by RM Johnson
“Ten thousand dollars a week,” Lewis threw out, knowing that it would be rejected.
“I can’t do that.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t—”
“But I’ll do half,” Nate quickly finished.
Lewis stopped what he was saying in midsentence, his mouth hanging slightly agape.
“What do you say to that, Lewis? Can you do it now?”
Lewis mouthed a word, but no sound came from his lips. He swallowed hard, shock still in his eyes, then said very slowly, “Yes, Mr. Kenny. I think I can do it now.”
Now Nate was eyeing Lewis sitting beside him in the Mercedes, wondering if he for some reason had lost heart, was planning on going back on the deal they made a few days ago. After all the work Nate had done, it would be a huge mistake if that was what the boy had in mind.
But then again, Nate was quite confident that after Lewis saw what Nate had to show him, whatever fear the boy was feeling would quickly disappear.
When Nate finally parked his Mercedes, they had stopped in front of a beautiful brick brownstone, sitting on a quaint, tree-lined street, just west of downtown.
“Get out,” Nate said, stepping out of the car himself.
Nate walked down the path leading to the house, Lewis following behind him.
“My wife has been married to me for four years, and although she doesn’t come from money, and does not have much of her own, I don’t believe she would go for any man who was not ridiculously paid, like myself.”
Nate stepped up to the door, pushed his key in, unlocked it, and opened it to reveal a huge, open living room, spilling into a dining area. The floors were hardwood, the ceiling stretching overhead some twenty feet, where there was a loft.
The place was brand-new, still smelled of paint and floor wax.
Nate and Lewis walked in; the sound of their heels against the floor echoed throughout the space.
“This will be your home. It’s one of many buildings I own. Can never have too much investment property,” Nate said, giving the key to Lewis, then closing the door behind both of them. “I would take you for a tour, but there’s plenty of time for you to do the exploring yourself. All the utilities are on, as well as the cable. Furniture will be delivered later. I’ll call and let you know when to expect it. Understand?”
“Yes,” Lewis said, obediently.
“There’s something else. Follow me.”
Lewis followed Nate through the dining room, through the kitchen, and out the back door. They walked out onto a wooden deck, just built, down some stairs, and through a small backyard, out to the garage.
From his inside breast jacket pocket Nate pulled a remote, clicked it, and the garage door started rolling up.
There inside the garage was a brand-new black Cadillac Escalade, equipped with all the options, and even aftermarket chrome wheels.
“How does your generation say it? This truck is sittin’ on dubs.” Nate smiled at his use of slang. “I’m not a fan of these things myself,” he said, opening the driver’s side door, where keys hung in the ignition, “but I know it’s what guys your age drive. It’s on loan to me from a dealership I’ve sent a lot of business to, but if you do what you’re supposed to, then it’s yours.”
Nate pulled the keys from the ignition and tossed them to Lewis. Lewis caught them, looking as though he didn’t know just what to say or think about this entire situation.
“So, how do you feel so far?”
“I don’t know how to feel, Mr. Kenny.”
“Well, in the matter of a week, you went from being homeless, penniless, and potentially facing a lawsuit that would land you in prison, to making five grand a week, living in one of the most up-scale neighborhoods in the city. You should feel overjoyed.”
Nate walked Lewis back into the brownstone, and into the kitchen. There on one of the counters was a shoe box. Nate lifted the top, and pulled out its contents, one at a time.
“These are your business cards,” Nate said, lifting a small rubber-banded block of cards and handing it to Lewis. “You’re a real estate developer, and your investments are only worth a couple of million, but that’s better than I was doing at your age, so it’s acceptable.
“Here’s your bankbook, and information on an account I started for you. There’s also a gold credit card linked to it, along with a check card. Use it when you’re out with my wife, as though you’re accustomed to having good credit. Paying cash for everything is how these thugs who make their money unlawfully do it. We don’t want her getting ideas that that is who you are.”
Nate grabbed a cell phone out of the box. “This is yours. It’s turned on, powered up, ready to use. The business number on your card will ring at my office. There someone will answer the phone, claiming to be your secretary. At that point, if it’s business hours, the call will be directed to this phone, and you’ll answer it, as the president of your real estate company, ‘Waters Real Estate.’ Not ‘Wassup? This Lewis,’ but ‘Waters Real Estate.’ Understand?”
“Yes,” Lewis nodded.
“Also, here is a two-way pager, just in case I need to contact you that way. Finally, here are some photos of my wife.”
Nate handed four shots of his wife to Lewis. Two were close-ups, the others were from when they vacationed in Brazil. Monica was suntanned, and clad in the skimpiest white thong bikini.
“Wow,” Lewis said slowly, almost breathless. “She’s beautiful.”
“The last two shots I threw in for your benefit. Added motivation.”
“What’s her name?” Lewis said, still speaking softly, not taking his eyes away from the pictures he scanned in turn.
“Monica,” Nate said, snatching the photos away from him, uncomfortable with the way Lewis was salivating over them. “You’ll have time to further acquaint yourself with these later. Now comes the important part. In your bank account, I’ve deposited another five thousand dollars, a clothing allowance, if you will. My wife works at a clothing store downtown. You’ll walk in there, wanting to buy some suits; that’s how you’ll meet her.”
Nate passed Lewis a card, which he examined. “The address and phone number are there. She works days. Nine to five. She is the manager. Buy something suitable to wear when you walk in the store for the first time, but from then on, I want you to buy everything from my wife. But not all at once. If there are four suits you like, buy them over the course of four days. This will give you more opportunity to get to know her, endear yourself to her. Understand?”
“Yeah. I think so, Mr. Kenny. When do I go there?”
Nate took a moment to think about it. “I don’t see anything wrong with tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! I haven’t had time to—”
“You don’t need time to do anything. For the past week, I’ve been treating my wife as though I barely know her. She’s used to me being a very affectionate person, so right now she’s probably starved for any attention at all from a man. All you have to do is go in there, be the player that I know you can be, buy a suit, and come on to her in the process.”
“But, Mr. Kenny—”
“Lewis,” Nate said, grabbing him by one of the shoulders. “You’re putting way too much thought into this. Forget about me, about the money, about the fact that this is my wife. Act as though you’re walking along and you just happen to see a beautiful woman. What would you normally do?”
“What?” Lewis said, as though he didn’t understand the question.
“If you see a fine woman on the street, what would you do!”
“I’d talk to her.”
“Exactly! That’s what I want you to do in this case. Talk to my wife. But she’s there every day, so you don’t have to rush in, trying to win her over the first time you see her. It’ll take some time. You want to grow on her, so making ground a little bit every day will be what works.”
Lewis nodded his head at what was told to him.
“So, tonight and tomorrow, I want you to get used to living like
this is your life. Go out, spend some money. Buy yourself some stuff, a little something to wear as well. The first five thousand for the job is already in your account, along with the additional five for clothes, so there shouldn’t be any problems. But if something does come up, don’t hesitate to call, no matter what time. Do you understand all of this?”
“Yes, Mr. Kenny,” Lewis said.
“And get a haircut. A successful businessman would not walk around with that bird’s nest atop his head. Okay?”
“I’ll do that.”
“Good. Everything is in play,” Nate said. “Now we do what needs to be done, and just see what happens.”
28
Monica sat with Tabatha at the bar of a popular downtown restaurant. It was after work, happy hour, so the place started to fill with men and women in business attire. They crowded in, leaning over the bar, raising hands with dollar bills clasped in them, wanting to order drinks.
Tabatha and Monica had already gotten theirs, were working on their second, because they had left straight from work, and got here in time to get good bar seats.
It was Tabatha’s idea. She had approached Monica toward the end of the day.
“You got plans after work?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then you need to go with me to get a drink.”
“What are you talking about?” Monica said.
“You’ve been funky all day. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you can tell me once we get out of here. First round is on me, okay?”
After they had sat down at the almost empty bar, Tabatha ordered both of their drinks, then turned her stool toward Monica, a polite smile on her face.
“Now tell me what’s wrong.”
Monica took a moment to think. “I don’t know what’s wrong. My husband, he—” Monica stopped what she was saying when the bartender placed the drinks in front of them.
Tabatha passed him her credit card. “Start a tab, please.” She pushed Monica’s glass in front of her, grabbed her own, and took a drink. “Go on.”
“It’s like he’s not my husband anymore. Over the past week, he’s been coming in late, he barely talks to me, he shows me no sign of affection, and we haven’t had sex in I don’t know how long.”
“What!” Tabatha said. “Why is that?”
“Because he can’t. He says it’s stress from this new client that’s keeping him out late, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t know what to make of it. I try to ask him, but he says there’s nothing wrong. What do you think?”
“Do you really want to know what I think?”
“Of course.”
“He’s cheatin’, girl,” Tabatha said without hesitation.
“No, he’s not. How could he be having sex with someone else, when he can’t even have it with me?”
“Maybe he can’t have it with you because he’s having it with someone else.”
“I don’t believe that, because I don’t have proof, and that’s what I would need to just all of a sudden distrust my husband.”
“But why—,” Tabatha tried to say, but was cut off when Monica turned to her, and firmly said, “He’s not cheating, all right!”
“Oh, okay,” Tabatha said, backing off some, grabbing her drink and turning on her stool to face the bartender.
The room started to fill—standing room only—professional men and women standing in small circles, drinking, talking, and laughing.
“It’s getting pretty tight in here,” Monica finally said, after her few moments of silence.
“Uh, yeah,” Tabatha said, turning to meet eyes with a man across the room that she noticed had been checking out Monica for some time. “And I think this guy that’s been checking you out is coming over here to talk to you.”
Monica turned in the direction Tabatha was looking, and saw the guy approaching.
“Shit,” Monica said, under her breath, then turned away. A moment later, a handsome brotha in a blue suit, holding a drink, was standing beside her.
“How you ladies doing today?” he said, directing the question more to Monica.
“Fine,” Monica said, not even looking into the man’s face.
“You are really looking nice. I love your hair,” he said, but again Monica didn’t look up, just said, “Thank you.”
The man looked around Monica over at Tabatha, as if for direction. Tabatha hunched her shoulders, as if to tell him he was on his own.
After a few more moments, the man said, “If I’m being a bother, I can just leave you alone. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“I’m sorry,” Monica said, finally looking into the man’s eyes. “It’s not you. I just have some things on my mind, okay.”
The man smiled, dimples appearing in both cheeks. “I understand,” he said, then extended a hand. “Well, my name is Terrance. It was nice meeting you.”
Monica shook his hand. It was soft. He turned and walked away, and she watched him for a few moments, then swiveled back around to face Tabatha.
“He was beautiful,” Tabatha said. “I wonder what Nate would think if he found out you were cheating with him.”
“I wouldn’t cheat on Nate.”
“Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t want to get caught, and forfeit all that money that would be due you.”
“If I were to cheat, Tabatha, I wouldn’t get caught. It’s not about the money. I just wouldn’t cheat on my husband,” Monica said, very seriously.
“Yeah, but if you were to cheat,” Tabatha said, looking out into the crowd to locate the man again, “that would be the one to cheat with, because he was fine.”
Monica looked at Tabatha, the stoic expression still on her face.
“All right, girl. I know you won’t cheat. But c’mon, give it to me, the man was fine, right?”
Monica all of sudden smiled, and said, “Oh, yeah. He was fine as hell.” She held up a palm and received an energetic high five from Tabatha. Then almost immediately, Monica become melancholy, introspective, grabbed her drink, took a sip, then said, “Like I said, I wouldn’t ever do it, but I can understand why some women do. With that one compliment that man gave me, and the touch of his hand, I feel closer to a complete stranger right now than I do to my own husband.”
29
Nate sat comfortably on Tori’s sofa, his stocking feet kicked up on the coffee table, the television remote in his hand, as he watched a rerun of a popular nineties sitcom.
His belt was unbuckled, the clasp on his trousers undone, for he had just finished enjoying a huge dinner that Tori had made them.
“Hey, baby,” Tori said, stepping into the living room. She must’ve finished putting the food away and washing the dishes. She was smoothing lotion into her hands as she walked to him, and sat down beside him.
“It’s so good to have you here like this. You’d think after seeing you all day at work, and then you coming back to my place for a week straight, I’d get sick of your butt,” Tori said, smiling. “Who would’ve thought I could’ve tolerated you like I have?”
“Tolerate?” Nate said. “You know you love it.”
The smile left Tori’s face, something more serious appearing there, as she looked deeper into Nate’s eyes. She moved closer to him, kissing him on the lips. “Yes I do, Nate. I do love it.”
“Then why do you look like that?” Nate said, caressing her face.
Tori pulled away from him. “Because I don’t want to get my hopes up. I’m getting used to you being here, but what if it doesn’t really happen? You’ve been coming over here after work, but what if your wife gets suspicious, all of a sudden?”
“I told you she won’t. I told her there’s a client that I’m working with that’s requiring me to stay at work late for the next couple of weeks.” Nate reached out for Tori, grabbed her, pulled her back next to him, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
“And the two weeks—why do you need that? Because you’re still unsure if you really want
to get the divorce?”
“If I was unsure, I wouldn’t be here. If I was unsure, I wouldn’t have done what I did with you that night last week when we had sex. You never told me what became of that.”
“I took a test. I’m not pregnant.”
Nate felt relieved to hear that, but also felt the slightest bit of disappointment. “I see,” he said.
“And why haven’t we made love since then?”
“It’s all part of this plan I have going.”
“Plan? What plan?”
Nate told Tori everything. How, if he just asked his wife for a divorce, she would be entitled to millions of dollars, which Nate still could not see himself parting with. He told her the reason why they hadn’t made love was that he couldn’t. He had been taking a heavy dose of the prescription pills he had gotten from his doctor friend, and they had definitely rendered him impotent. Nate told Tori that staying away from Monica would make her more vulnerable to the advances of this character Lewis he had literally bumped into, put up in a house, and was paying to seduce his wife.
“Is it worth all that?” Tori asked, concern in her eyes. “Maybe you should just tell her you don’t want to be married to her anymore. Maybe she wouldn’t want any of your money.”
Nate gave Tori an unconvinced look. “If things were turned around, and it was you I came to, saying I wanted a divorce because you couldn’t give me children, you wouldn’t want any of the money your attorney said you would be entitled to?”
“Well, if you put it like that. But what happens after she cheats? If she cheats?”
“I hire a private investigator, document it, then file for the divorce.”
“Will it work out?” Tori said, Nate hearing what sounded like desperation in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I hope so.”
While Nate was driving home, he realized how dependent Tori was on him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but knew that it was partly his fault. He was the one that told her he wanted her to have his children, tried to get her pregnant to prove it. He was the one that told her she’d one day be his wife.
