How to Bed a Millionaire

by Dieter Moitzi

  By and by, a truly relaxed atmosphere finally sets in, however, and we seem to get along just swell, talking about the weather and the smooth background music.

  Suddenly, Chao sits up and looks me over from head to toes. He makes a circle with his forefinger. “Er… you look so… different today. Did you change something? Your hair, maybe?”

  Self-consciously, I pat my Afro, which I’ve left au naturel this morning. “No. I didn’t particularly change anything. I didn’t do anything to my hair, either. What is it?”

  He seems to ponder the question. Then he slaps his forehead. “Of course! You’re sitting at the swimming pool… and you’re clothed! Somewhat, that is.”

  I slap his arm. “Hilarious. Watch me roll on the floor laughing.”

  We spend a nice and lazy late afternoon together, then have dinner. Chao asks me to convey his gratitude and sincere appreciation to Mom for her amazing cooking. Yes, this is how he phrases it, so this is exactly how I plan to pass on the message. I’m sure Mom will be thrilled. If she isn’t too busy sniggering at the stilted wording.

  For the record, nothing happens that evening. We just hang out and chitchat about innocent things. The flow of our conversation feels natural and easy, yet I have the impression we both avoid certain topics just as we avoid any physical closeness that would exceed what I’d call the accepted comradery of chums.

  Not that I’m eager to be a chum. But as that’s probably the only thing I’ll get, I know I must accept.

  That evening, the tone for the next days is set

  That evening, the tone for the next days is set. Everything is uneventful harmony. Each morning, Chao disappears for his meetings right after we had breakfast together. I then proceed downstairs to work in the library. When he gets back, we hang out on my sundeck before having dinner together, enjoying the dwindling stock of Mom’s Tupperware boxes. Our discussions stay within the limits of friendly curiosity and the occasional banter both of us seem to appreciate.

  Nothing deeply personal is ever discussed. We just take pleasure from spending time together and discover each other, even though everything remains on a superficial level.

  Our exchanges mostly go like this:

  Chao: “What’s your favorite color?”

  Me: “Green, I think.”

  Chao: “Figures. Green would underline your eyes.”

  Me: “And yours?”

  Chao: “White, I think.

  Me: “Figures, too. Of course, you would choose the color that’s the hardest to keep clean…”

  Or like this:

  Chao: “Tell me—you ever had pets?”

  Me: “Oh, no. Mom’s not the pets type, you see. Dad would have loved to have a dog, but as Mom’s the one who decides… So, no pets at home.”

  Chao: “But you?”

  Me: “Oh, they never considered me a pet, you know. They somehow managed to convince themselves I was their kid. Kid as in ‘a human being.’”

  Chuckles.

  Chao: “No, but you? Would you have loved to have pets?”

  Me: “Absolutely. I’m like Dad. I would have given anything to have a dog. A Golden Retriever or a Labrador or a Dalmatian. And you?”

  Chao: “You would have given anything to have me? I don’t know if I should find this flattering or… utterly baffling.”

  Blush. And the one who’s blushing is me. Duh.

  I cuff him lightly. “You ever had pets is what my question was about, you jerk.”

  Chao: “Nope. Same story, more or less. No one else was willing to put up with pets, so I never had one.

  Me: “And what would have been your choice?”

  Chao: “A cat, of course. I love cats.”

  Me: “Oh. You’re a cat person. Any preferences as to the breed?”

  Chao: “Nope. All I wanted was, you know, a tabby cat. You not into cats at all?”

  Me: “I like them. But I wouldn’t feel comfortable having a pet at home that somehow seems to be cleverer than me.”

  Chao: “Why would you want to have a dog, then?”

  I cuff him again. “I daresay my brains are slightly bigger than those of a dog.”

  Chao: “If that’s what makes you feel better, let’s go with it. You do know size isn’t all, though…”

  I blush again, cuff again, and change the subject.

  Er, yes. Presented like that, there might have been an undercurrent of tension, from time to time. Not my doing, guys—I’m innocent! I swear!

  And yes, I guess I blush a lot, too. My cappuccino-ish complexion hopefully hides most of these occurrences.

  If there’s a certain festering of small sores caused by things both said and unsaid, it’s entirely on my side. Chao doesn’t show any signs of wanting to broach ambiguous subjects. He just wants to have a good time and laugh.

  Here’s a confession: when he’s lying on a deckchair by my side, flaunting his gorgeous seminudeness with that newfound ease of his, it’s hard not to reach out and touch him. It’s hard not to make him stop teasing me by sealing his mouth with mine.

  I’m sure he’d taste just as good as I imagine.

  But I exert all my willpower to be a good chum. You see, I’ve decided to rein in my growing feelings. I like Chao, really like him. Each day a bit more.

  Yep, that sounds very much like me having a crush on him. Don’t ask me for the reasons; I’m unable or unwilling to reflect on the whole situation. I try to simply go with the flow.

  Anyway. I know there won’t be more. We’ll be chums only. Chao is perhaps into mixed or muddled signals, but that signal comes across loud and clear.

  And if, God forbid, I am falling for Chao… well, that’s my problem. Which will be resolved in less than two months when I go back to Paris, anyway.

  Until then, I have to trust my ability to stay strong. And hope my self-healing capacities will be sufficient to forget this man.

  One day.

  In the meantime, I should probably try to find something or someone to distract me.

  I should definitely go out more. Being cooped up in this house with Chao can’t be good for my mental and emotional health.

  Maybe I should contact Karim, fix a meeting, have a light and easy little… date. Or something.

  Life lesson #6

  “The best way to get over a man is to get under another one.” A popular saying that deserves to be checked out.

  “I’m afraid we’re running out of food”

  “I’m afraid we’re running out of food,” I announce.

  It’s Thursday morning. I’ve just opened the fridge to take out the orange juice and noticed there’s only one Tupperware box left. Which, damn.

  At the same time, it’s good news. It means I’ll have to make a trip to Nice, by the force of circumstances, to replenish our empty fridge.

  Maybe I could contact Karim while on the road and meet him in town somewhere.

  Duty and pleasure, rolled into one.

  Chao just snorts. “Run out of food? You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Er, you remember the storage room downstairs, Trevor? The one we spent so much time in, the other day, thanks to you?”

  “Ha. Ha. So funny.”

  “Last time I looked, it was still full to the brim.”

  “Yeah, I know that. What I mean is, we’ll run out of meals cooked by o. Like, there’s a last one for tonight’s dinner, and that’s it.”

  “Oh. Pity. But we still have…”

  “Fauchon delicacies, I know. And hand-canned Portuguese sardines. Nam nam.”

  “And booze.”

  “Thank God for that,” I mutter under my breath.

  Chao puts a pod in the Nespresso-machine. He has become quite an expert in preparing our morning coffees. “I take it you don’t think Fauc
hon and sardines are an option.”

  “Speaking long-term? No. We need fresh things.” I pour the orange juice into our glasses.

  “We can order them online, can’t we?”

  “Theoretically, yes. But I won’t order vegetables and meat online.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means I’ll drive to Nice. I’ve googled the local supermarkets, and the nearest ones are over there.”

  Chao takes a sip of his coffee. “All right. When do you want us to leave?”

  He says it casually, but my heart starts beating faster and louder. Stupid, and yet—the “us” sounds pretty good…

  “Us? Don’t tell me you have a sudden craving for supermarkets!” I mock-gasp to hide my confusion.

  “Don’t be an ass. I’d rather shoot myself in the kneecap than push a cart through a supermarket. But I don’t want you to do all the work. It’s my fault, after all, that the staff isn’t here to take care of the shopping.”

  “No meetings today?” I ask.

  “Meetings can be postponed.”

  “Okay. Why don’t we leave right after we’ve finished breakfast?”

  “Okay.”

  Well, here goes my plan to spend less time with my sexy housekeeper and hook up with Karim instead. What said sexy housekeeper has just stated is true, however: meetings can be postponed.

  At least, going to a supermarket with Chao might actually be fun.

  The fun starts when we step out of the elevator, half an hour later. “Love your casual going-to-the-supermarket outfit,” I say with a side-glance at Chao.

  He looks down at his white linen ensemble and loafers. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

  “Not a thing, sunshine. It’s perfect if you’re planning to purchase a yacht. You do know we’re only going to roam the aisles of a supermarket, though, do you?”

  “Hmph. I can’t help it if I got style.” He precedes me through the French window and struts toward the Lamborghini.

  “Er… What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Getting in the car.”

  “That one? I don’t think so,” I say.

  He turns around, car keys in hand, and looks surprised. “What?”

  “We won’t go shopping in that luxury car, Chao.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it has barely enough space for the two of us. And no trunk, by the look of it. Where do you want us to put the groceries?”

  Crestfallen, he says, “You don’t mean…”

  “Yes, I do. We’ll take Sean, of course.”

  Grudgingly, he allows me to open the passenger door of the pink car. He peeks inside. “You sure that yoghurt pot is big enough for us both?”

  “And then some. Show a bit more respect for my mother’s car, please.”

  He pretends to squeeze onto the passenger seat with great difficulty. “I warn you, I’ll probably have to ask you for a massage once we’re finished. I’m sure I’ll be all cramped up.”

  “I can do a massage. But counter warning: at your own risk.”

  He blushes a deep red and shuts up.

  I start the car. “Seat belt, sunshine.”

  “I’m not sure that’s necessary. I can hardly move, and my nose is literally pressed against the windshield.”

  I steer the car down the driveway. “Oh, fun fact: there’s no AC. So, if you say nasty things about Sean, I might be tempted to leave the power sunroof closed, and you’ll be drenched in sweat and other juices by the time we reach the supermarket. Your choice.”

  “Nice car, pretty car. Pink’s so underrated.”

  With a laugh, I reach up and press the button.

  If I had done the shopping by myself

  If I had done the shopping by myself, I’m sure I’d have finished it in less than an hour. You can’t get lost in a French supermarket, even one you shop in for the first time, because when you know one, you know them all. Their layouts are similar, so it’s easy to find the meat, the veggies and fruits, the fish, dairy, beverages, sweets, bread, and so on.

  But when you go shopping with a complete neophyte—and Chao is one, by the looks of it—things will take a bit longer. Or much longer, depending on the neophyte’s enthusiasm. I don’t really check my watch when we enter the supermarket I’ve selected, so I can’t tell you how much longer it takes. Suffice it to say that Chao turns out to be very enthusiastic.

  Oh, and thank God I dictated a shopping list during the drive, which he dutifully wrote down on a sheet of paper. Not that he pays attention to it once we’re inside the supermarket, but without it, a single shopping cart wouldn’t have been enough.

  It’s fun, though. He insists on us both pushing the cart, so our shoulders are all but glued together as we wander from aisle to aisle. “We can’t split—we’re a team,” he says, which makes me wonder what weird notion of teamwork he has. Normally, you distribute the tasks at hand for better efficiency and improved productivity. But whatever. To other shoppers, rare at this time of a weekday, we must look like an old couple, which I find strangely… pleasant.

  I can hear you—so, please, refrain from saying, “Duh!”

  As in all big supermarkets, when you enter, you pass a lot of sections I never stop in because they sell things I either don’t need or don’t have the money to buy. You know, washing machines, tellies, cell phones and other electronic devices, CDs and DVDs, newspapers and magazines, kitchen appliances, plates and cutlery, that sort of things.

  I mean to ignore them as always, but the neophyte by my side will have none of it. He makes us check it all out with genuine interest. “I didn’t know you could find all that stuff in a supermarket!” he tells me.

  “I figured that out when you examined the dishwashers. All of them, one by one. In minute detail.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Are you in a hurry?”

  I shake my head. “No. But normally, I don’t dawdle in these areas. I get straight to the point of why I’m here, that is, find the stuff on my list. You remember? The thing we drew up in the car?”

  “What fun is that?”

  “I’m not sure shopping is supposed to be fun. It’s more a tedious yet necessary activity. To get food, for example.”

  He carelessly discards the art magazine he was leafing through. “I’m sorry. I’m just so fascinated by this whole experience.”

  “You don’t shop often, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’ll indulge you this time, kiddo. But I warn you: if you throw a tantrum over a toy, you’ll be deprived of ice cream for a week.”

  Before we reach the sections where my shopping usually starts, Chao disappears down an aisle we’ve already browsed. I roll my eyes. What the fuck has he discovered now? Among the tableware, of all things?

  He comes back five minutes later, hands behind his back, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You found something,” I sigh.

  He nods. “Ta-da!” He brandishes two mugs. “For our morning coffee.”

  “If I’m not completely mistaken, there’s a whole cupboard full of, you know, cups and mugs back in the kitchen…”

  “But these are perfect!” He shows me his finds, as proud as if he had just won the Pulitzer.

  What I see are white mugs. Okay. Nothing to get excited about.

  Then he shows me the imprints.

  Brace yourselves, guys. One mug sports… two pieces of sushi.

  And the other… two bananas.

  I stare at the mugs, uncomprehendingly at first. Then it clicks. And I burst out laughing, with tears streaming down my cheeks. I’m sure my hilarity can even be overheard in the parking lot outside.

  Chao stares at me questioningly.

  I pat his arm, still giggling. “They are… they are perfect. So us, somehow.”

  He exhales. “Phew. I though
t you didn’t like them.”

  “I do. They’ll make our breakfasts all the more memorable. I suppose the sushi are for you and the bananas for me?”

  “Well, if you think you can handle sushi, you can have them, and I’ll take the bananas…”

  Double entendre or… my imagination getting the best of me? “Put them in the cart,” I say.

  At the meat counter, I buy chicken breasts, lamb, and beef. A pack of wooden sticks is on my list as well—I plan to make use of the barbecue in the Kinner villa at last.

  We push the cart to the next counter when Chao remembers we have forgotten to get ground beef. “I wanted to make cheeseburgers,” he says. “That’s about the only thing I know to prepare.”

  “Well, go back to the butcher’s stall. Just tell me if you like fish,” I reply because that’s what the counter before me offers.

  “I love fish. I won’t be long, okay?” Chao taps me on the arm, then disappears.

  I take a place in line.

  The fish sales assistant is a strapping young dude with very nice, hairy forearms. He’s kind of cute, too, despite the ugly cap he’s forced to wear. When he has served the customer before me, he turns to me with a big smile and says in French, “Salut.”

  “Salut.”

  He locks eyes with me, still smiling, and my gaydar rings immediately. I’m sure I’ll be in good hands. “How may I help you?” he asks in a pronounced Southern accent.

  “Er, do you have gilthead breams?”

  “Yes. Very good choice, too. They were caught last night. How many do you want?”

  “I’ll take… four. And could you please remove the scales and disembowel them?”

  “With pleasure.” He shows me four fish, and I nod because they look perfect. Not that I really look; I’m still mesmerized by his hairy forearms. They’re so muscular and make me wonder if he’s hairy everywhere. On his broad chest, for example. Yum.

  The sales assistant turns around and starts to work on the breams. Over his shoulder, he asks, “You on vacation? Because, judging by your accent, you’re not from around here.”