How to Bed a Millionaire

by Dieter Moitzi

Damn. Why must I have a mother who knows me so well? “Okay. Maybe I met someone,” I admit grudgingly. “But it’s still early days, Mom. I don’t want to jinx the whole thing by spilling the beans. Not that there are any beans to spill yet, but you know what I mean.”

  “All right. I understand. A secret garden is meant to stay secret. By the way, talking about spilling… you promise me you’re careful and, you know, take your precautions. You do have rubbers, darling, don’t you? And enough gel to…”

  I can hear Judy say in the background, “Mom! Gross!”

  For once, I agree with her. “Mom! This is so not a conversation I want to have with you!” I protest.

  “Don’t be prudish, Trevor. And you, young lady, stop rolling your eyes. You’ll soon be waltzing down that lane, too, if you haven’t already… Now, she’s stomped off! Can you believe it, Trevor?”

  “I can. I’m sure Granma Parker never talked to you like that.”

  Mom chuckles. “She didn’t. But she gave me very useful advice before I got married, and let me tell you, I heeded every word of it. That’s why I have such a happy marriage. Your grandmother, my darling boy, said I should never let your father stop dandling me until I saw sweet Jesus…”

  I gasp. “She never said that!”

  “She did, young man. Why would I lie to you?”

  Ew. This conjures images of Mom telling Dad which buttons to press—not a fantasy I care to indulge in.

  I adroitly and hastily change the subject. The only thing that comes to mind, however, is my moody and incomprehensible housemate. I also convey his stilted thanks for the food.

  As I expected, she laughs at that. Then she asks, “Is he your prospective sweetheart? He sure sounds like an intriguing guy.”

  “Er, no. He isn’t my sweetheart, neither prospective nor anything. He’s intriguing, I grant you that. Even if I’d rather use the word exasperating. It’s ups and downs with him, a real roller coaster. But he’s straighter than a honeymoon dick.”

  Mom laughs heartily. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say those words. But are you sure you’re not interested in him?”

  “No!” I say a bit too loudly.

  “You seem to have observed him quite closely, though.”

  “That’s because it’s just the two of us in this villa. Anyway… what’s new in Sainte-Gudule?”

  I’m lucky. Mom accepts the change of subject and updates me on the local news. We chat some more, then send us our love—including Dad and Judy—before we hang up.

  I walk back to my room. What should I do now? Tackle the books downstairs? Aw, no. I’m still too wired.

  When I see the plastic bags on my bed, I have an idea.

  First, I unpack my new purchases, take off the price tags, and put the clothes in the walk-in closet.

  Then, I pick up my dirty laundry and carry it over to the utility room. As I haven’t brought much, the washing machine is only half-full once I’ve stuffed everything into it. I decide I’ll wait for Chao to come home and ask him if he has anything that needs to be washed.

  I fill a bucket with warm water, add some detergent, then carry it over to my room together with a vacuum cleaner. No staff in the house means no one has dusted or cleaned anything since I came here. My room’s not dirty, but my mom would be horrified if she knew I hadn’t scrubbed the surfaces until now.

  In no time, everything is pristine and smells of lemon. For good measure, I vacuum the corridor, too, then the kitchen.

  I start vacuuming the corridor of Chao’s wing. When I reach his door, I stop and knock.

  Oh. Surprise. I haven’t heard Chao come back, but here he is, pulling the door open with a worn-out expression.

  “Hi,” I say.

  He leans against the doorframe, stares at my naked chest, then quickly looks away. “I heard the noise and didn’t want to interrupt whatever you were up to. What are you doing?”

  “I’m cleaning our floor. Would you mind if I vacuumed your room, too?”

  He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “You don’t need to do this. You’re not paid to do this.”

  “I know. But as there’s no cleaning staff, someone has got to do it,” I reply. “So. Your room?”

  He beckons me in. “By all means, if you enjoy this kind of activity…”

  “No, I don’t. But I hate living in a pigsty even more.” I push past him.

  His room is laid out like mine, just the other way around. And it looks tidy and clean, to be honest. But now I’m here, I won’t let that deter me from my plan.

  I vacuum the bathroom and walk-in closet first—the latter, I notice, is bursting with very expensive-looking clothes. I’ve never seen so many suits, shirts, socks, sweaters, and pullovers outside a clothes shop.

  Then I busy myself in the room. My gaze falls on a small pile on Chao’s desk while I’m vacuuming around it. Two books and two DVDs lying on the torn-up Amazon Prime envelope.

  And Jesus WTF Christ—would you believe it? It’s Aciman’s Call Me by Your Name and Albertalli’s Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda.

  Both the books and the movies.

  My housekeeper is always good for surprises.

  I switch off the vacuum cleaner. “That’ll do. Now, have you got anything dirty for me?”

  Chao stares at me.

  I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “Laundry. I’m talking about dirty laundry, of course. I’ve run out of clean clothes, so I wanted to use the washing machines, but somehow, I don’t seem to be able to fill them with my few belongings…”

  Rambling again, yes. That’s very much me.

  Chao almost smiles. “You don’t have to do that…”

  “You already said so. But you know, ecology and stuff… Anyway, the machines will do most of the work. And I warn you—if you want wrinkle-free shirts, you’ll have to iron them yourself. Ironing is where I draw the line.”

  “Good to know you draw the line somewhere,” I hear Chao mumble. “All right. I’ll bring my dirty laundry over to the utility room.”

  “You might lend me a helping hand, too.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, no menial task. I’d just like you to sort out your laundry. You probably don’t want me to go through your underwear, right?”

  Chao blushes. “Absolutely. You go ahead, I’ll join you in a minute.”

  I start the barbecue at 8:00 p.m.

  I start the barbecue at 8:00 p.m. It’s one of those appliances where you need to burn the charcoal first, then grill your food over the embers. You know what I mean. Dad had one of those, but only briefly. Until he almost burned down our house and Mom confiscated it, sold it on eBay, and bought an electric barbecue.

  The Kinners have invested in a huge, old-fashioned but state-of-the-art barbecue with a charcoal container right next to it. For the record, I googled the brand. It costs—brace yourselves—over 6,500 euros. I know, I know—WTF? And that’s only the price of the basic model, which is not what we got here. My guesstimate would be ten grand at least.

  Well, millionaires can be choosers, right?

  Using the music app on the iPad in the living room, I put on an electro mix and leave the French windows open so that I can dance to the rhythm while the charcoals are still in flames. Controlled flames, mind you. I have no plans to torch the Kinner summer house.

  Five minutes later, Chao appears in the doorframe. I see a half-amused twinkle in his eyes when he spots me on the terrace doing my freestyle wiggling while the music is blaring all over the floor. He’s holding a bottle of Martini and two glasses in his hands.

  “Care for a drink?” he shouts.

  “Perfect timing!” I shout back, ending my choreography with a flourish.

  “You seem to be having a good time!” His eyes roam over my naked chest. “Oh, and those board shorts really l
ook good on you.”

  “I had a generous donor with good taste.”

  “Jeez, isn’t that a bit too loud?” He puts the bottle and glasses on the terrace tiles. “I’ll turn down the volume!”

  “You can even change the music!” I shout back.

  Chao follows my advice. A soft jazz tune I immediately recognize comes dripping through the French windows.

  The housekeeper steps back out onto the terrace. “I hope you really don’t mind. It’s not that I dislike your, er, music…”

  “You’re a lousy liar.”

  “Never mind. I think this is maybe more appropriate for, you know, creating a nice dinner mood.”

  “Julie London is perfect,” I say, fussing around with the charcoals.

  Chao stares at me, nonplussed. “You know her?”

  I don’t know if I should be insulted by his sincere surprise, so I simply nod.

  “You’ll never cease to astonish me,” he says in his poshest accent. Then he takes in the empty terrace. “Do you want to have dinner up here?”

  “Wherever you prefer. The pool deck’s okay, but up here would be more practical.”

  “Well, you keep an eye on the charcoals. I go get us some furniture from the storage room and set the table.”

  For once, he’s efficient. Half an hour later, a nicely laid-out rattan table stands before the railing, and Chao has brought up a rattan bench with fluffy pillows that he places in such a way that we’ll be able to enjoy the view over the sea. The charcoals start to look perfect, so I bring up the skewers and the salad I prepared while the washing machines were doing their job.

  Before putting the first skewers on the grill, I accept a glass of Martini and sit on the bench beside Chao.

  He hasn’t touched his glass yet, I notice, patiently waiting for me to be ready. That’s… a nice move.

  Unexpectedly nice, too. He hasn’t said much, lugging the furniture up in a subdued, withdrawn, almost gloomy mood. He looked close to tears when Julie London sang, “Cry me a river…”, but maybe that was just the smoke in his eyes.

  Anyway, I’m convinced that he is in the middle of a divorce. It would explain his subtle sadness.

  I should be nice to him, I guess. It can’t be easy to go through this.

  But boy, would I love to know the whole story! Shoot me, guys—I’m as curious as a magpie. But I won’t pry. Rules and boundaries, remember?

  I settle for an innocuous question instead. “What’s the story?” I ask, taking a sip of Martini.

  Chao shakes himself out of the glum reverie the drink in his hand seems to have triggered. “The story? What story?”

  “The story of this terrace. Why does it look as if no one ever used it?”

  Chao shrugs. “I don’t know. The family prefer the pool deck. More privacy, I gather.”

  “It is more secluded, that’s true. And with the two side wings, it gives a feeling of safety, too. Then, there’s the pool, of course. But this here—” I wave my glass around, then lean back and squint contentedly at the sun dipping lower and lower in the sky, the glittering waves, the boats drifting across the sea, the glorious panorama. “It’s like sitting on the prow of a ship. Everything looks… I don’t know, infinite. Unrestricted. It’s a place that makes me feel… free.”

  “Free. I see,” he says in an ominous voice. “That must be a wonderful feeling. You do look radiant if I may say so.”

  The sinking sun makes his gorgeous, sharply chiseled face take on a golden glow that contrasts perfectly with his short, black hair. His somber eyes are boring into me while he tries to smile. He really sounds dejected, and I feel the sudden urge to take him in my arms and kiss his sorrows away like Mom used to do when I had a little owie. She still does it, by the way.

  But boundaries. Those god-damned boundaries.

  Not to mention he wouldn’t want me to kiss him.

  And there’s Karim, now.

  All of a sudden, things feel complicated, and I don’t even know why they should.

  After that, dinner is a low-key and silent affair. The strange mood between us doesn’t quite ruin my appetite, but I’d have liked a more festive and joyful atmosphere. The weird music that follows Julie London when we start eating does nothing to lift my spirits either. It’s beautiful, a mix of male voices singing Gregorian chants and a jazzy saxophone accompanying them with improvisations, but I find it sad.

  “It is beautiful up here,” Chao says softly when we’ve finished eating. We’re both staring at the last orange glow the sunken sun paints on the sea. “And you’re an amazing cook, Trevor. I really can’t thank you enough for taking such good care of me.”

  Embarrassed, I reply, “Anytime, sunshine.”

  He chuckles. “Do you know that I might start to appreciate being called ‘sunshine’?”

  I smile at him. “I’m happy to hear it.”

  We listen to the doleful sax and the floaty voices for a moment. Then I clear my throat. “Chao… I couldn’t help but see the contents of your Amazon order this afternoon.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why did you order those books? And the movies?”

  He turns and shoots me one of his unfathomable looks.

  “Sorry if I’m nosy. You don’t have to answer me if you’d rather not.”

  “No, it’s okay. You said those were your favorite books, so I simply wanted to read them. And I thought I might check out the movies, too.”

  “And?”

  He nods. “I read them. Both.”

  “Jeez, already?”

  “I’m a fast reader. I watched the movies, too.”

  I really don’t know what to say.

  “You seem surprised?” Chao leans back.

  “I am. Surprised that you remembered the titles and authors. And surprised you ordered them.” My voice suddenly becomes a bit hoarse. Do I need to spell out why? I’m touched, guys! Really touched.

  “Did you like them?” I ask shyly.

  “I liked the movies, yes. But I’m glad I read the books before, because those, I positively loved.” His smile is now warm and bright, as if the memory of the books brought back some sort of afterglow. “I can see why you were so enthusiastic about them. They made me question a lot of certainties I had. They also made me understand… things. Stuff I never thought about before.”

  “Such as?”

  He mulls this over. “No matter with whom you fall in love—experiences, outcomes, hurt, and happiness always turn out to be pretty much the same for everyone. And love has no sex or gender. What it needs to bloom is just another human being, that’s all.”

  We’re draped in almost complete darkness now—there’s only a citrus-scented antimosquito candle flickering on the table. But I think my flushed head must shine like a red beacon. “That’s… beautifully said.”

  “You know, the books made me feel all fuzzy and fizzy inside.” Chao turns away and looks into the dark. Softly, he adds, “I think I understand you better, too. I see where you’re coming from, and who you are, and what you must’ve gone through before you got to where you’re today.”

  Fuzzy and fizzy inside? If that’s the way to describe things, then I’m positively effervescent now.

  “I also think I understand your… needs and urges better.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” I murmur.

  “No, you were right. We all have…”

  “Listen, Chao. It’s not as simple as that. Needs and urges are only one face of the medal. If you’ve read the books and grasped their deeper meaning, you know that I’m… looking for my soulmate. Like Simon, like Elio. My Prince Charming.”

  Chao turns to face me again. The candlelight flickers over his serious, earnest face. He looks angelic, from beyond this world when he takes my hand.

  Gulp.

  “Trevor
,” he says and swallows hard. “After all that has happened since you came here… I wanted to tell you… I’d feel immensely honored to be your friend.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say stupidly and nod.

  My friend.

  Of course.

  That’s how you make me go from fizzy-fuzzy to fizzled-out with one word.

  Yay!

  Yay! We’re friends now, Chao and I. Let’s open a bottle of champagne.

  Do I sound sarcastic? That’s because I’m an oaf. Like, the oaf. I mean, I knew this was coming. I knew it was stupid of me to get my hopes up. I knew I should be focusing on Karim and our pleasant first date and where we could take it from there.

  But no, for a second, when Chao takes my hand, I think (I hope) there might be… something else. Something more.

  With him.

  Which is so daft. Do I believe Aciman or Albertalli have managed to transmogrify Chao or something? Seriously?

  Bah.

  The next morning, I shower and dress in a hurry. Gym shorts, flip-flops. Period. I don’t wait for Chao to show up, don’t even bother making myself a cup of coffee, just dash down to the library, and close myself in. Then I drown my… disappointment in work, drudging away the whole morning, finishing stack after stack without lifting my nose from the books and the screen even once.

  Around two o’clock, my new friend suddenly opens the door. He’s wearing what passes for casual in his universe: white linen shorts and a khaki linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  “Knock, knock,” he says in a friendly tone.

  “Hey. What’s up?” I force myself to smile.

  “I’m… bored. So, I thought, why don’t we do something together?”

  “Well…” I point at the books. “I didn’t get much work done yesterday. I guess I should rather try to tackle these.”

  “Come one. It’s Saturday. And you’ve been working all morning.”

  I sigh. If I don’t give it a try, this friends-thing will never work. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

  “Maybe a walk? I’m sure you haven’t seen much of the peninsula yet.”

  “M-hm. Why not. Even though the neighborhood doesn’t strike me as particularly interesting.”