Billie Jean

"In any case," he began again. "There are a few things I want you to know. First off, in the words of Bill Clinton, I did not have sex with that woman. I never saw Billie Jean until she walk into that awards ceremony. I'm not expecting you to give me any favors, but I wanted you to know that I did not do this. I love my wife more than I can ever say. This whole situation has driven a wedge between us and it gets worse every day."

"If I'm proven guilty in this case I will pay whatever the law requires and more, I have no problem doing that, but I really did not do this. I will cooperate with your investigation fully. Anything you need, you'll have. And to start with...Chris," he said.

The other young man at the table produced a brief case and brought it to me. The briefcase was full of files and records. There was a sheet on top with a list of account numbers and passwords.

"What is all of this?" I asked.

"All of my phone records for every phone used by anyone in my employ for the past two years," he said. "There are also banking records. There are a couple of documents that give you the right to search through any of my personal and corporate accounts online..." I looked at him.

"We assumed that if we gave you the phone records you'd think they were doctored. So assuming that you thought they might be doctored, having access to the accounts means that you can go in and without a court order, simply look through the phone company's servers for any information you need," he said. "We're trying to be completely transparent with you."

I looked puzzled. Alexander was unlike any other suspect I'd gone against.

"Also I'll be staying in Florida for probably another day. I'd like it if you could, once you find out that you have the case, arrange for my DNA to be taken and processed."

I nodded at him. I was taken aback. He was volunteering his DNA. "What makes you so sure that I'm going to be assigned your case?" I asked.

"Quite simple, Mr. Maitland," he said smiling. "I'm the best there is at what I do. You're the best there is at what you do. And I truly believe that Sarah is the best there is at what she does. Sarah's information says that you will be. I believe her. Now after the investigation goes forward, I'm expecting the first DNA test to prove that Billie Jean's child is more than likely mine." Everyone at the table gasped when he said that. The test will be inconclusive though, but it will prove the theory I've been working with for the past few days."

"What theory is that?" I asked.

"I'm not ready to reveal that yet," he said. "But when this all comes out and I'm exonerated, I'll expect you to pursue the true villains here with the same zeal that the press has hounded me with." He smiled and got up extending his hand again and I took it. "We'll be in touch," he said. Then he and his people left. I was shaken by the whole thing. Did I at his age have anywhere near that amount of poise or cunning? Probably not.

# # # # # # # # # # #

"Helena Martinez tried for the fourth time that morning to adjust the ancient fan in her small office so it would direct a stream of moderately cooler air towards her desk.

She really wished that she could simply take off all of her clothes and run around naked. She laughed at the image. What she really wished was that her job would allow her to be as daring in her dress as her aunt was and still maintain a sense of professionalism.

Her aunt had been cursed or blessed, depending on your viewpoint even more than Helena had. But her aunt had the status of her employer's office to keep the wolves at bay.

If she came to work in a blouse or shirt that showed even part of her cleavage, all of the years of striving to be recognized for her skill and dedication to the job would be over. The worst part during Florida's brutal summers was that she couldn't even wear a sleeveless shirt because then the men just tried to look at her boobs from the side of the shirt through the arm holes.

As it was now she was very proud of being the very best case worker in her department. All of her clients called her Miss Martinez and a very few of them called her Helena, if they were good and doing what they were supposed to be. But if they missed a payment or mistreated their kids in any way shape or form. Both her name and her temper got shorter and then they just called her Hell, cause that's what she gave them.

In frustration she just turned the fan off. She'd noticed that the motor on the back of the fan was about to overheat. It was putting more warm air out than the amount of cooler air the blades were producing.

As she turned the fan off it fell off of her desk. She bent over to make sure the fan wasn't damaged.

As she bent over, the movement causing her ass to stick straight up, she saw him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be shaking his head. She imagined what he was thinking and erupted, before she gave it a second thought.

"Get the hell out of my office. What are you some kind of peeping Tom. If you'd get off your lazy ass and get a job, you could pay for internet service and see all of the pictures of bent over women you want. Maybe you could even make your child support payments on time and we wouldn't have to have these meetings set up," she screamed, as she straightened up.

"Wow," he said smiling. "That probably scares them off doesn't it?"

Helena looked at him for a second. There was something familiar about him, but she'd never seen him before.

"Maybe we should start again," he said. He held out his hand for her to shake in a professional manner. "I'm not one of your cases yet," he said. "His clothes were certainly better than anything the people she dealt with could afford. There was also just something different about him. She really found herself wanting to like him.

"Who are you?" she asked in a tone that was just slightly less gruff. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Nope," he smiled. "But I figured that since we're going to be spending a lot time together, I should drop in to meet you before you sick your dogs on me."

Oh shit, she thought. He was definitely a smooth one. He was probably one of those guys who charmed your panties off, left you pregnant and was shocked when you tracked him down to make him pay for the child he left behind.

"If you don't have an appointment, why are you here?" she asked. She could play his little game too. "Shouldn't you be hiding somewhere, hoping we don't track you down and force you to deal with your responsibility?"

"Nope," he said again. God damn it, he had this way of making her think that he wasn't a bad guy.

"How about if we try this a different way?" he said. "I've already spoken to the prosecutor who'll be handling my case. I've volunteered to give my DNA as soon as possible and I'd like to have you go over my records and tell me exactly how much I'll have to pay, possibly."

That certainly was different, thought Helena. He hadn't yet been proven the father, but he was already here. Instead of hiding and trying to avoid this, he's coming in and volunteering. Maybe he'd be one of the rare good ones.

"What's your name?" she asked smiling. She may as well try and get things off on a good foot.

"Blake Alexander, "he smiled back.

Helena could only stand there staring at him. This man had enough money and influences to have kept this case out of court for many years. Probably until the woman accusing him couldn't afford the delays and just settled out of court for what would amount to a pittance to him. But here he was, showing up and volunteering his DNA and his records. Something was funny.

She brushed her hands over her clothes to straighten them out without appearing to do so and looked at him. Without realizing that she did it she also licked her lips and smiled a tiny bit brighter as well.

"Would you like me to have my secretary bring you some coffee or something," she said. "I need to find the file and go over the information we have. I'm not sure who'll be litigating your case or even if litigation will be necessary."

"Your secretary isn't out there, that's why I just walked in," he smiled. "And litigation will definitely be necessary because," he shrugged his shoulders. "Miss Martinez, I know that you're not going to believe me, almost no one does, but I'm not the father. I'm very sure that you've heard that, thousands of times in your line of work. You don't know me and you have no reason to believe me. So let's just make this as pleasant as possible for both of us."

As she looked at him she noticed that a little bit of the boyish charm and swagger had worn away. He looked as if he'd been slightly worn down around the edges by all of the pressure of being under the spotlight. The vulnerability actually enhanced his attractiveness even more. Inspite of herself, Helena could feel something for this man already. It didn't make sense. And her track record with men was dismal.

"Mr. Alexander, you said something interesting. You said the prosecutor assigned to your case..."she began.

"Yes, Miss Martinez, it would appear that your Aunt was able to get the case assigned to Bill Maitland," he said.

"Well both Mr. Maitland and I would need to speak to the mother first, before we could go into the specifics of the case. All we really have right now is the complaint she signed..."

"She's in California still, doing the talk show circuit and trying to trash my good name," he said.

"I just wanted to come in and hand over my records so the investigation can proceed and all of our dealings with one another can be pleasant or at least as straight forward as possible," he continued.

"I'd like to return home sometime within the next day or so, would it be possible for you and Mr. Maitland to arrange for them to swab my cheek and get my sample sent out to the lab?" he asked.

"I'll see what I can do," she said. As he started to leave, she stopped him. "I can see that this is pretty hard on you, Mr. Alexander..."

"Please, call me Blake," he said.

"Blake, why didn't you just pay her or arrange something when she first told you? You wouldn't have had to go through all of this."

"Miss Martinez, I was never given the chance to do that. I found out about the child the same way you did. I read about it in the paper. I was never once contacted or told about it before then. I gave Mr. Maitland all of my phone records to prove that. In fact, I never actually met Billie Jean before my awards dinner. All of the things she's saying on TV and in the print media about how she tried to contact me for months are simply not true."

As he walked away, Helena was surprised. In the five years that she'd been doing her job, she'd heard hundreds of ridiculous and farfetched things. She'd gotten to the point where she'd thought that she was a fairly good judge of character. She really believed this one. She dialed her Aunt's phone to get Maitland's number.

# # # # #

By the time we got back on the plane the next day Helena Martinez and Bill Maitland had arranged and received my sample. Both were beyond courteous in our dealings.

Both were also trying to arrange to speak with Billie Jean. Helena was trying to find out as much as she could about the whereabouts and disposition of my supposed son. After all, if I was going to have to pay for support for him, I'd be entitled to see him and have a say in his life and living arrangements. Both Maitland and Martinez expressed their concerns about certain aspects of the way that Billie Jean was handling things.

I had given Sarah the assignment of finding out as much as she could about the child and his whereabouts. As good as the Florida Attorney's office was and I was sure they had their own investigators, Sarah was simply, better.

None of that mattered, within hours we were back in California and my life had gotten worse. Before the plane landed, there were already reporters waiting for me.

"Have you seen the latest headlines?" I was asked.

"Did you fly to Florida for a secret tryst with your lover?" another asked.

"Who was the mystery woman you met with in Florida?" someone asked.

"What about your divorce?" someone asked. That caught me by surprise, and outraged me. I instantly put two and two together and came up with three. I assumed that they thought that I wanted to divorce Mary Beth for Billie Jean.

"That won't ever happen," I said, breaking the rule of common sense and engaging in an impromptu talk with a person who would only take my words and twist them into the most salacious form possible in order to sell a few papers.

"I love Mary Beth far too much to ever leave her for anyone," I said firmly. There was a round of laughter after that. I got into my Shelby and headed for the office. Once I got there I noticed that the usual rounds of good natured joking that usually accompanied my return from a trip were absent. The majority of the associates and my co-workers wouldn't meet my eyes.

Myra hustled me into the office and closed the door behind us. She handed me a stack of newspapers. The headline on the first one was hilarious. "Alexander the Great vs. the Angel of Death." The accompanying article told about how my crime was so bad that I'd probably be the first person to get the electric chair for fathering a child.

The next paper was nearly as bad and as untrue, "Alexander sneaks off to Florida to make secret deal behind Billie Jean's back."

Another paper didn't even try to get any facts. They just made something up, "Alexander goes to Florida for yet another woman." There was a picture of myself and Helena. I wondered how she'd take the publicity. I hoped that she wouldn't think that I'd caused it.

The one that hurt me the most was a local paper. The headline printed in it struck a dagger in my heart. "Mary Beth files for divorce against cheating spouse." It wasn't me divorcing her over Billie Jean; Mary Beth had simply come to the end of her rope. According to the article she was seeking a divorce from me citing irreconcilable differences. In the article she said that things between us had been bad for a long time. Billie Jean wasn't the cause of the divorce, just the final insult. I was hurt beyond belief. We had in fact been very happy until Billie Jean stuck her nose into our life. At least I'd thought we were. I wondered why MB had said that.

I collapsed into my chair. I really wanted to start crying right then and there. I grabbed my cell phone and called MB. I hoped more than anything that the article in the paper wasn't true.

Myra handed me a stack of phone messages. One stuck out more than anything else, a message from my old college rival. He'd struck out on his own and started his own advertising firm. For a small potatoes outfit they weren't bad. Of course he wasn't in our league but he was good. He probably just wanted to take this chance to strike while I was down and twist the knife a bit.

It was funny. We'd always been rivals, but friendly ones. I'd even sent a few clients that couldn't afford us his way over the past few years. I guess that Cyndi Lauper had it right. Money changes everything. I declined to return any of the calls.

The phone on my desk started ringing then. It hadn't gone through Myra's line; it had come straight to my direct line.

The partners wanted to see me. What else could go wrong?

As I walked through the offices most of the associates ignored me. A few, maybe three or four out of the tenth of so advertising reps waved at me or gave me the thumbs up sign. Three guys and one woman. I made note of who they were. In a few months when this was all over and I was back on top, I'd remember them. I was sure that I was going to have to explain my usage of the company jet for my trip to Florida. Or the fact that I hadn't given them any further information on the status of the French hotel deal. As soon as I spoke to the partners, I'd have to call Gascon and arrange something to make it look like the deal was proceeding as expected.

I stepped into the office that I'd been in thousands of times over the past few years. The climate was different. It was like being in Africa among a herd of Zebras. There's a certain kind of tension in the air that lets the Zebras know when a predator is about to strike and all of the Zebras take off. It felt like that in the office. Generally when I address these old men it's been from a position of strength. There have been times when certain partners didn't agree with or simply did not like something I'd planned, but I was usually able to garner enough support based on my track record or the amount of money I'd made for the firm.

This time there were no friendly faces in the meeting. Arthur Harris was absolutely gloating. I knew before he'd even begun to speak, that I wasn't Alexander the great today. I wasn't even Alexander the not so good. I was Napoleon at Waterloo. To put it simply, I was fucked. The decision had already been made.

"Blake," began Harris, in a tone that was dripping with fake concern, which only served to cover the sarcasm and the genuine malice he really intended. "You've made a lot of money for the firm, over the years. But all of this publicity is causing us to lose clients. So we'd like you to take a leave of absence until this whole thing blows over."

"Of course we'll keep you on the books as a consultant so you'll still draw fifty percent of your current salary. Two million dollars a year should keep you in Mustangs," he smiled. "And you can devote most of your time to taking care of this. These headlines simply aren't good for business and this will enable the firm to distance itself from you and all of the negativity."

Of course the papers would only say that I had left the firm indefinitely, which the average person would interpret as meaning I'd been fired. They'd assume that the firm was trying to put it nicely to make sure that there was no wrongful termination suit. Since this wasn't about my work or the quality of my work, I'd have a darn good chance of winning a suit, like that. The two million was a payoff to prevent the suit as well.

"Of course as soon..."he began.

"Arthur, shut the fuck up," I said. "I've begun to see that things aren't the way I've always thought they were. You spend your life working your ass off to improve things and provide for people you think will be loyal to you. But at the first sign of trouble, they abandon you."

I looked around the table and surprisingly none of the old men would meet my eyes. "Out of all of you sanctimonious old bitches, I actually have the most respect for you, Arthur. You and I have never seen eye to eye on most things. At least you have a reason for wanting to see me gone. The rest of you are just...Pfah. I don't have words for you. To save you the trouble of going through all of this bullshit, I quit."

And I walked out of the room.

I walked straight out of the building, got into my car and drove away.

When I got home, feeling worse than I'd ever felt in my life, I just wanted to forget about the entire day. More than anything I just wanted to sit down and talk this whole thing out with my wife. I was sure that if I could just explain to her what was going on or what I thought was going on she'd at least give me a chance to fix it somehow.

That was when I found her note on the kitchen table. She'd gone away with her sister for a few days. We could talk about the best way to handle the divorce when she got back. She didn't even tell me when she would be back.

Less than a month ago I'd been Blake Alexander, and I had the world on a string. I had a great job, a great life and I was married to the woman of my dreams. Now I was unemployed, my life was in the toilet, my wife had abandoned me. The string seemed to have wrapped itself around my throat and was choking the shit out of me.