Barely four hours went by before I was contacted by “Harry”, the sultan’s gay bastard son, born of a favorite harem girl and never in line to the throne, partly because of his birth lineage but most certainly due to his sexual preferences. I’d worked with him before. He’d grown up as close to an American kid as possible, even attended NYU film school while living with his mother in a purchased brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. The sultan hired him right out of college to be his social secretary and trusted the kid with his life. In return, the son lived a lavish lifestyle he’d have never had and promised he’d never disrespect his father.
“Well, Marco. I guess we’ll be working together again. My father is most anxious to get caught up.”
“I’ll bet. So, which one of your idiot brothers is heading the project in Africa?” I asked. Harry, short for Hanarabi, and I had always been on close terms, not dissimilar to how I used to joke with my Teammates.
“Oh, that would be Khalil and Absalom. You know they both graduated with advanced degrees in engineering and architecture at MIT.”
“Glad to hear it. I was afraid they’d be tossed before they could finish.”
“Hardly, Uncle Marco,” Harry resurrected that name I’d not heard for over five years. “They were way more serious about their studies and their legacy than I ever was. I’m still looking to make my directorial debut.”
“Which means your father has turned you down another dozen times.”
“Quite right.” He sighed. “But in the meantime, all this work takes the place of the bright lights on the marquee in Times Square. Someday, if my father doesn’t manage to live to be a hundred like his father, I might actually get a chance!”
“In his line of work, that’s a good thing, Harry.”
“You mean being sultan?”
“I know men who would consider it a full-time job to keep all those women happy in your father’s stable. And I mean him no disrespect, Harry.”
“Oh I get it. But he pays to play. Look at all the family he supports. So now he wants to see my brothers become successful businessmen, something he was not allowed to do by his own father.”
“Do they know?”
“Do they know what? Oh! That I am their brother? Oh heaven’s no! There are always palace rumors, but nothing he can’t quickly quash. My mother’s life would be in danger, and she has no protection.”
“So he’s still kept that golden leash on you.”
“Oh, Marco, you know I love the man. He’s always been good to us. I am a devoted sycophant, and he knows he can trust me with his life. I don’t think any of his wives he’d say the same about.”
“Bingo. Women are complicated. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
“I’ve heard.”
I knew they’d have done their research before reaching out. “So, you have the dates and the arrangements figured out?”
“I have them coming to you over a secure link, encrypted with your mother’s birthdate added to the date of your wedding.”
“Grrr…” They really had stepped up their game.
“Oh stop it, Uncle Marco. She can’t be that bad. You were with her for a long time.”
“Too long. Tell me she hasn’t made any contact with him.”
“Haven’t heard a peep. So you’ll be coming alone or is there a new Mrs. Gambini in the wings?”
“I’m solo. Probably going to be that way for the remainder.”
“So, we’re more alike than you realized, Uncle Marco.”
“Watch it, kid.”
We wrapped up and several minutes later I got the encrypted files giving me the time, place and several letters of permission and introduction to any of the government entities I might have to deal with to get permission to travel.
At the bottom of the document was a figure the sultan was offering, which I knew I could bump up if I needed to. But it was a figure that would pay for all my business expenses for the next three years.
I smiled, not at the number, but at the idea that I didn’t have to share one penny of that with Rebecca.
If I took the job, of course.
Chapter 6
Shannon
The newsroom was buzzing with local discussions and issues related to voter registration and challenges to politicians running in various runoff elections and pivots for posturing in the next general election, which was thankfully several months away. So of course weather was more important as residents of the greater Tampa area and beach communities planned their vacations, their fishing trips and outdoor events.
I allowed the makeup artist to finish, curling my hair and doing a soft blowout, when I removed the drape and stepped into the green screen. I demonstrated that the next hurricane would be heading west of them, heading right up the middle of the Gulf to land perhaps on New Orleans or Galveston, and not anywhere near my sleepy beach bungalow. I gracefully pointed to the string of “recruits” as I called them, lined up to run in and wreak havoc right behind Hurricane Eloise. Everyone was praying that Eloise would change her temperament and become a tropical storm. I told my audience that I was hoping she’d be a good girl and winked. The Program Director gave me a wide smile in return, followed by a thumbs up.
Of course, I couldn’t get off the stage fast enough to avoid bumping into Clarence Thompson, who pretended he didn’t see me. It gave him a change to feel my tits with the flabby upper chest of his. If his hands had been used to stop his forward momentum, I was prepared to slap him. Hard.
Luckily, Clarence was creepy, but somewhat on his better behavior. Besides, there were ten sets of eyes staring right at both of us.
“Shannon, glad you made it back to our beautiful little paradise. How was Boston?”
I was surprised he knew anything about where I was going.
“Colder,” I said, and made sure it sounded that way too.
He blushed pink from my subtle insult and then broke out in a wide smile. “Well, we’re all very glad you’re back. Things are just never the same when you’re gone.” He had placed his palm over his heart. He should have just been honest and grabbed his dick.
I imagined the scent, the feel of Marco’s strong body on top of me, beneath my undulating hips, and how he made me feel, and took secret pride in the knowledge that this cretin couldn’t take any of that beautiful memory away from me. It would forever be my secret, the most valuable thing I owned, at least for right now.
I ignored the comment and walked back to the green room for something to drink, awaiting my next performance. The room was plastered with big screens which not only showed content of tonight’s broadcast in three sizes, but several other news channels, several of them national and cable.
One of the stories a competing station was running was a story on the housing project Marco Gambini had started in Bellaire Beach and how there was some concern the project would no longer be built, due to complications resulting from Marco’s recent financial setbacks, without mentioning the contentious divorce. I listened by walking closer to the screen with my water bottle, as the newscaster played a quick clip of Rebecca Gambini’s interview done earlier that day. I watched the woman with new appreciation for what a mismatch she was for him, and it made me smile.