She giggled. “Do you think I should get some lingerie for you?” She showed him her body and the new nightgown she was wearing. It was the powder blue silk one that he had bought her while there.
“If you model it for me, of course,” Chris teased. “There, I sent you the money to PayPal. You should get it right away.”
Her phone went off and she checked it. “Yes, I got it. Thank you so much.” She looked a bit shocked. He had sent more money than she earned in a year.
“Treat yourself with it, all right?”
“I will. And I will get a sexy piece to model for you,” she assured him. “Good night, my love.”
Chris spent the rest of the day pacing his house, unsure of himself and of what to do. He couldn’t think straight without Chanda. Finally, he decided to go to the bar in town. Usually he avoided socializing there since everyone regarded him with scorn, but today he needed a beer to take the edge off. And he didn’t want to drink with the guys who worked for him, since they all seemed to want to ask him questions about his trip and his new wife.
The “Hole in the Wall” was literally a hole in the wall. Chris stepped through the door and was enveloped in air conditioning, the dank smell of stale beer, and the sounds of laughter and the hollow clicks of pool cues striking pool balls. “Sweet Home Alabama” played on the jukebox and some drunk man was singing along at the top of his lungs. Suddenly, the din all ceased when Chris strode up to the bar.
“What can I getcha, hun?” The bartender was new, some skinny girl with blonde hair and short shorts carrying several beers between her fingers.
“A Coors Lite,” Chris muttered, overtaken by shyness now that he felt dozens of eyes fixed on him. He set a crumbled twenty on the counter and the bartender took it.
“That’s three fifty,” she said, punching it into the cash register. The drawer made a "cha-ching" as it opened and she hastily counted out the change. She set it in front of Chris, and he pushed it back toward her. “Oh! Well, thanks.” She smiled at him glamorously as she turned to fetch his beer from the cooler behind her and the noise of the bar resumed. “You must be big cheese around here. What’s your name?” she asked as she popped the cap off and let it cling down to the floor.
“Chris,” he said simply.
“Chris Stryker,” a man sitting near him at the bar spoke up. “He’s the town’s billionaire.” Then he gave Chris a grin and slapped him on the back. “How are you doing, buddy? Long time, no see.”
Chris managed a smile. Sometimes locals tried to be nice to him and let the past go. He appreciated it, even though he didn’t connect with anyone from around here. “I’m great, Dan, how are you?” He took a swig from his beer.
“Billionaire, huh? I’ve heard about you,” the bartender said, shaking her hair back to show off her firm breasts and long neck. “I’m Leslie.”
“Nice to meet you, Leslie,” Chris said politely.
“Leslie is a nice gal,” Dan said, raising his whisky and Coke to her in salute. “She is living with my niece.”
“Oh. And what made you come here?” Chris realized that he didn’t feel like small talk, but this was what he had come for, after all. He might as well indulge for a beer or two. Then he would go home. He might as well spend the evening playing guitar or watching a movie, since Chanda was asleep.
“Just needed a change, since I’m from Lubbock,” Leslie replied. “I just broke up with somebody and I know Jess so she offered me a place to stay.”
“Cool,” Chris nodded. Why did conversation flow so easily with Chanda, when it never did with anyone else? As a kid, he had been very outgoing, and as a young adult, he had spent many nights laughing and drinking in the Hole in the Wall. But now it felt like his throat was fused shut and he had nothing interesting to say. Since Jake had died and the whole town had blamed him, he had drawn into himself, cutting off social interaction.
“Well, anything for you, Mr. Billionaire,” Leslie said flirtatiously, leaning forward to show off her cleavage as she delivered another whisky and Coke to Dan.
“Thanks,” he said. Now he was determined to finish his beer quickly and get out of here.
But the minute he reached the bottom of his bottle, Leslie already had another one out for him. “I heard you have a beautiful ranch,” she went on. “I’d love to see it sometime.”
“Sure,” he responded awkwardly. He thought about Chanda, alone in her apartment in Phnom Penh, and how she probably trusted him. The idea that other women might approach him while he waited for her had not occurred to him, since women here all avoided him like the plague and his various online relationships had quickly fizzled out.
“Sounds good.” She winked before going to wait on some new arrivals at the bar.
Chris finished his second beer quickly. And Leslie already had a third one out. “I’m good,” he told her, holding up his hand and shaking his head. “I need to get home.”
“Oh, c’mon, man. When a pretty lady is opening you a beer, you don’t say no,” Dan chided him.
“Actually –“ Chris started to protest that he had a woman already, but Leslie had already set the beer down and winked at him.
“This round is on me. Stay for a while. Relax. I’d love to get to know you better,” she insisted.
Chris sighed. All Dan had to do was tell this woman that Chris was a billionaire, and now she was stuck on Chris like a fly to honey. How could he politely yet firmly get rid of her? Being hit on by a gorgeous blonde stranger was the last thing he expected to have happen today.
“Not much about me to know,” Chris told her.
She snorted. “Oh, I’m so sure. What’s it like being a billionaire?”
“Pretty boring, honestly.”
“Do you have your own jet?” she asked.
“I have a little Cessna.” He shrugged. “No need for a jumbo jet. I don’t travel much.” Then he thought about what it would take to get one so he could go see Chanda more easily. The international laws might make it a nightmare, but he was willing to do anything to see Chanda’s doll face and be close to her warm body in bed again. Even just eating at skuzzy sidewalk cafes with her was magical.
“I always wondered what I’d do if I won the lottery,” Leslie went on. That triggered a discussion, with everyone at the bar chiming in with what they would do.
Chris decided to tune the conversation out. Living with so much money had made him numb to it. He lived like any other guy, buying cheap beer and keeping his bills paid. The ranch was expensive to run, so he didn’t like to be frivolous. He had only recently put in a pool, an expense his father never wanted despite his massive wealth. The money that Chris had was not really earned; it came from his family, despite his aunts and uncles who put in their best effort to get all of the inheritance. The family claimed that Chris didn’t deserve it.
Suddenly, the talk about the lottery inspired everyone to take shots. Chris reluctantly accepted a shot glass full of Patron Silver. “Here’s to winning the damn lottery!” Leslie cheered, before downing her shot. She slammed the shot glass on the bar and grinned at Chris. “How did that feel, honey? Want another?”
“I’ll just stick to beer from now on, thanks.”
“All right,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re no fun. Stick around here, though, and I’ll make you a fun man.”
After several more beers and more vapid conversation with Dan and Leslie, Chris was ready to go home. The bar was getting progressively wilder, with Leslie egging everyone on to have a good time. Even the Bar-back kept taking shots. “What do I owe you?” he asked Leslie.
“Nothing, cowboy,” she told him, smacking her gum and shooting him another wink which she undoubtedly thought was sexy.
“Fine, then.” He handed her a hundred dollar tip. “Keep it all.” He slid out of his seat.
Leslie caught up with him by the door. With a coy giggle, she pulled a piece of pink paper out from between her breasts. The paper was damp with her sweat and reeked of her musky perfume
. Chris unfolded it to see her number scribbled across it in curvy script, with her name enclosed in a heart with an arrow shot through it. “I’m off in an hour and a half. Wanna scoop me up, cowboy? We can go for a wild ride.”
“I can’t,” Chris told her.
“And why’s that?” Now her eyes acquired an aggressive hardness as she leaned into him, filling his nostrils with her perfume. Chris could now see how her makeup was caked onto her face and how she wore far too much fragrance. Sweat circles were forming in rings on her tank top under her armpits. The bar was pretty warm, even with the air conditioner on blast.
“I have a girlfriend. I’m going to marry her.”
Leslie snorted. “I’m very discreet, hun, don’t worry a thing about that. You just give me a call, OK?” Then she slunk away, shaking her hips excessively as she meandered away from him.
Chris tossed her number out in the big trash can out front before hopping into his truck. He didn’t want to insult her, but now he was not sure if he ever wanted to come back to the Hole in the Wall Bar.
Chapter 9
“Those are nice earrings,” Chanda’s co-worker said scornfully.
“Thank you.” Chanda touched the earrings and tried to not feel ashamed. Now she had clothes and things that other women in this factory wouldn’t even dream of wearing. Chris bought some for her while he was here and the rest she had bought herself with the bundle of hundreds that he had left her before parting. Her hair was now professionally cut and highlighted, and she wore makeup now. It felt good to be so glamorous, to actually be able to take care of herself now. Every evening, when she got off her shift, she would get on Skype with Chris to model how gorgeous she now looked with his money. She also was working on finding a new place to live at Chris’s request. But she still showed up to the factory each day, trying to prevent boredom and while away the days until Chris was able to send for her. The days just seemed to drag on and on. The worst part was not having a clear deadline of when Chris would be able to get her.
“It must be nice, having a rich American boyfriend,” the woman went on. The scorn was sharp in her voice.
Chanda wanted to shrink into herself. “He is a nice man,” was all she could say.
“Prostitutes get nice things,” the woman agreed.
Chanda’s temper flared. But when she opened her mouth to protest, she noticed that the supervisor was walking toward them. She looked down and busied herself in her work, trying to hide the tears that were springing up in her eyes.
“Chanda!” the supervisor barked. He paused in front of the dye vat that she was dyeing clothes in. “Yes?” she looked up at him.
He was staring at her earrings. “What are you wearing?” he snapped.
She ducked her head. The supervisor was notoriously mean. “It is a gift,” she replied.
“She will be leaving us soon,” her co-worker told the supervisor. “She has a new rich boyfriend from America. He’s taking her away.”
The supervisor narrowed his eyes. “American boyfriends like their play things. Then they get bored and leave them behind. They find new women. Don’t trust this man to take you away. Get back to work.” He then continued striding down the line, making sure that the women were working and not texting or giggling. Joy was not permitted in the dye section.
Her co-worker smirked, apparently pleased with herself.
“Are you happy?” Chanda snapped. “You want to get me fired?”
“Don’t cause trouble,” the woman replied serenely. “You heard the supervisor. Get back to work.”
When Chanda got home, she immediately Skyped Chris. He didn’t answer the first time. Finally, at the third time, he picked up. He was mopping his hair back with a towel, fresh out of the shower.
“Sorry, love, I didn’t hear my phone. I was in the shower,” he said apologetically.
Chanda felt her anxiety dissipate as soon as she saw his loving gaze. “Chris,” she said happily. “I’m just glad you finally answered.”
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She shook her head violently. “I am just glad to see your face. I miss you terribly.”
“Oh, I miss you, too.” He smiled. “I am applying for a visa now. I just have to get your passport, medical records, and your identification. I also need to print out our chats and photos together to prove that we are together.”
“Oh, that sounds simple.” Chanda bounced happily down on her bed. “I am so excited for this. It is just taking so long already!”
“It can take up to a year. But don’t worry. I will be there to visit soon.”
“I need you to. They are being mean to me at work. They are all jealous that I have a rich American boyfriend.” She sadly showed him her earrings. “I wore these today and my co-worker tried to get me in trouble with the boss.”
Chris groaned. “I should have expected that to happen. You know how people are. Don’t let them get to you.”
“But my boss said that you could just be using me. That you will tire of me and throw me away.” Chanda sighed. “I know I shouldn’t listen, but it really scared me when he said that. He says it happens a lot. We’re like cheap prostitutes to American men.”
“I’m not like most American men,” Chris reassured her. “I would never do that. I am serious about marrying you. Look.” He rifled through his bedside table drawer and produced the K-1 visa form, which he had already filled out most of. “This is the form I have to fill out to get you into the United States. If I wasn’t serious, why would I be going into all of this trouble?”
Chanda gaped at the long form in his hands. “That’s several pages,” she commented.
“Yes. And all of the documents that I need from you will make it even longer. The sooner that you can send them, the better it will be. Oh, Chanda, why do you insist at working at that place? I wish you would leave already. You know that I will support you. I have plenty of money to give you an amazing life there.”
“I know.” She sighed and gathered the pleats of her skirt around her knees. “I just don’t know what else I would do with myself while I wait.”
Chris shook his head. “I like that you work hard for your money. You like to work. You don’t mooch off of rich men, like a lot of women here do.” Then a dark look overcame his face.
“Are you thinking about bad women who have used you?” Chanda asked. Her empathetic nature immediately sensed a deep-seated torment within Chris.
“Yes, but those women don’t matter anymore. What matters is you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Well, I’m going to finish this paperwork. Send me those documents when you can. You might have to go get vaccines. I’ll send money for that.”
Chanda nodded. This was the real deal, after all. She had nothing to worry about. Chris was always able to assuage her loneliness and worry.
When they kissed good night and hung up, Chanda went down to the café near her place for dinner. Now that she didn’t have her father or Chris to cook for, she never ate at home. It was hard to eat by herself, staring at the empty seat across from her. Spoon feeding her father in his final days was a painful experience, but at least she had his presence to comfort her.
She watched the fast city bustling around her. What would America be like? Chris tried to describe it to her and she saw many photos of it, but she couldn’t imagine it. The cities were so orderly and clean, with no sewage or trash on the streets. Begging was illegal and children didn’t swarm one, begging for coins or candy. Food was sold inside stores instead of large outdoor markets, and it was all wrapped in plastic or frozen into neat bricks. Even the vegetables were sanitary, and the fruits had stickers on them. The traffic in San Antonio and Austin and Houston, though heavy, looked well-directed, like a perfect, controlled flow. Everyone had a house and a car. The poverty of America looked like luxury to her; she couldn’t believe that people considered themselves to be struggling when they worked full-time and lived in hous
es or apartments and owned cars. Here, poverty meant that you lived downwind of the public latrines in a shanty built from trash in the slums, and worked ten hours a day or more at the factories, and could never see the doctor. What would it be like to live such a perfect life? To be so neat, conditioned, and clean? To have the queenly luxury that Chris offered her in his mansion, with its air conditioning and carpeting and pool in the back? She imagined swimming in that pool, what that pristine, blue water must feel like. She had only ever swam in lakes and rivers, which were always muddy and full of trash. She also imagined riding horseback over the sweeping terrain that Chris showed her on Skype. How tall that would feel like.
Then she wondered if anyone would like her in the United States. Would there be friendly girls? Where could she meet them? She decided that she would need a job and maybe some sort of hobby. People in America loved to have hobbies. But what kind of hobby should she take on? She looked up things Americans liked to go and discovered activities like yoga, hiking, walking, photography, and dance. “I don’t know how to do any of these things,” she said to herself forlornly.
For the first time, she felt horribly unprepared for her new life in America.
Chapter 10
Chris was working in his yard, trying to kill time until he could Skype with Chanda, when a truck rumbled into his driveway. He set his rake down and wiped the sweat off of his neck and forehead. He so seldom got visitors that he was concerned by this strange truck.
Then the door swung open and his heart sank as Leslie from the bar hopped out. She was wearing a skanky outfit that left most of her butt and boobs exposed, pink rhinestone cowgirl boots, and a pink alligator cowgirl hat, with tons of necklaces layered around her neck. As she approached him, he realized that her foundation was so thick that her face had the consistency and color of pound cake, and her lips were heavy with bright pink lipstick. She reeked of hair spray and perfume. “Hey, cowboy. Don’t you have a landscaper to do that for you?” she nodded at the rake laying by Chris’s feet.
PRIZE: An MMA Fighter Secret Baby Romance Page 22