[ - ]
Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story Microsoft Word Chapter or Story
- Text Size +
Pete pressed his fingers to his forehead.  Think!

This plan had been working so well…just like the others. 

Pete had a history…a pretty damn fine history, he thought…of never having to work for a living.  That’s what women were for.  He’d turned his mother’s philosophy on end, reversing the genders.  Pete had charmed his way through high school, working his way through an upwardly mobile series of girlfriends.  By the time he was finished, he was engaged to the wealthiest girl in Fort Pierce, Florida.

Her parents were, of course, appalled by Pete’s background and lack of social stature.  Her father  made several approaches and oblique offers to remove Pete from his daughter’s life.  Pete  smiled and shrugged and refused to be insulted.  In fact, he pretended that he didn’t understand what her father was getting at. 

The offer went up and up, and finally, Pete capitulated.  He took the money and ran.  And he questioned himself for days about that decision.  But he finally reassured himself…Fort Pierce was a mere puddle.   He was after a much bigger pond.

He found it.  He worked his way through West Palm Beach and other wealthy port cities.  He used the money from the Fort Pierce daddy to build himself a new identity and a new life.  Then he researched the wealthier families and went to the yacht club where he introduced himself as a distant cousin of a couple that was touring Europe.

The yacht club was the perfect location for him.  He felt comfortable there, a comfort he wouldn’t have felt in a ritzy hotel or a corporate club.  Pete had loved boats his whole life and had hung around the docks when he was a kid, helping out anyone who needed it just for the chance to be around the boats of the rich.

And on the boats of the rich were bored wives and bored daughters.  Pete stayed away from mere girlfriends.  They were disposable.  There was no money to be found there.  Pete was charming with all the women…charming and unavailable to them.  He made himself available to the men, though, as a helper on the big yachts.  Although he never let on, Pete knew way more about boats than any of these pompous prigs.  Generally, they were happy to have him around.  When his hands were on the wheel, they weren’t on the women.  Pete knew that many of the men thought he was gay, and that was fine with him.  The women knew better.

His money was running short, so he decided to make his move.  He settled on a middle-aged married woman, a lady desperate for affection.  Her husband was a corporate big shot and he was never home.  This woman had maintained the incredible status of ‘first wife’ for over twenty years.  Pete knew it was because she had even more money than her husband.  Monty Prudhomme didn’t want a trophy wife.  He wanted a trophy bank account.

Pete seduced Celia Prudhomme slowly but surely.  He played hard-to-get and let her chase him ‘until he caught her’.  And after he had her firmly ensnared in his web, he started to get money from her.

Pete didn’t care if he was rich.  He just didn’t want to work for a living.  And he wanted to live like he was rich.  He wanted a nice apartment, stylish clothes…and a boat.  Celia Prudhomme provided the first two, and her husband provided the third.

It lasted for nearly a year.  Pete became complacent almost to the point of boredom.  Celia was way more interested in sex with Pete than he was with her.  It was almost becoming a chore to service her.

Then one day, she informed him that she had heard from the Thorntons, Pete’s supposed globe-trotting cousins.  Celia told Pete angrily that she knew he was a fraud and that he had been taking money from her under false pretenses.

Pete knew the jig was most definitely up.  He retaliated by telling Celia that he considered the money she’d given him to be ‘for services rendered’.

Celia retorted that she guessed that made Pete a whore.

Pete responded that he guessed that made Celia a desperate adulteress.

Celia told him that he was finished in this town and he wasn’t getting another cent out of her.

Pete informed her that that wasn’t quite true.

He negotiated terms with her and left town with quite a bit more money than he’d arrived with.  He wondered about hitting up Monty for some but decided not to get greedy.

And he also decided that, as delicious as it had been to tell Celia off, it was a show of weakness on his part.  And he promised himself, he would never show that weakness again.

A dalliance with an heiress on the Gulf coast of Florida provided Pete with comfortable living arrangements for another eighteen months and an ever increasing bank balance.  After the end of that affair, Pete took the money and headed for California.  He figured he’d best put Florida behind him for awhile.  Pete conned his way into a position with an investment bank and managed to increase his portfolio, while learning a lot about the banking and investment world.

He was still loath to spend his own money and always had a ‘sugar momma’ to provide him with the necessities of life.  Pete spent five years in Los Angeles watching his nest egg grow.  He wanted enough money so that he could buy a boat of his own.  Then he could sail away to wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

Pete started looking around and ‘window shopping’ for boats.  His hunger to own one made him reckless, and he sunk a large sum of money into a risky venture.  The market went soft, and he lost the money.

Pete’s fury at this thwarting of his desires was a sight to behold.  The only one who ever beheld it, though, was his mirror. 

Pete took stock of his life and decided that he needed a more permanent financial arrangement.  And he had really begun to hate California.  So he transferred his remaining assets to a bank in the Bahamas and moved back to Florida.

Where he found Margie Hannaford.

The Hannafords were old money, and it was tied up in real estate…and there was a lot of it. 

Pete decided that he would marry Margie Hannaford.  He didn’t think there’d be any problem.  Margie wasn’t much to look at, and there didn’t seem to be a lot of competition.  Pete moved slowly and carefully, making sure the introduction came from a respected third party.  He took six months to work his way into her life and make her fall in love with him. 

Pete was all set to pop the question when the stupid bitch got leukemia.  Pete was over the top pissed about that.  He’d invested a lot in Margie.  He’d been paying his own living expenses for six months, and he’d had to put on a show of wealth.  The bank balance in the Bahamas was dipping lower and lower.  Yes, Pete had a lot of money invested in Margie Hannaford and he wanted it all back…and more!

Pete considered carefully how to proceed.  He couldn’t just jump in there and say, ‘Marry me,’ now that he knew she was dying.  No, that wouldn’t make her father suspicious at all!  And Pete was finding it difficult to get the information on just when the dire event would take place.

Pete tried to keep the grin off his face when he heard that Margie would receive treatment but that the doctors weren’t hopeful that she’d have more than two or three years.  That was perfect timing for Pete.  He could marry Margie, nurse her through her final days and then play the grieving widower with her inheritance.  It would give him legitimacy and a healthy wad of cash.

Pete played it cool and dropped little hints.  When he was sure Margie would say yes, he asked her to marry him.  Pete could tell that George Hannaford was less than thrilled with his daughter’s news, but Margie’s mother was ecstatic.  Her baby wouldn’t have to die alone.

The treatments made Margie very ill…and very unattractive.  She became thin and haggard, and she smelled funny.  Pete could barely stand to be in the same room with her.  But he persevered, and they made plans for a quiet wedding.

Then daddy arrived with the pre-nup!  Pete smiled and charmed his way through the conversation and said, of course, he understood.  He’d have been shocked if George hadn’t wanted one.  Thank you.  I’ll just have my lawyers look over this.

After George left, Pete hit the wall so hard that he cracked the plaster and bruised his knuckles.

The details of the pre-nuptial agreement were even worse than Pete had imagined.  If Margie lasted less than a year, Pete got nothing.  If she made it up to three years, Pete got a measly two hundred thousand dollars.  That was enough to buy a boat, but it wasn’t enough to make it worthwhile to nurse a dying woman and use up three years of his life. 

So Pete went to Margie with the pre-nup.  He showed it to her and explained that, while he understood her father’s concern for her, Pete didn’t feel that he could sign it.  He felt that it was a declaration that Pete was a gigolo and also that Margie was going to die.  Pete managed to squeeze out a couple of tears and have his voice break on the word ‘die’.

He said that he was sorry and that he loved her, but that he couldn’t bring himself to overlook his values.

Margie Hannaford did not want to die alone.  She did not want to die single.  She wanted to marry Peter Crofton (Pete had worked his way up to his present name) and make the most of the time she had left.  So she made a deal of her own.  She told Pete that, if he would sign the pre-nup, she would pay him half a million dollars in advance.  That would show her faith in him.  Then they would get married.  Then she would get better, and they would live happily ever after.

Pete protested that she didn’t have to give him any money; it was the principle of the thing.  He protested right up until he thought he’d convinced her that he didn’t want the money, and then he accepted the offer.  The money was transferred to his account in the Bahamas, and the pre-nup was signed.  The wedding date was set.

And then Margie found out about Celia Prudhomme. 

They were at a fundraiser at the Yacht Club.  Pete was standing at the bar waiting for drinks when a voice behind him said, “Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t Paul Churchill.”

Pete turned to find himself staring into Celia’s eyes.  Pete glanced quickly around the room to see where Margie was.  He saw her out on the deck with her parents.  He turned back to Celia.

“I’m sorry, you must be mistaken.  That’s not my name.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” said Celia, with a laugh.  “What name are you going by now?”

Pete knew he couldn’t tell her.  The same initials would be a dead giveaway.  “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he said, “but I’m afraid I don’t know you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Margie looking through the window, wondering what was taking so long with the drinks.

“Is that your husband over there, Ma’am?” asked Pete, calling Celia’s bluff.  He stared her straight in the eye.

Celia stared back.  Then she started to laugh.  “Yes, I guess you’re right.  It’s better if we don’t know each other.”

Celia turned and walked away.  Pete grabbed the drinks and took them out on the deck.  Then he excused himself, saying he had a migraine, and left the club before Monty Prudhomme saw him and greeted him by a different name.

Pete figured he’d talked his way out of the situation, but he didn’t reckon on the fury of a Celia scorned.  It took Celia five minutes to find out what name he was using and whom he was using it on.

A day later, Pete arrived at Margie’s apartment to a very cold reception.  Margie informed him that some woman named Celia had called on her and said some very interesting things about Pete.  Pete listened in silence as Margie described his affair with Celia in almost exact detail.

“Do you have anything to say?” asked Margie, when she finished her sordid tale.

Did he have anything to say?  Of course, he did.  This was what he was best at.  Pete opened his mouth and started talking.   He said he was sorry that Margie had had to hear about Celia from someone other than him, but she should remember that he had often tried to tell her about his past, and she had always said it didn’t interest her.

Margie nodded and muttered, “That’s true.”  Score one point for Pete.

Barely stopping to draw a breath, Pete continued.  Yes, he had had an affair with Celia Prudhomme.  He had been young and impressionable, just out of high school.  He’d been working at the yacht club, and she’d…well, he guessed the best word was ‘seduce’…yes, she’d seduced him.

Pete painted a picture of a young man, intimidated by an older woman, not sure how to say no to her, not sure if he wanted to.  At this point, he sighed and looked directly at Margie.  “I hadn’t had a lot of experience.  I…” 

Margie reached out and patted his hand.  Score one more point for Pete.

Pete glossed over the more intimate details of the relationship.  Apparently, Margie had heard enough of those.  Instead, he went to the breakup.

“I finally had to end it.  She was making so many demands.  I was afraid her husband would find out.  She didn’t take it well.”  That certainly was the truth, thought Pete.  “She made a bunch of threats and accusations, but I figured she was just…you know…hurt.” 

Pete looked down and sighed.  Then he put his chin up and said defiantly, “But I never took money from her.  Not one cent.  I paid my own way.”

Margie stared at him for a long moment, mulling over her options.  “Well, if it’s not about money…”

She didn’t get any further.  Pete cut her off.

“You know what?  I’ll prove it to you.  To you and your father and all you society people who seem to think that everyone and everything is about money.”  Pete let his voice crack a little at the end of the sentence, and then he continued.  “I’ll give back the money you gave me.  Every cent.  And then you decide…whether you truly love me or whether you were just using me for… I don’t know what…I thought it was love…”

Pete faltered and looked confused.

Margie burst into tears and apologized for doubting him.

Game, set and match.

Then Margie surprised him.  She agreed to let him give the money back.  He didn’t need it, she said.  He was going to get all of hers eventually.  So yes, Dear, give the money back.

Over my dead body, thought Pete.  And then decided, that no, it would be over her dead body.