One Rule for the Rich, A Sequel

Brea calmly pointed to a distant table, "Ajmaani go have a seat while Conall and I talk," then, after the girl stepped away she turned back to me and said, "No, not David, me, and I expect you to marry her."

"What," I responded, "Are you crazy?" You know where I come from. God damn, if I took a Muslim home to Pennsylvania what do you think would happen? Jesus, they'd kill her!"

Brea smiled, "First, Pennsylvania isn't your home; it's only where you grew up. Your home is here with me. Second, she's exactly the kind of woman you need, the kind of woman we both need. Look at her. She's been through hell. She's killed men. Not only that; she's still intact. That's right, she's still clean, untouched. How she did it I don't know, but I had her checked."

"Damn it Brea this is crazy. I don't know her, and she sure doesn't know me."

"That's where you're wrong," Brea answered, "she knows all about you. I told her. She knows where you grew up, she's seen pictures of your family, your childhood home, your brother and sister. She knows about Clare. She knows what you want, she wants the same things, and more importantly she wants you."

I shrugged. This was so stupid. I felt like getting up, "I don't believe this."

"Believe it," she said, "this is your chance, your big day; pull the sword from the stone Conall, shoot the arrow through the axe heads, claim the day at Bosworth Field, become the hero I know you want to be."

I looked over at the woman seated at the far table, "God she's beautiful, but I know women. She'll grow to disrespect, then hate me."

"You're a fool Conall," Brea replied, "She may not love you, you certainly don't love her, but I give it a year. She's a Muslim sure, but she's been raised right. Outwardly toward your enemies she'll be; what did that Alaskan woman say, 'she'll be your momma grizzly', but at home she'll be your lamb, your precious kitten."

She sure was beautiful, it had been a while, and I could certainly enjoy her, but this was the stupidest proposition I'd ever heard, and it didn't even come close to the real reason why I was here. I said, "Look, suppose I did marry her, what's in it for me?"

"Ah," Brea replied, "this is where the bullet meets the bone. I'm offering you three things: first a loyal wife, second a chance to see and talk to your dream girl Clare, and third, I'm going to make you richer than Croesus."

Still looking across the room. I knew I was being sucked in. I said, "This is so fucked up."

Brea reached in her purse and pulled out a set of keys, "Out front is a grey Mercedes, it's yours. Inside the glove box is 10,000 Euro. Take the car. Go for a ride. Take Ajmaani. Show her who you are, but don't think you'll get her to sleep with you. She'll need a wedding ring and license for that."

With that Brea got up, "You know my number. I'll be waiting for your call," and then she left.

I sat there a moment, then I looked across the room, the woman was still sitting there, watching me. I got up, walked over to where she was seated. Palms up, I held out my hands, "There's a small coffee shop not far from here. It's a little different than this place. Perhaps we could stop in and talk?" She got up and took my hand. God she was graceful.

Outside, sure enough, when I tapped the key ring the lights of a grey Mercedes lit up. I approached the passenger side door to open it for Amaaji, but she pushed by me and opened the damn thing herself. I stopped dead in my tracks, "Hey what are you doing?"

She turned and I thought rather defiantly answered, "I'm getting in."

I answered, "Not that way you won't. Now how about closing the damn door and letting me do what I'm supposed to do?"

She looked slightly confused, but recovered, "Oh yeah... you Americans."

I answered, "That's right, we Americans," she closed the door. I stepped past her, opened it, and said, "Here," she got in without with further comment.

We drove the short distance to the coffee shop I had mentioned. I pulled in the small lot, looked over and said, "Don't do anything," she sat while I got out, walked around, got her door, and took her arm.

She stepped back, "Don't grab me. I can walk."

I nodded, "I was just trying to be polite," I guess I was slow, but I was beginning to realize she wasn't accustomed to some things. I figured it wouldn't make any difference; we'd go in, talk, and then go our separate ways. Brea would just have to find someone else to be my surrogate spouse.

Inside we found a table. She was catching on, she let me pull out her chair. I asked, "Any particular blend?"

She replied, "Something dark and strong, no cream or sugar, just black."

I went up and ordered her a Latte with a double shot of expresso, and a regular coffee for myself. I had half & half put in mine. I returned to the table and placed hers in front of her. She took it without comment, and took a sip.

I asked, "Is it OK?"

She responded, "It'll do."

I took a sip of mine and asked her, "Tell me, why would you want to marry me? You don't know anything about me."

Her reply was short, sweet, and a little brutal, "You're an American. I'd become a citizen of your country."

Frank and coarse, but it still didn't mean much so I said, "Sure I get that, but you don't know anything about me. I might be some kind of crud, I mean I might be a wife beater or something."

Though I should've known better; she still floored me, "I told you where I'm from. Have you any idea what it's like to be a woman in Chechnya?"

"No, not really," I replied.

"Well I'll tell you," and she started, "According to Ramzan Kadyeav, the reigning dictator there, women are property, chattel like a cow or a horse. If a married woman is even suspected of adultery her husband can have her stoned. My father, damn him to hell, had arranged my marriage when I was twelve. I was supposed to marry a man already in his fifties. In exchange for me my father got some additional acreage. I was bought and sold like I was some animal. Too bad for father though, against his wishes my mother had secretly arranged that I get an education. I'm fluent in French, English, Russian and of course Chechen," she paused, took a sip of her coffee, and went on, "Then the troubles started again; the Russians wouldn't leave us alone. They came back with their tanks and machine guns; hundreds were killed, among them my mother and father. My older brother joined the rebels. Me and my younger brother fled; first to Belarus, then to Poland, and last we're here."

I listened; she was filled with hate.

She went on, "First, don't think you're some mystery. Brea gave me your, how do you say, your dossier. I know all about you. Pennsylvania, prestige state university, that's where you met your wife. I know you're smart, smarter than most people, but you're lazy. You could've really done something, but you always found the least difficult way, chose the path of least resistance. You and your wife were in New York; that's where Brea found you, and she knew she'd found that pot of gold."

I was a little pissed, "You make me sound like I'm some kind of asshole."

She scoffed, "You are. You're a big asshole. Where'd you come from? You come from, what do they say in America, Hicksville, you're a red neck."

I was even more pissed, "Then why the fuck would you even consider marrying me?"

She stopped, looked at me like she wanted to punch me in the nose, and then quietly added, "You have some kind of hero complex. Look at you. You know your wife has become a cheap whore, but what do you want to do? You want to go out and save her. Oh we know all about your stupid bookstore in Maine. We know about your little book of poems. You think that bitch Clare will care about that? You've got to be kidding. Look, even now you're getting mad. You want to get up and leave right now don't you?"

"Damn right," I said, "but go on."

"OK," she said, "what's good about you. For one thing you're a man. I saw it as soon as you walked in. You checked the place out. You saw the men at the far table. You had me down as soon as you saw me. Even still, you walked straight over to Brea. You knew it might be some kind of trick or trap, but you went ahead anyway. And you were ramrod straight. You just dripped masculinity; you're dripping it now. I saw my brother. Yes, he was one of three at that table. I saw the look in his eyes. You frightened him; then I saw him change, he knew, he knew you were what you Americans call "the real deal". He saw what I saw..."

I interrupted, "And what was that?"

She smiled. I think it was the first time, "If I married you, even if it was just a business arrangement I'd be safe. My father was a user and an abuser, but you're a protector. Any woman who marries you would never have to be afraid. You'd always be there. Look at you now; your ex-wife's a whore but you still think you can save her."

I asked, "Yeah, well what about you? What would you bring to the table? How would I know I could ever trust you?"

Her countenance changed; she suddenly looked warm, young, even innocent, but I didn't believe it, not for a second. She told me, "I'm still a virgin. I'm twenty-one years old. I've wandered across half of Europe, sometimes hiding, sometimes pretending to be a boy. I've had to tie cloths on my chest to make me look flat. I even had to kill a man who thought he could take my body. I want to be safe. I want a family. I want children. I want to be happy. I want to be free. Brea told me you'd give me all those things. I might never love you. Love is something for the story books, but I guarantee you'll never doubt me, you'll never worry whether your children are really yours, you'd never walk into a tavern and have some man say he had your wife, and you'd always have me at your side, no matter what."

I'd listened. I heard all I thought she had to say. I knew it was time to call an end to our little discussion, "You're very beautiful. If you say you're a virgin I believe you," I didn't, "but I have another responsibility. My first wife. I'm going to get her away from David and those people if I can."

She reached over with her small hand and touched my hand, hers was soft and warm, she said, "You'll still need a companion, something your people call a sidekick. Brea won't help you if you don't stay with her plan."

"You'd help," I asked?

She answered, "Yes, but only on the condition that you'd marry me if you failed at getting your ex-wife back."

"How do I know you and Brea wouldn't sabotage what I do?"

Still holding my hand she leaned forward, the coffee smelled good on her breath, "I won't let Brea, and as for me, I could never start a marriage with you... or anyone with a lie."

I pushed my chair back, "All right then; I'll call Brea tomorrow. Right now let me take you home."

She pulled her hand away, "No, I'll leave by myself."

I objected, "I should see you home."

"No," she said, "I trust you, but I don't trust myself," her eyes seemed to get wider... and wetter, "You might be the one."

I was feeling a little randy, "Sure, I get it. Let's kiss on it."

She got out of her chair and stepped away, "No, you call Brea. You two work it out."

With that the two of us got up and went our separate ways.

I got in my new car; at least it was mine for a day or two, and drove around, it ran like it should. I reflected back on the car my brother "gave" me when I went home, it had been an old Chevy Cavalier. Yeah, he was a real helpful guy. What did little Ian say? I can still remember...

"Here you go college boy. It's not a Porsche or Ferrari, but it's a peppy little number, nice little five speed, even got a sun roof. Take it out, it's yours. Now don't go out thinking you're Michael Schumacher; it's a nice car, but it won't last if you give it your usual asshole treatment."

I remember I smiled, thanked him and took the keys. I got a bill a few days later; he wanted $7,000 for it. I sent him $4,000.

I pulled over and turned it off. What am I going to do now? There was no way I was getting near Clare on my own. I figured now that Brea knew I was back and knew what I wanted she'd made damn certain I'd never get near her unless I got in line. She was right about two things though; if I rejoined her I'd need a "sidekick", someone who'd accompany me to the parties and receptions, and second I knew she'd make me a rich man. What did I have to lose? That girl Ajmaani would be terrific eye candy, and if I got close to Clare I'd need the money. I got out my cell and made the call.

++++++

It had been years since I'd fled England, but here I was, almost back in business again. It was an almost but not actually in business operation yet because Brea wanted to get Aji up to speed. She was bright, beautiful, and linguistically well ahead of the curve, but there were quite a few social graces that required serious attention. It wasn't just which fork to use, the type of salad, or how to fold her napkin, her musical background and the simplest things like knowing how to dance weren't not there. She wasn't familiar with clothing, who made what, who had the most posh attire for what season. She still had problems with wines, with jewelry, with the manly things like sports, the breed of a horse, even a horse's parts. Every morning, day in and day out I was expected to be at Brea's helping Brea and a host of hired assistants getting our girl ready, but Aji was a fast learner and pretty soon I thought she seemed comfortable with most of the basics.

Me, I was a numbskull. I didn't catch on to Brea and Aji's second, hidden agenda. While I was working to help get the little Chechen ready to face society the girls were quietly and carefully seducing me into a deeper, more affectionate, relationship.

Women can be really devious, and the two I was working with were among the best. Aji was good, no exceptional, especially when it came to dancing. She pretended she had two left feet, what a fool I was, she was learning the dances in the evenings with Brea while I was at my flat thinking of ways to further her other social needs. I was amazed, it was unbelievable how well she played me, it took me a while to figure it out but figure it out I did. Aji wasn't just an attractive girl learning the ropes, she was a practicing seductress. Every dance with her, every waltz, every close step was like a sexual experience. In spite of her travails across Europe her body was soft and warm, her breath always exuded the promise of forbidden things, and her eyes, her face, her lips emanated a persistent concupiscence that was overwhelming. Between dance sessions she'd sit with me, beside me, lightly resting a soft hand on my thigh, leaning her warm head with all that luxuriant hair on my shoulder, unconsciously pressing a soft breast against my unsuspecting hands and arms.

She was like a witch, she bewitched and bewildered me, had it been Sixteenth Century England she would have been at burned the stake. And I fell for it, my mind was a constant muddle, just the same I enjoyed all her charms immensely. We were growing closer and closer, but there was always that thin veil, she never let me near her in those ways a man most desired. She was there, so close, so alluring, so beautiful, yet so unavailable. I was like a starving man chained to a pillar with all the food in the world just out of reach.

I met her younger brother. His name was Khasan, Khasan Sadulaev. He was small and lean, and like his sister he was cat-like. I liked him, but I didn't trust him. He filled me in on a few more details about Aji's travels. She had killed a man, she'd plunged a long knife in him as he tried to possess her. For weeks she'd lived in constant fear, dreading her exposure as a woman. It was easy to see Khasan deeply loved her, and he warned me if I made one wrong move I'd be a dead man. I believed him.

While old customers heard I was back and started calling, Brea started setting me up with new prospects. It seemed everybody had money they wanted to either hide or "clean" and charities were always one way. I never understood exactly how they did it, but they had lawyers for that. Brea took Ajmaani shopping. Together they worked out an arrangement, Ajmaani, or Aji, agreed to forego the traditional Muslim attire when she was out with me, but the hajib and concealing dress went back on when it was just she and I alone. I was OK with it; though it was a struggle, I figured Aji wouldn't be around that long anyway. All I needed to do was be someplace where Clare was so I could then work my magic.

It's one of the ironies of life; nothing ever works out the way it's supposed to. I was running on all cylinders. Several small charitable operations suddenly were the beneficiaries of my glib tongue and my "so called" sincerity. It was like stealing; for every million I garnered Brea got half, and I got a piece of that. We were rolling in cash. Tax agents from nine different countries watched us, but they didn't know what to do. We were clever, but after three months I still hadn't gotten anywhere near Clare. Then one evening Brea let me know there was a social function coming up and Clare would probably be there. She told me David might be there too. She also told me I had to take Aji along as window dressing. Aji told me she understood and not to worry. I was excited, but I still wondered how it might work out. Aji had gotten more and more possessive. I knew she was falling in love with me.

My first shot at Clare was a complete failure. It was an important afternoon reception for some Middle Eastern big shot, some fantastically overweight guy from Brunei. It was down on the south coast of France at a house that rivalled the Palace of Versailles. Aji was dressed in a brilliantly white button up blouse with matching slacks, dark glasses, hair in a long single braid down her back, a glorious wide brimmed white hat she wore on this delightful angle, and single strapped high heeled shoes. She was gorgeous, and even with the four inch heels she still barely reached my shoulders. I was dressed similarly in white slacks, a light brown Tee-shirt, and dark glasses.

I figured being a guest only on the periphery I wouldn't get much attention, but I hadn't considered Aji in the equation. We showed up fairly early, and with her draped all over my arm I quickly found myself four square in the center of things. Men, like sharks, closed in from all directions. While I got the perfunctory welcome, the customary exchange of greetings and sloppy handshakes, Aji got the full court press. All of them, every single one of them had a story, a yacht nearby, a villa, or a new car they wanted to share. It was her day. She could've have had her pick of rich eligible bachelors. I was surprised she stayed with me, and I admit, I got a little jealous, and I think she knew it too.

She was a problem. Every few minutes some playboy would pull her away, but she'd go only so far. I kept a discreet distance, but she knew I was there. Every now and then when she knew I was watching she'd clench or carefully touch her ass cheeks; it was just enough to stir me up. Once she even turned and smiled at me.

If David was there I never saw him. I did see some of his East European minions, and late in the afternoon I did see my ex-wife. Aji and I had been inside stuffing ourselves with caviar and other fancy foods, when we finally decided to step outside to get a glimpse of the pool and the Mediterranean. That's when I saw her. She was down near the pool, she and a dozen other "bunnies". She was in a tiny white bikini playing volleyball with a dozen or so other people. The white bikini on her brown skin was tantalizing. Most of the participants looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. Clare did, but didn't quite fit in. I started down. I had to see her. Aji let me go. I looked back at her; she hadn't said anything, not a word, but the quiet desperation I saw n her face was unnerving. Just the same I started down.