Chapter 9
Jordan
My shoulders slump as I stare at my drink on the bar. The din of the crowd around me is lively and entertaining, and yet I can’t think of anyone except Juliette. My son’s fiancée.
Goddamn it, how did things get to this place?
On the one hand, I’m a lucky motherfucker.
I’m the dude who gets to fuck a pretty French girl non-stop, practically keeping her chained to my bed.
She’s gorgeous and voluptuous, with a hungry pussy, big tits that bounce, and a tight asshole.
Juliette loves it too, and can’t get enough of my massive dick penetrating her everywhere. So what’s the problem?
The problem is that she’s my dead son’s girlfriend, and that I’ve been disrespectful and goddamn selfish at every turn.
Hell, I even fucked Juliette at Harry’s wake, with guests milling about downstairs!
We were supposed to be mourning the death of my son, and instead, I was drilling his fiancée’s juicy little pussy in my bedroom.
Plus, it was such a fucking shitshow when Juliette and I showed up late to the funeral.
People stared, and whispered behind their palms, but the truth was so outlandish that they didn’t believe it.
After all, what grieving father fucks his departed son’s girlfriend?
I swear, I should shoot myself in the head because I deserve it.
Literally, a shiver of revulsion runs through my frame because I deserve to be dead after what I’ve done.
Meanwhile, a hard pound to my back startles me from my gloom.
“What up, bud?” my friend Chris greets. “You look like shit. Why the long face?” He signals the bartender for a drink, and the man spins into motion immediately, despite the fact that there are a dozen patrons ahead in line.
It’s good to be a rich motherfucker, and Chris certainly looks the part with his thirty-thousand dollar watch and rugged good looks.
I know he’ll tip well, too, because that fucker likely cleared eight figures this year. Damn.
But I merely shake my head, my own problems pressing.
“It’s female shit.”
Chris grins, flashing even white teeth while sliding onto the stool next to me.
“That’s my favorite kind of bullshit,” he chuckles, “because it often ends with a wet twat and a big dick deep up her ass. You know that anal sex solves everything. It’s the best shit out there.”
“You’re fucking disgusting, you know that?” I ask. “Really fucking gross.”
“Said the kettle to the pot,” my friend winks while his drink is placed in front of him.
“Thanks, my man, put it on my tab,” he says to the bartender.
Then, my buddy turns back to me. “So who is it?” he asks, brows raised.
“I thought you were in mourning still, but good for you, my friend. It’s good to get right back in the saddle. ”
I stare at my drink again, my mind whirling.
“It’s just a woman,” I grunt.
“She must be some woman if she has you so uptight,” he rumbles. “Who fucked you in the ass? Her?”
I snort, shaking my head.
“Shut the fuck up. But since you’re such a fucking asshole, I’ll tell you. It’s Juliette Lechain. My son’s fiancée. You might have seen her at his funeral.”
My friend lets out a long, low whistle.
“Oh shit, the busty brunette? With the sweet smile and big tits? Yeah, I saw her. You’re fucking that? So what’s the problem, bud? She riding you hard, and you need a scrip for Viagra? I’ve got you covered, my dude, because my doctor can get that shit, no prob.”
I stare at my buddy.
“You are one pathetic loser,” I grind out. “Yes, it’s her, but the problem isn’t that I can’t get it up. The problem is that she’s my son’s fiancée.”
“Your dead son,” my friend interjects immediately.
My shoulders slump again.
“Yeah, Harry’s dead,” I say in a hoarse voice. “Goddamn.”
Chris claps me on my shoulder.
“I don’t mean to be callous, but I don’t see what the problem is,” he says. “I mean, Harry’s gone. My apologies, bud, but it’s not like he’s going to rise from the grave to fight you for her.”
I shake my head.
“No, it’s not that. It’s that I’ve been a fucking asshole,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Juliette was in a bad spot. She’s French and can’t stay in the United States now that her student visa’s run out.
She was going to have to leave, except Harry was in the process of getting her a fiancée green card. ”
“Fuck yeah, like in that show,” my friend nods. “What’s it called? Fiancé for Hire? Fiancé Below Deck?”
“90 Day Fiancé,” I say in a tight tone. “And yes, Juliette would have gotten a K-1 if she’d married Harry.”
“Oh, I get it,” Chris says, realization dawning in his voice.
“So you’re fucking her for now, but it’s all going bye-bye, right?
Yeah, illegal immigration is all over the news right now, and you don’t want to be fucking someone who’s here illegally.
So she’s a goner, right? No worries though.
You have a fucking private plane. You can fly to France to visit. ”
I stare at my drink again, my shoulders sagging.
“No, not exactly.”
“What is it then?” my friend queries. “Did you sell the plane? No worries, bud, just fly commercial. It’s depressing what with the tasteless food, but I hear that shit’s improved a lot.
Singapore Airlines has the hottest chicks too,” he smirks.
“Trust me, I’ve fucked so many of their stewardesses that I have first-hand knowledge. Oh, and they love butt sex too.”
But I don’t even react to Chris’s foul language. Instead, I stare straight ahead.
“No, I twisted Juliette’s arm. I said I’d get her a visa if she got pregnant with the next Lewis baby. Now that Harry’s gone, it’s the only way to continue my family line.”
“Yeah, but pregnant how?” my friend asks, perplexed. “Did you son freeze his sperm? Dude, that’s fucking smart.”
“No, he didn’t. I said I’d knock her up myself in order to continue the line. That’s why I’m such a fucktard.”
Chris whistles.
“Yeah, you kind of are. But you have the upper hand, my friend. You’re getting sex from a sexy young thing, and using her body until she’s streaming with semen. Then, you’ll kick her out on her ass, right? Give her a load of money as a thank you, and then it’s back to France she goes.”
I jerk to stare at my friend.
“No, it’s not back to France. I’m genuinely trying to knock her up. It’s for my family line”
My friend whistles, his look disbelieving.
“Really? Wow. Just wow. You know what I’m going to say because I’ve told you before, but you are way too caught up in that Lewis and Clark shit, bud.
Seriously. I’ve known you for years, and I know “continuing the line” is important to you, but this scheme takes the cake.
I mean, I’m sorry bro, but your forebears wouldn’t care about this shit.
Hell, no one cares about this shit anymore.
It’s antiquated and obscene. We’re not the lord of the manor trying to breed sons on every sexy lady in waiting.
Seriously, my dude. Babies are conceived in test tubes these days, so it doesn’t fucking matter. ”
“No, it does,” I say in a throaty tone. “The Lewis line is an esteemed one that goes back generations. We can’t just end because Harry’s dead. I want to knock Juliette up. I have to. The line won’t end, at least not on my watch.”
“Okay, I get it,” Chris says with a pointed look.
“But what if it does? Would that be so bad? I mean, carbon footprint and all that. People don’t have kids anymore by choice because they want to save the planet.
Their DNA is dying with them, and it’s seen as honorable and noble. So what if it happens to you too?”
I grind my teeth.
“They can do whatever the fuck they want, but that’s not going to happen to the Lewises,” I growl.
But Chris is serious, and he holds up a hand.
“Seriously bro, you need to take it easy with this shit. First of all, because you’re not even descended from Meriwether Lewis himself. That dude had no kids. You’re descended from his sister, so the bloodline is indirect and somewhat diluted from the get go.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl. But Chris isn’t intimidated and continues to speak.
“Not only that, but Meriwether himself was mentally unstable. I mean, don’t get me wrong because he was the Governor of the Louisiana Territory and an avid explorer who will go down in the annals of history. But he’s not exactly a Disney hero.”
“I didn’t say he was. Besides, that movie was about Pocahontas, and not Sacajawea,” I interject immediately. “Wrong person.”
Chris holds up a big hand.
“Okay, fine. But you get my drift. Meriwether was a bold adventurer, but he was also messed up in the head. I mean, that dude ended up committing suicide, he was so fucked-up.”
“Maybe,” I acknowledge, “but the suicide is still contested. He could have been murdered.”
Chris shrugs before taking a sip of his drink.
“Okay, but all I’m saying is that Meriwether Lewis was a mixed pot, and that he wasn’t some god without faults.
All of those dudes were complicated people, including George Washington and Thomas Jefferson.
They weren’t just patriots and politicians.
They were also enslavers, who saw nothing wrong with what they were doing.
Hell, doesn’t Jefferson have a slew of African-American descendants because he took one of his slaves as a mistress?
From what I’ve heard, it was pretty common back then for plantation owners to have a second Black family. ”
“Her name was Sally Hemings,” I bite out. “And yes, she and Jefferson had six kids together. Allegedly.”
“Yeah, so no one’s throwing stones,” Chris reasons. “Including your forefather, Meriwether Lewis. He wasn’t the be-all, end-all, although he occupies an important place in American history.”
“Right, because no one’s perfect,” I say through gritted teeth. “I never claimed he was.”
Chris shakes his head.
“It’s not just that, my man, because you’re not hearing me.
Meriwether Lewis wasn’t just imperfect. He wouldn’t care about “continuing the line” and all the bullshit you’re putting yourself through because he committed suicide without procreating first. That dude definitely wouldn’t care if his DNA died out because he chose to take his own life, snuffing out his lineage.
So why are you forcing the issue? Why is it so important to you to breed an heir, when Meriwether Lewis himself didn’t give two fucks? It’s strange.”
I stop to consider because when Chris puts it this way, my values do seem twisted and messed up. What the fuck am I doing?
“I guess I just thought it was important because it’s always been important in our family. When I was a kid, my dad and even my grandfather would talk to me about the necessity of continuing the line.”
My friend squints at me.
“That’s because you’re all suffering from the same delusion.
I’m sorry, Jor, but I think that over the years, you guys became snobs.
You see yourself as aristocrats descended from a mighty adventurer who rubbed shoulders with presidents.
But that was a long time ago, and again, Meriwether Lewis himself wouldn’t give a fuck if he had no descendants because he killed himself without procreating.
He snuffed out his own line. I don’t know how I can make it any clearer. ”
I pause before letting out a huge sigh.
“Yeah. We’ll see,” I say in a terse grunt.
Chris drains his drink and claps me on the back again.
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but someone had to do it. I mean, my god, man. You’re fucking your son’s girlfriend because you want to procreate now?
At age forty-five? Are you really going to stay up nights with a crying baby, not to mention wiping noses and changing dirty diapers?
Fuck man! Even the thought gives me chills. ”
Then, Chris shivers theatrically before reaching for his wallet and pulling out a wad of bills which he throws on the bar top.
“I gotta run, bud, but take it easy, okay? Think about what I’ve said because you don’t need to put yourself through this.
Seriously, you’re just making things harder than they are.
I’m not saying you should step away, necessarily.
You should absolutely fuck this Juliette person hard, but just cut her loose afterwards.
Set the young girl free because she doesn’t need you and your nasty old dick. ”
“Yeah, but she’ll have to leave the U.S. soon.”
“So what?” Chris shrugs. “Let her leave. Or if you feel guilty about what you’ve done, get her a visa, by all means.
It should be easy enough, seeing that you head a huge multi-national firm that processes H-1Bs all the time.
But don’t knock her up because you don’t need this kind of hassle in your life.
Seriously, motherfucker. Sometimes, simple is best.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say in a morose voice.
Chris grins again, handsome in that douchey way that rich guys have sometimes.
“In the meantime,” he sings, “I’ve got a Singapore Air stewardess waiting for me in skimpy lingerie at the Mandarin. I’m going to fuck her hard, and believe me: she’s definitely not getting a visa from yours truly.”
Then, with a loud chuckle, Chris strides off, his broad back disappearing into the crowd.
Meanwhile, I contemplate his words. Am I fucked up in the way he claims?
Have I been raised wrong, with an overemphasis on family pride, glory, and honor, when Meriwether Lewis was a mentally unstable person to begin with?
Why does it matter whether his line continues anyways?
My dad and grandfather would blanch if I asked these questions, but my guess is that they wouldn’t have any good responses.
We’ve always been committed to the continuation of the Lewis line, and it’s always been a given.
Only recently, has that idea been turned on its head.
Still, it doesn’t solve the problem of the beautiful Juliette Lechain.
The thought of the young woman brings a glow to my chest as a smile plays about my lips.
The curvy girl is feisty, playful, and incredibly intelligent.
She keeps me on my toes with her wit, and makes me laugh even when I’m in a black mood.
Although my son was gay, Harry obviously had good taste in women because this is a female that I would choose for myself.
But what do I do now? The sixty day deadline is drawing near .
.. and Juliette will have to leave unless I take decisive action.