Chapter 10

We get some new characters today.

Jen's old boyfriend, who saw also Bianca long ago. Guess what? They all have more than one partner too, way more.

NOTE: See the story "No Strings" and the soon to be posted, "Baby It's Cold Outside" the next story in the 'Ruby Red' universe by Lapi for more examples on how those many wives could work out.

Now here's the other Rob, wonder how he could help?

'For Every Action There Is An Equal and Opposite Reaction' sometimes not really equal, though. Things may far exceed what is normally one plus one.

Rob Smyth (not his real name) had always seemed to pick the wrong woman. Liz had been a stunning woman though. It was little wonder that he fell in love with her. Mad, passionate, the kind of love that hurts. Hurt it did when several of his friends had told him what she was like when he was not around.

His work took him many places. Forty-five Weeks a year was not a lot, was it?

He flew home most weekends from wherever. The first time he heard what Liz had been doing at parties and local bars he did not want to believe it. When Sheila (the girlfriend of one of his best friends) came to him one night, and told him that basically Liz was a 'slut' and he was being used, he did not even want to think on it.

Why would she lie or make up something like this, though, he wondered? He had Liz followed. Pictures, two videos, and copies of motel and hotel room receipts gave him, unfortunately, the proof of her many conquests.

He sent Sheila a present, with a note thanking her for what she had done for him. It was a envelope with $50,000 in it, and a note saying he had tried several times to buy her something but figured that a woman could do a better job shopping than a man She had saved him a lot.

It was not really a 'break up' with Liz. It was more like a 'life changing experience.' He had emailed her a short note to her Cell telling her that 'it was over'. In a second message he attached several of the photos, in reduced size, merely stating that she really had him fooled, could he have her write down a few 'pointers' for the next girlfriend so he did not have to wait so long to find out?

Seven months later, that same Sheila told him that Liz had committed suicide. She found out she was pregnant, and had no idea who the father was. He was unmoved by her information, but later wondered what he could or should have done to help Liz.

They say that man is doomed to repeat his mistakes. So it seemed that Rob made the same mistake, again about ten months later, her name was Gail. This time the nights she was busy, or 'out with the girls', gave him the 'early warning signs'. The pictures and one very steamy video were enough to end that budding relationship. Gail did not understand, or want to understand why Rob did not want to see her anymore. After all, they had no agreement to be exclusive so what was his problem, she wondered.

Rob did the man thing. He took a new 'assignment' overseas, put his townhouse in D.C. on the market, and moved on.

About five weeks later he was walking to a little outdoor cafe and decided to cool off with a drink. The cafe was not very busy, it was early, about 15:30 hours on a Monday.

Marrakesh was hardly ever busy, anymore. He had a room reserved at Toubkal (A hotel near Marrakesh), in the Atlas Mountains, but today he had arranged to meet his client for payment of his 'fee' and agreement on his contract.

Café Des Épices was a nice place. It is on Derb Rahba Lakdima. Unlike most tourists, Rob had long ago accepted local customs and practices. He ordered tea, honey, lime and a bit of spice completed his request. The waiter looked surprised. "Effendi, this is what you wish?" he asked. Rob nodded. "A' Salam Aleichem," the man said.

"Aleichem Salam," Rob replied.

"You have visited us before, Effendi?" a voice asked.

"A few times, I like this cafe, it is easier to reach than Les Jardins De La Medina."

"Ah! But yes, and in this heat, one does not need to wander about. Is that not so, my friend?"

"Yes, one may find that things often change, many when they are least expected to. What is the hour, my friend?"

"It is just past 16:00 hours."

"Ah, then I have missed my client. He has changed his mind, no doubt. May Allah bless you and yours, Haman Bey?"

"May he bless you, too, Mr. Smyth. My nephew, unfortunately, had a fatal accident. He was run over by a camel, I fear."

"Yes, a very hazardous place, this desert is. I must be off. There is no longer anything here to keep me."

"Now that you have no contract to complete, come join me. I need to see how my things will sell today."

We walked to the market. It was not an ordinary market.

Rahba Kedima (The Old Slave Market) was still operating, if you knew where to look and did not upset local customs.

Morocco is still one of two places, where slavery is still legal. Libya, the other, is changing so that it may become more Western soon. Don't tell that to the Dutch, though. After all, where would they 'sell' off all those blondes that the Arab Princes tire of.

Haman Bey had three items for sale. Two were twin girls, blond, blue eyed Nordic beauties. They had been at Baden-Baden when a detour was made to get them. Their education had continued but was not the normal curriculum taught in school.

"Monday is a poor choice to make a sale and it is quite early. I, like you, had promised to make some items available but the client was unavoidably detained."

(Huge is the number of camel fatalities)

"One fails to realize just how dangerous, Marrakesh may be, Haman Bey; so many camel accidents."

When I saw her my heart nearly stopped. Call me a romantic, call me late for dinner, but when I saw her, I knew I had been waiting for her my entire life.

"Haman Bey, my friend, who is that third girl, and is she one of those items for sale?"

"That is Ashanti my friend. She is not a slave but comes with me to every sale. She hopes to find her one true love, here. She has set her own price and so far no one will pay it. She is the niece who came in from the cold, so to speak. Her parents fled here to be in a less stressful situation. Time and distance, however, are not enough to deter some. She was orphaned and has become, it seems, the tyrant of my home now. She is from North Africa. Cairo was her home. It has been said she may trace her ancestry to Ramses himself. Why she would sell herself, is one of those mysteries no man may understand. I have stopped trying to understand that woman for a long time now."

"If you and she might agree Haman Bey, I would like to buy her."

"My friend, I am afraid that even you might find her price too dear."

"Name her price, Haman Bey, from the moment I first saw her, I have known that this is not the first time I have seen her."

"My friend, her price, which she herself has set, is $25 Million, in gold. (Note: Good slaves range between $500,000 and $1 million. $25 Million is a lot)) "I will come for her tomorrow Haman Bey, with her price, in gold."

"She shall be prepared for you my friend. First, you will join me at my humble home. Lea, Ingrid, escort Ashanti. You may tell her to prepare to receive her new Master tomorrow. A very foolish man has, I think, fallen under her spell and will meet her price, in gold."

As we walked I made a call on my cell.

Banque Marocaine du Commerce et de l'Industrie was at first not very receptive to such a request. One call to Paris and the promise to deposit the gold back into an account at the bank there made the difference. A plane would leave Zurich that evening and guards would remain until the gold was deposited again. Haman Bey assured me that it would be so.

When asked if I would like to bathe and change, I agreed. Ingrid and Lea washed me then proceeded to massage every possible kink, cramp, ache or pain possible in my poor tired body. They massaged scented oil and found places where a warm or hot cloth was like a drug. It felt so good I fell asleep in the courtyard. They covered me with a sheet and watched over me through the night.

The next morning I awoke, refreshed and more alive than I have been my entire life. Lea brought me hot buttered tea, laced with nutmeg and honey. Ingrid had a basket of sweet rolls and placed them near me.

"My Master wishes you to know that Mistress Ashanti has been informed and prepares herself. She wishes to speak with you before you pay her price, if you shall allow."

I did not need to delay, nor question her about this. I had seen her face, her body, her exquisite being in London, then in Cairo at the Royal Museum exhibit. She was the living image of Cleopatra. That her line was that of Ramses II(Son of Seti I, and 3rd King of the 19th dynasty in 1292 BC, also called Rameses.) could not be doubted.

"Tell your Mistress that I await her. Also that there is only one thing that she might say to me that would change my mind." We had our meeting, or I should say I faced her Inquisition.

"My grandfather(Haman Bey) tells me you came here to kill him, is that true?"

"Yes. The client did not arrive as he promised, so there was no agreement reached."

"If you hate him so much, why now do you both call each other friend?"

"That is very easy to answer. First I do not hate him. I have done him the favour of exposing those who covet all he has, even you perhaps. I show him respect and hold his friendship in high regard."

"Why would you pay such a high price for me?"

"From the first moment I saw you, I knew we were destined to be together, perhaps not as Master/Slave nor Husband/Wife but at least as friends. Any price that you had set I would have found a way to pay, you are that 'Pearl of Great Price' that all men would gladly die for. Now, may I ask you one question?"

"Since you ask, what can I say but to go ahead?"

"Is this something you want?"

She reflected for a long time and considered her response.

Ashanti was fourteen years old. She, as I said, could pose for any statue of Cleopatra, her skin, hair, nose, teeth, face was anything and everything that a man would equate with beauty. The one difference was her eyes. They were unique. Like a true albino with blue eyes, one in several million might be born, few survived. In her case the eyes were a vivid Yellow. Like that of a cat, her stare could be hypnotic.

"I do not know now! I am prepared to 'hear and obey you' as my Master, my Husband or my lover and friend, but I do not know what I want. Is there not a saying in your country that 'when I see it, I will know'?"

"Yes! Know this, too. When you are eighteen years of age, I shall ask you the same question again. If you wish it, you will be released from any obligation to me. At any time you may leave, you are, and always will be, free to leave. Just tell me first.

Know this, too, should you bring dishonour to me or yourself, should you lie with another or shame me; I will 'kill' you! This I pledge my word on. A man only has his word."

The gold arrived. The price was paid. Haman Bey had the final laugh. "I cannot sell these two. Please take them off my hands. They do not listen to me anyway, only Ashanti. With her, and these two gone now, I may finally be Master in my own home. Take care, my friend!"

I asked Ingrid, Lea and Ashanti where they would like to live?

I got the strangest look from all three.

Deciding on where we would live was very important. Most Moslem countries would accept her but not me, most countries would not grant us residency if we had slaves. The EU was like a second home to one who was of the Muslim faith, however Ingrid and Lea presented a problem to most of Europe, they would present too great a temptation to 'slavers' there. A pair of blonde, blue-eyed twins would be worth a small fortune to some Saudi Royal. Ashanti seemed to solve the problem for us.

"Where Master goes, shall we not follow."

The thought process took a long time before I responded, in like six seconds. "We are going to 'Disney World', girls!"

We might have been able to get there, using a few favours I was owed. This was to be something though that would stand up in court, no matter if I was around or not. I started to explain to my girls, some of our options, and why there seemed to be only one way to get the three of them into the US. Maybe talking to a wall would have been more effective. It did not take a rocket scientist to see asking them anything, was useless. They were slaves, and one did not ask anything of a slave.

Ashanti was a freewoman. I would have to release both Ingrid and Lea from any obligation. It seemed funny to me. To free them, and then have them make an even greater commitment seemed strange.

By Moslem law as well as tradition I could have as many as four wives if I could support them and keep them in-line. When we saw the Mullah, he looked at me and smiled, saying in Arabic that he hoped I knew what a hardship having three like this would be. He would consider taking one for himself, off my hands!

It was the greatest compliment he could think of. After asking them each, in Arabic, if they were freewomen, I was married to my new wives. This was not a Sharia country. No Burkas were worn. But a veil was needed if the girl was over twelve, and not a slave. Papers, in Arabic, were prepared. They, for a fee, were done as we waited. The records were signed by us all then the cleric shook his head as we walked away.

Getting 3 new passports, bearing USA as the origin was like pure Gold in Morocco. There was an Embassy near the city, it was at number Two, Avenue de Mohamed El Fassi, Rabat, Morocco. Brian Shukan had assumed responsibility as United States Consul General in Casablanca, Morocco. He was another 'swabbie', so he might understand.

After he stopped laughing, he wiped his eyes, then looked at the three papers. He called an aide to make certain he read them correctly.

Then he said, "I assume you want them 'stat', right, Sir?"

"You got it in one, 'REMF!' I owe you, Brian." (The USNA made one friends for life)

He called in for photos.

"They have to remove their veils, at least for the pictures, I called for a female to take them and I'll look away." Not quite quick enough did he look away. I heard a gasp and, "I'll be damned. Where did you find them, man?"

"Not under the rocks you turn up, 'Old Man', we are on our honeymoon if you ever finish up?"

We got all three passports, and I owed Brian, now.

Mohammed V International Airport had a flight to Paris. Security went well. When I greeted them in Arabic, then they saw the three passports, our First Class tickets and the grin on my face, we went right through. Since this was a Moslem country we never had to refuse anything. Fresh fruit, mead, honey products and juice was all we were offered.

Paris was a bit different. Our passports were still being held by the inspector. When he repeated his request to present our luggage and for the girls to remove 'those blankety blank veils' I merely said. "We have no luggage, and if my wives need to remove their veils, get your supervisor and a female inspector over, for a man, not their husband to see them is not allowed by our religion."

By now several people, including armed guards were standing near us. My wife, in perfect French, explained to one of the new arrivals how we had been 'insulted' and had tried to explain to the 'dog' that they could not bare themselves to him.

The man in a suit turned flaming red, yanked the four passports from the now cringing inspector and handed them to me. As he apologized for this insult, and he gave me a wink. We had been 'in-country' together, when some FFL(French Foreign Legion non-French) troops he was leading, used a 'merc' or two.

The Sheraton Paris Airport Hotel & Conference Centre was close and available. It was a decent hotel.

With no luggage, my former slaves (now wives) wanted to do what woman all over world do to be happy ... they wanted to go shopping! La Halle Aux Chaussures and Orbi were close. Then they got a bit hungry they asked around for a recommendation for a place a 'tourist' might go. When three people, women of course; said Forum des Halles and they heard it was a mall, there was no stopping them. I was so glad that I had credit cards! I never leave home without a dozen or so.

It was later that I knew exactly what a 'beast of burden' felt like. I began to think I had made a 'serious' mistake in marrying these girls (nah, never! Liz and Gail had been mistakes, not these girls!).

Whatever 'bad' thoughts (comparing me to a camel crossed my mind) vanished with one word: Berthillon.

"We must let our poor husband have a treat, now. Later, he might still hunger, too, though not for deserts."

If ever in Paris, there is a must for every visitor. It is not the Louvre, it is: Berthillon, for ice crème!(there is ice cream, and there is French ice crème, no comparison to that ice crème) and If you can find La Seine, you will see Berthillon, dab smack in the middle of the water. Pont Marie is a Metro stop that's a hop, skip and a small jump, away.

We waddled back to the Sheraton ... actually, we took a cab. Man was I glad. Fitting four into that tub in the room was not possible, but I at least got my wives to wash me. We went to bed and almost slept. If you believe that, then there is this bridge in New York that is for sale.

By nine we were hungry again, this time for food. Gee, I wondered if there was any food places we could go to in Paris at this time of night (Joke! dinner just starts about 8 or 9 PM in France). I hated to dress, I said, "there is a Pizza Hut nearby".(Right, Pizza Hut in Paris, good choice for a romantic night out.)

It went over like a lead balloon. Ashanti called the concierge.

We were going to Auberge Nicolas Flamel, it was not the finest in a meal, it is only rated in the top five percent of all restaurants in the Paris area! It was also located in a time tested place. It's site had been around for more than six hundred years.

Booking a direct flight to Miami from Paris was not possible. New York or Sao Paulo would get us into Miami. We decided on the larger city. New York would be faster, anyway. Getting through customs was always a hassle in Sao Paulo (every inspector tried to get a tourist to pay a bribe, or buy a 'Visa, ' even if you had one) it seemed.

I never really knew lot about my wives. When we got to New York, and took a walk from the Park Sheraton, I found out what 'smart' asses they were, or was I the ass?"

"I see horses, Master (they still called me that), but where are the camels?"

We just had to extend our stay, just had to. These girls were used to 'street' vendors. Those icons of New York did not stand a chance with these three. Tapes, CDs, purses, scarves, perfumes and lingerie (Why? they never wore any to bed.) in every colour were scattered about the room. All I heard was a lot of French names and 'Coach.' I would have said something had not a 'front' come up and asked them where this was to be sent. I recognized it was an address in Morocco, then realized it was the orphan's home, there. My girls were sending things to children that had nothing.

I was indeed, a lucky man.

We made it to Miami after two more box cars of stuff were sent. I had never thought what something like this could mean to those kids. Talk about good hearts, I now saw kids, for Ashanti was still a kid, here; Ingrid and Lea were not much older, I found out later, caring about other kids.

I called Haman Bey, and he said "it would be done". That orphan's home would be getting things as simple as food, medical treatments, and supplies, on a regular basis now. When he realized that the $190 or $200 a week it may cost, was nothing to him, he froze up. You could hear it when he tried to reply. My girls had started something that would now never end.

The Sheraton in New York had made arrangements for us at 'Epcot'. A car was waiting at the airport, and this time we had luggage. Boy, was there luggage!

The monorail at the park fascinated them.

When I heard, "Look, Master, they have slaves here, too!"

I was at a loss as to how to explain that the 'Theme Park' was just a 'pretend' version of 1001 Arabian Nights.

Finding a home for us was not that difficult, sand, palm trees and lush gardens were very comfortable surrounding for them What blew them away was when we looked at homes on the water. Water was worth its weight in gold, in the desert. When I told them to pick something they liked you would think I had given them rare gems. Even though it was on the 'IC'(Inter-Coastal waterway), we found our new home. It was not that large, but it was on the water, and we had a pool. I warned them about Florida, and to be careful after a rain, or in the dark. Snakes and alligators loved pools, too.

After a few days, I asked them if they were ever going into the pool. "But Master, we cannot disrobe in public, we only are yours!" I now hit my forehead several times. Dumb, dumb, dumb I said to myself. I did the only sensible thing, we moved. A Saudi Prince had built a home like one would see in a desert oasis. He had spent a fortune. When his larger enclave was built he could not give his desert home away at any price. When my girls saw it they all said the same thing, "Oh Master, it is perfect!"