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.”



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 ~ 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.”


“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 ~ 8 A Satire

Chapter 8
“Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Father,” I said as I sat down in front of my raspberry Danish and cream colored coffee. I stared at my coffee and saw J’s image swirling around in the cream. Maybe it was an apparition.

Mother interrupted my fantasy, “Artin?”

Artin? What’s an Artin. I did a quick mental check of who sat at the table. Mother on one end. Father, ten feet away from Mother at the other end. And, me in the middle of the demilitarized zone. Did we hire a new cook?

I heard it again, this time more insistent, “Artin. Artin, look at me.”

I took a bite of my Danish and sip of my coffee, then said, “I don’t think he’s here, Mother. Try paging him.”

“Martin, don’t you remember, we’re legally changing your name to Artin?”

“I don’t want my name changed. I like Martin. I didn’t like it at first because when I was in first grade grade, Ronald Cranston called me fartin Martin. When I was fourteen and met Rachael, she let me feel her breasts and she like my name. I’ve liked Martin ever since Rachael.”

“Thank God you didn’t have sex with Rachael Madison. You know, her mother did not go to Holyoke or Smith.”

I thought about Mother’s comment for a second, then decided not to say anything about the sex part.

Mother continued her rant, “The mention of the Cranstons makes me want to have Nicole spray the room with disinfectant. They always thought they were better than everyone else. Can’t say I feel a bit sorry for them when the crash of 2008. They’re no longer listed among the top five hundred wealthiest people in the world. What a pity. But, between us, it looks good to see them left off of the RSVP list for Aspen and Palm Springs.”

The Cranston’s grovel? I had no idea what she was talking about. I thought they owned half the world and Grandmother Houston owned the other half. I said, “I will not answer to the name Artin, Mother. Now, that’s settled, I have some important news to share with you and Father.”

Father set his Wall Street Journal down and pulled his glasses down to the tip of short stubby nose that more appropriately fit on a bull dog than a human head. Mother placed both of her bony hands palm down on the table, her mouth slightly open, and her eyes trying to pierce into my brain and read my thoughts.

Before I could speak, Mother spoke, “Martin, if you’re going to tell us you got Nicole pregnant, don’t. I don’t want to hear about it. How much do we have to pay to keep her quiet and not list you as the father?”

Father said, “Mother, let’s be reasonable. Perhaps he didn’t get Nicole pregnant. Maybe it was Oscar.”

Mother said, “You should see the way Martin leers at her. I know what’s going on in his mind. It couldn’t have been Oscar, he used condoms.”

How does Mother know Oscar uses condoms? I didn’t think it was an appropriate question at the moment. I was watching the tennis match. It was Father’s turn. He said,

“We don’t even know if Nicole’s pregnant. As for our son, he didn’t get his lascivious tendencies from the Sanderstuff side of the family.”

Father took a nasty shot at Mother. He won’t be getting any tonight. Then again, I’m too sure he ever gets any anyways.

Mother returned the salvo, “Martin’s perverted sexual tendencies do come from your side of the family. What about Allison, your niece? You know the tramp who moved in with her boyfriend after college. Everyone knows she lost her virginity when she was in the tenth grade and they took a vacation to Venice and some Italian gondola driver seduced her. She could have been more descrete.”

“Leave Allison out of this, Mother. You know her mother is a Jenkins. The Jenkins worked for their money and didn’t inherit it, so they have no idea how to be rich.”

I thought, no, don’t leave her out of this. I’m enjoying the family gossip. But I didn’t want to be late for my second day of work. Truthfully, I wanted to be in my office waiting for my Venus to arrive. I said, “I didn’t make Nicole, pregnant, although I have many sexual fantasies about her. I don’t think I’m perverted. My sexual interests are normal.”
Mother looked at me and said, “If you didn’t make Nicole pregnant, who did?”

“Is she pregnant?” I asked.

“I don’t know. You brought it up,” said Mother sarcastically.

“I didn’t bring it up, Mother. I said, “I have something important to tell the both of you if you can get Nicole off your mind for a moment. First of all, I have not had sex with Nicole. I want to have sex with her, but she has a boyfriend and I’m afraid he’ll kill me if founds out we’re lovers.”

“You’ve got a Sanderstuff’s brain on shoulders, Son. It’s well and good to have an affair with someone in our class. The worse that will happen is you’ll snubbed at a social event. Discreet affairs are seen as a sign on good breeding, wouldn’t you agree, Mother.”

A shade of pink appeared on Mother’s neck and began it’s slow rise through her face. Fortunately, Father missed this faux pax because he set his glasses on the table when the discussion began.

“You’re so right, Father. Discretion is important in liaisons. Keep that in mind, Artin.”

“Thank you, Mother. Son, one more piece of advice, never, step out of class to have a sexual dalliance. A one night stand every once in a while, why that’s healthy as long as there are no strings attached. By that I mean always use a condom. Never take a lower class woman’s word she’s on birth control. Now, for heaven’s sake, tell us your important news, Son,” said Father.

I almost forgot what I was going to say. I’m sure Mother and Father do not have sex, unless they are totally wasted. Now, I think they’re both getting action on the side. I could use this to blackmail them into increasing my allowance. I saw them both locking in on as if they had a laser and were ready to push the fire button. I blurted,“I’m in love and I’m going to get married.”

Mother hollered, “Victor. Victor. My drink please.”

Father said, “A bit early for gin isn’t it, Mother?”

Here we go again. The tennis match was about to restart. I had to stop it so I get to work.

I said, “I’ve a bit of a problem. I know I’m in love with her. I know I’m going to marry her. I haven’t told her yet.”

Father rubbed his hands together. “I’ve been waiting for this, Son. You’ve come to Mother and me for relationship advice.”

Mother cut right to the chase, “Is she of good breeding? They must live on this side of the city. This is where all the good people live. You can tell by the all the guarded and gated communities. The air is cleaner over here. The better restaurants are over here. And, all our help comes from over there. It’s not that we’re afraid of them. It’s that we want to remain pure. Surely, you understand this, Martin.”

A thought raced through my mind. Am I the sole beneficiary in their will? If I tell Mother and Father J is black, but her skin is the beautiful shade of coffee and cream and her body is as lithe and supple as a gymnasts I foresee three possibilities. One, two massive coronaries; two, a stroke and a massive coronary; or three, they overpower me and send me off the Betty Ford Clinic for rehab.

I looked at Mother and said, “Her lineage can be traced back to ships the earliest settlers welcomed into the US. It may go all the way to Thomas Jefferson and his plantation.”

“Is she one of the Jeffersons? This is too good to be true,” said Mother already thinking of holding a soiree to host J and me.

“What’s her name, Son?” asked Father.

I truthfully said, “She likes to be called by the first letter of her last name.”

“That is delightful. I can’t wait to meet J,” said Mother.

I decided to leave on a high note. Mother and Father told me not to work too hard and let my administrative assistant do it all for me. I confidently strode out the of dining room believing J would be mine tonight. I was soon to learn, I had a lot to learn.

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.

Something to Think About

When something bad happens you have three choices. You can either let it define you, let it destroy you, or you can let it strengthen you.

Dr. Seuss

We all faced great challenges. Have you taken a bad event and made good from it? It takes courage. What was the challenge? How did you turn tragedy in something good?

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?”