SEAL'd Lips: A Secret Baby Romance

by Roxeanne Rolling

  I went to college a year early because I took all the AP courses available at my suburban high school, and I did them a year before everyone else. I graduated early, and then I graduated college a year early because of all the AP credits I’d accumulated in high school. So I was the youngest person in my law school class.

  I punch the code into my building, shifting my bag on my shoulder to do so.

  I live in an old, run down West Philly apartment building. There must be at least fifty apartments here. Every time I walk past the mail boxes, I get a strong whiff of natural gas, but everyone tells me that it’s always been like that and not to worry. I try to just hold my breath and not think about the possible explosion that could happen from a leak like that.

  I try not to think about all that too much now.

  At least I have a job, and at least I’m somewhat on track to paying off my debts. Sure, it’s going to take me two decades, with what I’ve accumulated between law school and my gambling father, but it’ll happen. Eventually.

  “Here,” says Sasha, my friend and roommate, holding out a glass of wine for me as soon as I open the door to our shared apartment. “I figure you’d need this after a day at the office.”

  “Thanks,” I say, taking the glass from her and dropping my work bag on the floor accidentally. “Oops.”

  But I don’t make a move to pick it up. Now that I’m here in the apartment, I realize just how exhausted I am.

  “I’m just so tired,” I say, taking a small sip of the wine, which frankly doesn’t taste very good.

  “It’s the cheap stuff,” says Sasha, giving me a wink.

  I imagine she’s already had a couple glasses.

  “I think I should just go right to bed,” I say.

  “That’s normal for the first week at a new job,” says Sasha, picking up my bag for me. “Plus, it’s been a while since you were on your feet all day.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say.

  We get to talking, and Sasha tells me all about this hot guy in one of her grad school classes. She’s just starting school again for the first time. She’s two years older than me, but we’ve been best friends since high school. I was advanced enough that I was often in classes with older kids, like Sasha.

  “You think you’re going to ask him out?”

  Sasha’s notoriously bold with guys that she likes.

  She shrugs. “If I feel like it. I’ve still got Andy, though.”

  I nod. Andy’s her on and off again boyfriend, or friend with benefits, or whatever the hell he is. Frankly, I can’t keep track of it.

  “So any cute guys at the office?” says Sasha, giving me a wink.

  “How much wine have you had?” I say, trying to take another sip of mine, but the taste is just too much for me.

  “Come on,” says Sasha. “You never talk to me about guys.”

  “That’s because… you know…”

  “Just because you’ve never had sex doesn’t mean you can’t think about it, or think about guys. I know you do…”

  “Shhh,” I say, putting my finger to my lips.

  I’m so embarrassed about my virginity. I was so much more advanced than any of the other students at everything academic. I think it’s embarrassing to me that they’re so far ahead of me when it comes to sex and relationships. Sure, I had some dates here and there, and a guy put his hand up my shirt once, before promptly coming in his pants… That turned me off to the whole thing for a good while.

  “Come on, no one can hear us,” says Sasha.

  “I’m not so sure. I heard our neighbors having sex last night.”

  Sasha laughs. “I did too,” she says. “They were really going at it.”

  I make a face, trying to express my distaste. But secretly, I found it interesting, and even a little… hot.

  “Come on,” says Sasha. “There’s got to be somebody cute there.”

  My mind flashes to the boss whose eyes locked onto mine.

  “Well…” I say. “He’s not exactly cute… But he’s… hot, like really, really hot.”

  “Who?” says Sasha, her eyes widening with interest.

  “Nobody,” I say. “Just some guy.” But my expression must give me away, and she asks again.

  “I think he’s the boss,” I say.

  “You think he’s the boss? I’m pretty sure you know he’s the boss.”

  “There’s really no way not to know.”

  I tell her all about him, how he looked, with his stature, his muscular body, his tattoos, and the way his eyes locked onto mine. What I don’t tell her is how it made me feel, and how I’m still emotionally reeling from that look.

  “What are you doing?” I say, as Sasha takes out her laptop and props it up on her knees.

  “Just looking for a picture of him.”

  “Is that really necessary?”

  “Wow,” says Sasha, her eyes widening. “You weren’t kidding.”

  “Let me see.”

  I move over on the couch so I’m closer to Sasha. Her breath reeks of the cheap wine.

  Seeing his picture sends a shiver up my spine and gives me goose bumps. His eyes are like magic, and I want to swim in them. It’s almost like he’s gazing at me from the picture.

  “David Masters,” says Sasha, reading the article, “otherwise known as the richest man in Philadelphia, has just increased his portfolio by… blah blah…”

  I scan the article quickly. It says that David Masters is not only the richest man in Philadelphia, but one of the richest in the country. He started a financial empire a decade ago, and each year he acquires more and more holdings.

  “I don’t have a chance with him,” I say.

  “Why not?” says Sasha. “Who better to lose your v-card to, right? Some cozy night, when you’re both there late and everyone else has gone home. He asks you to photocopy some documents and then one thing leads to another…”

  I laugh. There’s no way that would happen. What would he want with someone like me, the boring overachiever and inexperienced virgin?

  My phone rings.

  “I’d better get this,” I say. “It’s my dad, and I should at least know if he’s going to try to steal more money from me.”

  “He tells you when he’s going to steal money from you?”

  “Sometimes,” I say, picking up the phone.

  “How my beautiful daughter doing today?” comes my dad’s voice. He always sounds a little like he’s one of those old carnival workers, trying to scam you into—or out of—something.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say. “How’s it going?”

  “Couldn’t be better now that I’m talking to you.”

  “Do you need money?” I say.

  “What kind of question is that?” says my dad. “This is an expensive long distance call just to check up on you.”

  “There aren’t any more long distance calls, Dad,” I say, moving into my bedroom so that Sasha wont hear this embarrassing call. “And plus, you’re the one whose cost me thousands of dollars. Just tell me what you want. I have a lot of work to do.”

  “Well,” says my dad, pretending to sound hurt. “If that’s the way it’s going to be. I wanted to let you know I’m coming to Philly.”

  I groan inwardly. “For a visit?”

  My dad chuckles. “You don’t want me to stay longer than few days, right? Well, I’m moving there, to be closer to you.”

  I groan out loud this time.

  This is the last thing I needed to hear.

  David

  I’m sitting at a table in a Center City restaurant that I use sometimes for casual business meetings. The wait staff know me here. They know I tip well, and they know not to bother me too much.

  “Anything else, Mr. Masters?” says the waiter.

  I shake my head, indicating “no,” and check my watch.

  He should be here by now.

  I’m meeting the judge who’s going to be presiding over the custody battle. It turns out my ex-wife wasn’t delus
ional when she said she was going to try to take Laura from me. But there’s no doubt that she’s delusional about getting Laura back.

  This is an annoyance, meeting with the judge, but at least my position and influence in Philadelphia allow me to do this. This is my standard operating procedure for legal trouble: meet with the judge beforehand, so that he can advise me on what he’s going to look for in the case and how he’s likely to rule.

  “Finally,” I say, standing up to shake Judge Carter’s hand.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he says.

  I don’t say anything, but merely look at my watch.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says again.

  I shrug. “So what can you tell me? I’m assuming my ex-wife doesn’t have a case at all.”

  “Well,” says Judge Carter, grimacing as he takes some papers out from a briefcase. “I’m afraid that…”

  A waiter comes over and Carter falls silent. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

  “Just a water, thanks.”

  I take a sip from my whiskey on the rocks.

  “You were saying?” I say, as the waiter disappears.

  “Yes, so she actually has quite a good lawyer, a guy known colloquially in the circuit as the Jackal.”

  “The Jackal?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

  “Yeah, he’s vicious. But he always makes a good case…”

  “I don’t see how she’d have the money for that. My alimony payments are quite a bit, sure, but…”

  “I don’t know,” says Judge Carter, pausing again as the waiter delivers the water before disappearing obsequiously. “But I’ve been reviewing this, and… honestly, it looks like she has a good case.”

  “A good case? Are you serious?” My anger is rising, and it shows in my voice.

  “From what I can see, you’ve had full custody since the divorce.”

  “Yeah, because my ex-wife’s been in and out of rehabilitation centers since Laura was born. She’s a junkie.”

  “Well, that may be the case, but it looks like she’s turned her life around… and frankly, I’m always kind of a sucker for that. Plus, all parents should have a right to see their kids…”

  I’m almost left speechless, but that’s not really my thing.

  “You’re serious? That’s completely insane. I give my daughter the best of everything…”

  “But recently, there’ve been a lot of rumors about you. Frankly, you don’t have the best character references.”

  I sigh.

  “I work hard, and I play hard,” I say. “I don’t make excuses for my behavior. What’s the difference, anyway?”

  “Well,” says Judge Carter slowly. He’s obviously scared of me, and he speaks softly and weakly. “In the eyes of the court, character counts for a great deal when it comes to these things. Your wife has cleaned up her act, and done what she’s had to do to get things on the right track… Addiction is a tough battle…” He pauses for a long moment. “On the other hand, you’ve had a number of mistresses… and…”

  “They’re not mistresses,” I say. “I don’t let anyone stay around long enough to become a ‘mistress,’ and that’s my own personal life. Aside from that, I pay for my daughter to have the best tutors. She goes to…”

  “I’m aware of where she goes to school, but I don’t see why she couldn’t continue her education with her mother.”

  “I’ve heard all I need to hear,” I say. “I’ll be seeing you in court. And trust me, you don’t want to get on the bad side of my lawyers.”

  I stand up, throwing some cash down on the table.

  “Remember, Mr. Masters, I make the final decision, not your lawyers.”

  He gives me a weak smile as he says it. I’m not sure if it’s a smirk or not, but either way, it’s clear he’s an asshole.

  I storm out of the restaurant, not turning around to look at the smug little judge.

  Who does he think he is? And does he have any idea what kind of power I wield in this town?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a sleek black car pull up slowly to the curb.

  The window rolls down, and Jordan’s head sticks out.

  “Hey, buddy,” he calls out.

  I head over to the door and shake his hand.

  “What’s shaking?” he says.

  “You don’t want to know,” I say. “Remember what I told you about my ex-wife?”

  “What’s her name again?”

  “Alicia,” I say, grimacing a little.

  “Like I said, at least you’ve only got one.”

  “Looks like she’s pretending she’s cleaned up her act, and the judge is already on her side.”

  “Shit. Hey, why don’t you get in?”

  The door opens, and Jordan slides over for me as I sit down on the plush black leather seats.

  “Continue,” says Jordan, pressing the intercom button to let the driver know what to do.

  “You always use a driver?”

  “Only when I’m half cocked,” says Jordan.

  I see that he’s holding a glass of whiskey, and there’s a full bar in front of us. Jordan’s wearing his hair slicked back as always, but it’s coming a little undone around his ears. His suit, while expensive, is rumpled, and I wonder whether he’s been up since the night before. Not that it matters to me. That’s just Jordan, and it’s not like I’ve never done the same thing.

  He offers me a drink, but I decline.

  The car glides along the Center City streets. The windows are heavily tinted, and I get lost in my own thoughts for a moment, staring at the people through the glass that walk along the city sidewalks. There are all types of people in Philadelphia, poor, rich, bums, students…

  “I just don’t get it,” I say. “I mean, I give her the best tutors…. And it’s simply not safe with my ex-wife… she’s a fucking drug addict.”

  “You spend a lot of time with your kid?”

  “No, not much, but she’s got everything she needs.”

  “Hmmph.”

  “What does that mean?” I say.

  “Nothing.”

  “And what really gets me is that she’s probably just using all the alimony money I pay her for some slick young lawyer…. What she doesn’t spend on drugs, I mean.”

  “So you already had the court case?”

  “No, I met with the judge ahead of time, to get the scoop.”

  “I see. So he told you the way he’s going to be ruling ahead of time?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Doesn’t sound legal.”

  I shrug.

  “So what can you do?”

  “I’ve already got the best lawyers, but I’m not sure what they’re going to be able to do. Sometimes, I think they’re all idiots.”

  “So what’s so bad about you?” says Jordan, taking a big gulp of his drink. “You’re not such a bad guy, right?”

  “Judge said I had a bad reputation. Word gets around.”

  Jordan laughs. “If you’ve got a bad reputation, I wonder what kind of reputation I have.”

  “What’s wrong with the old ‘work hard, play hard’?” I say. “When did that become such a bad thing? Sure, I have my fun, but so fucking what?”

  “You know what you should do?” says Jordan. “You know the only way you can win this thing and keep your daughter?”

  “I’m all ears,” I say sarcastically. “I doubt you’ve got any good ideas left in that alcohol-soaked skull of yours.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” says Jordan, cackling, as he spills some whiskey on his thousand-dollar tie. “I’ve got a couple left.” He raps his knuckles against his skull, making an unpleasant sound.

  “Well spit it out then,” I say. “Let’s hear this brilliant idea.”

  “Improve your reputation,” says Jordan, starting to slur his words.

  “Improve my reputation?”

  “Yeah, it’s your reputation that’s gotten you into this, right? If you were like, upstanding businessman of t
he year instead of the… whatever you are… fucking a quarter of the women in Philadelphia… maybe you’d…”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to do that, though?”

  “Why are you such a bad guy in his eyes?”

  “I’m not married, and I fuck whoever I please, and I don’t care who knows about it… except my daughter.”

  “So get yourself a wife,” says Jordan, breaking into a grin as he says it.

  “I’m not just going to get married…”

  “Shhh…” says Jordan, holding up his finger to his mouth, as if he’s telling me a huge secret. He leans into my ear and whispers, “a fake wife.”

  “A fake wife?” I say, at my regular volume. “That’s your brilliant idea? Get myself a fake wife. You’re drunk off your ass, Jordan.”

  The car glides to a stop. “We’ve arrived, sir,” says the driver’s voice through the intercom.

  “Where are we?” I say.

  “The best strip club in Philadelphia,” says Jordan.

  I look out the window to see that Jordan’s taken us to a sleazy strip club out by the airport. A couple neon signs compete with each other, advertising fully naked women.

  “I’m going,” I say. “And you’re an idiot.”

  “No like my idea? At least come strip club with me.”

  “You should go home,” I say. “Not that I give a shit.”

  I get out of the car and slam the door behind me.

  I don’t feel like waiting for a hired car, and I’ve never had a driver since I prefer to drive my own cars. But there’s a taxi sitting here, because apparently people need to leave this strip club in a hurry, and an already-waiting taxi is convenient for them. That doesn’t surprise me, given the looks of this place. Not that I’m above hanging out in places like this when I’m not at work, but I’m certainly not in the mood now, with this Alicia shit hanging over my head like a dark cloud that’s about to rain.

  “Take me to Center City,” I say to the cabbie, tossing him a few twenties. “And step on it.”

  On the ride home, I fume over the whole situation. It’s my alimony money she’s using to sue me. And that slimy little judge. Who is he to talk about morals and all that shit? I’ve known him from other cases, and he’s no fucking stand up guy, let me tell you that much.