by Romi Hart
He finds my eyes but loses all his rage and his cocky, bratty smirk. His breathing is calm. His face showing boyish regret. Is this “real”? Is this real vulnerability or just another commercial for his flawless reputation?
“Don’t stop believing in love. Don’t…judge all men because of me. I like what you said. I know…I know there’s a better guy out there than me. Someone that deserves you.”
“Thank you.”
“You know…we smile for the camera because it’s a show. We do it to sell product, to establish trust with people we’re never going to meet in everyday life. It’s marketing…it’s brainwashing. But you’re right. None of it is real. I wish we could figure out how to connect more…not just with an audience, but people. Person to person. My advice, and meaningless though it is coming from a monster like me…If you want something real, stay away from empty, broken people.”
I smile and nod, amused at his speech. Hokey enough to be used in a commercial but still more of the Zander I liked.
“You have to carry the fire, Zander.”
“What?”
“You have to carry the fire.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
I smile back at him. “Yes you do. It's inside you. It always was there. I can see it.”
“Is that a quote or something?”
“I guess. Or something. Goodbye, Zander. And thanks for being my first and most memorable celebrity encounter.”
He looks away in confusion then finds my eyes. He slowly walks away, realizing that he can’t “break” my code, can’t even descend from his lofty throne to understand the thinking of a commoner like me.
I watch him leave this common place, like a prince avoiding riffraff as he oversteps a dirty sidewalk. He looks surreally out of place. Not just a successful man juxtaposed to a portrait of fast food and miserable surroundings. But like some imposter human being trying to simulate human behavior. Who can know him? He’s made sure no one will ever learn who he really is, protected behind a fortress, the mythos of his sexuality, the only passive-aggressive slap he has ever given to anyone.
Chapter 4
Zander
Days have passed since I walked away from the ONE experience I haven’t had and probably never will have again. To have the heart of a virgin, indeed, the unjaded heart, the flawless diamond of a woman who’s truly mad for you. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that before. Sure, I’ve had women throw themselves at me. For money, for sex, or for just a moment of fame, a brush with celebrity.
But as I watched Maya slowly disappear from my life, I realized that no one has ever actually seen the “good” in me. Not that there is anything good inside of me. I never claimed there to be. But Maya saw something, a mirage, an optical illusion. Namely that I have a heart, I have a brain…I’m not just am empty corporate symbol of wealth and sex appeal.
She was so idealistic, so pure! I didn’t even believe her when she said it.
Now, all I know is, all I feel is, I need to recreate this feeling. This strange dynamic. This spiritual discussion of my amorality and what redemption there is left in my soul. I know I can never regain Maya’s trust. But maybe I can learn something about myself by following this strange feeling.
I ponder these deep thoughts while glancing at the “lineup” of escorts arranged for me. Nothing new, of course, though I usually opt for the cheapskate option—just fuck groupies for free. Escorts are pricey and they always have a little bit of an attitude. Like they’re not grateful. Like they don’t need to stay a minute longer than what I’ve paid for.
I should admire that, since I do so much enjoy Maya’s feisty personality. But for some reason, none of this feels genuine. It’s all artifice, it’s all fake.
Women with perfect bodies, each one staring at me, smiling and smirking. Knowing exactly what I want. To empty my soulless balls into their soulless snatches. Meaningless sex. They know I don’t want the sex to matter. It’s just a release. It’s barely a connection. I’m an animal looking for feeding.
I suddenly feel weak at the knee and a little winded in the heart. None of these girls are right. None of them are virginal, that’s for damn sure. I can tell just by the way they compose themselves. No one’s shy, no one’s looking at me longingly.
“I changed my mind,” I say to my assistant, avoiding eye contact with all the pretty rejects. “Arrange for a new lineup. No escorts. I want younger women…you know, groupies who want to hang around me. Get lucky. That sort of thing.”
I want, above all, to be adored! Maybe that’s what I miss about Maya. She adored me at first. She thought I actually was the Hero from my company’s commercials. She thought I had a soul worth saving. Now if only I could I find someone who could recreate that portrait of compassion…
I look at the group of young “apprentices” up and down, all too aware that they want me. They’re groupies…young girls who want to be sugar babies. They want to be spoiled, toyed with and paid handsomely…if not in money then in gifts. Lavish vacations. Most of them might even let me cum inside of them for free…what better career investment then getting preggers by a billionaire?
But once again…even though their dainty little eyes are all glued on me…I still smell the scent of pity. They pity me. They know I’m just a decadent, debauched fool running from something.
Finally, after spending several awkward and silent moments looking each one up and down, I narrow down my selection.
A brunette, almost virginal looking. There’s a certain sweetness in her eyes, the unmistakable look of discomfort. None of this is familiar to her. She’s afraid of me…she’s hesitant to go and experience life. She dreads growing up, abandoning her youth and perfection.
She’s wearing all white, a racer back long dress with long curly locks. Something very…unique about her. Yes, she’s the one.
“You…at the end, tell me your name, please.”
“Melanie.”
“Good. Meet me in my office. The rest of you head downstairs for free drinks and gifts.”
The girls are cheerful, good sports. They knew the odds of me picking a single one of them were slim. Billionaires have very particular tastes, after all. No, we don’t have types. We have obsessions. We become obsessed with something and spend absurd amounts of money trying to recreate that obsession. Sometimes these obsessions last for years. I always thought it was just a rich eccentric old man’s thing…but now it appears I am feeling it too.
We have fucking therapy sessions, not types. That’s what we have.
I enter my private office, having just freshened up, making sure my cock was rock hard and ready to go. I could feel it on my fingertips. The chase. The passion, the danger. The seduction of innocence. Yes…
I look at the girl, at Melanie, and wonder just how much she fears me. What would it take to make her feel less afraid, to feel compassion for me…to even learn to love me?
I begin to flinch as I notice Melanie tightening her smile.
“What’s wrong?” I say curiously.
“What?”
“Something’s wrong. Your mood changed. What is it? Do you regret coming here?”
“No, sir. I just…”
“What?”
“I want to show you my pussy.” She squints her eyes and licks her lips.
“What? Where did that come from?”
“I…I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“What I wanted? I just wanted to be with you. I wanted you to be you. The real you.”
“Yeah but…I figured you wanted someone sexy, you know.”
My smile lights up. The excitement builds deep in my gut. “I don’t want you to pretend. I just want you to be comfortable.”
“Okay…” she says with a goofy grin. “I think you’re going to like what I look like down there.”
“Oh? Well that’s very confident, isn’t it?”
“Like for real,” she says with a prideful little giggle. “I spent thousands so it better
look legit.”
“Come again?”
“Oh, I will!”
“No, I mean…you spent thousands on what?”
“Well, you know…hymen-restoring surgery. I got my cherry rebuilt. Just for a rich, strong man like you. So you could tear it all over again.”
My heart sinks. How grotesque…and yet it’s exactly what I deserve, isn’t it? Exactly what I asked for. For the simulation of a virginal experience. Something I surely am not fit to have authentically. Not after being the scum of the earth for so long.
“Look kid…just take your check and go.”
“I’m not a hooker!” she says snidely, but not really as feisty as Maya would say it.
“I know. It’s just…you’re too good for me, kid.”
“Ohhh…okay…” she says cluelessly, probably thinking I’m some guilt-ridden eccentric fool with a barely-functioning dick. But the truth is far more shameful. She’s exactly what I deserve. Exactly what I ordered. And realizing what I am, the quintessence of my perverse character, has made me sick to my stomach.
We are roaches, we are sycophantic fakers and scam artists. We don’t deserve the blood of the innocent.
“Soooo,” David says, pouring me coffee as always to wake me up from a terrible desk-night-sleep. “You broke another poor girl’s heart, buddy boy. That’s two in just under two weeks. You have a talent at being a schmuck.”
“What? Why?”
“Well from what I hear, the girl named Melanie that you hand-selected for her illusion of purity stormed out of our castle, crying about how she wasted all her savings on something called ‘Hymenorrhaphy’. And after all that brilliant artificial hymen artistry, you STILL rejected her. That’s got to be hard on a poor little escort who’s just trying to learn the ropes.”
“Fuck me,” I growl in disapproval. “I just can’t get through a day without pissing someone off.”
“Oh, don’t worry about Melanie. She did seem to cheer up again after we gave her a gift basket of goodies to take home. And a nice check to compensate for all that precious cherry-restoring surgery. You know what they say…a hymen is a terrible thing to waste!”
“Ugh. This is the part where I’m supposed to score with two Brazilian models and feel better about myself, David. So why do I feel like shit?”
“Kid, you just screwed yourself in the ass and didn’t like how it felt. You want a nice innocent girl but you don’t like the way they’re made. With love, with attention, with sacrifice and trust. None of which are for sale, at least not for escort prices. You find fake virgins disgusting for their artifice and real virgins like Maya find you disgusting for your insincerity. It’s a vicious cycle of pussy-cock hatred!”
David laughs that weird parrot noise that he always seems to do, reinforcing my humiliation.
“The real question is, David, how any virgin could stand me in the first place? I’m incapable of love or basic human decency. It’s almost like, Maya was the first person to actually look at me and see nothing but the smile on my face. She really saw my potential. Not the money, not the greed…just the smile I gave her.”
“True! And then you screwed it up, kid.”
“She really is a girl you don’t meet every day, isn’t she?”
“Listen, you’re not going to get very far trying to recapture a moment you lost. Maybe what you should do is give the person you like another chance.”
“But she hates me, David. She told me so.”
“Then use that genius head of yours to think of a Plan B!” David says with a sarcastic smile on his face. “Adopt, adapt and improve! Prove yourself an evolutionary wonder and grow some goddamned creativity, Zander!”
“How much does that cost?” I reply, smirking at David…but not sure if I’m joking at this point.
I sent Maya a free meal gift certificate to Palmetto, my favorite place to dine when I want to splurge and impress someone with my ridiculously high tips. This particular gift certificate accommodated up to four people, so I assumed Maya might bring the three people closest to her—namely her parents and her current boyfriend, that dashing and debonair fellow who swooped in and stole Maya from me before I even knew she was an option.
No matter, I’ve been feeling like a good sport. This dinner was not about making a statement or proving a point. It was a gesture of good will. Just a foolish and immoral man’s way of breaking the ice. And yes, Maya, I promise my filthy and lecherous hands did not grope your five-star Italian meal.
I’ve decided to watch Maya quietly from a distance, hoping to see her new boyfriend from afar and to get a good idea of the man I’m competing against. To my surprise, as I see her take a seat, along with her parents, I see no fourth chair. She isn’t on a date. She’s just here…unspoken for. Unattached and perhaps even longing for a Valentine’s Day kiss. This could be my moment.
She looks ravishing. Like a touch from the golden age of movies. A beaded V-neck mesh dress arrayed in dark blue. She’s the type of girl that saves all her money just to buy a nice new dress and feel good about herself. And good for her…that’s something I would do myself I actually had to work for my money. Her parents are dressed…well, in church clothes, naturally.
She has to be halfway expecting me to show up, doesn’t she? She could have just torn up the gift certificate if she really despised my existence. Or maybe she just wanted to show her parents a good time and treat them to a meal they probably could never afford.
I hesitate…I want to go out there now and say hello. But I bite my tongue. What should I say? Dammit, don’t hesitate. Just be opposite of everything she expects. Be the opposite of the brash, arrogant dickhead everybody knows I am. And whatever happens, don’t fucking hesitate!
I smile calmly as I walk out to meet the DeBank family. “I hope you find everything to your liking, Mister and Missus DeBank. And Maya.”
Her parents take attention and look on in surprise. Maya, meanwhile, sends a stark face to me…not quite frowning, but not quite smiling. But at least her eyes are meeting mine and fully attentive.
“You’re Troy! Aren’t you? Mister Troy?” her father says.
“Yes, sir. I’m sure you remember me. Maya denounced me on television. Good times.”
“Well…” he says apologetically, but still smiling in pride. “She’s a loose cannon. But sometimes women tell us the things we men refuse to hear.”
“I hear that!” I say, helping myself to the fourth seat. “Have you all looked at the menus yet? I recommend the eggplant rollatini. It’s the best in the entire country, I swear to God. And I’ve been to Italy.”
“No, we’re still looking,” her father says. “Are you sure we’re okay to pay for this? The gift card won’t bounce, will it?”
“No, sir,” I say with a smile. “This one’s on the house. Consider it a gesture of goodwill, for offending Maya so terribly the first time we met.”
Maya smirks back at me. And the second time and third time, her eyes seem to tell me.
“That’s sweet of you. Maya’s very grateful,” the mother says. “She just doesn’t express gratitude very well.”
“Mother!” Maya scolds her. “You don’t have to insult me!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your names,” I say, feigning business man speak, the same type of polite chitchat I might spat out during one of those god awful commercials.
“Mark,” the dad says.
“Merva,” the mom says.
“Maya,” Maya says with a smarmy headshake. As if she’s appalled by my nice behavior. Well, at least she’s not throwing a drink in my face…yet.
I do feel natural urges to come-back. I start thinking of mean and wild things to do just to scandalize this perfect dinner scenario. I could embarrass Maya in front of her parents. Make everyone cringe. Make her parents feel awkward by talking about orgies I’ve had…
God, what’s wrong with me? Do I really hate civility that much that I have to destroy every good thing I come in contact with?
> I bite my tongue and glance at Maya, before returning to the faces of her parents.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I say warmly, glancing at Maya, who is still eying me like a cat eyes a troublemaking mouse. She’s ready to pounce, for sure. “I know there’s probably been some hostility lately…but I assure you, all that’s behind us.”
“Well, I hope so!” Merva says.
“Mother!” Maya says, her face blushing.
“I don’t mean any offense, Mister Troy. You’re much too, uh…old for her.”
I lose my smile. The fire burns in my chest. Old? OLD?! I’m in my thirties! How about I plop your pudgy ass over on this table and pound your—!
No, no, no, be nice. Do the opposite…don’t be an asshole. Forgive. Let it go.
“Well…” I laugh. “She certainly deserves a boy her own age, we agree on that.”
“But what I’m thinking,” Merva continues, “is that Maya is so smart…I think you should hire her for a job! Maya is an excellent writer, reporter and interviewer. She could really help your company.”
“Mother, that’s even more embarrassing. I can apply for my own jobs, thank you very much.”
“Uh, yes, I agree, obviously,” I say with a wince.
“Agree with what?” Mark says.
“Uh…you know,” I reply, taking a gulp. “I agree that Maya would not be well suited for my company.”
Maya glares at me. Now both of her parents join in on the fun and stare me down.
Damn…that instinct was definitely not the opposite. That was too natural of me to say.
“Umm…” I correct myself, “what I meant to say was, she would be much more suited to news or publishing. I work in marketing, consulting, advertising…it’s boring work.”
Her parents nod and Maya crinkles her lip in response to my save.
“Oh, I see. Yeah, Maya always wanted to be a photo journalist. Like Barbara Walters.”
“Oh, she’ll be better than Barbara Walters!” I say with a congenial laugh. Barbara Walters’ raggedy, disgusting ass probably has mice living in it, that lisping bitch! Jesus, don’t say that out loud! This is going well, don’t jinx it! Just do what Maya would want me to do. Pretend like I’m the guy on camera and not a fucking corporate soulless ghoul!