I think that girls let me do things to them that they wouldn’t let any “normal” guy do and I have an insatiable appetite for what others might call kinky or even disturbing desires. I like to tie them up and leave them begging me for more. I’m not sure they’d be so into it if it wasn’t for all my money. And that’s fine with me.
They also know it’s just temporary, and I’m not looking for commitment. I just do fun, and adventure, and things that only rich guys can do with girl. I don’t fucking do relationships.
I’m not going to waste my money by going to a club where the explicit purpose is to buy girls who are probably there for some desperate reason. I would feel I was taking advantage of their vulnerability.
I would feel that there was an unequal nature of our relationship even more so than when a girl dates me just because she knows I’m filthy rich. So I’ll let Dan and my other buddies have fun at the new club and hear all about their exploits later.
I have plenty to do to keep me busy in the meantime. I’ve been trying to understand my father’s business because I plan to take it over. But numbers and spreadsheets have never been my strong suits. I already listed my strong suits above and they only include things below my waist, not up in my head. That’s always been fine by me but now I have to get serious and start understanding how businesses work.
Right as I’m about to put my phone back in my pocket, I get another text from Dan.
I have a feeling you’ll change your mind, it says.
Then he sends me some screenshots. Apparently the owner of the club posted pictures of the girls on a private webpage to show off some of the goods in advance.
Sure, the girls are hot but a bit too skinny for my liking. I like some meat on their bones that I can hold onto while I fuck them from behind. And their platinum blonde hair looks very fake. I like a natural girl who’s not afraid to be herself.
So, I don’t even bother responding to Dan again. I finish making my way up to my dad’s bedroom where he’s in bed with a cold press on his head. I guess his caretaker had come by earlier but there’s no sight of her now.
“How you doing, Dad?” I ask him, as I enter the room and put my hand on his shoulder.
“Good,” he says, sitting up and coughing a bit.
But he doesn’t look good.
He has liver failure and the doctors don’t expect him to live longer than six months. Hence why I have to hurry and get up to speed on the family business. Even though my old pa and I have never gotten along, it pains me to see him this way.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” I ask him.
“Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head at me and looking disgusted. “You can get yourself a wife.”
“Not this again, Dad,” I grumble, sitting down in the chair beside his bed where his caretaker usually sits. “Can’t you just let me find a wife in my own good time?”
“No,” he says, “Because you never will. You’re my son and I know you.”
I chuckle because old dad is right about that one. But I can’t let him know.
“Geez, Dad, how do you know?” I ask him. “Maybe I’ll settle down when I’m good and ready.”
“I know because, like I said, you’re my son. Therefore you’re part me. And this particular part of you is very much the same as I was. Imagine how much of a fortune I could have amassed if I had gotten serious earlier on in life and really cared about the business.”
Not this again, I think.
“Dad, you already amassed a huge fortune,” I tell him.
And you certainly didn’t spend a lot of time on other things. Everything was spent on your business so if you lost any time in your youth by not caring enough about getting serious about that, you certainly made up for it by the time I came around.
I think this last part but I don’t say it. I rarely ever saw my dad growing up. I know he thinks that meeting my mom, who ironically divorced him for being a workaholic, saved him because it forced him to settle down and focus on the business. Or maybe he was always like that, in which case I’m not sure how my mom would have married him because otherwise she has good sense.
He used to be a hard partier but after he married my mom and started his real estate business, he stopped that. But he still continued to drink just as hard as he worked. Alcohol was his escape and when he wasn’t hard at work he was drowning himself in a bottle.
I think the combination of work hard, play hard made him the grumpy old man that he is today. Not to mention, it caused his liver disease.
I try to see my dad through my mom’s eyes so that his image is redeemed to me a little bit. Mom tells me that when they were in the dating phase, my dad was a lot of fun: lighthearted and even silly.
They would go on dates and do fun things together and it was a deeply romantic time. So, they got married pretty quickly and soon after that they had me, but my dad changed, in what my mom says were both good ways and bad.
He became more focused and disciplined and he amassed his empire. But he did it at the expense of his family. I barely know my dad and what I do know about him—well, I can’t say it’s very pleasant. He’s demanding and inflexible and straight up crotchety.
“I want you to know I’m very serious about you getting married,” my dad tells me now. “What about that girl you went on those dates with?”
I rack my brain trying to think of who he might mean. There are so many girls.
“Jessica?” I guess, pulling out of thin air the name of a girl I had managed to go on more than one date with within the last six months.
“Yeah, her,” my dad says excitedly, although he probably would’ve said that no matter which name I had thrown out.
They’re all the same to him. He just wants me to get married to someone and he doesn’t care who it is. He’s convinced that marriage will make me more studious and responsible. In his mind, if I stop playing the field I can start being better about managing his business.
I’ve been trying to show him that this has nothing to do with whether I’m married or not. I can learn the business with or without a wife. But he just dismisses my efforts and thinks that only an engagement will save me.
“I’m glad to hear about this Jessica lady,” my dad says. “Because if there’s one thing I’d get out of this bed for before I die, it would be to see my son get married.”
Suddenly I see him in a whole new way. His skin is wrinkled and cracked but it doesn’t seem as hard as it did just a few minutes ago. He’s even smiling a little bit—which is rare for him.
The light is shining through the little window in his room– he’s always maintained a spartan-like environment no matter how much money he’s had– and I can see the twinkle in his eyes as he gets excited at the thought of this wedding that can’t possibly happen within the next six months since I have no bride.
There’s no way I would marry Jessica. She’s so flighty and can be a straight up bitch to other people. I don’t ever want to get married, but if I did, it would be to a woman who is kind and funny. But if it makes my dad feel happy that I might get engaged to Jessica– or anyone– I’ll humor him because he’s a dying man.
“Well Dad, I’ll see what I can do.”
I chuckle.
Maybe just having hope that I’ll get engaged will give him the strength to live longer. It’s sad that it took him being on his death bed for us to get closer but there’s still a chance for us.
As a bonus, after he realizes I’m not getting married, he might see that I’m still a good CEO of his company and that it will be in good hands with me even if I remain a single man. At least, that’s the only way out of this that I can see. But I’m good at finding creative ways out of things so something still might pop up.
Chapter 3 – Isaac
My dad’s hands shake as he reaches for the glass of water sitting on the stand beside his bed. I hand it to him and he nods his thanks to me, appearing stern, as if he doesn’t want to acknowledge how weak he is.
<
br /> “My lawyer was by to see me just a bit ago and that’s why I had Cora leave,” he tells me, which explains the absence of his caretaker. “I wanted to have attorney-client privilege and discuss some serious matters. So that’s why I called you here, to let you know of some changes that have been made.”
“Okay, Dad,” I say, massaging a crink that’s formed in my neck from sitting in his old wooden chair.
I didn’t realize that this visit had such a serious purpose behind it. I had been happy he invited me over to see him. I always offer to come by but he usually says he’s fine with Cora’s help, and the most I can get him to let me come visit is twice a month.
I know he doesn’t like me to see him in this fragile state. But it’s nice to spend whatever little time with him that I have left. I should have known he had a business reason to invite me over, rather than just for father- son bonding time. He’s never been the type for that.
“I’ve put a clause in the partnership agreement saying that you’ll inherit the company if and only if you’re married by the time I pass away,” my dad says. “If you’re not, then it goes all goes to Charles.”
“Charles!”
I scratch my head and jump up from the chair.
“Dad, he’s crazy. You’ve told me so yourself. You said you couldn’t wait to give the company to me.”
His exact words at the time had been somewhere along the lines of saying that even though I’m incompetent, Charles is crazy, so he can’t wait to give me the company, because even though I have no idea what I’m doing, at least I’m not a madman.
“Oh, you know how Charles and I have had a love-hate relationship ever since we started this business,” my dad says. “He’s crazy but he sure knows how to run a company.”
He doesn’t say it but I know he’s thinking: unlike you.
I’m still determined to show him that I can run the company and I wish he would just drop this whole marriage thing. There are bigger issues to worry about then whether or not I settle down and commit to some flaky girl. I hadn’t wanted to bring it up right now because I think he should rest and relax, but since he’s talking about the company, I decide there’s no better time than the present.
“Dad, I’ve been going over the books and I really think there’s something strange about what’s in there…”
Before I can even finish telling him, I hear him snoring. He’s already fallen asleep. Or maybe he’s just pretending because he doesn’t want to talk about it.
I suppose it’s for the best, since I don’t fucking understand the numbers enough to explain to him what I mean, and he’ll just think I’m stupid and incompetent like usual, but I’m convinced that something is definitely off. I’ll have to have Dan look at the books at some point. He’s more of a numbers guy than I am.
Judging by how my dad is insisting on this marriage thing, I better have Dan look at it sooner rather than later. Especially since Dad is going to leave the whole business to Charles if I don’t do what he wants, and who knows where Charles’ own interests lie.
A thought suddenly strikes me when I think about Dan. This exchange club he wants me to go to: he says the women will do whatever I want. Whatever I need.
What I need that probably no other woman will give me is an engagement. Sure, lots of women would probably be happy to marry me but I need one who knows it’s fake. She has to be on board with the arrangement. And what better way to ensure that she is than to know that she needs the money and that money is the sole reason she’s doing it?
It really fucking irks me that my dad is giving me this ultimatum. I think about telling him off before I leave but I know that now is not the time. He’s a sick old man. Despite our many differences, I don’t want to make him more uncomfortable than he already probably is. And he’s finally asleep when he clearly needs his rest.
So, I walk up to the bed and pat his feeble, cold, limp hand.
“Goodbye, Dad,” I tell him. “Thanks for having me over.”
Even if it was to spring this awful news on me, I think, but don’t say. I’m so mad at him but he might not have a lot of time left.
“See you soon,” I add, as if to reassure both him and me.
He opens an eye long enough to say, “Don’t forget about getting that Jennifer lady to marry you. I know it will be for the best.”
I’m glad he can’t even remember the name of the girl I had thrown out as a possibility. Because I’m about to find one to stand in her place.
It’ll be the perfect set up one that will make my dad happy, give me the company and not have to result in an actual marriage. Before I head back down the stairs I text Dan again.
Alright, I tell him. I’ll go to this new club with you. It better be everything you say it is and more.
He has no idea what I mean when I say “more.”
He quickly texts me back: You aren’t going to regret it.
I sure hope I won’t.
Chapter 4 – Veronica
After biology class, I have statistics and then algebra. I’m taking a very heavy schedule of classes during the second semester of my freshman year. Stacy calls me a glutton for punishment. But I guess part of me is hoping that my mom gets to see me graduate from college, so I’m trying to speed that up.
Also, I’m a nerd who likes math and likes learning in general. Figuring out numerical and mathematical problems takes my mind off my real problems. So, I’m one of those rare students who actually likes doing homework after spending all day in school.
But today when I get home, it looks like the studying will have to wait. My mom is sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, crying as she looks at a piece of paper on the table in front of her.
“What is it, Mom?” I ask, going up to her and hugging her.
My poor mom. Life has dealt her such a bad blow. She has a rare form of cancer, sarcoma, for which the prognosis doesn’t seem good.
“Oh, Veronica,” she says, shaking her head regretfully. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. I didn’t mean to still be sitting here when you got home from school. I don’t want to burden you with my problems any more than I already have.”
“No, it’s fine, Mom,” I tell her, rubbing her back. “All I want to know is what’s going on so that maybe I can help.”
“I don’t think anyone can help in this situation,” she says, burying her head in my chest.
I hug her tightly and as she breaks down into sobs I realize what a serious situation this must be. During the entire time that my mom’s been diagnosed and getting treatment, she’s maintained a stoic demeanor.
She always exudes strength where most people would break down. I know she has been trying hard to be my rock just as she has always been, since I was a newborn baby. So, whatever’s happening must be a really big deal.
“Mom, tell me.” I run my hands over her thinning hair, which the chemotherapy treatments have ravaged. “Please. You’re really scaring me.”
“Well,” my mom takes a big breath and nods her head as if deciding she needs to tell me. “The last time I was in to see the specialist, he told me that there was some hope to cure my cancer. Or at least, there’s a new method that seems much better than the current treatments. So I talked to the doctor that he recommended.”
“That’s great, Mom,” I say, a little offended that she hadn’t told me any of this before.
But I don’t mention it because I don’t want to make her feel even worse. My mom and I have always been so close. I’m close with my dad too, but with my mom there has always been a special understanding that it’s me and her against the world.
“I know I didn’t say anything,” she says, as if reading my mind, which she has the tendency to do. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up and I really shouldn’t be saying anything now because my own hopes were dashed as soon as they were raised.”
“I’m so sorry, Mom.”
I don’t even understand what she’s talking about but it sounds ba
d.
“And don’t worry about not telling me,” I add. “I understand.”
It’s true— I do. I can’t even imagine if the roles were reversed. I don’t want to tell her anything that could make her feel sad. I want to protect her and she’s my mother, so her urge to protect me must be even stronger.
“This other doctor told me that there is only a fifty percent chance that his treatment will even work,” she says.
“Fifty percent,” I repeat, mulling the number over in my mind, thinking of all the statistics class I have ever taken. “That’s really good. Those are better odds than…”
I trail off, not wanting to go there.
“…than Dr. Oslo has given me of surviving even one more year,” my mom finishes my sentence for me. “I know that. But it’s still not great odds and it’s not as high as Dr. Oslo was hoping that it would be.”
I nod, still not understanding what’s so bad that she’s this upset.
“But the worst part is that this new doctor sent me a proposal of costs for the treatment and it is way outside anything I can possibly afford,” she continues, and now I understand.
She hands me a piece of paper and I scan it. The treatment will be hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“How much does insurance cover?” I ask her, hearing a glimmer of hope in my own voice.
“None of it,” my mom says, shaking her head. “That’s the really sad thing that this doctor told me right up front. This treatment is considered experimental and there’s not enough data backing up the necessity for it or the rate of treatment success so the insurance doesn’t have to pay for it and they won’t. There are some private charities that will pay a certain amount due to the fact that we don’t make a lot of money, but it’s nowhere near as much as we would need to pay for the treatment.”
“If there isn’t enough data to back it up, then how do you know that the treatment would actually be any good?” I ask her.
“That’s what I had asked Dr. Oslo,” my mom says, “and he is sure that this doctor knows his stuff. He’s helped cure several patients nationwide already so he has the best experience and the best guess for how well this treatment would work on my particular type of cancer. Dr. Oslo said I can trust him on those fronts but he added that obviously the insurance company will find any reason to deny having to pay so much.”
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