Chapter 2

Okay, I thought to myself ... I don’t much care for dates, but if I’m going to do that much for my girlfriend, with our relationship clearly on the rocks, why not do so for Pippa? How about a lunch date for her? I would tell it to her straight, too, hoping that she understood. If she didn’t, at least we could be friends, and she couldn’t fault me for being honest with her and even more courteous than I felt like being with Felicia. I wanted to size her up, too, see what she was really like in person, anyway.

“Hello ... sir? Mr. Stern? Is that you? I’m on a smoke break. To what do I owe the honour of your call, good sir?” Pippa’s lovely British accent filled my ears.

“Yes, that’s me. Armin. You can call me that, if you wish, of course,” I assured Pippa, which brought out a giggle from her.

“Um ... well, actually ... may I call you, ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Stern,’ pretty please? I rather like the formality of it, at least for now. What is it that you wish from me, sir?” Pippa surprised me, making me feel that perhaps I misjudged my prospects with her, though I persisted, needing to know for sure.

“So, Ms ... I don’t actually know your surname, do I? I hoped for a lunch date from you, if that’s possible. Would you be open to that?” I posed the question to her, wondering what sort of reply I’d get.

“Just call me ‘Pippa,’ please. No need to be formal with me. And, yes, I would love to have a lunch date with you, sir. I know, I know, I seemed to contradict myself there, but you shall understand when we meet, good sir. Trust me, love. It will be quite clear then. When and where? Can it be close to my work, please, as I still have half my shift left afterward?” Pippa answered me, intriguing me with her insistence that she and I not speak as equals ... it was as if I were her superior.

“How about St. George’s, if you don’t mind pub food and a taste of your native land. Meet me at say, 12:03 at the latest, just outside your work, and I’ll escort you down the sidewalk toward it. I’ll be the bearded fellow in the yarmulke, since it’s Shabbos,” I decided abruptly to embrace my heritage and flaunt it a little, at least this once, laying one of my cards on the table.

“Shabbos, as in the Sabbath? Are you Orthodox or Reform? Or what’s the third one, Conservative?” Pippa showed some knowledge of Judaism, if only basic.

“Reform, thank God! Not the most observant, either, if you will, but I went to temple last night and I do observe the high holy days most years. I’m not kosher at all, as my pizza this morning shows and so does the choice of restaurants,” I explained, which got a giggle out of her again.

“Very well, then, my sweet Israelite. I look forward to getting ... biblical with you soon,” Pippa confessed to my shock, “and yes, I mean it exactly how it sounds, girlfriend or no girlfriend. You don’t have to dump her to date me. That’s your call and none of my business. That’s girlfriend crap. I don’t want to be your girlfriend. I want to be your wife. I’ll explain later. Yes, I’ll even convert if you wish, but only if you wish. At least I don’t have to worry about a bris.”

You could have hit me with a sledgehammer and I would have been less stunned. It was my turn to be shocked and shaken up. Pippa basically pushed for a bigger commitment from me than Felicia, and before even the first date! Despite this, she was clear that she didn’t mind me dating my girlfriend, for some reason. She was essentially pushing Felicia into the role of mistress, if she could help it, if she wanted to keep me at all. What was more, she offered to convert, not that I cared if she did.

More shocking to me ... I wanted to marry her! I actually desired to take this woman that I had never even met in person as my bride. I had never even seen a picture of her, but I realized something about her that appealed to me ... she was hungry for me ... not for my wealth. Not for the status. For me! She wanted to be mine, despite barely having spoken to me.

She didn’t want to control or possess me. She wanted to serve me! She didn’t let jealousy rule her, either. She was willing to share. Pippa had only spoken to me twice now, in just a few hours, but she had already wormed her way into my heart, for some reason, much to my astonishment. Her eagerness to please me had done the trick ... I was already falling for her.

“Well, Pippa, we can discuss this over lunch, can’t we? See ya then, babe. I look forward to that conversation. It’s a date, and likely to be an eye-opener,” I cleared my throat, admitting to myself that I was fascinated by Pippa’s winning ways, her English charm.

“See you then ... darling ... sir, I mean! Excuse me, I have to get back to the grindstone,” Pippa’s enthusiastic, yet smoky voice came through the phone as she hung up at last.

I finished up the episode of Big Love, along with my breakfast, watched another episode to let my food digest, and then hit the pool for an hour to swim off some calories for my part. Then I showered off and realized that I was more pressed for time than I thought now. I got dressed in a rush, but sharply as I could manage it, brushed my teeth, dabbed on some fresh cologne that Karen bought me (for her “sharp, handsome, dashing brother,” she told me back then), and took the Jeep for Time Warp Cable downtown, where Pippa worked.

My date just barely stepped out the door when I spotted her. I could tell that it was her, of course. Something about her identified her very well. Unlike her famous namesake, the sister-in-law of Prince William, this Pippa was a honey-blonde with soft, flowing tresses, an average stature, and a buxom figure, from the wide hips to the impressive bosom and cleavage. She was pale and had blue-grey eyes, with just a hint of pink to her cheeks at some moments, such as when flustered. She wore flats, but I could tell that she liked pumps, just not when trying to work. She had a very professional blouse and skirt on, but the length of the latter wasn’t exactly conservative and the former left enough of a hint of her cleavage as to stir up many a man’s loins without being obvious about it. It was on the fence between business attire and nightclub or date material.

“Pippa?” I asked as I approached her, even kissing her hand for a second before she pulled me closer to invade my mouth with her tongue.

“Sir ... thank you for meeting me here. Pippa Magill, but I honestly hope to change it to Stern soon enough. My birth name’s Philippa, but Pippa is easier to say, of course. I’m from Bristol. Are you from around here or elsewhere, Mr. Stern?” she asked me as she took my hand and we walked over to St. George’s.

“Born in Maine, not that it matters. My family moved to Oregon years ago and we’ve lived here ever since. Mostly to avoid the scandal of my sister’s birth and Dad’s reckless revenge. She was the fruit of Mom’s adultery, you see. Dad laid down the law, got some vengeance, burned his bridges in Maine, and dragged us clear across the country to get the heat off everyone of us. My sister lived with us, but she was always treated like a foster kid rather than Mom’s real child.

“I was the golden boy, if you will, but I refused to treat my sister like an insect. Karen is a sweet young lady and I’ve always gone out of my way to be good to her. She didn’t deserve to be punished for Mom’s infidelity by either of them,” I explained to my newest companion, even as we were seated and I got a beer, reminding myself to know my limit and not get drunk.

“Are you holding off to keep us safe? How nice of you! Smart, too. Plenty of time for beer later, I suppose. I’ll have the steak kidney pie. Yes, guilty as charged of being truly British, I’m afraid. You want ... the... ?” Pippa inquired now as she ordered.

“Bangers and mash, and try not to undercook the bangers, please,” I encouraged our waiter, Eric, who gulped as he eyed Pippa, as if to say that she had his complete attention, and then rushed off to put in the order.

“We both avoided the cliche fish and chips, I see. Not that they’re bad, but one can’t live on seafood alone and we Brits do have actual meals that extend to more than scones and crumpets and tea. I see that you’re aware of that, of course. Oh, dear, do I really have time to eat this and get back to work?” Pippa wondered aloud.

“If not, I can always speak to him. I’m a shareholder with voting stock in Time Warp, my dear. The last thing that he’d want to do is piss me off. I have my own firm that I run, dealing with security and anti-virus software, and, yes, we made a bundle last year alone. Trust me. I even have a country club membership, and at last count, don’t tell my family this, because they’re rich as it is, but still would get jealous, I was worth 2.25 billion dollars,” I assured my date, watching her eyes grow wide like saucers.

“I’m ... on a date with a billionaire? I thought that you were rich, yes, but nowhere near in that league. Does your girlfriend know your wealth?” Pippa downed her beer in a hurry to get a grip on herself.

“She thinks that I’m worth about 2.25 million dollars. I kinda fudged things with her, mostly to see how she would take that news. Yes, very well-off for a man in his early thirties, wouldn’t you say?” I teased Pippa, even as she looked at me with some anxiety.

“You don’t think that I’m ... a gold digger, do you? I mean, seriously?” Pippa blushed a little.

“Don’t be silly. You didn’t have the first clue as to the extent of my largesse. How could you be lumped in with that set, who would be checking up on such things and insist on a fancier restaurant at least? If anyone’s a gold digger, it’s my girlfriend, Felicia Norton. Nice girl, but very caught up in her own assumptions and dreams, what she thinks is her destiny or something like that. She isn’t always nice, either. She can be, though.

“Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. Now, why do you want to be my wife, and why should I take you as that? And why do you not care if I boff Felicia now and then? Does this extend to other women as well?” I had some hard questions for Pippa as we drank and waited for our meals.

“Two things. The first one, I won’t lie, is somewhat mercenary, but I do want to stay here in the States, even if it does mean your abysmal health care for my medical issues. There’s still lots of benefits to living in the US, so why not marry an American? Sure, the authorities would be investigating, but they shan’t find anything to see that I’m anything but a very loving wife to my Yank hubby.

“The second is that you represent exactly the sort of husband that I desire ... forceful, proactive, independent ... masterful, if you will. You’re clearly that sort of man, given how you handled the mess with your girlfriend screwing with your cable controls. You don’t tolerate people meddling in your affairs and that, to me, is a very assertive, appropriate conduct for a husband and master.