by Romi Hart
“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.
Chapter 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 o
ffended 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 Mexicans 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.
“Hello, my friends,” I say with a wink. “I’m here to see Maya DeBank.”
“Maya!” a little petite lady yells out towards the back. “Visitor here to see you.”
“Ugh…” I hear her say as she emerges from behind the closed door. “Is it my mother? I already told you…”
Maya’s eyes shoot open wide as she recognizes me, and sees the most curious look on my face. A smile.
“Well hello, Maya. I believe we’ve already been formally introduced. As you know, and loathe, I am Zander Troy.”
“Umm…yeah,” she says, trying to keep her head low and stop herself from blushing.
“I get the feeling that our first encounter was not to your liking. I apologize. I can be abrupt sometimes. But I certainly never meant any disrespect. I hope you’ll accept two tickets to The King and I this weekend. Bring a guest of your own choosing.”
Maya stares at me stupidly, at a loss for words. Looks like she’s dying of embarrassment. Good, looks like I win this war.
“Umm…who would I go with?”
“Well, I assume you have a friend to take with you. At least one friend? I trust there are some good men who aren’t sexist pigs in the world and I’m sure you know each of them intimately. Er, wrong choice of words, darling.”
I giggle as do some of the onlookers.
Maya bites her lip and stares at me in angst. “You know what? I don’t need your tickets. I don’t want them.”
She furls her brow and tightens her face. She’s mad…or at least…she’s pretending to be mad.
“For your information, Mister Troy, I don’t like guys like you. And I do not accept presents from strange men who are trying to do damage control for their professional reputation.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” she snaps back. “For your information, I am a good girl.”
“Oh?”
“I am a young woman of the Catholic faith.”
“Oh really?” I say with a smirk.
“Yeah, and wipe that smile off your face.”
I hear people around me laugh, a few women applaud.
“I don’t appreciate the way you treat women and the way you snubbed me at that party. You know? The truth is, I always did admire you. Until I started to read in the papers what a jerk you were to people.”
Before I can respond, she jumps into another tirade.
“And I never wanted to believe it. But now I see it for myself. You are not a good person. You are just evil.”
“I’m evil?” I say with a nod. “Pure evil or Satan himself?”
“You are not as important as Satan, but still an evil person. I will pray for you.”
“Oh! Really? You’ll pray for me?” I can’t wipe the smile off my face but Maya is on a roll.
“And I don’t want any of your bribe money or presents. We are not friends. I do not like you. Feel free to mosey your ass on out of here.”
More people in the building laugh and applaud. This was quite a scene and I guess everyone got their free entertainment for the day. She smiles at another woman, who comes up behind her and laughs.
“Good for you!” she says, her blond hair shaking back and forth as she taunts me. “My name’s Renee Shimri and I’m totally with Maya on this one. We are tired of guys like you, Zander. Womanizing men who treat us like sex objects. Hashtag #TimesUp! Yeah!”
“And who are you, ma’am?”
“I’m Renee! Renee Shimri, I’m the Assistant Assessor here. And I think what Maya said was just plain awesome. And I don’t appreciate you coming here trying to intimidate her.”
“I was being NICE,” I say in frustration. “And frankly, darling, it’s none of YOUR business.”
Renee and Ma
ya look at each other.
“See what I mean?” Maya says. “Darling? Really? In the year 2018, Zander?”
“Darling is not a swear word!”
“Just go, Zander!” Renee says, proud of her girl-power moment.
“Whatever. I did the ADULT thing, Maya.”
“You did what was good for you. What guys like you always do.”
I shake my head and start walking away, still occasionally glancing back at those two troublemakers.
As I finally exit the building, still listening to their girlish giggles, I can’t help but think I’ve been played! Maya sure as hell got my attention by being a little brat…and the first time I met her, I hardly even noticed she was alive.
Maybe that’s been her plan all along. Play me until I’m completely obsessed with her. Nice strategy, but frankly, it won’t work. I don’t need her. I don’t play the whole hard-to-get game. No woman is hard for me to get, I can have my pick of anybody.
As I drive home in my Jaguar, I can’t help but smirk at the audacity of this girl. Definitely a girl, not a woman. She likes to play mind games. Probably in her twenties, too. Probably thinking she has the whole damned world figured out. That I’m the biggest problem that needs solved, me being a rich asshole who wants to own the whole world. Some idealistic college bullshit. She has no idea who I am.
God, looking at that girl I can’t even imagine she has sex. She looks young…probably some guilt-ridden Catholic school-girl thing. First off, toots, I don’t even DO innocent.
I have nothing to do with your religious world and all that shit about purity. I’m Zander Troy, dammit. I live only by my own morals, my own code. Fuck all your prerequisites and mental gymnastics. I fuck like I pee.
But…
As I grip the steering wheel, I can’t help but feel a rush—a fire raging in my soul. I don’t just want to argue with her, I don’t just want to hate-fuck her. I want to prove something. Or maybe I want to hear more, hear more of her angry thoughts. Why is that? Is she a master manipulator?
Or worse yet…could it be that she’s just spouting off nonsense…but by coincidence she’s hitting a major nerve?
