But, what?
I’ve done some philanthropy, setting up a charitable foundation that donates investment proceeds to a handful of causes I support. It’s nice, but not anything that makes me “jump out of bed,” or… what did Dad say? “Juiced?”
No, it’s definitely not juiced. I envy Dad’s appetite for the law. He’s always been passionate about it, getting excited about this or that new case, for as long as I can remember. The frustrating thing is that I’m not sure I’m passionate about anything. Travel this past year has been sort of exciting, but it would’ve been better having someone to share it with. Which isn’t easy when friends are few and far between. It’s not like most people can just up and take off to travel. They have jobs. Or families. I’m the loner, with neither.
The waitress brings my beer with an enormous smile as she bends over, lower than necessary, to set it on the table. I return my attention to my journal. She stands up and asks if there’s anything else she can get me.
I don’t look up when I answer, “No, thanks. I’ll wait for my friend. Thank you.”
I glance at my watch and see that Sax is running late for our lunch. I’ve been looking forward to seeing him. He’s a crazy fucker, and he has a talent for making me laugh. I wish I could see more of him, but his work in industrial sales makes him travel a couple of weeks a month.
I’m halfway through my beer by the time he strolls in. “Hey man, good to see you,” he says, and I stand up to shake his hand.
I nod and smile. “Hey! Good to see you, too.”
The waitress, apparently eager to flirt, sees another opportunity with Sax here, and it’s no wonder. He’s a tall, good-looking guy, blessed with blond hair and blue eyes, and he’s no stranger to the ladies. In our senior year of high school, when he moved to Michigan from Indiana, he was all the right things… quarterback, prom king… he was even voted “most stylish” in the yearbook.
She comes over and takes his order but leaves disappointed that neither one of us responds to her flirtatious smiles.
Sax leans back in his chair. “So, have you made another billion dollars yet?” He laughs.
“Not today, my friend.”
“You know, I still haven’t forgiven you for leaving me out of that when we were in high school.”
“If I remember correctly, I told you to start mining with me, but you thought it was stupid. Sorry dude, when opportunity knocked, you told it to piss off.” I shrug and raise my eyebrows.
Sometimes I envy him. Sax makes great money and loves his job. He happily bounces in and out of relationships like a rubber ball, and he enjoys life one day at a time, never regretting the past, and never looking too far forward. Even though I can buy pretty much anything I want, go anywhere I want, do anything I want… I often imagine what life would be like as him.
He leans in. “Well, it doesn’t really matter, because you’ve made enough money for the whole damn town. I know where to go if I need some.”
“Yeah, you and everybody else,” I say, with more sharpness than I intended.
“Poor baby,” he playfully whines. “That must suck to have more money than god and have to tell people no when they come asking for some. Tell me, is it any different telling people no from your mansion in the Alps or your beach house in Grand Caymen?” Shit. I can’t believe I forgot about the one in Grand Caymen. OK, so I also have a house in Grand Cayman.
“Dickhead,” I say. He’s right, of course.
He laughs, and I laugh along with him. But he doesn’t appreciate the responsibility, or the grim side that comes with this much money. Nobody does, except the very rich. Apart from Sax, I never know what people’s motives are—men or women, friend, family, or stranger. I’ve adapted by hopping from residence to residence. It gives me an excuse to disappear, stay single, and it keeps me busy.
But it gets lonely.
I get lonely.
We order bacon cheeseburgers, and Sax gets the fries, while I opt for spinach salad. Halfway through it, I look up from eating to see Sax leaning to see something past my shoulder. His eyes are locked on to something, like he’s a predator. I know that look on his face. The same face men have been making for millennia when they seek to conquer. Or procreate.
I squint my eyes at him. What the hell has him so fascinated? Dare I turn around, and risk making both of us look obvious? Fuck it, who cares. I turn around and choke on the food I’m swallowing. Coughing, I grab my beer to wash it down.
Aspen.
What the fuck is she doing here?
She’s not a member.
My god, she’s even more beautiful than when I first saw her at the bistro. Probably because my blood has cooled somewhat, and anger isn’t clouding my eyes with red. She’s wearing her white chef’s coat, and her sexy, blond hair is tied up in a loose, luminescent bun on the top of her head. Her full lips are as cherry-red as ever, a prominent asset, even from where I sit, halfway across the room. I grip the armrest of my chair to keep myself rooted… there’s an insane magnetic pull to get up and say something to her.
