Real Love Ch. 03

"That you do, son," his dad replies. "You just pick up that phone and we'll come right back so you can vent your fury for as long as you need to."

"Can I just ask why you didn't tell me?"

"There was never a good time for it, honey," his mom says. "How do you bring something like that up in conversation?"

"Besides, you would have asked who your parents were, and we would have to lie directly to your face," his dad adds. "We just couldn't figure out how to tell you."

"Fair enough," Brad says, managing to sound calm while inside, he just wants to vanish to somewhere quiet where no one can hear him scream. "Have a good trip."

"Love you, Honey."

"Love you too," Brad finishes and ends the call.

He squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath and walks back in to see what else the lawyer has to say.

"Everything okay, Mr Weber?" Mr Alden asks as Brad sits back down.

"I don't know if I'd describe it as okay," Brad says a moment later. "I just spoke to my parents."

"So you know I'm telling the truth then?"

Brad swallows and nods.

"Bit of a shock."

"I believe you. Shall I continue?"

Brad has to pause.

"Might as well," Brad says.

Mr Alden moves the photograph of the triplets in front of him that has his father holding two of the triplet's in it and a nurse holding the third, just for him to see. He mentioned his baby picture was copied from this photograph. Brad looks at his baby picture and compares the two. He determines his baby picture was copied from the triplet photograph. Then Mr Alden identifies the babies.

"This baby is named Stacy."

Hearing the name Stacy, Brad's mind flashes back three years to the temptress he had intimate sex with and he smiles inward, knowing it can't possibly be the same person. He brushes off the notion in his next breath.

The lawyer's finger moves from the left baby to tap on the infant on the right.

"This one is named Peggy, and the one in the middle is named Bradley."

Then the lawyer presses on as it sinks in he has twin sisters.

"Mr Packard did his best to keep a discrete eye on you and your sisters while you were growing up and he kept private files with the information for an occasion such as this. Your father would like you to come to his private Island, where you can meet your sisters and get to know each other without any of the constraints and pressures of the outside world."

"What does that mean?" Brad asks.

"Pressures and so forth?" the old man asks.

Brad nods, so he continues.

"To give you one example, Mr Packard was a very recognizable public figure with a long ongoing relationship with the press."

Brad nods, having seen him at movie premieres, award shows, chat shows and in the papers too.

"The press is already making enquiries about who will inherit the vast fortune of the Packard Empire, and sooner or later, someone will remember him in a hospital twenty three years ago and either do some digging, or simply open their mouth on their favorite social networking site. In today's instant-media world, it's only a matter of hours or days before you and your sisters get tracked down and besieged by the media."

"You're shitting me," Brad exclaims. "Seriously? That's what you think is going to happen?"

Mr Alden blinks.

"That's what will happen, Brad. We have tons of experience with this."

"I would have thought they'd..." Brad trails off.

Thinking about it, he knows that the old man is right in what he's saying. There would be a media frenzy and he'd be right in the middle of it.

"Fuck me sideways."

"I see we're on the same page, Brad."

"I guess so," he replies, unhappily. "So what happens now?"

"There's a limo outside for you. A private jet is due to arrive in," he glances at his watch, a polished silver pocket watch, then drops it back in his pocket, "nine hours time, that's half past eight tonight. Take-off will be around nine o'clock and the flight from San Antonio to Guadeloupe Island, the nearest airport to the Island, is around seven hours. From there you'll take a boat for an hour to the Island itself, so you should arrive shortly after sunrise."

"Overnight journey?" Brad asks, frowning. "It sounds exhausting."

"Unfortunately we have to get all three of you to the Island as soon as possible, so it's unavoidable at this time. However," the old man pauses, "at the airport will be a woman named Kelly Miller. She was your father's executive assistant and worked in that capacity for the last five years. She'll be your liaison, your point of contact and your personal assistant for the duration of your trip."

"Why do I need an assistant?" Brad asks.

"Because you'll have lots of questions," the old man says simply. "Kelly is very good at her job and she'll be a real asset to you, so make sure you rely on her. She will have the answer to any question you ask."

"We'll see," Brad replies, knowing he still isn't sure if he's going to go to this Island at all.

The idea of running off with his folks suddenly seems appealing, despite his well-known aversion to hiking.

"Between now and tonight you'll have a driver to look after you. Her name is Caroline, I'm assured she's very good and she'll have a few forms for you to complete. I also have this for you."

The old man slides an envelope over the table. Brad opens it and empties the contents. A Visa card, a MasterCard, a clear envelope with cash in it and a small keyfob.

"What's all this?"

"The credit cards are for you to purchase some suitable clothing for your trip, the cash if you don't want to use your credit cards or if you need to tip and the keyfob is a personal alarm," the old man explains. "If you push the red button, a security team will converge on your location and extract you from any situation or threat in the vicinity."

"Like bodyguards?" Brad asks, shaking his head. "This is too surreal."

"I imagine you will experience several surreal moments in the days to come," the old man replies.

"Pin numbers for the cards?" Brad asks, picking them up and looking at them. They seem almost too good to be true.

"The year of your birth. We can change that tomorrow for you."

"I suppose they've got like a twenty grand limit or something extravagant like that?" Brad laughs.

"Oh heavens no," Mr Alden says. "I believe they're somewhere in excess of a couple of hundred thousand dollars, but they were set up in a hurry, so we'll get that straightened out too in the next few days."

Brad snorts with laughter.

"Another surreal moment?" the lawyer asks, his expression blank.

"Something like that."

"So, I've got a chauffeur, a load of credit and cash and a goon-squad on standby, just to cover me for nine hours until I catch a plane to an island paradise?"

"Not a plane, a private jet, but yes, close enough," he nods.

"Fucking hellfire," Brad says quietly, the laughter and incredulity of the moment stops. "So do I just go back to my desk until I finish work now? What happens?"

"Oh, good lord, no," Mr Alden replies, looking as if he's taken aback for the first time. "Mr Packard actually owns this company, although it's not widely known. That is why I was able to get the directors here today to take over your job. However, no, you don't need to return to your desk unless there is something you need to get to take with you. In fact you don't need to return to it ever again if you so choose."

"What about my boss?" Brad asks. "Sometimes he's a real dick and I don't want him to throw a bitch fit."

"Brad," the old lawyer says, leaning forward across the table. "It'll take a while to get your head around some of the changes that are going to happen in your life in the next few days, weeks and months. However, if your boss is, as you put it, a real dick, then you can always deal with it by coming back here in a few weeks and take care of the matter personally."

"Good point actually."

"Now then, onto the last file," the old man says, gathering the other documentation away.

"What's in this one?"

"Your sisters."

Brad feels that cold sinking feeling in his stomach again and suddenly, his mouth is dry. Again, he temporarily drifts back to an image of Stacy from three years ago. He realizes he's craving a cigarette again and has been for since he heard he was adopted, which is unusual as he quit nearly a year ago and hasn't had a craving in seven or eight months.

"Okay, let's see them," Brad says, feeling a hint of excitement and fear at the thought of having sisters and wants to find out who they are.

The lawyer opens the folder and slides two photographs across the table. Brad's breathing literally stops. His face turns pale white. His mind leaves his head. His mouth opens as he leans his head back in utter shock and disbelief.

"Is everything okay, Brad?" the old lawyer asks as Brad leans back down and stares at the photographs on the table. "You've gone a little pale."

In a voice barely above a whisper, Brad says, "Oh, fuck, please let this be a joke."

Brad is reeling, the instant recognition of the two faces in the photos is making him feel dizzy, excited and angry, all at the same time.

It's Julie and Sahara, the two stars of his own personal spank-bank, the sexual memories that come back to him every night when he lays in bed, his eyes closed, stroking his cock. The two hottest women he's ever encountered and god, or fate, or destiny has decided to fuck him up and reveal they are his sisters. He curses the part of himself that's excited at the thought of meeting them again. He knows there's no way he could have known they are his sisters, that there is no possible way he could have known. But still, he feels disgusted with himself, the strength of the social and legal taboo so strong that he just feels... wrong, dirty, and not in a good way.

The conflicting emotions and memories made his already knotted stomach feel like a stuffed toy inside a washing machine on a spin-cycle.

"Brad," Mr Alden asks again. "Is everything okay?"

Brad looks at the old man across the table and takes a deep breath.

"Mr Alden, are you my lawyer?"

"No, or more precisely, not yet. Right now I'm representing the interests of your father. Do you need a lawyer?"

The old man tilts his head, looking at Brad across the table.

"You need someone you can talk to confidentially with your best interests at heart and no-one else's?"

"Something like that," Brad replies.

Then another realization strikes him - when he hooked up with Julie as he thought of her, there are other people around. Ed and Casey, his buddies were there, but also her three friends. Five other people who knows the two of them have hooked up. Ed and Casey know that he got a lap dance from Sahara who is actually Peggy too. And if the press finds out about them, then all hell will break lose and all it would take is for someone to open their mouth.

"I'm not going to ask any questions just yet, however, I would advise you to speak to Kelly about the problem tonight, whatever it is," Mr Alden says firmly. "She's appointed to you to look after you, not to look after the business or to steer you in any particular direction, so if there's a problem, or if there may be one in the future, discuss it with her. She'll help you out and keep anything you tell her strictly confidential."

"Is she a lawyer?" Brad asks.

"No, but she can talk to one without incriminating you, or arrange a discussion with one for you. Either way, discuss it with her. Then once the last will and testament has been read, I can give you legal counsel, if it's still required. Is that sufficient?"

Brad shrugs helplessly, having no idea what to do about this.

"I guess it'll have to be for now."

"Do you have any other questions?"

Brad thought for a moment, then nods.

"My sisters... Are they being told just now too?"

"That's my task for today, I'm afraid," the lawyer replies. "As soon as we're done here I'm off to let them both know too. And if all goes well, you'll all meet for the first time on the Island tomorrow."

"We're all taking the same plane? Sorry, jet?"

The old man shakes his head and begins clearing up the documents and photographs from the table.

"No, Brad. You'll be making your way there with Kelly and your sisters will arrive together some time tomorrow, if everything goes well."

"Oh, okay. So what do I do now?" he asks as the words come out on auto-pilot.

Inside, Brad still feels like he's reeling.

"Get in the car outside, go shopping for some clothes for a week on a Caribbean island, and whatever else you want to take with you. There are limitations though."

"Such as don't buy a Lamborghini?" Brad says as he shakes his head, experiencing one of those surreal moments.

"I daresay you could if you wish, but Mr Packard already has a couple," the old man replies, smiling slightly. "Limitations. You can't discuss this with your friends, and if they ask, tell them you have to go away on a business trip, advising the two Company Directors that turned up out the blue today."

"Currently they're smoothing things over within the organization and finishing what you started so that people will think you've been selected for a fast-track career path and are off around the country for a week or so."

"That's why they're here?"

The lawyer nods.

"They don't know the details, but yes, they're here only to give you a legitimate excuse to vanish for a week."

"Shit... What about my friends? I can't tell Ed and Casey?" Brad asks.

"That's correct."

"I kinda already told my parents that I'd be going to meet with these sisters of mine," Brad says, frowning.

"That's okay, Brad. They're your parents, although I'd strongly suggest you call them and ask them to keep quiet about it over the next couple of days."

"Okay, I will do that. What else?"

"That's it, for now," the lawyer says, placing the files in his briefcase. "Oh, here's a suggested list of items you should bring, along with a list of places you can find them. It's from a creative professional on the Island. To be frank, she's a bit of a nuisance, but she does know how to make you look good."

The old man slides three sheets of paper across the table to Brad.

"Come, Bradley Weber. I'll walk you to your car, introduce you to your driver and then I'll see you late tomorrow."

Mr Alden stands up and beckons Brad to the door.

Brad leads the lawyer out to the Reception, absently patting his pockets to make sure he has his house keys. He can feel the wad of cash in his wallet along with the new credit cards. They exit the building and Brad's eyes widen as he sees the two limos parked at the curb.

"Wow, this is really surreal," he murmurs.

"What's that?" Mr Alden asks.

"Sorry, nothing. Just muttering... again," Brad replies.

"Well, Bradley Weber, it's been a pleasure meeting you, and once again, my apologies for turning your world completely upside down. Let's hope, when everything settles down, it looks better than it does now."

The old man offers a hand and Brad shakes it.

"Best of luck today, Mr Alden. Can I make a request of you?" Brad asks quickly as the old man turns to leave.

"Yes, of course."

"When you meet with my sisters, can you give them a message for me?"

"It depends on the content of the message, Brad."

"Can you tell them I wish I knew I had sisters and I'm looking forward to meeting them both for the first time tomorrow?"

The old lawyer's eyebrow raises.

"Indeed. I'm sure I can pass that on. Good luck, Brad, and I'll see you tomorrow. And don't forget your passport."

Brad nods, breathing a sigh of relief as the old man turns his back and walks away. The message is a spur of the moment thing and the wording impromptu. But he wants to get a message to them if they remembered him, telling them he wishes he knew he had sisters would remind them that none of them knew they were related when they met before.

Adding that he's looking forward to meeting them for the first time tomorrow, is something he's rather pleased with. A hidden message saying don't admit that we've already met. In the event that one or both of them don't remember him, then the whole message would seem quite sweet.

Brad smiles, his stomach still doing flip-flops, but nowhere near as bad as it was a few minutes ago.

* * * * *

"Mr Weber?"

Brad turns, hearing a woman's voice from behind him, beside the limo.

"Hi. I'm Caroline, your driver for today, Sir."

Caroline turns out to be a short-haired dirty-blonde woman in her mid to late twenties, dressed in the classic black suit, white shirt, black tie and the peaked hat, common among limo drivers.

"Hi Caroline. Call me Brad please."

She nods.

"Very good, Sir... Brad. Where are we going?" she says and smiles.

Brad smiles, not sure what to expect anymore.

"That's an easy one. Somewhere I can buy cigarettes. Then, apparently there's a list of things I have to get," he says, handing her the list.

She reads the list, nods, opens the limo door, Brad slides in on the leather seat and moments later, they're off.

That first cigarette is a guilty pleasure, but it just makes Brad feel sicker than he already does, so he binned it halfway through. The three hours that follows passes in a blur. Brad is tired and unfocused with fear as to whether or not he's doing the right thing.

Caroline drives him from store to store, picking up a business suit and clothes of a far superior quality than anything he's worn to date. Designer clothing stores, designer luggage, everything that's on the list is specific and labeled, put together by someone called Margaret.

Brad is reluctant, at first, to accept that someone can pick out what he should wear and know, better than he does, what suits him, but she seems to have unerringly good taste. In the first three stores he tries on a few items and after that he just checks to see if the sizes are right and hands them to the sales assistants that follow him around. Showing up at the front door in a limo and wearing designer clothing certainly gets their attention, and the service is far above anything he has experienced prior to this.

Eventually the adrenalin of the whole thing wears off and Brad feels exhausted. His growling stomach reminds him he hasn't eaten at all so they stop for lunch. Brad insists that Caroline joins him, rather than eat alone, and they talk about life as a limo driver in the city.

"You see some sights, believe me."

"Like what?" Brad asks, enjoying the novelty of being able to order whatever the hell he wants and have a pretty hot woman for company. Caroline is a pretty girl as Brad finally takes the time to notice as they talk.

"Alright, couple of nights ago I'm driving these three German businessmen around and when I picked them up from the restaurant, they're all blitzed, right?"

Brad nods and takes a bite of his expensive steak burger.

"Well, one of them comes up to the window and taps on it, so I lower it down while I'm driving and he asks me to take them to get some hookers."

Brad coughs.

"No fucking way. Just like that?"

Caroline nods, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Yeah, plain as that. So I've got three options, right? One, I can ditch them, get no tip and probably get fired. Two, I can go and find some meth-head skanks that are probably riddled with god knows what diseases, or I can go with option three."

"Which is?"

"Call my roommate and get her to round up some friends."

Brad blinks.

"Your roommate is a hooker?"

"An Escort, and a very well paid one at that," Caroline replies with a raised eyebrow. "She only works one night a week and she earns more money than I do."

Brad nods.

"Whatever works for you, I guess," he responds.

"Exactly. So I call her, tell her about these guys and she makes some calls, right?" Caroline says and pauses for a sip of her Pepsi.