Twelve Nights (9 page)

“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.”

After she left, Jimmy sat again in the chair behind his
desk. He swiveled back to face the window. He didn’t for a moment believe that
Monica’s arrival was pure coincidence. Richard must have planted her, knowing
she had been his lay-of-the-week. Maybe he thought … Jimmy stopped. He couldn’t
think of a single reason Richard would have gone to the trouble to find her.

“Mr. Buko,” his secretary’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes, Julie,” he called out to the intercom.

“Your brother is on line one, Mr. Buko.”

“Danny,” Jimmy picked up the phone and greeted his younger
sibling. “What’s up?”

“Meet me for lunch, Jimmy.” Danny’s sentence was
characteristically terse and hovered between statement and question.

“I’m doing those interviews today,” Jimmy reminded him.

“Meet me for lunch at the Beach House,” Danny repeated. “At
one o’clock.”

“Okay,” Jimmy relented. “I’ll get Julie to make a
reservation.”

“I already did. Bye.”

Jimmy shook his head as he hung up the phone. Danny was an
enigma. As intelligent as anyone in some areas, he was naïve to the point of
simplicity, almost an idiot savant. With perfect photographic recall, he could
master any academic subject. But he seldom could apply any of the millions of
facts at his command to useful purpose. Jimmy loved him with a fierceness that
defied opposition, and protected him from the outer world with a diligence that
only great wealth could purchase.

Jimmy’s reverie was again interrupted by the intercom. “Mr.
Buko, Mr. Urbano is here.”

“Send him in,” Jimmy ordered.

“Richard,” he greeted his lawyer. “The conference call?”

“There was a slight hitch with the figures from Copenhagen
but I persuaded Dallas to go ahead anyway. The adjustment was slight and
shouldn’t affect profits over the long haul.”

“How long is the long haul?” Jimmy queried, his voice sharp.

“We’ll be down about a hundred thousand a day for the first
three months. Then it will turn around. We should be back in the black within
five months and showing a good profit within eight.”

“What’s a good profit?”

“Fifty thou a day, conservatively. The break-even on the
initial investment comes at six months two weeks.”

“That’s my man,” Jimmy clapped his lawyer on the shoulder.

“It was your idea,” Richard reminded him. “I’m just the
number-crunching, i-dotting, t-crosser.”

“Time to get to the real work, Mr. Crosser.”

“The women,” Richard groaned.

“The women,” Jimmy agreed. “You sit here and weed through
’em.”

He pushed the lawyer into the chair behind his desk.

“There should be,” he looked at the list on his desk,
“fifteen left. Narrow it down to two or three. Good looking but not flashy.
Intelligent. Sense of humor. Just find me the perfect woman.”

Richard’s head hung in his hands. The man could face down a
hostile faction and save a profitable venture, but he cringed before a few
eager women. Jimmy was still laughing as he walked out the door.

Aggie stood in the lobby of the Vancouver Hotel. She wasn’t
sure what Danny would look like. She had her doubts that he had managed to
arrange an interview. She didn’t know if she could pull it off. At that moment,
she had no idea what she was even doing in Vancouver.

She pulled down the hem of her sweater. At the last minute,
she had insisted on wearing the outfit Angela had bought her in Atlanta. She
hoped the pants and sweater would bring her luck, that some shred of good karma
clung to the wool. Besides, it was comfortable and conservative and it made her
feel pretty. Angela had capitulated with bad grace, certain the look was too
plain. As the minutes dragged on, a niggle of doubt twisted into Aggie’s brain.
Maybe Angela was right. Maybe the outfit
was
too plain.

“You are beautiful.”

The voice spoke from right behind her.

“Oh,” she turned and studied the young man who had startled
her. He was tall and thin, his molded suit hinting at sleek muscles. His hair
was blond and simply cut. His clear blue eyes stared into hers with unnerving
intensity. He was a hunk. “Are you Danny?”

The words came out more breathless than Aggie anticipated.
She cleared her throat and tried again.

“You must be Danny.” she thrust out her hand. “I’m Aggie
Trout.”

“I’m Danny,” the young man agreed solemnly. “I didn’t know
you were so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Aggie blushed.

“Come with me.”

The young man turned on his heel and walked away. Aggie
hurried to catch up. Danny strode through the lobby and out the main door of
the hotel. Then he turned left and started down the street.

“We’ll walk,” he announced.

“That’s fine,” Aggie agreed. “I like to walk.”

The young man shot her a sharp glance.

“That’s good,” he commented.

“Do you think we could go a little slower?” Aggie asked.

The man slacked his pace and Aggie adjusted her stride to
approximate his.

“Tell me about your brother,” she essayed when she had her
breath back.

“He’s a good person.”

Evidently Danny wasn’t big on small talk. He quickly
confirmed her estimation.

“You talk,” he commanded. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Well,” Aggie began, “I’m a librarian. I live and work in
Cincinnati.”

She waited for some response. None came, so she continued,
trying to stick to the script she and Angela had agreed on. The words died
unspoken as a sudden thought took precedence. Maybe she should turn on the tape
recorder. She and Angela agreed that she wouldn’t be able to remember what she
told the lawyer verbatim, that she should record every word. Aggie fumbled in
her pocket and pushed what she hoped was the record button. Then she continued
her monologue.

“I like my job. I love books and obviously the library is
full of them.” Do I sound as stupid to him as I do to myself, she wondered. She
tried again. Maybe a direct question would get a response, take some of the
burden off her. “Do you like to read?”

“My brother does.”

Silence again. Still, she stored up the morsel of
information, hoping it might prove useful at some point. They walked in silence
for some moments and Aggie studied their surroundings. They were walking down a
busy street lined with small shops. It felt almost European. She looked around for
a street sign. Robson. Maybe she and Angela could come back here once the
inquisition was past.

Several minutes and turns later, they walked by a huge
mansion on the right. The next block held a more prosaic Safeway. The scent
came to Aggie first, the familiar briny tang of the ocean. A moment later she
began to recognize buildings and then their hotel came into view. If Angela was
looking out the window she would see them, see Danny.