Trust Fund Baby ~ 13 A Satire

Chapter 13

Victor served dinner precisely at seven-thirty. Five minutes before Victor began serving dinner, Mother and Father took their seats, a glass of wine was waiting for them. I followed them into the dinning room, my wine was waiting for me as well. During our three course meal Father had a mini rant about the Democrats. Mother told Father she believed Majories Fieldstone was having an affair with Victoria Davidson’s husband. Father asked her if they were going to get a divorce. She said she didn’t think so because Victoria was having an affair with Jessica Mason’s husband.

I didn’t eat. I played with my food. I moved it this way and that. I sipped wine. Victor refilled my glass two more times before Mother brought her silk napkin to each corner of her mouth and carefully folded the napkin into a perfect square.

Father took the cue and said, “Wonderful meal, Mother.”

“Thank you, Father. I took great pains in having Nicole find the right recipe to give to Victor. I must have sent her back to her computer three times.”

Several thoughts raced through my mind. The first thought was is Mother and Father the first names on their birth certificates and driver’s license. I’ve never heard them call each other anything else. My mind drew a blank. I only knew them as Mother Sanderstuff and Father Sanderstuff. I wondered if the dinner formality made it’s way into the bedroom.

I can hear Father saying, ‘Mother, I’m feeling a tad randy. Is your calendar open this evening?”

Then Mother would take hold of her iPhone and check her calendar. She’d say, “Do you think you can finish in ten minutes? If so, I can fit you in at 10:20. I want to check my Facebook page at 10:30.”

Father’s reply, “I feel I can finish in five minutes.”

“I’ve put in you in my calendar, Father. Remember no more than two minutes foreplay.”

My other thoughts were about J. I was worried about her not showing up at work in the morning. I tried to understand why she was angry. My only conclusion, PMS. Mother interrupted me.

“Martin, what are you thinking, I see your lips moving and no sound is coming out.”
I turned my head toward Mother, “Does PMS make you angry?”

“Martin, Martin, Martin I am well pass that stage. I never had PMS. PMS is reserved for lower class women. Nicole can be so bitchy before her period. Was Nicole bitchy toward you?”

I needed to change the subject. I said, “No. I was watching Dr. Phil for ideas and he accused a woman of having PMS.”

I needed to get away from Mother, if I stayed much longer, I’d break out in hives. Before I could rise from my chair, Mother spoke to me, “Martin, please remain for a moment. I desire to have a Mother to heir apparent conversation.”

When she wanted a one on one conversation, I always felt uncomfortable. I felt more uncomfortable when she addressed me as the heir apparent. I liked the heir part, it was the apparent part that confused me. She couldn’t possible be going to tell me that they are changing their will and leaving the bulk of the estate to cousin Theodore. He is such an ass. I’ll admit he went to Harvard and graduated summa cum laude. Big deal. Who had the most fun in college. I partied, he studied. I have a doctorate. He only has an MBA from Wharton. While I had a very active sex life, I’m sure Theodore is batting zero on the critical important male score sheet.

I turned my head and gave Mother a basset hound dog look.

“Martin, why are you frowning?” asked Mother.

Frowning? Frowning for a Sanderstuff is a faux pax. When you’re filthy rich you have no reason to frown. I said, “I think you’re mistaken, Mother. If you saw what you thought was a frown it was caused by my thinking the Democrats might regain control of Congress. It’s a wonder I didn’t delve into a deep depression. You know how their policies will affect my trust fund and your bottom line.”

“Martin, Martin, Martin,” Mother waggled a long thin index finger back and forth as if it were an metronome. “Remember, Martin, you came from an egg supplied by me and sperm provided by Father.”

What was the loony bat trying to tell me? Whose birth canal brought me into this world? I said, “Are you saying …?

Mother cut me short. “Yes, Martin. But I didn’t want to discuss your surrogate parent today. Back to you. I believe something is going on between you and the woman you’ve chosen the bear your children. You know, we’ll have to do a DNA test on her to make sure she’s a perfect fit to bear our heirs and keep the line going. You don’t mind taking a swab of the inside of her mouth so it can be analyzed, do you?”

Mother only had two glasses of wine at dinner. I couldn’t tell if she was drunk, serious, or worse, insanely serious. I said, “Mother, I’ve had a very rough day. You’ve never worked. It’s hell out there, Mother. It’s dog eat dog. You can’t trust anyone. I’m going solo without a co-pilot. The stress builds until you think you’re going to break. Can you talk to Pettibone about a vacation. I’m due an extended leave.”

“Did you work past closing today, Martin?”

“I worked for twenty minutes. The twenty minutes was akin to a zip file loaded with data that only a mind of my caliber can assimilate. I want to know who bore me. Why didn’t you have me?”

“Oh, Martin for God’s sake get over it. You won’t find a stretch mark on my body and you never will.”

“I don’t want to look at your body, Mother. I want to look at Nicole’s body or my finance’s body.”

“Just so you’ll know, Oscar, my personal trainer, told me I’m buff.”

I did a quick mental calculation. Oscar is only twenty-seven years old. He couldn’t be my father. “How did you fertilize your egg?”

“Oh father masturbated into a cup and they put the egg and his sperm together in the clinic.”

This was too much information for me. My mind was becoming jaded. “Is this all, Mother. I’m going to my room and getting drunk.”

“No, Martin. We’re not finished. Now, tell Mother what went wrong today. A mother knows when her only heir apparent is troubled.”

I decided to lay it out for her. I needed someone to talk to and the only person I could think to talk to was J. She walked out on me. I said, “Mother, my fiancee won’t accept my proposal. She walked out of D’Lato’s in a huff because there was nothing on the menu she liked. Now, I don’t know if she’s speaking to me.”

“Was this your first lunch with her, Martin?”
“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you come to me ask for advice. That’s why I’m here,” said Mother with an appropriate hint of satisfaction.

My inner voice kept saying, tell the botoxed bitch to get lost. Another inner voice countered and said, if you tell your Mother to get lost, kiss your inheritance away. I listened to the sane inner voice. “How could I have been so insensitive, Mother. I didn’t want to take you away from Oscar’s massage, or your bridge game.”

She patted my hand with her cold, spindly hand and said, “There, there, Martin. I forgive you. You should have take her for sushi. Sushi is always a winner for lunch.”
Mother does not know J.

“Have you thought about buying her off? That’s the best way to cement a good relationship.”
“What do you mean, Mother?”

“You know, Martin. The usual. Surprise her with a Mercedes. Fly her out to Aspen for the weekend. I’ll have Pettibone draw up a prenup. He’ll put in there in case of a divorce she can keep the Mercedes and nothing else. Everyone has a price except the Sanderstuffs, Martin. Remember that. Start low with her, and only move up gradually. That was the problem with D’Lato’s. You started too high, when you should have started at a more modest place.”

“Thank’s mother.”

“One last thing, Martin.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Have Oscar give you some of his condoms. I believe he keeps extras in his room.”

Huh?

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Trust Fund Baby ~ 12 A Satire

Chapter 12

The need to impress J overwhelmed me. I quickly made a plan for the rest of the day. We’d have lunch at a romantic Italian Bistro. I’d bribe the maître d for a table with privacy and a view of the ocean. We’d slowly finish a bottle of their most expensive wine. After a two hour lunch, we go to a private beach and walk barefoot in the sand. By dinner, she’d be mine. Tomorrow morning, we get up fashionably late, not show up for work, and take off for a destination far away from Mother and Father. I had the perfect plan. Or, so I thought.

J and I arrived at D’Lato’s Italian Bisto at twelve-thirty. It was bustling with the right kind of people. D’Lato’s is always perfect, being both pricey and trendy. I discreetly palmed the maître d a fifty and it worked its magic. Mother always advised me to make a small offer to those not in the Sanderstuff’s class, they’ll usually accept. Mother drives me nuts, but she is a genius. When I offered fifty to the maître d, his robotic, taciturn features transformed into a greeter at Disney World. Even though it was lunch hour at the city’s popular high end Italian eatery, the maître d found an empty table in a discreet corner, with the lights low, the ambience perfect. It gave us a view of the ocean. He lit a candle, handed me the wine menu and J a luncheon menu with six items on it. He set my menu on the table. This was a sure win because the food will be better than anything Victor can cook. I’ll never tell him. Chefs are very touchy. He’ll smell lunch on J and me when we show up later today. He’ll know exactly what we ate and where we ate. He’ll ask about lunch. I tell him D’Lato can’t compare with his cuisine. I’ve learned to lie when it’s convenient. Mother told me it’s not a sin to lie in the Episcopal church, only in the Catholic church. I sat, pleased with myself while my black goddess smiled at me, excused herself, and went to the ladies room to make herself beautiful for me. I’m not sure she can improve on perfection.

While J was in the Ladies’ Room, I thought about my first day at work. It wasn’t so bad. I arrived late, left early, and convinced J to have lunch with me. J doesn’t realize how lucky she is to have me in her life. After lunch, I’ll let the salt air and my personality work its charm on her. Yes, being rich is better than being poor. It is even better to be filthy rich. J will love being filthy rich with me. I turned toward the window and marveled at the clear view of the nude beach below. I scanned the beach for eye candy before J returned. So many beautiful women I thought and I have one who has fallen hard for me. Looking at the topless beauties below me, I felt like one of God’s angels hovering over lesser creatures. Mother told me angels have a hierarchy and we’ll be in the highest of the hierarchy when we’re called. I recall Grandmother Houston telling Mother you can take it with you. My mind drifted and I contemplated one of the world’s great questions that puzzled philosophers for centuries, to work or not not to work, that is question. All the good points were on the not to work side. I was still reflecting on this conundrum when J interrupted my thoughts.

“What are thinking about?” my Venus said as she pulled out her chair and sat down.
I turned to my caramel colored love dish and said, “Us.”

J cocked her head a bit to the side, ignored my comment and said, “I wish you asked me what I like for lunch instead of thinking you know what I like for lunch. You ever think of asking someone for their opinion?”

I wasn’t prepared for this attitude followed up by a tough question. I once heard Father tell an underling, ‘If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’ The underling nodded and walked away. I didn’t think it was the right time to use it on J. I wasn’t quite sure J considers herself an underling. This left me with a deep dilemma. As my administrative assistant she is my underling. As the crown jewel of my love life, I wonder if she’ll be considered a trophy, bling, a playmate.

“Well?” she said.

“I once asked Oscar if I should take the BMW, Porsche, or Mercedes when I was going to a party. Does that count?”

“I will say this softly because I do not want to offend anyone who might be listening.”

I eagerly awaited J’s words. I softly said, “You’re going to accept my marriage proposal and sleep with me tonight.”

“If I didn’t think I could whip your sorry ass in five seconds, I’d walk away and hope to never see you again.”

I saw the fire in her eyes. I felt the heat of her anger, and all it did was super charge my libido. “Yes. Tell me more.”

J said, “I’ll tell you more. The only reason I accepted your luncheon invitation is because you said you wanted to debrief. That is the only reason I am here. We have zero personal relationship. Let me put it this way, M. If you and I were the last two people on the earth and we were on an island, I’d rather mate with a gorilla before I’d let you touch me.”

I don’t know what she said. Her staccato delivery flowing over the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen mesmerized me. I leaned forward and said, “I couldn’t agree more. May I have this dance?”

“Fool, there is no dance floor,” she said picking up her menu. She glanced at it and said, “This is it? I have six choices and I don’t want any of them. This place is a rip off, thirty-five bucks for a salad and pasta dish they describe in fancy Italian language.”

“I can afford it. It’s part of my allowance. Meals are always on my parents.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-three. I believe there’s only a six year age difference between us. I’ll take offense if anyone considers you a trophy or arm candy. We don’t want our biological clocks to run out if you know what I mean,” I said hopefully.

“Trophy? Is that what you think of me? I am not your trophy or arm candy? I will never be more than I am to you now, a hired baby sitter. You are thirty-three and you get lunch money from your mommy and daddy? That stopped for me when I was sixteen.”

“I live a privileged life. It’s because God knows the Sanderstuffs are better than other people. That’s what I learned from Grandmother Houston.”
J glared at me. “You mean the old bat on the wall with the dumbass looking dog on her lap?”

“Uh huh.”

“You think you’re better than me?” she said with a voice that reminded me of Tchaikovsky Fantasy Overture from Romeo and Juliet.

I don’t know where I get this stuff, it comes out of my mouth without any thought. I said, “I’m not worthy of you my black Venus.”

J sat back in her chair and started laughing. “You are too much. You know where Warren Avenue is?”

“Is it near Nordstroms?”

She started slowly, her eyes began to tear up, she pursed her lips and started shaking as if a 6.8 earthquake was centered in her navel. J no longer could stifle her laugh. It burst through her pursed lips like a dam besieged with torrential rains for a week and could no longer hold the water back. Her laugh became so loud, a staff member came by and asked if I felt threatened.

J stared at the staff member, and broke into a louder chorus of laughter. She stood up holding her linen napkin to her face and hurried off to the ladies’ room. Her laughter echoed on off the restroom walls and through the ventilation system. The uppity clientele were taken aback by a lower class creature disturbing their business luncheons, discrete affair luncheon, or backstabbing rumor spreading luncheon. The couple at the table next to ours were aghast. The young female, I’m assuming secretary and lover, asked the septuagenarian she was escorting if it was a terrorist attack. He told her thought not, it was nothing more than a pack of coyotes that wandered down from the mountains. Animal control should be here any moment and not to worry. The howling stopped as abruptly as it started. A moment later, my black Venus left the woman’s room and walked over to me as if she were walking on the red carpet. Her chin held high exposing her regal neck, her breast jutting at a perfect angle, her hips, oh her lovely hips moving to a Jamaican beat. I suddenly longed to smother her with kisses and not worry what others might think.

Before I could act on my impulse to kiss her, J pulled out her chair and sat down. She said, “I’ll have salad with salmon. I want the salmon blackened, cajun style. I want home fries with ketchup on the side. And, I want a bottle of Bud Light. If they don’t serve it, I’m leaving.”

“Has anyone told you you’re more beautiful than Beyonce? I can do this for you,” I said
J raised her eyebrows and said, “While you’re at it, I’ll take a side of beer battered onion rings.”

J was about to witness the power of money. Mother always said, “I suppose it’s nice to love your neighbor, but I’d rather be richer than my neighbor.” I raised my arm and snapped my fingers for the waiter. He scooted over as if he’d been waiting for my finger snap for the past ten minutes. He was a tall, thin man, wearing a long sleeved white shirt and black bowtie. They matched perfectly well with the tailored paints. He was bald, with a dark shadow around his ears and connecting in back of his head.
“Yes, sir?” The waiter said in a snooty uptown accent.

I said, “I want a glass of your best wine and today’s lunch special.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a money clip filled with one-hundred dollar bills. I described J’s meal to him. He shook his no five different times. I had a feeling J was ready to walk out. This wasn’t her kind of place. I placed a hundred dollar bill on the table. He shook his head no. It was only after I added three more hundred dollar bills to the stack that he bowed to J, rose, pirouetted and headed for the kitchen.

I looked at J expecting her to be impressed.

J said, “You are such a jackass. You wasting money buying him off when the four hundred dollars could have paid for meals for a week at the homeless shelter on the other side of town. When are you going to get a set of balls and stop being a mama’s boy and be a man?”

I immediately took offense. I do have a set of cajones. I chose not to argue the point. How was I to know J might be having cramps from her period. I said with a level of sincerity seldom heard on this planet, “Did your period start?” I wasn’t able to finish my sentence before J got up and walked out of the restaurant. I realized I handled this with the panache of man who’s had one drink too many, an extra thumb on both hands, and no idea on how to form a personal relationship with a woman. Does anyone know how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again?

Trust Fund Baby ~ 11 A Satire

Chapter 11
I sat staring at six faces who were staring back at me. I admit I had stage fright. I knew I was here to work. I figured this was good first step. I started to my left and tried my best to remember J’s description and the names she attached to the description. There was nothing playing on that channel in my mind. I started with what I knew, male, male. My brain came to a screeching stop, it skidded sideways. I tried desperately to regain control before I went over the edge. I was saved when J tossed me a lifeline.

“Dr. Sanderstuff?”

With every effort in my surging testosterone laced body, I followed the sound of the voice. My heart surged with love like a spring avalanche in the Swiss Alps. My Venus was taking care of me. Oh wonder of wonders I thought. I don’t need to know their names. I uttered my first group meeting words, “Venus, would you bring me a cup of coffee and a Danish.”

I heard footsteps in the outer office. My Venus said, “Venus left for the day.”

J didn’t realize it, but her flashes of anger pushed every love button in my body. I grinned, tilted my head slightly and said, “Thanks, J. Make a note on my calendar I’m open today for dinner and drinks after work.”

J rolled her eyes, closed the door, leaving it a bit ajar, and left me alone with six people still staring at me. I remembered once in one of the few college classes I attended where I didn’t have a hangover and made an effort to pay attention the professor used something called an ice breaker or was it an ice wrecker or was it an ice cube? I’m not exactly sure of the right term. I’ll ask Mother and Father to talk to Pattybing and tell him I need a full time research assistant to do my research for me.

I looked at the group and said, “Let’s get something straight. I don’t want to be here. I don’t like you. I’m afraid you’re all beyond help. Any questions?”

Some guy with a cantaloupe shaped head said, “Excuse me Dr. Sanderstuff. Thank you for your brilliant opening. It is the best use of reverse psychology I’ve heard in my twenty years of therapy.”

If I was using reverse psychology I didn’t know it. I nodded at the dwarf and said, “Have you looked online to get lifts. You can add two inches to your height. That should make you four feet eight.”

The cantaloupe looked like he was going to come back at me. I did ‘t need a personality conflict on my first day. I jumped in and spoke to the whole group, “We all need to know each other. We’re going to do a Ritz Cracker to get things started.”

The door opened a bit and I heard my Venus say, “Ice breaker.”

If anything, I am quick to recover from a fail. I segued right into the appropriate language, “Thanks, J. These criminals are probably only familiar with the old school term of ice breaker. They’ve been in the joint so long, they don’t know what’s happening on the street.” I said this to demonstrate to the group I was hip and the coolest of the cool. I said, “How many of you are familiar with the term, “Ritz Cracker?”

They all raised their hand. I glanced at one of my future sexual fantasies, it was the woman with tight black leather pants and a white silk shirt unbuttoned far enough to expose her black lace bra. Isaid, “What does a Ritz Cracker mean to you? Do you mind telling the group your name?”

She said, “Do you want me to tell the group what a ritz cracker is if I was on the street and one of my clients asked for one.”

Before I could answer, the door swung open. J stood in the door frame. Her left hand rested on her cocked left hip. Her right hand pointed a forefinger at Amber, “Listen up sister. You bring your trash talk in here you and me gonna have a little talk after school’s over. You hear what I’m saying?”

Let me count the ways I love my Venus. I don’t think there are enough numbers in the whole world for me to mention. Amber gave a pout, folded her arms and looked away from me. The pout look was a turn on for me, then I remembered I was engaged to J even if J had not accepted my proposal. I was adoring Amber’s silk shirt when J’s voice brought me back to the present.

“Dr. Sanderstuff, why don’t you do the ice breaker you were telling me you was planning to do with this group.”

For a split second I didn’t who J was talking to when she said, Dr. Sanderstuff. Then I remembered reading the name on the door to my office. When the realization set it, I almost said, “I did?” I caught the phrase a split second before it passed my lips. Instead, I smiled at her and said, “J is interning. She’s going to be depth therapist and wanted to study under the greatest mind in psychology. Fortunately, I had an opening for an intern.”

J gave me a look I interpreted as you are the man I have been waiting for all my life. I’m very good at reading people’s mind, so I said, “When J is finished interning we’re getting married and going into practice together.”

The group broke into applause.

J walked out of the group room without saying a word, I assume she is the shy type. Then I heard from the reception area, “Yes, when hell freezes over.” I made a mental note to ask J who she was talking to.

I turned my attention to the group and said, “. We’re going to begin over here with you.” I pointed the finger at a tall, thin guy that looked like he was left in the spaghetti water ten minutes too long.”

“Me?” he said curling a long index finger toward his emaciated chest.

I was no longer afraid of the group, my muscle known to me as my Venus was in the next room listening to every word. I must be a good person to get all the breaks in life. I’m sure J will go home with me tonight and take me on a test drive. The skinny guy broke my train of thought.

“Uh, Dr. Sanderstuff, what am I supposed to do?”

Ice breaker. Ice breaker. I pushed the words through my mind and all I could come up with was a YouTube video I watched of a navy ship breaking up ice jams in the Arctic Ocean. A college buddy of mine once told me, ‘Martin, we’re filthy rich. People listen to us because they think we must be smart to be rich. We can say anything, as long as it looks like we’re confident, they’ll believe us. I decided to take his advice. “It’s obvious, don’t you agree group?” I said confidently.

I put a smirk on my face that said I know what I’m talking about and he’s a dunce. Everyone in the group nodded but the skinny guy.

“But …”

I raised my hand policeman style stopping him. It was time for tough love. “How are we supposed to make progress in group if you don’t know how to do an ice breaker or a Ritz Cracker? Didn’t they teach you anything in prison?”

“Wanna know what I learned in prison?” said the short guy with a balloon sized head at the opposite end of the group. Everyone but the tall, skinny guy, broke out laughing. I sensed I was losing control. I needed J.

What to do. What to do. I did what came natural to me. When faced with trouble, turn away from it and hire someone to handle it. I couldn’t hire anyone at the moment, so I did the next best thing, I swiveled my chair and faced the ocean and began day dreaming of lounging on the beach with my black Venus. Me in my bathing suit, she in her bikini. Our lounge chairs pulled close together, drinks in our hand. The sun setting, a live band playing somewhere behind us. I was thinking I could stay here forever when my reverie was interrupted.

“Doctor. Sanderstuff? Doctor Sanderstuff, I know. I know. I know what an ice breaker is.”

I swiveled my chair and did a 360. Two more tries and I was facing the group and looking at woman waving her hand. There was something strange about her. Her lips were moving while she was speaking, but there were no lines or creases on her face when she spoke. I remembered J telling me something about Botox. I had my entry. I said, “Very good. Who did your Botox? You should sue. BTW, ask your friend next to you who did her breast enhancement, excellent work. I consider myself an expert on the subject. Here’s the icebreaker. We’ll begin with the extremely short guy who looks like he should be an enforcer for kindergarten. Is the shape of your head due to an allergy or was your mother a cantaloupe. I have a great sense of humor. I hope you’re catching on. After your turn we’ll go to my right or your left. No, let’s go to my left and your right. Okay short stuff, introduce yourself, keep it short, to the group and tell the group your fantasy.”

“There’s no one to my left. I am not short. It’s politically insensitive,” said the short guy.

I said, “That’s it, get your anger out. It wasn’t my idea to make fun of your size. That guy there, he told me you liked to be called by politically incorrect, derogatory names.” I pointed to a guy whose belly rested on his thighs.

The height challenged guy bolted from his chair, ran by me and leaped on the fat guy knocking him out of his chair. The landed in a twisted ball of arms and legs on the Persian rug. I didn’t want to get involved. I might get hurt. I looked at Amber and took a deep breath, grateful for the marvels of medicine and trying to remember my commitment to J. I said to her, “Do something.”

She unbuttoned the rest of her silk shirt and leaned over and said, “Boys!”

They stopped grappling and stared at her, “Un huh?” they said in unison.

“Play nice,” she said.

“Okay,” they said.

The door opened. Venus appeared. She said, “Bravo, Dr. S. Great group session. Anyone in here give you any crap?”

I pointed at animated version of a Korean robot. I said, “He was assaulting the fat guy.”

From the tangled mess on the floor, “I am not fat. It’s all muscle.”

From the other voice on the floor, “I didn’t assault him. I was defending all height challenged people.”

“Did.”

“Didn’t.”

I was emotionally exhausted. I checked my iWatch, group’s been in session fifteen minutes. I said, “It’s been an emotional roller coaster this morning. We’ll break a few minutes early. Groups over. Go back to prison and think about our session and your fantasy. Tomorrow we’ll continue.

Amber called out, “Dr. S, you are my fantasy.”

“Girl, that’s strike one,” said J.

She loves me. Why else would she warn her? My Venus can’t resist my charm.

TRUST FUND BABY CONTINUES ON MONDAY

Trust Fund Baby ~ 10 A Satire

Chapter 10

I tried to wrap my head around working with a bunch of criminals. I’ve two problems, I don’t anything about work. And, I’ve only met white collar criminals who have expensive lawyers like Pettibone who get them off. I wish I were in my favorite grade in school, kindergarten. I fell in love with Ms. Apple the moment I saw her. I asked mother after the first day of school if I could marry Ms. Apple. Mother thought I was cute. She told Father about about my request at dinner.

Father said, “Son, don’t get sexually involved with a woman who is only a teacher. She’s well beneath our status. Yes, the sex may be great, but the buzz will wear off after a while.”

What the hell was Father talking about. It was the first time either one of them mentioned the S word. I looked at Mother and she was shaking her head in agreement.

When Father finished speaking, she said, “Martin, teachers are poorly paid and they have the misguided notion they can make a difference. She’ll tell you she’s on the pill but don’t believe her, she’ll want to have your baby.”

“Mother’s right, Son. She’ll drag you out of our circle and pull into her lower class hell. Don’t worry, you’ll meet lots of upper class, beautiful, rich girls, who don’t care about making a difference, love to shop, and go on worldly excursions.”

I didn’t say anything, I went to my room and pulled the pillow over my head. I think I would have died if Mother hadn’t sent Maria, my wet nurse, in to soothe me. I just blew my mind. I think I’m having a breakthrough. I discovered why I’m obsessed with women’s breasts. It’s Mother’s fault for not letting me marry Ms. Apple. And, it’s Father’s fault for talking about sex with me when I was only five years old.

I heard voices in the outer office. J was taking attendance and giving instructions. I love that woman. I looked around my room. I counted four coffee colored with a touch of cream leather chairs and a matching Italian leather Chesterfield sofa. How was I going to keep my mind on work, whatever that was, when every chair and the sofa reminded me of the woman who was going to have my babies.

J came through the door and I entered a trance like state. She walked to me and all AI wanted to do was put my arms around and kiss her beautiful lips.

“Get your head in the game, Artin. It’s go time. You got to work with the group. They is waiting for you in my office. She put two hands on the bottom of my tee shirt and pulled it down.

“There, you’re ready. Check to make sure your fly is zippered,” said J turning toward the office door.

I said, “Will you stay and hold my hand?”

J said, “For God’s sake, it’s your group. I will not be in here to help you.”

I watched J walk back into her office. My mind only processing how I can win her eternal love. I wondered if eternal love can be bought. I made mental note to ask Mother or Father.

J opened the door and stepped in. She closed the door behind her. I held on to a faint hope she’d accepted my invitation for dinner and drinks.

“Artin, listen up.”

“Will you please call me Martin or M, but not Artin. Thanks for agreeing to go dinner and drinks with me after work,” I said.

“I don’t like the name Martin for reasons I will not divulge to you today, tomorrow, or ever. I will never call you Martin. I will call you doctor M. Does that satisfy you? No, we are not going out for dinner and drinks after work.”

“If you won’t go out to dinner or drinks, will you marry me?” I blurted.
“You are a bigger fool today than the fool you were yesterday. You doin pot or snow? I don’t work for no druggie.”

“I don’t do drugs. If you marry me, you won’t have to sign a prenup.”

J walked across the circle and sat in the chair next to me. “Doctor M, listen up. We are not dating. We are not going to hook up. We are not going to get married. I am not in love with you. I don’t even know you.”

I looked into her dark chocolate eyes and their hypnotic affect took hold of me as if I were a swimmer caught in a riptide. I said, “Do you want to go to Paris with me this weekend?”

J said, “What is wrong with you? Have you not listened to anything I said in the last ten minutes?”

“Un uh,” I answered.

J shook her head, “The group is waiting for you. You have to work with them for ninety minutes. I advised them to be on their best behavior. Remember, they are all convicted felons and this is the final step before they are released. They have a bus taking them from a minimal security facility to see you. The bus will take them back..”

I interrupted J, “Are they dangerous? My veneers cost a fortune.”

“I don’t know. That’s like asking me if my dog bites.”

“You have a dog?” I asked.

“No, I don’t have a dog. I was giving you an example. Nobody knows if a dog will bite. But if I had one and I knew you were coming down the street, I’d make sure it was a pit bull.”

It didn’t matter what J said or how she said it. Her words were John Coltrane playing saxophone. I said, “Thank you. Thank you. No woman has loved me such passion as you do.”

J cocked her hip only like she can cock a hip. She was turning me on. I think she was doing it on purpose. She said, “You little love sick puppy listen to me. Nobody knows if these people are dangerous. Pay attention. Doctor M, your eyes belong up here. First is Prince Flame. He was convicted of bigamy. He was married to three different women at the same time. He has tats down both arms. His head is too big for his body. It looks like an overripe cantaloupe. He’s sensitive about his height, he’s only four feet seven inches tall. Next is Amber Dalton. Don’t get any ideas when you see her. They’re big, but they’re not real. I can tell.”

I interrupted J, “It doesn’t matter to the male mind. At least to my mind.”

J shook her head and ignored my insightful comment. Dalton was convicted of mail fraud. She’s wearing black leather pants, a white silk shirt unbuttoned far enough so you can see her black lace bra. Remember to keep your eyes off her chest, you don’t want no sexual harassment law suit.”

I interrupted, “Do we have insurance that covers sexual harassment lawsuits?”

J didn’t bother to shake her head or answer me. She continued, Jill Marks was convicted of attempted murder. She caught her boyfriend in bed with her best friend. …”

“Did she try to kill her boyfriend?” I asked.

“No, it was her best friend she tried to kill. She was fortunate the weapon she used was the pillow. I would have worked, but her boyfriend was able to free his wrists from the bed posts in time to pull Marks off her girlfriend.”

“Question?” I asked.

“What?” J said giving me a look that might frighten most people, but I know lust when I see it. I said, “Are Marks and her boyfriend having conjugal visits while she is in prison?”

“You need help. Anybody ever tell you that? You need to see a psychogist.”

“Does looking in the mirror count?”

J continued, “I know botox and collagen when I see it. It’s not a pretty sight.”

I raised my hand for another question. J pushed my hand down. Next is Tito Perez, he was convicted of selling ecstasy. He has a muffin top but don’t make jokes about his weight because he’s sensitive, has a goatee, and he’s bald. He has a Latino name but he is not Latino.”

“How do you know he’s not Latino,” I asked.

“He has blonde hair, blue eyes, a pale complexion, and he talks like he lived in New York all his life. He had his name changed for Oscar Field so he could take advantage of people hiring minority workers. And last, there is The Sage. The is his first name and Sage is his last name. He likes to go by Sage. He is another name changer. He did time for embezzlement.”

“What was his real name?”

“Let’s see, it was Tiffany Wordle.”

“Can’t blame him for the change.”

“He’s tall. He has a high pitched voice, and no muscle tone. A strong wind might carry him out to sea.”

There was too much information flowing into me. I felt a sense of confusion rising within me like a tidal wave. I wanted to prove to J I was on top of the situation. I needed to earn her respect. “I have an idea, want to hear it?” I said.

“This better be good,” said J.

I said, “When can I meet your parents and ask for permission to marry you?”
“Do I look stupid? Tell me, do I look stupid?” said J.

I stared at my Venus for a moment and said, “You are the most beautiful woman alive. You are the shine on my shoes. You are at the top of my music charts. You are the happy meal I’ll always order. You are the whipped cream on my latte.”

“You gonna run out metaphors soon? You got a group to run. You stop this nonsense jive.”

I said, “I can’t. If I try to stop, It would be like trying to stop the sun from shining. Or, the tide from rising…”

“Get a grip, white boy. Stop with the metaphors. I’m going out that door and coming back with your group. Remember not to stare at Amber Dalton’s breast implants.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, J. I’m true to you. There will never be another woman in my life. Let’s slip out the back door and head to my parents’ island resort.”

J shook her head. You are on your own. I’m going to bring them in. Remember, you’re the psychologist. You’re in charge.”

“I am?”

Trust Fund Baby ~ 9 A Satire

Chapter 9
I stepped out of the elevator on the 21st Floor of the Loomis Building. There lights in my office were on. I opened the door. J was sitting at her desk. Large, gold loop earrings hanging perfectly from each ear. Makeup, faultlessly applied matching her coffee with touch of cream skin. Her low cut button Henley clung to her body as if it were painted on. How I wished I was the artist for that painting.

J turned her head slightly toward me and said, “You gonna stand there looking like an ass or you gonna come in and get ready to go to work.”

“Huh?” I said.

“Up here,” she said pointing to her eyes. “You are late. Office hours are from 9 to 5. You showing up at 9:45 gives me a problem.”

“It does?”

“Yes, it does. Attorney Pettibone wants me to report any violations of the conditions your whacky grandmother set for you.”

“Prettybong wants you to be a mole? A snitch? Rat me out? Stab me in the back? Blow the whistle on me?”

J turned and gave me a full frontal. Should I tell her she forgot to button the buttons on her Henley? I think not. She’s in love with me. Why else would she wear something that turned my brain into overcooked grits.

“Didn’t your mama breast feed you? What is wrong with you? Up here,” she said pointing to her eyes.

“Please don’t report me. Please don’t file a sexual harassment lawsuit. I wasn’t breastfed by my mother. I’m fixated on women’s breasts. I’m immature. I’ve never matured emotionally. I’m so easy for any woman.”

J’s raven colored eyes looked at me the way Mother Teresa must have looked at an indigent, starving human being. Somewhere I heard Natalie and Nate King Cole singing Unforgettable.

J shook her head and said, “I better not tell Dante about you or you be in worse trouble than if I drop the dime on you and tell Pettibone everything. You be finished Trust fund baby. You have to wait for your filthy rich mommy and daddy to kick the bucket so you can inherit their wealth.”

“Who’s Dante? Your brother is a famous writer? I thought Dante died a few years ago.”

“Not that Dante. What did you do in college? Did you ever go to class?”

“Only if the teacher was eye candy for me.”

“You sound like a fourteen year old boy going through puberty, that’s what you sound like. Dante’s my big bro. I’m his baby sister and he won’t let anybody hurt me.”

“Where does Dante live?” I was hoping it was on the other side of the country.

J said, “Right now, he’s in cell block 11 in the state prison. But he got a long memory. If I tell him you hurt me, he gonna bust out and bust you across your head and knock it over the other side of the ocean.

“Why would I hurt you. I love you,” I said. I immediately realized I said the L word. It’s over. It’s all over. What is wrong with me. I thought work was hard. Love is even more difficult.

J slowly shook her head, rose from her chair, turned and took the two steps toward the door of my office. She opened the door and let it gracefully swing in its arc. She turned back to me and said, “It’s only infatuation. You are obsessed with my body and not my mind.”

“It’s a starting place,” I helplessly answered.

“Not with this girl. I was born on the weekend, but not last weekend. Get your white ass in your office before your group comes in here and gets the wrong impression.”

Before I took a step, I said in a voice a five year old uses to plead to his mom not to tell his dad he broke his dad’s iPhone, “What are you going to say to Politebin?”

J cocked her beautiful hips slightly to the right. She placed her right elbow in her left hand and put a forefinger on her lips. She raised her eyes as if she was asking an angel for advice. After a poignant pause, she said, “I never lie.”

As soon as she said she never lied, I realized my life was over and I’m only thirty-three years old. I’ll have to get by on a five thousand dollar weekly allowance until Mother and Father die. I’ll never be able to afford my own place.

“Listen up, filthy rich white boy. Pettibone gets nothing from me. I don’t like his uppity attitude. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need to job to pay the rent, feed my dog, and pay tuition.  I don’t rat out nobody. It’s the law of the hood.”

“The hood?” I asked. What is she talking about about?”

“The neighborhood. I’m gonna give you an education about the facts of life cause you don’t know nothing from nohow.”

“Can we start tonight after work? We’ll go out for dinner. After dinner I know a great bar where we can talk, and after …”

J cut me off quicker than I can switch channels with my remote. She said, “Stop right there. We are not going out for dinner. We are not going to a bar. Are you trying to hit on me?”

“Uh huh,” I said.

“That’s what I thought,” said J. “It didn’t work. I have your office all set up for group work. You don’t have a desk.”

“If I don’t have a desk, how do I work?”

“It’s group work. I saw this once on TV. All the chairs are in a circle and you sit in one of the chairs.”

“I have a question, J.”

“What?”

“How about breakfast tomorrow?”

J came out from behind her desk. She walked around it and stepped behind me. She grabbed by my shoulders. Every cell in my body started singing alleluia. She turned me to the right and pushed me step by step into my office.”

Trust Fund Baby ~ 7 A Satire

Chapter 7

At noon I told J to take an extended lunch hour until 9 in the morning. She flashed her white veneers, did a pirouette and walked away. My eyes swayed to a Caribbean beat until she was out of sight. I closed my eyes to fight a touch of vertigo. I wish I could talk to a psychologist about office romances. The thought struck me, I am a psychologist. It says so on my door. I sat back up an swiveled my chair so I was looking out the window. I said, “I’m confused.”
“Of course you are. Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
“It’s why I’m here. Do you know anything about love?” I asked.
“Love? Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. I think I’m in love.”
“The Sanderstuffs don’t fall in the love. To use the guttural language of today, they hook up long enough to check breeding and get the woman to sign a prenup.”
“You don’t understand?”
“Oh, I understand. I know what’s best for you.”
“You sound like Mother. Mother? Mother? Get away from me. Get out of my mind,” I screamed. I swiveled back toward the door hoping J was gone and didn’t listen to my conversation. It is privileged after all.
I needed downtime and I wanted to center myself to get back on an even keel. I hoped I wasn’t going to suffer from PTSD so I stopped by the tennis club for lunch and drinks. If anything, I’m monogamous. I’m also a male, so I flirted with Judith, she lives two mansions down from us and is ten years older than me. But she’s married to guy twenty years older. I’ll take what I can get. Monogamy can only go so far when your libido is raging out of control. I took my drink from the bar and sauntered over to Judith’s table.
I said with my self-assured smile, “You taking tennis lessons today or did you wear that cute outfit for me?” This stuff comes natural.
Judith took a sip of her white wine, her eyes never leaving my eyes. When she finished her sip, she held the glass in her right hand, her elbow resting on the table, and said, “Martin, of course I wore it for you, if I knew you were coming. Unfortunately, I didn’t know, so I wore it for Vince. He’ll be here in a minute. Maybe next time, sweetheart.”
Ouch, this one hurt. Vince Tomazo, the club tennis pro and stud. My guess is Vince cancelled all his afternoon appointments. I needed a face saving get away, so I bent over and kissed her cheek, and whispered, “Have fun.”
Judith got the last word in, “Count on it, but it won’t be on the tennis court.”
I tossed my drink down, set the glass on an empty table and headed home. I think J will be proud of me for remaining faithful.
I was physically and emotional exhausted. I went home and crashed. I woke up at 9:30 and called Oscar at his apartment and had him make a run for me to Lizzo’s Pizzeria for a sausage and pepperoni pie and then over to Ralphie’s Bar to get two bottles of Wilson’s Golden a locally brewed beer. I didn’t feel bad for Oscar, I went down to Mother’s cookie jar and pulled out a C note, she’ll never miss it. She and Father call it loose change. When Oscar arrived, he handed me the pizza and beers. I handed him the C note. He kept his hand out. I went back to the cookie jar and pulled out another C note.
Oscar said, “Thanks, man.”
Mother disapproves of my informality with the help. She says it makes them feel they are equal to Sanderstuffs. I heard her tell Grandmother Houston, when the old bat was alive, “God must really love us because we’re so much better than the people we hire. Why sometimes I think I am saint because I give them a job and let them do so much for me.” F
or my part, I never saw myself better than Victor or Oscar. I’ll never tell J, but I wouldn’t mind an affair with Nicole. Mother knows all this and says it’s the poor DNA I received from the Sanderstuff’s, If I were pure Featherstone, I’d no such inclination. I could add or passion or fun or a desire to party.
I was sleeping soundly dreaming of lying on lounge chair on a beach in Cancun when a beautiful, black haired and dark eyed señorita, wearing a flowered covered peasant blouse pulled low across her shoulders and breasts, came up to me and bent over and whispered in my ear. She touched my shoulder. Her touch woke me up and I was staring into Nicole’s dark eyes and wet red lips. Love hit me again and oh did it hit me. My first thought was, what will will I tell J when I see her this morning?
“Nicole? Is that you or am I in heaven?” I tossed my best line at her.
Nicole laughed, “Señor Martin I already have a boyfriend, Antonio. You make me laugh. The señora said to wake you up for work.”
“It’s not the weekend?” I asked.
“Oh no. It’s only Tuesday. Chu got three more days after this one.”
“Work is hell, Nicole.”
“Tell me about it,” she laughed and walked out the room. My eyes followed her Latin beat. These women are killing me slowly or is it killing me softly, whatever.

Trust Fund Baby ~ 6 A Satire

Chapter 6
The door to my office swung open. My jaw dropped bouncing three times of my chest giving me a touch of whiplash. My blood pressure spiked. A light haze covered my deep blue since baby eyes. I felt as if I were pushed through the window behind me and I was floating carefree through space. I am the prince and my Cinderella stood in the middle of the door frame. She was a tall woman with skin the color of my coffee having the perfect touch of cream. Her body was as lithe and supple as a gymnast. In my mind or perhaps it was an angel sent from heaven singing I Will Always Love You. If this was work, I wanted more, lots more of it. I stared a her long blonde hair parted in the middle, perfect white teeth, and pink lipstick, and perfectly displayed cleavage. Her hands rested on each of her beautiful hips slightly cocked to the right. My mathematical mind quickly calculated size 38 c cups. I knew then that being rich and being in love are the two best things in the world.

My Venus opened her mouth and her voice was like Ella Fitzgerald or Beyonce singing straight from her lips to my heart without a detour.

“You must be the spoiled brat, rich trust fund baby who’s the shrink. If you’re not, you touch me and I’ll wrap you up in a ball so tight you will make a golf ball look big,” She said giving me an icy stare that could cut through steel. Then she added, pointing with two fingers toward her face, “My eyes are up here. Let’s get that straight.”

I put to use my highly honed communication skills to get passed this little stumbling block on my way to romance, “Huh? Are you the receptionist?”

“Receptionist? Is that what you think I am? If that’s what you think, you a bigger fool than Pettibone told me you was.”

Her voice was an angelic choir. What are words when the melody sets your heart on fire,

“I said, you can be whatever you want to be. Want to have dinner with me after work?”

“Dinner? With you?”

“Un huh?”
“No. What fool said you were getting a receptionist?”

Actually, no one did. I thought that’s what you called a woman sitting behind a desk in a waiting room playing solitaire on her computer. If anything, I am quick on my feet I said, “The guard in the lobby called and said my receptionist was on the way up to see me. He didn’t tell me she was black Venus.” I gave her my award winning, impossible not like smile.

“I know Lawrence. We used to date. If I tell him what you said he will hit you hard on top of your head and you be looking out between your toes.”

I said, “If you won’t go to dinner with me, say we quit work early and go out for drinks.”

She jabbed a beautiful long index finger with a perfect nail, whose color matched her lips, at me and said, “I am your administrative assistant. What this means for you is that I do not do coffee. I do not run out and bring back lunch or donuts or whatever. I already know the kind of support you want and the kind of support you need. You’re not getting any of the first part. We straight on that?”

“Un uh,” I answered. “What exactly does an administrative assistant do? And, cut me some slack. This is the first day of work in my life and I’m worn out. It’s been rough.”

“How long you been at work?” she demanded.

I checked my iWatch, “About ten minutes. It’s a killer.”

“Pettibone was right. You are going to need all the help you can get.”

“I’m a quick learner if I’m tutored,” I said trying to butter her up.

She walked toward my desk. I scooted my sheepskin chair back until it hit the window overlooking the Pacific Ocean. She placed both hands palm down on my desk and bent over and stared at me. I could die now and know I’ve seen an angel.

“Eyes up here,” she said pointing to her eyes then placing her hands back down on my desk.

I quickly moved my eyes from her cleavage to her eyes then back down to her cleavage.”

She lifted both hands up and turned her palms toward her. I looked at the fingers I want to kiss. I looked at the hands that I want to hold me. My thoughts were interrupted.

“These nails do not type. They got several purposes. One, to make me look beautiful. And two, to scratch the eyes out of anyone who bothers me.”

“What’s your name?” I asked. I made a mental note to check Pondbone to find out if this woman had a license to wear dangerous weapons.
“My name is L Johnson. You can call me L or you can call me J. But you can’t call me Johnson.

I said. “Nice to meet you J. I’m Dr.” I had a brain burp. I couldn’t remember my last name. I knew I had a PhD so I was a doctor. I wasn’t sure what kind of doctor. Mother attended my classes. She wrote my dissertation. She hired a tutor to teach me enough to defend my dissertation. Paid trips to London, Paris, and Rome for each member of the committee and one guest may have pushed the needle a bit in my direction.

J said, “You need me to come over there and slap your white ass so you can remember your name?”

I said, “No, it’ll come to me. Say, do we have any patients in the waiting room I need to see?”

J started laughing. She stood up and her laugh turned into a belly laugh and tears rolled down her cheeks. When J composed herself, which was a good ten minutes later, she said, “You’d have to be crazy to voluntarily come to you for help.” Then she started laughing again. When she stopped she said, “You vote for Trump?”

I cringed. Was she working undercover for Costa Rica? I heard they tried to influence the election for Hillary. I truthfully said with a sigh of relief, “No.”

L or J or whoever she is bent forward a bit and stared into my eyes. It took a superhuman act of will not to drop my line of vision six inches. She said, “I can tell if you lying. You better no lie to to me. You vote for Hillary?”

I truthfully answered, “No.”

She said, “You write in Bernie’s name?”

I said, “No.”

“Who you vote for?”

I twisted around on my chair and stared out toward the ocean, I was losing control of my line of vision. I had a sudden urge to urinate. I always do when I’m nervous. I kept staring at the ocean. I answered, “I was at the spa on election day. Who won?”
“Hell, you don’t even know who’s President?”

“It’s either Obama or Bush. I’m not sure of which one. I don’t watch the news. I’m into reality shows.

J answered, “We gonna have one hell of reality show in this office with you in charge.”
I had a brainstorm. It was the best idea I’ve had since I had the idea I wanted a Porsche for my high school graduation present. I said, “Let’s make that your first job, see if you can get Netflix or Amazon or HBO to do a reality show here. We’ll be stars. I get top billing.”

J was silent. This was a welcome relief. I swiveled around but didn’t stop in time and ended up doing a 360. I tried it again let my sandals skid me to a stop. My arms outstretched, my palms landing face down on the desk.

J said, “Another four inches and I’d break every one of those fingers.”

“I said. “You never answered about having a drink after work. We should be done in another five minutes.”

“Is this a pickup line?” asked J.

“Uh huh?” I said with a questioning inflection in my voice.

J started laughing so hard she stumbled back and fell into one of the chairs. When she recovered, she said, “I give you a maybe on the reality show. It’s got possibilities. That’s the worse pickup line I ever heard. It ever work?”

“Uh huh, when I add after drinks we’ll fly to Rome for dinner.”. I believe I had a chance. My heart did a double flip, and a triple twisting jump scoring 9.9, 9.9, 9.9 on the love scale. I stared at my creamy skinned goddess with my tongue sending a message to my brain to let it drool. My thoughts were interrupted by my Venus rising.

J said, “No on dinner. No on drinks. No on Rome. Pay attention. You get to work with a group of criminals who are at a half way house. That means they half way between full time prison and half way to full time freedom. They live together in a house and they can’t go nowhere without supervision. They going to come here as a group and you’re supposed to help them get ready to go back into society. Some white fool must have made this decision. You ain’t going to help nobody.”

“I don’t want to work with criminals. I want to work with nymphs,” I said.

J said, “You crazier than the people you gonna be working with. Listen up Dr. Something.”

I interrupted, “That helps, my last name begins with an S.”

J said, “Group starts tomorrow at 9:30 a.m. sharp.”

I said, “Huuh?”

TRUST FUND BABY – 7 A SATIRE CONTINUES ON MONDAY