“The smell of the sea, my friend. I've been hanging out with lobster pirates for the last few days.”
Martin's eyes went big. He nodded to himself, and pulled out his phone. “Okay. That's it. You've officially gone bat shit crazy, and–”
He didn't get a chance to finish his statement. I snatched his phone and chucked it on top of the Bloomberg trophy. It made a nice blam sound, too, when the screen cracked.
“Hey!”
“Hey what? You can get another one. And don't make any god damn calls to any god damn body. I'm fine. I'm just quitting, is all. I can do that.”
“But why? You don't have to tell me the whats and hows, but I think I at least deserve a why.”
I stopped purging my bookcase when I came across the picture of my family. The one from Hawaii, when we were all together. Smiling. The day before housekeeping called.
“Martin, if I told you I had an epiphany, would you believe me?”
“No.”
“Then, tell Phyllis goodbye for me,” I said, tucked the picture under my arm, and started heading for the door.
“Alright, yes yes yes for the love of shit,” Martin said, putting himself between me and the exit. “You look, and smell, like someone who's had an epiphany. So, tell me.”
“I fell in love.”
Martin's shoulders slumped to the floor.
“Oh, for chrissakes. Really, Maddox? Really? What, were you watching too many Spanish soap operas and smoking peyote before you hooked up with the pirate lobsters?”
“No on both counts, it was lobster pirates – big difference – and what's so ridiculous about me being in love?”
“Because dick head assholes like you don't fall in love.”
I put my finger to my nose, and winked.
“Exactly,” I said. “Make sure Phyllis gets my well wishes, Martin. I'm a dick head asshole, so she'll understand why I'm not doing it myself.”
I shoved the trashcan into Martin's arms, and left my penthouse suite with the corner office, high end furnishings, and top of the line everything else. Fuck it. At least I had my picture.
Fast forward almost a month. I'd spent most of it holed up in my house. Or should I say, outside my house. I'd taken up residence in the pergola.
The funny thing was – one of many, many funny things, lately – was that I'd never, ever been a nature boy. Since my return from the island, I didn't want to be anyplace else.
I watched the stars at night, and listened to the recycled waterfall splash down on the marble rocks of my swimming pool. The sound was soothing, an aquatic lullaby, and I thought it was a shame that I never actually listened to it before. I'd owned this particular mansion for almost five years, and I think I'd used the pool maybe once. Now you couldn't pry me away with a crowbar.
Every night the stars saw me sprawled out on the sand beside the fire pit. The folks I purchased this place from had a brood of kids, all grown at the time of sale, and as of yet I'd only gotten around to having the playground equipment removed. My idea was to repurpose the area into a volleyball court. Host women's only, topless competitions. Sit on the sidelines like an incarnate Hugh Hefner (God rest his soul) sip strawberry daiquiris and watch the tits bounce.
Tits.
Ramona's tits. Her breasts, her nipples… pressed up against my bare, vulnerable flesh. Her teeth lightly biting me all the way down, and me, helpless to prevent her from doing anything she wanted to do.
I'd bring up her memory every night, and remember the way she'd used her sexuality as the ultimate weapon. The things she had done to me. The things she had not done. And just as she did, I'd rub myself to near release – my breath coming in labored draws, panting in desperate need to finalize my pleasure – and stop. Teeth clenched, an animalistic groan resonating deep within my chest, I would see her face looking down at me. I imagined her breasts just above my lips, those beautiful, pink nipples almost reaching my mouth. Craning my neck to suckle them, to feel them against my tongue, yearning to be buried in her soft, brown skin…
She wouldn't allow it.
She'd never allow it, and knowing that drove me to the brink of an uncharted kind of insanity.
Over thirty years on this planet, and never once had I needed anybody. I realized, for the very first time in my life, that all the money in the world couldn't buy me what I had to have. Which was completely shitty.
But then again, so was I. It made a certain, cosmic sense.
I released my grip on my manhood, and stared at the night sky.
Chapter Thirty
MADDOX
The hospital called early the next morning. I was eating papayas with my feet in the water, and watching the waterfall when Doctor Orizaga's cell number popped up on my screen. His was the only number I'd accept.
He'd told me in his smooth, nearly Jamaican accent that there continued to be no ill effects from her surgery, that her rehabilitation was progressing faster than anyone predicted, and she was expected to be released in a matter of days, not weeks.
I told him that didn't surprise me, and asked when she might be headed back to the States.
I opened up another Anonymous account at the Daytona Orthopedic and Sports Physical Therapy Center. Even though I knew Ramona was absolutely aware who was funding her recovery, I figured it best to keep it on the sly. I didn't want to attract any more attention to myself than necessary. The media hell hounds were going to be on my
