I Kissed A Playboy (3 page)

Faith’s temper flared. His money was essential, but the way it looked currently, the pompous Brian Porterhouse was exactly the man portrayed in the papers, which already had Faith dreading next week.

‘Because that’s not what we agreed,’ she said tersely. ‘The contract, the bid you won, was for me to take you for dinner and for you to volunteer at the hospital for five, two-hour shifts on the Muscular Dystrophy ward.’

‘It clashes with my schedule.’

‘You should’ve thought it through before bidding.’

The observers of the exchange went silent as Faith berated Brian. Brian was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. He didn’t like confrontation, which was part of the reason he’d never actually broken up with a girl—he preferred they read of his new dalliances in the papers to relieve him from having to deal with their reactions.

‘I’m not suggesting taking the $270,000 off the table. You’ll get the money. It’s not my kind of scene. I’d be a hindrance and in the way.’

‘Mr. Porterhouse, you don’t even work. How does it conflict with your schedule exactly? Have you lined up a string of dates for next week? Can you not delay your harem for an hour or two before their dinner? I’m sure they think you’re worth the wait. Is your gym not open twenty-four hours? Will helping at the hospital interfere with your personal trainer?

‘The clubs don’t come alive until after midnight. That’s three hours to go home, change and let your down-trodden chauffeur drive you to the over-priced pretentious clubs awaiting your entrance, as you heartlessly sleep your way through another hundred women.’

‘You don’t even know me to talk to me like that,’ said Brian in a balanced tone.

‘I know all I have to know. You reneged on your word and you’ve not a charitable bone in your body.’

‘I said I’m giving you the $270,000. How charitable should I be? I’ll have paid over quarter of a million dollars to go on a date to a cheap pizza dive then play Candy-Striper in a hospital full of sick people? I can’t make any difference, but my money can. What’s the big deal?’

‘The big deal is she’s disappointed,’ said a voice behind Brian.

He spun to confront the young man in the wheelchair. There was an unmistakable likeness between the two. Brian correctly guessed a family connection. Rather than treat Gabriel as a cripple with special care needs, he hardened his heart.

‘What do I care if she’s disappointed?’

‘You don’t. That’s the point. None of it means anything to you. Faith was hoping maybe if you had a better understanding of people like me and my disorder, you might realize how important research and treatment is in order to prolong our independence and life span. I bet she thought ten hours wasn’t a big ask of an unemployed, infamous wannabe. My sister sees the best in people, figured you weren’t the man painted in the tabloids, thought you’d meet your promise; turns out she was wrong.’

Brian had grudging respect. He’d spoken as a man, plain and blunt, and not played on his disability for sympathy. Swamped in shame, Brian was unable to conquer his pride; especially after the display he and this girl called Faith had put on.

‘I’ll have the money transferred tomorrow.’

He turned on his heel and left.

Chapter Four

Brian cursed as his mobile phone rang at 8am, swearing as Susie’s name cropped up on caller ID.

‘What?’ he mumbled sleepily.

‘What do you mean what?,’ her frantic voice made him alert. ‘What happened at the gala?’

‘I did what you said. Turned up, bid on the auction and gave them $270,000. Job done.’

‘Why have I heard that you aren’t fulfilling what you agreed to at the auction?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘It doesn’t matter, Brian. Is it true?’

‘I thought it was a date but it was volunteering at a hospital.’

‘But that’s brilliant. Think of the PR I can drum up from you doing that.’

‘Didn’t think of it. Anyway, I declined. Left them with the money.’

‘Brian, if this leaks out do you know how bad it will look? I’m one of the best PR reps, but even I can’t fix a reputation beyond repair. This isn’t dumping a favorite actress in the public eye. This is refusing to participate in charity work after you made a promise. If you’re happy to be become a figure of hate, go ahead, but I’m out. Seriously, there’s nothing else I can do, I’ll have to walk.’

‘Can you fix it?’

‘I’ve secured the number of the girl, Faith Spires. Call her and tell her you’ll be wherever she chooses on Monday; you’re at her beck and call for the week.’

‘Text the number,’ demanded Brian, hanging up without a goodbye or thank you to his PR manager.

He lay in bed a further two hours debating his next move. It was irritating because the girl called Faith evoked feelings he wasn’t aware he even possessed. He was ashamed of himself. The girl had been crestfallen at his refusal. He was used to crushing women. He got a buzz knowing he only had to snap his fingers for women to run to him.

Upsetting them when he moved on was inevitable, thus never emotionally pricked him, but Faith was different. He felt as if he may have inadvertently snatched something critical to the essence of her.

Having spent his years avoiding confrontation and running away from his problems, he was sorely tempted to delete the text containing her contact details. He refrained, then dialed her number.

‘Faith Spires, Virtual Services, How may I assist?’

Brian’s mouth gaped. He had assumed she was the toy of an excessively rich sugar-daddy.

‘It’s Brian Porterhouse.’

The line was silent.

‘Do you always work weekends?’ he asked.

He slapped his forehead at his banal inquiry.

‘Do you care?’ she retorted.

The line went silent at his end.

‘I try not to, but I have to make myself available to all my clients, for emergencies or whatever, because I can offer that service from home. That’s the reason behind the formal phone voice. Can’t have them thinking I’m slacking or don’t have enough projects coming in. Who wants to work weekends anyway? Not me. No, I’d rather be outdoors.’

Faith realized she was rambling absurdly. Brevity and clarity were qualities she boasted on her website, but all she’d done was chat away as if Brian had any interest in her. He had no concept of her job because he’d never been employed. Her blathering would’ve made her sound idiotic.

‘Do you take your brother outdoors?’

Brian knew he sounded completely ignorant and politically incorrect. As if people with mobility problems should be housebound by law. The question was offensive and did him no favors in causing Faith to rethink her original opinion of him.

‘Well I don’t chain him up in the basement, throwing him scraps,’ she joked.

She hoped he knew it was a joke. She’d hate anyone to think she didn’t adore, care for or was exceedingly proud of her brother.

‘I’m joking. Of course I take him outdoors. I wheel him up the highest hill, then let go to see how he manages steering himself at that speed with the wind whistling through his hair, dodging the cars at the cross roads at the bottom.’

Faith couldn’t believe how ill-timed and inappropriate her comments were. She was trying to be jolly, but wondered if her tone of voice was making her callous or sarcastic.

‘Let me guess, that’s a joke too,’ said Brian drily.

‘Yes. My brother and I go out as often as time, weather and the inclination to hang out permits.’

Her voice was solemn. Brian was secretly pleased she was as nervous as he.

‘I was out of order last night. I was drunk. I’m calling to apologize for my awful tantrum.’

He inhaled. Apologizing was easy; they were only words—you didn’t even have to mean them—but they smoothed and diffused the most aggravated situations. Pledging his commitment was not quite as easy. He mulled on Susie’s prediction of being vilified if the story got out. He had a legion of female fans, but of late his popularity was waning.

‘Anyway, waking up sober, having reconsidered this amazing opportunity on offer. I’d love to spend the week at the hospital, if you think you can bear my company,’ he said, through gritted teeth.

‘Of course I can. With the right attitude anything can be changed.’

‘All right I’ll be with you at 7pm at the hospital Monday.’

‘It’s a date,’ replied Faith.

Chapter Five

Faith wasn’t sure why she was extremely edgy on Monday. This was a professional engagement to promote awareness of cuts to research funds and how it would affect a particular segment of patients. Unfortunately she couldn’t shake it from her head that she’d concluded her phone conversation with Brian by confirming it was a date.

Hospital volunteering often required a lot of running about—practical and comfortable clothes were best for accomplishing the tasks passed to volunteers. If Brian was expecting the well-groomed Irish Colleen from the auction waiting to guide him, he’d be severely disappointed. Dressed in faded blue, skinny jeans, a red-striped tight t-shirt and dusty blue sneakers, Faith was a far cry from the glamorous vixen she’d been at the charity gala.

As she sat on the steps to the main hospital reception area, a black limousine arrived. Unsurprisingly, Brian stepped out. Faith had the feeling he’d dressed down to fit in. The pristine navy chinos, blue polo top and leather dress shoes enhanced his already perfect features; his blue eyes starker than ever. However two hours of tramping non-stop in those smart shoes would have serious consequences for his feet later.

She rose to welcome him. Enthusiastic at the fact he hadn’t stood her up, she flung her arms around his neck for a hug, as he approached to shake hands. His right hand jabbed her stomach, then snaked round her narrow waist in a bid to disguise the awkward greeting gone wrong. He kissed her cheek. As he attempted to kiss her other cheek, she pulled away, letting Brian land his mouth on her nose. Faith prayed for a hole to open and swallow her up. It would have comforted her to know Brian felt the same.

‘Sorry, I was doing the continental thing,’ he said, faking joviality.

‘And I’ve never been to Europe, so it’s wasted on me anyhow,’ quipped Faith.

Her remark highlighted the differences in their polar opposite social strata. Brian stared at the grass. Faith knew she’d torn strips off him after the charity dinner, but she was by no means resentful of his wealth, nor could she blame him for being born to rich parents.

‘Guess we should get in and you can show me the ropes,’ he said breaking the uncomfortable silence on the verge of setting in.

Faith looked him up and down.

‘I thought you would’ve dressed appropriately. We’ll have to go collect your Candy-Striper top to change into.’

Brian grinded his teeth, brow furrowed. It was bad enough he had to devote ten hours in the company of sick people, let alone dressing up in cheap clothes to look a complete fool as he did so.

‘I have to wear the red and white striped jumper to do this?’

‘Of course. How else will they know you’re a volunteer? It’s Candy-Striper tradition. With the history of your family lineage, I thought you’d applaud tradition.’

He scowled, following her to the hospital’s main reception. Brian noted they greeted Faith as an old friend. She clearly did this often, cheerfully and for reasons that inevitably made her a better person than himself. She grinned, passing a badge with his name printed on it. The badge contained the hospital logo and position of Hospital Volunteer.

‘Ha ha,’ he said straight faced, attaching it to his shirt.

‘You didn’t honestly think they’d dress you up in red and white to look like candy for volunteering in 2013 did you?’

‘You’re wearing a red and white striped top.’

‘I did that to wind you up.’

‘You executed it well,’ he confided, feigning annoyance. ‘What’s the plan?’

‘The plan is, I’m going to take you to the ward where your hard-earned money will be spent.’

Faith hadn’t intended it to sound like a jibe. The comment stung Brian. He may not have earned the money but he had no obligation to pass it on or give it away. Again a silence threatened.

‘This is the ward for Muscular Dystrophy. It’s an inherited condition that basically causes muscles to weaken and waste. There’s no cure for the disorder.’

‘Is the entire evening going to be this cheerful?’

‘If you think hearing it is hard, imagine living with it or caring for someone who suffers from it.’

‘That’s why you’re here. Because your brother in the wheelchair has it?’

‘Yes. My father had it to. He died.’

Brian had the grace to apologize for her loss. As annoying as she could be, he couldn’t deny she had a heart of gold and a great deal of compassion.

‘I’m not trying to be a scrooge here, but if there’s no cure why did I pay $270,000 to this ward?’

‘Because there are treatments available that prolongs the lifespan of those unfortunate enough to have the active gene. The hospital provides services like physiotherapy to strengthen muscles and mobility aids such as crutches and wheelchairs. In terms of medication, there are steroids that can improve muscle strength and function for an additional two years in the right cases.

‘The hospital can perform surgery on those suffering from heart ailments, or who have trouble with their bones like spine curvature. Most importantly, as a university hospital, it conducts research specifically into this syndrome. The grant has been cut. Research here has come to a standstill. Further cuts may impact on the hospital resources offered here. If that happens, it will potentially affect those relying on medication and physio.’

Faith flung open the door to a ward where Brian was greeted by bed-bound children of varying ages. As Faith explained, some of the children would be lucky to live to their mid-twenties, Brian mustered all his will power to not let his eyes well up. Instead he sat quietly in the corner as Faith engaged and read to the children until lights out.

Faith nodded to him at 9pm.

‘You’re free to go now.’

‘Wait a second,’ he said controlling the wobble in his voice from having been moved by the children inside. ‘Don’t you owe me a pizza at pappa’s or something.’

‘Paulo’s Pizzas,’ she laughed. ‘I had my first job with him and he treated me like a daughter. If you’ve aspirations to be in the privileged position of calling him Pappa, be prepared for five years of waiting tables.’

‘Whatever,’ he said glibly. ‘I’m ravenous. Let’s jump in the limo and go.’

Faith was going to protest on the premise that it wasn’t a long walk, but the truth was the buses ran hourly at this time of night and she wasn’t keen to wander to town in the pitch black.

‘I can hear the cogs turning. You don’t want my driver sitting alone in the car any longer do you? He must be bored stiff already after a two hour wait. It’d be cruel if you insisted we walk to the restaurant.’

‘Should we invite him in for pizza, too?’ asked Faith, unfamiliar with protocol.

‘No. Marcus, has a lovely wife that keeps him well-fed and well-stocked for our travels.’

She hated herself, but Faith was wowed by the stretch limousine. The soft changing lights, blacked-out windows, bar fridge and abundant seating were extravagances she’d only ever seen on TV. It was nice to stretch out after being on her feet for two hours solid.

‘I bet you’ve entertained a lot of women in here.’

Brian wrinkled his nose.

‘I try not to be too crass. This is a party mobile. If a group of us are going out, this is the vehicle to take because you can squeeze a pile of girls and boys in and have a few drinks to kick it off.’

‘Knowing it was only me, why choose this car?’

‘You’re already laying on the couch with your feet up, having a vodka and orange juice. Don’t pretend you aren’t appreciating its perks.’

‘I’m not. You’re evading the question though. Why the limousine?’

‘Because you dazzled me at the charity dinner. I’d never such a rare beauty in my life. I guess I intended to dazzle you.’

‘Dazzle me because I dazzled you at dinner, or dazzle me because you pitied me as a stay-at-home secretary?’

‘You’ve got me all wrong, Faith. I admire that you run your own company. I respect that you live with and care for your brother. I’m profoundly in awe that you devote your spare time to plugging away to find a cure for an illness that may not exist.’

‘I can’t ever afford to have that mindset. It might take time and money, but there have already been advancements in treatment. Who can say with certainty there’s no cure?’

‘Positivity is useful. Blindness and completely ignoring science and facts are dangerous. You’re investing a lot in something that may never happen.’

‘That’s why they call me Faith.’

He’d hurt her with the brutal truth. Brian’s words were clumsy. She’d not received them in the intended spirit.

‘What I was trying to say,’ he began cautiously, ‘is that I’d hate you to be disappointed waiting for a cure that may never come in your lifetime. You’re entitled to have a life of your own.’

‘I have a life of my own and it is rewarding. Pushing on with raising research funds and maintaining current treatment facilities isn’t without purpose or prize. My focus is making sure my brother is as happy, healthy and competent as he can be. That’s where I find happiness.’

‘What do you do for fun?’

‘Hanging with my brother is fun. A wheelchair doesn’t preclude you from having fun.’

Brian felt foolish and uneducated.

‘And you don’t need a billion dollars to have fun, as you’re going to find out,’ said Faith, stepping out of the limousine as it crawled the curb outside Paulo’s Pizza.

Baffled, but secretly turned on by her independence, Brian watched the owner bear-hug Faith, planting a kiss on each cheek. The welcome was certainly a lot more familiar and natural than his European venture earlier. Paulo was as cordial to Brian as he was to Faith, congratulating him on his charitable donation and selfless devotion to the hospital. Brian ignored the dubious expression on Faith’s face. Given his performance at the charity auction, he couldn’t blame her for questioning his motives.

They sat in the crowded pizza parlor. It was a new experience for Brian, but not an unwelcome one. The buzz of the crowd, the lively Italian music and tasty rustic food enthralled him. Despite the noise, he was determined to get to know the enigmatic Faith Spires better. Sharing a pizza dripping with cheese was an intimate place to start.

Faith expected a painful dinner with Brian, but admired how easily he fitted in with his unfamiliar surroundings. The pleased wonderment on his face struck her heart. He somehow appeared childlike despite his world-wise bragging.

‘This place is great,’ he said, raising his voice to make himself heard.

‘You think?’ she asked, ascertaining whether or not he was being sarcastic.

‘Absolutely. There’s a real freedom to it. A vibe where anything goes. I like the idea of not having to pre-book a table or adhere to a dress code. It’s accessible.’

‘Everything’s accessible to you, Brian Porterhouse.’

He shook his head.

‘Not at all.’

Faith frowned.

‘Don’t patronize me Brian. Money can’t buy you love, but it can buy you everything else.’

He inhaled, annoyed that he had to explain his financial situation to a stranger.

‘Nothing’s free, Faith. Not even the allowance I get. You spoke of tradition earlier. I’m the youngest of three. My older brother, Terence, went to university to run the family business when Dad retires; he’s there full time. My middle brother, Hamilton, went to university as well. He’s at the company but in a department he chose that interests him.’