Chapter 9

For a while, life in the mansion remained unchanged. Ren enjoyed her weeknight with me, the Ls taking the next evening. In spite of that regular lovemaking schedule, all three encouraged me with Leila, and also to keep socializing.

LC said, “Let’s face it, Carter, you need practice, and the things you learn while seeing Madames X and Y will help you with Leila. She isn’t expecting you to be exclusive at this stage. Right?”

“Hmm. I guess so. But Leila...”

“Stop!” LC put up her hand. “Leila will still be there. Ren will still be there. LE and I will still be there. You haven’t told Leila about us, right?”

Quietly, I said, “No, not yet. But I’m going to have to.”

Ren put down her coffee and pushed her chair back. She came around the dining table and motioned for me to scoot back. She put her arms over my shoulders as she settled into my lap and gave me a sweet, long kiss.

“Carter, there are times when I want to be yours forever. Your kindness and thoughtfulness show in these moments. Now, look in my eyes. You have a lot to tell Leila. And you need to tell her soon.”

“You have to tell her about your home, and therefore, your unimaginable wealth. She’s going to be angry with you for being false.”

“I know. I don’t believe she would have ever first talked to Carter Burleigh.”

“You have to tell her about your friend—the ex-whore—who you’re sending to college.”

“Yeah. Whether you’re still here with me or not, I guess.”

“That’s right. You’ll have to also tell her about the Ls, and how you’ve become part of a lesbian threesome.”

“Yeah, Ren. Something like that.”

“Honestly, Leila might dump you after that. Then LE and LC will have to deal with the wreckage. I might come back for some weekend visits, since you can buy me the airline tickets.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t be so glum! Three women are giving you hot and cold running pussy, and I have confidence.”

“Confidence? What?”

“If you get into Leila’s pants first, she might be willing to overlook a lot of things.”

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. LC?”

LC responded, “Carter, I agree with Ren. Go slow, and don’t catch her by surprise. Nothing we do with you is what Leila is expecting.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Tonight is Ren’s night; tomorrow is me and the missus. Don’t wear yourself out tonight.”

A week later, on our third date, everything seemed to be going well. I learned Leila had had an early marriage out of high school that ended by mutual agreement. The guy decided after her hysterectomy that he didn’t want a “barren woman” for a wife.

“What a toad,” I growled. “Guys like that ought to be horsewhipped.”

“No, I forgave him. He was fourth in his line—that is, he had an ‘IV’ after his name—so he was under pressure to produce a boy baby whose name would end in a ‘V’ as ‘the Fifth.’ I’d been pregnant just after high school, so we married very young. But I lost that baby.”

“I am so sorry for your loss, Leila. I still think his words must have been hurtful.”

“I’d rather be seen as a partner instead of a breeder.”

I suspected I might get some grief for not producing a Burleigh heir, but so what? My life would be a failure if I didn’t give away my fortune before I expired. I might have read that Bill Gates had a similar plan and intended to leave only modest sums to his offspring.

There was plenty of suffering in the world, and clinging to a massive fortune partially built by tobacco seemed like a travesty. Of course, if somehow I was married, my wife would be provided for after my death in the range of a hundred million. The other nine-tenths, I would give away.

This wasn’t the time for these thoughts while I was on a date with her. Instead, I tried to steer the conversation to safer subjects. As she suggested, I packed a picnic and the two of us took the Volvo to Tanyard Creek Park.

Leila in casual clothes was unfairly gorgeous. I tried to compliment her, but she deflected my praise. We set my phone up on a picnic table (it has a little prop arm) and used the timer to take a selfie as we hugged. After we hugged, she insisted that I take off my shirt.

“I can’t get over how fit you are. This is because of physical therapy? Really?”

“I also have access to a large pool where I swim laps. Swimming is great exercise because it doesn’t shock my joints.”

“Oh, wow.” She was clearly picturing me. “You in a swimsu—do you have one of those swimsuits?”

“What do you mean?”

“They call them ‘banana hammocks.’ Tee-hee!”

“No, but it isn’t baggy like shorts. It’s close-fitting, more like you’d see in a competition. I’m sure we’ll go swimming together soon. I’m already dreaming about you wearing a swimsuit.”

“Oh, yeah? Which part? The top or the bottom?”

“Um, oh. Leila, I’d like to defer that judgment until I actually confront the evidence.”