Billionaire Secrets of a Wanglorious Bastard (18 page)

Rick ran into my office.

“Hey! Rufus. I heard about that deal you got. Working from home? Whoa!”

“You did?”

A woman I'd never seen before came in. Fly as hell. Stacked to death. “Goddamn. Look at those cufflinks.” She grabbed them. “Sapphire-cut canary diamond octagon? They're four million a pair.”

Four million?

She felt her cooch and straightened her bra. Salivating. “Those fuckers are real, they've got to be real.” She bit her lip.
 

“Trudi?” That was Grimes. He came in sweating. “Let's go.” He looked at Enos and bowed. “Hiro-san.” Enos bowed back. Grimes bowed even deeper to me. “Rufus. Carry on.” He dragged Trudi out by the elbow. She turned and gestured “Call me.”

Rick clapped his hands. “Rufus, you are the most ballingest fuck I've ever fucking seen in my life. I want to roll with you. Who do I have to fuck to get that?”

I said, “Excuse me?”

“Come on, Rufus. We all know what you did to get that sweet deal.”

I said, “What did I do?”

“Man, he screwed Rita!”

Tani came in and said, “I can't believe it.”

Rick said, “Believe it, man. Who knows what sick acts he did to her.”

I said, “You are so fucking stupid.”

Rick raised his open hands apart.
 

“Accusing me of unchastity? That's slander, per se. I could sue you for that shit.”

Rick tittered. “Come on. You know what I meant.”

Tani said, “My virgin ears are so offended. Rufus, I can't look at you the same way.”

I said, “My professional reputation has been tarnished.”

Rick put an unwelcome, nervous hand on my shoulder. “No, man. It's…it's good. You're a stud. A real motherfucking pimp.”

I couldn't believe he’d gone there.

Rick said, “More slander?”

I nodded. “Yup.”

Tani extended his hand to Rick. “Nice working with you, Rick.”

Enos bowed.

Rick, dazed, said, “I'll get my things.”

I said, “You do that. And close the door.” He did.

Tani said, “And that is the end of Rick at the Krueller.” We high-fived.

I said, “So, what about Rita?”

Enos clasped his hands. “You did it, didn't you?”

“That's not what I said.”

Enos pumped his fist. “Fucking A. You are our granddaddy reborn. Accept it. Embrace it. Enjoy it.”

I said, “It could be a one-night stand.”

Enos wagged a Mutombo finger. “You're working from home, man.”

“I don't have a home, remember?”

“Maybe Rita will hook you up.”

“Living with her?”

“No. Living in your own spot. It's a straight-up pimp move our granddaddy would do, remember? He'd build houses for his mistresses so he'd know where they were whenever he wanted access.”

I felt my eyes bugging. “You think she's gonna put me in a new apartment?”

He said, “Why not? You're 'working' from home. You need the appropriate 'home office,' since you're homeless.”

I said, “Home office? I can't be hooking up with her for the hours I need to bill a week. Unless she's some succubus.”

“How many times you see people out of the office on ‘business trips’? Do you know what they're doing while they're away?”

I didn't.

“Exactamundo.”

“She has stroke here. And be mindful of that word, Rufus. So long as you do that shit correct? You'll be set.”

“What if she gets tired of me?”

“Then you finally use your law degree. Assuming you pass the bar.”

Again with this bar passage shit?

“You said 'bed.’” That was Tani.

I flashed a fake smile. “In the meantime, I'll ask Gladys what my forwarding address is.”

Enos extended his arm and shook a sheet of paper like it was a dinner bell. “Already did.”

It probably was some hole in the wall.

“Let's roll.”

59

THE FIFTEEN-HUNDRED-FOOT
tower. Home to billionaires.
 

And I lived among them.

My apartment?
 

Six-thousand-square-foot apartment. One room. One bath. One bed.

You heard me.

One full floor in prime Manhattan real estate.

In the basement.

I had to go down a few flights of stairs to get there.
 

When I got in, some kind of cold slab floors and no windows from floor to ceiling met me. And not the tall ceilings of Rita's majestic apartment. We’re talking ceilings about half the height of her largest ceiling.
 

But back to those windows. There were none.
 

But there was a closet. Filled with suits, shirts, shoes, and ties.

“Enos, leave.” That was Rita. And Enos scurried out.

I turned to her. And man, was it awkward. It was the first time I’d seen her since the night before. I didn't know whether to kiss her or ignore her.

So I channeled my grandfather. “Wha gwan?”

She squinted, so I stopped Ja-faking it. “Cute. Look. Last night was nice, but I'll need a little more from you.”

My heart sank. “You do?”

She pursed her lips. “You have potential, but I don't have time to teach you, although that would be hella fun.” She clicked her teeth. “So you enjoy life, have a little fun, but always come back here. Got it?”

I didn't. “Sure. But what about Krueller?”

“You consider that enjoying life and having fun?”

Nope.
 

“I didn't think so.” She sauntered toward me. Took my hand. Kissed it. “You're special, Rufus.” She looked at my junk. “Damn special.” She pulled out a card. It was a Krueller company card with my name on it. “Go out and enjoy.” She handed it to me. And I took it.

“Thanks.” I needed to know why. Golden Goose Rufus.
Don't ask.
“Why?”

“Why what?”

Damn. My big mouth. “Why me?”

She leaned in to me. Stared. “Loyalty.”

Loyalty to who? Her? I was so confused.
 

“Plus, you make me laugh. And in this profession, especially in this city, that counts for a lot.” She kissed me on my forehead. “I'll be back.” She put her lips to my ear and whispered, “And you better be ready.” She gripped my ass and slinked away. Jingling and a jangling.
 

Lawd.

She pulled out a remote and aimed it at a bookshelf, which slid into another shelf.

“A hidden elevator?”

She went up. The bookshelf closed. And I was there.

Instead of channeling my grandpa, I must've channeled his mistresses. Was this what it felt like? To have a taste of luxury through someone else? To be a kept (wo)man? So strange.

Then again, maybe this was how he got his start. I mean, I didn’t think he came out of the womb as a pimp daddy, despite the family myths. He needed to learn from someone. I would be her Robin. Or maybe this was like Shaolin temple. I'd start at the bottom and work my way up. Through boning instead of washing dishes.
 

Wait a second. She actually wanted me to hook up with other women.

But what if I just wanted her?

I mean, I kind of did.

Could I tap into something that I'd ignored all of my life? Something that my parents tried sheltering me from becoming. Escaping the nerd cocoon and blossoming into Mr. Loverman?

No, I would prove I could have my cake and eat it too.

I would embrace who I was. Accept where I came from. And enjoy it.

Here I stood.

This was the universe telling me that my place was here. Here, as a mackadocious fuck puppet for the hottest woman I'd ever laid eyes on.

And who was I to reject the universe?

60

I HAD A LITTLE
too much fun last night.
 

I spent more than I should, drank entirely more than I should, and definitely should not have pulled that trick.

I was hanging out in the Meat Packing District.

No joke, that's actually a part of Manhattan.

It took me a while, but I’d finally tapped my inner grandpa. Not by putting on a Jamaican accent. Just by putting on the clothes in the closet Rita left for me. At first I was uptight and self-conscious. I had to tell myself that this was my life and I deserved it. I looked at photos of my grandpa back in his heyday and noticed one constant theme.

Chilling.

Dude just was relaxed. Looked like he was enjoying life. He seemed to like the finer things. Nice clothes, money in his pocket, and the touch of a beautiful woman. I’d finally experienced all three. I felt that Rita and I had exchanged more than body fluids.
 

We’d exchanged essence. Or at least, I’d absorbed some of hers. It was like the venom symbiote in Spider-Man. It leeched onto me and made me stronger. The clothes and money gave me game. It reminded me of what my father used to say about Americans.

“They're trying so hard to do all the things rich people do. Going to the opera. Watching ballet. Engaging in so-called high culture. And that's the problem. Rich people don't give a fuck about culture. They're rich. They can get away with doing whatever they want instead of being all uptight.”

So that was what I did. I relaxed. Tried enjoying New York. Enjoying my cousin's company. No more going to bars alone with hungry eyes.

And it worked.

In fact, the best way to get women was ignoring them.

Really.
 

Not being rude and all, but going to the bar, treating the bartender right, and shooting the shit with Enos. It drew the honeys in. They wanted to know what we were talking about. Why we weren't kicking it to them.
 

It appealed to my inner laziness.

Perfect example: Enos and I were bonding by barhopping. I know I'm a snob. But that's me. I figured out how to navigate college to get the best grades with as little studying as possible. Columbia Law appealed to me for two reasons.
 

The first? Tons of honeys in the law school, undergrad, graduate schools, and, fuck, New York in general.
 

The second? When I visited Columbia on admitted students day, I heard the same thing: the hardest thing about Columbia Law School was getting into Columbia Law School. It was set up to take care of you once you got in. Apparently it was a pressure cooker back in the day. After a rash of suicides, the school moved away from grades to pass/fail. And everybody passed. The students eventually wanted to be graded again. Dumb-ass move, right? The problem of potential suicides remained, so the school instituted a massive curve.
 

And get this: professors weren't allowed to fail anyone.

It's true. This teaching assistant I hooked up with told me the secret. If a professor wanted to give a grade lower than a C, the professor had to give the student a research assignment.

What happened if the student didn’t do the research assignment?

Nothing.
 

But the student passed.

It's like that scandal at Brown years ago when a guy refused to go to classes and some administrators begged him to reconsider. In other places, they would have kicked the guy out. Once I found out that shit, it changed my mind. I mean, why bust my ass if I didn't have to?

I went to public schools. When I met kids from elite private schools, I felt insecure.
 

Until my cousin who taught at one told me how things worked for the rich. I didn't believe it until I went to undergrad and saw it with my own eyes. I was smoking those fools in classes. But who got the better job offers? Those fucks from private schools. Even with worse grades in college. So I realized it was all about appearance. I dug deeper and found out that law schools didn't give a shit about which professors I had or what classes I took. It was all about the grades. So I dropped out of my honors program and took easy classes. Boosted my GPA and got into top law schools.

The rest is history.

61

“NEVER HEARD BACK
from my client. Sexual favors will probably be necessary.”
 

That was Natasha. I know and I hear you. Just like Tani, you'd think I should've stayed away.

But the way I figured, she was down and Stack was gone. Add experience gathering for Rita, and that was a triple scoop of winning.
 

Funny thing was, she didn't know she was off limits. And I think that's what fueled her sexual fire after the firm happy hour. It was like a reward for being honest and shit.

And that chick was pretty wild. She had a massive donk that she tried hiding in a suit jacket, but failed miserably. She loved twerking on top and unleashing incredible cheek control.
 

Our second time together, we both got wasted and engaged in the sloppiest drunken sex I'd ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

I called her. “Enjoyed seeing you again last night and hope you didn't get called out at work today.”

“I had fun, too, but truth be told, I didn't feel so hot either.”

“I think it was the fourth shot that did it.”

“Tell me about it. I went to work three hours late, dizzy and paranoid that someone would notice the vampire mark on my neck.”

“You hook up with Dracula after I left?”

She giggled. “Felt a lot better when I learned that the brief I didn't finish is due next week.”

“So no favors for Grimes?”

“God, no. I feared being called out for being a tramp who drinks too much.”

“I'd fuck him up if he said that to you.”

“My hero. Look, I won't be free until Friday, and you may not call me until Wednesday or Thursday. I suspect this coming week, Grimes will drive me crazy, and the last thing I need is a neck-sucking smartass adding to my anxiety. Have a nice weekend.”

That night, she called. “The earliest I'll be out of work tonight is 11 p.m. That doesn't leave much time for cocktails, does it?” 

“It depends on how quickly you can drink.”

“Maybe it depends on how concisely you can talk.”

We did shots, said nothing, and before hooking up that night, she asked me to be gentle. So we had missionary sex. She just lay there doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing. I had flashbacks to the Billy Bob critique of Angelina Jolie, so I laughed when I should've had my moment of satisfaction. She took it as an orgasm and fell right to sleep. I knew I should've tried to get some head first, but she seemed to be one of those women who didn't mind a dick being anywhere in them but their mouth.