How to Bed a Millionaire

by Dieter Moitzi

  Whatever it is, my stomach’s all aflutter, and my hands are sweaty.

  I sit down on the terrace of a café and order an Aperol Spritz. See? That’s not too heavy on booze—just a mix of Aperol6, prosecco, and soda water. Virtually a soft drink. Ask any Italian, they’ll confirm.

  I sip my drink and watch the people stroll by. Which doesn’t turn out as calming as I thought. Each ruggedly handsome dude, each sight of a toned chest makes me think of Karim and therefore of what lies ahead. Jesus, you could believe I’m sixteen and going on my very first date! Admittedly, I’ve never been adroit in the dating department, but this is becoming ridiculous. I’m twenty, I do have some experience regarding men.

  On a whim, I take out my cell and send the family WhatsApp group a nice selection of photos commenting each of them. Coming up with quirky captions distracts me a bit.

  Then I check my banking app, bracing myself for an empty account or a notice that I’m overdrawn.

  But…

  … the figure I discover on the screen comes as a complete surprise.

  Yesterday’s and today’s purchases pending, I’m supposedly in credit by almost 2,000 euros, guys!

  No, no, no. That can’t be true. I’m sure I’m overdrawn at this point. Not dangerously so, but still.

  I check the details of the latest operations.

  All right, there are my forthcoming debits. Ouch. Even a bit more than I thought.

  But there’s also a bank transfer of 2,000 euros, scheduled for today. An incoming transfer.

  What the fuck? That can’t be my first pay yet. It isn’t due before the end of the month, and the net salary I signed up for was less than that, anyway.

  Oh.

  I have a sudden inkling someone might have used his Platinum Visa card, after all. To apologize or assuage his conscience.

  I’ll have to get to the bottom of this mystery.

  Puzzled, I finish my drink. After I’ve paid, I take two pan bagnat7 at a bakery nearby. I’m rich now, so I might as well buy my date lunch.

  I cross the open-air market installed on the Cours Saleya. People are milling about, vendors are shouting, the sun flooding the longish square in light and heat. It’s an explosion of colors and smells: fruits, lavender, organic soap, dried herbs, food, suntan creams, and sweat.

  I step back out onto the Promenade des Anglais and follow it until I see the grotto-like entrance that houses the public elevator. Amazingly enough, it’s free. Not that I have a choice—I’m running late. Most importantly, it’s thirty-five degrees, and the streets leading up to the hilltop looked all very, very steep when I walked past them in the Old Town.

  You’ll agree with me that to show up on a first date soaked in sweat isn’t the best sales strategy, right?

  The elevator spits me out five minutes early

  The elevator spits me out five minutes early, so I stop at one of the viewpoints to take in the panorama. The Baie des Anges sprawls below me, a carpet of red roofs and antennas on one side, with the pale gray Alps in the distance, and a sparkling, blue expanse on the other side.

  I’m so lost in my observation that I jump when someone murmurs into my ear, “You don’t charge enough for that fine piece of ass, cutie.”

  I swivel around.

  Karim is standing there grinning at me. He’s wearing a dazzling white tee, another pair of tracksuit pants, and his baseball cap. I forgot how handsome he is and what a heart-breaker grin he has. My heart starts beating like mad.

  “Jesus, dude! You gave me a fright!” I pant. “I didn’t hear you sneak up on me.”

  “I’m a discreet guy.” He draws me into a tight hug. I notice he smells of cedar and patchouli. Must have spritzed cologne over himself right before the date. “Good to see you,” he whispers before kissing me twice on the cheeks.

  “Yeah. Nice to see you, too.”

  We let go of each other. “What were you saying about my ass?” I ask to cover up the nervousness that has returned with a vengeance. My palms are so moist I expect to see their imprints on Karim’s tee.

  “That it’s very nice-looking. And surprisingly cheap.” Karim winks at me. “Unless the price tag covers the whole package. Then, it would be a straight giveaway. Even though I hope it’s not as straight as that…”

  “Price tag?” I gasp. “Shit—did I forget to take off the price tag?”

  He pulls at something attached to the waistband of the cargo pants. “Seems so.”

  “God! I’ve been walking around town for more than an hour with that dangling from my trousers?”

  “That can happen. I’m more surprised nobody has accosted you to take you up on that bargain.”

  I’m sure I’m as red as a boiled lobster by now.

  Karim chuckles. “No need to worry. It’s half-hidden under your T-shirt. I only spotted it because you were leaning over the railing. I’ll help you take it off once we’ve found a place to sit.” He pulls the hem of my tee over the tag. “There. Let’s go. And by the way—your ass does look good in these pants. I’m glad you bought them. A good thing we’re in public, too…”

  I flush again.

  Karim leads me up the last meters to the hilltop questioning me about when I arrived in town and where I parked my car and how I spent the morning. He’s smiling and touching my arm, trying to put me at ease. Or maybe he’s just as nervous as I am. If he is, he’s hiding it way better than I.

  He also tells me he’s sorry to have only one hour. “Normally, I don’t take lunch breaks ‘cause I’m too busy. But I started very early today so that I could free myself for you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “As you should be. I can tell you, when you ring at people’s doors at seven a.m. in summer, they tend to be pissed off. I heard some very colorful swear words this morning.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No sweat. Broadened my vocabulary.”

  The top of the hill is flat and has been transformed into a public park. The grass is parched, of course, but groups of trees are standing here and there, promising shadow and coolness. We buy soft drinks at the refreshment stand in the middle of the area. Then we find an empty bench under a cypress from where we have a splendid view over the old port, the Mont Boron, and the Cap-Ferrat peninsula behind.

  I unpack the sandwiches and hand him one. “Sorry for my choice. As a local you must be fed up with these, but I thought you wouldn’t want anything with pork in it.”

  “How sweet of you!” He takes his sandwich and takes a hearty bite. “That really makes up for the swear words. You know, the last guy I had a lunch date with brought ham sandwiches. That’s when I knew things weren’t going to work out.”

  “You sure must have a busy dating calendar,” I say off-handedly.

  He shakes his head. “Na. Not really. That guy I mentioned? That was years ago.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…” I don’t know how to put it, so I simply state the obvious. “You’re very handsome.”

  “Why, thank you.” How cute—he blushes and stares at his sandwich. I had put him down for a self-assured guy, but apparently, he’s unaware of how good-looking he is. “You’re very handsome, too,” he mumbles.

  I clear my throat. That’s not what I expected to hear. It’s very flattering, though. “So… you don’t pick up guys you meet during your deliveries, like, all the time?”

  “Oh, no. This is a first for me. I’m not… very good at this whole chatting-guys-up thing.”

  “Come on! You want me to believe that? When was the last time?” I tease him.

  “Are we talking about flirting or…” He shoots me a sideways glance. “… or about shagging?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Of course. Bedding someone is easy. The last time I did that was…
let me think… two weeks ago?”

  “I see. You’re not an easy lay, then,” I say wryly.

  He smiles. “It’s just shagging. No big deal. And you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t keep track,” I reply. Which is a lie. Of course I keep track. The last time was seven weeks and three days ago. A one-night stand. His name was Kevin, he was from Lyon, I picked him up in a bar, we went home together and had a good time, namely because neither of us expected anything more than a night of physical gratification, which we provided to each other.

  I get what he’s saying, though. That kind of encounter is indeed easy to initiate and easy to handle.

  “And… er, flirting?” I ask.

  He bites into his sandwich and ponders the question for quite a while. Then he shrugs.

  I wave my hand. “Okay, same here. If you have to think about when it was, that means it has been a long time ago.”

  Karim nods. He says, more to his sandwich than to me, “That’s why I’m glad you’re here.” He lifts his gaze and stares into my eyes. His are brown and warm, and his stare sends shivers down my spine. “Because the other day, I was definitely flirting with you. Not trying to get you in my bed.”

  Gulp. My mouth is full of tuna-and-bread-soaked-in-olive-oil delight, and I have a hard time swallowing down the bite.

  “I’m having a good time right now,” Karim says. He’s very serious all of a sudden. “I enjoy being with you. I’m not all nerves and self-consciousness and trying to impress you. Well,” he laughs. “I am nervous. And I want to impress you. Don’t want you to think I’m stupid or vain or shallow or a slut… But… I’m not feeling ill at ease.”

  “Same here,” I murmur. “And for the record: I really like what I see.”

  He winks playfully.

  “Not only physically, even though you have loads of things going for you. But, you know, everything.” My God, that sounds lame.

  Karim doesn’t think so, apparently. He blushes again, lays down the sandwich, leans closer, and pecks me on the lips. “I’d love to kiss you right now,” he says softly. “But more than that, I want to take my time. I feel that you deserve it.”

  And that, guys… How sweet is that?

  So, we don’t kiss

  So, we don’t kiss. A pity. Because his warm, full lips taste wonderful, despite the shortness of the peck and despite our tuna-tomato-olive-onion breath. He tastes like a real promise.

  On the other hand, the knowledge that he doesn’t want us to rush things makes me feel woozy. I’m not used to being treated with as much kindness, respect, and consideration. When you pick up someone in a bar or night club, or get picked up, there’s only so much conversation before you jump into serious body-on-body action.

  Sometimes, you even ask the dude’s name afterward, that’s how fast things can go.

  I don’t complain. As I said, instantaneous gratification with no strings attached has its merits. Straight guys often envy us for how easy it is to get laid.

  But foreplay? As in circling around each other, courting each other, trying to find out more about each other?

  God, that is outright exhilarating. And God, have I missed that feeling to be someone who’s worthy of close attention.

  We finish our sandwiches, both a bit flustered and almost shy. We don’t seem to know what to do with our hands all of a sudden. As if they had a will of their own and wanted to discover the new and propitious territories we see.

  Ah, well.

  We do chat some more, namely about my summer job and my studies as well as Karim’s job. I’m surprised about how smart he is, too. Don’t get this wrong, I don’t look down from a high student horse on delivery guys. It’s just reassuring that we don’t run out of topics to discuss.

  Take this, for example. Karim tells me he doesn’t like tracksuits. “They’re meant to be worn when you’re doing sports. I hope the guy who has decided that tracksuit pants are convenient everyday clothes is rotting in a dark and damp cell.”

  “Er, may I point out…”

  “That I’m wearing them on my job?” He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I like them. You know what? I’ve found out that they make me become invisible to the customers. People look at me in these, they think I’m just another undereducated guy they don’t need to notice. I prefer it that way. Makes deliveries much easier to handle, and sometimes, the posher customers tip me, out of pity, I gather. Plus, these pants are comfortable when you have to spend a lot of time in your car.”

  “I never thought about it that way,” I admit. “And I have to tell you, you look good in them.”

  He grins.

  “Er, but, er… I noticed that… you know, you don’t seem to be wearing any underwear.”

  He grins even more broadly. “Boxer shorts. Don’t like to pack the goodies in tight boxer briefs.”

  “I couldn’t do that.” I blush. “I mean, it would become very obvious if I stumbled upon someone I fancy.”

  “I have perfect control over my goodies.” Karim wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Much to the delight of my partners.”

  Which, er, makes me blush again.

  But God, it feels good to blush because of innuendos we can share without explaining ourselves. It feels good to be myself and even enjoy these innuendos, harbingers of nice things to come. Better than to deal with a certain stiff, holier-than-thou guy whose name I won’t mention in this place. You have guessed who I’m referring to, anyway.

  The hour is over much too fast. Karim insists on taking the elevator with me and accompany me to the parking garage. He even comes down to the car.

  When he sees Sean in all his shiny, bright pinkness, he grins. But it isn’t a disdainful smirk, he’s just really amused. “I didn’t know they came in this color. Did you choose it this way, or was it a special deal? Like, fifty percent off?”

  “Neither nor. It’s my mom’s car. She likes fancy colors.”

  “It’s cute. Somehow.”

  We laugh. Then, for a moment, we don’t know what to say.

  Finally, Karim leans toward me again, kisses me lightly on the lips, and asks with a trembling voice, “Er, what… what are your plans now?”

  I understand immediately. “Depends on you and your working schedule. When’s the next time you’re free?”

  “Does that mean you want to see me again?”

  I hug him. “Of course. I had a wonderful time and really want to get to know you better.”

  “I’m so happy we’re on the same page.” He exhales noisily. “I was afraid I blew it somehow.”

  “You didn’t,” I say firmly.

  “Well, then.” He smiles. “Unfortunately, I work this weekend. You know, Amazon Prime deliveries on Sundays pay better. But how about next week?”

  “All right. You text me?”

  “I will.” He pecks me again. “I’d better get going. Otherwise, I’m not sure I can hold back any longer. And these garages come with high-res cameras. Don’t want us to land on a porn site.”

  I chuckle. “All right. See you.”

  “See you. Be careful on the road.”

  “Will do.”

  He caresses my shoulder, turns around, and walks away.

  I take the parking ticket and pay at the ticket machine. Then I drive back to the Kinner summer house on a cloud as pink as Sean.

  It’s only when I enter the living room that I notice we never thought of taking off the price tag, which is still dangling from the waistband of my pants.

  Work is a no-go

  Work is a no-go. I’m too giddy and at the same time too exhilarated to focus on books, authors, or editors.

  Chao’s not home, which I’m grateful for. I must be glowing like a rutting firefly, and he would probably see through me at once. If his erratic behavior after a simple flirt in a supermarket is any indication, he
would probably blow a fuse after finding out I’ve just come back from a full-blown date with—gasp!—a young male.

  I fling my new purchases on my bed before changing into my overpriced board shorts. Then I run outside and dive into the swimming pool.

  After half an hour of splashing around, I throw myself onto my deck chair and close my eyes, trying to get a grip on myself. I’m tingling all over my body, my legs seem to have the jitters, and it almost feels as if the shy but warm touch of Karim’s lips were still lingering on mine.

  Okay, sunbathing is not an option either.

  Once my skin and board shorts have dried, I walk over to the kitchen, take out the boxes with the marinated meat, an onion, two limes, and two bell peppers. I carry them outside to the shaded table, fetch a chopping board, a knife, and the wooden sticks, and start to prepare the skewers for the barbecue.

  I’ve finished and am cleaning the table when Mom calls.

  “Hey, Mom!” I say.

  She sounds very cheery. “Hey, darling. How’s the Côte d’Azur? And how’s my favorite son doing?”

  “I’m your only son, Mom. At least as far as I know.”

  “Of course, you are. So, what’s up, my darling boy?”

  I tell her about the job and the house, then about my trip to Nice, sticking to innocent details like the books, the pool, and sightseeing.

  “I’m so happy you’re enjoying yourself,” Mom says. “Sounds like you’re having fun. How’s the car? Everything all right?”

  “Everything’s peachy.”

  “Well, maybe you’ll stop giggling behind my back now. Don’t deny it— I’m your mother. I always know what you and your sister are up to, even when you think I’m not looking…”

  “You may consider me a convert to Seanism.”

  She laughs. “Anything new on the boyfriend’s front?”

  “Oh, er. Nope. You know that I’m too busy working on that catalog…”

  “Sounds like a load of bullshit to me. Anyway, I hear it in your voice, Trevor. You met someone. Right?”