Triplets Make Five

Quietly desperate, I sat back down in front of the TV, poured myself another glass and finished Declan’s food. Just like the good old days.

Just moments later, the front door swung open, and Julia stepped in. She walked straight to the table and landed in the armchair. “I’m exhausted!” She proclaimed. “Oh, and I met Declan downstairs! Asked him if he put on weight.”

“Did he tell you to fuck off?”

“He did!”

That put a smile on my lips. Julia checked out the bottle, and took a sip from my glass.

“Yum!”

“Get another bottle,” I suggested, finishing the wine.

At first, Julia was about to get up, but then I sensed something was amiss. She grabbed the bill from the table. “Shit! They’re still chasing you for treatment payment. What the fuck is insurance for these days? How is he feeling anyway?”

“He’s making it.” Now I was feeling the same way my brother had felt. I said, “But the money is bad, Julia. I don’t mean to beg or anything, just letting you know.”

“How much?” my friend asked, reaching into her handbag.

I grinned, “In the long run, more than you could possibly have in your wallet, so, please, don’t.”

Not yet anyway, I wanted to look at my own bank account first, see how dire this all really was.

“Wasn’t going to.” Instead of a wallet, Julia produced a bunch of colorful fliers and began sifting through them. “It must be somewhere in here… Got it!”

She handed me a crumpled piece of paper. There was a carnival mask at the top, with Chicago Buyer’s Club written below it. There was a date and a phone number, but little else.

“I got it from a friend. There’s this fancy place, where billionaires look for girls to go on dates with, sort of like The Bachelor.”

“You’re suggesting I prostitute myself?”

“Not at all! It’s a legit thing. You go there to hang out, find a guy, have a few drinks. It’s a paid gig, I’m told, too, so I thought you could use that…”

“Right. Well, I don’t think I could.”

Julia sighed, then shrugged. “Look, you don’t have to, but think about it. Give them a call.”

“Yeah maybe, I gotta go to the bathroom.” I needed a minute. To process. To escape. With that, I left, leaving her alone with my phone, wine, and the flier that could change my life.

Chapter 2

Owen

I was getting pissed. I’d spent the last hour on the phone, dealing with the worst customer support I had ever encountered.

As smooth jazz played on the other end of the line, I looked down on Grant Park through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my top-floor office in the center of the Loop, the largest financial district in the country. In a way, I was grateful for the pause and the rare moments I could take to contemplate my business, my life, and everything.

And there was a lot to think about. My roots were in Chicago, as was my business, but lately I felt like I needed a change…

“Mr. Hayes?” a woman on the other end said, bringing me back to reality. It was a new voice – I guessed I was now speaking to the head manager, or whoever was in charge of that shitty showroom. “My name is…”

I cleared my throat, loudly interrupting the woman. I had calmed down some, and was able to speak, respectfully, yet firmly.

I said, “Let me tell you something. I trust you’re well aware of who I am, and by now I hope to God you understand what I’m asking of you. Please, don’t waste any more of my very valuable time today. I need this done as we agreed, by Monday. I don’t care what’s stopping you. Contact my assistant if you need any help.”

I ended the call, tossing the phone on the couch in the middle of the office. Normally, I wouldn’t have cared to speak to some low-tier manager, but the last couple of days made me want to find any excuse not to speak to the law firm. Business had been great, but every once in a while, certain government agencies would set out on a witch-hunt, and I would have to find and navigate certain backroads.

The speaker phone on my desk came to life: “Mr. Hayes?”