The Millionaire Myth (7 page)

Chapter 12

             
After my lunch with Gina I felt more like my old self.  Though only a few weeks had passed since I'd first invented this new life for myself, it felt more like a few years.  As I ate lunch and listened to Gina talk about Steven, I could tell she really cared about him.  She kept saying that he was the only one for her...that she wished they could work it out.

             
As she talked I couldn't help but picture Mick's face.  Not because we had the same relationship; exactly the opposite.  He definitely wasn't the only one for me.  Admittedly, he was incredible in bed, but that was about the extent of it.  Things had gotten out of hand; I was acting like I would in a real relationship. I was walking around with highlights I didn't want, I was eating carrots at night, for god's sake. I spent a whole lot of my time thinking about what Mick would like. I needed to regroup. I'd started this whole money rumor to enjoy myself more.  When had I lost sight of that?  It was time to have some fun.

              Five hours later I knocked on Mick's door.  He opened the door for me all smiley and sweaty.  Looks like I had perfect timing.  He was wrapped in a towel, headed for the shower, just like every night we'd been together.  Mick was a gym fanatic, actually he was sort of an everything fanatic.  Every night at five-thirty he'd get to the gym, work out for two hours, get home, take a shower, have dinner, watch TV and read.  Then the evening was topped off with a respectable go-round in the sheets.  He was such a stickler for routine, I wondered if it threw him when the girl between the sheets changed.  From what I'd experienced, I'd say no.

             
“Hey Babe.  Love the hair!” He gave me a quick peck. “I was just going to grab a shower, give me ten minutes.”

             
“No problem.”  I sauntered toward the kitchen and started unloading the bag I'd filled at home. Since I knew Mick wouldn't be home from the gym for a while, I got everything ready in my kitchen.  I thought it'd be nice to cook him dinner,
my
kind of dinner.

             
Typically, if we didn't go out, Mick would whip us up something light.  He was very into grilled chicken, large, leafy salads with light vinaigrette dressing and steamed vegetables.  The only time I'd ever seen him eat a carb was when we went out.  Even then he kept it to a minimum.  I figured it was because he liked to pretend he could eat whatever he wanted and still look phenomenal.

             
Up until now I'd gone along with his preferences.  Seems like all I ever said to him was, “Are you kidding?  That bowl of crunchy lettuce was huge, I couldn't eat another bite!”  Well, not tonight. 

             
I turned on his oven and grabbed a cookie sheet.  I pulled out a loaf of french bread that I'd already buttered and sprinkled with garlic.  I put both pieces on the cookie sheet, piling them with mozzarella cheese before putting them under the broiler.

             
Now for the big kahuna.  My homemade lasagna, in its insulated container, was still piping hot.  I took off the lid and was hit by the mouth-watering aroma.  I couldn't wait to dive into it.

             
A few minutes later the smell of garlic and cheese filled Mick's apartment.  He came around the corner of the kitchen, approaching carefully.  He sniffed at the air with a look of confusion on his face.  I sympathized.  Poor guy had never smelled real food before.             

             
“What are you up to in here?”

             
I turned around and grinned at him.  “I'm making you dinner.  Well, it's already made.  I cooked it at my place, just wait until you taste it!”

             
He peeked over my shoulder but couldn't see the lasagna because I had the lid back on it.  “Well, it smells great, what've you got under there?”

             
I leaned into him and teased, “Oh, I'm not spoiling the surprise.  Go sit down in there, and I'll bring you a plate.”

             
Mick smiled at me, though it wasn't the most confident smile I'd ever seen.  He grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses before heading to the dining room.

             
A few minutes later I walked in proudly, holding two enormous plates of food.  I set a plate down in front of him and closely watched his eyes get wide when he saw what was for dinner.  Rather, what
wasn't
for dinner: vegetables of any kind.

             
“So?” I asked expectantly, “What do you think?  Doesn't it look delicious?”

             
Mick stared at his plate as though it held a bloody stump instead of my cheesy, meaty, carbohydrate-riffic lasagna.  I could tell from his expression, he might have preferred the former.

             
Ignoring his blatant look of horror, I picked up my gigantic slice of garlic bread and took a big bite. “This is incredible!  Mick, try it!” I urged, around my mouthful of food.

             
He gingerly picked up his fork and studied the lasagna.  He moved his fork back and forth, looking for the best way to approach the food.  Finally, he cut off a delicate corner and ate it.  “This is really good, Estelle.”  Looking regretfully at his plate he continued, “I just wish I had more room.  I had a huge lunch today and I'm still full from that.”

             
I knew it wasn't the taste of the lasagna, but the caloric content that was tripping him up.  I thought about the best way to react.  If this was the early stages in a typical relationship, of course I would have accepted his excuse.  But, as you know, this wasn't a typical relationship.

             
I dropped my fork onto my plate where it landed with a clatter.  I met his shocked face with a disgusted expression of my own.  “That's great, Mick.  Look, there's really no reason to lie to me, okay?  I got it, you don't like my cooking.”

             
Almost automatically, he argued, “Estelle, that's not it at all!  It really was delicious.”

             
I jumped up from my chair, grabbing his plate as I left the room.  “Just forget it, Mick.”

             
Exactly as I hoped he would, he followed me into the kitchen.  “Estelle, I really didn't mean to hurt your feelings.  You know that I typically eat lighter dinners, and I wasn't expecting this big meal-”

             
I turned on him.  “Oh, so now I have to call you and ask if it's
okay
to cook you dinner?  My mistake, I thought surprising your boyfriend was supposed to be a good thing.”

             
This was risky on my part.  We'd never broached the subject of boyfriend/girlfriend titles.  I hoped I wasn't pushing it too far.

             
He paused for a second, soaking in my last statement.  He took a deep breath and soothed,  “Estelle, of course it was a nice thing to do.  I really appreciate it.”  Another pause before forcing out the words, “You're a great girlfriend.”

             
I softened my voice and really turned on the sweetness.  “Really?  You think I'm a great girlfriend?  Well, I have news for you, Mick: You're the best boyfriend I've ever had.”

             
I saw his face twist slightly to a look of confusion and disgust.  I pretended not to notice and he quickly plastered on a big, stupid grin.

             
“I'm so sorry we fought.”  I kissed him on the cheek and let out a high-pitched squeal.  “I know!  I'll just wrap up the leftovers and you can have some tomorrow!”

             
I turned my attention to the lasagna while he backed out of the room.  I heard the TV click on a few seconds later.  I couldn't help but chuckle as I put everything in the fridge.  I had been going for the third month in, out comes the real personality, crazy girlfriend.  I think my performance was right on the money.

             
Later, when we were in bed, Mick leaned over and rubbed my thigh.  Every night we'd been together we'd had sex.  Time to break up the routine a little. 

             
I smiled at him as he ran his hand higher up my leg.  “Hey, Hon?”

             
He murmured, “Hmmm?” As he started to kiss my neck.

             
“I was thinking, I know nothing about your family.  Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

             
He stopped kissing my neck but stayed close to my skin.  “What?  You want to talk about siblings?”  Running his fingers down my throat, he asked, “Are you sure?”

             
Pretending not to notice his advances, I sat up.  “Well, yeah.  I feel like we are so great together, I'd just like to know more about you.  Like, where'd you grow up?”

             
He let out a long, loud breath.  He was clearly trying to show his frustration, but I acted as if I didn't notice.  I waited patiently until he gave in.  “One older brother.  No sisters.  I grew up in San Diego.”

             
“Oooh, San Diego.  That's nice, huh?  Do your parents still live there?”

             
He nodded.

             
I continued, “Do you go back and visit often?  Where does your brother live?  Are you two close?  Is he-”

             
He interjected, “Estelle, it's getting late, you know?  Maybe we should get to bed, there's plenty of time to learn more about each other...later.”

             
I smiled and cuddled into the side of his body, my head on his chest.  “You're right Babe.  We've got all the time in the world.”  For good measure, I wrapped my arm around him and gave him a big, lovey-dovey squeeze. 

             
The experts are right, if you work at them, relationships really can be fun.

Chapter 13

             
I woke up Sunday morning to Mick's voice prodding me, “Time to get up sleepy!  We need to talk.”

             
I rubbed my eyes and sat up a little in the bed.  Through my one open eye, I gave him a once over.  He'd been busy.  He'd already showered, styled his hair and gotten dressed in his usual Sunday attire:  khaki cargo pants and a crisp, white, button-down collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up.  Occasionally the color of the pants or shirt would change, but this was his favorite combination.  He did look good, but then, when didn't he?  I'd never seen him leave the house in anything truly casual.  He insisted on being able to meet a client at a moments notice.  I hated constantly feeling like an under-dressed slob.

             
Even if he'd been in a bathrobe, I would have known he had an agenda.  He had on his do-or-die expression, so I was kind of afraid when I asked, “What's on the docket today?”

             
He took my hands softly as though he was preparing me for the worst.  “I think it's time we talk about your grandfather.”

             
Crap.
  I hadn't seen that coming, and I had no idea what to say.  I shook my head.  “Mick, I really don't think I'm ready to do that...”

             
He nodded but wasn't deterred.  “I understand, Honey, I do.  But I'm worried about you, I think it's something you should get off your chest.”

             
I got out of bed and tried to escape to the bathroom.  “Mick, I will talk about it, but I'm just not ready.”

             
He blocked my path and took my hands again.  What was up with the hand holding?  Did he read about it in a magazine or something?  He pouted and challenged, “Well, I thought we'd gotten close.  I guess I was wrong.”  He looked at the carpet.  “Last night when you were asking about my family, I really thought we were connecting.”

             
Ah-hah!  Touche, Slick. 

             
Now he had me over a barrel.  Sometimes I forgot what an evil genius he really was.  With nowhere to go, I gave in...kind of.  “You're right.  We do have a connection.”  I hugged him and started running my hands down his back.  “I'm so glad we're together...whenever you're near me it's impossible to keep my hands off you.”

             
I leaned in to kiss him but he leaned back out of my reach.  “Estelle, I feel the same way,” he said, as he removed my hands from his back.  Should have known, I've never been the sexy-distraction type.  He kept my hands in his and insisted, “I really need you to talk to me.”

             
I let out a long breath, forcing myself not to groan, and conceded, “What do you want to know about Grandpa?”

             
He pulled me back to the bed.  “I don't know, exactly.  I just know how upset you were, and I'd like to know what happened.”

             
“Well, he passed away in his sleep.  He was eighty-four, so I guess I shouldn't have been shocked, but I was, you know?”  I looked up at him and he nodded.  I was hoping he'd have a question, but no luck.  “He was, um, my mom's dad.  They weren't very close...I mean, they didn't hate each other or anything.  I guess I was his favorite grandchild.  I think maybe because I was his first one.”

             
“I can't blame him, you do grow on people,” he said, with an over-the-top cheeseball grin.

             
“Yeah.  Well, anyway, he passed away, as you know.  It was hard for a while, but I'm doing better now.”  I put my palm against his cheek.  “Partly because of you.”

             
I prayed that the explanation would satisfy him.  My stomach had suddenly become a trained tumbler, I was so nervous.  I just hoped I'd been convincing.  And I hoped he didn't want to see the cemetery plot-or worse, a bank statement.

             
“I've noticed that you've been doing better, that's why I felt okay with bringing it up.”  He locked eyes with me.  “Do you trust me?”

             
Ridiculous.  No way.
  “Of course I do.”

             
He nodded and scooted closer to me.  “Good, because  I need to ask you something that really isn't any of my business-you should know I'm only asking because I'm worried about you.”

             
I knew what was coming, the question he'd been wanting to ask me for weeks, the reason he'd asked me out in the first place.  I realized that even though I'd had weeks to think about it, I hadn't planned out anything to say.

             
He continued, “I'm not sure if you know this, but word was spread through the office about your inheritance.  Now, I know it's none of my business, but I care about you and I want to make sure you're not overwhelmed.”

             
“Overwhelmed by what, Mick?”

             
“Overwhelmed by the money.  From what I heard-again through the rumor mill-you got quite a bit of money?”

             
I sat back and watched his face, deciding how to answer him.  As I mulled it over I watched his eyes.  It was as if I were counting a giant stack of hundred dollar bills in front of him, he was all but drooling.

             
“Yes, I knew about the rumors at work.  You wouldn't believe some of the people we work with, Mick.  Some of the other agents actually approached me about spending the money on a new house.  Can you believe that?”  I shook my head sadly.  “My grandpa dies, and people are nosing around for commissions.  Some people are sick.”

             
Without the slightest look of guilt, he replied, “I know, babe.  That's why I'm worried about you.  I know how people can be sometimes-”

             
His heartfelt speech was interrupted but his cell phone.  He turned away from me and grabbed it, checking the caller ID.  He flipped it open and answered in a booming voice, “Ms. Bennett!  How are you this morning?...If you insist, Trina. Not to worry, I'm on my way right now to preview those listings we talked about...Absolutely, I won't take you to see anything that doesn't have everything on your checklist...Sounds like a plan, I'm sure he'll love your choices, your taste is impeccable.”  He chuckled at something she said then answered in what I call his wooing tone, “Well that's why you're my favorite client...Sounds great, Enjoy your morning Trina...Bye.”

             
He stuck the phone in his pocket, then turned back to me, not even mentioning the flirting that went on seconds ago.  “You know what?  Let's talk more about your grandpa later.  If you feel like it, maybe we can go check out some houses for that client of mine, Trina Bennett.

             
“I can't believe she's still looking for a house?  It's been almost a month.  I'd think in her price range, there would be plenty of perfect homes.”

             
“Oh, believe me, she's found plenty.  It's the boyfriend, Drew.  I've never met the guy, but he sounds like a loser.  Every time she sees a listing that she likes, he turns it down cold, without even seeing it.”

             
“Then why are you dealing with them?  Sounds like he's not serious about buying.”

             
He looked at me like I was the sweetest toddler he'd ever seen.  “Estelle, every buyer gets serious when he sees the right house.  That's why I'm previewing some today, Trina finally convinced Drew to check some places out first thing Monday.”

             
“I see, well you know I like houses.”

             
He held out his hand.  “So you're in?”

             
“Let's do it.”

              As we walked through the third house of the day, I began to wonder why we were wasting our time.  I loved admiring the homes, but it was a lot like looking at new cars, new clothes, or new potential boyfriends.  It just made my current car, clothes, and would-be boyfriend look pathetic.

             
And Mick was looking like a more pathetic choice with every passing second.  The entire day he'd been picking apart these incredible homes.  The moment we'd entered the third house, he'd made a face, claiming that the carpet was a disaster.  I'd peered at the cream colored, spotless carpet for any sign of wear.  I saw nothing.

             
The kitchen, Mick explained with disgust, was incredibly dated.   The cherry cabinets were sub-par, and he looked as though he might faint when he saw there was no island.  I looked around the kitchen that was roughly the size of my entire apartment, wondering if I'd ever own enough kitchenware to fill all the cabinets.

             
The whole day had been like this.  I realized that Mick and I lived in two different worlds: I was a resident of check-to-check reality, while he and these clients of his lived in a land I couldn't comprehend.  Not only was I resenting Mick more with every passing minute, I was developing a true hatred for his clients.  When Mick nixed a house because it didn't have jacuzzi tubs in every bathroom, I thought he was kidding; how many spa experiences are needed in one home?  But then he showed me his client's checklist.  It was a full typed page of must-haves. 

Bathrooms:

Jacuzzi Tubs in EVERY bathroom.

Steam showers with multiple shower heads.

Heated floors AND towel racks.

Anti-fogging mirrors

Home Gym:

Must have mirrors on one full wall.

Flat screen already existing is preferable.  Appropriate area to install one is acceptable. 

Will consider a furnished workout room if ALL equipment is top of the line.

Sauna large enough to accommodate four people.

Kitchen:

Professional grade
gas
range. Will not accept electric.

Double convection ovens.

MUST have an island large enough to accommodate a minimum of four chairs.             

NO granite.  Must have something more unique, but equally upgraded.

Master
Bedroom:

Large his and her walk-in closets, need deep clothing drawers and dedicated shoe storage

Must have a view

Private Balcony Preferred, but if the rest of the house is perfect, we will consider.

             
When I saw that the next section was titled Garage, I stopped reading and shoved the list back at Mick.  “Oh, Come on!  A garage checklist?  What do they need in there? Kit, the talking car?”  He raised his shoulders, conveying that he was just a humble agent, at the mercy of his lunatic buyers.  “I get that they're spending a lot of money on this place, but seriously...” I shook my head and stated with absolute certainty, “I
could not
do your job.”

             
“Probably not.  This is just the start, Estelle.  I deal with all kinds of demands.  Some of them are insane, but I can't complain when I get my commissions. Besides, you nailed it; it's their money.  They call the shots.”

             
Yes,
their
money...
his
job.  I started to wonder what I was doing there.  It was getting old.  I watched Mick's back as he inspected the his and her walk-in closets, each complete with dimmer switches and custom cabinetry.  I thought about just two nights ago when I was running my hands down that unbelievably muscular back.  How could I have been so turned on by someone, who now days later, I could barely stand to look at? 

             
Suddenly the idea of sleeping in his bed again was more than I could bear.  After he'd finished his inspection of the house, I lied and said I had a headache and asked if he could drop me at home.

             
As I closed the front door of my apartment, I felt like I could breathe again.  I looked around, the whole place feeling foreign.  I hadn't been there in almost a week.  I tossed off my shoes and plopped myself onto the couch.  I let out a long sigh, realizing that I hadn't felt this relaxed in over a week.  I'd gotten so used to walking on eggshells around Mick, I'd stopped noticing how tense it made me.

             
Before I could change my mind, I called into work.  I left a voice mail that I was terribly sick, and wouldn't be able to come in the next day.  Who knew a phone call could be so liberating.