“Are you here at the gate?”
“No, but I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Which jet do you want?”
I notice another call coming in. I say, “The fastest one you’ve got.”
“I’ll have her warmed up and ready to roll when you get here.”
“Good man.”
I click him off and click the next caller through.
Miranda.
“I’m so glad to hear from you!” she says. “Seems like a million years!”
“Me too,” I say.
“What’s up?”
“I planned to fly you to Chicago to meet me around noon, Central Time, but my plans have changed. I’m heading there now. I appreciate you calling, but it’s not going to work at this point.”
“Whoa, cowboy. You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’d love to meet you! Please? I’ll put a huge smile on your face!”
“I could use a huge smile.”
“I can be there by eleven. Maybe we can have lunch, spend the day together. And the night, if you’d like.”
“I’d love it, but-”
“Then it’s set. I know you’re busy, so I’ll book my own flight. Where are we staying?”
“I don’t have a room. I was planning to head back to Vegas later today.”
“No problem. I’ll text you my itinerary, and call when I get there. If we don’t connect, I’ll shop till I hear from you.”
She makes a great case for staying in Chicago.
“Sounds great. Thanks, Miranda.”
“No,” she says. “Thank you!”
After hanging up I head to the kitchen, look in the closet where Phyllis kept the party supplies from when she had birthday parties for her employees. Amid the gift paper, bags, tissue, and such, I pick a small box, place the ceramic device in it, gift wrap it, and stuff it in my pocket. Then I go to my safe and remove a suitcase that holds one hundred twenty thousand dollars in hundreds, and five thousand in twenties. Then Jeff and I head to the private airfield where Bob Koltech has our jet waiting.
Normally I trust Lou to book my flights. But on the chance Darwin knows what I’m up to, he’ll get my itinerary from Lou. If Lou thinks I’m leaving Vegas at ten, Darwin will think so, too.
I do lead a complicated life.
42.
Maybe Taylor.
“How’d you do it?” Maybe asks.
“You mean, why didn’t it hurt when I inserted the dilator?” Sam says.
“Yeah.”
“I injected you with Botox.”
“ What?”
“It’s a little tricky, and I had to study up on it. The whole purpose is to relax the muscle spasm.”
“That’s the pain I felt in the middle of the night.”
“Yes.”
“But I had my jeans on. I felt them!”
“Your jeans were on top of your legs.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Sam sighs. “The point of botox therapy is for you to wake up after achieving the hardest part, which is the insertion of a large dilator. When you see it inside you, as you did, your brain begins to understand this is something you can do. So that’s the first step.”
“What’s the second?”
“Training your vaginal muscles to respond to the dilator over time.”
“How much time?”
“Hard to say. Months, certainly.”
“It obviously happened that once,” Maybe says. “But it couldn’t happen again. You don’t understand. No one does.”
Sam starts to pull the sheet off her. She grabs it and says, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Check it out,” he says, giving up his grip on the sheet.
She lifts the sheet and peeks beneath it. To her astonishment, the dildo is back where it was earlier.
“Keep your fucking hands off my snatch!” she says.
Sam assumes a defensive posture, with his hands up, guarding his face. He says, “I love you.”
“You’re a degenerate. I never gave you permission to sexually violate me.”
“I know you don’t find me attractive,” Sam says.
“No shit! And it’s not just a matter of looks. You’ve got the whole ‘call me Daddy’ thing going on, and you’re way older than me, which makes it twice as creepy. You’ve made me a kept woman, paying for all these lessons and whatnot, and now you’re trying to collect a sexual payment for it.”
“I won’t argue with anything you said. But whether you believe it or not, I’m a good guy. I’m incredibly smart, talented in many ways that can benefit you, and I love you. I’d do anything for you. Do you believe that?”
“No.”
“Put me to the test.”
“You’d fail.”
“Try me.”
“Fine. Leave your wife.”
“Are you asking me if I’d get a divorce?”
“Yes.”
“Are you offering me anything in return? Anything at all?”
“No.”
“The answer’s yes. If you want me to, I’ll divorce her immediately.”
“Call her.”
“What, right now?”
“Yes. With me listening.”
“It’s seven-fifteen!”
“So?”
“You don’t know Rachel.”
He shrugs, gets his cell phone, and presses a button.
“Put it on speaker,” Maybe says.
He clicks the speaker button.
A woman answers.
“Mmm?”
“Rachel?”
“Huh?”
“It’s me, Sam.”
“Who?”
“Your husband. Sam.”
