Chapter Six
Chessie
“He wants you to what?”
I scratch my nose, trying not to laugh at my friends’ reactions to my news, even though it’s no laughing matter.
I rent a room in a house in Oneroa, the largest suburb on Waiheke Island, along with two other girls.
Lisa is twenty-seven, kind and thoughtful, tallish, pretty, and blonde.
Ria is twenty-two, Māori, fun and outspoken, with short, somewhat wild, curly brown hair. They both work at the ferry terminal.
“He wants you to be his fiancée,” Ria confirms, jaw dropping.
“His fake fiancée,” I correct. “There’s a big difference.”
It’s Sunday evening, and the three of us are sitting in the living room, sharing a bottle of wine. It’s been a tough day, and it’s nice to finally sit down and relax.
After leaving Kingi at the Waiora, I took Thea back to my parents’ house to discover them all very quiet and sullen.
At least they’d stopped arguing, I consoled myself, but to be honest, the miserable, oppressive atmosphere was even worse.
Thea and I chattered away about our swim, but we were met with grunts and monosyllabic answers, and in the end I’d had enough.
I said I was going home, gave Thea a cuddle, kissed my father’s head, and made my way to the door.
Mum met me there, and, uncharacteristically for her, as she’s not a hugger, she put her arms around me and held me tightly.
“Hey…” Alarmed, I rubbed her back and gave her a squeeze. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’m frightened, Chess.”
“There’s nothing to be frightened about.”
“We could lose the house. Especially now he’s added five thousand more dollars to the total. How could he do that when he knew how bad things were?”
“He’s not thinking,” I said firmly, drawing back and holding her by her upper arms. “I know it hurts, but we don’t even enter his head when he’s in the middle of it; nor do Nina or Thea.
All he can think about is getting the buzz from the next bet.
That’s why he needs help. We can’t keep bailing him out like this. We’re just enabling him.”
“He’s promised he won’t run up any more debt.”
“He’s promised so many times, Mum. It won’t work, because he’s an addict, and he can’t stop.”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth as her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”
She’s even shorter than I am, and I had to bend to look into her eyes. “You haven’t done anything. It’s like having asthma or being short sighted. It’s nobody’s fault. There’s something askew in his brain, and it’s nothing to do with you. He needs to get professional help.”
There wasn’t anything else I could say, and I left then, insisting I’d pop over on Monday to check on Dad and see if she wanted anything.
I cried as I drove home. I felt as if I was giving other people every ounce of my energy, and there was nothing left for me.
And the worst thing was that it didn’t feel as if it was doing any good.
Mark was no better, and there was no sign to the end of his gambling.
I believed everything I’d said to my mother, and I knew we were enabling him, but what could I do?
I’ve heard stories of people being dragged to rehab and relapsing as soon as they’re released.
You’ve got to want to be better, you’ve got to want to stop, or what’s the point?
When I got in, both Lisa and Ria were home, and they took one look at my tear-stained face, pressed a glass of wine in my hand, ran me a bath, and told me not to come out until I’d finished the wine and was ready to talk.
After half an hour I emerged to discover they’d ordered a pizza, and we sat and ate and drank more wine as I told them what had happened today. I’d already told them about Mark’s problem and my father’s health, so it didn’t take long to update them.
And then I told them about Kingi’s offer.
“So let me get this straight,” Ria says. “You’re talking about Kingi Davis? The dude who’s just broken up with Sabrina Pearce?”
“The very same.”
“And you knew him when you were kids?”
“Yeah, Dad used to mow his father’s lawns.”
“But he’s, like, mega-rich?”
“Oh yeah,” I say with feeling. “Mega, uber, lost track of the number of zeroes in his bank account kind of rich.”
“Fuck.” Her eyes are like dinner plates. “So… he wants you to pretend to be his fiancée, and in return he’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s the long and short of it, yes.”
She’s sitting at the other end of the sofa, and she moves a bit closer to me and rests her hand on my forehead.
“What are you doing?” I ask, puzzled.
“Taking your temperature. I mean, clearly you’re coming down with something if you haven’t bitten his hand off.”
I push her away and give her a wry look. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because she likes him,” Lisa says.
I glance at her. I’ve never talked about Kingi other than to say I knew him as a kid. I’ve never mentioned having feelings for him. She lifts her eyebrows at me. I poke my tongue out at her.
“Do you?” Ria asks. “Oh…”
“I don’t,” I protest. “Much…”
“What does he actually want you to do?” Lisa asks.
I shrug. “He was a bit vague. Basically, to be seen together socially. He mentioned dinner, and maybe a nightclub or the theater. And then an engagement party at Midnight.”
“How long would this go on for?”
“Again, he was vague. He has to make sure he gets the position first, obviously. And then we’d wait until everything dies down, I guess, then ‘separate’ quietly. He suggested six months.”
They both think about that. “So you’d be exclusive,” Ria asks. I nod.
“How do you feel about that?” Lisa queries. “What if you meet someone else?”
I hadn’t thought of that. “I don’t know.”
“He’s always in the news,” Ria says, “with one model or another. Do you really think he won’t date anyone else?”
“I don’t know. If he does, he runs the risk of being seen, and losing the position for good.
It doesn’t sound as if the board is going to be patient with him if there are negative headlines about him again.
So it’s kinda up to him.” A bit like with Mark, I think.
Our future is nearly always in our own hands.
“I still don’t quite see the problem.” Ria looks genuinely baffled.
“You get the money, and you get to live the high life for a while. This gorgeous guy will take you to exclusive restaurants and you’ll get the best seats at the theater.
He’ll want you to look good, so he’ll probably buy you some great clothes.
You’ll get an engagement party—he might even let you keep the ring! What’s not to like?”
I put my face in my hands. “It’s Pretty Woman all over again. I’ve turned into Julia Roberts.”
Ria giggles.
“Don’t laugh,” Lisa scolds her, topping up my glass with the last inch of wine in the bottle.
“Does he want you to… you know… be his partner in every way?” Ria’s eyes gleam.
My face flames. “No! Jeez.”
“Then how is it the same as Pretty Woman? You’re hardly selling your body for money.”
“Maybe not sexually,” Lisa says slowly, “but anything done in exchange for money is a sale, right? And there are always moral implications to that.”
Ria blows a raspberry. “You’re both reading too much into it. Look, you’re his friend, right? He’s genuinely asking you to help him out. In return, all your financial problems will be sorted, and you get to test-drive the billionaire life? I don’t see the problem.”
I bring up my knees and hug them tightly, still holding my wine glass.
“I know what you mean, and you’re right of course.
Forgetting about Kingi for the moment, it doesn’t solve Mark’s problem.
I could pay off all the loans and make sure Mum and Dad are stable and don’t lose their house.
It’s tempting just for that. But what’s to stop Mark thinking that if I’ve done it once, I can do it again? ”
“You have to talk to your parents,” Lisa says.
“I know it’s hard, but you’d have to lay down some ground rules.
Emphasize that they mustn’t bail Mark out again, no matter what happens.
If they do, next time they have to sort it out.
Make it clear that after this, you’re done.
There’s no more cash, no more help.” Her expression softens.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re losing weight.
You have dark shadows under your eyes. And I know you’re not sleeping well. You have your own life to live, Chess.”
“With a gorgeous hunk of a human being,” Ria adds. “For six months, anyway.”
I give a short laugh. “That’s kind of the other problem. I don’t know anything about his world. I mean, look at me. I’m hardly a socialite. I wouldn’t know where to start with talking to his friends and colleagues.”
“They’re just people,” Ria scoffs.
“No, I know what she means,” Lisa says. “The highlight of our week is meeting up down the Pioneer for a beer or going for a curry. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been to a top restaurant or nightclub.
And I’ve never been the subject of a news headline.
It sounds like fun on the surface, but if you agree to this, you’ll have to live that lifestyle for six months, whether you want to or not.
I think you’d have to be very clear about what is and isn’t acceptable.
I mean, is he expecting you to move in with him? ”
“I don’t think so.”
“This isn’t the nineteenth century,” Lisa points out. “Most people live together before they get engaged. Don’t you think people will think it weird that he proposed before you even lived together?”
“Um…”
“You could say you don’t believe in sex before marriage,” Ria says.
We all look at each other for a moment. Then we all burst out laughing.
“No, okay.” She wipes beneath her eyes. “That won’t work.”
“You could move in with him,” Lisa says, “but stay in one of his spare rooms. I mean I’m betting he owns a huge house, right? He must have more than one bedroom.”