The Other Woman's Club

Chapter Three:

"As you have heard my name is Monique Delacroix. I was born in the south of France. I was "discovered" at the age of sixteen walking the beaches of Saint Tropez by an agent for an advertising agency that catered to the fashion industry. He immediately had me sit for a quick photo session and passed those photos to several of his clients in the industry. Seemingly overnight I became the hottest property in the fashion industry. I was loved by all the big designers and a star on the runways of Paris, London, Milan, and New York. I was making a hundred thousand dollars a day for photo shoots. The photographers said the camera loved me.

"I was living in the fast lane for the next fifteen years. I managed to avoid the pitfalls that normally befall the young models, namely cocaine, amphetamines, and lovers. I was lucky; my parents always said that I had the metabolism a race horse. Even now, I can eat practically anything I want and not gain any weight. As for the lovers, they were mostly just a distraction and to be avoided at all costs.

"My agent, Claude, became my advisor, my best friend, and my occasional bedmate. He watched over me and made sure I was always seen as a professional. After all, I was his meal ticket as well. All payments went to him; I received ninety percent, Claude, kept ten percent for himself. He counseled me to invest my money wisely, because someday, he said, there will be no more money coming in.

"That was one of the biggest problems he could see in the industry. Most of the girls, he said, came from poor or working-class families and were unaccustomed to handling money. They were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of money they were making and thought that it could never end. They spent their money recklessly and when their careers ended, had little to show for all their hard work.

"I managed to hang on for a couple of more years, but then the phones just seemed to stop ringing. I received a call from Claude one day at my estate in the country. 'Claude, how are you? You have any work for me?'

'I told you to prepare for this day. I know you are still beautiful and can hold your own against any of the models working today. But to the fashion designers and the industry in general, you are perceived as an old woman whose time has passed. I do have one more project in mind. It's something that you have always turned down in the past, but now it's the only thing out there. I have a contact in America, whose client, a large cosmetics company that is looking for someone to become the face of their latest cosmetic line. They're looking for someone who is perceived as being older, but who still looks as good as ever. They are hoping that women of all ages will assume that that person's look is all because of their products. That all they have to do is use those products to look as good as you."

"All right, what's the down side?"

"It's a ten year exclusive contract for ten million dollars. The catch is that they want you to move to America. You will be required to do commercials and personal appearances as needed. Basically, you will be giving up your career here and starting over."

"Claude, what career here? You said yourself that my career here is over. I'm only thirty-three; I don't want to sit around in this big old house waiting to die."

"There's one other thing. According to my friend, the owner of this company is a married older guy who asked for you specifically. He felt that this guy is obsessed with you."

"Don't worry about me; I can still ward off unwanted advances. I've been doing it all my life."

"Even from me?"

"Claude, my dear, sometimes they were wanted. After all, sometimes a girl needs a little loving in her life."

"Ok then, I'll have my friend draw up the contract. It will be a split fee arrangement. I'll get my share up front, it will only be a fraction of my normal fee, but that will be okay with me. You will be paid directly from the company and his fee will come out of your share. I want you to take care of yourself. I've always thought of you as the daughter I never had. I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you, too, Papa."

"A year later I found myself living in LA, doing photo shoots and commercials, personal appearances and late night television appearances. Vincent, the owner of the cosmetics company, became a fixture on the sets of all my work. It wasn't long before he and I were linked in the Hollywood rumor mill. And it wasn't long after that that I became the 'other woman' in his scandalous divorce, even though he had never succeeded in getting me into his bed.

"After five years of being unsuccessful in his attempts at winning me over, he finally forgot about me and went in search of greener pastures. Those greener pastures consisted of an equally rich divorcee who was much closer to his age. I had spent those years dating several celebrities, but never found true love which was my first requirement for marriage.

"I found myself hating LA more each day and as my contract's end-date rapidly approached, I told myself that I was through living in the fast lane of life. I wanted nothing more than to live the rest of my life out of the spotlight. That's when I was told about life here at Trilogy by one of the photographers of one my last shoots for the company. I went online the next day and viewed the builder's website for the community, looked at all the models and designed one for myself. A week later I came for a visit and fell in love. That's my story."

The next woman to speak introduced herself as Daria Johnson. She had been born in New York City to immigrants from the southern portion of Egypt.

"I went to The University of Connecticut on an athletic scholarship. I played basketball for four years for the UConn Huskies; but a career ending knee injury prevented me from going any further. It was a good thing that I had gone to classes and earned my degree in business administration. I continued my schooling, getting my master's degree in marketing; and soon after, joined the marketing department of the San Francisco Warriors.

"A year later, a former player and later a coach for the Warriors was brought into the basketball front office as a player liaison and mentor. The first time I met him it was love at first sight. He was a magnificent example of the male of the species. Tall, about six foot seven inches in height, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist; he weighed in at about two hundred and fifty pounds. There didn't appear to be an ounce of fat on him. He was truly handsome, especially in a custom fit Brooks Brothers suit. Unfortunately, he was married.

"I met his wife at the first team holiday party I attended. She was a white woman, really pretty, with long blonde hair and a substantial bust line which she took every opportunity to display. That night I got to know her a little better. To be kind, she wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer and from what I could determine their marriage wasn't doing well. She was lamenting the fact that now that her husband was no longer traveling with the team on a regular basis she felt a bit smothered in their relationship. When I talked to another wife she told me that it was common knowledge that he had met her during a time period in which he was having a difficult time with injuries which were threatening his career. All it took was a little kindness on her part to win him over and marriage soon followed.

"From what I discovered after the season ended. One of his points that he preached to newly drafted and players recently traded to the Warriors was if you were not already married, before you entered into the contract of marriage, that you and your future spouse should sign a pre-nuptial agreement to avoid the draconian divorce settlements occurring in a community property state like California. I took that to mean that he was unhappy in his marriage, but he and his wife had not signed a pre-nup and, therefore, if they divorced he would have to surrender half of the assets he had earned to her.

"Apparently he found me just as attractive as I found him. He started showing up at my office early in the morning, making a date for lunch that afternoon whenever he was in the office. I never encouraged him, but did nothing to dissuade him either. At one point in our "relationship" I told him that I would sign any pre-nup that he wanted as long as he promised to always love me.

"I guess I was the catalyst for their divorce; I was the "other woman". Although he would normally have had to surrender half of his assets, his lawyers and the private detective that they had hired, had uncovered several white lovers that she was involved with. The lawyers were able to get a substantial reduction in the divorce settlement due to her infidelity.

"We were married a month after his divorce was finalized. At the time of our marriage he was nearly twenty years older than me. He was a kind and gentle giant. He was a big man, who upheld the stereotype of the black man; but I could handle anything he threw my way and came back for more."

"We lived in the Sea Cliff section of San Francisco, in a beautifully restored home overlooking the Pacific Ocean, with a fantastic view of the Golden Gate Bridge. But to my taste, the weather, especially in the winter, was far too cold and wet. Even in the summer, the temperature rarely reaches into the seventies and can drop precipitously into the low fifties at night.

"With an eye looking to our eventually retirement from the organization, we purchased a house here in Trilogy and spent our vacations here warming our bones.

"He never reached retirement age. I couldn't understand how an athlete at the professional level, who maintained his body in peek condition, could develop heart disease. He suffered a massive heart attack halfway through the season before the COVID-19 pandemic. He died of a second attack in the hospital.

"I sold the house as soon as possible, quit my job, and moved here. That's how I came to live here and how I became one of the members of the Other Woman's Club."

The next woman to introduce herself was Maria Alvarez. The first thing she did was apologize to me.

"My story is not a pretty one and certainly not a noble one. I was born in the border city of Nogales, Arizona; my parents were citizens of Mexico. When I left the hospital my parents returned to their home in Nogales, Sonora, Mexico. I have dual citizenship and carry two passports.

"Growing up was hard, my parents were factory workers, barely making enough to provide for a family of five. I was the only child who had dual citizenship. My mother kept my birth certificate in a strong box with her other valuables, which weren't very valuable to anyone other than her. She always told me that my birth certificate, and the U.S citizenship that it represented, was the key to my future and that I should never lose it. I was a street kid, the youngest in the family, and acquired a street education in addition to my public school education. When my father deserted us and my mother began to drink, I was basically on my own. At the age of sixteen, I moved out and settled in the backroom, little more than a closet, of the neighborhood cantina where I worked in the kitchen and waiting on tables.

"I had just turned eighteen and had started working the bar, when I met a man who would change my life. He was a large man, much older than me, with seemingly permanently stained hands. I learned that he owned an automobile repair shop on the outskirts of town. I became pregnant around that time and wishing to have my child born in the United States I asked him to drive me to the hospital where I was born. With my US Passport in hand we crossed the border into the United States and checked into a hotel. Two days later, I walked into the hospital just as my water broke. I was emitted as a US citizen with no insurance. Six hours later I gave birth to a stillborn baby boy. Later that day, I was released from the hospital and driven back to Mexico.

"In the days and weeks ahead I grew closer to my new best friend. He wanted to marry me, but could not because he was still married. That changed a month later. I received no explanation other than he was now single. We got married at the city hall two days later and he took me to his expansive hacienda twenty miles southeast of the city. The house sat in a valley surrounded by low mountains. It had a high wall completely surrounding the house and several out buildings as well. There was concertina wire on the top of the wall and armed guards stood watch at key locations on the wall and at certain locations on the roof of the house. It was an armed camp!

"In Mexico, that meant only one thing, my new husband was a drug dealer.

"It took less than a month to see that there was no organization in his operation. He spent much of his time in town at his auto repair shop. He would come home at night carrying a large gym bag full of cash. Each night he would sit at his desk sorting his cash; banding it into thousand US dollar bundles, counting it and then placing each bundle into the closet safe. Weekly, he would pay his workers in cash and make a small deposit into his business checking account.

One day I was in his office when he opened the closet door. The cash bundles were piled half way up from the floor.

'Ernesto, why do you have all this cash in the house? You're just asking for one of your people to rob you.'

'They wouldn't dare; they know what happens to people who cross me. But what else can I do; the government people watch for large deposits of cash.'

'We have to do something. Let me think about it.'

'It's none of your concern right now. I have another job for you that's more important; and you are uniquely qualified to handle it.'

'What job?'

'I want you to return to the United States. You will live there Monday through Friday, and commute daily to your new job as my bookkeeper for the shop. You will stay here with me Friday and Saturday night and return to your home on Sunday night.'

"Ernesto, don't you love me?'

'Of course, I love you; which is the reason why I know I can completely trust you to do this for me. I own a nice house in a nice neighborhood in Nogales, Arizona. What I need is someone who can cross the border freely, without drawing undue interest of the border guards. The fact that you have dual citizenship and have two passports, you can cross the border as a Mexican citizen because you work in Mexico and return to the United States each night as a US citizen returning home from your job.'

"The next Sunday evening, I drove my late model, highly modified, Toyota Corolla to the border crossing. With my US Passport, I was subjected to a minimal amount of questioning and a cursory visual inspection; and was very pleasantly surprised by my new weekday living conditions.

"The next morning at 7:00, I drove across town to a quick oil change business that my husband owned. I parked my car in the lot behind the building, entered the building via the back door, and after a brief introduction was given the keys to a white 2010 Ford Explorer with Arizona plates.

"Once again I drove to the border crossing, this time presenting my Mexican Passport. In Spanish, I explained to the border guard that it was my first day of work as the bookkeeper of Excellent Automotive Repairs. He spent more time visually inspecting my cleavage than he did my vehicle, then waved me through.

"I drove south through the city of Nogales, Sonoma and headed to our house in the hills. After passing through security, I turned onto the dirt road which led to the house in the hills. I parked in the driveway in front of the front entrance. My husband was there to greet me.

'Any problems?' When I told him no, he smiled and replied, 'I didn't think there would be. The cleavage was a nice touch. Let's go in and have breakfast, then I have to go to work.'

"As we entered the house, I watched as someone started the SUV and headed around the side of the house, heading for one of several out buildings on our property.

"At 4:30, after several hours of counting and banding nearly twenty thousand US dollars, and adding an extra level of cash in the office closet safe, I climbed back into the SUV and headed for the border. I dropped off the Exployer at the oil change business, changed to my car and drove home.

"My routine did not vary. For the next several months I shuttled between the two houses and watched the cash pile up in the closet. I also learned a lot more about my husband's business.

'My husband's business started out supplying clean vehicles to various "businesses" in Mexico. SUVs were the most in demand. He had a network of thieves in the United States who would steal late model SUVs, cross the border into Mexico and deliver them to his shop. He paid them about a thousand dollars for each one; depending on its condition. He removed the GPS and any other electronics that can be traced by law enforcement; re-worked the engines, drive trains, and suspensions. He had a hacker who could get into the Motor Vehicle Departments of several states in the US. He registered the vehicles in these states and had the registrations and plates sent to the oil change company's post office box in Nogales. Then he sold them to his customers for $25,000 per unit. Custom orders were more expensive.

'That was the way his business started and was a major part of his income. When he realized that these customers had the funds to pay his outrageous prices and not bat an eye in protest; he decided to get into the drug business as well. He figured there was more than enough business out there, especially in the US, for him to do it without disrupting their market share and therefore going unnoticed by the big boys. What he didn't count on, and had no plan for, was how to get the cash into the banking system.

"I had been thinking about that for a while; and I told him my ideas."

'We have two paths we can go down. One is to get into a business that used large amounts of cash in the business, and the other was to get into a business that typically generates cash in the normal course of business.

'What I wanted to do was to start several check cashing businesses. With all the manufacturing companies that had opened here since the NAFTA was enacted we had a large blue collar workforce here in Mexico; most of whom were wary of the banking system and the peso. These people typically lived paycheck to paycheck and cashed their checks any place they could. If we offered them a cheap place to cash their paychecks especially for US dollars, they'd jump at the chance; and we would supply the business with the cash. We would deposit the checks we cashed into a checking account in our name here, which we could use to make investments for our future.

'For the other side of our problem, we could open a neighborhood bodega. It didn't have to have a lot of sales, just enough to cover the cost of running it. We would use it to deposit cash from your business into its checking account. Then we would write checks which would be deposited into the repair shop account.'

"We lived that way for nearly ten years, during which time I discovered just how much the SUV I was driving had been modified. Besides the removal of the tracking electronics and the engine modifications, my border crossing vehicle had one very special modification. My 2010 SUV had a 22.5 gallon fuel tank as original equipment. Mine had been modified to only hold five gallons. The original tank had been removed, the top cut off, and a new top had been installed across the bottom fourth of the tank, leaving a large open space in the hollowed out tank. The next step was to install a system to raise and lower the tank, similar to how a full-sized spare tire was secured to some minivans in the nineties. A rubber gasket was secured to the top of the tank to make the space water tight and the tank was reinstalled and disguised to hide any changes made. The mechanism was operated with an unused toggle switch on the dashboard.