“You were in the middle of telling me something important,” I say, taking her by the hand. “Before we run off and get naked with everyone else at the pool, was there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Yeah,” she says, after a slight pause.
She looks me right in the eyes and opens her mouth.
But right before she can speak, her friend that I recognize from earlier rushes up and grabs her arm.
“Where have you been, Sarah? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Oh,” says Sarah, flushing slightly, making her cheeks look a beautiful rosy red. I get a sudden flash of dirty thoughts: I want to burry my cock again in her face. Hey, I know I’m a filthy bastard but what can I say? I’m a guy, after all. Any guy who tells you he doesn’t think like this either has low testosterone or is lying through his teeth. Probably most men just lie through their teeth about it. Whatever, I want to push my cock into her delicious looking mouth and have her hair fall around my cock and my balls again.
“Where were you?” says Janet, looking Sarah up and down. Now she looks me up and down and she doesn’t look pleased. “I thought we weren’t going to…”
“I know, I know,” says Sarah. “But you were off with someone…”
“I wasn’t,” says Janet.
“I saw you,” says Sarah.
“He was just showing me around.”
I chuckle lightly. I know how these Hamptons parties go. That’s a classic line that guys will give. Like, oh I just want to show you around. Or, oh, there’s a great piece of art upstairs in one of the private bedrooms that you just have to see. That’s just to get them into the bedroom.
Janet gives me a harsh look and scoffs at me.
“Where’d you pick up this loser?” she says to Sarah, but obviously I can hear her since I’m standing right here.
“I thought we were going swimming,” I say to Sarah. “Come on, let’s go.”
“With all those lunatics who got all naked?” says Janet, rolling her eyes. “Sure, that sounds like a good career move.”
“It’s the Hamptons,” I say. “Who cares?”
“This isn’t Las Vegas,” says Janet.
“Obviously you haven’t spent much time in the Hamptons,” I say.
“Whatever,” says Janet. “Come on, Sarah. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Sarah looks between me and Janet.
“I was hoping to stay a little longer,” says Sarah.
“Hey,” says Janet. “You’re coming back with me. I’m going right now. I mean, unless you have another way of getting back to the city. Be my guest. But the train’s getting ready now. It’s already boarded and it’s about to debark.”
“Clever metaphor,” I say, rolling my eyes so that only Sarah can see me. “Very original.”
Sarah giggles.
“I could give you a ride back to the city,” I say, giving Sarah an important look.
“Yeah,” she says, her eyes brightening. But then a darkness falls across her face. “But you took your motorcycle here, didn’t you?”
“What gave it away?” I say.
“The thing is,” says Sarah. “I’m deathly afraid of motorcycles.”
“I can drive slow,” I say. “And I have to say I’m a pretty good rider. I’ve never had a serious accident.”
“Emphasis on the word serious, I guess,” says Janet. Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes.
“I’d love to, really I would,” says Sarah, and my heart sinks because I know what she’s going to say. “But I’m like seriously terrified of them. It’s like that kind of irrational fear that people have of spiders and insects and heights. I don’t know why but it’s always been motorcycles for me.”
“Then that settles it,” says Janet. “You’re coming back with me. Come on, let’s go.”
Janet’s literally trying to drag Sarah away from me.
“Wait,” I say. “Why don’t you give me your number so we can meet up in Manhattan.”
“Manhattan?” scoffs Janet. “Who do you think we are?”
“I thought you lived in Manhattan?” I say.
“Around there,” says Sarah. “I go into Manhattan a lot.”
“Oh,” I say, somewhat confused. I can’t quite remember now if she said she’s from Manhattan or not. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Wait, wasn’t there something important she wanted to tell me? That was right before the nude bathers rushed past us, and right before Janet came by. Janet obviously doesn’t like me one bit. She’d probably think differently of me if she knew how much is in my investment portfolio, my bank accounts, or even my wallet for that matter. Or if she knew how much my motorcycle alone is worth.
“Here’s my number,” says Sarah, taking my phone from me and programming her number in.
“See you,” I say, feeling somewhat pained, and I’m not sure why. I guess this just isn’t how I imagined us saying goodbye, with her getting literally dragged off by her friend who thinks I’m some type of motorcycle punk.
“Bye,” says Sarah, giving me a kiss on the lips.
Janet looks on with disapproval.
“Oh, your jacket,” says Sarah, turning back around, to Janet’s strong disapproving gaze.
“Keep it,” I say. “It might be cold on the ride back to the city.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve got hundreds of them,” I say.
“Hundreds?” says Janet, sounding like she doesn’t believe me at all.
But Sarah believes me. I can see it in her eyes. Is that because she trusts me, or because she already knows who I am? I haven’t told her who I am, but it’s not hard to imagine she might know who I am. After all, my picture has been on hundreds of magazine covers.
A paranoid thought flashes before me: is she just into me for my money? That’s the question I unfortunately have to ask myself so often with women. I hate that I have to do it but it’s a reality. There have been a lot of women in my life and a lot of them wanted my money.
But Sarah doesn’t seem like that at all. I feel like I already know her, even though I don’t know anything about her. What I do know is she wouldn’t just be after me for my money.
As she walks away with Janet tugging at her sleeve, Sarah turns back around to look at me.
I dial her number on my phone and watch as her own phone rings. She pulls it from somewhere (was it in her brassier?) and smiles at me before disappearing from my view behind a hedge.
“Nice meeting you,” I say into the phone.
“You too,” she says.
“See you soon,” I say.
“What’s that?” she says.
Suddenly, the line is filled with an intense buzzing static. I’ve lost the connection already. That’s the Hamptons for you. I’m actually surprised these rich Hampton types haven’t lobbied for a zillion cell phone towers in the area to improve their reception so that they can make business calls whenever they need to. I’m usually not like that myself. I like to separate business and pleasure when I can. I haven’t even checked my phone or my email all evening.
I don’t bother saying goodbye to anyone at the party. I just get my bike from where I parked it, give the valet guys a hefty tip for keeping the bike safe, and get back on the road.
The moon is out and the road is quite and lonely. I’m freezing my ass off on the whole drive back without my jacket, but I’m glad that Sarah has it.
Sarah
The next morning I’m practically in a panic. Now I have to go into work. Am I going to run into John? He hasn’t contacted me yet by phone or text, and I know since I’ve been checking my phone every couple minutes all night. I barely slept at all.
I’m all dressed, showered, and I’m on my third cup of coffee.
“I can’t believe you’re going to work as a cleaner,” says my mom, staring at me from across the cramped breakfast table. The apartment is small. My mom isn’t a hoarder in the sense that she couldn’t be on one of those reality shows but the apartment is pretty
damn crowded.
“It’s what I could find,” I say, already upset at her. We’ve had this argument a thousand times if not more.
“I just wish you’d do something more with your life.”
“What do you want me to do?” I say. “Have you seen what the economy is like? It’s easy for you because you’re already out. You’re already retired.”
“Way to shove that in my face,” says my mom.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I say, but I already feel a little bad. I know my mom doesn’t like being retired, but that’s what she had to do. “I didn’t mean that that’s a bad thing. It’s just that the work force and economy has changed a lot in the last couple years.”
“It’s because all the billionaires are taking all the money,” says my mom.
I think back to last night and a shiver runs down my spine. “I don’t know if they’re all bad,” I say, thinking of John. An image of his massive cock floods my mind and I can almost taste his cock again. I push the image out of my mind. This isn’t the time or place to be thinking about that. After all, I have to confront him soon enough…possibly.
“You’re going to be late,” says my mom.
“Thanks,” I say, checking my phone. I should be leaving now. She’s right.
At this point, I’m already exhausted from being awake almost all night.
“See you later,” I say, giving my mom a kiss on the cheek.
“Hope it goes well,” says my mom, wearing a stony expression on her face.
“Thanks,” I say, beaming at her. I know that’s the warmest goodbye and congratulations that I’m going to get from her. I’ve just got to take what I can get, I guess. That’s the way life is sometimes.
I take the subway into work. We live pretty far away from Manhattan, so it’s almost a fifty minute commute with a lot of changing trains in the middle. People on the train look sleepy and depressed. That’s what working all your life will get you, I think to myself. If only I was a billionaire like John.
Thinking of John, I check my phone again. But still no text or call. It is early, I think to myself.
I get out of the subway and walk through the crowds of Manhattan to the big building. It looks intimidating standing outside of it. I remember I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do about John if and when I see him at work—he is my “boss” after all. I take a deep breath, tell myself it’s OK, and head into the job.
I don’t see John anywhere around, and get the sense that he’s not interacting a lot with the cleaning staff, which makes sense. In fact, we’re far away from most of the other employees. We have our own little place in the basement with washers and dryers. For the first month or so I’m just going to be doing trash dumpster work and manning some of the dryers—folding sheets and stuff like that.
My immediate boss is a woman in her fifties who’s nice enough but she has a sort of New York edge to her voice. I can tell she’s dealt with a lot of employees in her years, and she’s been working a long, hard time.
“Do you ever see John?” I suddenly blurt out without thinking about it.
“John? You mean the plumber? Do you know him? He comes around once in a wile, but he works another building too.”
“No,” I say, now wishing I hadn’t said anything.
“Which John?”
“John Clark.”
The woman laughs in my face. She actually does.
I blush again, completely red in the face I’m sure of it.
“Sorry, honey,” she says. “I just couldn’t help it.”
“It’s OK,” I say. “I guess a lot of people ask about him? I just saw him in a magazine…”
“And you thought he was cute, right? Let me tell you, honey, almost every woman here is in love with him. But I doubt you’ll ever see him.”
“He did my interview,” I say.
“Oh, he does that sometimes. I remember he interviewed me five years ago when I started here but I must have just seen him at a distance maybe once in all the rest of the years.”
I nod my head and wish I hadn’t asked the question.
Suddenly, my phone beeps.
“No phone time allowed while at work,” says Cindy, my boss, her sternness coming back across her face and in her demeanor.
“Sorry,” I say. “Won’t happen again.”
Inside, my mind is racing. Is that John texting me? I’m sure it is. I have a feeling about it already.
“Time to get to work on those dumpsters,” says Cindy. “You’ll find a pile of cardboard boxes out back. Just break them down and thrown them in the dumpster marked for cardboard.”
I nod my head, thinking it’s a little strange for me to be breaking down boxes, since I thought that’s what the maintenance guys would be doing. But this isn’t the time to question practices. Not on my first day. Not when I really need the job.
“Your first check will take an extra week to arrive,” says Cindy, calling out behind me.
I’m already halfway out the door, a box cutter in one hand, and probably a strained expression on my face.
“Thanks,” I say, groaning inside all the while. I could really use the money. This means I’m going to have to borrow more money from my mom, and it means I’m going to be another week farther away from getting my own place.
Outside, it’s a little chilly in the sun.
I spend at least an hour on the boxes, since the pile is enormous.
Since I’m so nervous about losing my job, I manage to resist the urge to check my phone during the whole hour.
Only when I go back in, do I steal myself away to the bathroom for a minute. I lock the stall door behind me in the florescent-lit bathroom that’s clean but not too pleasant, and take out my phone.
“Can’t wait to see you again,” says the text from John.
My heart flutters in my chest.
“I want to see you too,” I write, and press send before thinking that that’s an idiotic thing to write.
“When can we meet?” says John.
“I’m at work now,” I say, not mentioning, of course, that I’m working at this very office. I wonder how long I can keep this charade up. What happens if we really start dating, or if we take things a step further? He doesn’t have any idea I’m a lowly cleaner, let alone a cleaner at his own business. Aren’t there rules against dating people in the workplace or something like that?
“Me too,” says John, adding a frowny face that makes me laugh.
I get a little excited thinking that John’s in the same building I’m in, albeit many, many floors above where I sit in the basement.
I check the time on the phone and realize I need to be getting back to work as soon as I can. I doubt Cindy approves of prolonged bathroom breaks, considering her super stern attitude.
“What about tomorrow?” I write back to John, thinking that I’m going to be really, really tired after my first day of work. As much as I want to see him again, I don’t want to fall asleep on our first real date. I want to make a good impression, which is going to involve borrowing another dress from Janet. I can’t very well show up in my cleaner’s uniform, which I don’t think is flattering in the slightest.
“I’m actually headed out of town for business tonight,” says John.
“That’s OK,” I write back. “When will you be back?”
“One month,” says John, adding a series of frowney faces.
My heart sinks.
But I know I can’t do tonight.
I really, really, really don’t have anything to wear.
“I’ll wait for you,” I write, without really thinking about it.
“Nice,” says John. “I thought we had a really special connection…”
“Me too,” I write back.
John adds a smiley face. I laugh. I guess I think it’s funny that a billionaire communicates with smiley and frowney faces the way a normal person would.
“You promise you’ll wait for me?” says John.
“If you do,” I say.
“Deal,” says John.
“I’ve got to go,” I say. “Work calls.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the door.
“You in there, new girl?” shouts Cindy, sounding somewhat upset and perturbed.
“My name’s Sarah,” I call back. “I’ll be right out.”
I send John a kissy face and put away my phone, making sure it’s on silent. Well, a month isn’t too bad, I guess. That way I can get settled into my new job, get more set up, and then maybe by the time John gets back, I’ll be able to afford my own dresses and maybe even be on the way to getting my own place. That’s a better way to date a billionaire, I think to myself. But, still, my heart feels a little sunken as I leave the stall and head out of the bathroom.
Cindy’s stern face greets me.
“I don’t appreciate that kind of sass,” says Cindy.
“What do you mean? Telling you my name is sass?”
“It is in my book, depending on the circumstances. And these circumstances are that you’ve been in the bathroom for a full five minutes.”
Wow, she’s a tough boss. Had she followed me to the bathroom or something? How did she know how long I’d been in there? I could have sworn I’d been in there only a couple minutes. I guess time flies when you’re talking to John by text on the phone.
“Won’t happen again,” I say. “I had a stomach problem. Just nervous from it being the first day.”
“No problem,” says Cindy, sternly. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
I briefly wonder what would happen if I showed her the text and told her I was talking with her ultimate boss, John Clark, the head of the whole operation, and that he was fine with me spending as much time in the bathroom as I liked. Of course, that’s a pure fantasy, since I’m going to avoid telling John I work for him for as long as I can. Hopefully forever. Maybe I can get another job, a better job, a real job, like working as a secretary or something. Eventually, I’m headed back to school. And after that the world is going to be my oyster. No one will be able to stop me.
SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance Page 20
