F^{ortunes
by Wade Lipham}

When he stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac he was struck by the quality of light. He squinted and put on the pair of aviators which had been hanging from his front pocket. He surveyed the tarmac and the tiny complex of buildings attached to the landing strip and spotted the short man who was waiting on him. Greg Malcolm raised his hand and shouted, "Will!"

They met half way and embraced. Will smiled crookedly. "I read about the buy-out of P&G in the London papers. I honestly didn't think you could get any richer, Gregory."

"I didn't have much to do with that. I don't have much to do with anything anymore." He smiled wryly. "My boys take care of it ... although it's nice to know that every time somebody uses a box of Tide they should be thinking of me."

They came around to a black Rolls idling behind the tower. Will opened the back door and Malcolm hesitated, only climbing in once Will had nodded and smiled beatifically. They sat down together in the plush leather and Will tapped the front seat. "The Page house," he said, then turned to look at Malcolm. "How's Washington treating you?"

"Well enough." Malcolm sank down into the seat and splayed a little. "I've got more control of things now. But other than that ... boring. That business with McCarthy made me sick to my stomach."

Will nodded. "I understand. I surprised they didn't call you."

Malcolm laughed. "Me? I'm the greatest capitalist in America. How could they call me?"

Will crossed his legs at the ankles and tilted his head sideways, that beatific smile coming back over his face. The innocent angel face, Malcolm called it. "How are the ladies, Gregory? I've read about them in the London papers, too."

Malcolm clicked his tongue and made a 'tch tch' sound. "You know how they are as well as I do, Will. Speaking of that. How are you and Michael?"

"We are fine. The house in London is quite nice. Too nice, really."

"I owe you my money, don't I, Will? I've never forgotten about Paris. It always reminds me of how big an ass I can be and how good a man you can be."

"Come now, sir," Will said, affecting a British accent. "I am merely your lowly servant. You mustn't praise me so. It might go to my head."

They both laughed. They relaxed for a minute. Malcolm changed the subject and said, "So, tell me about the Page house."

***

The Page house was a three story building with eighteen visible windows on the front facade, inexplicably covered in white stucco and surrounded by palm trees. Malcolm stood on the white stone trail which connected the front door to the east garden and put his hands on his hips. "Well, the stucco has to go."

"I told you," Will said.

"How much is it again?"

"Half a million. The plumbing's bad."

Malcolm turned and grinned. "Well, that's a deal killer. I can't possibly afford a half million and a plumber." They went inside. The place was completely empty and disquietingly silent. Will smiled and gestured like a tour guide. The ceiling in the front room was tall and carried a slight echo. Malcolm picked at the paint on the wall. He said, "I think it's very empty."

"I arranged a solo tour. I thought that's how you liked it."

Malcolm nodded. "It is. I'm just being difficult. But still ... I'm going to have to hire a fleet of designers to get this place right. Look at it. I feel like I've walked into the funeral of an Italian fruit."

Will tilted his head. "Fruit?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Sorry, Will. How soon can we have it?"

"I'm sure they'd let us use it immediately with a down payment." He paused. "That is what you mean, isn't it?"

"Yes. Did you make the arrangements, Will?"

Will nodded his head and led Malcolm into the kitchen, which had stars painted on the walls in the Van Gogh manner. "Yes, the arrangements are taken care of. Eleven o'clock tonight. I told them it would either be at your penthouse at the hotel or here ... I just need to make a call."

"You're too good to me. What would I do without you?"

"That's a good question, Gregory." Will kicked impertinently at the space where the drywall met the pine baseboard and frowned when his toe pierced the wall. "Who else could arrange these ... ah ... things, for you?"

***

Malcolm hefted the wing-chair into the front room himself, banging the wooden legs on the tile floor. He took a deep breath and made a strong-man face. He heard the front doors open. He crept to the edge of the room, tilting his ear toward the foyer. He recognized Will's voice but heard a second he didn't know.

Will said, "Yes. I believe we agreed to one thousand for the evening. That's right, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it sounds right. Is there anything else the girls need to know? Other than what you already told me?"

"They must be dressed when they enter the living room. It's imperative."

Malcolm heard the front door shut once more and he scrambled back to the wing-chair. He looked appraisingly at Will when he entered the room. "Are we set, Will?"

"We certainly are," Will said, and began trotting off toward the stairs. "The girls will come through the back door and come down the stairs to you. Acceptable?"

"Of course. Have you ever known me to nitpick you?

"Only every day of your life, Gregory." Will ascended the stairs and disappeared on the second floor. Malcolm heard an opening and closing of doors and suddenly wondered where everyone was. There were footsteps, high heels clacking on tiles. He didn't look behind himself but merely listened as the heels made their way up the stairs.

Once he was quite sure they were gone he got up and followed them, ascending the stairs and walking very quietly across the boards of the second floor landing. He thought about turning back but felt gripped by curiosity. He saw light behind one of the doors in the east wing and walked up, hunched, to the crack in the door.

He peeked inside. There were a pair of women, probably twenty, undressing themselves. One of them was blonde and Caucasian but the other was dark, probably Moroccan, and very beautiful. He watched with mild titillation as they slipped off their stockings and shoes. They were completely naked now and opening a duffel bag which was laying on the floor. They began to dress themselves in a kind of chain mail panty and bra, doing up each other's clasps. From the bottom of the bag they produced a large leather whip and a rubber penis. He quickly skittered back downstairs and into his chair.

He heard them come down, bare skin on the tile, and they approached from either side of the chair. The blonde drug the riding crop across his shoulder and the Moroccan caressed his cheek with the rubber penis. He looked up at them and smiled. Suddenly they looked at each other and the blonde began swatting her partner with the riding crop. Malcolm sank back into his chair.

***

The sunlight was very bright in the kitchen the next morning. Malcolm was resting his head against the newly delivered breakfast table when Will spoke. "We have a problem, Gregory."

He squinted his eyes shut. "Please Will, whatever it is, take care of it. I didn't sleep last night and I drank too much and ... I did too much. God's sake." He sighed. "What is it?"

Will knelt down beside him and tilted his head. "I would have dealt with it but I thought you might like to know. It's one of the girls from last night."

Malcolm raised his head up and blinked. "One of the girls?"

"Yes, Gregory. The Moroccan one, if I'm not mistaken. Quite beautiful. She's outside the front door. She insists on seeing you."

"The Moroccan one?" "Yes. She won't say about what. Do you want me to get rid of her?"

"I don't know. I mean, no ... don't send her off. I'll come out there." He got to his feet slow and unsteady, bracing himself against the back of the chair. He shook his head, as though dispelling a cloud that had formed around his eyes, and looked at Will. "Why do you let me enjoy myself so much?"

"I could never say, Gregory. It's my greatest fault."

Malcolm left Will in the kitchen and found his way to the front door. He stepped onto the porch, where the Moroccan girl was standing alone, dressed in cheap clothes and looking mildly distraught. Malcolm said, "What's wrong?"

"Not much English," she said, gesturing with her thumb and index finger. "Little."

"Alright," he said, nodding. "What's the matter?"

"It's my ... master?" She was squinting her eyes like she couldn't think.

"Your master?"

"My ... how do you say ... boss?"

He nodded. He rubbed his temples. He understood.

"I have trouble with ... my boss?"

He said, "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"I have trouble with my boss and bad things."

"Bad things?"

"Bad things ... I know you help. When I came here, I saw your picture, I know you help."

He was looking at her face and suddenly an image rose to his mind: dressed in the chain mail of the night before, the blonde girl's riding crop falling across her ass. He saw it absolutely perfectly, in every detail, as though it were happening before him. He sputtered when he opened his mouth to speak. "I don't understand. I don't understand what you're saying. I'm sorry."

***

Malcolm and Will stood on the tarmac. It had been just over one day since he arrived. They embraced and looked at each other appraisingly for a moment. Malcolm said, "You're getting old. Did you know that?"

Will smiled. "That's the truest thing you've said in the last twenty four hours."

"See the house through for me, Will, and I'll leave you alone. I don't plan on using it much, but who knows?"

"Indeed. I'll get it de-stuccoed and painted a reasonable color ... not a fruit's nightmare, Gregory."

Malcolm frowned. "We all make our missteps."

"Don't we."

He put on his aviators. "One other thing ... the Moroccan girl. Do me a favor. Find her and give her some money. Buy her a plane ticket. I did something stupid."

Will squinted. "I doubt your speed sometimes, Gregory. I called her manager two hours ago."

"Did you see to something for her?"

"I'm afraid not." Will clapped his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "He said she wasn't 'available'. And I'm in no position to contradict him, unfortunately."

Malcolm fell silent. He embraced Will again and turned to get on the plane. He climbed the steps and turned in the doorway to look back. "I hate myself, Will."

Will frowned. "Get older, Gregory. You'll find you hate yourself less the older you get. You'll be like an old married couple, I'm afraid."

Malcolm said nothing and retreated into the shade of the plane's cabin. He took off his sunglasses and watched the attendant close the door. He felt like a stone and couldn't bring himself to sit down.