Trust Fund Baby ~ The Conclusion

Chapter 50

My mind was riding the world’s tallest and fastest rollercoaster and I felt totally out of control. I moved from sexual obsession, to crush, to serious crush, to love without a commitment and to love with the deepest commitment one human being can make to another. It all happened in the space of one week. It happened without having sex. It happened without any prolonged passionate kissing. It happened in spite of coming from two worlds separated by a gulf wider than the distance from the Earth to the moon. 

I’m sitting in the passenger seat, J is driving her beat up, ready for being broken down and sold for parts, please somebody steal me Toyota. That’s not the worse part. The worse part was she is now driving it up the quarter mile driveway to the mansion. The scandal the Sanderstuff’s will have to endure when J parks in the area reserved for important guests, royalty, and other really filthy rich white folks is almost too much to comprehend.

J pulled the Toyota in between the Porsche and the Rolls Royce. She turned the engine off. The engine shut down with a cough, sputter, and wheezing noise. “Did your car just die?” I asked hoping the answer was yes.

“No, but it’s on life support and it has a living will. I can’t get rid of her until its really over. That might be years,” J said with a bit of smile.


“Yes, did I tell you Dante is a good mechanic? That’s where he got his ability to hot wire cars and steal them.”

How do I respond to that? J said it with a sense of pride in Dante’s mechanical ability. I gave it my best shot, “Seems like a good entry level position for driving getaway cars after a bank job.”

J turned to me, she placed her right palm against the side of my face singeing me with an electric burn. “M, oh my delightful M, I know you are trying your best to be nice to me. No one ever taught you how to be nice. I am going to love teaching you.”

“Un huh.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. My brain was frozen. I was sexually very aroused. My eyes glazed over. 

J reached behind my seat and brought back a bottle of bottled water, the store brand. It was probably made out of recycled runoff water. She twisted the top off and handed it to me, “Drink this, it tastes like hell, but it will make the swelling in your pants go down.”

I almost choked on the water. It was good thing I swiftly turned my head toward the windshield because I coughed and splattered a mouthful of now twice recycled water all over the windshield. We both started laughing. When I calmed down, I said, “It’s showtime. Are you ready?”

J gave me a look that said it all. Mother and Father better be worried, because Ms J was coming to dinner and she didn’t plan to hold back.

We walked in through the front door, Nicole was in the foyer, she gave J the full once over, smiled at her and then turned to me, “You did good, you did real good. She got real ones like me. Your mother and father been waiting in the dining room for ten minutes. I think she maybe is going to have a heart attack, maybe a stroke, maybe she gonna crap in her panties. As for your Father, we can only hope he goes fast. The faster the better.” Nicole started laughing and walked away. I’m sure she can’t wait to tell Victor and call Oscar. 

We stood outside the large walnut double doors. I twisted the ornate black metal door nob. Mother said it was a gift from the Queen of England. I pulled to the door open and stepped in to announce J. Mother and Father rose to greet my fiancé. Before I could introduce J, she came through the door beaming and pulsating warmth, sexuality, and a willingness to take on any challenger in the room.

Mother was the first to speak, “Oh Martin, how delighted I am that you hired extra help for tonight and look how she dressed. She knows first impressions are important. I wish more people of her color felt the same way.” She looked at J, “You’re the first of your people we’ve allowed to come on the property, I’ll ring for Nicole, she’ll show you where your uniform is. In the future, you don’t have to dress so formal. I am Mother and this is Father. If you work out, we might try other of your people. Do you do nails or massages?” 

J took a step toward Mother, I grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed it as tight as filthy rich white guy who has a personal trainer at the filthy rich white guy’s workout spa can squeeze a hand. J gave me a don’t you dare stop me look. It was time to man up. I said, “Mother, Father let me introduce you to J, we plan to be married and we will decide when we want to have children and what we will name them.”

Gasp, coughing, Mother’s two boney female fists pounding on the table simultaneously causing Mother and Father’s wine glass to fall over, empty their contents on a table cloth given to Mother by the curator for antiquities at the Smithsonian. She brought herself under control, and said, “I’m sure she is a nice person and all that. I read recently where some people of her color are starting to do something besides drugs and killing and general mayhem. If you go through with the marriage, we’ll write you out of the will, that’s what we’ll do.”

Why did mother throw raw meat in front of a hungry tigress? What was she thinking? I let go of J’s hand and whispered, “Sic her girl.”

J flashed me a smile and sauntered over to Mother in the way a mountain lion stalks a wounded deer. Mother’s eyes grew wide. A look of sheer terror replaced her arrogant smirk, she called out, “Father, do something. This, this woman is terrifying me. Call security. Call the police. Call the FBI. Call the CIA. Call the whole damn military.”

Father said, “I will mother, but first I’ve got to find my angina medicine. Oh dear. My poor heart.”

J placed her palms face down on the table. She leaned over and put her nose inches from Mother’s nose. Mother couldn’t back up any further. The King Henry VIII dining room chairs refused to budge. J said in a tone as calm as a physician in an ER situation, “Listen up, you dick sucking filthy rich white trash whore I love your son. We are going to get married and if you or the lapdog you call Father know what’s good for you, you will keep out of our business. If you ever insult me or M again, I personally will take out what’s left of your public hairs out with an electric prod. Nod your head if you understand.” J took her right hand and grasped hold of Mother’s chin and nodded it up and down for her.

“Good, we agree. M, I’m not hungry. I think it’s time to leave.”

As soon as we were at the door, Mother shrieked, “I’ve just begun. This is not over, you’ll both end up in poverty and I will dance on your food stamps card.”

I held J back, “No need to say more, J.” I turned to Mother, “BTW, Mother, I have the original paperwork on my trust fund. It should have started ten years ago. Father, Pettibone, and you lied to me. There is no clause about working for five years. It was all rouse to keep me under your thumb. See you in court unless you want to make a generous settlement to avoid some very bad publicity that will include massages and happy ending and Father’s trips to resorts with his secretary.” 

I turned and escorted J out the door, Victor and Nicole stood in the hallway and applauded us as we walked by. When we got to the Toyota and sat inside, I said to J, “What are we going to do?”

J said, “We’ll talk about that in the morning. Tonight, I have plans for you.”



Leave a Reply