Chapter 9 #2
Charlotte was sitting in her office, thinking of Ben.
She hadn’t heard from him since she last saw him.
She knew she wouldn’t now. He had understood that she meant what she said.
Their positions in the world were too far apart, and his relationship history too predictable.
She knew how the movie ended with him, every time.
A big check, a tender goodbye, and another diamond bracelet, after several before that.
Only two of the women in his life had bad things to say about him, and they were two of the women he had married.
They were angry because they estimated that they didn’t get a big enough piece of the pie on the way out.
They wanted half the pie, which was far too much to give them for a year of service.
Each one of them had left with a truck full of trophies.
Fancy clothes, alligator shoes and purses, jewelry, art.
He had bought each of them a house, or an apartment if they preferred it.
Charlotte wondered how some women did it.
Most of the gold diggers had been trained in how to fleece a man.
They were professionals. One of them had tried to get the boat he loved from him, or threatened to, because she said it had become part of her standard lifestyle.
There weren’t even children involved with any of them, which would have made it infinitely worse, and he would have had to support their mothers forever, previously well trained by their own mothers since birth to bleed him dry as they got older.
When Charlotte thought about it, it was no wonder that Ben hadn’t stayed with them.
They weren’t the kind of women men stayed with, or who stayed themselves.
The relationships they treated so cavalierly had nothing to do with it.
What they were attached to was the money.
But he was attracted to that kind of woman so he didn’t have to love them.
He would have given all of it for a life with Charlotte now, but even he knew it would never work.
He had no idea if he was even capable of it when she said goodbye to him in her apartment, after a night of making love with him.
He hadn’t called or contacted Charlotte since.
He knew she was right. It wouldn’t work and she wasn’t brave enough to try, and he didn’t blame her.
What astounded Ben was that she was the only woman he knew who had walked away from a man with fifty billion dollars, on principle.
She was stronger than she knew, and he loved and admired her for it.
—
Henry called Charlotte an hour later than she had expected him to. He had sent her a text that afternoon, and he looked at her carefully as she took a seat across his desk. She knew what was coming before he said the words. She knew it as soon as she read the morning paper.
“How are you?” he asked her pointedly.
“I’m okay.” She smiled at him.
“Do you still have a flock of billionaires running after you?” She smiled before she answered.
“It wasn’t a flock, it was just one.”
“Don’t tell me this is a job where you can’t meet men.
” It was a complaint of some of the women who worked there.
They worked long hours buried at their desks, and never met the people they wrote about, those with the grand lifestyles, gorgeous homes, and glamorous lives.
Charlotte was used to circulating among such people and not being one of them.
And she had no aspirations to be one. She wasn’t looking for a man to marry or support her.
She missed Ben every day but she knew she could survive on her own.
And she was never jealous of the people she wrote about.
It was one of the reasons for her success.
She didn’t want anything they had, or to be them.
She was a keen observer of their lives, with no skin in the game.
It made her impervious to their power. They couldn’t touch her.
The only one who had was Ben, for different reasons.
She loved his weaknesses as much as his strengths.
She loved him with his wounds and scars, and didn’t want to take advantage of him, unlike everyone around him.
She wanted to protect him. But their lives were just too different for it to work.
She was convinced of that. So she had set him free, like a beautiful bird, but she still loved him.
And she knew that he loved her. They didn’t have to be together to prove it.
“What happened with you and Ben Sharpe finally?” Henry asked her, curious because he genuinely liked her. “You don’t have to answer that, if you don’t want to. Did you see him again?” She nodded. He thought she looked thinner, and sad.
“I did. Once. It wasn’t going to work. It was a beautiful dream. He’ll marry another gold digger one of these days. It’s easier.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. I kind of fell in love with him myself, after reading your piece about him.”
“Yeah, me too.” She smiled. “So what punishment do you have for me now?”
“A tough one, if he’ll give us an interview. We haven’t asked. I wanted to talk to you first, and see if you’ll do it.”
“I think I can guess.”
“John Randall Williams,” he said cautiously.
“I thought so. I met him on Ben’s boat over Christmas.
He was with a pretty woman, very young, like mid-twenties.
I don’t know if they were a ‘thing’ or not.
He’s a tough one. I think he’s very discreet.
Or at least he was, until he pissed off the whole shipping community.
He’ll be lucky if no one tries to kill him for putting all those guys out of work.
He’s smart, but that wasn’t a smart move. The unions are out to get him now.”
“He deserves it,” Henry said dispassionately. “You can’t be that rich and screw over the little guys that badly to save a buck. He may be discreet, but he looks like shit to everyone now. Is there a personal story for us there, or just business?”
“He comes from old money, generations of it,” Charlotte answered.
“He lost his wife about a year ago. Ben only knew him slightly from the yachting world, where old money meets new money, and they play a game of ‘Mine’s bigger.’ He has a gorgeous sailboat.
But Ben’s boat is bigger.” She smiled. “I can do some research and see what I find. Maybe not much. What’s our angle?
He’s nice-looking, but he’s not exciting.
He seems very dry. There might not be much there, and no fun to interview. I think he’s all about business.”
“Not if he had a girl with him in her mid-twenties. Unless she’s his granddaughter.”
“She isn’t. She was mad about him. I have to think about it. I only talked to her for a few minutes. I vaguely remember she works for a decorating firm. Maybe she’ll talk to me.”
“Find out what people say about him, who his friends are, what makes him tick. I’m intrigued by what makes a man that ruthless.
He owns one of the biggest cargo lines in the world.
Why would he put hundreds of men out of work and on welfare, men who are already struggling, right before Christmas, and not give a damn what happens to them?
Who is he? The New York Times called him ruthless twice, and they don’t like repetitions.
What makes a man think he’s that untouchable?
Maybe he’s just a very rich asshole who doesn’t care about his fellow humans.
Most guys in that position are trying to prove to everyone what great men they are.
Clearly that’s not on his agenda. Maybe he’s trying to get even for something, or hated his father.
Let’s ask him for an interview, and you start doing the research.
Maybe there’s nothing there and he’s just a jerk.
But I get the feeling that he might be an interesting jerk.
And I don’t think you’ll fall in love with this one.
I’m kind of sorry you didn’t take a swing at it with Sharpe.
You might have hit a home run with him. I was hoping you would. ” She shook her head.
“I decided to be smart instead. For once. Funnily enough, Ben thought I should interview John Williams. He didn’t appeal to me as a subject at all. I had kind of a visceral reaction to him. I didn’t like him. He’s very arrogant.”
“Well, see what you can dig up on him, and we’ll see if he’ll even give us the interview,” Henry said, shuffling papers on his desk, which meant that her audience with him was over.
“Keep me posted, and I’ll let you know what I can find out,” she said as she stood up and smiled at him.
“Thanks, Henry.” She went back to her office and thought about what he’d said.
John Williams hadn’t looked that interesting to her when she met him.
He was a nice-looking, older, very rich man, with a beautiful boat.
But there was obviously more to him than that if he wasn’t afraid to antagonize the whole shipping community and piss off the unions, and clearly didn’t give a damn.
She concentrated for a minute trying to remember the name of the girl who was with him.
Elizabeth…Lillibet…Lizzie something. She turned on her computer and looked for a list of the decorating firms in New York, and one of them rang a bell.
She decided to call them, and got a fancy New York voice on the line.
Charlotte apologized and said she couldn’t remember the name of a young designer she’d spoken to a while ago.
“It was either Lizzie or Lily.” The girl on the phone corrected her immediately.
“Lillith Jones,” she said crisply. “She’s at an installation today. May I take a message and have her call you?” she asked politely.