Redneck Rich

I put on one of my suits I'd picked up while I was in England, and drove my Cadillac. Her dress was understated but stunning, custom made to her measurements by a top fashion designer. We fit right in to the crowd at the five-star restaurant. I recognized a few of the patrons, high profile politicians, actors of the stage and screen, and a few sports figures.

It seemed everyone knew who everyone else was and by unspoken agreement left each other in peace other than an occasional friendly greeting. Some of the things she insisted I try didn't appeal at all, but a lot did. We ate as lightly as we could, but it was a five-course meal, not counting dessert.

The privacy agreement went out the window when we emerged. There were several paparazzi hanging around, taking photos of everyone who entered or left. "Ignore them," she said, as she walked to our vehicle. She looked around when she got there and I was gone, talking to them. They were really surprised and when Helene came back, we even posed for a few pictures together. She was not happy with me when we left.

"Why did you do that?"

"Research for one of my next books. I've always wanted to do a murder mystery, and I bet those guys have some tales to tell. Besides, we'll be all over the rags tomorrow. What did the actor from the past used to say? Any publicity is good publicity? Besides, we're just B list at best, the first time a big name pops up we'll be toast."

I didn't know it at the time, but I'd offended her. She considered herself an 'A Lister' of the highest order.

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She was every bit as hot in bed as I thought she'd be and despite her dimensions she was incredible athletic and flexible. People got used to seeing us at events and she mentioned me often on her show. She giggled once while she fixed a dish, saying "Miles hates this. Not plebian enough, I guess."

Plebian? Well, maybe. I found out pretty quick we were from different worlds. She took me home to Texas, for her parent's thirtieth anniversary. It looked like an English manor house had been dropped right in the middle of a cattle ranch. Seriously, the grounds had to be fenced in to keep the longhorns from eating the landscaping.

Her father was big, commanding, and incredibly overbearing. He had me in his library, and after his third brandy and second cigar I kind of lost it. "Let me be clear here. If we ever get serious and marry, I'm marrying her, not the family, especially not you. It would be in your best interests to leave us alone."

He went about five shades of red and was still trying to form words when I walked out. Helene found me at a fountain in one of the elaborate gardens on the grounds.

"What did you tell Daddy?"

"I told him to mind his own fucking business."

I saw her jump a little in the moonlight, then she started giggling. "What did he say?"

"I don't know. I didn't wait around for him to regain speech. I think the shock of someone not giving a shit about his opinions rendered him speechless."

"He'll have it in for you now."

"And that should bother me, why?"

"Well, if we remain together, it'll be incredibly awkward at family gatherings."

"No, it won't. If he remains calm and civil, so will I. If he gets on his pompous high horse, I'll make it a point to slap him out of the saddle."

She was quiet for a minute. "Do you have any idea who my father is?"

"Not really. We never really talked about our parents."

"He's Emilio Montoya. He owns, among other things, Montoya Avionics. He's developed stuff that's in every plane that flies in the air. Daddy's thinking about joining with another tech giant to develop a rocket ship geared towards space tourism. He's about three years away from being a trillionaire."

"Good for him. Wait, I thought your husband was a Montoya."

She giggled again. "No, Daddy made me promise to never change my name, and that all children I ever have carry his."

"Every man I'd ever met, unless they were lowlife gold-diggers, would never give their naming rights away. He really thinks he can get away with that?"

"He's Emilio Montoya. Of course, he can."

She didn't know it at the time, but that was the beginning of the end for us. I told her in no uncertain terms that any children I sired would carry my name. No negotiation. There wasn't a reason in the world that I would change my mind.

"Daddy said he'd see I never got a cent of his money if I didn't follow his wishes."

"Well then, when you marry it better be to someone you can control, because that wouldn't fly with most men. Besides, if you value money more than any prospective mate, your relationships are doomed from the start. I bet there'd be a pretty harsh prenup attached to all of this, wouldn't there?"

She refused to answer and left. I was about to go in when I felt a presence. It was her mother, a true Southern Belle in every sense of the world.

"Helene told me what you said to my husband. I just wanted to thank you. It's been a while since he ran into someone whose agenda didn't include kissing his butt. Maybe it'll give him the reality check he needs."

"I didn't do anything anyone else would have done."

"That's not necessarily true. Our wealth seems to intimidate most people, especially men romantically linked to our daughter."

We talked for about an hour. She urged me to be patient with Helene, that being away from the influence of her father seemed to be doing her good. I told her what she'd said about children and by her face I think it was news to her. She sighed.

"He wasn't this way when we married. Success, the massive success he's achieved, has gone to his head and given him an overblown sense of entitlement."

"How do you stand him?"

Her teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "We had nothing when we started out, so there was no need for a prenup. As he got more successful, he had the gall to present me with a postnuptial. I'll never forget the look in his eyes when I tore it up in front of him and his lawyer. Now he treats me like gold, knowing I'm the goose that could break the golden egg. If we split and I get 50% of his stake in the company, anyone I align with could take over and force him out of his position. I think that keeps him up at night sometimes."

Looking at her, I wondered if I could live like that, but luckily it wasn't my life.

She showed me to an empty bedroom and I crashed for the night. Helene had little to say to me the next morning and her father didn't dine with us. Her Mom was in good humor and teased her a little, getting me to smile.

The ride back to the airport was a little chilly.

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We'd kissed and made up after a week, but the conversation was always in the back of my mind. We each maintained separate houses but for all intents and purposes we lived together. She tended to visit her family once a month, and I always seemed to be immersed in research so I skipped most of them.

Eight months later Helene was hinting strongly about a ring. I decided to be blunt. "I have deep feelings for you, Helene. I could love you very easily, but let me ask you something. Would you marry me even if I insist that any children we have bear my name? And I'd insist you bear it as well. I'm a man who needs total commitment from a mate, and I'd never ask for a prenuptial agreement. Look me in the eye and tell me you can do this, and I'll be ring shopping before the week is out."

She left, and she never came back. I talked to her twice afterwards, and she was cool towards me both times. I wrote it off as a lesson learned and let it go, but she couldn't. She announced on her show we were no longer a couple because I lacked vision and was a very shallow person. Then she started dropping tidbits in gossip rags and shows like TMZ that I was also lacking in the bedroom. I never responded to anything until she showed up at the Emmys drunk on her ass with a country singer barely out of his teens, telling everyone she was glad she found a real man who knew how to use his equipment, unlike me.

I got my revenge the only way a writer can. I wrote her and her father into my next novel, and both characters came off as shallow, petty people, people to avoid if at all possible. I also hinted around their relationship might not be as traditional as one would think. It sold very, very well. When a reviewer asked about it, I admitted they inspired my characters, giving the old saw about writing what you know.

That sparked off threatening letters from multiple lawyers, but I had been at the game long enough to know how close I could skate to the line, and had a pretty spiffy set of lawyers as well.

I also had a secret weapon. Two paparazzi I had befriended for my research became if not friends, then close acquaintances. One even warned me about Helene before I got in too deep. "You need to be careful with her, man. Her daddy fucks up everyone who says a bad word about her. There's been a few incidences as well as interesting photos that have been squashed or bought off in the last few years. One guy that wouldn't stop got beat pretty bad. Bone breaking, organ damaging bad."

When the Grammys happened, he was one of the photographers and he followed them to an after party, sneaking into a building across the street and shooting everything from the third floor. He called me first, offering the photos. I gave him above what he asked and sent one to both her and her father. It showed her stoned out of her mind, her gown down to her waist, with a man attached to each nipple. The picture came with a note. "It's over, we're over, and I won't tolerate another disparaging comment or innuendo from either of you. The first one, even if it's mild, and this picture shows up on the internet. Never speak my name in public again."

Emilio was smart enough not to approach me, so he sent a team of lawyers, offering stupidly high amounts of money for rights to what I had. I sent another back with them, showing her sitting on a bench, still topless, with a man on his knees, his head under her flowing dress, with a clear message. "NO. Leave me alone and this never sees the light of day."

I saw the cover of the Wall Street Journal eighteen months later, showing Emilio and his wife in separate photos. She'd filed for divorce citing infidelity. She had obviously been planning it for quite a while, because prior to the split she had managed to accumulate enough stock on her own to make her the majority stockholder after she got half his shares. He'd be working for her, if she let him stay. I smiled all day.

Helene married and divorced three times in the next six years and never had children, so there was no argument over naming rights. Her mother married a man richer than she was three years after her divorce. I saw her and her new husband in Monaco, while I was there for the release of my eighth movie. We had a pleasant dinner and she told me she had hoped I would be the one for her daughter. I told her I wished I'd been on the scene thirty years before because she'd be my wife now.

She flamed red and her new husband tried his best not to laugh. She whirled around and told him if I had he'd just be a passing acquaintance. Then she laughed and gave him a big kiss. They invited me for a few days of cruising on their yacht and I had to decline, but promised faithfully to go with them the next time if I had enough notice. They made me promise so I think they were sincere.

Helene's show had been cancelled despite Daddy's money. She wrote a few more cookbooks and posted a YouTube channel but she didn't have a lot of followers and she quietly drifted into obscurity. Myra told me she'd moved back in with her father when she left and I could see by the look on her face it troubled her. I got the vibe that there was nothing inappropriate between them, just an extreme case of Daddy worship. Then again, who knew. I certainly didn't want to.

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I thought about how my life was going as I lay down that night. I'd just spent the day and evening hobnobbing with some of the richest people in the world and they seemed to accept me as one of their own. Quite a jump for the redneck who never went to college. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that I wasn't intimidated or awed by who they were. It didn't matter if a woman had on a fifty-thousand-dollar designer dress or a fifteen dollar one from Walmart, they were the same creatures underneath. The same for the men, a bespoke tux and a pocket full of money didn't make you any different from the guy in jeans and a tee. Every one of them had their own dreams, triumphs, and miserable failures, just of different magnitudes.

I got just as many story ideas from them as I got from the people in the little bars, coffeeshops, and diners I frequented, in very small differences. My latest was a romance, a semi-Cinderella story, the woman rich beyond the mans' wildest imaginings, gleaned from my ability to walk in both worlds. The bidding for the movie rights was already heating up and it had only been out for three weeks.

The premiere over, obligations fulfilled, I went home. Now home meant my four-bedroom house on the same lake as my old one. Darla had been furious when I insisted it be sold and neither of us got it, but my lawyer had a nice chat with her lawyer and made him aware of how costly and prolonged the divorce would be if she didn't concede. It still took three months to get her to agree.

It didn't really matter, she had her own money now and could buy anything she wanted, so she bought a house five doors down from our old one. When I bought mine, I made sure it was as far away as possible and still share the same shoreline. She finally got around to learning to sail and I'd see her from time to time on the lake. I'd bought a pontoon and a speedboat, use depending on how many I had with me. Helene and I were out one day when I saw her boat and I pointed it out to her.

She grinned and had me get close, dropping her top. I hailed her and she looked down and smiled, until she saw Helene sunbathing on the bow. She heeled around so fast she almost capsized and hit us, screaming as she sailed away. I wasn't as impressed with the stunt as Helene was, and she crowed about it until I told her to stop.

I had a new female in my life now, and she demanded a lot of attention. Brenda, named because she was a brindle, was an American Bully, a breed that looked like a pit bull on steroids. My editor's wife raised them and was all excited about showing off her newest litter. They were about seven weeks old, and when I petted them, Brenda refused to share and hogged my attention. I tried to buy her and Joan laughed. "See this new house? You helped pay for it, by using Tim and steering new writers his way. You pay for her papers and the rest of her shots and we'll call it even."

Joan also trained Brenda to obey simple commands and behave. She offered guard training but it made me uneasy so I refused. "All right, but understand this. These dogs are very good natured but they're territorial, and if they or someone they consider part of their pack gets threatened, they may react badly."

Brenda loved two things, besides me I hoped, riding and kids. She would let toddlers crawl all over her, tug her skin and ears, and shimmy happily the whole time. I was at my parents, along with my sister, my brothers, their families, friends, and about ten kids from ten to eighteen months. Brenda was in heaven as they chased each other around the yard and rolled in the grass. Their neighbor had a pit bull he kept chained and he often made fun of Brenda, saying she was a blow-up doll version of a real dog.

I just grinned. "Maybe in your mind. But think on this. My dog has a large, fenced in back yard to play in and sleeps in my house, and goes everywhere I go if I let her. You keep yours chained and maybe pet him once or twice a day. I bet if he had the choice, he'd be at my house in a second. Brenda could use a boyfriend, but then again she'd probably make him her bitch."

He took a deep breath the start his rant, thought about it, and stomped off. He'd beaten me up in grade school, but I kicked his ass every year from junior high on. He had a really good start on a beer belly while I was still lean and fit. He knew instinctively any confrontation would not end well for him.

The afternoon went well until Mom had to get her obligatory 'why don't you get married and give me grandchildren yet' speech. "Really? You've got seven grandchildren running around in this yard and you're complaining? Looks like you're above the quota to me."

"You're missing the point. I'll give you an analogy here. You know Brett is a gun nut, and I once told him he had too many weapons. He puffed up and told me you could never have too many guns. Guns were important to him. Well, I can never have too many grandchildren."

"I'll give it serious consideration, but I still need to meet someone who I actually care enough about to marry. That could take a while, my track record isn't the greatest."

She grinned sadly. Mom had really liked Darla. Then she perked up. "I can wait, but you need to step up."

It took promising to make her happy and I grinned as I rode home, listening to Brenda pant. She'd had a hard day, rolling around with a bunch of kids can take a lot out of you.

It wasn't that I didn't date, and I had met some interesting women along the way. They came from all walks of life and social station. I dated a waitress I met in a little Texas diner for three months, before she broke it off, saying I was a bit much for her. It made me wonder, she had a college degree and I didn't, but despite that I was worth more than she would probably ever make in her lifetime. She was only waitressing to have something to do, her parents were wealthy and she had no money worries. I found the whole thing odd and was kind of relieved when she gave her little speech.

Then I dated a singer from Detroit that had dropped out of school in the ninth grade, but by sheer will and exceptional talent made it to the top of the music charts. I thought we were getting closer when she broke it off, saying demographics showed I was too white for her and it was hurting her sales. Guess it told me where her priorities lay.

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Sometimes I thought I'd never be a fit mate for anyone any more, because I had developed a habit of completely isolating when I started writing, disappearing into my office for weeks at a time. Then again, if I had a family, I could adjust my priorities. I often feared I would run out of ideas, then a news article, an overheard conversation at a diner or bar, would have me off and running again.

I ran into Darla at the Yacht Club, there to celebrate the Commodore's retirement. He was 75 and the Board would have been more than happy to let him die at his post, but he wanted to retire to the 'islands', which was very unspecific, so they had to let him go.

I had become if not a friend, then a warm acquaintance. When I had a nautical question for one of my novels, he was the first one I thought of, so I took him to dinner and picked his brain. When I needed some input for my novel on a retired military man, his years of service provided me with all I needed. I paid him a consultancy fee for that and credited his input in my foreword.

He was a big history buff, especially nautical history, and he often talked about his fascination for the failed attempt to find the fabled 'Northwest Passage', leading to the deaths of Admiral Franklin and the crews of both his ship. Oddly, it seemed more succumbed to lead poisoning that the elements, the result of the canned food they carried being sealed with lead. I had a custom-made replica of the HMS Terror, the Admiral's flagship, as a retirement gift. It was built inside a large bottle, and you could tell he was touched when he opened it.