie! It’s good to see you,” Nick replied with a smile of his own. “I didn’t know you worked the bar here.”
“I’m not,” she said, in English this time. She had a charming French Canadian accent. “I’m meeting a client in a few minutes. Call me, it’s been too long.”
“Okay, I might do that.”
She walked to the far end of the room where she was greeted by an elderly gentleman in a tailor made suit.
“Who was that?” Stanley asked, finally turning back toward his colleague.
“Melanie. Great girl, has a sex drive like a Ferrari. Some Japanese guy recommended her to me last year.”
“Japanese guy? You know other people who do this… hobby?”
“Sure, there’s a bunch of discussion boards on the Internet. We share information, who’s worth the visit, who isn’t, hidden gems, that sort of thing.”
“Are you shitting me? Yelp reviews for hookers.”
“Pretty much. That’s how I discovered that Montreal is the hobby’s Mecca, best bang for the buck. In my circles, we actu
ally call it Mecca.”
“Really?”
“Bangkok and Buenos Aires are good too, but it’s too long to fly over. Montreal ladies aren’t too expensive and they’re a lot more liberal than American chicks.”
“What’s the worst place?”
“Vegas. They quote you two thousand an hour and you can barely touch them. But I guess it could be worse?”
“How?”
“You and me could be working right now.”
At that, they both shared a chuckle.
Chapter 4
The offices of Hozalex Solutions were located in a downtown high-rise. The building itself had been built in the seventies and was made more of concrete than glass. It almost looked Soviet, especially compared to its sleek or majestic neighbors. It was therefore not a prestigious address in the Montreal business community.
That said, Hozalex Solutions had decorated its single floor in a way that was modern and tasteful. A designer with her own show on HGTV had been hired to decorate the place. There were frosted glass partitions, brass moldings, exposed brick walls, not to mention artwork from emerging artists. The company had been featured in two magazines because of its style. And seven blogs.
The company itself wasn’t too glamorous. It focused on developing software for specialized corporations. One day it could provide the structure for an automated production chain in Mexico and the next it could write an algorithm for a new casino surveillance system. What set the business apart though was that most of the actual coding was outsourced to smaller outfits in China or India.
There were only three people in the conference room: Nick, Stanley, and David Helmbold. The latter was fifty-eight years old and looked twice that. He was gaunt and pale and almost completely bald. He pointed at the long table which was entirely covered with stacks and stacks of files.
“This is it, the entire history of Hozalex Solutions. You’ll find bank records, insurance files, and payrolls. The company’s investments are on this side and next to it you’ll find our business projections, clients, and assets.”
“Mr. Helmbold…”
“David, please.”
Nick nodded. “Rest assured we have absolutely no agenda concerning this. Our mothership in New York invests in companies like yours that need funding. If we find that you guys are turning a profit, that you run a sound business, my boss will gladly write you a check.”
“Don’t worry David,” Stanley pitched in. “Your company and ours have been in business for a year already. If nothing’s changed since last year, everything should go as smooth as canned peaches.”
Helmbold smiled faintly and took a few steps toward the open door. He waved somebody in. Within seconds, a woman in her early thirties entered. In her black high heels, she was as tall as Nick and from her charcoal two-piece suit he pegged her as a career woman on the rise. She was holding her head high as if she wanted to make extra sure that she wouldn’t be underestimated.
Extra sure that she wouldn’t be mistaken for a secretary.
Nick had met his share of women like that. He couldn’t fault her early. She probably had to work twice as hard to get to the same level as colleagues. It was just that after years of witnessing the behavior he could now anticipate it, and he found that humorous.
“This is Anne-Marie Lambert, our chief administrator. She’ll assist you with your investigation. If you need anything, she’s your girl.”
She almost completely managed not to cringe when he said the word girl.
He nodded goodbye and left the room. Anne-Marie stepped forward and shook hands with the two New Yorkers.
“Nice meeting you both,” she said with the faintest French accent.
Nick smirked almost lecherously. “The pleasure’s all ours, believe me.”
“Isn’t it a little early in the day to start flirting?”
He was taken aback that she had read to him so quickly, but he composed himself.
“There’s no such thing as too early. There could be an earthquake, a riot, or I could simply fall down from a stroke, and where would that leave me? In the hospital without a date, that’s where. I don’t take those kinds of the chances.”
Stanley turned his head to hide a snicker.
“What makes you think I’d stay by your bedside?”
“Your boss wants my company’s money and that means he’s going to try and please us.”
“That’s your explanation?”
Taking a step forward, Nick lifted his hand to rationally count on his fingers.
“In order to please us, he’ll send someone to pamper us. I’m sure there was a mid-level drone available today to help us, but he was fat, hairy, and sweaty. On the other hand, you’re attractive and probably available.”
She was simultaneously pissed and amused by his explanation. She said, “Very presumptuous of you.”
“So if I go to the hospital, there won’t be a boyfriend keeping you from my bedside. I make my living analyzing situations, Anne-Marie. And they say I’m the best.”
She shook her head, disbelieving this guy’s nerve. In the end though, she couldn’t suppress a smile.
“All right, maybe we should get started on these documents if you want to have a decision ready by Monday at noon.”
They all sat down, booted up computers, and opened some files. Nick and Anne-Marie exchanged furtive glances which were not lost on Stanley.
~ ~ ~ ~
Across the street from the Hozalex Solutions offices, Xavier came out of a convenience store. In New York City, they called them bodegas. Here it was a dépanneur, or dep for short. Even the Anglos used the French word.
No one paid attention to the rough-looking man. He was just another anonymous guy in a place that didn’t judge you for what you wanted or what you looked like. He had a can of Red Bull in one hand, a tabloid newspaper folded up under his arm, and a phone clutched to his ear.
“I have Bella who would fit your needs perfectly,” he said with a smooth business voice infused with salesmanship. “She’s nineteen, five foot three, thirty-four D. She’s absolutely beautiful, I promise.”
He took a swig of his energy drink and looked around instinctively before resuming the conversation.
“Oh yeah, she sucks without a rubber and if the feedback I get is anything to go by, she’s the most skillful in my stable.” A beat as he listened to the reply. “Great. What hotel are you staying at?”
He looked at his watch and tapped the address into the phone.
“I can have her at your door within twenty minutes. If you’re not satisfied with what you see, just turn her away, no questions asked.”
He hung up and walked to the curb where his rusting minivan was parked. His Mercedes was safely at home. He slid open the rear door. Two of his girls were in the back, dressed in tasteless garments and smoking cigarettes. Xavier turned to the flat-chested, ugliest, and most overweight of the two.
“You’re working today, Bella. If the guy turns you away, say the cancellation fee is fifty bucks. And try not speaking any English, these tourists love that shit, makes you look exotic.”
He shut the door, rounded the car, and was about to get behind the wheel when his eyes wandered across the street. His gaze locked onto someone getting out of the building. He peered closer in recognition.
“Motherfucker, I can’t believe it...”
Enraged by what he saw, he threw his can of Red Bull on the pavement, making it explode before a car drove over it.
The man he was looking at was definitely Nick Eversull.
Chapter 5
Nick loved the restaurants in Montreal, but it took some getting used to.
It wasn’t the food, which was liable to be five-star quality on any street corner. Even the local fast food tended to be a cut above. In fact, one of the things that made cuisine so trendy here was the special breed of their customers.
As he’d once heard some culinary expert say, it wasn’t so much the high caliber of the dishes or ch
efs, but rather that Montreal customers were willing to try just about anything. Teenagers here had no qualms about trying foie gras or some exotic fish marinated in wild mushrooms paste. This gave freedom to chefs who wanted to experiment and let their creativity run wild.
What Nick enjoyed the most was the atmosphere. Whereas, in the States, people only went to restaurants to eat and were in a hurry to leave, here they went to socialize. The servers didn’t ask if you wanted appetizers just as you sat down, without having even glanced at the menu, as they did back home. They gave you space. It was completely normal to spend two hours or more just hanging out with friends, eating, drinking.
It couldn’t be more perfect right now. He and Anne-Marie were in a small St. Laurent Boulevard bistro she had recommended. The lights were dimmed and the place was crowded. Everywhere around them people were chatting animatedly. He heard mostly French, but there were English conversations peppered throughout. Arabic and Greek too.
He couldn’t help thinking about Stanley. His colleague had admitted to his desire to stay at the hotel. He could picture him right now eating a room-service dinner while watching mind-numbing infomercials on TV, or maybe a movie he had seen three times already on HBO.
It was his loss, really. Nick had recommended three different restaurants to him and had even proposed to help with the reservations. He’d been coming to this city for a while and felt like he had some pull with the maître d’s. Still, Stanley decided to stick with his plan.
Nick promptly forgot about him as a waiter came over with drinks. He set down a martini in front of Anne-Marie before placing a scotch in front of Nick. He thanked the young server with a curt smile and waited for him to leave before speaking.
“Thanks for accompanying me tonight.”
Anne-Marie shrugged. “Eating is a vital part of life.”
“You know, I don’t usually do this.”
“What?” Anne-Marie asked.
“Invite strange girls to dinner.”
That made her chuckle, a mixture of mockery and disbelief. “I’m sure.”
