by Auld, Alexei
“Why not do I-Banking now?”
“That ship has sailed, since I’ve gone to law school. Kind of like how you ruined your firm chances by going in-house straight out of school.”
“It’s fucked, because I’d gladly be a first-year associate at a firm.”
“You mean get first-year pay.”
“Right.”
“You didn’t pay your dues at a firm like the in-house cats who give them work, so you’re an aberration in the eyes of the firm gods.”
Rita thought her only hope for getting a job would be finding a mentor at a temporary gig. Her choices?
“The Sleepfighter?”
Her coworker Libby said, “There's a chemical in our brain which paralyzes the body during sleep. He doesn't have that chemical. So he actually gets up and physically reacts to what he dreams. So don’t sleep in the office or you might be a victim when he's on a rampage. He thinks his pencil sharper is a little evil man, so he attacks it.”
“Any women?”
“One partner. Old school. Says she had to be tougher than any man. Resents how ‘feminine’ the new 'bitches' are. She wears padded shoulders, suits, etc.”
“Didn't those go out in the eighties?”
“Her favorite line about female associates in skirts or unbuttoned blouses? 'Look at them, showing it like whores.'”
It resonated with Rita. She couldn’t help having curves. And New York City was extremely hot in the summer. Pantyhose was a pain, and she wanted to dress like women at the firms where she worked. Problem was, every time she wore anything that revealed skin or cleavage, she’d get reprimanded by human resources or just terminated, with a note to her placement agency that she dressed inappropriately. One female HR rep was blunt.
“Sweetheart, you have an obscene body and I can’t recommend you wear a burka because of 9/11.”
It was a refrain Rita heard all her life. She hit puberty at nine and spent her entire life trying to cover herself. For job interviews up until graduating from law school, she’d tape up her chest and hope not to pass out until they finished. Once she passed the bar exam, she embraced what God had blessed her with instead of viewing it as a curse. Unfortunately, the only job offers she’d receive were from perverts who hit on her during interviews and were forced to give her a job, only to have her fired for some bullshit a week later.
Rita received a strange contract gig from a short Mafioso guy who said, “I'm workin' for a reality legal tee-vee show kind of like Punk'd.”
His name was Louie, and he gave Rita a portable flash drive to place in the computers of the places they were temping at.
“Just run the program and it puts a fake virus on the schmuck’s system.”
“Are you sure it's fake?”
Louie ran it on his own computer. It was one of those tricks where a scary face popped up on the screen to frighten the user.
“See, it’s a gag. Just give me the flash drive after you load up the program. These drives ain’t cheap, and I only paid for a license for one copy of the program.”
Rita wasn't supposed to know that the program was actually a real virus that copied sensitive data from the firm’s systems onto the drive. Louie used the data for blackmail or to sell to sleazy private investigators hired by some attorneys to dig up dirt like official minutes from board meetings, lists of investors, and personal data as leverage to force settlements.
Rita found out anyway. She reverse-engineered it and considered going through with it. She could never lose the drive and innocently give it back to Louie. Rita loved the idea that she could take advantage of her acting chops, make more money than the assholes that looked down on her, while sticking it to the partners who were too snobby to give her an interview. She reveled in possibly upstaging the attorneys she replaced, and fantasized about the damage caused to them when they came back to work, incapable of performing as well as she had.
Rita actually hoped that one day, she’d be able to be respected for the quality attorney that she knew herself to be. And then she would be able to live the good life and make a six-figure salary by not being able to have a weekend off, being forced to flake on friends and family because of work commitments, and experiencing disrespect as a firm associate and not as a temporary contract attorney.
That was the stuff her nightmares were made of.
So she confronted Louie about his “gag” and he was so impressed that he offered her a job working for him. They were to meet at his apartment. She knew he was full of it, but went anyway.
It was a fifteen-hundred-foot tower. Home to billionaires.
And Louie wasn't one of them.
His boss was. Named M.E. Long, he was a retired cage fighter who’d ripped off some fanboy nerd that created the flash drive scam. Long lived in a twelve-thousand-square-foot duplex penthouse on the fifty-fifth floor.
Long was a good-looking guy, other than the broken nose and cauliflower ears. He had some rooster-looking hairstyle and a smoking jacket like Hugh Hefner. Buff and tough looking. Still, there was something sad in his eyes.
“Let me show you something.”
He took Rita down a long, narrow hallway to a room that shined with sanitization. Steel cabinets. Whips and chains. Paddles and tourniquets.
She said, “A threat?”
“A promise.”
Rita knew it was a bad idea to go up with him, but had a brick in her purse just in case.
She left the purse in his living room.
Rita needed to figure a way out of this. Her mind raced with possibilities. Why would a rich, attractive, macho guy need all of this? Why not just wine and dine a woman? He clearly wants to intimidate me. Probably like a cage fight. Psychological warfare first. Just like Mike Tyson. His opponents he beat were defeated on the way to the ring. The ones that beat him refused to be intimidated. Rita wasn’t suggesting that victims were weak; she just knew she had no choice but to be strong. Why does he need all of this instead of just grabbing me and forcing himself on me? Inspiration hit her.
“You were injured. Head trauma. Impotent.”
He laughed it off.
“That's why you're into all of this bullshit.” She turned her back to him. “You can't get it up like a man. Probably couldn't win as a fighter, so this is your revenge. For a cage-fighting injury which permanently damaged you.”
Silence. I got that fucker. Now, time to leave.
She felt the whip hiss by her head.
“You caught it?”
She grinned. “That I did.”
“How did you—”
“I had a lot of practice as a kid. Mama would whip me and I'd catch the belt.” She coiled his whip around her arm and slinked to him. “I'd get cracked for it, so I'd let go and apologize.” She wrenched the whip from him. “This time, you're apologizing to me.”
He fell on his knees. “Mercy.”
Rita’s mind raced with possibilities. Run and never come back. Run and sue the shit out of him. She remembered the sadness in his eyes. There was no guarantee he’d stay around for any trial or settlement. He’d be a flight risk. She remembered the Swiss account her mother had set up. And knew that now was the time to act. “I got your mercy.”
She made him transfer all of the money in his account to her Swiss account she set up. He tapped the ground like he was ending an MMA match by submission and proceeded to hang himself.
She enjoyed the pleasures of being rich, but needed more. So she started her own law firm, which was bought out by Krueller.
***
I freaked out. “You killed him?”
She smiled and put her hands around my neck. I knew it was too good to be true. And to go out like this? I deserved it. I tapped my hand on the bed, like the fighter in her story.
“I'm not applying any pressure, Rufus.”
She was right.
She grinned. “Scared you, didn't I?”
“Me? Scared?”
“You should've seen your face.”
; I sat up. “So it was all a joke?”
“My story?”
I nodded.
“Good night, Rufus.” She turned over.
“What about Sif?”
Rita snored. I thought she was faking, but she was out.
Sif had to work for her. Totally made sense. She was getting intel on me. Seeing if I was worthy. Loyal. That was what she meant by my loyalty. Wasn't sure what it meant.
And I didn't care.
Looking at Rita's magnificence was all that mattered. She’d picked me. Given me an opportunity to live life. To enjoy. It was what the universe wanted.
And who was I to question the universe?
I slept well.
When I woke up, she wasn't there.
***
The next day, the firm laid Jack out for enabling me and punished him with a mentor program ban.
I found out before swinging by the Krueller library.
I wanted to see if the art law book shipment had arrived.
Sure enough, it did.
The phone rang. No one was around, so I picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Thank God someone picked up the phone. Look, I need you to do some research for me. It will take all night, but that’s what we pay you for.”
“All night?”
“You have a problem with that, asshole? I think you shouldn’t. After all, you probably don’t know shit, wouldn’t be shit, and will never be shit without me, you ungrateful cocksucker. Now I want you to—”
“Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“I’m gonna ask you again. Do you know who you’re talking to?”
“No.”
“Good.” I slammed the receiver.
As I started to leave, I heard clapping. It was a heavy-set female librarian.
“Good for you. I’ve been wanting to do that for the past three years. What's your name?”
“Rufus. Rufus Wang.”
She tightened up her posture and raised a hand to her forehead. “Rufus Wang, I salute you.”
I raised my hand as well. She gawked and sniggered.
When I looked at what gesture I threw up, I knew exactly why.
It was a Vulcan hand salute.
I guess old habits died hard.
Even for a Wanglorious Bastard.
Thank you for reading BILLIONAIRE SECRETS OF A WANGLORIOUS BASTARD.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alexei Auld enjoys writing about awkward urban dilemmas. Whether off the reservation (like Alexei), practicing law (Alexei again), or supernaturally gifted (so not Alexei), his characters struggle to survive extraordinary situations with their identities intact.
DEDICATION
For every Rufus struggling and surviving.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This story would not have been possible without my inner Rufus.
Contents
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