How to Bed a Millionaire

by Dieter Moitzi

  That does it. How dare he?

  I get up and in his face in less than a second, shoving a finger right under his nose. “That’s so not the same thing, and you know it! You’ve been talking so loudly even your neighbors could hear you, whereas I was having a private conversation, and you creeped up on me!”

  He pushes me away. “I did not creep up on you! If you hadn’t been so… entranced by your lewd exchange, you would have heard me walking down the corridor! I even called your name!”

  He must be lying. Or not. Honestly? I wouldn’t have heard him even if he had come stomping through the door. A loud water curtain next to your ears would do that.

  “You could have, I don’t know, knocked. Or coughed.”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt you…”

  “Always got a good excuse, right? What is your problem? You still believe I’m a dangerous serial killer you need to spy on to feel safe?”

  He shakes his head. Then he says in a deceptively calm and emotionless voice, “We’re back at the kettle-and-pot thing, aren’t we? Who has been spying on whom, huh? Can’t I even have a quiet swim in the morning without you broadcasting the details to all and sundry within the day? What’s your next move? Snatch clandestine photos and post them on your Instagram account?”

  I’m speechless. All right, he has a point. Hiding in the shadows and watching him this morning was wrong. I didn’t’ do it on purpose, however. I was caught in the moment. And excuse me, but I did not creep up on him! I said the truth when I told Dirk that technically, I hadn’t been spying. I mean, look: here’s my room, here’s the swimming pool, here’s a suspicious noise at six o’ bloody clock in the bloody morning!

  Anybody would have checked what was going on.

  Right?

  Finally, my speech comes back. “You were having a quiet swim? Well, sorry to shatter your dreams, but the noise you made woke me up! And I only wanted to make sure that noise was not caused by a dangerous serial killer!”

  Chao wipes his face with both his hands. “Why do I even argue with you? I’ve got better things to do.”

  “Such as?” I snarl.

  His lush lips become a narrow line, and his sharp-cut cheekbones tense. “None of your business. Just do the job you’re paid for, all right? And do me a favor: henceforth, do not discuss my… look, face, body, or any other part or detail concerning me with your boyfriend.”

  Henceforth? How does he always come up with those ancient expressions? And excuse me—my boyfriend? Have I missed something?

  Then it dawns on me that he probably thinks Dirk is my beau. I’m about to correct him, but Chao just adds in the coldest voice and poshest accent I ever heard, “Have I made myself sufficiently clear, Trevor?”

  Flinching, I nod.

  He sternly nods back as if to say we’re good here.

  Then he turns around and disappears down the corridor.

  This time, he is stomping.

  If I hadn’t just been forbidden to broadcast the latest developments, I’d have good and bad news for Dirk.

  The good news: I did blow, as he recommended.

  The bad news: not Chao, but the whole situation.

  I don’t get much work done after that

  I don’t get much work done after that, listlessly cataloguing one of the two stacks I prepared this morning. My focus is elsewhere. Namely on the complicated housekeeper-I’ve-unwillingly-pissed-off situation, which is closely linked to the initial and unavowable housekeeper-I’d-like-to-shag situation.

  Boy, oh boy. I sigh so much over each book that I fear I’m puffing away a couple of printed characters.

  At six, I save my day’s little work and close my laptop. I switch off the water curtain rails, which slowly disappear.

  How I’d love to take a swim! But I still don’t have any decent swimwear. And with Chao being around and sufficiently mad at me, let’s forget about nude swimming.

  Right?

  Unless…

  I stare through the French window at the smooth cascade that hides my view once again. I’m only able to half guess the visitors’ pool behind. I’ve been looking at it all day long—when I didn’t have my nose in a book, that is. It’s much smaller than the main pool upstairs, yet just as invitingly blue. I’m sure it would be cool and pleasant on my skin.

  Moreover… I’m all alone down here.

  Do I dare?

  Making bold decisions is often helped by the prior assessment that there’s nothing left to lose.

  As a precaution, I close the library door. Then I hastily shed my clothes, open the French window, and step into the rushing cascade.

  Oh! My! God! This is heaven.

  I raise my arms above my head, close my eyes, and let the floods rush over me.

  When I’m soaking wet, I run to the edge of the pool and dive in. I swim around for some minutes before rushing back inside and getting dressed again.

  I’m feeling much, much better now. Ready to tackle the next steps.

  In fact, all afternoon I’ve been thinking about what to do. Whether I have a crush on Chao as Dirk pretends or not—which remains my personal claim—is irrelevant. Fact is, I’ll be staying in this house for another seven weeks. It’s therefore essential that I establish—or reestablish—a comfortable relationship with the only other resident.

  Mom has taught me that things unsaid can make little sores fester. So, the first step would be to apologize. And then explain what has happened and who Dirk is and so on.

  I just don’t have a clue where I should start and how I could make these two things happen. I’m certain Chao has had enough and won’t speak to me again. He seems like the kind of person who can hold a grudge for a very long time.

  I return to my room, where I take a shower. Then I don my shorts and a new T-shirt before wandering over to the kitchen. Maybe I’ll be able to plot something useful while preparing dinner.

  I select another of Mom’s king-sized Tupperwares, intrigued by the Post-it she put on the lid: “I recommend you add prawns if you can get some.” Once open, the box reveals a generous portion of Jambalaya, sans prawns, of course.

  Jambalaya without prawns… unthinkable. But I’m sure in this household they have fancy food like that in their freezers.

  By now I have my little routines, so I’m back from the food storage room five minutes later with, indeed, a pack of deep-frozen tiger prawns, tonic, white wine, and a pot of ice cream I immediately put in the freezer compartment of the fridge.

  I’m stir-frying the prawns when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. Well, “someone”—it can only be Chao because who else is there? He’s wearing white, tight jeans and a fancy, long-sleeved shirt.

  I was sure I wouldn’t see him so soon. Can it be that his mother taught him the same lesson about unsaid things and festering wounds?

  I turn my head and try a sorry smile.

  Chao remains serious. He enters the kitchen and places a plastic bag on the counter next to him. “I found my delivery and wanted to thank you for taking receipt of it.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  He clears his throat again and takes a careful step closer. Probably, he finds the hissing and sizzling sounds of the prawns distracting. “I’ve been thinking,” he says.

  “Me too. Jesus, Chao, I really, really want to apologize! I know I can be a total P in the A—and ohmygod!, by ‘P’, I don’t mean penis, don’t get me wrong…”

  He blushes and holds up his hand. “Jesus! Trevor! Let me speak my piece. Please.”

  “All right. Go on.” I dry my hands on a dishtowel, lower the heat of the cooker, turn around, and give him my entire attention.

  “You are a pain in the ass, yes. All in all, you seem to be a nice guy, though. You require getting used to, that’s for sure. But you seem… nice. I know you didn’t choose to
have me as your housemate, just as I didn’t ask for you to come here. Yet here we both are, stuck with each other for two months. We’re two adults…”

  “My Mom and sister would beg to differ,” I mutter under my breath.

  “We’re two adults,” Chao repeats patiently. “So, let’s deal with this whole situation accordingly, okay?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “That remains to be seen.” He takes another step toward me, which strikes me as a positive sign. “I think we simply need to establish some basic rules.”

  “Oh, yeah, great. Rules. I love rules.”

  He rolls his eyes because it’s obvious I’m being sarcastic. “You see—this, right now, would be one of your pain-in-the-ass moments. I’m trying to make our living under the same roof possible, so could you please refrain from interrupting me with your constant barbs and cracks?”

  I make a gesture signaling that I’m zipping up my mouth.

  “Good. So. I think you need boundaries to be established, because it looks as if that detail has been overlooked by your parents.”

  God, I’d have plenty of things to reply to that, but no. Zip.

  Chao lifts a finger. “Firstly, no more freeballing or running around naked. You’ve been doing it again this evening. Don’t shake your head, you doofus—I saw you downstairs.”

  My eyes bulge with questions—why and how, namely.

  Chao interprets my choking-fish expression correctly and has the grace to blush. Again. He’s so cute when he does that! “I saw you accidentally, of course. I was looking out my bay window and… Anyway.” He gets brisk. “I noticed that the swim trunks I lent you don’t fit. That’s probably the reason why you do that… nude thing all the time. So, I bought you these…” He walks back to the plastic bag lying on the kitchen counter and brings it over.

  I take the bag and look inside. A pair of Tom Ford board shorts, blue and green, with a floral print. Very, very nice. I’ll look dapper in these.

  The price tag says—gulp!

  Seven hundred seventy euros.

  “Are you mad?” I croak.

  “You don’t like them?” Chao seems crestfallen.

  “I love the shorts. I just don’t like the price!”

  He shrugs. “No biggie. What about you say thank you?”

  “You are mad.” I shake my head. “I can’t accept…”

  “They’re yours. End of discussion.”

  “You sure don’t wanna see my dong if you’re willing to pay 770 euros to cover it up.”

  Another blush, another clearing of the throat. “H-rm. Never mind.”

  “Well, thank you then.”

  “It’s okay. Next rule. No more sneaking, no more peeking, no more prying, no more spying. No more discussing my anatomy, character, whatever details of my person comes to mind with whomever. Not even with your boyfriend.”

  “He isn’t…”

  “Does that sound acceptable to you?”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  He sighs with relief.

  I put the shorts and plastic bag on the counter and turn back to the prawns. They look perfect.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” I say.

  “What?”

  “Dinner’s ready. What about we set the table, sunshine.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not sure you listened to anything I just said.”

  “You really take me for an idiot. I listened. No peeky-sneaky spy-pry activity, no divulgation of secret Chao stuff. Whatsoever. With whomever. Yadda, yadda. Now, let’s eat.”

  “Oh. Okay. If you really think…”

  “I do.” I open the drawer with the cutlery. “Let’s get started, otherwise the rice will burn.”

  While we lay the table outside, I smirk at Chao. I’m glad we’ve found a way to communicate again. Although I’m surprised he’s not the grudge holder I thought him to be.

  To remain on the terrain of innocent topics, I pick up something Chao said this afternoon. “So. You’re not Japanese. Where do you come from, then?”

  Chao stares at me. Then he throws back his head and laughs. “Why is it that I knew you were going to find the most fallacious follow-up question possible?”

  I shrug. “Because I’m a pretty fallacious guy.”

  After some prodding from me

  After some prodding from me, Chao finally comes out with it: he’s Australian. Which, hello? Nothing to be ashamed of, is it?

  “Australian?” I say. “That explains your accent!”

  “Accent? What accent?” He struggles with the cork of the white wine bottle.

  “Well, you know, one moment you sound as posh as an upper-class prick from Oxford. And the next moment you have that deep twang the origin of which I couldn’t pinpoint until now.”

  He looks dismayed. “I don’t sound posh!”

  “Oh yes, you do. Sometimes. Now I know why. Because you’re a Crocodile Dundee.”

  He chuckles. “Hardly.”

  “There!” I grin. “No one says ‘hardly’ as poshly as you do. Except the Queen of England or the Archbishop of Canterbury, maybe.”

  We dig in, and Chao expresses once more how delicious he finds Mom’s cooking.

  “How did you end up in France?” I ask between two forkfuls.

  “Well, you know.” He makes it sound like an explanation and leaves it at that.

  “No, I don’t know. That’s precisely why I asked.”

  He waves around with his knife. “Well… you do know the Kinners are Australian, right?”

  “Are they? I thought they were American. At least that Armistead dude.”

  My calling Mr. Kinner ‘that Armistead dude’ makes him laugh. “American? Why?” he asks.

  “Well, isn’t he that successful businessman and big-fish millionaire? That’s why I thought he was American.”

  “Jeez, we have millionaires in Australia, too.”

  “I meant no disrespect to your home country. Of course, you do. They even exist in the poorest African countries, I’ve been told. Although those aren’t what you’d call a recommendable bunch.” I peel a tiger prawn. “Well, millionaires never are, I guess.”

  Chao looks sharply at me. “That’s what you think?”

  I shrug. “Unless you win a heap of dough in the lottery, I don’t see how you can make so much money without, you know, bending some laws. Doing illegal stuff. Greasing some hands and stuff.”

  “Man! Prejudiced much?” Chao does his austere-face thing again.

  “Maybe,” I admit. “I’ve never met a millionaire in real life, so I can’t say I have a lot of experience.” I sense that he didn’t like my rash judgment. Of course, if you deal with rich people all the time, you might become partial.

  I munch my prawn, which by the way is a feast for my taste buds, and search for a way to smooth Chao’s ruffled feathers. “So, you’re here because the Kinners wanted to have someone from their home country to take care of this house?”

  “More or less, yes.”

  “And what are they like? Tell me more about them.”

  “There’s not much to tell…”

  “Aw, come on! They’re the first millionaires I’ve ever met. Well, not really met, but I’m working for them, staying in their place, you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t want to…”

  I make a funny begging face, pull his shirt sleeve like a little boy, and say, “Please? Please? Please? Pretty please, sunshine?”

  He finally relents, laughing. “Prejudiced and nosy. What have I done to deserve this? Well, if you insist. They’re actually quite nice people, I guess. A bit distant but not too full of themselves. That Armistead dude, as you call him, inherited a small sum from an old aunt when he was younger, invested it cleverly, and finally made a fortune in real estate.”

 
“Well, a nice inheritance is a good start in life.”

  “He worked hard to get where he’s today, believe me.”

  “And is he married?”

  “Remarried. Has, er, one kid from his first marriage. The second wife is much younger than he.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “In Sydney. And Singapore.”

  “Do they come here often?”

  “I don’t think so. This place is more an investment of sorts.” Chao fidgets about, ill at ease.

  We’ve both finished our plates by now. I refill his glass although it’s still half-full and take a sip of wine myself. “You act as if you were telling me unspeakable secrets even though I’m sure I could find out much more on the internet.”

  He shoots me an almost panicked look, which he quickly hides behind his wineglass. “I just don’t like to talk about them.”

  I lift both hands. “I’ll stop badgering you. This is supposed to be a kind of reconciliation dinner, after all.”

  “Reconciliation? I wasn’t cross with you, Trevor.” He states that very calmly.

  “But I was,” I reply. “Cross with me, that is. Listen… I really want to apologize for the conversation I had with Dirk.”

  “Oh, Dirk. That your boyfriend’s name?”

  I chuckle. “He’s my bestie, certainly not my boyfriend. If you’ve heard our discussion, you might be aware that he’s the sluttiest slut that ever existed on Earth. By the way, you must also have heard that he said most of the lewd stuff.”

  Chao turns his glass this way and that, studying the reflections it throws on the table. “I was wondering what kind of… weirdly open relationship you had.”

  “Neither weird nor open nor relationship. We’re friends, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh. Right.”

  “Believe me. He doesn’t do relationships. And I wouldn’t share my boyfriend with anyone. Call me old-fashioned, call me neurotic, call me weird, but I’m the clingy type. And faithful when I’m with someone. Which hasn’t happened often and never lasted long. One week was my record so far.”

  He looks up, surprised. “Really? Why that?”