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Six hours seemed like six minutes as the alarm bounced me from the bed. I hadn’t checked my phone all the previous night, knowing Travis might be upset, given the evil stare I’d received from him as I pulled away with Tim. I turned off the alarm and was a bit taken aback to see I’d received no messages and no phone calls. While I didn’t want caustic messages and logically, he knew I was busy, I had to admit I was somewhat disappointed.
I showered, dressed, and went to work. As I passed Tim’s office, he glanced up as if last night had never happened. That was the best part about working with men. They have an uncanny knack at erasing the past. Every day was new. We didn’t have to analyze the evening, rehash the events, or relive the discussion. Tim and I gave ourselves a mulligan – a do over.
I paused briefly at his office door and mumbled, “Morning.”
“Morning,” he replied.
Half the day went by before I realized Travis wasn’t in his office. I wondered how anyone could miss as much work as he does and get by with it. Perhaps he was giving a presentation, I justified. Surely he wasn’t ill. That man had a perfect body. He would live forever.
I was exhausted by 5:00 and eager to go home and relax, yet still disappointed I hadn’t heard from Travis. Just as I was leaving, I finally received a text, “I’m picking you up. Dinner is served.”
How could he just assume I was free? I wanted so badly to say no, but knowing a meal was waiting for me, I simply couldn’t resist. “When?” I responded.
“Now, Chloe. I’m picking you up now.”
I was exhausted, a little upset from his evil stare the night before, but unable to resist his allure. Fifteen minutes after his text, he was pulling in my driveway just as I was getting out of my car.
“Pack a bag and be back out here in five minutes,” he said from his side of the car as I was just getting out of mine, “I’ll wait.”
Five minutes later, as instructed, I was wheeling a small leather bag down my sidewalk. He popped the trunk, and I threw it in. We arrived at his house and two glasses of wine and a bottle of merlot awaited us on his porch. I was drowning in alcohol. I needed to just stop, but I didn’t.
He grabbed the bottle and motioned for me to grab the glasses, and I followed him to his dining room table. The patio door was left open and soft breeze blew through the house, putting me immediately at ease. He’d made sausage and spaghetti with salad and garlic bread.
“It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it,” he said.
“Of course, Travis, but how did you know I wouldn’t be busy?” I asked.
“I took a chance,” he replied, lighting two taper candles.
We enjoyed a nice meal and exchanged casual banter. It was relaxing to enjoy his company after having had that serious conversation with Tim the night before. At the conclusion of the meal, we both shared the quick chore of cleaning the kitchen, enjoying the dance of deftly moving around each other, silently divvying up who would wash and who would dry. These domestic moments were equally satisfying.
When all the dishes were put away and the candles were blown out, he pulled me by the hand to the hot tub. He began stripping and motioned for me to do the same. Like a puppet, I removed my clothes and joined him. We sat side by side, skin to skin, for at least ten minutes when he began to talk, head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling.
“I suppose Tim told you his sister used to work for my dad,” he said.
“Yes.” I wasn’t sure how much to divulge, so I decided to err on the side of caution yet remain truthful.
“Hmmm. Tim and I don’t exactly get along, Chloe. We go way back. I don’t want you to see him anymore.”
I was furious. Yet, on the other hand, I could understand why he wouldn’t want me hanging out in a bar with another man.
“I do have to work with him, Travis. You know that,” I replied.
“Work is one thing, but hanging out with some other guy makes me look disrespected. You’re mine now, Chloe. You need to act the part.” He sat up and looked directly at me. I could see the anger in his breathing. He was holding back.
“Okay, Travis. You don’t have to get angry.”
“Who said I was angry?” he quickly retorted.
I was too exhausted from the travel and late night with Tim to handle another serious conversation, so I just dropped it and ignored his question.
“I need to know. You’re all mine, right? All mine?” he asked, changing his tone to tender.
“Yes, Travis. You have my whole heart,” I replied honestly.
“Okay. I want to tell you a secret. I’m sure Tim filled you with a pack of lies. I want to tell you everything. I want to tell you how the world works. Chloe, if you are all mine, you have to know these things. Are you ready for my secret?” he asked, reaching over me, grabbing a box of Calgon, and pouring half of it in the tub. “We want to stay soft, Chloe. We’re going to be here a while.”
I wondered why we couldn’t have this conversation on his couch rather than sit for God knows how long in hot water, but in getting to know Travis, I learned he was must comfortable in this warm, bubbly tub.
“You can tell me anything,” I said, “but first, I have a question. Where were you today? We’d just taken a sick day and then you didn’t come in.”
“I was playing golf, Chloe, remember? I had to take care of my sister’s little issue.”
“But how do you get so much time off? You seem to be able to take off whenever you choose. How do you do that?”
“Chloe, this is what I’m about to teach you. I take care of people. Let’s just say, I give my boss a nice Christmas present every year. In return, she lets me take off whenever I choose, and nothing is ever said. She and I get along famously,” he said with a big cheesy smile.
I wasn’t quite sure of what type of Christmas present he was referring to, but I couldn’t let that matter drop. Surely, he wasn’t paying this woman in flesh dollars. I would have left and never spoken to him again if that were the case. He saw the look of shock in my eyes and immediately provided the information I desired without having to inquire further.
“God, Chloe, I’m no man whore. I can see by the look on our face you think I’m having raunchy sex with my boss. I just have a knack for finding out what people desire and then ensuring those desires are met. In her case, she and her husband love Colt’s football. I happen to have acquaintances with access to tickets to Jim Irsay’s suite. He’s the owner of the Indianapolis Colts. I merely supply my boss with two suite tickets every year and she’s happy and I’m happy. She gets to hobnob in Indianapolis, and I get liberal time off. As long as professors don’t complain, no one is any the wiser and we are all happy. Professors never complain because they don’t want to come to my classes anyway. We all win, Chloe. That’s how you play the game of life. Find a way for everyone to win.”
He hopped out of the tub and came back in less than ten seconds with another bottle of wine, two glasses, and a bottle opener. He popped open the wine, poured it dramatically into the glasses, intertwined our arms, and nodded for me to drink. I had to admit, I was living the good life. I had a decent job, no worries, no cares, and was lavishly relaxing in a hot tub with the man of my dreams. Life couldn’t get much better.
He then began to tell the secret that would change everything.
“Okay, Chloe, what I am about to tell you will bond us for life. You are mine, so I feel comfortable doing this. Are you ready?” he asked.
I was still focused on the term ‘You are mine.’ What did he mean by this? Was I overthinking this statement? No one owned me. I justified my neurotic thinking by telling myself that I was tired and should feel complimented that someone I held so dearly in my heart had such passion for me. I was alerted by his kiss and a smile. It was such a gentle way to capture my attention, I was immediately fully focused and ready for his secret.
“I have money, Chloe, a lot of money. I only work for amusement. Also, quitting my job might arouse suspicion. Here’s what actually happened. Remember, you can’t tell a sole. Do you promise? Of course, you promise.” He took another drink of wine, gave me a few more kisses, ran his hands down my soft, almost slimy, Calgoned body and told another secret.
“I began working for my father when I was fifteen years old. He was one of the most astute businessmen I’d ever met. He grew up poor, Chloe. His dad died when he was about twelve and his mom had to go to work ironing clothes for the muckety mucks in town. My dad had to watch the hired help from the wealthy people deliver clothes to her and treat her as if she were a worm on the street. Breakfast consisted of oatmeal served with water. He’d skip lunch and dinner was usually chicken grandma had bought on a Monday that was divvied up to last all week. He foraged greens from the fields to compliment the chicken or stole cattle corn from the farmers’ fields.
Despite my grandma’s mild manner, dad grew bitter. He graduated from high school and vowed he would never be poor. He blamed being poor on every sad thing that happened in his life, thereby extolling the virtues of money. Money is what makes the world go round, Chloe. Don’t you ever forget that. Be back in a second,” he said as he lifted himself again from the tub, exited the room, and returned with cheese, crackers and a knife.
“I hope you like Havarti,” he said, as he sliced a piece, put it on the cracker, and fed it to me.
“Travis,” I said, “I thought love is what makes the world go round.”
“Love, my dear,“ he replied, supplying me with more caresses and more kisses, more cheese, and more wine, “brings forth a wild river of uncontrollable emotions. It brings joy, pain, sorrow, anger, disappointment – every emotion is associated with love. Money brings power and control. Who doesn’t want that?”
He was starting to scare me. I’d never personally met anyone with such strong opinions about the value of money. “So, money is more important than love?” I asked.
“I never said that,” he quickly responded, “Money, you can control. Love, you can’t. Those are two different topics altogether and you are causing me to lose focus. Let’s get back to the story. Okay?”
“Sure. Back to the story,” I replied, sinking a little lower into the hot tub.
“Dad got a scholarship to Indiana University. He worked hard, minded his business, and graduated with distinction with a degree in management. He returned home after four years, married my mom, and immediately set up a new business. His goal was to be the wealthiest man in town so he could spit on those who’d treated him so poorly.”
“So,” I questioned, “It was all about the money? Was he interested in anything else?” Travis spoke with such pride, yet there was no redeeming value in his words. I didn’t want to see Travis this way. I’d fallen in that river of love with him and didn’t want the mix of emotions he had spoken of a few minutes earlier. I was trying to prevent disappointment from flooding over me by interrupting him, but you can’t stop a waterfall.
He squinted his eyes a bit and tilted his head, clearly not understanding the question. “Chloe, the sole purpose for starting a corporation is ‘profit,’” he said, making fake quote marks in the air, “Profit means money. It all revolves around money and if you are in business and your focus isn’t on the money, then you have no business at all.”
The unpleasant conversation combined with the heat from the water in the tub was making my stomach feel sour. “Travis, I’m not feeling well. We need to get out of this tub.” I didn’t wait for a response, went into his bedroom, and fell down on his bed face forward. He followed, carrying the wine glasses and the cheese and the crackers. He never asked if I was okay or if I needed anything. He just kept on talking. It was all about him. I had never researched the word, “narcissistic” before, but was learning first-hand all about what one was like.
He rolled me over, placed a pillow under my head, and resumed the epic tale of his gallant father, the money lover. I wanted to leave, but was too sick, and too tired, and a bit too drunk to drive.
He resumed by informing me about his dad’s first business, auto detailing. Mr. Trammel opened a shop just off the interstate south of Chicago. Realizing marketing is key to any successful business, he purchased two billboards, one just before the exit going each direction. Ironically, the business wasn’t the key to his father’s success. It was the billboards. Billboards require little to no maintenance, no employees, and after the initial investment, are total profit. As his detailing business failed, he rented out those two signs for a hefty fee and that paid the rent for the young couple until the next venture came upon them.
Bob Trammel had plenty of time on his hands after he closed the detailing business, so he astutely contacted all the farmers who owned acreage along Interstate 65 and bought useless square patches of land with no access. Because the land was considered practically of no value, the taxes were a mere $5 or $10 every six months. His motivation stemmed from Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth. He kept that book in his nightstand, much as the Gideon’s kept theirs and repeatedly quoted lines from it to Travis. “They cannot take the land away from me,” he’d repeat, “The labor of my body and the fruit of the fields I have put into that which cannot be taken away. If I had the silver, they would have taken it. If I had bought with the silver to store it, they would have taken it all. I have the land still, and it is mine." And, in Mr. Trammel’s case, land equaled money and money equaled success.
He paid his rent from the income of those two billboards and with the money he had left at the end of each month, he purchased small patches of land from the farmers he’d contacted. He did this for two years. At the end of two years, he had amassed thirty separate parcels, all less than a tenth of an acre with no access from any side.
They say that a man meets his fortune partly by trial and error and partly by luck. Travis’ dad’s luck was soon about to turn as this was the age of the burgeoning cell phone craze. Both Verizon and Cellular One were installing cell phone towers throughout the nation to ensure each would be the entity to tout “nationwide coverage.” Cell phone companies needed just a small patch of land to install their towers and Bob Trammell had just what they desired. In the next year, he contracted with both companies. He leased the land to the cell phone companies and they built their towers and paid him a monthly fee. Each tower held its own lease, bringing in 30 separate paychecks every month.
While this would have been sufficient for most Americans to enjoy a modest lifestyle without ever having to work again, it wasn’t enough for Bob Trammel. His lust for cash was like a drug. He got a high with every deal he made.
Bob’s first major purchase was the home Travis grew up in. Bob knew that appearances were everything, so to be somebody, he had to look like he was somebody, and the 5,000 square foot Victorian that was located next door to the mayor’s mansion suited him perfectly. He waited patiently for the widow Marley who owned the home to pass, and then moved in like a savior offering to prevent the family from having to pay realtor fees by just buying it outright. He repeated oft at many dinner table conversations that purchasing that home was his first calculated business move that led him to success. He readily admitted the land deals and subsequent income from them were indeed a bit of good timing and good luck. When he referred to Travis’ childhood home throughout the years, he never attached his stories to any emotion or heartfelt sentiment, but merely the fortuitous benefits it provided by being neighbors with the mayor. As Travis related that, it was evident he didn’t feel the same. That was the one moment in his secret that I could see brought forth pain.
Bob and his wife, within weeks of moving into the stately home, had become the talk of the town, courtesy of his neighbor, the mayor, who also enjoyed relaxing in the evenings on the veranda with a cigar and a manhattan. The two surly men quickly became fast friends.
I wanted to go home and started to get off the bed.
“Whoa, where you going?” he asked, as I tried to rise.
“Home.”
“You aren’t going anywhere. You’re drunk and legally I can’t let you leave.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m just a little sick. I want to go home.”
“I’m not kidding, Chloe, I’m not letting you leave. It would be irresponsible of me. Also, it’s rude of you to just get up and go when I’m in the middle of sharing something important.”
He looked angry, so I sat up a bit, and tried to calm him by gently taking a foot and begin rubbing it.
“Travis, let’s compromise,” I suggested, “You can give me the gist of the story now and then fill in the details later. I’ll stay, but I need some sleep. Okay?”
“Obviously, I have no choice. You do like to control people, don’t you Chloe? You need to work on that,” he said without looking at me.
He lay at the foot of the bed, allowing me to continue the foot rub and resumed his tale. If I stopped, he’d wiggle his toes, silently requesting more.