One Rule for the Rich, A Sequel

Brea had a few things to say about David too. First his real name wasn't David Zinoviev, it was Vladimir Dzhugashvili, and yes he was a distant relative of Josef Stalin. That meant nothing to me, but Brea had more to say. It seemed that David, or Vladimir, or whatever his name was had never married, never had any children, and according to Brea, had some serious but well concealed physical limitations. I tried to pull more out of her, but Brea would only admit he was sterile, but not impotent. Of course I knew he wasn't impotent; I'd seen the proof on Clare's thighs. Then again was it his semen?

Brea did ask me if I'd ever seen him participate in any sports, say Po lo, Rugby, or anything like that. I told her I remembered once we'd talked about Rugby and his passing interest in buying a team, but no, I'd never seen him do anything, not even golf. In fact, as we talked I couldn't recall ever seeing him in a short sleeved shirt. I recall Brea closed that conversation with an interesting remark, something like, "So you see, there's you, and then there's him". I know I got it, but I think Brea doubted my understanding because she added, "you're George Clooney to his Martin Short." I got that, and thought it might help to explain his interest in Clare, or maybe his distaste of me, but it sure didn't help much explaining Clare. No it didn't explain Clare until I factored in the money, the yachts, the parties, and the privileged lifestyle, but I thought we'd been building toward that on our own? Could Clare have dumped me for a life with a sterile, partially impotent but rich weakling?

+++++

We missed Clare at Le Havre, but the next party was at David's, and he'd really outdone himself; a band outside, a string quartet inside, an outside buffet, a similar food set up inside, the water in the pool was radiant, behind the pool to the north was his private driving range, a nine hole golf course, and two practice putting greens, a volleyball court, two tennis courts were off to the right, and just east of the house; actually more palace then house, was a path that led to his private pier where several boats of all sizes and descriptions were moored. As Aji and I walked about greeting and meeting people I thought, so this is what it means to really rich, I mean to really have money. Together we explored every nook and cranny, but we didn't find hide nor hair of David or Clare.

Brea was there, smiling and looking beautiful. I recognized several of David's colleagues, the swarthy Bulgarian, David's Romanian body guard, several East Asians, and a couple of his Kazakhstan business associates. For sure, everywhere I looked I could see the bunnies, and they were all young and beautiful, and all in various types of provocative attire from classic bikinis to wispy semi-transparent rompers with the customary short hemlines and plunging necklines. Was the place a palatial estate or high class brothel; I couldn't quite decide. Aji pleased me with one of her knowing grins, and I knew she felt the same way I did. Yet for all the activity and all the people there was still no sign of Clare.

It was getting late. I could see Aji was getting tired. I had just about given up hope when I heard her. I looked over toward the pool; she was there, clad in the skimpiest bikini I could imagine, and she was playing with a toddler, it looked like a little boy, and even with my limited understanding of children I could see he wasn't well. Brea had said Clare had a child; I guessed he was it.

Aji saw her too, "You better move fast," she said, "this might be your only chance."

I kissed the top of her head, yes we'd agreed to be affectionate without the benefits. I ran my hand through my hair, checked my trousers and shirt, and started over.

Clare saw me. Her demeanor went from surprise to fear. She scooped up the child and started for the back of the house. Swiftly and silently, I followed. She was going as fast as she could, but the babe in her arms slowed her up just enough to enable me to catch up before she escaped inside the back door to what I presumed led to the kitchen. Making certain I didn't cause her to drop the child I carefully caught her in my arms, "Clare... wait."

She looked up at me, then away, "No, go away."

"No I won't go away," I firmly moved her around so that she had to face me, "we need to talk."

She knelt and put the child down; wiping his sweaty brow, then using some spittle she smoothed his dark blond hair away from his face. She kissed his sweet face and softly said, "Run inside to nanny sweetie," then she turned to me, "why are you here? Can't you understand I never want to see you?"

I replied, "But I need to see you."

Just as I spoke David came from around the corner. His eyes were glazed and he appeared unsteady on his feet. I'd never seen him like that, alcohol or cocaine I didn't know. He said, "Ah there you are. I thought I'd have to punish you for hiding from my guests," then he saw me, "You! Who said you could come?"

I stood as tall and as ramrod straight as I could, "Brea brought me."

He snarled, "I bet you brought your Chechen whore too."

"If you mean Aji, she's not a whore, but yes she's here."

He reached for Clare, "You, go inside."

I reached out and held her arm, "No, not till I'm done."

Then in an incredibly surly tone David growled, "Unless you want me to buy your latest piece of ass I suggest you leave now."

I growled right back, "Aji's not for sale, then nodding toward Clare I said, "But I would like to buy this one back."

David scowled at me and then pinioned Clare with a mean look, "What do you say? Want to hear his sales pitch?"

She refused to look at me, then I noticed she wasn't looking at David either. "No," she said. Facing downward like a scolded dog she seemed to whine, or was she pleading, "No David," then offhandedly glancing but not actually looking in my direction she pleaded, "Make him go away."

After hearing her entreaty David got an almost nauseatingly foul look on his face, he seemed to transmogrify into something so viciously cruel I couldn't make sense of it. And then his look shifted to a smile, but it was a smile like nothing I'd ever seen, more a leer. No, more the look of a fiend. I reflected back on my past reading, to Edgar Allen Poe, his short story "The Tell Tale Heart". Looking at David I realized I was looking into the face of pure malevolence, unadulterated evil, and it was unnerving.

I looked at Clare. She was quivering, it had to be from fear. What had he done to her? What kind of pit had she fallen into? More than ever I knew I was doing the right thing. I had to save her.

But before I got in another word David smiled and said, "No, let's not run the milquetoast off right away," he grinned at me, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. He pointed toward the back door, "Come inside. Let's discuss this... just the three of us," he took Clare's hand and started to lead her inside. He looked back at me and with another filthy smile added, "Come on into my house." It was like looking at Dracula.

I followed him in. He led us down a hallway toward a back door that I found ended with a small office. There were cushioned chairs all about. He took one a little toward the back and pointed to the floor. Clare, like a dog, went and knelt beside him. I took up a chair opposite the two of them.

David grinned, "Tell us Conall, or should I say superman, what have you got on your mind."

There it was; his hatred of anything that smacked of manhood. I knew this was it, my moment, Clare's moment... but first things first. I ordered, "Clare get up off your knees and take a chair."

David, the smug bastard, kicked an ottoman from beside his chair, "Here," he said.

She got up and sat on the ottoman while he leaned forward so he could touch her if he wanted to.

"Clare," I began, "I've come to take you home."

David snickered.

Clare looked from him to me and said, "I am home."

As we sat there I noticed her hair had grown some, not much, but some since the picture I'd received. I asked, "What caused you to want to cut all your hair off?"

She leaned toward David and gave him a sweet smile, "We thought I'd cut it and donate it to charity. Especially since..."

David cut her off, "So what, what's it to you?"

I had a couple pictures in my wallet, one was a cut-down version of the picture he'd sent. I got it out, "You mean this hair?"

Clare looked at the picture in disbelief. She turned to David, "Is that mine?"

He smirked, "No, I don't know where he got that. If he says it's yours he's lying."

She turned to me, "You always were a liar. Why don't you just go?"

The hold he had on her was unreal. I tried a different angle. I implored, "You remember when we first started out, remember we talked about me being a great writer and you a poetess," I regretted my words even as I spoke them, they sounded weak.

She seemed to drift back for just a second, but then, "Yes, but that was a long time ago."

"Did you get the book of poems I had published for you?"

"What book," she asked?

"The one I had privately published. I went to see your parents, and they gave me all your old poetry. I added a few of my own, plus some E.E. Cummings. In my nervousness I forgot to mention Anne Bradstreet."

For a second she smiled, "E.E, Cummings," but then, "You saw my parents?"

"They're desperately worried about you."

She bristled, "No they're not. I've written them several times, and they've never written back."

I asked again, "Did you get the book of poems?"

She seemed a little diffident, "No," she looked at David, "I never got any poems did I."

He smiled generously at her, but when she wasn't looking he smirked at me, "No, he's lying again."

I tried to remember something she'd written that I'd gotten from her parents, something only she and I could know, but I couldn't remember a thing, but then a passage flitted across my brain, "For all my life, just you and me... forever we'll be," it was something from her high school years and something only she would remember.

She was visibly shaken, "Where did you hear that?"

I told her, "I read it."

She turned back to David, "Was there a poetry book?"

He was off on this one, "No, it's a lie," then he slipped, "Come on Anne Bradstreet. Who's she?"

Clare turned from him to me. I hadn't mention Bradstreet. Anne Bradstreet was one of her very favorites, and it had partly been Bradstreet's poems that had been the glue that had helped hold us together when we were in college. I'd included some of her work in my book. She whispered, "You..."

I interrupted, "No greater love for thee than me."

She turned to David, "There was a book wasn't there."

He glared at her, "So what, it was just trash."

"And my mom and dad wrote me letters too."

David scowled, "There may have been something, probably junk mail. I don't remember."

"Ask him about the bookstore," I said.

Her eyebrows went up, "Bookstore," she turned to David, "You never said anything about any bookstore."

I could see he was back on his heels, "Just some little shithole some asshole mentioned to me."

I said, "I sent an envelope. It had pictures. It's in Bar Harbor, Maine. I bought it for us. I bought it as a place where we could start over. Where we could go back and recapture our dream."

She turned again to David, but said nothing. Neither did he.

I did, "David's sent me other pictures. I have pictures of you naked surrounded by a group of men. I have a DVD of you being led around on a leash."

Her normally creamy skin had lost all its pallor. She was ghostly white. She put her hand to her mouth, "Oh," was all she said as she looked back at David, "You sent him those awful things. Why?"

He stiffened, "You're mine. You belong to me. You're bought and paid for. He has no right."

"No one person can own another," I said.

Clare was fumbling for something to say, "You bought a store; then knowing how much my parents despised you and you still went to see them. You did all that, you made a book. You came back here. You came back for me. Why?"

"Because I love you Clare."

She started to weep, "You know what I've become. You have no idea what it's like."

I said, "No one can own you Clare."

"You'd take me back," she asked?

"I want to set you free," then I took what I guessed was the biggest risk of all, "And you know only I can save you," I goofed, I added, "I mean only I can save the one you love more than anyone else." I was sure she would understand the meaning of that.

She burst into tears. She turned not back to David, she turned on him! With great courage she said, "I'm leaving with my husband."

He sneered. I thought I was looking at the face of pure evil. He snarled, "Shit Clare, he's not your husband. You divorced him. Remember? Besides your hero has a new whore now. He'll just use you like a second whore. He'll use you and dump you for the whore you are."

How long I wondered had she put up with and accepted this kind of degradation, no wonder she was the way she is. I cut him off, "Yes, I plan to marry another. She's a good woman Clare. You'll like her. She knows who you are. She wants to be a part of your life too."

The demon that was David grabbed Clare. He snatched at her bikini bottom and pointed, "Look!"

Clare tried to close her legs and cringe back, but David held them open, "Look," he said.

I saw, there, just above her clitoris, just at her Mons were two initials, V.D. I thought Venereal Disease, but I said, "Vladimir Dzhugashvili," then looking at and through David I said, "Pure evil... Clare come with me. Come with me now."

She stood up, "You won't take me and then abandon me?"

"Clare," I said.

She whimpered, "I have..."

I said, "I know."

"You won't..., I mean you wouldn't," she started to say more but David interrupted.

He said, "You can go. To me you're just another piece of ass, just another whore..., but if you do go you'll leave only with the clothes on your back. You'll get no help from me. Everything, and I mean everything else is mine..., and I mean everything!"

I could see she was crushed, "No," she said.

I knew what he was doing. It was about the child, his money, the medications and treatments. How he got that kind of hold on her I hadn't a clue, but the look of triumph on his face made me want to vomit.

Clare broke down, "No Conall. I can't. I just can't."

I realized he had her. I didn't know how he'd managed it, but he did. I was ruined. I said, "I'm so sorry," I got up, looked from her to David, "I'll be saying my goodbyes to Brea. I'm sorry Clare." I thought she looked surprised; was there something more I was supposed to say? Had I left something out?

I turned and walked out of the room, down the hall, and into the backyard. First I had to find Brea, then Aji. I believed I'd done all I could do. Clare was lost and gone, but I had tried. It hurt; she really was lost and gone, but I believed I knew Clare, somehow she'd pull through, it just wouldn't be with me or through my help. I prayed she could do it, if she would just stand up to him.

It took several minutes. I found Brea first, "It didn't work. He has some kind of hold on her, and I couldn't break through."

Brea replied, "It's the boy. You know he's sick."

"Is it what I think?"

She answered, "Yes, I'm sure of it."

I asked, "What's his name?"

She looked surprised, "You don't know? She named him after you, Conall Cassidy Stewart."

Momentarily stunned i thought. No wonder David hated me so much. I thought how had Clare managed the courage to do that? For a second I thought maybe I should go back? Try one more time.

I took Brea's right hand, "No matter, when next you see Clare tell her... tell her I'll be her hero. I want to be her hero. She'll understand. I think she'll know," Almost as an afterthought I added, "If you're interested, she's in the back of the house. There's a small office back there."

Brea beamed, she leaned up and kissed me, "What will you do now?"

"Sorry, but I think I might try to talk Aji into the used book business."

Brea smiled softly, "I'll miss you... and I'll miss all the money you've been making for me."

I kissed her cheek, "You're too good. You'll find a replacement for me before the week is out," and with that I went to find Aji. As I walked away I saw Brea headed for the back of the house.

It took me several minutes to find my Chechen. I should have looked in the last place I'd left her, for that's where she was. I took her hand, "It didn't work."

"Can we go now," she asked?"

"Where to," I asked her.

She gifted me with a beautiful and somewhat misty smile, it was a smile of triumph, "Whither thou goest, I will go also..."

I took her hand and we started for the parking area. I believed I'd done my very best. I believed I tried. I'd really tried, but sometimes one's best just isn't good enough. I looked down at Aji. I looked over at the parked cars. Today, tomorrow, forever... she and I...

The end?

Over?

Of course it wasn't over, not yet.

+++++

I helped Aji in our rental car. I walked around, climbed in my side and sat down. I turned on the ignition, put the car gear, and started to do a one eighty. Slowly down the drive we began. Then Aji shouted, "Wait! What? Who's that?"

"What," I asked?

'It's Clare"

I looked in the rearview mirror. Sure enough, bikini clad and barefoot, Clare was running down the drive, hollering and yelling something. She had her child cradled in her arms. Had she done it? Had she broken free? Yes!

Stunned I watched, she was holding the little boy, she fell down. Three of David's goons were some distance behind her. I looked at Aji. She looked at me. This was it. I stopped the car and said, "Ready?"

Aji reached in the glove compartment of the car and pulled out her Berretta. I reached under my driver's seat and pulled out my Smith & Wesson.

Aji said, "Let's go!"

It crossed my mind that we'd been training for something like this. I said, "All right."

We both jumped out of the car, guns in outstretched hands just like they do on TV. We started running back up the hill. As we got closer the goons looked even more dangerous, but who cared? We got to Clare first. The goons were just a few feet away. All three had their pistols out. I felt like every muscle and tendon in my body was on fire. I could feel the veins on my neck and forehead. I was ready! I stared down the biggest of the three. "Drop it," I snarled. I watched as his arrogance and self-confidence crumbled. His courage melted away like the spring snow. He leaned down and placed his pistol on the macadam. The other two followed his lead.

Knowing if I had to fire the recoil might make my pistol jump so I pointed my pistol just below his neck, "Turn around, walk back the way you came, and tell your master it's over," they did as they were ordered.

I watched the goons creep away as Aji helped Clare and little Conall back to the car. We all climbed in the car. Aji was breathing heavily. Clare was crying. My son was crying too. I looked at Aji, "This doesn't change anything for me. What about you?"

She gave me one of her patented hard stares, "First we get married, then it's off for a showdown in Pennsylvania, and then Maine."

I thought, showdown? Where did that come from? I wanted to laugh.

From the back seat I heard a sniffling little boy whisper, "Mommy? Who is that man?"

Clare hugged him and murmured, "He's the man who's going to make you well."

From the rear-view mirror I saw the little boy, my son; he looked across the seat at me. I saw confusion and hope on his innocent face. I felt like I'd just saved the world. I had to.

I looked to the back seat at Clare, "Maybe we'll make a pit stop in Queens, then I expect it'll be off to Boston. They have some good hospitals there, and from what I read it might take two transplants."