Old Enough

by Charmaine Pauls

  As I open my mouth to tell him so, he says, “Name your price.”

  I laugh. How easy everything seems for people with money. “Fifty.”

  I throw the word at him, meaning to end this game with the ridiculous sum, but he regards me with the same, unblinking stare from earlier.

  “Done.” Reaching inside his pocket, he takes out a business card, flips it over, and slides it my way. “Write down your name and email.”

  This time, my laugh is forced. “I agreed to nothing.”

  “Understood.”

  His easy admittance catches me off guard.

  He takes back the card, produces a pen from his inside jacket pocket, and scribbles something on the back before slipping it into my shirt pocket. “Her name and address. Go check her out and decide if she’s worth a fuck for fifty grand. When you send me a photo of the two of you naked doing the deed–and I want a clear shot of her face and the action–I’ll transfer the money. Don’t even bother with Photoshop. I’ll know.” He puts the pen on my napkin. “Name and email address. That’s all I need.”

  It’s not a deal, not until I’ve decided, or so I tell myself as I pick up the pen and start writing.

  “Good,” he says when I’m done, pocketing the napkin with my details. He holds out his hand.

  After a second’s hesitation, I accept, returning his firm shake.

  “It’s a deal.”

  His smile is polished and toothy, reminding me of a crocodile, but there’s something melancholic about him, a presence of sadness. I’m still gripping his hand when he gets to his feet.

  He studies my face. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  His smile is knowing. “How many months before you turn twenty?”

  The man is no fool. “Eight.”

  “Perfect. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.”

  He lets go first, leaving me sitting there with an outstretched hand and a business card burning in my pocket. My gaze follows him out of the restaurant to the street where a car waits. The chauffeur gets out and opens the door. A few pedestrians pass, obscuring my view, and then the car takes off, and he’s gone.

  Did this just happen? Did a man in a black suit just offer me fifty grand to seduce his dead friend’s cheating fiancée? Taking the card from my pocket, I stare at the embossed print on the white paper. It’s an email address. Nothing more.

  I don’t have to do it. Just because I said I’d check it out and shook hands on the deal doesn’t mean I’m committed. Then again, I’ve done worse. I’m not going to pretend to be a good man.

  Mike walks up to me, his smile easy. “Hey, mate.” He slaps me on the back and takes a seat. “Sorry I’m late. Got held up by one of the ever-complaining contractors. How’s things?”

  “It’s a strange world.”

  “You’re in a philosophical mood.”

  “Just saying that everything happens for a reason.”

  I do believe in karma. I believe what you think is what you get. Haven’t I been thinking fifteen grand when I walked in here?

  He motions at the card in my hands. “A girl gave you her number? Already?” He gives me a mixed look of admiration and envy. “I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes, and this is what happens.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  I don’t sound convincing, least of all to myself.

  1

  Jane

  Splash.

  “Fuuuck!”

  Splash. Splash.

  Turning my head on the pillow, I dig my face deeper into the linen, drowning out the sounds. My body and brain are finally in a deep state of relaxation after having tossed for a couple of hours. I’m not ready for another day. Specifically, not for this day.

  “It’s freezing.”

  “Pussy. It’s great.”

  Male voices. An internal alarm jerks me fully awake. The noise didn’t come from my dream. It’s coming from my backyard. A blaze of shock heats my skin. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s two in the morning.

  “I’ve wasted good money on working up a buzz, ‘cause now I’m sober.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to cool down.”

  Reflexively, I reach out to the space next to me, remembering too late it would be empty.

  “Not in ice water. My dick’s the size of a cocktail sausage. Look at this.”

  “Jesus, Clive. Keep it in your pants.”

  Are they breaking into my house? What kind of thieves take a dip in the pool before they rob you? My fingers tremble as they fumble for the lamp. Wait. If I switch on the light, I’ll not only alert them to my location in the house, but also to the fact that I’m awake, not that anyone can sleep with the racket they’re making.

  Slipping from the bed, I yank on the leggings and T-shirt I’d put out for morning. By fluke or God-sent mercy, Abby is sleeping over at Francois’ place after a parent evening at school. My heart drums an uneven rhythm as I pad to the window and pull the curtains open on a crack.

  What the hell?

  Three guys are bouncing around in my pool, a flash of red passing between them. Abby’s ball.

  Sons of bitches. Indignation replaces the shock. The gate is locked. They either climbed over or jumped the wall. Fists balled and heart still pounding, I tiptoe to the nightstand and grab my phone. A push of a button and a ringtone sounds in my ear. My call is promptly answered.

  “Groenkloof Police Station. How may I help you?”

  “Three men broke into my pool.” I keep my tone hushed and ramble down my address.

  The female voice on the other end is authoritative. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

  “Jane Logan.”

  “Ms. Logan, are you inside the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are your doors locked?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have a visual on the men?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they forcing entry into your home?”

  “They’re in my pool. They broke into my garden.”

  “I heard you the first time. Are they displaying signs of violence?”

  “Isn’t forced entry into someone’s property a form of violence?”

  “Ma’am, please answer the question so that I can help you.”

  Gritting my teeth, I say, “The fact that they’re in my pool would mean they’re swimming, so no, for the moment, they’re not displaying signs of violence.”

  I move back to the window and peer outside. One is knocking the ball around while a second is pushing the third’s head under the water.

  “Right.” The clacking of a keyboard sounds over the line. “I’ll dispatch a vehicle as soon as one becomes available.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “All our officers are currently on call-out. Can an officer reach you on this number to let you know when they’re on their way?”

  “This number’s fine. An hour? Two?” I crumple the T-shirt in my fist against my chest.

  “As I said, all our officers–”

  “Give me a rough idea.”

  She sighs. “A few hours. It’s hard to say. It depends on how quickly the call-outs are dealt with.”

  “Thank you.”

  She mumbles, “You’re welcome,” and cuts the line.

  Unless I’m being murdered, the police won’t come. Even then, it’ll be too late. Stuff that. If the guys having a party in my pool meant me harm they would’ve already tried to break into the house. They’re up to no good, but they’re not here to steal anything or kill someone. I iron out my T-shirt with a palm and make my way down the hallway. In front of the patio doors in the lounge, I pause. For an embarrassing moment, I consider calling Francois. No. I can only imagine him explaining to Debbie he’s going to rescue his ex-wife from pranksters. Besides, Francois is a realist. He’d never take on three men bigger and stronger than himself. He’d do the same as what I did–call th
e police.

  Another bout of hurling laughter seals the deal. My hand is already reaching for the key before I’ve taken the conscious decision. Unlocking and yanking the sliding door open, I step out onto the deck. The spot comes on, announcing my exit, and for a moment I’m filled with trepidation again, but I straighten my back and make my voice hard.

  “What are you doing in my pool?”

  The males turn to me in unison. They’re younger than I’d thought, maybe closer to boys than men. The chubby one gapes. The redhead squeezes the ball between his palms. The blond flicks his hair back, scrutinizing me with a fearless gaze. His stare is intense, as if he’s not just seeing, but really looking at me, and the light in his eyes is mocking. His regard angers me more than them swimming in my pool at two o’clock in the morning.

  “I asked what you’re doing in my pool,” I say as silence prevails.

  Chubby lifts his shoulders up to his ears. “We’re swimming.”

  “I called the cops. You better leave before they get here.”

  The redhead snort-laughs. “Yeah, right. Like they’ll come.”

  It was a foolish threat. I should’ve said I phoned my ex-military neighbor or something. “If you’re not out in five seconds, I’m letting the dogs out.” More bluffing. I don’t have dogs.

  Red waddles toward the shallow end. “Oh, come on. It’s thirty degrees. Give us a break.”

  “You can have your break in the dam or river where it’s a free for all. This is private property.”

  “You look like you can do with a dip yourself,” Red says. “You’re all flushed, like you’re overheating.”

  “Is that advice you’ll give your mother or girlfriend, wisecrack? Go swim with three criminals you don’t know from Adam?”

  At least he has the decency to look somewhat ashamed.

  “Come on,” Chubby says, slapping the water next to him. “We won’t bite.”

  The blond speaks up for the first time. “Shut up, Clive.”

  When he swims to the shallow end and pushes himself out onto the side, I suppress the urge to flee back into the house. I need to show these bullies I don’t scare that easily, or they’ll have the upper hand.

  Straightening, the blond turns to face me. Our eyes clash over the distance. I make quick work of taking in everything about him. I may need a description for the police. He’s a giant, taller than Abby’s basketball net on the wall. Maybe not as young as I’d judged him, but not a day older than twenty. His body is defined in a way I’ve never seen in real life, not even in the gym. Mind you, it’s mostly retired people who frequent our gym. His arms and legs are powerful, almost too well cut. His shoulders are broad and his abs a slab of solid muscle. Drops roll down his chest, a small rivulet running into and down his navel. Green swimming trunks mold around his hips, leaving no guesswork as to how well-endowed he is. It’s embarrassing that I’m staring, but his body demands to be heeded. I don’t mean it in any sexual way. It’s just impossible not to notice all that perfection and beauty.

  When I meet his eyes again, there’s amusement in his. He knows he’s pretty, and he’s used to being looked at. He flashes me a smile, exposing a dimple in his left cheek.

  “Get out,” I say, for some reason even angrier than earlier.

  He raises his palms. “Easy now.”

  How dare he address me like a dog? “The party is over. I said get out.”

  He takes a step forward. Instinctively, I take one back.

  “We don’t mean any harm,” he says. “We’re just cooling down.”

  “I want you to leave.”

  He advances a few more paces. The intensity of his eyes cut through me. It’s as if he’s calling my bluff, knowing I’m not nearly as collected or brave as I’m trying to appear.

  “What are you going to do?” Clive chirps from behind. “Throw us out?”

  As the blond closes more distance between us, I hold up a finger in warning. “Stop right there.”

  To my surprise, he obeys.

  “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  “I don’t know you, and I don’t trust people I don’t know.”

  “Wise.” He nods his approval.

  “You have ten seconds.” Shit, I sound like when I scolded Abby in her toddler years.

  He grins. All teeth. “What happens after ten seconds?”

  “You’ll be forcefully removed.”

  “I don’t think so,” Red calls from the pool. To demonstrate his point, he hops out and stretches out in a deckchair.

  The invasion of my privacy is infuriating, but my helplessness even more so. “If you don’t leave right now…”

  I’m starting to lose my composure. I can feel it in the shaking of my hands and the way my heart hammers with something heavier than fear. Injustice and powerlessness.

  “I’m not afraid of you.” Lie. “Don’t make me drag you out by your ears.” No idle threat.

  I walk to the deckchair with brisk strides, but the blond cuts me off, putting himself between his friend and me.

  “Go back inside,” he says. “We’re leaving.”

  “Like fuck we are,” Clive says.

  The blond turns on him with an expression hidden from me, but one that makes Clive shut up and get out of the water.

  Red huffs a grunt, but lifts his butt from my chair to follow his buddies to the garden table where they’d left their T-shirts. Crossing my arms, I watch as they dress, determined to see them off my property. It’s the blond who turns back to me. The fabric clings to his wet chest, somehow making his body seem even more impressive than when it was naked. He flicks a brow, letting me know he’s caught me staring.

  “Ready?” I ask sarcastically.

  He wipes back his wet hair. “Just about.”

  “What are you waiting for? A written invitation to leave?”

  “We’ll leave as soon as you’ve gone inside and locked the door.”

  “This is my property. I don’t take orders from you.”

  “No?” Another cocky lift of his brow. “Do you really want to fight me on this?”

  “What I want–”

  He gives a step in my direction. “We can always hang out here until we’re dry. I’m not keen on soiling my truck.”

  There’s steel in his eyes. Now that he’s standing closer, I can see their color. They’re fudge-brown with specs of melted caramel. For another couple of seconds, we’re locked in a stare-down. Shit. I’m not going to have an argument I won’t win. I turn on my heel and walk back to the house. His voice stops me on the doorstep.

  “Sweet dreams, princess.”

  The urge to flick him a middle finger is overwhelming, but I’m not going to lower myself to that level. Not for him.

  Inside with the door locked, I watch through the window as they make their noisy exit down the driveway and jump over the gate with a lot of hooting. I don’t move until I hear a vehicle start up and drive away. Only then do I allow myself to blow out the breath trapped in my chest.

  Damn, I’m wide awake now. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep with the adrenalin coursing through my body. With a tremulous sigh, I go return to the bedroom and call the police station to cancel the call-out before settling in bed with my laptop. I may as well work on the Monroe account. One of the advantages of sleeping alone is that no one complains about your screen light.

  Brian

  Nothing happens without a reason. There’s no such thing as coincidence. Being in Jane Logan’s pool after midnight certainly wasn’t. Neither was the event that took me there. I was meant to be at a time and place that set me in Ms. Logan’s path, and now that I’ve seen her in real life, I’m glad it’s me and not someone else.

  I’m quiet in the truck, playing our first meeting over in my mind. She’s a woman, not a girl. Too much woman, maybe. For me, I mean. But Jane’s also a lady. She’s in a class that exists on the other side of the tracks, the kind who is well-bred and polite. They don’t raise their voices or lose
their cool, not even when a no-good asshole like me invades their privacy. They don’t have to ask the waiter what hors d’oeuvre is, because they were brought up to know shit like that. They look like they’ve just stepped out of Young Designers Emporium, even at two in the morning dressed in a clingy T-shirt with no bra and leggings that hug the sweet swell of their hipbones. Seducing her won’t be a chore, but she’s a princess. It’ll take more than giving her ten minutes of my attention or buying her a drink.

  “What’s up with you?” Clive shoulders me none too softly. “Why so broody?”

  I grip the wheel harder not to steer us into the ditch and silently curse him for interrupting the image in my mind.

  “The cops weren’t coming,” he continues. “Why did you make us leave?”

  “She lives alone,” I grit out.

  “So?”

  “Imagine how she must’ve felt waking up to three assholes in her pool.”

  “What’s with the gentlemanly behavior?” Eugene asks from the back. “Since when do you care if we scare people?”

  “It was your idea,” Clive adds.

  “I didn’t think anyone was home.”

  The neglected garden gave me the impression she was away on a business trip or holiday. People in Groenkloof don’t have unkempt gardens. They have enough money to pay for garden services. The idea was to get a feel of her environment, not to gatecrash her sleep and frighten her into oblivion. Not even I’m that low.

  “We should do it again,” Eugene says. “It was fun getting caught.”

  I jerk the wheel left and screech to a halt on the shoulder of the road.

  “Hey!” Clive grips the dashboard to brace his body. “What the fuck?”

  “No one is going back there.” I pin the two fuckers with a stare. “Are we clear?”

  Eugene shakes his head. “You’re nuts, man.”