Hating the Rich Bastard

by Hamel, B. B.

  I haven’t been able to talk about her to anyone, not even to Markus. I don’t think he’d understand. Actually, I know for a fact he wouldn’t.

  Markus is a good guy, but he’s simple. I don’t know how else to explain it. Markus wants what he wants and likes what he likes, and it’s enough for him. He loves big tits, good drinks, loud music, and a good time. He has his ups and his downs like anyone else, but for the most part, these things make him happy.

  He’s content being rich and out of control, because it’s fun, and when I try to express doubts about the whole thing he just thinks I’m being a whiny baby.

  I don’t blame him. I have it easy. My whole life is a fucking dream for most people.

  Except for me.

  I’m looking for more. It’s that simple.

  I need something to fulfill me. That night with Alice gave me something, or at least showed me something. I can have more and it’s out there, waiting for me.

  I just need to find it and fucking take it.

  “You’re staring at the window like you want to fuck it,” Markus says suddenly and I realize he’s right. I’ve just been looking off into space.

  “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay?”

  “Talk to me, man. I’m starting to worry. You’re not sick, right?”

  “I’m not sick.”

  “Then what the fuck is up with you?”

  I sigh and meet his gaze. “I met someone, okay?”

  He blinks, surprised. “You met someone? Like… you have a girlfriend?”

  “No,” I snap. “I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s complicated.”

  “Dumb it down for me, then.” His voice is softer and he’s smiling now.

  I clench my jaw. “A month ago, I went to the studio late at night and there was this girl there, tuning the piano. We fucked, it was great, I haven’t seen her since. End of story, okay?”

  He laughs softly at my annoyed embarrassment. “So that’s it, then? You’re saving yourself for this girl?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Bullshit. I can see it in your eyes. You’re pining for her.”

  “I’m not pining for shit.”

  “Have you gone looking? Like searching for this girl?”

  “No,” I say, and hesitate a second before adding, “I’ve gone to the studio at night.”

  “You’ve been looking for her,” he says, grinning.

  “She hasn’t been there.”

  “And that’s why you’re all fucked up. You can’t find this lady love.”

  “I don’t love her. We just fucked once.”

  “And her magic pussy has you all twisted.”

  “Fuck you, Markus.”

  “Hey, don’t come at me just because you’re all blue-balled over some mysterious girl.”

  I groan and stand up. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “Come on, sit down, sit down. What’s her name?”

  I sin back into my seat. “Alice. She tunes the pianos.”

  “You’re the fucking owner of this label. You know you could easily find her, right?”

  I do know that, of course. If she’s an employee, or even just a contractor, there’d be records for her. I could find her home address as easily as breathing. All I’d have to do is tell my secretary, and she’d get it done.

  I don’t want to do it that way. It feels wrong for some reason, like I’d be cheating. I found her by accident the first time, and that sex was some of the best fucking sex of my life. I want it to happen naturally again.

  Maybe that’s stupid and asking too much. Markus clearly thinks so.

  “I know that,” I say. “I just… don’t want to.”

  He sighs. “Just look her up, man. There’s no reason to dance around this bullshit.”

  “It’s not bullshit, okay?” I clench my fists and release them slowly. “She had this long, dark hair, and she was playing this fucking song that just… it hit me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m pathetic but I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  Markus watches me quietly, but he doesn’t laugh and he doesn’t call me a pussy or anything. I expect that from Markus, it’s just the way he is. I think it’s how he shows his affection, by being an absurd asshole sometimes.

  But he’s not doing it. “What sort of song?” he asks.

  “I don’t know how to explain it,” I say. “It was like, classical but not really. It could easily be a rock tune, or something by Philip Glass, or, I don’t know.”

  “Ethereal,” he says.

  “Yeah, that’s one way to describe it.” I narrow my eyes. “How’d you know?”

  He shrugs a little, looking at his nails. “Alice, huh?”

  “Markus,” I say.

  He grins at me. “Yes?”

  “What do you know?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.” I lean over the table. “Tell me what you know.”

  “Fine. I know the girl you’re talking about.”

  I lean back in my chair. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. We have a few piano tuners, and a couple of them are women… but when you said black hair, I knew the one you meant. She’s the best of the bunch, but keeps weird hours.”

  “That’s why I met her so late at night. She was working.”

  “Right. It’s weird but she’s good so I let it happen.”

  I stare at him and want to laugh. Of course Markus knows who she is. He deals with the day-to-day stuff more than I do. He’s in contact with all the midlevel managers, the guys that would actually directly deal with a piano tuner, and Markus has an exceptional memory. Say what you want about the guy, he never forgets.

  “I know where you can find her,” he says.

  I’m stunned. All this time, all I had to do was talk about it with him and I could’ve saved myself an entire month of hoping she’d show up at two in the morning. A whole month of long, lonely nights playing music alone in the studio, hoping she’d show up.

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Early mornings now,” he says, grinning. “She comes in on Thursdays, sometimes on Saturdays. Around five now, John mentioned the other day.”

  I just sit there, stunned. John is one of our studio engineers, a talented guy and known for his early morning work ethic. He’s always the first one in and the first one out. If she’s showing up at five in the morning to tune the piano, he’d know about it.

  “Fuck,” I say softly. “She changed her schedule.”

  “So what?”

  “Why would she do that? She said she likes the studio late at night.”

  He shrugs. “Shit happens, man. Maybe she wants to get more sleep.”

  I shake my head but I don’t say anything. I don’t want to sound like a psycho, but I know why she changed her hours.

  It’s because of me. Of course it’s because of me.

  I get up and nod at him. “Thanks,” I say.

  He shrugs again. “Don’t mention it. Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  “I never do,” I mumble and leave the conference room, heading back to my office.

  She changed her schedule because of me. I must’ve fucked something up for her, ruined the sanctity of the late-night studio time. I can see it from her perspective, and if I were her, I’d be pissed at me, too.

  But I can’t let it go. Even if she’s annoyed I ruined that late-night thing, I still can’t just let her disappear. The memory of what we had that night is burned into my mind.

  Sitting there, playing that piano, it was so fucking sexy. I can’t begin to understand why. And then what happened after, her body under mine, filling her tight pussy with my cum…

  I have to see her again, but I can’t just ambush her. I’m not about to ruin the early mornings for her if that’s what she wants these days.

  I’ll have to resort to the one thing I’ve been avoiding if I’m going to make this happen.

  4

  Alice

  There’s something beautiful abo
ut the city in the morning.

  Maybe it’s because the streets are basically empty. I sip my half-caff coffee and stroll down the block toward my apartment. I let myself have one half caffeine coffee a day. So far, the hardest part about being pregnant is learning what I can and can’t drink and eat. Turns out, my diet is horrible for babies. Go figure.

  It’s just after six and I’ve already been up for over an hour.

  Ever since my encounter with Ben, I’ve been tuning the pianos in the morning. There’s just something about going in at night that makes me uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the idea that I could run into him, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m pregnant with his baby—although I didn’t know that until recently.

  Still, I’m not exactly avoiding him… but I’m also totally avoiding him.

  It’s complicated.

  But this morning, it’s not complicated at all. I finished my tuning already, got a decent coffee from a shop around the corner, and now I’m headed back home to shower and watch some TV before I go visit my nana.

  Nothing can bring me down right now. I’m feeling on top of the world, floating on a cloud, higher than a damn rainbow. I keep a smile plastered on my face, a tune on my lips, and a hitch in my step.

  Anything to distract from the baby in my belly and the fear growing every single second of every single day.

  But no, no, I’m not going to think about that. I pass an old man walking his little dog and smile at him. I wave to the mailman making his rounds bright and early, and he flips me off. The city is beautiful! A young couple is kissing on the stoop, oh, wait, no, they’re arguing. Life is amazing!

  I hurry up into my apartment. I have all this positive energy but I’m pretty sure it isn’t going to last another second if I stay outside. I unlock my front door and slip inside before something else can ruin my good time.

  And I almost miss the flowers sitting by the floor. I hesitate before I shut the door. I step back out and carefully bend over. It’s a little basket of simple flowers, very pretty and tasteful. There’s a card with something else hard inside of it.

  And my name is right there on the envelope.

  I bring the basket in and shut the door. I have no clue who sent this. I put it down on my table and carefully open the card, afraid of what I might find.

  And my greatest fears are realized as I read what’s written inside.

  Alice, I’ve been thinking about you and want to take you out. Maybe I can bribe you into it—take a listen to the enclosed CD. Maybe you’ll recognize some tracks. Ben.

  I stare at the card and go through it once, twice, three times. I don’t know how Ben got my home address, but I can probably guess. He owns the company that contracts me out for their piano tuning, after all. He probably just asked someone.

  But why now? It’s been over a month since we last saw each other, and it was only for that one brief night. I assumed he forgot all about me. Why is he doing this now, when I just found out about this baby?

  Does he know about it?

  No, of course he doesn’t. I’m being a paranoid psycho. I need to take a breath and calm down.

  I take a breath and calm down.

  It’s not easy. It takes more than just one breath, but I do manage to get myself under control. Instead of freaking out, I’m just low-key panicking. That’s a step up, I think.

  I look at the flowers and go back to the card. Inside, there’s a CD in a little paper slip case taped to the blank side. I pull it off and bring it over to my CD player, not sure what this is going to be.

  I pop out the tray, put it down, and slide it in. I’m afraid to hit play, but I force myself to do it anyway.

  I know what I’m listening to almost immediately. That opening riff is instantly recognizable, considering it was all over the radio for like three months. Stations still play this song, and it’s probably still Slide’s most famous hit.

  Except there’s something different about it. It’s not the studio version, that’s for sure, but it’s not a live version either. There are subtle differences, like Joss sings the wrong lyrics, and you can hear someone shout something in the background.

  It’s a demo, or at least it’s one of their takes. I stare at my stereo in horror and excitement.

  I listen to the whole CD, completely rapt. It’s Slide’s first album, but they’re all alternative takes, slightly different from the final cuts. I’ve never heard of these before and I’m pretty sure Slide has never released anything like this.

  They’re raw but they’re still incredibly good. This is the sort of CD a serious Slide fan would go absolutely insane for.

  I bet it’s worth a freaking fortune.

  I stop the CD and sit down, staring at my stereo. What the hell was he thinking, sending me this? I don’t know what to do with it. I shouldn’t have it, nobody should.

  Except… I hit play again, and I listen. It’s an amazing document. I can hear little mistakes, little errors. The recording isn’t flawless. The guys bicker and banter between tracks. It’s like I’m in the studio with them, listening to them playing through the album in person.

  It’s intoxicating. It’s incredible.

  By the time the second listen is over, I jump to my feet. I’m running late, and I have to grab an old, slightly stale bagel for breakfast as I hurry out the door, my mind still buzzing with the sound of that CD.

  * * *

  My nana sits in her chair across from me, wearing a cream-colored sweater, immaculate white slacks, and a green scarf. She looks like she’s about to go to the theater, minus the oxygen tank and the plastic tubes in her nose.

  Nana is always perfectly dressed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wearing anything that isn’t immaculately groomed. She has the best style of anyone I’ve ever met, and I know it drives her nuts to waste her fashion sense on the people in this place.

  “Flowers, honey?” she asks me. “He sent flowers? What a gentleman.”

  I smile at her. I didn’t tell her about the part where we fucked and he got me pregnant, obviously.

  “I barely know him,” I say. “I mean, I know who he is, but we only met that one time.”

  “Still, flowers are good. He was thinking of you.”

  “I know he was. I’m just nervous, you know?”

  “Oh, honey. You don’t have to be nervous. A girl like you, nervous? Why bother?”

  I smile at her. “I don’t know. He can be… scary.”

  “Scary? Why?”

  “He’s rich and he’s self-destructive and, I don’t know. I guess I’m intimidated by him.”

  “Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he’s better than anybody else,” she points out, crossing her ankles. She practically sinks into her green recliner, the chair she’s always sitting in whenever I visit. There’s a Coors Light on the table next to her, beaded in condensation but otherwise untouched.

  It’s too early for her to drink but she likes to have the option.

  “He also sent me a CD with some unreleased songs on it.”

  “Really? Can he do that?”

  “He owns the label that put out the record, so yeah. I guess so.”

  She purses her lips. “You say he’s self-destructive…”

  “I’ve only heard rumors.”

  “That’s something to be concerned about. But has he done anything bad to you?”

  I look away. Maybe giving me the best orgasm of my life was bad… maybe coming inside of me, getting me pregnant was very bad. But nothing on purpose, that I know of.

  “No,” I say finally.

  “So see him again.” She says it, almost laughing. “Why the heck not? You might as well.”

  “I don’t know. It’s just… it’s complicated.”

  “Life is complicated, honey.”

  “I know that.”

  I look over her shoulder, out the window. There’s a tree growing in the courtyard of Attlewood, the nursing home she’s living in. It’s a big tree, I don’t know what kind, but it�
�s always so beautiful in the summer: the leaves spread out, rich and green, thick and shimmering in the wind. I always liked that tree. I’m glad Nana has a good view of it.

  Even though there’s not a great view anywhere else in this place.

  She came here years ago, after my father abandoned her for the last time. He dumped her here, left her some money, and disappeared without another word. Ever since then, I’ve been taking care of her, spending most of my money on her needs and visiting her a few times every week.

  I promised myself that when my dad split town, I’d never let myself be like him. I’d never give up on the people I love.

  I guess that’s part of why I’m having this baby.

  “Do you want to see him?” Nana presses.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess I do.”

  “So do it. Honey, believe me. One day you’ll end up in a place like this and wish you went out with a rich man.” She cackles a little bit, but there’s not a whole lot of joy in her laugh.

  I smile along with her, though. Her laugh turns into a cough, a hacking one, deep down. She’s dealing with lung issues from smoking her whole life, which is why she’s here in the first place.

  Aside from that, my nana’s in great shape. She’s sharp as a tack and can get around pretty good—minus the breathing. I hate that she’s stuck here, but we both know there aren’t any other good options.

  “Fine, I’ll do it,” I say finally with a sigh.

  “That’s my girl. You’ll tell me all about it, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say. “Promise.”

  “Good. Now, how tall is he?”

  I laugh and describe him the best I can, leaving out certain details I shouldn’t actually know. We chat idly for another hour, although she keeps coming back to Ben, wondering if I’ll go and see him.

  I know she’s right. I know I should, even if I only like him a little bit. I’m afraid, but I am also pregnant with his child…

  Still, he’s the kind of man I don’t want to get involved with. He’s a musician, he’s rich, he’s self-destructive. Everyone talks about how he and his partner are always going out late, sleeping with random women, going to lavish parties, all that stuff. Then there’s the drinking, the drugs…