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Nicole SINGS Lave singapore nicole.Singslave@gmail.com	149475 words
“LIVING BETWEEN LIES”
A gender bending novel by Nicole S. Lave

“Living Between Lies” is about the adventures of a crossdresser named Ken Smith who works as an analyst in an aggressive no holds barred mergers & acquisition company nicknamed, the Leech. Ken leads a double life, working as a man by day but living as a lewd woman by night. He goes through great lengths to conceal his crossdressing activities until one day when he slips up and finds himself in the clutches of his manipulative boss, Peter Kullogh. Peter, an evil man, is hell bent on conquering the financial world. He sees an opportunity to use Ken as a pawn in his web of deceit to take over a huge conglomerate controlled by the Saint Clarence family. Ken’s only way out of the mess is to be part of a dangerous gambit, which could cost him his life.

Prologue: Mirror! Mirror!

“God please help, I don’t want to be somebody’s bitch.” The tall man whispered in a whinny pitch. He took a deep breath and counted “1,2,3.” He yanked the shiny chrome handcuff already asphyxiating his large hands. Clank! The sound bounced off the white tiles of the Ladies’ toilet like the last chorus of a heavy metal band. “Fak da shize!” The tall man cried incomprehensibly sounding as if his scrotums had been pickled and jarred in Thailand. Blood snaked down the chrome band that kept him a prisoner. Pearls of tears collected in the corner of the tall man’s eyes. “Son of a bitch!” Quipped the tall man as saliva dribbled from the corners of his lips. He hunched down and tried wrest his hand through the small metal cuffs. His bruised wrist protested and spurted more crimson blood. It was no use bitching over the bleeding. Tendrils of purple set in his hand. The tall man desperately looked around. He gritted his teeth, stood up and dragged the handcuff along the metal railing. “Geez, why the fuck do they put the handicap railing so low?” The tall man complained as he wobbled on his 6-inch heels. “Ken how the fuck did you ever get yourself in this plight?” The tall man struggled like a minnow trapped in shallow waters to get to the end of the metal railing. He pulled up his tight skirt and clumsily sat on the ball of his 6-inch stilettos. He eyed the metal screws in the housing that held the metal railing tight. His false eyelashes were obstructing his sight. “Tear those damn shit off your eyes! How the fuck are you going to see?” said the voice of reason. “Beauty before pain old man!” The tall man’s feminine beacon of beauty bitch slapped his inner Spartan. The tall man shook his head to rid himself of his dueling demons. He widened his eyes and drew his focus back on the four black screws. He jammed his false fingernails into one of them and twisted. Piak! The false ruby-red enamel coated nail snapped in two. “Shit! Screwed by a screw and a ten cent fake nail.” The tall man exhaled, gritted his teeth, hoisted himself up with his free hand. He brushed down his skirt and lumbered to the commode. Klik! Klak! Klik! Klak! The metal spike heels sounded like oversized bouncing marbles smashing against the polished tiles. The tall man leaned forward and reached for the upright toilet seat cover with his free hand. Pooomfffhhhh! The seat cover fell like a dumbbell. “Shize! Announce to the whole world won’t you that you’re handcuffed in a women’s toilet.” He dragged his feet as if he had just run a marathon and gingerly placed one sore butt on the toilet seat. Eaaiiinnnkkkk! The plastic seat protested. “Christ!” Eaaiiinnnkkkk! The tall man put his other butt cheek on the toilet seat. “Give me a break will ya!” He rested his full weight on the plastic seat and placed his right elbow on his lap easing the tightness of the handcuff. His heart weighted by distraught making it easy to dismiss his bleeding wrist. The tall man looked hauntedly at his reflection on the shiny toilet door. He removed the blonde wig with his free hand and clamped the damp rug between his lap. He combed through the fibers with his fingers several time before donning it. He adjusted the big wig until it no longer resembled a golden cat sitting on his head. He threw a satisfied wink at his reflection. “Much better,” a girly laugh escaped his lips.

“I am glad you find humor in all of this. The cops are on the way. You’ll be paraded in front of your colleagues when they lead you away,” the tall man scolded his reflection. “I am sure your inmates would love a blonde six foot five gorilla in a tight dress. You’d better learn to dance, prance and bounce to the long hard ride you’ll be getting!”

Chapter 1: Illusions of Banality.

Langstrom International was a hellion in the world of hostile takeovers, mergers and acquisitions. It was nicknamed the Leech by the press because of its despicable reputation for sucking out the life force of great companies. The financial magazines loved to portray the Leech as a bully that made the little people tiny, the employed unemployed and the rich richer. The sad thing was that its employees were proud of the Leech’s shady image. The Leech brimmed with piranhas with fangs sharper than Ginsu knives. Sheep and mice that fell into the Leech, will find themselves sliced, diced and served in spice even before they can realize their pending demise. Yet gentle Ken Smith, a 44-year-old divorcee, who was often mistaken for the handsome Hugh Grant swam with the predators undisturbed. Ken wore his wolf’s clothing tightly, all the while praying that his camouflage would let him continue servicing his galaxy size mortgage with his Planck size paycheck. He was trapped in the Leech by a folly of his own device.

Ken Smith’s predicament started when he ploughed all his money into a trendy little Italianate townhouse in the city’s prime area for the sake of a beautiful lady. He didn’t count on his hot chick turning cold on him and his brick titanic to suck him dry. When the property market waved goodbye as it sank into the quicksand, Ken’s debt exploded sky high and his finances became dry as wry. His miserable ass was forever bound to the Leech. To add to his anguish, Ken hated his investment. It was the source of his daily shame. Whenever he walked into his street, he would be greeted by a perpetual firework of bright green roof and red colored walls. He hated spotting the cheesy art nouveau glass canopy a mile away as it gave his house the appearance of a giant with red stuffy nose dripping a pair of metal gnome from its nostrils. Between the metal lamps was a brightly purple mahogany front door with a shiny knocker that made it seemed like the giant’s lips had been pierced. When Ken entered the giant’s mouth, an oversized chandelier chocked the tiny foyer making it seemed as it had swallowed a bunch of crystal grapes. White strip carvings, like a giant’s calcified veins, snaked through the two-story house’s Baroque ceilings and orange walls. The kitchen and the bathroom seemed out of place in the garish surroundings. These were areas elegantly themed in steel, glass and black.

Ken dreaded to step inside his house. When the front door closed, his garish house would imposed, a lonely heart’s discourse as recompense for a lifetime partner disposed. Half a year of seclusion after Ken’s divorce, his mind feared the deafening silence enforced, making him prefer his other half’s warhorse than to face a night of painful remorse. He hated his life, which had turned into a dreary game of ping-pong between the Leech and his house. In the morning, it was off to the Leech. When he was done for the day, he was back in his multi-colored prison. Ken could only differentiate his weekend from his weekdays by a fancy radio alarm clock that stood guard beside his bed. The darn contraption reliably blared like a klaxon at 8 am on weekdays and went silent on weekends. Ken was a masochist at heart. He programmed his radio alarm clock so that an obnoxious radio DJ tortured his ears. The optimist in him counted on a positive reaction. He would instantly sit up with his eyes wide open desperately hunting for the stop button of his ear abuser. After the momentarily adrenalin rush, his next waking moments would be a blur as he went on autopilot attending to his morning routine. The mirror would be the last stop to his ablutions checked if the white of his eye matched the color of high quality A4 paper. Satisfied that he had the life of a copy machine, Ken would enter his interment themed wardrobe which now occupied a fraction of the giant walk-in dresser. Ken would don his wildly unimaginative black pinstriped shirt, dark suit, grey hued tie and matching black shoes. A black leather case and umbrella completed his Leech uniform.

“Morning, Mr. Smith.” A heavily Indian accented voice greeted Ken as he stepped out of his gaudy home. Ken didn’t bother with the voice but rattled the doorknob to make certain that his worldly possession would be well protected. When he was satisfied that purple door had sealed his home, he peered to his right. It was none other than Sanjeev Mehta his Indian neighbor. Sanjeev was a recent immigrant from India who earned his living as an abused lawyer slaving in some basement office near Ken’s work place. Though the Indian possessed a pleasant demeanor, he had a face that that only God and his wife loved. The Indian’s face was wrecked by a hooked nose and a thick moustache that resembled two giant roaches kissing under a gnarled tree.

“Morning, Sanjeev.” Ken reciprocated.

Sanjeev smiled showcasing his yellow stained teeth. Sanjeev tried too hard at being neighborly so much so that Ken secretly wished that their routes to work didn’t coincide. Sanjeev, his wife and three kids crammed into same sized house as Ken’s. The Mehta’s found it strange that white folks lived alone in such big houses. Ken grew up in the countryside and found his puny Italianate home was barely big enough to take on a pet. The cultural differences didn’t stop at the size of their homes. The Mehta’s seemed like they were constantly cooking. Ken shelled out truckloads of money to seal every crack in his house to keep out the dreadful pungent smell of curry from seeping making everything in his home smell fetid.

“Off to work?” Sanjeev asked. The Indian’s big potbelly jiggled violently as he climbed down the short stairs to the sidewalk.

Ken said sarcastically, “like always Sanjeev.” Ken eyed his neighbor with disdain as Sanjeev’s steps eerily mirrored Ken’s making it seemed as if both men were doing a Bollywood dance routine.

“I’ll be walking with you. Is that okay?” Sanjeev asked in his thick Indian accent, shaking his head typical of how Indians expresses themselves.

“Wait,” said Ken as he raised his index finger to the sky. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a mini-recorder. Ken placed the electronic device mere millimeters from Sanjeev’s face and hit the play button. “Of course you may join me!” A facsimile of Ken’s voice emanated from the mini-recorder.

“Ho, ho, that’s very clever, Mr. Smith. You only need to say things once,” exclaimed Sanjeev. “I have to get me one of those than we can just press the button to ‘talk’.” Sanjeev smiled and gestured a set of quotation marks when he uttered the word ‘talk’.

“Yeah, you do that Sanjeev!” Ken disappointed that his neighbor didn’t catch the drift.

An elderly lady with a watering can shuffled out from her home. Her wild white mane made her look like Einstein on drugs. Ken winced but he was forced to follow Sanjeev’s lead. Both of the stopped and chimed, “hello, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Hello boys,” Mrs. Henderson responded cheerfully as she tilted her water can. Ken watched water shower from the spout. The water fell all over the place but into her potted plants. Sanjeev drew a deep breath as if preparing to say something.

Ken excitedly exhorted, “wait! One second.” He rolled the volume knob on his mini-recorder to the maximum and hit the play button. A voice that sounding like Sanjeev’s emanated from the player. “Watering your plants, Mrs. Henderson?”

“Ho, ho, that’s brilliant,” exclaimed Sanjeev. “You even have my voice in that thing.”

“Very nice, young man!” Mrs. Henderson beamed. She lowered her glasses and squinted hard to see the strange device in Ken’s hand. “I hope you only tape voices with that thing and not the phone sex services.”

“Ho, ho, ho…,” Sanjeev laughed uncontrollably. He smacked his lap, rolled his eyes, bobbed his head side to side and pointed at Ken.

Ken stuffed his mini-recorder back into his pocket. “Let’s go,” huffed Ken as he dragged the Indian who was still laughing hysterically. The Indian’s grotesque two giant cockroaches waving in the air as if they were ready to mate further grated on Ken’s nerves.

“Have a nice day you two,” yelled Mrs. Henderson as the two men walked away.

“Yes you two ma’am,” said Sanjeev wiping the tears from the corner of his eye.

“I am glad you enjoyed that,” Ken snarled from his partially pursed lips.

“Yes. You got to do more of this everyday. Click! Click! Click!” The Indian thumbed the air as if he had an invisible tape recorder in hand.

Ken and Sanjeev took their usual shortcut through one of the alleys where a group of school kids played street soccer. Ken winked at Sanjeev and the two Godzillas started their attack pattern. The kids stood little chance as the giants stole commandeered their game. Sanjeev was a onetime high school star soccer player while Ken was his home town’s junior league’s two time most valuable player. They bullied the hapless kids until only a petrified bespectacled goalkeeper was in their way. Ken kicked the ball so hard that it could have flown halfway through town. The curly-hair pine-sized bespectacled goalkeeper closed his eyes and cringed as the ball whisked through two piles of bags to bounce off the back of a wall. When the oversized bullies scored their goal, they would do their weird victory dance. The kids laughed their heads off at the sight of two fat dancing bears jiggling their fat behinds.

Chapter 2: Cerberus with dentures.

Mrs. Henderson, the octogenarian widow who lived beside Ken was the neighborhood’s rumor central. She and her cadre of walker-totting reporters could ferret out information faster than ants can detect sugar. They were frighteningly up to date on many issues despite not owning radios, televisions or computers. The first time Ken had a taste of Mrs. Henderson’s unearthly information collection ability was when he first moved into his new home with his then wife, Elizabeth. Ken couldn’t find reasonably priced craftsmen until Mrs. Henderson single handedly introduced an entire guild of artisans to them. When Ken and Elizabeth brought Mrs. Henderson a nice pie as a thank you for her help, Ken discovered to his horror just how much Mrs. Henderson knew. The old lady even knew the amount of money paid to the artisans. Since then, Ken threaded lightly around the old lady. The proximity of their homes made Ken feel like a bug under a microscope. The only time when Ken didn’t feel like a insect was when the old woman took leave from her fulltime quidnunc profession to be with her eldest daughter, Regina, or her son, Alan. Those were the only times when there were no old snoops milling about on his part of the sidewalk and no gnarled fingers pointing at his house when he looked out his window.

Mrs. Henderson’s eldest daughter Regina was a proletariat who wanted badly to rewrite her fate. It was obvious to Ken from the very first meeting that Regina lived on other side of the tracks. She had two kids and a simpleton husband. Ken still found their farcical introduction comical. Ken was just on his way out when he bumped into the Henderson party. Tom introduced himself as a simple taxi driver which earned him a pinch on his side. Regina puffed up her chess and aggressively blocked off her family. She re-introduced herself as an entrepreneur and her husband, Tom, as the proprietor of a transport business! Ken almost burst out laughing if not for Mrs. Henderson ice-cold stare which was enough to cause his ball to behave like the leaves of the Mimosa plant. Ken immediately lowered his eyes and pretended to be so grateful to bask in the glory of such brilliant people. Regina was just too please to see Ken’s toady demeanor. She regally waved off her brutes whom she commended as the geniuses who would save. Ken patted Regina’s subjugated children as they trudged pass him. Ken shook Tom’s hand. Their shake was enough to convey sincerity and apology for Regina’s pretensions. Ken smiled and humorously introduced himself as an overpaid janitor in charge of cleaning up his boss’ crap.

Ken would not have guessed that Regina’s reality was filled with monumental hardship. The poor woman would start her day by feeding her family and then face a backbreaking 12-hour shift at the bakery where she had toiled for the last 15 years. There would be no rest for her when she returned home. She would slave in the kitchen, do the laundry and clean the house. When Regina’s day ended, all was left of her was a bitter shell incessantly haunted by a missed chance to escape her self-made prison. Regina graduated from high school with top honors but her book smarts and prodigious imagination were no match for her family’s harsh impecuniosities. Regina often cried especially in the quiet of the night. The crossroad of her life was like a re-run of an unforgiving horror movie. Regina could still taste the chocolate milk shake swirling in her mouth as she sat in a diner with her friends on that fateful day before their graduation. Regina’s teenage friends were incessantly discussing their future and impending university lives. They dreamed of meeting handsome university boys. Poor Regina listened forlornly and could only imagine the wondrous campus life. The fantasy banter felt like nails being driven into her little heart exposing her little life as a tiny rowboat attempting to keep up with the humongous ocean liners. Regina’s unusual quietness did not escape the notice of her friends. Eventually, one of them asked Regina for her plans. In a slip of the tongue, Regina lied about going overseas to study art. That white lie perpetuated yet another. Before long, Regina had snared herself in her fantastic fantasy world that awed her and all her friends. When the parchment of rolled-up scroll was firmly in her hand, she forced her mother to memorize her lie to her friends. When she was satisfied that her story line had been engraved in her mother’s mind, she packed her bags and disappeared into the night. No one will ever discover her for a liar. She took the longest bus route and walked for days until she reached a destitute town where roaches, rats and human were friends. The chances of bumping into any of her school friends in the decrepit dump would be as remote as her earning an arts degree in an exotic country. Regina entered the labor force at a very tender age. The smooth skin on her hand was about to experience pure suffering. Regina’s first month was hell on earth. She slept in the alleys and ate scraps. Her nights were filled with tears that flowed until her tear sacs became desiccated bags. She eventually found work in a bakery. The owner took pity on the mal-nourished bony girl. Soon months became years. The calluses on Regina’s hand hardened and so did her heart but not before she found love. Yes, even dung beetles do find love. Regina married Tom within days, laid down her roots and kneaded her new future with the dough from the bakery. She occasionally visited her mother with her family. During these visits, Regina made every effort to keep a facade of an upper middle-class family. She dressed her family like the von Trapp family and even forced her husband, Tom, to wear a tie. Tom had been Regina’s husband for more than a dozen years. The taxi man loved his wife so much that he was willing to abandon reality just to fulfill Regina’s fantasy world.

Mrs. Henderson’s youngest son, Alan, was the apple of her eye. However, her precious jewel whom she had pinned her hopes to continue the Henderson lineage lived under the thumb of his prima donna wife. Worst still was that Alan seemed to be at the mercy of his uncontrollable kids. Ken met Alan regularly when the man came to pick Mrs. Henderson for church. Every Sunday, Alan religiously drove his station wagon packed with his unruly kids and icy queen to Mrs. Henderson’s doorsteps. His vehicle’s unusual multi-colored hue made it look like a giant opal shell on wheels. Alan’s arrival coincided with Ken’s Sunday newspaper retrieval exercise. Ken could hear Alan’s station wagon roaring like an emasculated lion just as it turned into their street. Ken chuckled at the sight of the cuckold man jumping out of his Pau shell colored station wagon to escape the dragon and her kids. As Alan sprinted to Mrs. Henderson’s home, he would do a limp wave to Ken. Ken returned in kind with his own brand of geeky two fingers wave. While Alan patiently waited for his mother to get her snail-paced butt out from her home, they enter into their small talk routine.

“Off to church?” Ken asked.

“Yeah. I got to pretend to be holy after a week of sin,” confessed Alan as his tongue stuck out like a dog panting.

“I prefer to remain sinful until I get ready to meet my maker.”

“I admire you,” said Alan. “No point praying all your life when you only need one prayer to enter the Pearly gates.”

“One has to learn to economize.”

Alan smiled then looked up at his mother’s home and shouted, “motherrrrrr, let’s go!” He rang the doorbell as he was able to speed up the eighty-year-old. Alan’s exotropic eyes turned to his rambunctious kids causing him to bellow ,“stop beating up your brother!” His icy queen on the front seat would turn to him and dispense her cold vision which in turn made Alan kowtow. After paying homage to his icy queen, Alan quickly shifted his attention to two action figures behind the station wagon. “Stop pulling your sister’s hair.”

“You’re quite a manager,” whispered Ken.

“Sometimes I think they’re the one managing me,” remarked Alan and he turned to his mother’s home. “Motherrrrr, we’re all waiting. Can you hurry up?”

“So how’s life?”

“It would be super if you would buy my family lock, stock and barrel,” Alan offered without even blinking.

Chapter 3: Two tigresses on a molehill.

Ken’s love affair with the opposite sex started even when he was barely two feet tall. It was an age of innocence gender lines didn’t exist. His neighbor and best friend, Nicole, was an adorable rambunctious pony-tailed girl with shiny braces living. Nicole thought Ken’s parents had awful tastes in clothes and as such, she took it upon herself to correct Ken’s dressing. Nicole loved to put her best friend in her prettiest frilly dress. As soon as both of them were appropriately dressed, they would skip to the playground hand-in-hand with their pink hair ribbons bobbing up and down in the air. The dress-up games ended abruptly when his parents caught little Ken milling around the neighborhood dressed like his best friend, Nicole. Determined not to be the laughing stock of their small town community, Ken’s parents enrolled him in an all-boys catholic school to toughen up their effeminate little boy. Ken’s parent banned him from visiting Nicole even incentivized him to get his nose bloodied. They relentlessly drilled into him the male stereotype. Toughen up! Chin up! Stop crying! Quit being such a sissy! Kick harder, boy! Go get ‘em, tiger! Go for the jugular! More killer instincts, boy! Elbow him! Kick him in the gut! Knee the sucker! Kill! Kill! Kill! The incessant indoctrination eventually made Ken suppressed a side of him that felt so natural. Ken the girly boy became Ken the little league soccer star with killer instincts.

Seventeen years of age didn’t come soon enough for Ken. He flew the coup the moment the clock passed midnight on his birthday. Ken made darn sure that he enrolled in a college that was at least a 1000 miles from his home. No more funky orders from his stodgy parents! With hair on his chest, rippling muscles and smashing good looks, nubile college girls flocked to him as if he was heavy gravity. Of course, it helped that Ken became the youngest captain of the schools soccer team. When it came to women, Ken was in an all-you-can-eat buffet line. He ate ravenously until moths flew out of his wallet. His free time felt like a rotating door for his bevy of beauties. Ken had lost hope that no one could satiate the nameless beast in him. He had developed the reputation of being an irresistible woman killer in his college. One date is all it took for Ken to gain access to her moist vault and scale her twin nipple capped peaks. Ken was jaded with his easy conquests. He trolled the dating scene like a blood thirsted vampire teased with cheap red wine and dirty grape juice.

By fall’s dawn, Ken’s freewheeling days of juggling a ball was gone. His days of fun under the warmth glow of the sun spent perfecting his shade of bronze ended as quickly as it had begun. Ken threw his square hat into the air after receiving the official receipt from his schoolmasters acknowledging his time served. He drank the night away and mated like a jackrabbit like a free soul about to enter the prison that shackled all adults. He traded his jeans for dark colored slacks and bandanas for black ties. Ken wiped the smile off his face and marched in rhythm with the mass of serious stoic looking financial people.

Ken’s social life dried up like the coaster that held his empty beer mug in the up-scale bars he frequented with his new friends. Things looked quite miserable until a business-networking event turned Ken into a teenager with an uncontrollable wee-wee. She was an angel with beautiful blonde hair, perfectly sculptured nose, symmetrical face, luscious crimson lips, svelte figure and a brain of a genius. She went by the name Elizabeth and was the hottest headhunter in the finance industry. Elizabeth was the first person that big bosses called when they needed a delicate hand to pilfer talent. Ken like everyone else who ogled Elizabeth from afar. There was no opportunity to get close to the woman. The statuesque goddess seemed perpetually surrounded by head honchos and luscious looking people. Ken could only stand on his toe to track Elizabeth’s movements. The quality of cloth on his body didn’t qualify him into the influential cliques that she effortlessly fluttered in and out. He and his lascivious outcasts were lowly cows designated to the corner of the room clinging on to their empty campaign flute and wagging tongues.

It was turning out to be another ho-hum Friday for Ken. He languished as usual in one of those fancy cocktail party hosted by a big bank. Ken drained his fifth glass of champagne and decided to make an early exit. Just when he had settled for a hollow afternoon of shallow greetings and empty handshakes, Ken saw Elizabeth at the lobby of the hotel. She was alone and kept anxiously looking at her watch. Ken observed that his goddess fretted with her mobile phone, nervously monitored the heavy downpour. Ken swallowed hard, walked up to the window where the blonde knockout stood.

“Dreadful weather isn’t it?”

Elizabeth turned and smiled. “Yes, it definitely is.” She extended her hand and said, “Hello! I am Elizabeth Hunter.”

“Yes, I know Miss Hunter,” said Ken.

“You’re Mister Kenneth Smith from Langstrom International, right?”

“Er..yes, that’s right.” Ken as totally perplexed that the beauty actually knew a nobody like him. “Er…er…how did you know who I was?”

“Well, Mr.Smith, it’s my business to know everyone. I work for ...”

“Moonstruck!” Ken excitedly finished Elizabeth’s sentence.

“Well, Mr. Smith, I guess I am not the only one who has the leg up on everyone.”

Ken laughed nervously. “Just call me Ken.”

“Alright, Ken it shall be! I go by Elizabeth.”

“This weather is dreadful isn’t it?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Yes, we’ve established that.”

“If you don’t mine me asking, where are you heading?”

“I have another event to attend.”

“Where about?”

“Between High and William Streets.”

Ken had no idea where on earth were High street or William street and he didn’t care. “Oh!” Ken feigned. “Are you by chance going to the fundraising hosted by the Milhook Foundation?”

Elizabeth slipped her phone into her handbag. “Yes, that’s where I am headed.”

“This is indeed a coincidence. I am on my way there too,” Ken lied. It was lucky that he overheard Elizabeth’s friends talking when he was on his way out.

“Well that’s wonderful. But it looks like we won’t be going anywhere in this dreadful weather.”

“Why?”

“No cab!”

Ken pulled out his mobile but Elizabeth cut him off. “I’ve called about a dozen cab companies. All their lines are busy.”

“Well that figures. When you need a cab, none is around and when you don’t need them they’re honking your ass. Oh sorry, pardon my French.”

“Yes, how true,” Elizabeth smiling replied. “You speak French?”

“No, no that was just a figure of speech.”

“I was joking Ken.”

Ken laughed. “Tell, you what. Stay right here. Let me go hunt for a cab and if don’t mind, we can go there together.”

“Great.” Elizabeth cheerfully agreed. Ken could have melted where he stood when the woman flashed her pearl teeth at him. Ken pulled his jacket over his head and dashed out. He scrambled like a mad man around the block. When he saw a yellow vehicle on the road, he jumped in front of it. It was an occupied cab but he didn’t care. The cab driver honked his horn. Ken dashed into the cab.

“Hey, get the fuck out of my cab you whacko!” The passenger screamed.

Ken took out a wad of cash. “Here’s fifty for your cab.”

“It’s not for sale,” said the passenger.

“Here’s a hundred,” Ken desperately waved the money in front of the passenger.

The passenger eyed the money and the meter. He grabbed the money and scooted out.

“Whoa, wait! Who’ll pay for the meter?” The taxi driver bellowed.

“I will,” Ken shouted.

The taxi driver shook his head and said, “okay, you’re the boss. Where to?”

“Corner of High and William Street but I need to pick someone first.”

“Okay.”

“Pull around the corner and stop at the entrance,” ordered Ken. He took out a twenty and shoved it at the cabby. “Here’s the twenty. Keep the fuckers out.”

The cab driver smiled. Ken dashed into the building. He grinned from ear to ear at his victory. When he entered the building, he saw Elizabeth was surrounded by horrible looking men. Ken swatted the busy bees hovering around his flower.

“I got us a cab,” said Ken as he put his body between his competitors.

“Alright then I’ll catch up with you gentlemen later,” said Elizabeth.

Ken gave them the evil eye when Elizabeth was not looking. He ushered the gorgeous blonde outside. Ken opened the cab door for Elizabeth and beckoned her to dash into the waiting cab. The men that were with Elizabeth dashed out with umbrellas in hand but Elizabeth had already entered the cab. Ken gleefully slammed the door shut and juvenilely stuck his tongue out as the cab pushed off. The cab driver looked at the rearview mirror and said, “I can understand why you paid that much money.”

Elizabeth looked at the cab driver and asked, “paid money?”

“Yes, your boyfriend here paid over 140 bucks for this cab,” the driver guffawed.

“Oh, dear! Ken, we should split the cost,” Elizabeth offered.

Ken beamed triumphantly and said, “I’ll have none of that.”

Elizabeth smiled accepting the Ken’s gift graciously. “You’re absolutely drenched.” Elizabeth rummaged in her bag, took out a towel, and handed it to Ken. “Sorry this is all I can offer you to dry yourself.”

“Wow, Elizabeth! How is it that you have a towel handy?”

Elizabeth laughingly said, “I was suppose to go to the gym today but as usual I squeezed in one meeting too many.”

“What else do you have in there?” Ken attempted to peek into Elizabeth’s black bag.

“Hey…”

“Just kidding.”

Bad weather and scarcity of cabs were the tinder that sparked the bonfire of romance. Ken was mesmerized by Elizabeth’s seductiveness. He followed her like a little puppy. When Elizabeth wanted to leave for another networking party, the rain still hadn’t let up. Ken shamelessly used the same strategy to get her a cab. He was a man-possessed, gate crashing every event that Elizabeth attended. Ken turned from a respected financial analyst to an audacious lackey exercising chivalry and scoring points with Elizabeth wherever and whenever he could. He carried Elizabeth’s stuff, fought for cabs, shuttled Elizabeth from one location to the next, opened about every door in city for his goddess and fought off his competitors like a rabid Doberman. By day’s end, Ken had completely emptied out his wallet but it was worth it as his social status was elevated by being around the blonde goddess. Ken was astonished at the amount of intelligence that easily landed on Elizabeth’s lap. He was sure that the Leech would have willingly paid a fortune for the insider information. The deluge of money from Ken’s wallet bought Elizabeth’s admiration for his persistency. The investment bought him many more dates with Elizabeth after that night. Ken was everything that she wanted. He was sensitive, generous, in tuned with her needs, successful, smart and articulate. Ken seemed to exude niceness. He opened doors for women, offered his seat to the elderly and scooped hapless dogs when crossing the road. Elizabeth thought she had finally found her elusive partner. Ken and Elizabeth were having the romance of their lives. It was if they had lifted a page out of a hot romance bestseller. Man fell head over heels for a beautiful princess. They went on a whirlwind love affair that morphed into a marriage proposal within the span of a few weeks.

The wedding was held at a high-end social club called the Trident. The Trident catered only to rich yuppies who could afford its sky-high fees. Everything about it was excessively ostentatious. The Trident was crammed with a bowling alley, racquet balls, squash courts, three heated indoor pools, four gyms, seven studios, a running track that bent around the four corners of the building, a dozen spa facilities and three giant eateries. There were pool tables, billiard tables, air hockey tables, ping-pong tables, pin-ball machines, table soccer and electronic gaming stations squeezed into every corner of the club. The well-stocked rooftop bar was a favorite pit stop for high adrenalin junkies. The bar served up power drinks that knocked the socks off executives on the run. Large digital display screens bigger that the eye could take-in were ubiquitous in the Trident. Each of the floors had different themed music such as grunge, hip-hop and rock. For potential members who liked classical music, the Trident’s concierge naughtily referred them to a nice looking building down the street which happened to be the head office of a retirement home franchiser. Elizabeth’s influential friends presented her with the Trident for a day. Ken was relieved since there was no way that he could have afforded to rent the entire club. Their fairytale wedding befitted royalty. Nothing could have gone wrong for the two lovebirds. They had money, good jobs, a super bright future and a network of very rich friends. Though Elizabeth was in cloud nine, there was a nagging feeling that tugged at the corners of Ken’s numbed unconsciousness.

Fast-forward 6 months, the numbness had become a sore. Ken started having very catty fights with Elizabeth. The ensuing reconciliation sessions were flaccid at best. Elizabeth found that Ken didn’t quite measure up in bed. He lacked the savagery that women desired. Elizabeth lost the man she thought she had married. Instead, she found a lesbian in his place. Ken painfully knew his shortcomings so he tried to spice things in the bedroom by bringing in some very wicked looking sex toys. Ken’s most potent toy was a strap-on that was supposed to compensate for his inadequacies. Much to Elizabeth’s dismay, she was the one wearing the faux penis. Elizabeth concluded that Ken was like no man she knew since the damn slut took the strap-on right to the hilt. After a year of flimsy half boiled salami, Elizabeth was fed-up of being the one with the hard penis. She told her partner to pluck his dick from his shoulders and put it back where it belonged. The triggers for the squabbles were trivial and forgettable but the wars of words were like whips of barbwires that cut deeply into their relationship. Elizabeth was at wits ends with Ken’s incessant critique on her clothing, décor and make-up preferences. The crack in their relationship widen until the gaping fissure pushed them to a therapist. They tried to salvage their marriage on the behest of their family and friends. After two sessions, their therapist refunded their money and wrote a note. “Here’s your refund. We’re more than done. Two tigresses cannot stay on the same hill. Please don’t come back. If you accept the deal, rescinded is your bill. Good luck, Smithies. Please spare the other therapist with your trivialities.” Ken and Elizabeth ended their emotionally drained marriage with a flicker of pen on a one-page divorce paper. The bitch kept the house, the woman kept the faux penis and their therapist kept her sanity.

Chapter 4: A little piece of India.

Ken loved Indian cuisine but at the cost of making his own in the latrine. His regular invite to Mehta’s dining table was great, but he felt like bait probed by aliens from head to prostrate. The Mehta’s genuinely love learning. They were very curious about Ken’s culture or specifically Ken himself. From the dinner conversations, Ken learned of the sacrifices that had been made so that Sanjeev Mehta can sit in a western country to dine with one of its natives. Sanjeev hailed from a well to do family in India. His family owned lands, orchards and ran several successful agriculture businesses. Sanjeev was their family’s ugly prince who willingly gave up his rightful place in the sprawling kingdom for an uncertain future. His family paid a royal ransom selling lands, bartering farm animals so that they can fulfill their little prince’s dream. To an outsider like Ken, Sanjeev seemed to have his head screwed on wrong. If Sanjeev was he, he would never leave Eden and settle for something less than as a second class citizen in a foreign land. However, Sanjeev was adamant that he was on the right path. The Indian with an ugly face had a righteous heart. He was not willing to live in a paradise built on the backs of indentured slaves. The rich in his country got richer by leeching off the poor who lived from hand to foot barely able to eke out a living. Sanjeev was not willing to maintain the hell that oppressed the downtrodden. Ken felt the heat under his collar for he was working in leech capital. Ken admired Sanjeev’s ideals for not turning his back on a society where one’s social standing was determined by the shade of one’s skin and size of one’s wallet. When Sanjeev graduated, he joined a local law firm as an underpaid and overworked lawyer. Though Sanjeev spoke eloquently, his inescapable Indian accent made him unbillable to his employer’s predominantly white clients. For his skin color and race meant that he was relegated to the back office reduced miscellaneous entry on the client’s bill. It was ironic that a man who hated to take advantage of the poor ended being the indentured servant himself.

Though Sanjeev had travelled far in his pursuits, he could not mute the calling from his roots. When his parents summoned him to honor an arranged marriage done when he was still in the cradle, he had not much choice but to pack his duffle and take the first flight back to Maniple. Homecoming was bittersweet. His return sparked a village feast. Everyone was very happy for their little prince had returned to their country. Sanjeev revisited all his childhood haunts and tasted the sweetest mangoes from his garden. He drank coconut alcohol with his friends, listened to his fellow tribesman profess their bountiful largesse and the number of buffalos they possessed. Sanjeev couldn’t help but pinch his nose to shut out the stink of cow dung collected as compose. He found it strange that he no longer fitted in with his gang of friends, but he had to pretend that his views, demeanor and outlook had not transcended his friends’ content. When he travelled together in their fancy jeep, through the vast land that surrounded their keep, Sanjeev tried not to weep when he saw from the tinted glass, his dark skin brethrens bent over the rice paddy fields knee deep in mud under the scorching heat for the sake of enriching his family’s swanky keep. Sanjeev watched the poor farmers raised their sickles again and again eventhough they owned naught. His heart prickled from pain for his inability to free his poor black slaves from the karma which they were caught.

Sanjeev’s best friend nudged him back to reality. He had to focus and maintain his objectivity. This will be the day that he would meet his future wife. The coconut alcohol he had drunk wasn’t enough to still his nerves from rattling like chipmunks. Sanjeev felt like he had just swallowed a thousand knives for he was about to start a new life. The jeep zipped through the dirt path. Sanjeev turned and took a last look out the rear windshield. The paddy fields disappeared in the cloud of dust. Sanjeev feared that his future wife might look like the farm animals that his friends had proudly boasted. The jeep pulled to the porch of a beautiful house.

“Come on Sanjeev. Let’s go meet your cow, I mean your bride to be.” One of Sanjeev’s friend jested. His friends dragged the frightened lawyer out of the jeep. A group of people who Sanjeev vaguely knew greeted him and friends. They were ushered into the large house where Sanjeev fell to his knees and paid homage to his future in laws. Ten minutes later, a saint descended from the heavens. Sanjeev’s tongued rolled to the ground, his eyes bugged out like the wolfhound. Neeta was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. She nimbly walked to her protected space between her parents. Neeta peeled her eyes from the ground and searched the five strangers standing around. Which of these ugly monkeys was it going to be? Neeta felt more miserable than ever for the group of five men were uglier than groupers rejected by fishermen. What bad karma had she accumulated that her family had to coerce her into marrying a man whom she knew naught? She would have to give up her silvers screen ambitions and her part time modeling career. It was such a pity as she had made such strides in the city. She had scored minor roles in several blockbuster Bollywood movies and she had already caught the eye of a movie mogul. She would not have the life that she had envisioned but one that was fated for her by her parents. Neeta had wanted run away badly, but her filial piety and responsibility chained her fleeting feet firmly. Should she have dishonored her parents, she would have to be on the lam to escape their judgments. Her flesh and blood would be pressured to kill her in the name of honor. She fainted when her parents beckoned to Sanjeev.

With little options, Neeta married Sanjeev within 1 week of their first meeting. The families of both sides made all the arrangements. Their wedding stretched over three days of elaborate rituals and extravagant dinners. Eventually Sanjeev brought Neeta to his little utopia. They both started a new life outside of their country’s cultural barriers. Neeta started her small catering business. Their first-born son, Soni, celebrated his twelfth birthday a few weeks ago which Ken attended. Sanjeev must have invited half the neighborhood to the party. His family was unique in the area and the main attraction was the delicious curry that Neeta cooked. Sanjeev and Neeta had two other daughters, Vivien and Saree who were 10 years and 9 years old respectively.

Ken had invited the Mehta’s over to his home to taste his cooking. Fortunate for Ken, his culinary skills was so bad that the Mehta’s kindly refused future invitations. Nine out of ten invites between the neighbors ended up in Sanjeev’s home. Ken had gotten used to having wonderful home cooked briyani, korma curry, pampedam and many other delightful Indian delicacies. Besides the love for Indian food and dire aftermath in the toilet, Ken and Sanjeev shared a common love for soccer. They relished their daily invasion of the kids’ soccer game in the alley en-route to work. The two grown-ups were unstoppable despite the kids outnumbering them 3 to 1. Their one goal a day record had stood for a year since they stumbled upon the school kids. The kids were growing up fast and dribbling the ball away from the kids was getting harder all the time.

Chapter 5: The three musketeers.

The headquarters of Langstrom International or better known as the Leech was a twenty-story tinted aquarium that brimmed with flashy expert rumormongers, brown-nosers, backstabbers, finger-pointers, show-boaters, bad-mouthers, brinkmen and bullies. Ken, Danny and Benny were three very unlikely allies bounded by fate to survive the Leech’s dangerous ecology. The shield of the trio was Danny, a lanky mid-thirtyish contract specialist, with impeccable taste in designer business suits. However, his hippie bird-nest hairdo earned him a place in the Leech’s jokes menu. Appearance aside, Danny was an ace that can quickly put in place, ironclad contracts faster than anyone in the legal rat race. The tall man was also infamous for being cantankerous with a propensity to hose showboats and obsequious turncoats. Many in the Leech dared not cross swords with the fierce king of legal words. Standing behind the shield was little Benny. Benny was short and potbellied with a personality that made him number one with the Leech’s bean counters. He wore his insecurities like the hairpiece on his fat egghead. The little potbellied man was the misfit who often made the trio look like twits. The group’s dynamic is one that needed Ken who was like a mother hen who kept the peace since the bird-nest hairdo prick took delight in being Benny’s colic. Ken was the grease that made Danny’s insult slip off with ease otherwise little Benny would become the hulk of sulk, spoiling the evening with endless griping and painful whining.

Danny, Ken and Benny met under very odd circumstances. It was eight and half years ago when the unwitting trio landed in the Leech. The ink on their Ivy League diplomas was barely dried when they were aggressively herded into the Leech by slick Ivy League wranglers who led these ego-inflated young cows to the slaughterhouse. There was no time for honeymoon but straight into pool’s deep-end as fish bait for a pale skin Nosferatu called Peter Kullogh. Peter Kullogh, had racked up successes ten times faster than any of the Leech’s vultures. He was admired, worshipped, feared, and reviled at the same time. These feelings would soon belong to the trio when their new lord and master was done with them. Everything was fair game to Peter and the term illegal meant that someone somewhere had not enough grease was not paid off. Peter was legendary for his colossal appetite for big action. He constantly ran multiple projects at manic pace that wore out his teams like racecar wheelbase. Peter had the stamina of an intellectual bull on Viagra. He had yet to meet his match in work marathon spectra. His people had to possess similar endurance or perished with an exit clearance. The pale skin man had single handedly thrown out half of Leech’s employees. Top management let Peter do his thing as he was too efficient in bringing in the money to finance his fat bosses’ exquisite blings-blings. Over the years Peter had converted hapless recruits into ruthless business executives who would raze a path for his glory. Peter was magnanimous to his horde. He bought their loyalty with the Leech’s dirty money. It was of little wonder that many outside his elite group clamored to be in the pale skin man’s fold. Little did the green eye monsters know, that they were spared the agony of being rigid scarecrows, with life as substantial as hewn straws, depending on the pale skin devil for backbones. Peter’s elites were but drones, with the responsibilities of keeping unwanted weeds mown, shotgun cocked and peckish jackdaws blown. Those who dared nip at the pale skin devil’s throne, will find their names engraved on a tombstone.

The trio’s first project bore the initials ‘BYOB’ which they would later decipher the cruel meaning of the acronym and learn of Peter’s sadistic humor for project nomenclatures. Peter wanted the prime land which the well known business “Mr. Mac Meat Delivery” was situated. The business distributed premium meats to some very well known diehard fans. Mr. Mac, the business’ proprietor, employed about a 100 old folks, some of whom had worked for his family for three generations. His business was not a big money churner but it had had endured two world wars. If left to its own, Mr. Mac Meat Delivery would most probably chug along as long as fussy carnivores existed. Peter Kullogh was going to be like no carnivore that Mr. Mac’s had ever encountered. Acquiring the land was pivotal for Peter‘s other project. He was going to strip the hundred-year-old business of its assets and toss out the 100 odd old folks loyal to Mr. Mac. Mr. Mac was edging 88 years old and he wouldn’t be too much of a challenge for Peter except that the old man was a local celebrity. The red brick building, which housed Mr. Mac’s business, was the city’s icon. The building and Mr.Mac were regularly featured on television. Mr. Mac’s Meat Delivery had won accolades with headlines like “a cut above the rest”, “a prime employer”, “employer meats employee.” The city was so proud of the philanthropic Mr. Mac that the old man was even presented with a golden key to the city. Peter couldn’t risk the city’s wrath by bullying the old man into submission. He had to acquire Mr. Mac’s land underhandedly.

The three new Langstrom employees were about to partake in a B-grade horror flick with Peter as the director and producer. Peter fronted Ken as the person who wines and dines Mr. Mac. Peter fooled Ken to think that as a freshman, Ken offered new perspective to a stodgy business. The new cadet’s mission was to secure a consultancy project to modernize Mr. Mac’s business. Peter engaged a hooker to pose as Ken’s colleague. Ken was too naïve to see through the stunning blonde’s cover. The high-class escort wore her low cut sexy business suit and played her role superbly. Ken wrote his proposal and sold it with great passion to old Mr. Mac. The old man seemed hooked to the modernization idea. The expensive wining and dining went on for weeks as Ken endeavored to iron out the details with the old man. Ken wasn’t the only one making the moves on the old man. His lady partner were much too alluring for the old fart. It wasn’t long before the old man succumbed to hooker’s feminine wiles. The old fool fell for the hooker and within days proposed to her. The girl and Mr. Mac paraded around the city, raising quite a few eyebrows. The wining and dining continued for one more week before Mr. Mac broke the bad news to Ken. The old man wasn’t interested in Ken’s proposal but instead he desperately wanted to bed his newfound love. Mr. Mac told Ken in confidence that he had a serious problem raising his staff. If Ken could help, the old man would reward Ken handsomely. Ken hightailed back to the Leech and reported his dismal failure to Peter. Ken could hardly keep out with his own mouth as the words just gushed out. There was a momentary silence when he was done. Ken feared that he would be canned and tossed back to the heartland. Instead, Peter flashed a grin so wide that Ken feared his boss’ head would split on its sides. Ken was petrified no knowing what to make of Peter’s lewd grin. Peter had patiently waited like a crocodile in the shallow waters ready to snare the old impala beguiled. Peter exploded from his seat and approached Ken. Ken cringed readying himself to be thrown out of the Leech. Instead, his boss padded Ken on the back and consoled the young man with dribble, “sometimes we win big and sometimes we need to retreat. We’ll settle for something else.” The pale skin devil gave Ken the go ahead to solve old man’s impotency problem and to collect on the good will which they could use later. Ken nodded gratefully, thinking that he had found a sympathetic boss. Peter gave Ken an address and told his young mentee to bring the old man there. Ken bounded off the chair like a kid and enthusiastically rushed to Mr.Mac. The old fool was under such intense pressure and when Ken told him the good news, he insisted that they go to the address immediately. They arrived in front of a dingy fortune teller’s shop located in the back alleys of a run down neighborhood. When they entered the dark shop, they were met by a small man who Ken later would know as Benny. Benny was ridiculously drabbed in a gaudy green outfit that looked as if it was a tablecloth with a hole in the center. Ken had never met Benny prior to the meeting. Benny sat the old man and Ken around his round table. He massaged his crystal ball and said, “you’ve come seeking a cure.”

Ken raised his eyebrow. He was about to leave but the old man clutched the young man’s arm and said, “please stay!” The old man’s grip felt like steel. Ken sat back down on the cheap plastic chair. The old man turned his attention to the ridiculously clothed short man and said, “yes, I am seeking…”

Benny interrupted the old man by going into a spasm.

“Holy cow, are you okay?” Ken was alarmed.

“…you’re are here because you have a woman whom you can’t take.” Benny revealed.

“Whoa!” Ken exclaimed and sat back down.

“How did you know?” The old man asked.

“I have been here for many many years. It’s my gift and curse to this world,” Benny said.

“I think we should go Mr.Mac. This is too weird,” said Ken.

“Sit down young man!” Mr. Mac warned.

Ken sat still like an obedient dog.

Benny continued, “I can grant you your wish and restore your vitality but you will have to make a deal with the Devil.”

“What?” Ken screamed silently. He was spooked out of his wits. He felt the air around the table rapidly dropped. The hair on his arms stood up.

The old man nodded quietly.

“Are you sure?” Ken was shocked and repeatedly asked the old man.

“So be it,” said Benny as he closed his eyes. The ridiculous short man mumbled some incantations. The temperature in the room felt colder. Smoked blasted out of nowhere and a tall skinny goofy kid with wild hairdo appeared. This was the first time that Ken had seen Danny. The goofy kid looked scary enough that everyone thought he was the Devil.

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