Rich Man

Maybe my indifference toward both men was for rational rhyme and reason, but they didn’t take it so. Apparently Mr. Bergeron had felt as though my avoidance of Milan was his doing, but I respectfully digress. It was not his fault that looking at Milan made me hesitate to speak. The problem was all in my own head. His past trials and tribulations changed everything, for now I realized that he could be classified with another face of my past.

So maybe I was being harsh in avoiding him, but it was all because we could relate in one of those weird third party sort of ways. And, because of that, he had the greatest chance of them all to get under my skin, to read me better than any of the others. To call him a threat would be an understatement.

Or maybe I was just overreacting.

“Hey, we’re going for drinks. You up to go or does your head still hurt,” inquired Avery, popping her head in the doorway of my temporary home. Her hair had been curled to ringlets, framing her face like the porcelain doll she was, eyes coated in smoky dark blue, almost black as midnight.

“I think I’m just going to sleep. My head is bloody killing me,” I lied and waved her off. Why even bother tonight? All we’d do is go, let the guys pick up a bunch of sluts, get everyone drunk and have an STD party. As appetizing as that sounded, I had work to be done any way and a few errands of my own to run while they were out.

The second their cars left the driveway, I was faced with running into the city and picking up a special order at Nordstroms. From there I planned a strategically fast, stealthy route to the nearest accessory boutique in possession of some items I had put on reserve, and finally back here to where I’d be able to plan on paper without a single worry. As luck would have it, my trips were that simple. I came and went as though I had never really left Lex and Blake’s pad.

“Alright, down to business.” First things first, I took the clothing content of my suitcase and dumped it out in the middle of my floor the second my last batch of clothing was dried. There really wasn’t a plethora of items there, but just enough to sustain my needs for the time being. After sorting through everything, I threw about half the pile (shoes and all) into a trash bad and threw it into the trunk of my car for later discarding.

Alright, my clothes are hung up, the closet is organized, the bathroom is stocked up and clean, and now all I need to do is have a successful thinking session.

Slowly but surely, the words seemed to form themselves on the journal page. Already listed in that section near the rear of the book was a series of other notes taken on each person. This thing was complete with a synopsis of everyone I had met thus far, only their names had been shuffled about and coded to the point that only I would ever have a shot at knowing who was actually who. That was just so if anyone ever stumbled upon the book, I wouldn’t be caught with a bunch of unfamiliar peoples’ physiological analyses.

You can understand my paranoia when I contemplate all things at stake here. My knack at reading people, at tearing their souls apart for information without their immediate knowledge, is something of a gift not only to myself, but to all those seeking my assistance. I am known to very few in exceptions to a handful of relationship councilors exclusive to not the tabloid-torn celebrities, but to those a generation ahead. They serve on-call the retired inventors, film tycoons and the business icons responsible for revolutionizing the world. From there, identities are no secret among them and they are left alone by the world to work and maintain peace among those they call client and family friend.

There are plenty of theories as to why I chose this life. Well the answer is small and green and, when played or saved correctly, can offer up a world of happiness. For me, money was the key. The moment I chose to write up a contract, I knew very well what I was putting on the line. The clause that clinched my clientele also bound me to the maintenance of integrity. To keep everything simple, I follow the simple rule:

No one finds out your purpose.

In the event that my identity as some hired puppet master comes to light, I take the fall for the emotional damage I cause. And there will be damage. The thing about this clause was that there were no strings attached because, let’s face it; this wasn’t just some under-the-table business deal. I was messing with peoples’ heads, their secrets and ultimately their emotions. Not only do I, if necessary, train a person to act a little more or less a certain way, but I can make them a nearly completely different person.

Imagine what emotional damage it would cause someone to find that I, the person who has forever altered his or her life, was a complete manipulative fraud. I was never a friend. In fact, what was known about me was completely false and yet they had confided everything in their heart and mind to me. That isn’t my name engraved in the bracelet bought for me the day that isn’t my birthday. It was all a bold faced lie so they’d shut up and cooperate.

No one would be the same after that. Obviously neither would I. Therefore, those signing the contract are far more trusting of me and my abilities the moment they realize that this is a hit or miss. If I screw up, the paper says it’s my fault and I’m the bastard to blame. I can’t rat the employer out and they can’t do the same to me. I can’t just pay some vulnerable chap off and expect them to feel fine and dandy. Basically the only real catch is the no lawsuit clause just after my “don’t screw up” clause…

-

The door opened and slammed, hearty, drunken laughter bellowing through the halls. On instinct my door was closed and locked, so I didn’t have to worry about one of the guys stumbling in if they chose to come back to Blake’s place for the night. According to Lex, it wasn’t unusual for everyone to crash at her place since it was closest to their favorite bars and had the most sleeping space. I didn’t question it, I just prepared for it.

Another opening and closing of a door could be heard, only this was down the hall and thankfully muffled the giggle of a girl most likely drunk out of her mind. Ooh, I’ll have to see which sap scored a tanked chick tomorrow. That should be hilarious. The note was dashed in the journal immediately.

Banging a buzzed girl. How becoming.

This was followed by my flipping back to another page with a similar experience that documented the boy’s general behavior for about twenty pages. One can say that back in my first assignment I was very fond of detail. From that point on, I had developed a love of the word “succinct”.

As soon as Lex returned home with the notice that they (she and Blake) were most likely the last ones in for the night, I unlocked my door and spread out on the surface of my cool bed. For the time being, my work was at a standstill until I had all of my questions answered. Trust me, there were quite a few…

-

“You miss being out there, huh?“

“Are you kidding? I’d give anything to be playing tonight,” replied Milan with quite a bit of fervor. It seemed like one sip of his drink later, he already needed a refill.

I assisted by grabbing him a second beer. “Easy there, tiger, don’t screw up your ankle more by flailing.”

He chuckled in response, setting the condensating cold one on the ground beside his braced ankle. A moment of silence passed between the two of us at a loss for words. The most prominent thoughts in my mind were those of consoling him and telling him that the girl was nothing but a lesson learned. I think we both know how bad of a choice that would be to make.

To my surprise, he broke the silence with an easy, smooth tone, “Do you even like rap?” At first he was focused on nothing other than the impending game below, but he soon fixed his eyes on me with an intense curiosity that made me almost shiver on the spot. “No one ever even asked you what kind of music you like the other night,” he began as if to provide clarification or something.

It took a moment, but I answered after some thought. “If I can –er- sway to it, I guess it’s fine with me. I’ve always been a pop punk, electro punk, or underground kind of person.”

The boy then grinned an almost dauntingly perfect grin that lit his entire face up. It was funny to me, how much of a different man he became with that single genuine smile. It was… Different. “So you like the hardcore lyrics, right? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but the more hip hop, rhythm and tune side of underground is pretty heavy.”

“I don’t listen to the really crazy ‘I just killed somebody’ type of stuff, if that’s what you’re alluding to. I like the stuff that talks about confidence and independence. It just makes me feel… I don’t know. Like I have a goal, I guess.”

“Hah, yeah. If your life can fit the lyrics then you’ve achieved everything possible.”

“Actually,” I murmured with slightly widening eyes and blinked, “Yeah, that’s it to a tee.”

For a split second, a knowing glimmer passed through his eyes like a satellite through a black night sky. It was so nearly unnoticed that for a brief second, I had to wonder if it was even there. And that’s when it dawned on me: I’m a complete idiot. He’s so much smarter than he’s let on.

“What’s that look for?” Milan then grinned a cocky, toothy grin. “Surprised I understood you? You know, you’re really not that complicated when you get all down to it.”

“You have no idea,” I whispered to myself and then let a small smile creep onto my features as the crowd roared for a goal.

-

The stars were burning bright enough to penetrate the city lights over head. All I could think of was the beating of my heart in synch with my steps as I found the pulse on my neck absentmindedly. As school girl fantasy as it may have been, I had always wondered if there was another person out there with the exact same heart as I had. I mean, there had to be. For crying out loud, it’s a heart not a finger print.

Would he be able to get along with me like they did? I inquired and immediately dropped my hand from my neck. “Nope. I doubt it.”

“Hm?” there he was, just over my shoulder. “You say something?”

My vacant expression instantly snapped into a steady stare. “Nope, nothing at all. Why?”

“Oh, just wondering. So –um- how was watching the game with him?” Patrice asked in a hushed tone, eyes hopeful. He quickened his pace just enough to match my stride and studied my face maybe a tad too closely for my liking.

“It was nothing big… You’re paranoid. Why? You should understand by now that I’m a little more intelligent than the average nimrod.”

“So you’re admitting to be a nimrod?”

“If I’m a nimrod, what does that make you my sweaty little friend?”

His face seemed to fall. “My hair’s wet from the shower and just so you know, you’re like five inches shorter than me at least. If anyone, you’re little.”

“Ah, but my intellect puts me as tall as Chara, my dear.”

“I’m thinking that’s your ego.”

“You’re no fun. It’s a miracle I tolerate talking to you, y’know.”

“That’s because deep down you’re attracted to the fact that for once you’ve got somebody quicker than you on your hands.”

Oh my god.

I can’t believe he just actually said that.

Say something, Ray.

Just… Say something.

The brunette’s eyes found their focus on mine. An eyebrow raised itself skeptically, yet in his eyes, as always, I was frustrated with finding nothing. It was as though there was something there, a hint of knowledge perhaps, yet he was purposely me by not allowing me to seek it out and read him.

I could feel a vein I never knew existed twang in my neck as my face grew with heat. Frustration numbed my fingers and twisted the core of my stomach and there was only rage in my mind. I blinked away the idea that I was being outsmarted, that the true rarity was occurring that I’d meet someone with a tongue coated in shinier silver. Yet there he was, quickening his pace to keep up with me, just over my right shoulder, with a big snarky grin on his smug mug and beaming with confidence that belonged to me only seconds earlier.

“Wow, did that get under your skin?” His asked in part amusement and part genuine curiosity. “Look, just… forget it. Start over for the night?” When I hesitated to answer, he took a soft hold of my upper arm. His grasp was wide and strong, but gentle enough not to inflict the slightest pain. I imagined that, for a moment, he had a touch unique in the sense that it was perpetually consoling yet possessed the hidden strength of a mother grizzly when provoked. And this came as no surprise too, since he wasn’t exactly a small boy.

“I don’t understand you, Bergeron-“

“Patrice, please.”

“Whatever, Scruffy. Do you find getting in my way amusing or something?”

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

And to that, I had absolutely no reply.

“Have a drink with me.”

“What?”

“You’re fun,” he replied with far too much ease for my liking. “And you spend all your time at Blakey’s reading and stuff while you should be taking advantage of having acquaintances as awesome as-“

“Please don’t say yourself, because that would be calling the rest of this night off.”

It was at that moment that his face completely lit up. “So you’re not saying no?”

Is this guy on some heavy meds or something? “Well, I didn’t say yes,” I snapped back, mostly because I was at a minor loss of words.

Ahead of us, the group was stopped at a street corner, debating on which route to take for ice cream. Apparently there was a frozen yogurt place about two blocks down that was new, but some other ice cream place that everyone loved was about three blocks away. Patrice cleared his throat before tapping Blake’s shoulder and saying something in a voice too low for me to hear.

“Oh, sounds tight. So you’ll meet us back at my place in a couple hours or do you plan on… Y’know…”

Lex punched Blake’s shoulder before he could finish that trail off and interjected in both my and his directions, “So just like meet us back home before midnight since that’s as late as I’ll be up okay? I’d give you a key, but I forgot my spare at home.”

Blinking, I asked, “Wait… What are we doing?”

That was when Patrice’s arm magically locked with mine. “We’re starting over. That’s what we’re doing.”