Billie Jean

Caesar had just returned to the table in time to hear the comment. I could tell alarm bells were going off in his head as he looked at me.

Gascon continued undaunted. "It seems to me that America is finally trying to grow up but still lacks the sophistication of Europe. I see more European businesses locating there though and that is what this is all about. Becoming global is the big thing now so we have decided to build some hotels in the US. America is almost ready to take its place in the rest of the world. She seems to have gotten rid of much of her savagery like your old west and Indians and cowboys. Those cowboys really did cut a striking figure though alone on horseback riding off into the setting sun. Too bad they've died out."

In a move that was far more intelligent than I'd had ever given her credit for Amanda took my hand just as the music started up again. The DJ was playing an old Michael Jackson song from the 80's.

"Care to dance Mr. Alexander?" asked Amanda.

"Yes," show us how it's done," said Gascon. Weismann appeared upset that Amanda had asked me to dance.

On the floor the song's huge menacing bass tight drum section started Caesar and I moving. We started out at opposite ends of the floor dancing with the two women. The competition was on. It was almost like in our old days in college. When Caesar's dance moves weren't enough, he moved on to gymnastics. He dropped down into a handstand and started doing mule-kicks. The crowd opened up and gave him room to work; the woman he danced with was nearly forgotten as he gyrated to Michael's screams and tee hees.

When he came up he looked at me triumphantly. Not to be outdone I spun around twice in front of an amazed Amanda and then moon-walked the length of the dance floor ending with a back-handspring into a back tuck. The crowd was cheering. I did a quick run up and a front tuck landing lightly in front of Amanda just as the song ended. I pointed my finger at Caesar as if to remind him that he'd been on the gymnastics team, but I was the captain.

It seemed like there were even more reporters following us around now. Caesar was in a great mood and suddenly I realized why he'd wanted to dance with me. I think he was trying the same thing that Amanda had. They'd both wanted to defuse the situation with Gascon and that bullshit he'd been spouting.

As I returned to the table with the crowd all stopping by and waving and sending drinks over, Gascon's reaction was different. He was pale. It was as if he was trying to show us how sophisticated everything over there was but had failed. Weismann on the other hand was livid. I recognized the look on his face. He was a very jealous man, much the same way I'd probably have been if some I didn't know very well started hitting on Helena.

As I sat down Gascon tried to engage me in conversation again. So how do you think, after seeing our hotels, that we'll do in America?" he asked. He was all business again and his ranting over the greatness of Europe had seemingly been forgotten.

Caesar seemed to be glad that the conversation had gone back to straight out business as well.

"I think they're going to suck," I said, pointedly. "You're going to lose a lot of fucking money and have to crawl back over here with your tail between your legs whining about how unsophisticated America is and how we don't appreciate your greatness."

Caesar spit out his drink, and had trouble catching his breath.

"If by old world charm and sophistication you mean people who are sophisticated enough to accept barely meeting the minimum standards for sanitation and comfort as being acceptable, that's fine," I said. "Over here you accept things that would not be considered acceptable in a flop house or homeless shelter in America and market it as "Charm," I hissed. "Rusty tasting water and atiquidated plumbing." I shook my head. "No internet service and spotty electricity," I shook my head again.

"In America that won't fucking fly. Instead of competing in some backwards armpit of the world whose time has passed, you'll be competing against some of the best hotel chains in the world. The Westins, the Hiltons, Caesar's Palace. I'm sorry but unless you modernize and change your concepts you don't need us. We can give you the best advertising campaign in the world. Everyone will flock to your sophisticated hovel, but you won't have any return business. Once people have stayed there they won't come back. Most of them won't stay after seeing it. If what we've seen today is what you want to show us we may as well go home because it won't fly in America."

Gascon looked like I had shit in his caviar. No one had ever spoken to him like that.

"The greatness of Europe," I said. "When the fuck was that, 400 years ago? France in particular. You guys are famous for cooking, kissing and running away from fights. You guys surrender faster than a whore gives up her panties. Yet you look down on the rest of the world as if you have this great fucking legacy to live up to. Sure we were at one point savages, and we fight a lot, but when anyone in the world has a problem we're the ones who are counted on to help. The cowboys, every fucking time. When something happens somewhere in the world while you're arranging delegations to discuss avoiding the problem, we have boots on the ground and are fixing it. Two days after the crisis is over France can be counted on to decide to help and usually arrives just after the work has finished, but just in time for the news stories."

"Another thing you got wrong is the fact about the cowboys. Sure they've modernized the way they do things but God Damn it the cowboys never died. They're still out there riding the range, and doing what they do. Maybe they drive pickup trucks and trade in commodities and raise tens of thousands of head of cattle instead of working on family owned ranches but the cowboys never died,"

"When Hitler came over here and took over your fucking country with barely a shot fired, those were cowboys who came to your rescue. They flew airplanes, and rode in on ships and drove jeeps and trucks instead of horses, but the cowboys never died."

I was standing on my feet with my finger in Gascon's face. Caesar pulled me back into my chair.

"Perhaps things have gotten a little out of control," he said. "This has been an interesting debate on culture..."

Weismann got up and said, "Perhaps it is time for Amanda and me to leave."

"I want to stay," said Amanda. "I'm having fun. This has been much more fun than your boring little get-togethers usually are. I want to dance some more."

"Amanda, we are engaged. What will people think if I leave you here?" hissed Weismann.

"That you trust me," said Amanda.

"Amanda, come with me now, you know his reputation, and yours. That is why you need me," he said. By now the cameras and reporters were focused on the arguing couple as their voices got louder.

"Fuck you, Johann. The engagement is off," snapped Amanda throwing her ring into Johann's drink.

Weismann glared at me and stomped off. Cameras and flashbulbs were everywhere. Reporters were asking questions in rapid fire French. It was time to end this evening I stood up and Amanda grabbed my arm and asked me to stay.

"There's too much going on here for me," I said. "I came over here to discuss business and instead I get insulted by a man I thought was a friend but who only wants to run my country and our culture down."

"Perhaps it was the wine or the excitement," offered Gascon.

"Let's go Seize," I said.

Caesar looked at the woman he'd been dancing with and sitting with all night, and then back at me. He shrugged his shoulders and stood up. We left the club with Gascon rapidly throwing a bunch of bills on the table and following us. As soon as I got outside Weismann stepped up to me. I thought that he was going to try and hit me, but he had other plans.

"So is this your little horse car?" he asked.

"Well technically it is a Mustang, but it's a Shelby," I said there are no horses anywhere on the car."

"Whatever, it's a child's toy," he said.

"What did you have in mind," I said. "You obviously want something."

"Prove what you said about cowboys," he said. "Race me to the plaza at the end of the rue. Winner takes all."

He got into an Audi R8 and revved his engine. The R8 is Audi's version of the super car. Zero to sixty in 3.9 seconds top speed of 190 mph and all of that jazz. Johann thought he had the advantage. He thought that he was racing a normal mustang that was gussied up.

His car cost at least twice what I'd paid for the snake.

"What do you mean winner takes all?" I asked.

"The winner gets both cars and Amanda," he said.

"How far is it to the plaza?" I asked.

Someone shouted out that it was about a kilometer, roughly six tenths of a mile.

"Alright," I said. "I don't want your girlfriend or your car, but I understand that this is about pride."

He got into his car and started revving his engine. I put my foot down once to warm the snake up. I didn't want to scare him. I opened up my glove box and my engine management computer booted up.

I enabled my double shot nitrous system and shook my head. Weismann thought he had the advantage so it was easy for him to be brave. I knew that the race would be far closer than he expected. If it had been around a track with heavy cornering involved the race would be his. My car was far too heavy and simply not designed for track courses, it was a muscle car. With his Audi's mid engine design, and being a very light two-seater he'd probably win a quarter mile drag race as well because of his zero to sixty times. He also thought he had more horsepower than I did. All in all he thought I was General Custer and he was leading me to the slaughter.

I put my car into launch mode. Johann nodded at Gascon who apparently was going to start us. Gascon waved his hand and the air was rent with the sounds of screaming tires as the two cars rocketed towards the plaza. Weismann had a slight advantage but not nearly as much as I'd expected. I started to gain a bit but then he began to press his advantage while I fishtailed just a bit. Then when I hit my next gear, I pulled it back. My car's almost 800 horsepower, making up the difference in our strength to weight ratio. I pulled even and then looked over at Weismann. With a look of horror on his face he watched me start to pull away. Then just to pour salt on the wound, I hit the first stage of my nitrous and leapt forward even farther. There was daylight between us as I passed the finish line. I turned my car around and slowly made the return trip.

Gascon was waiting for me back at the starting line. Reporters were everywhere and even a few Gendarmes who seemed not to have seen any illegal street racing through the streets of Paris. The thing that surprised everyone most was the fact that when Weismann came back he drove right past us and headed away. So much for the honor of the Swiss. "I'm sure he'll be back," someone said. It never happened.

Gascon reached out to shake my hand. "The cowboys never fucking died," I said. Caesar shook his hand.

"We can still talk in the morning," said Seize.

"I'm going home," I snapped.

"The job is yours," said Gascon.

"We can't do it for ten million dollars," I said. "Now that I know what we're up against. It would cost us more than that just to get past the attitude. We'd need at least 14 million."

"Done," said Gascon, extending his head. "Anthony Alexander LLC will advertise for us in the US exclusively and will be paid 14 Million..."

"Euros," I said noticing that reporters were recording every word.

I turned to go back to my car when Amanda stepped in front of me. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"I don't know where you're going, but I'm going back to my hotel," I said.

"That's where I'm going, what a coincidence," she said.

"You're cute," I said. "But I've already been Billie Jeaned once."

I left her standing there and waited for Caesar to get into the car.

"Why are you driving so fast?" he asked.

"I have to make a phone call," I smirked.

Helena picked up the phone on the first ring.

"I don't know what time it is in Paris," she said. "But it's only four o'clock here. I'm still at work. I have a bunch of papers to file including the arrangements to put Billie Jean's son into foster care."

"Don't put him into foster care," I said.

"Why not?" she asked. "We're only waiting for you to get back. Sarah came up with a bunch of information that really helped. I haven't given the information to Maitland yet about who Carmen San Diego is but as soon as he knows and does the correct background check, Billie Jean will lose custody and your reputation will be cleared."

"At what cost Helena?" I asked. "A child will go into the foster system, who really is related to me. Look right now Billie Jean claims that he's my son right? So get me custody until they find out that I'm not the father. Meanwhile let's see if we can get a quickie adoption started."

"No one is going to let you adopt him. You're a single guy with a questionable life style. They want to give kids to families and stable home environments. Unless you'd agree to stay married, which is likely," she said.

"Why do you think that I'm likely to stay married?" I asked.

"Well the headlines here say that your wife has canceled her petition for divorce. She forgives you and wants to stay married to you," said Helena sadly.

"Don't worry about that," I said. "How long will the adoption process take?"

"Between six months and a year," she said.

"Good by then I'll be in a stable marriage situation," I said.

"Your marriage won't be stable in six months," she cracked. "It's going to take years of therapy to work through this."

"Helena, a quickie divorce will take three months, since she's not going to fight it and we have no kids. I'll be married to you in less than six months," I said. There was another one of those long silences.

"Helena?" I said. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," she said.

"What are you wearing?" I asked.

"A skirt suit," she said. "It's navy blue."

"Is your hair up or down?"

"It's up," she said. "Why?"

"Take it down," I said. "Are you wearing a blouse or a sweater?"

"A blouse," she said. It's white."

"How many buttons do you have open?" I asked.

"One," she said breathing harder.

"Open three more," I said.

"Oh no," she said. "Not going to happen."

"Helena," I said.

"Whaaaaat?" she whined.

"Close the door to your office and send me a picture of them," I said quietly.

"Blaaaake, I can't do that here," she said.

"Helena, you did admit that they were mine anyway, right?" I asked.

"Okay," she said laughing. "Wait a minute. This is so dirty." I heard movement in the background. Then she sat back down. I got a text message on my iPhone.

Helena was giggling.

"Helena," I suddenly gasped. "What did you do?"

"You like them don't you?" she asked. I could barely breathe.

"Uh huh?" I choked out. "But why'd you send me this?"

"Wait until you see the rest," she said seductively. "Blake Alexander, What did you mean why did I send you that? You asked me to send it. You said send me a picture of them."

"Helena all I wanted was a picture of those gorgeous brown eyes." I said.

"RRRRRRRRRRRR, men," she quipped.

As usual we talked through the night. Early the next morning I was in Gascon's office. He'd already had the preliminary papers drawn up. Caesar and I signed them and we flew back home. My car would be shipped back by a slower route. I'd have to drive the regular GT 500 for a couple of weeks.

As soon as we touched down in Cali, I called Myra and had her get me on the first Flight to Jacksonville it was time to end this. Before I got to my car there were reporters all over us. They asked more questions than I could answer. Some of them worried me. "Are you in love with Amanda Kingsley? Is Amanda Kingsley going to have your baby? Did you really engage in an illegal street race in Paris? Did you steal a Multi Million dollar deal from your former company? What about Billie Jean? Is Billie Jean okay with you having multiple lovers? Do you and Billie Jean have an open relationship? What is the baby's name?"

"No Comment," I screamed as I got into my car. "And for the record, "Billie Jean is not my lover."

"What about Amanda?" they screamed.

"Her neither," then I was gone.

I shocked my cleaning lady as I walked into my house. I guess she wasn't expecting me. I showered and changed clothes before heading to the office to find out how things had gone in our absence.

I got a message from Caesar telling me that he'd be back in the office tomorrow. And one from Chris telling me he'd handled the problem with my ex wife's blackmailer. He'd basically just bought the video from the guy. He simply paid for it, but made sure he'd gotten every copy. He'd also let the guy know in no uncertain terms that if it was ever mentioned anywhere, the black mailer would not only be prosecuted for his activities, that he probably wouldn't survive.

Chris had also told the guy to simply stop calling Mary Beth. This had been brilliant because that way I could use it to my advantage. I hated to play dirty with MB but I would if necessary.

I did stop and pick up a couple of newspapers on my way into the office. As usual

the headlines were not good for me. "Alexander the Great conquers Paris" was a good one. "Alexander goes rogue: Steals accounts from under McMillan Worth's nose," was my favorite. The rest were not so good. "Amanda Kingsley falls for Alexander," was bad. In that article, Amanda while not directly ever saying it alluded that we had sex in my hotel room in Paris. Here we go again, I thought.

Even worse were the articles claiming that she'd broken off her engagement to a

wealthy Swiss banker, for me. A few even claimed that she was moving to the US to be with me.

So here I was, In love with one woman, while married to another. A third woman was claiming to have a child with me and yet another was moving halfway across the world to be with me.

Time to end all of this. I called Sarah and told her to end it the way we'd planned. As soon as she got off of the phone with me Sarah called Bill Maitland. She told him that the man they'd been chasing had changed his name which was why they hadn't found him.

His real name was Cameron Alexander. He was my brother and that was why the original DNA had been so close but not conclusive. Maitland's people ran Cameron's name through their computers and found out that Cam had been convicted on drug charges years ago and had been released from prison five years ago.

A few hours later I flew to Florida. When I arrived there Chris picked me up.

"Hey where's your GT-H" he asked.

"I had it shipped somewhere," I said smiling. "Thanks Chris, I know you only do the PI stuff to help Sarah out. You handling the blackmail thing for MB was great."

"It was nothing," he said. "It gave me a chance to actually try handling a case by myself. I actually kind of liked it."

We drove to Maitland's office. There I met Bill, Sarah and Helena. I also got a

chance to see the famous Myra Martinez. She was just as gravity defying as her advance publicity claimed. As I passed her in the hallway on my way into the office, she'd whispered something to me. "If you don't treat her right, I really will send Bill after you," she'd smiled at me in a way that let me know she was being one hundred percent serious.

Sarah smiled as we entered the room. I knew that the smile wasn't for my benefit even as she said, "Welcome back to Florida, Boss."

Nope that smile was for Chris. If the probably forty minutes that it had taken him to pick me up and bring me back here got him that kind of smile, I shuddered to think about what he got when he came back from California after handling Mary Beth's blackmailer.