by Romi Hart
Well, maybe this Valentine’s Day will be different. Maybe this time I’ll win. Maybe this year, I will meet the Right One…the one man who is my “Maximilian von Heune” but in real life!
And if I have my wish, the one and only will be Zander Troy.
* * *
“Ugh!” my portly father says, as both my parents scurry around the kitchen, having prepared dinner. “Are you talking about Zander Troy again?” He shakes his head, as if trying to understand why I would do something so physically unhealthy as obsess over such an Evil Man.
“I was just saying!” I laugh. “He’s what I consider an attractive man. I’m not saying I would like marry him or anything.”
Mom interjects, grabbing her graying hair in terror at the thought. “Well he’s not the marrying kind! You deserve a man who will cherish you and marry you! Zander is a total skirt chaser from what I’ve read.”
“He’s horrible!” Dad says, as if Zander was actually a serious option in my life. “Have you heard the way he treats women? He’s a very ugly man. Well, mentally and emotionally I mean.”
I guffaw at the thought. “But physically he’s okay, Dad? Right, is that what you mean?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know. He’s not ugly. He’s better looking than the Elephant Man, at least.”
“That, he is!”
Speaking, of course, of Zander Troy’s gorgeous, movie-star-meets-warrior-king face. His eyes are voracious. His skin is perfectly tan; his lips soft, in deep contrast to the strong lines of his face. His hair is jet-black but wavy and he has just a spot of rough shadow on his chin and upper lip. He looks at the world the same way he looks at women. With his chin held high and a “what can you do for me?” taunt.
Everything in my skin changes when I think of him. And the fact that my parents hate him, well, that only helps. But I’m well aware the odds of me actually meeting billionaire-playboy Zander Troy are depressingly low.
“I know you’ll probably never meet him,” Mom says with a smiling headshake, “but just the thought of you crushing on him is unsettling.”
“Why’s that? Didn’t you fantasize about Rock Hudson or something?”
“About Robert Redford, thank you!” Mom says with a grin.
“It’s just that the boys that are considered attractive today are such jackasses,” Dad says without a smile. “They have no honor anymore.”
“Yeah but you never stood a chance with Robert Redford, Ma. You just liked the idea of him, right? Well, that’s all it is with Zander and I. I just like the idea of such a handsome…rich…really mean-looking guy.”
“Ugh!” Dad says, going back to reading his paper.
“But the problem is, baby,” Mom says, “once you put it into your head that you want somebody…you know, you draw that negative energy to you.”
“What?”
“Yes, the energy you put into it, is given back to you. You focus your mind on a bad boy, before you know it you start looking for it. And it finds you.”
“Dad, what is Mom talking about?”
“I dunno…”
“I’m just saying!”
“You mean like, if I wish for Zander Troy, the universe will help me find him? Well heck, I am so going to wish for that right now! Send me Zander Troy for Valentine’s Day, Universe!”
Mom laughs but continues her dire warning. “I don’t mean that literally. I just mean once you decide for yourself that you want a bad guy, a mean person, someone who takes advantage of you…you basically decide that’s what you want. Maybe you’ll never meet Zander. But maybe you’ll meet some other guy who disrespects you and fall for him. You see what I mean?”
“Ah, I see. Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve turned down a lot of guys. Bad boys, you might say. I’m waiting for something better than average.”
“Good.”
“I’m waiting for Zander,” I say with a laugh.
“You are not! You know money isn’t everything.”
“Oh goodness, Mother. It’s not just about the money. He’s just so…”
“So what?”
“He’s a powerful guy. And you know, he actually does really good things. Like stop global warming events? He believes in stuff. Not a lot of guys are so…ambitious.”
“Oh please,” Mom says. “Rich guys will say anything to make women think they’re something special. All he cares about is…well…you know! Getting into your pants!”
“Who hasn’t heard of Troy and his gambling?” Dad scoffs. “His womanizing, all-night partying. And cheating people out of money. How do you think those rich families stay rich?”
“He isn’t like that!” I say defensively. My parents mean well but they don’t know any better. To them and their old-fashioned values, the idea of Zander Troy is offensive. Because good men don’t swing. Good men don’t get stoned and drunk. And most of all, good men aren’t supposed to know how much they’re worth!
* * *
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Everybody in high school forces you to become a cliché. So it’s no surprise that even after I graduated, I still kept the label they all gave me. Catholic School Girl. Guilt-ridden, horny as hell, and never as strong as I think I should be. I forgo therapy not just because telling your problems to an old dude is expensive nowadays…but also because a psych doctor is just not as good as a Catholic priest at making me feel alive.
I enjoy listening to the holy silences inside the confessional. There is something very intimate about a quiet, dark room.
“How long has it been since your last confession?”
“I dunno. Months…pretty long time.”
“What has kept you away, my child?”
“I guess I’m just a bad girl,” I say, struggling not to laugh. I must be the Devil’s child, since I actually get more excited confessing my sins than committing sins. Obviously, since I’m probably still more pure than this priest!
“What is your confession?”
“I uh…well, I am mostly a good person. I still love my parents. I don’t go to church much, but I try to do good for the world. I don’t blaspheme or anything like that, you know.”
“But your mind is not content,” he says, wisely discerning lust is my downfall.
“I have very, very dirty thoughts. Like constantly. I’m still a virgin, but god, I just don’t know how much longer I can last.”
“Don’t you want to be clean for your husband on your wedding night?”
“I dunno…honestly, you know, I think my husband should love me regardless of that. I’m confessing to you because I’m saying, I really don’t think I can last much longer. I do want my first time to be special but I know I can’t hold out forever. Sometimes I look at men…lustfully, you know? Like the way no girl should ever look at a man.”
“That is quite a confession,” he says with a gulp.
“I know it’s a sin and I’m sorry. But all I can do is wait until the right man comes along. Someone special. I’m not going to cheapen the experience just because I’m weak.”
“Well…that’s something, I guess,” he mumbles.
“And it really sucks that I haven’t found him yet and that I’m going to be alone on Valentine’s Day. That part always hurts.”
“Maybe patience builds character,” he says.
“Well, I don’t have a boyfriend. BUT…I do have someone I really like.”
“Is he Catholic?” the priest says in very subtle sarcasm.
“Well…I assume,” I say with a forced smile. “He is a good person, has a good heart. I don’t know if we’ll ever be together. But I sure hope so.”
“Well maybe if he likes you, he would wait for you. Until marriage.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. Zander Troy is not really the marrying type.”
“Zander Troy?” he says, suddenly very abrupt. “Zander Troy is not Catholic! Zander is a horrible, immoral man!”
I sigh.
“No, no, child.
Don’t idolize such a conniving, devilish man. He will use you and defile you and throw you to the dogs!”
“Well, gee, Father, thanks for being so understanding.”
“That man is bad news. He doesn’t deserve a woman of purity. He fills his towers with drugs and prostitutes!”
“Okay, okay, I get it.”
“You marry yourself a nice young boy, one who fears God. You stay clear of that psychopath!”
“Look, it’s not like we’ll ever meet in person!” I say, stifling laughter.
“Good thing, too. Because the DEVIL wants to corrupt beautiful young girls. And the more innocent you are, the more people like Zander Troy will seek to destroy you!”
I left the confessional, my mind racing. Oh sure, the priest flipped out and scolded me for even thinking of choosing Zander as my first time. But the idea that he actually thought Zander would like me…wow! That was making my head spin. Could he ever like a simple girl like me? He dates supermodels…movie stars…the most gorgeous girls from all over the world! Could he ever want someone as little as me?
Maybe Mom was right. Maybe the Universe was pushing him towards me. Oh forgive me, Father, because I’m living in sin and it’s not my heart that’s thumping.
2
Zander
I always feel out of place. Whether it’s dinner with family, drinking with friends, or even attending one of these charity events for Preserving Democracy, I never feel comfortable. There’s never a moment where I can sit back and bask in the glow of community. It always feels like I’m a wolf sneaking around the chicken coop.
I smile, mouth shut, big grin, like I’m ready to explode into waves of awkward energy. The camera flashes. More people wanting my picture. They don’t know me. They know I have money, that I can fund their projects or single-handedly put their name in the news. But beyond my influence, they have no idea who I am. And I can’t imagine speaking more than five words to any of these people in an in-depth honest-to-goodness conversation.
You know, man to man, or man to woman, and not B2B or seller to buyer. All the world is, is insincere corporate nonsense. And of course my name is synonymous with all that greed. My father and his father built these companies, built the brand, so that our descendants could be GREAT. We are the elite, the rulers of the free world. It’s an obligation I ought to be taking seriously. And yet here I am, just wanting to run away to a beach somewhere on an abandoned island.
“Hello, Mister Troy!” a man with a firm-handshake tells me, looking right through me, probably sizing me up for how big of a grant I could give him.
“Hey,” I say with a weak smile, assuming I met him somewhere before. I just forgot where.
“Hello, Mister Troy!” another man says, grabbing my hand as soon as the other fool lets go of it.
“Mister Troy!” an older woman says, tilting her head. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Yes…I mean…it’s an honor to meet you, too,” I say with a grin.
“I can’t wait to collaborate with you, Mister Troy,” she says with a firm nod.
I can’t wait to collaborate with you, too, I think to myself, checking out her massive boobs. She may be in her fifties, but I could teach this dingbat a few tricks.
God, what is wrong with me? I can’t even get through one conversation without thinking of fucking my business colleagues. I must be overworked. Lately, all I can think about is getting away from everything polite and kind…
“Hello!” another girl says.
“Hey!” I smile back. Yes, getting away from THIS. This horrible simulation of human conversation. These boring meetings about product placement and mergers. I swear to god, I just want to disappear from this earth...
I nod at the girl, letting the idiot know it’s time to let go of the handshake already. I move onto the next guy, some dufus in a suit. This is going to be a long and unforgiving night, isn’t it?
Christ…I feel like I’m back working the cash register at Walganic, my first pharmacy job that Dad insisted I take so I could learn humility. It was 9:15 in the morning and it felt like I had already waited on fifty customers. Just seven more hours of this shit…just seven more hours, that’s what I used to say.
* * *
“Hey kid,” David Zalaya whispers to me, waking me from a power nap. Nap? Or is this nighttime? Or morning? What time is it anyway?
“Wake up, sunshine. It’s ten o’clock in the morning. You look like you never even went to bed last night. Have you heard?” David says with an evil grin.
“No…what?”
David’s been my longtime business mentor ever since Dad died. He’s been training me since I was a ten-year-old scamp. Now, twenty years later, he knows it’s his job to give me all the bad news first and the good news second…if necessary at all. It’s hard not to listen when his wrinkled face and spiky gray-hair convulse in merriment. Even his little black suit seems extra chipper today. Damn fool is so happy all the time…even in the worst of times.
“Remember that party you went to two days ago?”
“Barely…I go to some ridiculous charity event every goddamned day. How am I expected to remember…?”
“Well you made a great impression, kid. Check out the paper.”
David hands me a newspaper, letting me see for myself the headline.
Local Female Journalist Protests “Sexist Pig” Zander Troy’s Appearance in Fort Worth
“What?” I read the paper in confusion.
“Nice, isn’t it?” David says in sarcasm. “Apparently you got drunk at that party and offended some feminist witch. Now she’s all over the news talking about how awful you were to her.”
“That’s bullshit,” I answer quickly. “I didn’t do any such thing. I shook hands, got drunk, went to sleep in the office upstairs like I always do.”
“Well, she sees the story differently.”
“Hey…” I grab the paper again, examining the photo. “I remember this girl. I shook hands with her. She said hello. And now she’s claiming I harassed her?”
“Not quite. She’s claiming you’re a degenerate woman-hating scum of the earth and you should be banned from the city.”
“WHAT?” I say in disbelief. “Maya DeBank? Who the hell is she? I’ve never even heard of her!”
“No one said she was Barbara Fucking Walters, kid,” David says, cackling. “She’s probably some kid wanting to get her fifteen minutes of fame. And of course, if you’re a bastard to her that gives her a little extra incentive.”
“All I did was shake her hand.”
“Is that all?”
“Well…” I fold my arms and think back. “I sort of nodded at her, strongly implying she should let go of the handshake. I mean, it was over. What did she want, an autograph or something?”
“There ya go, kid,” David says with a smile. “Optimistic little girl, goes in wanting to meet her hero. Has her dreams crushed when she finds out he’s just a rich asshole like every other billionaire heartthrob.”
“Ah, Jesus,” I mutter.
“The bad news is the press is loving this. They got hold of the story and ran with it. Turns out a lot of women really hate you.”
“What? Why?” I say in confusion. “But…I’m really good in bed!”
Not to be too modest about it…
“Sure,” David says with that oily grin of his. “And that’s why they hate you, kid.”
“Jesus…”
“Oh, check it out,” David wheezes as he loads his iPad on a live stream channel. “The Associated Press picked up the story. Maya is now giving an interview.”
“What?! No one even knew who this bitch was fifteen minutes ago!”
David watches the interview in cackling amusement and I’m forced to listen as this kid, whom I barely remember meeting, tries to sabotage my career!
“I just think it’s a very lowbrow moment for the people of Fort Worth,” she says. “I mean, we’re living in very divisive times. Times where Blacks and Mexi
cans are finding a national voice. And a time where women are finally getting the respect they deserve from men who would silence them and sexually harass them. And I just don’t think we need more appearances from sexist pigs like Zander Troy. I think…”
The crowd surrounding her applauds.
“Enough is enough!” she says. “I mean, we can’t just go after President Trump while ignoring guys like Zander, who’s just as bad but a lot prettier. We have to send a clear message.”
“What the fuck!” I yell out, grabbing my hair in frustration. “I voted against Trump. I donated to the DNC! She’s spreading lies about me!”
I shake my head and pull the tablet away from me, trying to forget this embarrassing moment…
“Oh, and another thing,” Maya says, “I’ve heard he’s, umm…very selfish and SHORT in bed. That’s just what they tell me.” The crowd laughs.
My open mouth gradually crumbles into a laugh. Okay, now she’s just gone from batshit crazy to a total troll.
“Well, if she wanted to get my attention, she’s got it.”
“Tell you what to do, kid,” David says. “Find out where she works. Surprise her in front of all her people. Make her feel star struck. Give her a little hard TLC. You feel me? She’ll be so embarrassed, you’ll make sure she never mentions your name again.”
I laugh again. “I’ve just never heard a woman so filled with hate for me. All from one bad handshake?”
“Yes!” David says. “The handshake is what gets you!”
* * *
I decided to pay Maya DeBank a visit after finding out that she works at the local Tax Assessor-Collector Office.
As soon as I enter the room, several people do double-takes, no doubt recognizing me from television. I’m dressed in a suit and smiling wide, looking like I’m ready to buy the whole city out of spite.
