In the backyard, there’s a bit of carpet grass that’s at the far end of the pool enclosure. I wanted a place where a dog could use the restroom. I never got one, the way I thought I might someday.
I never got around to doing any of the things I’d told myself I’d do someday. I never meant to end up alone. Not that I was ever a ladies’ man, but I had my fair share of women in my younger years. College was crazy at times, and willing women were easy to find. I just never connected with anyone to make things stick.
Movement on the monitor shows me my maid and houseman are getting into their cars and leaving. I climb out of bed and pad down the hallway that leads to the east staircase and head to the kitchen for a little breakfast before I shower and get ready for my big birthday of doing the same old thing I do every day. Get on my computer and make more money.
The aroma of coffee brewing and bacon has me hurrying up to see what the staff has done. I stop as I enter the kitchen, finding a glass of orange juice, a mug of coffee with steam swirling above the rim, and a glass of milk is on the table too. A silver domed lid is covering a plate, so I pull it off and find a huge breakfast, still warm. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon, hash browns too. And even a small bowl of fresh mixed fruit that’s sitting on top of some vanilla yogurt.
Camilla has outdone herself this morning!
She always leaves me something for breakfast before she goes. I usually leave her a note that I put on the counter before I go to bed that tells her what I want. Most often I want toast and coffee and nothing more. I hate to be a bother.
The note I left her last night said not to bother with breakfast, I’d make myself a bowl of cereal when I got up. But she seems to have ignored that and went all out. Which I can’t complain about. It’s a pleasant surprise, after all.
Taking a seat at the small breakfast nook table, I find a bit of blue paper peeking out from under the plate. I find it’s an envelope and inside of it is a birthday card. Now, how did she find this out?
Not used to sentiments, I find a lump forming in my throat as I read the card; Mr. Martin,
George and I want to wish you a happy birthday. I found out today is your birthday when I found your birth certificate on top of your desk yesterday. I hope you don’t mind the extra care I took in making your breakfast. And you have another surprise waiting for you in the main refrigerator. I hope you like it. I wish you all the best on this first day of the forty-second year of your life. I wish you much happiness and most of all, I wish you love. Your maid, Camilla.
Placing the card on the table, the first birthday card I’ve had since I left the orphanage, I go to see what the surprise is in the fridge and find a chocolate cake with ‘happy birthday’ written in white icing on top of it. A couple of number candles give me something to blow out later.
Maybe I will make a wish on this birthday. But I need to think about what I’d like to wish for. I already have more than most people do.
Taking the cake out, I carry it to the table and place it next to the row of glasses that’s already there. Grabbing a lighter out of the drawer, I light up the number four candle then the number two candle and gaze at the flames as they flicker and shine.
“What do I want to wish for?” I ask myself out loud.
Do I want a dog?
If I did, I could easily get myself one. I don’t really want a dog. The idea of a dog is better than an actual dog that I’d have to pick up after and train. No, I don’t want a dog.
Thinking long and hard as the wax begins to melt and drip down the sides of the candles, threatening to spill onto my cake, I go with the first thing that pops into my mind. “I wish for a baby,” I say then blow out the candles and watch the smoke as it trails up over the two candles.
Two trails of smoke that start out alone then mingle to form one cloud. Much like a man and a woman start out alone, but when they combine, then a family can be formed.
I don’t want a whole family. I don’t want to impose myself on anyone just because I want a baby. How could I go about getting myself a baby while not affecting some poor woman with my need to be alone so much?
There’s adoption, of course. But I’d really like to see myself in a child. There are surrogate mothers but I was an orphan. I’d never want to subject a child to having only one parent when he could have two.
I wonder if there’s a woman out there who wants a baby too but not a husband to have to deal with. We could share the child and live our own lives. Not interfering in the other’s life at all.
This idea just might work. I could offer the right woman a place to live, a car to drive, money for the rest of her life. And all she has to do is give me a baby. And maybe more babies down the road. All the while, we never have to be any more involved in each other’s life, other than the sex. And each of us gets to have all the time we want with our child.
I think I’ve stumbled onto a great idea here!
Scarfing down my breakfast, I hurry to shower and get dressed so I can get right to my computer and start looking for the woman who’ll bear my children. Surely, it won’t be too difficult to weed out the bad ones and let the cream rise to the top.
And I’ll start making a nursery right away. I’ll get to ordering the things for that today. What a great birthday this is going to be!
Quinn
“If you could just go ahead and undress, I can get some full nude shots of you, Quinn,” the photographer says, making me shake my head in confusion.
“I’m not that kind of actress. The agency said, I needed to get a portfolio made and bring it to them, and if an agent likes what they see, then they’ll schedule an interview with me. No mention of nude shots was ever said.” I get up and get ready to walk out the door of the small studio as the man who’s taking the pictures moves his short, fat body in front of the door.
“Look, honey, you don’t understand Hollywood. Being from England has you confused about how the acting industry works,” the moron has the audacity to tell me.
“Look, mister, I’m no naïve young fool who you can talk into this sordid business you have in mind. My parents will see this portfolio as they’re the ones paying for it and they told me, it better be high quality. On top of that, I don’t want to be that sort of actress.” I stomp my foot to emphasize my statement.
To which he laughs. “Honey, baby, sweetie, look here. I can make one for your parents to see and one that’ll get you an agent and jobs. The porno industry in Los Angeles is phenomenal. I mean, you can get to work right away. As a matter of fact, if you want to get to work, I can get you an audition right now. Only three doors down, there’s a studio where they make them.”
“I’m not that kind of actress! I should go. You’re one of those men my father warned me about. And I’m telling the agency who referred you, about this incident.” Placing my hands on his chubby arms, I attempt to move him out of my way.
“Look, buttercup, you’ve already taken up thirty minutes of my time. And my time is valuable, kitten. I don’t mean to ruffle your feathers, but you have a great body that can make you boatloads of cash. I’m just trying to help you out here. Now, let’s get back to the picture taking and you shut that pretty little mouth of yours so I can do my job.”
He’s not budging, so I step back and act as if I’m about to comply with the creep. “K.”
“That’s better,” he says as he goes back behind the camera. “Now, lose the shirt first.”
I pretend to unbutton my blouse then haul ass and beat him to the door, grabbing my purse off the small chair next to the door and running like a frightened rabbit down the stairs. I’m not about to get stuck in the elevator!
After four flights of stairs, I’m breathing like a Bull Mastiff after it’s been walked. I lean over and place my hands on my knees to catch my breath, once I reach the safety of the outdoors. Now, I don’t know what I should do.
I came to Los Angeles three months ago, after transferring to UCLA to finish my Theater Arts degr
ee I started in London. Mum and Pop thought I’d do well in England as an actor, but I want to do comedy. American comedy, to be exact.
And I think I have a better chance of standing out here. My British accent is a fantastic selling point. I’m not unattractive. Not beautiful or sexy. I consider myself cute, and I think I’m funny. But so far, I’ve had no luck getting an agent to even talk to me.
Now, I have no portfolio either and still need to get that done. When I find a reputable photographer, that is. This isn’t how I thought it’d go for me.
My parents aren’t wealthy. They don’t have the money to pay for me to stay in Los Angeles. I live in a miniscule efficiency apartment in a dreadful neighborhood. I told Mum and Pop the place was nice, but it’s a shit-hole.
They gave me three thousand dollars to last me this month. It’s only the middle of it, and I’m down to two hundred bucks. I promised them I could make it out here. Our agreement was I had six months to get it going and be able to take care of my bills on my own. I’m halfway in with no hope in sight of being able to pull that off.
It would cost my parents less to fly me back home now, rather than wait another three months. They’ll be out thousands of dollars more for that to happen. I’ve failed in Hollywood!
Taking a seat on a bench on the outskirts of a city park that’s filled with screaming kids and their parents, I take out my cell and waste some time on social media. My heart’s just not into it today. The struggles are wearing me down too much.
My attention is drawn to a baby, lying quietly in his stroller as his mother shouts at his older sister who’s toddling toward the street, “Bella, no!” The frazzled woman looks at her daughter who’s ignoring her and the baby who’s nearly asleep.
I offer my help, “I can watch after him while you go grab her.”
“Thank you!” she nearly cries then gets up and runs to get the small girl who seems set on going to play in traffic. The child kicks and screams as her poor mother holds her like a football, bringing her back to the relative safety of the park.
Taking the chance to peer in at the sweet little boy, I find him smiling at me. “Hi there, mister.”
When he reaches out for me, I give him my finger, and he holds it as he holds my eyes with his little, sparkly blue ones. His mother places her screaming banshee of a daughter on the park bench. “Thanks. Aww, he likes you.”
“Does he?” I ask. “I haven’t been around babies that much. It’s hard for me to tell.”
“He usually ignores people,” she says to me. “Since he’s looking at you and holding your finger, it’s safe to say he likes you more than he likes his grandmother. He won’t give her the time of day.”
“Is that so?” I ask as I look at the young chap and he gives me a toothless grin. “Well, I like you too.”
“His name’s Peter,” his mom tells me. “And I’m Sandra.”
Giving her a nod, I say, “Nice to meet you, Sandra.” I look at the still screaming girl she saved from certain death in the busy street. “And it’s nice to meet you too, Bella.”
She stops her screaming and asks me, “Wanna push me on the swings? Mom’s too busy with the baby to do it.”
“I’d love to,” I say and get up. The little girl takes my hand, and off we go to swing.
Taking the chance to delve into what it’d be like to be a mother, I think I’m adding to my acting range. Can you play a mother? Check!
Christopher
Three weeks into my search for a suitable mother for my unborn child and I think I might be on the wrong track. Nothing but nutty women have answered the ads I’ve placed on social media, so I wouldn’t have to actually talk to any of them.
The nursery is already finished. I’ve baby-proofed most of the house. Plus, I’ve made up a lovely bedroom for the woman to have in the opposite wing. She’ll pretty much have that whole wing to do with what she wants. It even has a private entrance, giving her the freedom to come and go as she pleases without interfering with me.
My lawyer has drawn up the contract for the deal. We’ll be joint parents of the baby. She and the child will live here. I’ll provide her with a place to live, cars to drive, money that will be deposited into her account each week. And in turn, she’ll have to forgo seeing other men while we’re in the process of making the baby. After it’s born, she can see whoever she wants to. But only our children will be allowed to live here.
I’m not about to start housing some woman and other men’s children!
But the social media ads are a thing that’s not working for me. I suppose there are agencies for this sort of stuff. I’ll need to see if I can find one.
My cell dings, telling me I’ve been DM’d again. Against my better judgment, I check it out and see a message; Hi, I see you’re looking for a woman to have a baby with. I’m in need of money, a place to live, and something to drive around. My goal is to become an actress but my time in America is limited as my parents are paying my way to live here for only a short time longer. I don’t want to go back to London and leave my life-long dream behind me. I’d like to talk to you about this offer. Here’s my phone number.
I stare at the number for a while as I think about calling the woman. She has some valid reasons she wants to take this offer but should I talk to her or is it a waste of my time?
My finger moves over the message, and somehow it highlights the phone number and I’m calling it without realizing it. I end the call with one sweep of my finger after only one ring. Breathing a sigh of relief, I find my phone ringing, and it’s the number I just accidentally dialed.
It’s her!
Sweat beads up, instantly as I look at the number on the screen. Then my finger moves without me thinking and I’ve answered the phone. But I can’t seem to say one word.
“Hello, Mr. Martin, is this you?” a smooth, sexy, feminine, British voice asks me. “This is Quinn Cantrell. Are you there, sir?”
“I am,” I manage to croak out. Then clear my throat and try to regain my composure. Her voice is angelic in my ear. She sounds beautiful. “Um, did you want to talk?”
“Very much, sir,” she says. “Can we meet somewhere to talk. This is a big thing to consider. We should really know a lot about one another before either of us commit to something this important. Don’t you agree?”
“Why would you want to do this?” I ask her as only wackos have answered my ads so far. Can this woman really be normal?
“I’m not sure that I do. I’m desperate to stay here, but I won’t have some stranger’s baby just so I can do stay. The real reason I’m even contemplating this is that I think I could help you and myself at the same time.”
“You think I need your help?” I ask as she’s way off base.
“I do, Mr. Martin.” The way her voice fades at the end tells me she’s feeling sorry for me. A thing I loathe.
“I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m more than capable…”
She cuts me off, “Not of having a baby, you’re not. You need me for that. Or some other woman. Or you could always adopt, I suppose. Either way, you’re the one who placed an advertisement for such an important thing, and I’d hate to see you get taken advantage of.”
“How do I know you won’t try to do that?” I ask as I drum my fingers on the table top and look at the glass of white wine that’s sitting on it. Cool air is blowing across the balcony I’m sitting on as I watch the moon coming up over the Pacific Ocean that’s only a mile or so away from my home.
“You don’t know that. You’ll have to see if you can trust me,” she says. “And I’ll have to see if I can trust you, Mr. Martin.”
“Well, first of all, this will never work if you keep calling me, Mr. Martin. Call me Christopher. And tell me when you’d like to meet.” I take a long sip of the wine in an attempt to steady my blossoming nerves.
“Tonight would be perfect. Where can we meet?”
“I don’t like to go out. You can come here,” I tell her.
“Is
anyone else there?” she asks me, sounding a little on edge.
“Not right now there’s not. I have my staff coming in at ten which is an hour from now. Would it make you feel better to come when they’re here?” I ask as her question seems pretty smart to me.
“I’ll come after ten then. You, nor I, should trust a perfect stranger to be alone with. It’s just not a thing a bright person does. I have many things to ask you, and I’m sure you have a ton of questions for me as well. If you text me your address, I’ll catch a cab and come over in a bit.”
“I’ll send a car for you. I rarely use the driving service I pay a monthly fee for. Allow me to send the car, I insist,” I say with a sudden determination. The woman sounds as if she’s the type who’ll try to take over things and I can’t have that.
“Then I shall send you my address and I’ll await your chariot, sir,” she says with a lighthearted giggle that sends a mixture of heat and chills through me.
“I look forward to meeting with you, Miss Cantrell. I will see you a bit after ten then. Oh, would you care for any wine or other adult beverage when you get here?”
“A gin and tonic might be nice. If you don’t have that…”
“I have it,” I say then wonder if she’s eaten anything. She did say she was limited on funds. “I’ll have something prepared for a late dinner as well. Do you like Beef Wellington?”
“Who doesn’t?” she asks, making me happy to hear that she’s not afraid to eat. “I’d love some whipped potatoes if you’re having that.”
“That sounds good. And English peas? How does that sound?” I ask her with a sudden enthusiasm about seeing her. Not a thing that’s like me at all.
“Like Heaven. I have a pound cake I just made this afternoon and some fresh strawberries I can make a glaze with to pour over it. I’ll bring the dessert. You know Christopher, I think you and I might see eye to eye on things. Maybe this will work out for the best for us both.”
“Maybe. I’ll see you soon.” I end the call and find myself hurrying to the kitchen to see what we have and what I need to call into the restaurant I like to order from.
Dirty Money Page 118