First & Long

by Jesse Jordan

  “What about your will?” Freida asks. “Deeding control to someone?”

  I shake my head, checking the heads up display as I monitor fuel consumption. Just to be sure, I decide to do a refueling stop in Michigan, it looks like I’m fighting a headwind. “The incorporation documents for K-S don’t allow it. My shares can only be fully passed down to a blood heir. Which creates a problem.”

  “You need a child,” Freida says, a touch of pain in her voice. “You know if I could….”

  I look over at Freida, nodding. “I know.” It’s a painful subject for her, and I understand why. For all of her physical and mental perfection, and Freida’s a woman who can hold herself up there with any in the world, she’s infertile. “And if you could Freida, I’d say you’d be at the top of the list of women I’d want to bear my child.”

  “Thank you,” she says, her voice thick before she clears her throat. “So what do you want to do? Surrogate?”

  “Can’t trust them,” I reply immediately. “They figure out who I am, and they’d hold the baby hostage for more money, and I can’t deal with a long, drawn out custody fight.”

  “So get married,” Freida says, like it’s as simple as getting a driver’s license. “I’m sure the list of women who’d say yes is probably as thick as the Mankato phone book.”

  I think about it again, then shake my head. “No… I can’t trust them either. Freida, have you ever wondered why I’ve never let any of those women into my life yet I trust you totally?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind occasionally,” Freida admits, and I can hear the chuckle in her voice. “Let me guess, I’m the mature influence you’ve lacked since you were a child?”

  I laugh, leaning back in my pilot’s seat. “Something like that. No Freida, the reason’s simple: your motives are clear. You work for me, and yes, you’re friendly with me, but you don’t have ulterior motives for it. All those other women, they want something else. Fame, fortune, influence, a move up the society ladder, whatever. They all want something besides me. I give one of those gold diggers a baby, and my child’s going to end up either sold out or more fucked up than the Kardashians.”

  “Rob is pretty fucked up,” Freida admits. “So what’s kicking around in that super genius brain of yours?”

  “A mail order bride,” I reply, making Freida do a double take. “No, I’m serious. If I have to deal with a gold digger, then at least I want one who I know is up front about it.”

  “An interesting point of view,” Freida says. “What’s going to stop her from ditching the money and taking your child as soon as you’re…”

  “Dead?” I ask, making Freida shudder. “Two things. First, you. I’m going to change my will to give you some… broad powers over my estate. Not total, but broad. Second, and more importantly, I’ll get a bride from overseas. The marriage will get her the beginnings of a green card, while my child will ensure that sticks, as she’ll be the mother of an American citizen.”

  Freida stays silent for a long time, and we’re nearly to Kalamazoo, where I plan to refuel, before she speaks up again. “Rick, I know you trust me with a lot, but your entire family future? How am I supposed to control a mail order bride?”

  “We’ll set up the contracts, get a prenup,” I reply. “And Freida, you’re just as capable as any person that was in the board room today. More than some, in fact.”

  Freida nods, saying nothing until we land. The ground crew hooks up the fuel lines while Freida and I go inside to use the facilities and stretch some. When she comes out, looking like she’s washed her face and maybe had a little time to collect herself, she finds me doing jumping jacks on the grass next to the helipad. “So… you want me to be your Alfred Pennyworth?”

  “Miss Moneypennyworth,” I joke, making her shake her head in exasperation. “I know it won’t be easy, Freida. We’ll have to make the prenup very precise. But when we get back, I want you to reach out to some of the matchmaker services overseas. No Russians though, can’t trust their government. They find out one of their citizens has access to my technology, and they’d steal it.”

  “What about China?” Freida asks. “Won’t they steal it too?”

  “They’re stealing half of it already,” I joke. “Come on, let’s find me some options.”

  Su Lin

  My phone beeps and I see I have a message. Rolling over in bed, I hope it’s not the bar manager. There’s no way I want to pick up an extra shift, those are always the shifts where you have to come in early and do the heavy, ugly grunt work of unloading the delivery truck or something. Trying to keep a fake smile on my face around the drunk office workers who spend most of the time staring at my tits is one thing, doing it while my lower back and shoulders ache because I hauled crates of Tsingtao and more up two flights of stairs is worse.

  Thankfully, the message isn’t from the manager. Instead, it’s from my second least favorite source, the matchmaker. You have an appointment today. Waldorf Astoria, reception desk. Ask for Mr. Kelley, 8PM.

  There’s no more information, but I send a confirmation anyway. So far, working with a matchmaker has been disappointing to say the least. I’ve met three ‘suitors,’ each one worse than the last. Two of them I could tell were lying through their teeth about their financial security, and one of them seemed pissed off that I can speak excellent English. Maybe he just wanted a pretty face and someone he could talk shit to without her understanding him. The third… well, at least I’ll have some fun memories of watching a man get so freaked out by seeing me that he got up and nearly fled the restaurant like the hounds of hell were after him. Oh, and good food, the matchmaker has made sure that each of my ‘dates’ have occurred at decent restaurants.

  I’m surprised when I get a text message back. Don’t fuck this one up.

  I growl, upset. I get it, most of the girls don’t care about who they get, but I am not like most girls. This has irked my matchmaker, who told me last time that if I continue to be difficult, the number of applicants who meet my ‘high standards’ will begin to dwindle. Translation: pick one soon or get nothing.

  I check my clock and see that it’s noon now. I’ve got a few hours before I have to start getting ready. I decide to start with some exercise before I shower and make sure I’m plucked, groomed and everything else I need to be for this date. I get out of bed and head to the roof of my building where I proceed through an hour of wushu forms, nothing as complicated as I used to do when I was taking thrice weekly classes but still plenty active, I don’t need to do double spinning kicks to work up a good sweat. When I’m done, I head downstairs, where Mother is waiting for me, Yip having already gone to the office. “Where have you been?”

  “Practicing my wushu up on the roof,” I tell her. “I wanted to get some exercise in before I have to start getting ready for my date tonight.”

  “Date?” Mother asks, her bad mood lifting slightly. “You have a date?”

  “Yes, Mother,” I reply, showing her my phone. “Happy now?”

  Mother must be happy, she doesn’t comment on my sarcastic tone. Instead she looks gleeful as she hands the phone back. “Oh my, the Waldorf Astoria! This suitor, they must be very well to do.”

  “Or willing to put a big tab on their credit card,” I reply, thinking that’s the more likely situation. “Normally I’ve gotten a restaurant name, but just the front desk? Guy probably only has enough money to take me around the corner for some dim sum.”

  “You must keep a positive attitude!” Mother scolds me, but not too harshly. “You never know, he could be a Prince of England.”

  “I doubt the Prince of England is looking for a mail order bride,” I correct her. “William’s married, and Harry’s certainly not lacking in girlfriends.”

  “You never know,” Mother says with that self satisfied air of the perpetually wise due to age. “Well, in any case, do your best! Make sure you bathe well, and take care of those eyebrows of yours, you know I’ve told you a thousand times-”<
br />
  I tune her out, knowing that most of Mother’s critiques of my looks can boil down to ‘look more Chinese.’ Shrink that nose, darken those eyes, smooth out that forehead, stuff like that. Same shit I’ve been listening to for all my life. Instead, I just interject the proper ‘yes, Mother’s’ at the right points, and as soon as I can escape back to my room.

  With some peace and quiet finally, I try and decide on what clothing I want to wear to this date. On one hand, the matchmaker has said that many of the clients prefer to see Chinese women looking ‘Chinese,’ which means Mandarin collars and that sort of stereotypical dress with frog-style buttons that populate video games and those old Shaw Brothers movies. I have more than a few, the bar prefers I wear them for work, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have some flirty, sexy Western style dresses as well.

  “To hell with it, if I’m going to meet someone, I want them to see I’m not some lotus flower,” I mutter to myself, picking out my favorite dress, a red dress that reminds me of the classic Marilyn Monroe dress that she infamously wore over a train grate in that one movie. The skirt’s a little tighter, and a little shorter, but the overall image is the same. Setting it aside, I bathe, making sure everything is shaved and trimmed properly. I also indulge in another one of my little rebellions against what ‘good’ Chinese girls do as I shave my pussy, something supposedly only naughty girls do here. Not that I care, it’s my own way of rebelling, nobody checks my panties without my permission.

  After I’m finished I take a few hours to relax and read, re-reading one of my favorite English books, The Lord of the Flies. At six, I get ready, making sure my makeup highlights the green of my eyes since I think it’s my sexiest feature before I pull on my dress. I go with black heels tonight, four inches with an ankle strap that I think makes me look sexy and powerful at the same time.

  Leaving my room, I see Mother looking at me with approval if a bit of confusion at my choices, but she still is being supportive. “I’ve called for a taxi to take you to the hotel,” she tells me, giving me a hug. “Enjoy yourself, and good luck.”

  Good luck, which to my mother means ‘make a good connection.’ I keep a smile on my face as I head downstairs and take the taxi to the hotel, which I have to admit is impressive. Of course, the Waldorf name is famous world wide, and as I enter the lobby I take a moment to fantasize about being able to go to the real Waldorf in New York someday. Passing through the tall golden doors with doorman in full tails, I feel luxurious for a moment. Sure, I might be the unwanted daughter of a son of a bitch and a woman who wants to marry me off as soon as possible. I might work in a bar in the entertainment district of Beijing. That doesn’t mean I can’t belong in this world as well.

  Crossing the lobby to the reception desk, my heels click on the beautiful marble flooring, everything screaming luxury. For some strange reason, I feel right at home, and more than once I see a man’s eyes follow me as I head to the reception desk. Behind it, an employee greets me without a single doubt in their eyes that I fit in. “Yes, may I help you?”

  “Thank you,” I answer, being as polite as I can. The desk staffer greeted me in English, which is one of those assumptions that annoys me. I get a moment of satisfaction when I switch into Mandarin and their eyes widen slightly in surprise. “I have an appointment. I’m supposed to meet a Mr. Kelley at eight?”

  “Of… of course, miss,” the staffer stammers, obviously shaken up. “If you’ll wait just a moment.”

  I wait politely, ignoring the look from the tourist who’s obviously undressing me with his eyes as he’s supposed to be checking in with his wife. I shudder, hoping that the guy I’m meeting tonight isn’t like this creep, before a thought hits me. What if it’s not a guy? Sure, the odds are low, but…

  My nervousness increases when a beautiful woman in her mid thirties crosses the reception area, approaching me. Wearing a custom tailored business suit, her brown hair pulled back and sporting black framed eyeglasses, I have to admit she’s very beautiful, but I just don’t swing this way. “You are Su Lin?”

  I nod, swallowing my nervousness. “I am Su Lin Wong. You are?”

  “Freida Worth. I’m Mr. Kelley’s personal assistant,” the woman says, smirking when she sees the obvious relief in my face. “Will you please come with me?”

  “Wait, the matchmaker isn’t going to be joining us?” I ask, shocked. At each of my other ‘dates,’ a representative of the matchmaker has been in attendance, not at our table but a discreet distance away, both to make sure the client behaves themselves and to make sure that I don’t try and get some ‘side action’ on the arrangement. “Are they going to be at the restaurant?”

  “We won’t be dining in a restaurant, and no, they will not be joining us,” Freida says, turning and heading towards the elevator. I follow, feeling for the first time like I’m not the person everyone’s eyes are on as we enter the elevator. Once inside, Freida takes out a metal card and inserts it into a slot underneath the buttons and punches one of the top buttons.

  “Where will we be dining?” I ask, and Freida gives me an evaluating look.

  “How many languages do you speak?” she asks, switching to good if not flawless Mandarin.

  “Just Chinese and English, but my English is near native level,” I reply. “My studies were-”

  “We know, it was one of the reasons you were selected. Mr. Kelley is looking for more than just a pretty face… although I must say you have that going for you as well,” Freida says. “How much have you been able to use your degree?”

  “Almost none at all,” I admit. “I’ve been working in a bar as a… well, bartender might be the best term.”

  “A hostess?” Freida says, and I shake my head heatedly. “No?”

  “I might be eye candy, but I am not like those girls,” I growl in reply. “I have some self respect, Miss Worth.”

  “Good.” The elevator dings, and the door opens as Freida switches back to English. “Welcome to the Presidential Suite.”

  I emerge into a luxurious suite that makes my family’s apartment look tiny. Floor to ceiling windows take up one whole wall, and against it I see a table laid out with silverware, candles, and more. “Who is this man?” I murmur. “This is… wow.”

  “I’d hope you’d be impressed,” a rich, deep voice says from the dim hallway on the far side of the suite. A man emerges into the light, and I’m utterly shocked. Handsome doesn’t begin to describe him. About six feet tall, with an athletic body that’s evident even through his tailored tuxedo, his deep blue eyes pierce me all the way across the room. What the hell is this man looking for a mail order bride for? He’s the type that, if he can even afford the Presidential suite here at the Waldorf, should have women falling at his feet. With his looks, he could be penniless and still have women falling at his feet.

  It sets my internal defenses on edge, there’s no way a man this utterly physically perfect should be looking for someone like me, not without an ulterior motive. Still, I give him a smile and cross the room. “Mr. Kelley? I’m Su Lin Wong.”

  “Richard Kelley,” the man says, offering me his hand. We shake, and there’s a tingle as our fingers touch, his animal magnetism stirring desires inside me that are rarely ever stirred. He measures me with his gaze, looking me up and down for a good three or four seconds, and it feels different than when other men have done so. It’s not like he’s undressing me with his eyes, but at the same time he is. It’s the strangest feeling I’ve ever had, because part of me likes it. “You are as lovely as your profile says.”

  “Thank you. I must admit Richard-”

  “Rick,” he says, correcting me. “Richard I use for business, and never, ever call me Dick. Understood?”

  I stop, slightly surprised. He wasn’t harsh per se, but there was this tone of unmistakeable severity that leaves me again with questions. What the hell am I doing here? “Of course. Rick, I must admit my matchmaker didn’t tell me a lot about you.”

  “On purpose,” R
ick says, gesturing to the table. “Have a seat, let’s enjoy dinner and get to know each other. I suppose you have a million questions.”

  I take my seat, slightly surprised when Rick doesn’t hold my chair for me, but instead settles himself on the other side of the table like a king. A private chef appears, and I’m shocked as he outlines what is to be a five course meal. As we wait, a sommelier pours us both glasses of wine. Rick lifts his glass. “To getting to know each other.”

  We clink glasses, and I take a moment to look, realizing that Freida has disappeared. “This is different. No escort?”

  “None needed,” Rick replies. “I know how to control myself, Su Lin. Now, for the your first question, which I’m sure has been running around your head for the past two minutes at least. What the hell is a man like me doing looking for a mail order bride?”

  I blink, surprised. “The thought did cross my mind. No offense, but you hardly look like you need help meeting women.”

  “I don’t,” he says, and in his bald honesty I find myself unable to be pissed off at his tone. He’s not being arrogant, just straightforward. Still, I can tell he’s a man who’s used to getting what he wants in life, hard charging and most likely the kind to run over you if you get in his way. I’ve dealt with many men like him before, but none on this level of sheer power in his force of will.

  I’ll have to be very careful, and the first thing my instinct tells me is to be just as straightforward with him. “If you don’t have a problem meeting women then Rick, what does bring you to Beijing?”

  “I need to find someone I can trust. And in my position in the world, trust is very hard to come by.”

  “What is your position in the world?” I ask. “No offense intended Rick, but you talk like a man who’s used to everyone knowing who you are as soon as you say your name. Things are different in China.”