Billionaire Secrets of a Wanglorious Bastard

by Auld, Alexei

  The waitress said, “I'm sorry.”

  “Sorry ain't gonna cut it. You go and buy him a new shirt.”

  I stood up. “Don't worry about it.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. My clumsy, bumping hottie said, “No, it's my fault. Really.”

  “It's okay. Accidents happen.”

  “No, I owe you. Let me get you another shirt.”

  “You don't have to. Besides, I'm late.” I had to get out of there.

  But she followed. “Let me at least pay for the dry cleaning. I don't have the money on me now, but I can come by your work and pay for it.”

  Tully sucked his teeth. “You're lucky he don't sue you, being a fancy lawyer and all.”

  She said with a tremble in her voice, “A lawyer?”

  Tully fed off her fear. “Yup. And at Krueller too.”

  Her eyes bugged. Like she'd seen a ghost. I needed to control things. Say something calming. Relaxing. Something that would let her know everything is okay, without giving her an invitation.

  I said, “I have to go.”

  And I left.

  3

  I COULDN'T BELIEVE I’d come so close to doing something I'd regret. Unlike Lola, I felt something with her. I had an in with her. Some silly mistake that we could laugh about. A true bonding experience. Chocolate on my shirt instead of some online ad or patronage for Rhage.

  Of all places to find someone with whom I had chemistry, why did it have to be now? Why couldn't I have found it when I was in a different place?

  Who was I kidding? I'd probably bungle it, like I bungled everything. I was sure once I was working I probably wouldn’t—

  Work. My first day. I needed to change.

  My first day.

  4

  MOANING. PANTING. BLEATING.

  I had no clue what this warped, wizened weirdo of a woman was listening to. All I could see was that her nameplate read “Gladys Pitts,” which, strangely, was the name of the firm, “Krueller Pitts.” I didn't know if she was related to the original Piper Pitts, who founded the firm. Maybe that was why she could get away with what sounded to be animal porn on her Beats by Dre headphones that swallowed her tiny wrinkled face. I dared not look at her cell phone screen.

  But did anyway.

  And yep. It was what I thought and then some. I wished I had one of those Men In Black mind-eraser thingies. But I didn't, so I was fated to roam the earth for the rest of my days with the image of a goat gangbanging a farm girl.

  “Gladys” glared at me like I was interrupting her from something important. “Make yourself useful and get some fudge for Stack.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fudge for Stack.”

  “Fudge like?”

  “Butt Spooge. Small-size container. None of that industrial-sized crap.”

  “What?”

  “Look. It's your first day and you gotta earn your stripes. Now you can get them at CNGS on Thirty-Third and Fifth. Also, get me some Jujubes while you’re at it. Remember, small-sized. Not industrial.”

  Gladys tossed a twenty-dollar bill at me. Eyes still glued to the screen.

  What a first minute of my first day at work.

  5

  CNGS. SHORT FOR Cum N Get Sum. Sleazy porn store. I rushed through the aisles with an empty basket and bumped into a pimply-faced punk with a nametag that read “TIM,” struggling to open a large can of some porntastic crap.

  I said, “Excuse me, sir. Where is the-” I looked around and whispered, “—fudge?”

  He said, “What?”

  I raised my voice a half-notch. “Fudge.”

  He dug into his ear. “Speak up.”

  Forget that noise. I wrote him a note. He read it. Gave me a once-over and said, “Hold this for a minute.”

  The porntastic crap can. No way I was touching that.

  He tried handing it to me. I stepped back.

  He stepped forward. “Look, don't be all dainty. Just hold this.”

  I reluctantly took the can. Pinkies up.

  He read the note. And leered. “Oh. You want the Butt Spooge. I got some industrial size right here.”

  Soon as he grabbed a big old can, I shook my head. “I just need a small size.”

  He gazed skyward. Bit his inner cheek meat. “Well, I could pour you some of this. If I could only open this can.”

  He tried.

  And failed miserably.

  “Oh well. Let me find Budro. Maybe he can find a smaller one.”

  I followed him as he went to the back. I begrudgingly held the can.

  “Nope. He's not there either. Follow me.”

  He sauntered to the front. Grabbed an outrageously phallic microphone. Shouted. “Hey, Budro. We got a guy who needs. Who needs?” He scratched his neck beard. “I plum forgot. What is it again?”

  “I already wrote it.”

  “I lost the paper. So what is it?”

  I didn’t want to say. But what choice did I have? I whispered. “Butt Spooge.”

  “I can't hear you. Speak up.”

  This again? I raised my voice. “Butt Spooge.”

  He tried repeating it, but started to stutter. “Look, you take this—”

  He handed me the dong mike and said, “Tell Budro yourself.”

  No.

  “Look, it ain't gonna bite.”

  I reluctantly grabbed the mike with one hand, and he took the porntastic can back.

  “Tell Budro what you're looking for.”

  When in Rome. I said, “Budro. I'll have—”

  Tim struggled to open the can.

  “Budro, I'll have the Butt—”

  I couldn't do it. Neither could Tim. I mean, he couldn’t open the can. He tussled with it. Back to me and all. Not seeing my plight. Soon as I tapped him on the shoulder, the can exploded all over me. I felt like a bukkake victim. I said in the mike, “Butt Spooge.”

  A voice from afar said, “Aisle Five.”

  6

  I LIMPED DOWN the hallway of my new job. Brown paper bag in hand. Soaked in Butt Spooge and dried chocolate milk. I felt like a mouse finding its way in a wooden maze searching for the exit. So embarrassed, I couldn’t ask anyone the specific office location.

  So I ducked into a telephone closet and looked up the name Hugo Stack.

  While searching, I saw the most peculiar name.

  Had to be a typo. Who would name their child that? And even if a woman, raging with hormones, deigned to curse their child with that name, wouldn’t she or he change it? Especially as a lawyer?

  I mean, how would anyone get clients with that name?

  And he didn’t have an office number. Just the name “APT.” That couldn’t stand for apartment? Could it? Working from home? Must have been some kind of joke.

  Anywho, Hugo Stack was easy to find. Just two doors from where I was.

  His door was open. So I peeked in and saw a man on the phone in his sixties who looked like that loud guy from Seinfeld.

  He noticed me and waved me in.

  I entered and closed the door behind me.

  “Fuck that. Time is money. I'll be there in an hour.” He slammed the phone receiver. “You got my spooge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, bring it here, sweet cheeks.”

  Sweet cheeks? I froze. Was it a joke?

  “What's the matter? Think you're too good, homie? What do you think they hired you for?”

  I was baffled. “To do legal work?”

  He chortled. “A mailroom guy doing legal work? And I suppose you went to law school?”

  “Actually, I did.”

  He stared. Then laughed. “Whatever.”

  Now I was angry. I whipped out my transcript. Flashed it to him.

  He flashed, too. Once reading it, he flushed. Cleared his throat. Blushed. Wriggled in his chair. And uttered a nervous titter. “Well. Yes. I was just…just…testing. Yes, I was testing you on sexual harassment and hostile work environment. Well, go to Mabel down the hall an
d she'll give you an assignment.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “What?”

  “The test?”

  “What test?”

  I glared, and he got it. “Oh. That test. Yes.” He stretched out his hand. “You're certified and now know how not to treat coloreds and fillies. Welcome to Krueller.”

  7

  I FELT LIKE a victim at Krueller. No one would make eye contact with me. They were too busy reading papers, rushing down the hallway, or just plain snotty. Every three steps, someone gave me a package, confusing me for a mailroom worker.

  I must have circled the floor three times looking for a door with “Mabel” on it. I did not want to go back to Stack. I wanted to go back home and change. I stared at the floor.

  “You need help?”

  It was a woman who looked like a New Jersey housewife. Big hair. Big boobs. Big blobs of makeup caked on like a clown. Who was I to judge? She was the first who wanted to help me. I got over myself and smiled. “Yes. I'm looking for Mabel.”

  “She don't work here no more.”

  “Sorry. It's my first day and I was told.”

  “You was told wrong. Mailroom help, see Brenda.”

  “I'm not supposed to work in the mailroom.”

  “Really? What's your name?”

  “Rufus Wang.”

  She led me to an office with a placard that read “BRITNEY ORGIA” and scrambled through scattered folders, looking for something. “This is my first day as recruitment coordinator.”

  “What did you do before?”

  “Secretary.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It took a lot of cock for me to get the job. Now, let's see.”

  She found a folder and read. “Rufus Wang. Columbia Law. Impressive.”

  “It's nothing.”

  “You don’t have a practice group.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You didn't pick no area of specialty.”

  “I did. I'm supposed to work in the art law group with Goldberg and Helmsley.”

  “Goldberg and Helmsley haven't been with the firm for two months.”

  “What about the rest of the art law group?”

  “They took it and all of their clients with 'em to Olympus.”

  The Olympus Firm was the preeminent entertainment firm in the country. I didn’t bother interviewing there because they didn’t have Goldberg and Helmsley. Krueller previously promised me I would work with them, although I never met them and/or anyone in their practice group.

  “But the only reason I came here was to do arts law. If I knew it had dried up, I wouldn’t have picked.”

  “Wouldn't have picked what?”

  “I don't know what I'm going to do.”

  “Why not try a little work in different departments so's you get a feel for what you wanna do?”

  “How about pro bono from Lawyers Doing Bono? Can I take a pro bono case from them?”

  “You have to do normal billable work first.”

  “What do you have?”

  “Nothin' now. I'll take you to your sibling after the grip and grin.”

  “Grip and grin?”

  Britney took me on a tour of the firm and introduced me to lawyers, secretaries, and paralegals that all did the same thing: gripped my hand, introduced themselves with a grin, and then shook my hand.

  Unfortunately, all of the partners seemed leery of me. The expressions, tense body language, and apprehension suggested either fear or “the fuck is this guy doing here?”

  I knew I was in for a long day.

  8

  BRITNEY KNOCKED ON the door of an office three flights down from Stack. Which was heavenly. Not the office, I meant being so far away from Stack. It made the likelihood he’d grab me for some case or harassment that less likely.

  Answering Britney’s knock was a super-peppy woman who looked like an Olivia Pope wannabe. And I hated Scandal, so that wasn’t a good thing.

  Olivia Jr. bounced to me and waved. “Hi!”

  Britney said, “Xandra, this is Rufus.”

  I extended my hand and Xandra hugged me. A deep, long-lost friend kind of hug. I felt her boobs press up against me. Pretty big, too. Maybe Walker had interviewed her. “Brother! We'll be great siblings!”

  Brother? They were serious about this “sibling” shit? All I could muster? “I guess.”

  The hugging turned into rubbing. “It's my job to let you know what goes on in the firm.”

  I wasn't sure what that meant. “Thanks.” I tried freeing myself by stepping back.

  She wouldn't release her embrace. And I felt her nipples pop up. “You made the right choice coming here. This firm is the best. It's not like any other firm in the world.”

  “That's good to know.” I stepped to the left.

  She followed. Still hugging. “Partners care about you, and we do work so interesting you look at your watch and feel cheated you only have twenty-four hours in a day to do it!”

  I didn’t know which was worse. Being mugged by a hug or her pep. If I was in a different place, this would be great. Since I was taken, this had to end. So I stepped on her toe. “Sorry.”

  She yelped. I felt guilty until she smiled. “It is good. It's all good.” When Lola is the most normal person I'd met, you know something's wrong. So no, it wasn't all good.

  Something seemed to catch her eye. She stepped out of the office and called down the hall. “Rick? Can you come here, please?”

  “Rick” looked like a corporate tool. Too much hair gel. Too stiff in his suit. He rushed to Xandra. “What is it?”

  Xandra pulled me out of the office and pushed me into Rick. “This is Rufus. It's his—”

  Rick raised his hands, palms out. Trying to avoid a hug? “Look, I'm too busy to talk, okay?”

  He skedaddled away with a quickness I’d only seen in animal attack videos.

  I waved to him. “Nice to meet you too.”

  My “sibling” offered a most unwelcome shoulder rub. “Don't mind him. He's the firm's biggest biller. And my role model. You could learn a lot from him.”

  Her hand lingered and I shifted my body. “So, where's my office?”

  9

  WE MADE IT to my office. It would only comfortably fit one child-sized desk and computer set.

  Xandra put her hand on the small of my back. Weird. And led me to the computer.

  “Let me show you something.” She pointed to a timer that read “HOURS NEEDED: 100.”

  “This is your billing log.”

  “My what?”

  “The firm needs to make sure you're getting all of the experience you can get while you're here.”

  I guessed she was referencing what people complained about the summer firm experience versus post-graduation full-time working. There was a joke that the devil and God decided to give a man a choice of how they wanted to spend all eternity, and gave a preview. Heaven was full of people bowing to God and singing hymns. Hell was a party. The man picked hell, and upon his death, was shocked to see hellfire and brimstone, whips and chains, gnashing of teeth. “Wait a minute. This isn't what I was shown.” The devil laughed. “That was our summer program.”

  Xandra wanted to give me a preview.

  “Billables are our bread and butter. Every hour you work on a matter that is billable, you log it in. That information is then billed to the clients. Get it? Billed to the client, ergo, billables.”

  “How much do I get billed?”

  “You'll be a first year, so your rate will be two hundred and fifty an hour. You'd need to bill one hundred hours.”

  “How long will I have to complete them?”

  “The end of the week.”

  “It’s Wednesday.”

  She shot me a look that seemed to suggest I was the crazy one.

  “What happens if I didn't?”

  “Didn't what?”

  “Didn’t bill one hundred hours?”

  “A fair and equitable man will make
a fair and equitable decision.”

  “I’ll be fired?”

  She stared at the ground.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

  Her eyebrows rose and she pursed her lips.

  “What constitutes billing?”

  “Working on a matter for a client. For example, I billed six hours last night and three hours this morning.”

  “Doing what?”

  “When I woke up this morning I was thinking about a dream I had last night, and I realized it was about work. I slept for six hours, so I'm billing that.”

  “For realz?”

  “When I was getting ready for work, I was thinking about a case I'm working on and couldn't stop thinking about it until I got to work. I'm talking about the case right now to you, so I'm still billing.”

  “Let me get this straight. You bill when you think about the case, no matter how abstract, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And the client pays you two hundred and fifty dollars an hour for just thinking abstractly about the case.”

  “No. I get paid three hundred and fifty an hour. I'm a third year.”

  Britney skanked in. “Rufus, we need to finish the tour.”

  Xandra’s jaw dropped. “OMG. I am so sorry.”

  Britney waved her apology away. “Don’t worry yourself, hon.”

  Xandra dropped on her knees. Right at Britney’s feet. “So sorry. So sorry.”

  Britney stepped over her and summoned me to follow.

  I turned to see Xandra sobbing uncontrollably. Complete with body heaves.

  Note to self, find somewhere else to work after getting an offer. Maybe a Miami firm? Or somewhere that had a better lifestyle.

  10

  BRITNEY AND I waited outside an office with a placard that read “MASAHIRO KAWADA” in English and what I assumed to be Japanese kanji.

  I recognized it from all the Japanese movies, manga, puro, and MMA I watched over the years.

  A voice coming straight out of a Toshiro Mifune flick bellowed from the office. “Enter.”