| Subject: À la Vie! – Chapter 25 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Sunday, October 31, 01:28:07am
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
“Adam! If you don’t stop that pounding right now, I’m going to take that thing away and never give it back! Do you understand me?” Elena was not having a good day. The nanny was sick, her mother was gone for the day, and she actually had to take care of Adam herself. What the hell was Michael thinking—giving Adam a toy that involved a plastic hammer and little plastic pegs?
Adam looked up in confusion. This was his favorite toy. This was how he always played with it. The banging was the best part. Where was Julie? He liked her much better than this “Mummy” person. Julie had fun with him and let him laugh and play. Whenever he saw Mummy, she said he gave her a headache. What was a headache? When he had asked Mummy what it was, she told him to shut up. He didn’t know what “shut up” meant, but thought he should quiet, just in case.
He wandered aimlessly over to his toy chest, and pulled out his English ABC book. He considered asking Mummy to help him read it, but she looked cross. He sat down on the floor and began turning the pages, naming each letter as he went. “A—apple. B—boy. C—cat. D—“
“Will you shut up!?” snapped Elena. “Go take a nap or something. Isn’t it your naptime?”
He had just eaten breakfast, and it was nowhere near naptime, but Adam quickly did as she asked. He left the nursery and went into the room next door where his bed was. Obediently he removed his shoes and socks and climbed into bed, clutching his Teddy fiercely. Adam wasn’t sure if he remembered Daddy, but he knew that Teddy had come from Daddy before he left, and holding the ragged bear always made him feel better. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, hoping that Mummy would go away and Julie would come back soon. Maybe, if he was a very good boy, Daddy might come back, too.
++
Nikita’s telephone rang. As Michael was sitting by the end table where the cellular was, he picked up and answered it. “Nikita Wirth, please,” came a female voice on the other end.
“She’s busy right now. May I take a message?” asked Michael, his pen in his hand, looking on the coffee table for something to right on.
“Tell her I have information about her mother that she needs to know,” said the voice.
Michael recognized a scam when he heard one. “What sort of information?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business,” the woman snapped.
“It sounds like you have information that Nikita really doesn’t want to hear. Am I right?” There was silence on the other end of the line. He continued. “Maybe you and I can do business so that we don’t need to bother Nikita with any of this.”
“Who are you?” came the voice, suspicious.
“A friend. You can call me Michael.”
A pause, then “My information doesn’t come cheap.”
He dangled the bait. “Money is of no concern.” He envisioned the woman smacking her lips in satisfaction. “We need to talk,” he continued, “but not on the phone. Where can I meet you?”
A longer pause, then, “I’ll call you tomorrow with the arrangements.”
“I’ve left this number with a lot of people. How will I know it’s you? What’s your name?”
“Simone.”
Simone hung up the phone, threw her had back and laughed with abandon. She was going to be rich. She could smell money a mile away, and this dude had it. A looker like Nikita wouldn’t be sleeping with a loser. A rich businessman or financier. Simone didn’t care. She hummed. “I’m in the money. I’m in the money.”
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