“So far I’ve met an obvious gold-digger. She was fake everything, boobs, hair, eye color, probably had liposuction too.”
“I’m sorry, Jimmy,” the lawyer did apologize now. “I didn’t think to ask for a medical history. That was an oversight.”
“It’s okay,” Jimmy relented. As his anger dissipated, he began to see the humor of the absurd situation. “Another one wore fake glasses to look intellectual. She had been well coached by someone, except she kept messing up the ten dollar words she had memorized. She said she admonished from drinking and she condoned cruelty to animals. A regular Mrs. Malaprop.”
“Who?”
“A character from a play. Never mind.” He thought of another question. “By the way, where did you put them?”
“In the Vancouver Hotel,” Richard answered. “I had the reservation clerk spread the rooms out. Is there a problem?”
“They found each other. I picture this gaggle of thirty year old spinsters cackling over breakfast and dissecting me like a sausage.”
“Poetic, Jimmy.”
“Poetic justice?”
“I didn’t say it,” Richard laughed. “Look, what do you want me to do?”
Jimmy treated the offer as genuine. “I want you to get in here and interview some of these women. You can at least weed out the worst of them.”
“I’m covering a conference call on the Dallas merger at ten. It should take about an hour. I can be at your office by a little after eleven.”
“Get here as soon as you can. Cut the call short. It’s like a siege.”
“They’re waiting in separate rooms, right?”
“Yes, but they’ve found the bathroom. That’s where they’re stirring the witches’ cauldron.”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
Jimmy hung up the phone and swiveled his chair toward the window. What an idiot he was, brain smart but heart stupid. Thinking he could find a woman to love by offering money in a personal ad. A chuckle rose unbidden from deep in his belly as the absurdity formed a photograph in his head. A naked woman pouring tea in his apartment with a huge red heart painted on her chest and a giant dollar sign on her back. He relaxed into the fantasy. She was tall and thin with long, no make it short, auburn hair, the face of a Botticelli and the body of a Giacometti. And the sexual energy of… he searched for an analogy. Not a Don Juan, not a nymphomaniac. He gave up. The woman couldn’t exist. With a sigh, he turned back to face his desk and pressed his finger on the intercom.
“Send in the next one, Julie.”
“Right away, Mr. Buko.”
The office employees thought Jimmy was interviewing for a newly created position at TransGlobe. They knew Jimmy was a hands-on owner and were only mildly surprised that he was doing the interviewing himself. They counted it up as another Buko eccentricity. As long as he and they kept making bundles of money, he could interview as many women as he wanted.
Jimmy stood as the door opened and moved around the desk to greet the next applicant. His automatic smile became genuine as he recognized his companion of the previous week.
“Monica.” Jimmy held out his hand.
“Jimmy.”
Her grip was firm in his.
“I guess you’re wondering how I got through your lawyer’s screening,” she offered, “being a professional.”
“Sit down, Monica.” Jimmy gestured to the sofa. His eyes walked the length of her from casually stylish light brown hair, past a conservative suit of beige wool, over slim calves wrapped in sheer flesh-toned stockings and ending with red heels just short of fuck-me.
“You’re a sight,” he commented.
“My other persona,” Monica explained. “I used it to get the interview. I really am working on my masters. I also work part-time for the Vancouver Sun.”
“Did you leave out any other details besides the prostitution?”
“A few,” Monica smiled.
Jimmy raised his eyebrows.
“That was all before I met you,” Monica defended herself. “I didn’t know you were the person who placed the ad until I walked in the door just now.”
“It’s okay. Tell me what else you,” Jimmy hesitated over the word. ‘Lied’ would be too harsh. “You fabricated.”
“I have a three year old daughter.”
“Do you have a picture?” Jimmy smiled.
Monica pulled her wallet out of her purse.
“A few,” she admitted. She extracted three photos.
“She’s a beauty.” Jimmy didn’t need to fabricate the compliment. The little girl was a miniature of her mother. “What’s her name?”
“Jennifer Michelle. I call her Jen.”
“She’s a lucky girl to have you for her mom.”
“Not according to her father. He found out about my sideline and he’s threatening to go to court to get custody.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy commented. Though his sympathies were aroused, he cringed mentally from the messiness of Monica’s entanglements.
“I also lied about my age,” Monica admitted.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“And you have a three year old and a university degree? That’s an accomplishment.”
“I’m pretty determined,” Monica understated.
Both smiled as silence fell into the room.
“I answered the ad because I need the money for a lawyer.”
“I understand.”
“Since you gave me the five thousand dollars,” Monica began then interrupted herself. “Thank you, by the way. Anyway, now I don’t need the money as badly.”
“I’m glad.” Maybe despite all the obvious difficulties, Monica could be the one he was looking for. Jimmy weighed the factors in his mind and came to a swift decision. Only one crucial question remained. “Are you seriously involved with anyone, Monica?”
The glow on her face answered Jimmy’s question before the words reached his ears.
“Yes,” she nodded and ducked her head.
“Is he good to you?” Jimmy asked. Now that any possibility of relationship had vanished, his protective instincts resurfaced.
“He’s wonderful,” Monica gushed. “He’s a jazz musician and he loves Jen to pieces.”
“He doesn’t mind about the prostitution?”
“I explained how cold it is, how clinical.” Monica colored as Jimmy smiled and shook his head. “Not with you, of course.”
“With me too.” The truth was plain to Jimmy, however Monica might wish to color it. She was a prostitute and he was a john. Jimmy stood and reached for Monica’s hand. He bowed over it like a courtier, then raised her to her feet. He pulled a business card from his pocket and scratched a name on the back.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he challenged. “Call this man. He’ll get you the best lawyer for your child custody case. At my expense. The deal is that you quit prostitution. Use the five thousand dollars to finish your degree and marry your musician.”
Monica’s eyes widened and then narrowed.
“I have debts,” she admitted.
Jimmy shrugged. “It’s a good offer. I’ll pay for the lawyer on your handshake. You decide for yourself about the rest. If you want to make yourself into a serious liar, so be it.”
For the first time, the businessman who had amassed half a billion dollars emerged from Jimmy’s homespun exterior. Monica hesitated for only a moment before she shook his hand solemnly.
“I’m not a liar,” she asserted.
“I didn’t think so,” Jimmy smiled, the homespun back in place. “Send me a photo of Jen once in a while.”
“I’ll put you on my Christmas list,” Monica promised. She leaned up and kissed Jimmy on the cheek. “I’m glad you were my last trick.”