Authors: Fiona Knightingale
“Oh shit…”
Then he remembered something else.
He saw himself, fifteen hours ago, tipsy and playing on social media. Someone suggested he look for a mail order bride. They said it would be easier. They said it would be hilarious, to show up the press and make headlines. They said all those things and Darren was so high on life he didn’t realize that he actually placed the order.
He frantically searched his web history to see what he did and if all those crazy notions in his mind actually happened.
He clicked on the Lily Brides website, and saw dozens of purple links, already visited web pages of South African mail order brides. He couldn’t seem to remember who or what he actually ordered, only that the order email came through.
Then, just as he started to panic, the truth came charging in with a new email.
Have you met her yet
?
Crowley remembered what happened. He didn’t just talk to a friend—he actually spoke with a representative of the website. Josiah, a travel agent / mail order connection, probably not legal, and definitely a man with ways to get things done—not the kind of man you want to renege on.
Darren replied back quickly, making a simple request.
I’m so sorry…I don’t remember a lot of what happened. I thought we were discussing things in hypotheticals
. -D
No, sir. You already forwarded my payment. It is non-refundable. -J
Fine, just cancel the travel plans. Something came up. -D
That’s unfortunate, sir. Because as I explained yesterday, during your “party”, my delegate is already in the United States. And she was already staying in a hotel, awaiting my orders. You paid for her. Now you have the responsibility to dispose of her. -J
What?! This can’t be legal. I want this order canceled! -D
No one ever said this was legal. And Mister Crowley, I suggest you not talk about legalities with me. I know who you are. I know you cannot afford to run your family’s name through the mud. –J
So what, you’re extorting me? –D
No, sir. I am simply saying you ordered her. Now you dispose of her in whatever manner your conscience allows. You won’t be hearing from me anymore. -J
“Shit…”
Darren argued on the phone with his lawyer for a good half hour. Nothing he didn’t already know. He was stupid for trusting someone on the “deep web”, double stupid for ordering a mail order bride, and just about out of “get out of jail free cards” when it came to bad publicity. If it got out that he was fooling around with mail order brides—and African mail order brides at that—it was going to go from a national scandal to a worldwide disaster.
His heart sank as he heard a light knock on his front door. That must be her, he thought. He sighed deeply. In his “happy hour” he had inadvertently affected the life of an innocent woman. Probably a barely legal kid, a foreigner who spoke little English and was scared to death of her “husband to be.” This was a terrible situation for everybody. At this rate, maybe the best thing to do would be to pay her off. But then what about the scandal? What about breaking immigration laws?
It was a mess.
He went over and opened the door slowly, flinching as he looked out and met the face of his “wife”.
He looked down but didn’t see a short girl at all. Instead, he was introduced to Kacie, a cocoa-skinned beauty with dark silky hair and a toothy smile. She wore a smooth blue sweater and carried a large designer bag by her side.
“Oh,” he said, caught off guard at her womanly appearance. “You must be…”
“And you must be Mister Crowley,” she said with a British accent, surprisingly mature and congenial. She looked to be about late twenties, far from the poor child stereotype he was expecting.
“I…I am. Umm…” He laughed, a bit nervously. “This is strange. I’ve never quite done anything like this.”
“My friend did indicate that you were slightly
intoxicated
when you made the order. You probably weren’t expecting to meet me so soon, were you?”
“Well no, it was a bit of a shock.”
“Not to worry,” she said with a smile. “If things don’t work out, they don’t work out.”
“What…did he tell you?”
“Well, of course, that we would meet in a neutral location, have a drink, and then see what happens naturally.”
“Oh, I see,” he said, almost relieved at the idea of a “no strings attached date.” Unfortunately, Kacie didn’t quite understand the transaction. Legally speaking, she was Darren’s responsibility, and as far as the “provider” knew, she was Darren’s property. He already took off letting Darren know in no uncertain terms, the fifteen grand was un-refundable and everything else was a secret between he and the FBI’s spy equipment.
“Well, all right,” he said with a shrug. Best not to let her know just what a precarious situation she was in right now. Maybe after a long talk at dinner, they could figure something out.
*
Darren took her to Landry’s, one of the premier restaurants in town. To Darren’s surprise, Kacie was downright urbanized, already knowing what she wanted on the menu, and already discussing New York landmarks she was dying to see. She was very much unlike any stereotype he had ever met.
“How do you know all of these things?” he had to ask. “I mean, about the Statue of Liberty and about the Ed Sullivan Theater?”
“What, because I’m South African I speak broken English and only know National Geographic?”
“I didn’t mean…” He said, biting down on his lower lip and frowning.
“I’m just teasing you,” she said. “I am from Cape Town. We do have Internet there and many other conveniences that are not typically associated with the starving, desperate African cliché.”
“And yet you are a mail order bride. I have to wonder, why are you running away if things are going so well there?”
“You sound like Brian Williams,” she said with a smile. So investigative. Are you always so formal on dates?”
Darren laughed. “No, I guess I’m not. I just…” He shook his head. “You were not what I expected.”
“Most American men seem to say that. I guess they are unaccustomed to how real African women behave. To answer your question, Cape Town is a fairly violent place. In the touristy sections, it is okay. But if you go deeper into the townships it can be a demoralizing place. There are gang members there. Robbers. Men without honor. Very desperate people. It is not a luxury to go to America for some women. It is a necessity.”
“I see,” he said, holding his hand in front of his mouth and studying her face. Her confidence was beaming. She seemed to speak like him, like a rich woman, or one accustomed to high society.
“I am blessed because I graduated college and learned how to speak English. But even I have been ‘dating’ on those websites for five years now. Not many single women dream of living all their lives in South Africa. Just knowing that so much evil is being perpetrated in your own country, it makes one want to run away.”
“Well, we are in New York. It’s not exactly heaven here, either.”
She laughed the thought off. “You Americans take everything for granted. That you can go to the store or to a bar without worrying about your life. I have been to Central Africa and I have seen horrors that no white man would ever want to see.”
He laughed heartily. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman said anything remotely sounding like criticism of his lifestyle. “Isn’t that a racist statement?”
“Racism,” she said with a tsk, “you don’t even know what the word entails until you leave your mansions behind and travel to a place where you have no power. I am racist, Mister Crowley. I have seen the evil that white men can do, and black men can do. But I also believe that there are good people, no matter their color or allegiance. Don’t you?”
“I do,” he said with a weak nod, studying her face and trying to figure out just who in the world she was and why she—from a world of poverty—wasn’t that impressed with him. Did she know how much money he had? She certainly didn’t seem to grasp the power he had over her life and death, given the mail order scam that just took place.
But he enjoyed the feeling of just talking as equals for once. For all she knew, he wasn’t a billionaire, at least not like the kind on television. She seemed to think he was just some nice American man…
“You have a very funny nose,” she said, stifling a big smile.
“What’s that?” he asked grinning back at her.
“Your nose is interesting. Not at all like your stereotype.”
“And what is my stereotypical nose?” he asked, with a shake of his head.
“Most American white men I have met, they have very strong noses. Almost like black men. It reminds me of how aggressive they have to be. To get along in the world. But your nose I admire. It is baby-like, not assuming at all. I think you are a humble man.”
Darren laughed hard again. The first time he had ever been called a humble man, that’s for sure. “Well Kacie, you sure are music to a man’s ears.”
“I am not the type of woman to be impressed by things,” she said, looking into his eyes, which were growing increasingly adoring.
She was witty, smart…like American women, sure. But there was something else about her that he couldn’t quite believe. A strong sense of maturity of worldly-wise inner power.
She continued, bobbing her head as if she was teasing him. “You do not make much money. But you do try to impress girls. Am I right in reading your face?”
Darren laughed. He was starting to love the feeling of not being recognized. “Well, I try to make money here and there,” he said with a sly smile. “But you’re right. Money’s not everything. I think people are more important to me.”
“But I sense something else about you too,” she said with a devious look. “You are a man of temptation. You have been with many women.”
“Well…” he smiled and shrugged.
“But you are not used to women speaking up for themselves. You are used to submissive white women, aren’t you?”
“Hmm,” he said, nodding, more than a little impressed. “All I really know, Kacie, is that I’m a sapiosexual.”
“What is that?”
“That means I am attracted to people that are intelligent. And you are a very smart woman.”
“But if you are only mentally attracted to me that means you do not find me attractive. Correct?”
He tilted his head. He had never been attracted to black women before. He was the type of guy in his teens that only saw looked at nudie pictures of white women. He only dated fit white girls because that was the “trophy girlfriend” everyone expected.
But if he was being honest with himself, Kacie’s sophisticated voice and teasingly wrapped body, was starting to make him hot under the collar. He loved the fact that she wasn’t easily impressed. She was bold, almost oblivious to American culture and what a submissive woman ought to talk like. She was a delicious flavor of new woman, the type that wasn’t very common in the lower forty-eight.
“What I do not like about white men the most,” she ranted, “is that they always describe strong black women as ‘Oprah.’ As if all of us are Oprah-like or trying to be like her. When in truth, we have always been strong in Africa. Your Oprah took after us, my ancestors.”
“I know. I’m not that racist, you know,” he said with a wink.
“Hmm, are you sure about that?”
“Of course I’m sure. That’s why I liked your profile,” he said with a smile. “You were obviously a very smart woman. And intelligence is all that matters.”
“Yes but as I was saying. American males have it in their mind that strong black women can’t be sexy. But I admire my body, Mister Crowley.”
“Well that makes two of us, Kacie,” he said with a cool smirk.
“I like to feel sexy. And I believe that when two soul mates meet, an animal attraction occurs and they simply must surrender to the passion that surrounds them. And I can tell right now that you do not feel that way about me.”
“How do you know that? I happen to think, Kacie, that you’re very beautiful. Your body and mind come together in one delicious package. I could imagine making love to you while we talk about poetry, the stars, and politics.”
Kacie laughed, a good hearty laugh, as if she was finally becoming comfortable. “You don’t even know what I look like under here. American women always show their bodies before a man is deserving.”
“Is that an African thing?” he asked.
Kacie squinted her eyes. “No, that is a Kacie thing. A man must earn my attraction. He must work hard for my beauty.”
“Mmm, you make a man work so hard. But I’ll bet it’s worth it.”
“Well, I guess you will have to wait and see. I still have to decide if I like you or not, my potential husband to be.”
Darren laughed it off. The temptation to confess the “power” he had, wasn’t even a back thought. He wanted her consent. No, he wanted her full and uninhibited lust. He loved the idea of earning Kacie’s attention and being privileged to be the first American man to make love to her.