“Because those black hoes you date are just like your white hoes. Just as long as you give them a wonderful parting gift, as you always do, you could dump them every day of the week. They don’t give a damn about your butt either. But Janet is different.”
Spencer had never met Janet Evans, but he’d heard about her. Richard told him how she was still a virgin at twenty-two, which shocked Spencer. A twenty-two-year-old virgin was like a unicorn where they came from. And although Richard never told him so, he was certain she wasn’t a twenty-two-year-old virgin anymore when his brother got through with her. That was probably why he bought her that Mercedes.
But the shock to Spencer was when she returned that Mercedes. She became a folk hero to Spencer when she pulled gangster shit like that on his brother. That played with his brother’s mind for a long time. He’d never seen a woman like Janet. Neither had Spencer.
“What’s your motive, is the question,” Spencer said.
“Dinner is my motive,” said Richard.
“And?”
“None of your business.”
“Then why did you bring it up?”
Richard frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Did it have something to do with the fact that I’m younger than you and looking to hitch my wagon, while your old ass don’t have a wagon to hitch?”
“I don’t know,” Richard answered honestly.
“You think she’s the one?” Spencer asked.
“No!” Richard said. Then he settled back down. “I don’t know,” he said.
Spencer shook his head. “You don’t know shit, do you?”
Richard smiled and pushed his brother aside. Then he looked beyond his brother. “There they are,” he said, and then he and Spencer watched a car turn off the empty highway and drive through the big parking lot, kicking up dust, toward Spencer’s Mustang.
“How many are we looking at?” Spencer asked, walking around to the passenger side of his vehicle.
Richard was trying to see inside of the tinted car. “The driver,” he said. “A guy in the back too. A passenger. Three. I see three guys.”
“Three guys?” Spencer nodded his head. “And it’s just two of us.”
“We can handle three guys all day long,” Richard said. “That used to be my M-O at every frat party on campus. Me against a group of guys. And I always won.”
Spencer looked at his brother. “College? You do realize that was damn-near twenty years ago when you were in college, right?”
“Twenty years? That long? Damn!” Richard said, playing around, and Spencer laughed too.
And then the Italians stopped beside the Mustang and stepped out.
Richard and Spencer leaned against the Mustang and the three Italians leaned against their Cadillac. “Who is that?” the one in the middle, Bartoli, asked.
“This is my brother Spencer,” Richard said. “Spence, this is Bartoli and?”
“Scapaletti and Vance,” said Bartoli. “I thought we were meeting you alone,” he added.
“I thought I was meeting you alone,” said Richard.
Bartoli smiled. “Touché,” he said.
“Interesting location for a meeting place,” Richard said, his arms folded, his legs crossed at the ankle.
“Just wanted to show you what a partnership with us could lead to,” Bartoli said.
Spencer knew he was joking. “To a strip mall?” he asked. “You’re pulling our leg, right?”
Richard could tell Bartoli didn’t think he was. Richard could tell Bartoli thought owning a strip mall in the middle of nowhere was quite the feat.
“You do realize who we are, right?” Spencer asked. “You do realize strip malls don’t mean shit to us, right?”
The other two Italians glanced at their boss.
“I understand you’re an asshole, if that’s what you mean,” Bartoli said to Spencer and Spencer was about to rush him. But Richard pulled him back.
“No need for that,” Richard said, slamming his younger brother against the car.
“Why did you want to meet, Mr. Shetfield?” Bartoli asked. “We met already and you didn’t seem impressed then.”
“I was impressed,” Richard said, “but I knew my brother wouldn’t be.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Bartoli asked.
“He has an aversion to crooks,” Richard said. “He doesn’t get in the mud with thugs.”
Bartoli’s men were offended again. But Bartoli stared at Richard. “If we’re such crooks and thugs,” he asked, “why are you here? Why did you ask to meet?”
“I want to give you an offer you can’t refuse,” said Richard, and Spencer smiled.
“What kind of offer?” Bartoli asked.
“A backdoor into Shetfield Oil,” said Richard.
“But you just said your brother--”
“Not through Monty,” Richard said. “Through me.”
Bartoli stared at him. “You don’t run Shetfield Oil. Your brother does.”
“But my brother and I, this brother right here, are stakeholders. Major stakeholders. If we combine our shares, we can overrule our brother.”
That was the first Spencer was hearing of any takeover attempt, but he knew how to play it off. There was always method to Richard’s madness.
But Bartoli wasn’t playing it off. “Who do you think you’re fucking with?” he asked. “We did our research. Montgomery is your father’s favorite. Without question. Your father will side with your brother Monty, and between the two of them and all of their shares, you two won’t stand a chance.”
“Our mother is a stakeholder too,” said Richard. “And guess who’s her favorite?”
Spencer started to ask who because Richard wasn’t close to either parent. He wasn’t close to anybody but Spence and Monty.
But it was enough to maintain Bartoli’s interest. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve been looking at a takeover for some time now,” Richard said. “I just needed the right muscle on my side.”
“Muscle? We’re businesspeople. Do we look like muscle to you?”
“Like you stepped out of a muscle magazine,” said Spencer.
Bartoli frowned. “I don’t like you,” he said to Spencer.
“Good,” said Spencer. “That only redounds to my good character if a character like you loathes me. And it’s mutual, by the way.”
“You want in or not?” Richard asked Bartoli.
“What’s in it for me?” asked Bartoli.
“If it works. And that’s a big if. But if it works,” Richard said, “three percent of Shetfield Oil, which would be huge. You were only asking Monty for two.”
Bartoli was interested. Richard could tell he and his boys were interested. “Keep talking,” Bartoli said.
“No more talking,” Richard shot back. “I need you to decide. Are you in, or are you out?”
Bartoli smiled. “I’m in,” he said. “It’s what I wanted all along.”
“A takeover?”
“That’s right. But I had to get inside first. I knew that too.”
And just like that, Richard’s relaxed demeanor left. “I thought so, motherfucker!” he said angrily.
Even Spencer was surprised how quickly Richard’s demeanor changed. “What are you talking?”
“You think I’ll stand by and let you take over my family business? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Bartoli panicked. “You’re the one who brought up takeover!” he declared.
“Because I knew what your ass really wanted. Now get out of my face with that bullshit!”
Bartoli and his men were piping mad. Spencer wondered if their heads were going to explode. But they knew they had no choice but to walk away. They knew they weren’t in any condition to start a war with a Shetfield.
“You’ll regret this,” Bartoli warned. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with.” But he also got in that car, and the three Italians sped away.
Spencer smiled. “I
knew your ass wasn’t stupid enough to go against Monty.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Richard said as he got in on the passenger side and Spencer, still smiling, got in behind the wheel.
But then, just as he was about to start his ignition, Bartoli’s car suddenly turned around at the end of the parking lot and began racing back toward the Mustang.
Spencer, seeing it too, was about to crank up. But Richard stopped him. “Stay where you are,” he said, looking through his side mirror at the fast-approaching car. “We’ve got this. I’ll take Bartoli and the guy in the backseat. You take the driver.”
“Sure we got this, Dicky?” Spencer asked as he stared through the rearview and pulled out his loaded revolver.
“I’m never sure,” Richard said, pulling out his gun too. “But that never stopped me before.”
And as soon as the three Italians jumped out of that car with guns in hand, and began running toward the Shetfields, Richard and Spencer jumped out of the Mustang. And before the Italians could raise their guns to aim it at the brothers, the brothers were already shooting. Richard took out Bartoli and the backseat passenger, and Spencer quickly dispensed with the driver. It was a fast take-out, but it was still pulse-pounding to the brothers.
But Bartoli was down, but not out. He turned onto his back and tried to fire a shot at Richard. But Richard had not let down his guard yet. And he took him out.
Then both brothers looked at each other. “What the fuck, Dicky?” a shocked Spencer said. “Did you see that shit?”
“I saw it.”
“You saw this coming?”
Richard exhaled. He was reeling, too, because he saw no such thing. But he wasn’t telling Spencer that. “I see everything coming,” he said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She arrived at the address given, which turned out to be a high-end restaurant on the outskirts of Tulsa. But as she waited to drive up to the valet station, her Honda Civic looking conspicuously odd with the luxury cars that surrounded her, she couldn’t help but wonder why he would need to meet with her at a restaurant, rather than his office? And what if she went through all that trouble of getting dressed, and driving the distance, only to find out that he didn’t realize she was no longer with Rooney and Rice? His secretary indicated that she knew, but what if she failed to mention it to him? But the bigger question for Janet, was why did she agree to come at all? All she had to say was no.
But she didn’t say no. She agreed to show up. Part of it was just the curiosity of why he wanted to meet with her. But the other part of it was that it was Richard who wanted to meet with her. The man who didn’t mind having dinner with her in her poverty-stricken boarding room. The man who held her all night to help ease her recurring nightmare. The man who was so concerned about her walking in the dark that he purchased her a car that would have had no problem fitting in among the luxury cars around her now. She was excited to see Richard again.
Although, she also knew, he was the man who made love to her, and left her.
Although, she also knew, if that meeting two days ago was any indication, he didn’t even remember her.
And why would he? Her life was no movie of the week. She wasn’t going to suddenly get some exotic makeover and become the Cinderella of the ball that every man wanted to be with. Including a man like Richard. It was nonsensical to even think it!
But she couldn’t back out now. She was already there, in line, and the valet was motioning her to pull her car forward. She pulled up, got out, took her valet ticket, and handed off her keys. And then she slowly entered the restaurant praying it would amount to something positive, but careful to assume that it wouldn’t.
Richard was already inside. Seated at his booth, he was leaned back, sipping wine, and taking puffs on his well-smoked cigar. And still reeling from that interaction with those Italians. They were angry because he was on to them and they apparently decided, right then and there, to take him and his kid brother out. And he didn’t see it coming, despite what he told Spence. And it worried him that he didn’t.
And then his focus shifted, when Janet walked in.
He had a ringside seat as he watched her. She had a proud constitution about her, he thought, as she stood in line in the popular restaurant and waited her turn at the Maître d station. She had the look of somebody who wasn’t trying to be about any nonsense and was only there to handle her business. Stern might be the word some would describe her. Serious was how he saw her.
And her dress style, he also realized, pleased him too. Because it was so very understated. Because nothing about her was overdone. She wore a gorgeous blue dress that hugged every curve of her slender frame, and that brought out the brilliance of her big, beautiful hazel eyes, but it wasn’t dripping with lavish jewels or extravagant lacings, as was the style of choice for most women in that restaurant. Her hair was also nicely done, dropping just past her neckline in large curls that framed her interesting face. And her jewelry only consisted of a pair of small earrings, and a string of pearls at the throat. She looked quite elegant, Richard thought.
But so different too! Because all he’d ever been interested in was a certain kind of woman with a certain kind of look. Although they ranged in ethnicity, from white to black to Asian to Hispanic to all other races in between, and in size, from skinny girls with model-type bodies to voluptuous women on the verge of plumpness, they all had one thing in common: gorgeous faces. Faces to die for.
Janet didn’t have that attribute, if he were to be honest. Her face was more interesting than drop-dead gorgeous, and he never thought in a million years that interesting could ever trump gorgeous. But somehow, on Janet, it did.
Whenever he looked at Janet, it seemed as if he was looking at a woman who made gorgeousness seem plain. Who made gorgeous women seem like a dime a dozen. Because in every room, you could pick out a dozen of them. But just one of Janet.
But the fact remained: he’d never known a girl like her. And he still couldn’t verbalize to his own satisfaction why he phoned Doris and told her to contact Janet at all. Why would he put her on this bridge to nowhere? Why would he put himself on it? She was so not his type. What was he doing?
But she was there now. He had done the damn thing and had his secretary ask her to come there. He might as well see where it led.
He smashed his cigar in the ashtray on his table and stood to his feet as the maître d led her to his booth.
When Janet saw him stand up buttoning his suitcoat, she smiled and began extending her hand well before she made it all the way up to him. As if she was meeting a client, not the man of her dreams. It was her way to manage her nerves.
But as soon as she got close enough to his booth, and he shook her hand, he knew that wasn’t enough. Because it all flooded back to him. There was something about Janet that made him feel warm inside. That was so indescribable that it would do her an injustice to put her in any category. She did something to him. That was all there was to it. And he removed his hand from hers, and pulled her into his arms.
Janet was surprised when he hugged her. No man had ever hugged her before or since Richard did six years ago. Now he was doing it again. And she couldn’t help herself. She loved that feeling! She even closed her eyes tightly to experience every moment of that feeling. She felt his big hands on her small back. She felt his hard body against her soft body. She smelled his cologne scent mixed with the scent of cigar. Nobody made her experience feelings the way Richard did.
Richard couldn’t help it either. He closed his eyes too. He was a drowning man. Nobody would believe it to look at him and his accomplishments, but if something didn’t change in his life, he was going down for the count. What Janet’s presence did was to give him hope. She made him feel that it wasn’t all hopeless. That he could actually do right by a female for once in his life. That love and happiness wasn’t some foreign concept that wasn’t meant for him. He held Janet so tightly, with her breasts crushed against his chest, and he didn’t want
to let her go.
It was Janet who pulled back from him. Because this was crazy! Because she had to know that man was just being polite, and for her to give it any more significance than that would be foolhardy. For all she knew he greeted everybody that way. A strange way to greet everybody, she realized, but the rich did things differently. Maybe Richard was a hugger. He didn’t give her that impression when she saw him two days ago. But what else could be the reason?
Richard was a little embarrassed that he had overreacted on seeing her, and he tried to play it off by being all about the business too. “Have a seat,” he said to her.
Neither one of them had realized it, but the maître d was still waiting. “What would the lady care to drink, sir?” he asked Richard.
And Richard took that opportunity to lash out at the maître d. To make it all about that poor man, rather than Richard’s own embarrassment. “Why are you asking me what she care to drink? Ask the lady!”
“I apologize, ma’am.”
“No apology needed,” Janet said politely. “I’ll have a vodka?”
“Very good, ma’am,” the maître d said, and left their table.
Richard sat down. “I was rude, wasn’t I?” he said to her.
“Very,” Janet said. “I’m sure that man didn’t mean anything by it. He was just kowtowing to the person with the power.”
“Don’t excuse that,” Richard shot back at her. “Demand to be seen, even when people don’t want to see you. You understand?”
“Oh, I do. And I have. All my life.”
“But?”
“But there’s so much of that in my world that you have to pick your battles. And an insensitive waiter isn’t a battle I have the energy to fight. His insensitivity doesn’t matter to me enough,” she said with a smile.
Richard smiled too. “Point taken,” he said. Then he exhaled, and glanced down at her breasts. “It’s good seeing you again, Janet,” he said.
Plain Jane Evans and the Billionaire Page 11