by Romi Hart
He shakes his head…
I slam down another wad of cash on the table equaling one hundred grand. Cash bills.
“You’re going to lose anyway. Girls like Maya never go for the nice guy. I’m offering you money for you to lose. Money that can jumpstart your business. This is the best exit strategy in the history of civilized humankind.”
Billy sighs. He grabs the money and looks at it. “You know, Mister Troy, I’d like to think there are some things in life money can’t buy.”
“Like what? God? You’re right. God has no price. I was raised Catholic and the first thing I remember asking my mother was whether God was for sale. She said no. Lucky I didn’t live back in the day of papal indulgences, eh?”
“I have no idea what you just said, Mister Troy,” he says in resignation. “Look, I’m a simple guy. Your offer is tempting. But my business will be fine without a grant. My marriage to Maya will be fine without you.”
“I’m finished slamming down ten-grand dollar bills, Billy.”
“Good.”
“But you’re wrong. With the exception of God, everything else on earth can be bought. Acts of charity? Justice? Women? Love? All of it can be bought. Money is nothing, paper money is non-existent. Gold price fluctuates. But trade? Worth? That’s real. Power is the only currency, Billy.”
Billy stares helplessly as I grab a small billfold from my coat pocket. He looks at me as if he’s seen the Devil himself. A story he will no doubt tell his grandchildren someday, his lovable and heroic grandchildren descended from his lovely daughter, descended by some other woman who is NOT my Maya.
“Case in point, the largest bill that the U.S. Bureau of Engraving and Printing ever made was the $100,000 gold certificate. Printed in the Great Depression, with the portrait of Woodrow Wilson on the front.”
I slap down one Woodrow and look at Billy’s face in admiration. “These bills were so absurdly huge they were never issued to the general public. They were only used by the Federal Reserve. But through very tight connections, my family managed to secure a few of these babies. Worth more than the currency printed on them because of their historical value.”
“Mister Troy…”
I slap another Woodrow down. “There is no price beyond my reach. I will never stop fighting for Maya. Never. And at some point, she will realize that the more a man has to give, the more that man truly loves her. There is nothing more valuable than…resources, Billy.”
He grumbles and does a double take on the money. “Fine. You want me to walk away? I’ll walk. Let me just tell you something, Troy. I was never chasing after Maya just because she was a virgin. That’s…that’s juvenile. What I really loved about her was how pure her heart was. And that IS something that can never be bought.”
“Then perhaps we have at least one thing in common. To see this sick, cruel and depraved world through a virgin’s eyes…is the cure for all our depression.”
“You know why I’m taking this money?” Billy says, getting up from the table.
“Because you’re a good poker player, that’s why.”
“Because I pity you, Troy.”
“Oh?” I laugh at the very idea.
“It’s pretty obvious even to a dumb southern boy like me…you’re not chasing Maya. You’re trying to buy back your soul. What a sad man you must be, even with all that money. I hope you do win Maya’s heart. Maybe she’ll be the one thing in your life that’s worth a damn.”
I don’t argue with anything Billy says. I wait patiently as he throws his tantrum and then takes the money and leaves, never turning back once to reconsider.
Why would he? He NEVER loved her as much as I do and I just proved it. For a simple man like him, there’ll probably be a hundred Mayas that will soothe his broken heart. Sweet, injured women who fall for his starving poetry, his loyalty, his charm. There are so many of them, I see them every day, in every city.
But for me, there is only one who can stop the bleeding. The one who hasn’t been poisoned by the air we all breathe. That’s Maya. My pursuit of her is directly connected to realizing who I am as a person. I want to be the person Maya sees when she sees me. I’ve never felt more at peace with myself, than when I look at myself through her eyes. Every man wants a woman who sees him in the best light. I need to see myself in that light again…and she is the guiding light I need to know my true self.
Chapter 5
Maya
There’s something freeing about being in public with no makeup on, no effort in making my hair beautiful, no fake smile to give to the male population. In fact, my lack of peripheral color only seems to cloak me in darkness. They see a woman who tries not to be beautiful, a woman who prefers natural comfort to artificial colors, and they cower. They can’t stand looking at any face that doesn’t project friendliness.
I walk around the park at a leisurely stroll, enjoying the feeling of not flirting with anyone. Men and women pass me by and don’t see a sexual object. In fact, they barely acknowledge my existence.
I’m walking Freudo, my Chihuahua, who’s been a little down lately. He’s a bit of an older dog but he still has a lot of fight left in him. He has definitely bonded with me. He won’t go anywhere new unless I first wrap him in a blanket and softly lay him down on the ground. Lucky for me, Freudo is such a vicious little monster he’ll chase off any male suitor that surpasses my non-makeup shield and goes for the kill anyway.
My phone rings and I see a familiar face on the screen. A certain billionaire, an aggressive and possessive stallion who has to fight to control himself. He suppresses his urge to just kidnap me, seat me at his desk, and rant on for hours until he persuades me of how pure his intentions are. Of course, he’s mad. But it’s the kind of madness, of unflinching devotion, every woman wants. Or at least…the kind of attention she desires from a GOOD man. And it’s never been proven to me or anyone that Zander Troy is a good man.
I answer my phone, still eying Zander’s contact profile in suspicion.
“I’m amazed you called first. You know, before you just showed up randomly in my bathroom or something. Stalker.”
“It hasn’t been easy,” he says. “This whole being patient thing is new to me. And not unlike a pepperoncino. Something I have to taste once and hopefully never again.”
“Never again, huh? And what does that mean?”
“I’m not promising we’re going to get married. I wouldn’t lie to you by giving you a promise I don’t know that I can keep.”
“Okay, that’s fair. I respect your obsessive need to claim you’re not a liar. Nothing at all suspicious about that…” I giggle.
“But what I mean is…this odd relationship dynamic between us. Where I honestly try…where I respect you and want to court you the right way. This isn’t for me.”
“Really!”
“This is the first and only time I’ll ever attempt it. I’m not in my element. It’s alien. It’s something that only exists because I like you that much.”
“Well, it’s called being nice. And you should give it a chance. Rather than just dating groupies and escorts all the time. Maybe a girl getting you to try a little harder IS what you like.”
“I like YOU. Not this game. I like you enough to play your game. When can I see you again, Maya?”
“Do you have a dog, Zander?”
“No.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“If you’re assuming that I’m incapable of love, like so many people seem to suggest, I think that’s a faulty analogy. Everyone assumes that ‘dog people’ are affectionate, cat people are passive-aggressive. But the truth is that dogs are not affectionate. They’re domesticated. Dogs are slaves, created beings made that way from the naturalness of wild gray wolves. They’re living GMO products. Cats, on the other hand, are carnivorous. If I were judging someone from their cat or dog preferences, I would think I was marrying a controlling bitch or an an
tisocial sadist. But I don’t judge people according to their pets, do I?”
I finally laugh. “All I meant is that guys with dogs have been shown a lot of love. I know from experience. I have a Chihuahua. It loves me unconditionally. You seem almost…detached from human emotion.”
“I love animals. I own a zoo. I ride horses, I campaign for whales…”
“But you’ve never owned a dog.”
“No. When I was younger I used to collect birds.”
“Birds?”
“Yes. Parrots, cockatiels, doves and finches.”
“So you’re a collector,” I say with a loaded grin which I’m sure he can hear even over the phone.
“I suppose some people would see it that way. But to me, birds are great survivors. They’re descendants of the dinosaurs. Fossil records show us that birds evolved from the maniraptoran therapods family. I never really thought of them as birds. I thought of them as monsters, terrible lizards who had become…kind. Who saw the practicality of coexisting with mammals rather than eating them.”
“Wow. I do believe you’ve talked to me more than any other woman you’ve ever dated. Tell me I’m wrong.”
He laughs. “Well, women don’t date me for my conversation, do they?”
“That’s a shame. Because conversation means everything with me.”
“Do you have good conversation with Billy?”
“Funny you should mention Billy,” I say with a squint. “He hasn’t texted or called all week. What did you do?”
“You assume I have that much control?”
I inhale and exhale. The thought, the idea of Zander Troy chasing me is making my blood rush. The feeling of rejecting him feels just as exciting as a kiss.
“You say you own a zoo?”
“Yes. The Troy-Lindell Western Heights Zoo, my family’s owned it for the last twenty years. It’s the best kept zoo in the state. Huge aviary…for obvious reasons.”
“I want you to take me to that.”
“Oka—”
“With my parents. I want to see you outside of your element. No fancy dinners, no celebrities, no limo rides and make-out sessions in your mansion. Just you, Zander, coexisting with human beings.”
“I thought your parents hated me.”
“No, you actually made a good impression last time they saw you. But just to warn you…two dates might imply to them that we’re a couple.”
He chuckles. “Maya, I’m not buying your parents tickets to my first-class zoo, the best reviewed park in the entire country.”
“Then I’m not going with you.”
“You and your parents are coming with me for a special backstage pass. I want them to see the aviary my family built, and that I maintained, up close and personal. Happy now?”
“Okay…I’m impressed,” I say with a giddy voice. “But can I bring my Chihuahua dog?”
“He won’t attack my birds, will he?”
“I’ll make sure he’s bundled up.”
“Then it’s a date.”
My God, I can’t believe he said yes! No matter how far I push Zander away, he always falls back into my arms, right before joyously spinning me around into a dance. I like the man he becomes whenever I resist him. He becomes more of the on-camera Zander I once fell for…a man who finally feels a purpose in his soulless life. Or at least…that’s the fantasy that’s turning me on.
To my surprise, Zander is “performing” beautifully. He’s showing my parents around the zoo, backstage, telling them stories of how his family bought a small zoo and continually improved it, eventually making it the largest zoo in the south. It was his idea to build onto the aviary, welcoming exotic new species and ensuring they had plenty of room to fly freely. As Zander told my mother, “a caged animal has no choice but to become a monster.” He does seem legitimately fascinated with how birds have evolved over millions of years. From brutality to grace and sophistication. Speaking of his own damaged soul, perhaps?
“This was very sweet, Zander,” my mom says, for the first time speaking to him with compassion. “The way you talk about your birds is very interesting.”
“I suppose it’s more of a quirk than a hobby. I had them growing up. But over time, I realized that an aviary is the only place they can thrive. There simply wasn’t enough room in my childhood playroom. Even little things need to be free.”
“Did they ever poop on you?” Dad says.
“You’re so terrible!” Mom says, slapping him on the shoulder.
“I’m just asking. That’s why I gave away my parakeet. I felt that was disrespectful. Of course, I was only twelve but it was the principle of the thing.”
“Well, maybe he was acting out,” Zander says with a smile. “In the little bird’s mind, maybe his defiant droppings were a social revolution.”
“You’re too smart for me, kid!”
I hug my bundled Chihuahua dog, giving its little growling face some TLC…but I have to admit, I’m distracted by the conversation Zander is holding down with my parents. No, he’s anything but comfortable. To Zander, I’m sure being social and friendly—and talking like an EQUAL—is new and revolting. Sort of like how a normal person feels about binge drinking the first time she does it. But it gets easier, Zander…it does get easier.
It was actually my parents’ idea to get an Uber ride home—paid for by Zander, at his insistence. They felt their presence was interfering with Zander and I’s “quality time” together. They even took Freudo home, just so I could spend an hour or two getting to know the Renegade Prince.
Little did they know, I didn’t actually want Zander alone. Zander alone is where he is most comfortable. Where all his deals and all his womanizing takes place. He’s the lone wolf, not the domesticated dog, in his own words. So my plan was to see him challenged. Out of his “cage”, so to speak.
He didn’t disappoint. He proved today he could be very charming when he puts his mind to it. Whether or not he was “really” having fun is irrelevant. The fact that this whole charade was all a gift to me is what made it amazing.
Once a man walks a mile for you, you start to realize it’s not just to get into your pants anymore. Zander doesn’t need to wait for anyone. Maybe it’s not a completely “wholesome” interest in me, but whatever his real attraction is, is still an engrossing mystery I can’t wait to solve.
“Thank you for showing my family a good time. I spoil my parents. They were good to me, I try to pay it back. With everyone.”
I wore something homely today. Just bayside pants and a white blouse. Free, easy to travel in. Nothing that sends Zander the message: I want you because you’re trying soooo hard.
“My mother died when I was young,” he admits as we walk around the aviary at dusk. “And my father’s final words to me were, ‘Don’t you dare ruin the legacy of this family. Your name is more important than your life.’”
“Oh my God, he really said that?”
“He wanted me to know how the world saw me. That’s what mattered. Not what ‘is’, but what should be. That was the secret to business.”
“Did you love him?”
“I think so. I didn’t cry at his funeral. But I did remember some of the good times we had.”
“There’s something about you that’s very sad. This is the side you hide from the press, isn’t it?”
“Well…to put it in avian terms. Whenever a bird is injured they try very hard to hide all signs of that injury. Showing weakness to a predator or even an equal is just asking for a greater injury. My family always believed in hiding our moments of vulnerability. It wasn’t good for business.”
I look into his eyes and find his true self. Behind his arrogance, behind his passive hostility that buys its way out of conflict, there is only a boy. A boy who’s too afraid to let other fierce creatures see his burden of doubt.
We both feel a spark. A tingling of our lips and a chill. I want him to kiss me. To just reach over and take me into his arms. He feels the same sensation. He alm
ost starts to move forward, looking into my eyes and opening his mouth. He smiles.
“I just want you to know. I think you look beautiful, Maya. There is something so glowing, so angelic about you, I can’t resist taking you into my arms. I can’t resist kissing you. And I would have…if we were not in a zoo and there wasn’t the faint smell of monkey shit in the air.”
I crack up laughing and he smiles.
“Agreed.”
“Would you like to go out for coffee?”
“I’d love to.”
We decided to step out for coffee and donuts at an all-night diner in MY neighborhood. A suburb that leads to a patch of malls and stores, a place the great Zander Troy has probably never even set foot in, let alone open his heart in. But that’s been my one objective, to see his heart, and see whether he has a heart at all. For all I know, this Zander may be “performing”. Maybe men just work harder to stick their dicks in a hard-to-get woman. Maybe once the sex is over, they realize the horrible mistake they made. All the promises they can’t keep. How much more interesting life is when they’re playing to WIN rather than just coexisting in relationship hell.
Hell, I understand how guys feel sometimes. I relate to their commitment-phobic minds. Everything seems better in concept than in reality.
Of course, as I stare stupidly at Zander from across the table, I can’t help but think fewer intellectual thoughts and instead ponder over more primal, animalistic urges.
Like how I want to ride his cock and experience the soreness of first-time, cherry-popping sex. How I want him to kiss me, not just my lips, but every inch of my body.
Most men don’t understand the difference between romantic sex and drunk fucking. It’s all in the obsession. A drunk stunt cock will only work so hard. He can barely muster up the effort, barely put any investment into seduction.