To Have (The Dumont Diaries) (6 page)

I stand, the chair scraping the floor, the sound causing his steps to pause, and his head to turn. “Is this your idea of romance?”

That causes him to come to a complete stop, his mouth turning up slightly as he turns to me. “Romance?”

The close proximity gives me the full force of his eyes, the morning light turning them turquoise in color and I am surprised to see a hint of playfulness in their depths. “Yes, romance. Isn’t that what
marriage
is all about? Isn’t that what these papers are about? Me agreeing to be your wife?”

He steps towards me, stopping when he is a foot away. “I need a wife. I am not signing up for romance, or affection, or a full time job. The papers will discuss your duties. I want nothing more from you then what is stated there. And as far as you — you should never expect that from me. I will not love you. I will have no use for you other than sex and photo ops. That is something you might want to consider when making your decision.”

It is the most he has ever said, and what I understand from it far surpasses the short speech. I step back, trying to distance myself from this strange man, this man that I am both scared of and yearning to know more about. He studies me, his mouth tightening a bit, then turns, his steps softening as the distance lengthens, one of the men,
Mark
, moving to join him. The slam of a door sounds and I can feel the lack of his presence, the entire house lightening without his intensity.

I sit, my eyes drawn to the papers. I am now alone with Drew, a man whose presence is distracting, the weight of his stare heavy on my back. I read the first paragraph three times, the words blurring, my brain unable to focus. I turn my head slightly. “Do you mind leaving me alone? I need to be able to think, which I can’t do with you breathing down my neck.”

“There’s not really anything to think about.” His voice is loud in the room, echoing off of the vaulted ceilings, and I raise my head from my reading. His steps sound, moving around me until he is standing before me, his hands clasped before him in a subservient pose that, with his statue, looks anything but.

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“I’ve seen your life. That despicable creature you live with, that dirty club you work at. He picked you because you are better than that. Because you have the qualities he wants. Most women with your qualities are in a lifestyle that they are comfortable with. They aren’t going to leave their lives behind, no matter how big his bank account is. You are a unique breed in a unique situation.”

“And you are sharing this information with me because…” I set down the papers and lean back, looking into those green eyes, trying to sort the bullshit from the truth. The problem is, everything he is saying is just wretched enough to be true.

“Because I know what you are thinking. I know that you are about to take the ten thousand dollars and ask me to take you home. And you will have a temporary reprieve from your miserableness. But then life will return and you will be in the same position as before. You cannot rise above your current life if you are always one paycheck away from homelessness.”

One paycheck away from homelessness
. A sobering thought, one that is true. My only ‘friends’ exist inside the Club, the women that I spend every day competing against. Jez would probably take me in for a week or two, offering up her couch and a worn sheet. But she struggles as I do, all of us selling our bodies at an exchange rate that is far too low. My college friends have all moved on, my shame causing me to cut all ties when I began to strip. And my family. My mother passed on four years ago, ovarian cancer taking her quickly. My father… he needs
my
help right now, not the other way around.

The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with him. His health insurance is close to maxing out, our last conversation one of heavy stress. Ten thousand dollars would be swallowed by his hospital in three nights of treatment. I haven’t seen him in three years. He thinks I’m a wedding planner in Denver, that my busy schedule won’t allow a cross-country visit. The reality is that I haven’t had the money to take time off, to hold his hand in the hospital; I am scared to risk driving my car the four-hour journey to visit. With the dry cough of my engine, the shimmy that occurs over forty miles per hour, and the worn tread of my tires, the probability of being stranded on the side of the highway is too great; the thought wrecks too much havoc on my nerves.

It is a sad moment when I sit back and take a critical inventory of my life. I have never allowed myself to dwell on it — I’ve put one foot before another and the years have passed, the time marked by late rent payments and the appearance of wrinkles — tiny ones, on the corners of my eyes. They are a reminder of my youth, and of the hourglass that we all live in, grains of sand slipping through the gap of time, each granule adding another wrinkle, another pocket of fat, another sag that I will fight to overcome, another grey hair to pluck or dye. My earning potential is at the highest point of the arc right now, and that is a terrifying reality.

But we all know that, all know that our best chance in life lay in the clients. So here is my client, offering — not romance — but a contract, a business proposition. A proposition that the darkness of my life suggests I should strongly consider.

The man is still before me, his green eyes still studying me. I look away from his face. “Let me read this please. Alone.”

His stubborn ass, instead of moving, instead of listening to the third polite request, doesn’t move. He speaks instead. “There is another piece of the process. If you decide to stay here, the contract is contingent on acceptable results on a series of tests.” There is almost an apology in his tone, contrite tones that don’t match the man they are coming from.

“Tests? Intelligence tests?”

“We are already aware of your level of intelligence, having viewed your college transcript and SAT scores. The tests I am referring to are medical in nature. Blood tests. There will be a doctor visiting this afternoon.”

My face flushes at the thought of my college transcript. My grades had been average at best, indicative of my lack of interest in anything but keg stands and happy hours. My SAT scores are only marginally more complementary.
They probably think I’m an idiot.
Blood tests are less of a worry, though infinitely more invasive. “What’s the reason for the blood tests?”

“A combination of things. A full STD workup, pregnancy tests, genetic markers, drugs. Do you do drugs?”

I shake my head, unsure of the results of the rest of the tests. I have been practically celibate for the past three years, the strip club not a conducive environment for meeting quality men. But they say you can get STDs from oral sex, a fairly important piece of information I have conveniently ignored.

“Could you be pregnant?”

I give a short laugh. “No.”

“Are you okay with the tests? I will need to let Mr. Dumont know.”

“I still need to read this paperwork. If I agree to stay, then I am fine with the tests. But tell Mr. Dumont that I will require my own set of tests. Anything I am being tested for, I would like him also tested for.
I
may not be happy with the results of
his
tests.” I have a sudden burst of frustration, partly due to the tests, partly due to the legalese of the contract, and partly due to being sideswiped with this entire changeyourlife decision. I let go of a burst of angry air, picking up the papers and trying to concentrate on the initial text, hoping that this damn man will finally leave me the hell alone.

I think there is a smile on his face from the sound of his words. “Very well, Ms. Tapers. I’ll let Mr. Dumont know your demands. I don’t imagine he will have an issue with that.”

Then, the blessed sound of his strong steps making their exit and leaving me alone in the vast great room, trying to make sense of eight pages of legal confusion.
Ms. Tapers.
Proof that they
have
done their homework, proof that I have been watched, followed, researched. And all I have for BlueEyes is a last name. Dumont. A last name that could become my own.

T
he document loses me more than it guides me, covered in therefores and hereafters. When I don’t understand something, I forge on, hoping that the next sentence will give me a clearer understanding. When I start page two, I stand and walk to the kitchen, opening and closing drawers until I find a pen. I return to the table and go back to the first page, underlining, circling, and scribbling words into the margins. As I read, as I underline, I wonder what the hell I am doing. Why am I reading this to begin with? Why am I not in the backseat of the limo, headed back to my life? But the answer to that question is too blatant to miss. I already know my current situation; what I need to know is what this alternative situation entails. A situation this document seems to cover in great detail. I find several points interesting:

The female in question, hereafter referred to as Wife, will be restricted from contact with any past relationships, regardless of gender and familial relation, with the exception of Wife’s Father, Harold Tapers. Wife will be allowed weekly visits with Harold Tapers, and will have use of Husband’s private plane and pilot to conduct these visits.

Husband agrees to pay for any and all medical bills pertaining to Mr. Tapers, hereafter referred to as Father, for the duration of the Marriage, in addition to accepting financial obligation for said Father’s living expenses.

Wife will not be given any cash, but will be assigned two (2) credit cards for her personal shopping and travel needs. She will be allowed the purchase of one new car every two years, but current car must be traded in on the new vehicle purchase, and new vehicle purchase price will not exceed eighty thousand dollars ($80,000.00) before taxes and fees.

Wife is entering into this agreement in the possession of Ten Thousand Dollars ($10,000.00). Such property is listed in
Marital Prenuptial Agreement
and will be and remains the property of the Wife described in the said agreement and the Husband will have no right to or interest in such present property.

Wife will be allowed to have hobbies, given that those hobbies do not take her away from the Home at times deemed to be inconvenient by Husband. Wife will be allowed to have friends, but they must be preapproved by Husband, social standing being of primary importance in the Marriage. If friendships become unpleasing to Husband, they will be terminated by Wife.

Wife agrees to terminate all ties with previous occupation, residence, and lifestyle. She will consent to a Legal Name Change and will keep all details of her prior lifestyle Confidential, including to members of the Press.

I turn to the next page, where the words turn to our sexual lifestyle, desexualized by staunch and clinical terms.

Wife will submit to Husband in all matters sexual. She will not have the right of dictation of sexual positions, fortification locations, or durations. Husband agrees that Sexual Expectations will be limited to one (1) Sexual Penetration Act per day, with the understanding that Wife can initiate additional Sexual Acts if she chooses. Husband is not required to perform Sex Acts with Wife.

and further down…

Wife will maintain a strict regime of Birth Control Pills. If and when Husband and Wife decide to have children, an Amendment to this Marriage Agreement will be agreed upon. Wife agrees that if, in the case of an Unplanned Pregnancy, she will not Terminate the unborn child unless she has written approval from Husband.

It appears to be a carefully controlled fairytale. All of the luxuries of a dream lifestyle, hold the freedom and romance. I am almost grateful for the bulleted points, the discussion of every aspect of my future life as Wife. It is all here, in these eight pages. The instruction manual for the next chapter in my life. And, as unromantic as this arrangement is, as segmented and dictating as it appears my future Husband is, he is also — through these eight pages - known. A known evil, when the last couple of years have been a landmine of unknown ones.

I flip to the final page, the last line very simple and very permanent.

The Marriage will be executed within thirty (30) days of this agreement.

Then, a signature block. I blink at it, realizing that I finally know his name.

Nathan Bane Dumont

I stare at the words for a moment, trying to pair the name with that face. Then I move down to my own signature block, rolling the pen softly in my fingers as I stare at the solid line that could change my life forever.

To read more… please look for Book Two in this series: To Hold, available on August 17th, 2013