Chapter 53: The Offer

Stacy’s advice literally added a zero to Wally Walters’ offer to assume control of the Peachy Keen world. Happy Walls would pay me $64 million for the publishing rights to all my existing books. Each new book would earn me another $500 K, to be placed in my brand new Caribbean offshore account.

The kicker was that there were also movie and TV rights to a Peachy Keen series being acquired. His offer, which I accepted in about 2.5 seconds: $1.4 billion American. Paid in one lump sum, from one foreign bank to another, avoiding all U.S. taxes.

The announcement (minus the dollar figures) was going to be live on cable news. As the moment drew near, that’s when I suffered my heart attack.

Fortunately for me, Doc was with me when it struck, allowing him to save me the old-fashioned way at the time. My good luck continued when I collapsed next to the pool instead of in it, which would have given me an excellent chance of drowning before the heart attack could kill me. Being there also gave him time to run the Master PC program over me to restore me to good health. To my shock, it also cured a sun-caused melanoma that had flared terribly, a blossoming case of diabetes and gout in my right big toe.

How did I not run the health check on myself? I gave myself a bigger dick but didn’t cure my own cancer. I was relieved, frustrated, angry and confused all at once.

“I could have sworn I cured myself when we first started this party,” I told Doc as I rested comfortably in a Bakersfield Memorial Hospital private room. I was there for insurance reasons, not because I needed a reason to stay.

“Nah. You gave yourself a bigger dick, a tan and lost 20 pounds,” Doc said, checking a printout of Master PC activity. “That made you healthier, not well.”

“But now?” I asked. A nagging thought persisted, but I was in no mood to argue.

“But now, you’ll live forever, like the rest of us on The Pact,” Doc said. “You were being too unselfish about your good fortune – something I hope won’t happen with your new great fortune.”

“My good fortune is coming in very handy so far, paying for this private room,” I said sarcastically. “I don’t know why I’m thinking about it, but what was the name of damn island we stayed on in the Caribbean last month?”

“You mean Sunrise Cay?” Doc grinned. “I had go look it up myself. That was quite a weekend, that was. Of course, it contributed to your heart attack.”

“Of course,” I agreed.

Once he left on his rounds, I quickly called Stacy, who was doing a bang-up job, with Althea, of pinning down all the important little clauses in my Walters contract they conveniently left out. Not vetting their lawyers’ handiwork would have cost me millions, but Reagan’s old “trust but verify” maxim had never paid off moreso than wrapping up the Peachy Keen account.

But when it was also said and done, Stacy performing like a veteran CPA, the Happy Walls Group paid every nickel they promised to pay – with not one cent deferred. And unbeknownst to my friends and family, the first thing I purchased with my newfound wealth was Sunrise Cay.

No, not for my wedding – even though it quickly became the new site by general acclimation. The men wanted to return, the women who weren’t there had heard so much about it, they would have cut us all off had we not agreed.

We’d be moving there because my wonderful neighbors got too damn intrusive. As much I wanted to embrace the lifestyle of a reclusive billionaire anyway, my neighbors forced my hand. Even though I had written Peachy Keen books with a pen name since Day One, the Walters purchase was too big a piece of news for the local papers to ignore. The future was clear when neighbors and media – I loathe to call them paparazzi – were awaiting my return from the hospital.

“Christ,” I muttered to Anita; Stacy and Nicky was waiting for me at home. “You’d think somebody important lived here.”

I got a good laugh to see my next-door neighbor with his garden hose dousing a few careless gawkers who ventured across the wrong property line. I made a note to myself that Mr. Gibson would get a new car of his choosing – or a fence. On the other hand, he might have gotten his reward when Stacy and Nikki each kissed him on the cheek for his efforts.

“They started pulling up before daylight,” Stacy said, leaning in the window; Anita and I were sitting in the back of a town car Doc contracted. “The wonder of the 24-hour news cycle.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “Stacy and I will make a run for house. Anita, you flash your perfect ass at the cameras. If I know this town’s media, that will be all the distraction we need.”

Anita, smiling the whole time, doubled down by flashing her tits first, then turning and showing her beaver to the world.

“Can I get an 8×10 of that?” she asked playfully before following us up the steps and into safety. Stacy and she high-fived while I got a splitting headache. Bed rest was the prescription and I actually began a long night’s rest alone.