A Change of Fortune E-Book

Deby Armando

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

How much money is enough? Overnight, Monica Sage finds herself a multimillionaire. The complete freedom is both exhilarating and frightening, as her entire life changes. What about her dreams of revenge? She now has the means, but no longer the need. Yet, her son, Alec, feels driven to deliver payback on her behalf. Monica's best friend, Jayne, is ex-wife of billionaire, David Abraham. The millions she received in the divorce settlement could not heal the wound left by David's betrayal. When Jayne meets female detective, Zoe Dillard, she is dazed by the raw attraction between them. Monica's young friend, Katrina Dawson is from a poor bayou family, but her stunning beauty holds powerful men spellbound. Though engaged to an influential billionaire, how much money will it take to bury the memory of the bayou? Follow the drama, humor, friendship, and passion, as each life is altered by A Change of Fortune.

Leseprobe

Deby Armando

A Change of Fortune

Dedicated in loving memory to my mother, Olivia Fort Thomas.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Acknowledgements:

Thanks to my sister, Eulah McNeice, who bought me my first "Writer's Market." Thanks also to Gwen Collins, Claim Verification Administrator of the Texas Lottery, for her patient assistance with all my questions.

Prelude

"Money won't change you, but time will take you on."

James Brown

Across the floor of the Lubbock Claims office no claims were being processed. All work had ceased. The small staff of 80 processors and adjustors sat silently, phones set to "not ready" to prevent them from ringing. All eyes were on the office door of the Director, Mike Wilson as everyone strained to catch pieces of the conversation taking place behind the closed door. Large drops and splatters of bright red blood made a path from the supply closet to Mike's office. In that office Professor Eric Lindstrom from the board of directors sat on a brown, leather sofa with a wad of bloody paper towels pressed to his face. He was trying to staunch the bleeding which poured liberally from his broken nose. On the opposite side of the room sat Mike's Assistant Director, Monica Sage, trembling with rage as angry tears spilled from her eyes. Just minutes before, Eric Lindstrom had seen Monica alone in the supply closet. Having apparently abandoned any trace of restraint, he crept behind her and grabbed her breasts as he buried his face in her hair and inhaled the intoxicating aroma of her shampoo. He had precious few seconds to enjoy himself. Reacting spontaneously from years of martial arts training, Monica simultaneously stomped his instep and sharply elbowed his diaphragm. In a fluid motion she pivoted to face him while driving the base of her palm into the right side of his nose. Fortunately for Lindstrom, the blow did not hit him straight on. Nevertheless, the crunching sound made by the blow was followed by a chilling howl from Lindstrom. Monica bolted from the supply closet across the floor and into Mike's office slamming the door behind her. Lindstrom came lumbering after her, then back tracked to the break room where he grabbed some paper towels for his nose before following Monica into Mike's office. The blood trail summarized the encounter. Staff members, startled by Lindstrom's anguished howl, watched in stunned silence. All of them wanted to know what was happening in Mike's office, but only one of them dared approach. Corbin Motts logged off the phone, rose from his desk and strutted his slender, delicate frame across the floor with purpose. He tapped twice, then entered Mike's office with authority despite the lack of an answer to his tapping. Leaning on one hip, hands folded before him, Corbin asked, "would you like me to call 911?" "No," said Mike, "but could you please bring us some more paper towels." "Of course," said Corbin. He emerged from the office and with an air of importance across the claims floor to the break room. There he retrieved a roll of paper towels and a large bowl of ice. Knowing all eyes were on him, Corbin made his way back to Mike's office with his nose in the air, never making eye contact with his curious co-workers. Despite their big age difference, Corbin and Monica were friends. Corbin had observed the way Professor Lindstrom leered at Monica during staff functions and whenever he came to the office. When he mentioned it to Monica, she said Lindstrom gave her the creeps. Corbin sat the paper towels and ice on the sofa with Lindstrom. "Thank you," Lindstrom said through bloody paper towels, but the distain in his gaze added, "faggot." "I'm going home for the day," said Monica rising from her chair. "I will have Corbin walk me to my car so I can give him instructions about finishing a project for me." "Of course," said Mike hastily. "Call me and let me know how you are feeling." "Wait here a minute while I get your purse and keys so you can just leave," said Corbin. Once again Corbin was in his favorite position; the center of attention as he went to Monica's office to retrieve her purse and keys. Lindstrom kept his eyes on the floor as Corbin and Monica left. "Call me," Mike called again. Monica did not respond. She and Corbin maintained silence until they were out of the building and on the parking lot. Corbin waited for Monica to begin. When they reached her car, Monica released a torrent of tears. Corbin silently hugged her until she quieted. Then Monica took a deep breath and told Corbin what happened in the supply closet. "That pig!" declared Corbin, his face twisted with disgust. Monica continued, "he came storming into Mike's office demanding Mike call the police on me. I told him by all means, call them. Then he said he wanted me fired for breaking his nose. I told them to go ahead, and I would go straight to the police station to make a report, then I would call my friend, Patricia Lopez at Channel 3 news. I have her number in my cell phone." "I bet they shit bricks," said Corbin. "Mike told Lindstrom I wouldn't take any legal action if he dropped it too." "That sucks," said Corbin. "I think Lindstrom should be punished." "Well," said Monica, "he does have a broken nose." She and Corbin looked at each other and succumbed to a fit of giggles. Soon they hugged again and said their goodbyes. "Call me if you want to go have a drink," said Corbin as Monica climbed into her car.

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Monica

Monica almost didn’t buy the lottery ticket that changed her life. She was so upset by the assault and the memory of Lindstrom's clammy grasp that she almost drove right by the store. She sat in her car in the store lot for a few moments, deciding if she's rather go in, or just get home and shower. Reluctantly she went inside. Entering the store this particular day, she hesitated again. The middle-age, Hispanic lady who was usually behind the counter was not there. Instead, a young, blond, blue-eyed college student stood behind the counter. Chatting with the Hispanic lady always left Monica cheerful. "What else can go wrong," she thought as she turned to leave, when the blond girl smiled and greeted her warmly. They soon fell into an easy, friendly banter, and Monica relaxed and decided to purchase a ticket after all. People in general find Monica easy to talk with. She has a way of drawing out even the most shy. Her worries are rarely apparent to others, because she carries herself with a confidence so absolute, it seems to surround her like a force field. She never takes anyone too seriously, including herself. Monica is an excellent judge of character. Her perception is sharp and accurate. Her clear vision penetrates all affectation to see directly to the motives, character and often the very heart of other people. Her view of herself, however, is decidedly less precise, for she has little appreciation for her own abilities. Every third Friday evening Monica is usually at an event dressed in formal attire with a small group of society-page ladies nicknamed The Girls' Club by one of their spouses. These include Nicolette Sanders, (Nikki to friends and family) whose father owns almost all the commercial real estate and the largest oil company in the county. Nikki is the wife of prominent attorney, Ben Sanders, whose brother is a popular congressman. Nikki and Ben live in an exclusive area of town in a community called The North Sherwood. Another member of the group is Jayne Abraham, the ex-wife of fabric manufacturing mogul, David Abraham. As ex-wife and mother of David's only child, Jayne faired very well in the divorce. What is unknown, however, is that her prosperity was assured by being the exclusive owner of an ruinous video featuring her ex-husband in a shockingly compromising position. Jayne lives outside town in a large plantation home on an 30-acre horse farm. Monica is godmother to Jayne’s 14-year-old daughter, Autumn. Jayne and Monica are best friends. They understand each other. Only women appreciate the profound significance of such an understanding. The youngest of the Girls Club, 25-year-old Katrina Dawson, is from Bayou Lune, a small, impoverished city in Louisiana where French is the primary language of whites and blacks alike. The name of the city means Moonlight Bayou. Like most pretty girls, Katrina learned to make the most of her looks. Pretty southern girls, however, have developed this skill to a high art form. They begin training when they are toddlers. By the time she was 17, Katrina's keen intelligence and survival skills had enabled her to parlay her exceptional beauty into a career as courtesan and mistress to a succession of wealthy men. Katrina was grudgingly tolerated by the women of society, because she always had the ear of whichever powerful man with whom she "kept company," and she still extended a great deal of influence over those she had left behind. Aware of the fact that everyone knew of her humble beginnings, Katrina secretly harbored an inferiority complex which she sought to overcome by the acquisition of expensive things. She therefore indulged in all the trappings of wealth, including outlandish jewelry and an ostentatious three-story home built in a working-class neighborhood where it was most conspicuous. The last young woman, Tracy Brown, is more a fringe member than a central member of the group. She is a childhood friend of Katrina. She and Katrina grew up in the same neighborhood and attended the same schools. When Katrina is not on the arm of a wealthy man, she is with Tracy, who serves as a constant reminder of how far she has come. In the glow of Tracy's sincere admiration, Katrina’s inferiority complex sleeps peacefully and does not surface to torment her by measuring her pedigree against that of the others. Tracy is happy to accept whatever falls to her from Katrina's table. She enjoys meals, entertainment and many times even new clothing courtesy of Katrina, and she is taken places she could not otherwise afford to go. They both also enjoy maintaining the close friendship with someone known and trusted since childhood. Monica had established a monthly cultural night for this group of her friends. On the first Friday of each month, they gather for an early dinner at a fine restaurant, then either a play, the orchestra, or the ballet. Jayne, Nicolette and Monica, go because they thoroughly enjoy the music and the dance. Katrina and Tracy go because they believe it is important to be seen dressed up and out with that particular crowd, which they enjoy much more than the events they attend. Though once a month this was her Friday night, Monica was not to the manor born. Monica's chameleon ability to fit in allows her easy interaction with all sectors. Her conversational skills and winsome personality gained her many friends over the years, not a few in high places. However, it was her look at privilege through these friendships that made Monica acutely aware of all she was missing, and of a lifestyle beyond her reach. Few ordinary people knew better than Monica how different the rich really are. Although she loves those Friday cultural evenings with her friends, the following Saturday night finds Monica in a very different social setting. She is usually in an upstairs apartment, crowded around a small kitchen table playing cards with a very different group of women. Two of them are the maids of her friends from the previous evening, and the other is the housekeeper for the county judge. Monica does not consider these converse social activities to be unusual. She would dismiss any such suggestion by saying, "I get along with everyone." Monica multi-lingual, and does not believe that is unusual either. To support her position, she points to Europe as an example of how people grow up speaking two or three languages without any formal education in any of them. She does not see the leap in logic it takes to use the Europeans as a plausible explanation as to how she grew up in America speaking five languages, all of which she claims to have picked up here and there. As one of the maids once told her, "that's a lot of pickin' up, girl!" Once at a dinner party for a senatorial candidate, Monica was challenged and pressed for an explanation as to how she had become fluent in a particular language. The stuffy, boorish Eric Lindstrom, Professor of Linguistics, became indignant at Monica's command of a dialect after she admitted never having visited the country or taken any classes in the language. Professor Lindstrom considered himself intellectually superior to everyone in attendance, and beyond that, to 98 percent of the human population. Like most people who behaved boorishly, his outward snobbery was used to mask a deep personal insecurity. He enjoyed using his education as a club to humiliate others. This evening, he believed Monica would be his target. He was irritated with her confident, gracious manner, and he was angered by the fact that he so strongly desired her and she so completely ignored him. Who was she anyway? Why did she deserved to be so confident? This evening Professor Lindstrom would not be put off with a casual shrug, or an "I don't recall," from Monica. He insisted on knowing if she had ever been to Brazil or Portugal? Was she, herself, Brazilian or Portuguese? How could she possibly be familiar with certain terms and expressions if she were not, had not, did not, and so on and on he went. "Is there something about your background that you do not want people to know?" he pressed. "Absolutely," answered Monica with a big smile. "Is there not something In everyone's background they don't want others to know?" This caused a wave of chuckles to rise from the crowd, which had gathered for the show down. Professor Lindstrom began to lose his temper as he felt control of the situation slipping from him. "I insist," he demanded "you stop being coy, and tell us how and where you learned the language." The room fell silent as Monica turned to face Professor Lindstrom directly. His mouth smiled cruelly and his eyes danced with pleasure at the anticipated embarrassment he believed he was about to inflict. He saw what Monica recognized on his face, and for a moment he began to feel sexually aroused at the thought of publicly humiliating such a confident woman. The moment was fleeting, for in the next instant he was startled as he realize that while Monica indeed saw his intention, her eyes shone with something very different than he expected to find. They did not reflect the frightened look of a trapped victim, but mirth. She was all but laughing at him! "How did you learn the language?" he repeated, his voice mocking. Monica smiled and gently placed her hand on his upper arm, eyes blazing as she answered in a strong, steady voice. "From going to and fro across the earth, and back and forth upon it." After a moment of silence, the room erupted in laughter. Then people resumed their conversations and Monica vanished into the crowd. Professor Lindstrom plucked a martini from the tray of a passing waiter and drained it with two swallows. It always made Professor Lindstrom uncomfortable to remember that evening when Monica had smiled at him like an angel and quoted Satan. Thereafter, he was more resentful of her than ever. All these conflicting feelings had led to his spontaneous groping in the supply closet. Monica loves to assure people that she is no different than anyone else. Because of that, she does not like to reveal anything about herself that would cause you to think otherwise. Nevertheless, there are some striking physical attributes about her that are quite remarkable. She is very beautiful, all agree. She gives life to the concept of timeless beauty in the sense that she appears ageless. No one who knows her can accurately guess her age. Year after year, time has passed over her and written nothing on her face; nor has it taken any color from her jet black hair. This could, to a large degree, be a matter of genetics, since Monica's elderly mother also has an ageless, smooth face, albeit topped with a full head of white hair. Monica does not attribute her ageless appearance to genetics as much as to the fact that she eats no meat, other than sea food. She is convinced that is the secret of the fountain of youth. She also believes it allows her to escape the consequences of a few occasional unhealthy indulgences. Whether genetic or dietary, in all physical regards, time has completely ignored Monica. She has watched her nieces and nephews and the children of her friends appear to grow older than she looks. When she allows herself to ponder the phenomena, she finds it unsettling, because, as she once told Jayne, "it makes me feel like a vampire." One would be unable to determine Monica's regional origin by her speech pattern, because her way of turning a phrase is too eclectic to pinpoint to any one location. She has no accent, save her joking affectation of various accents from time to time. She can don and discard regional or class diction as easily as changing socks. Her vocabulary is limitless. For this reason, Monica believes that after talking with her for a while, you would find her very much like yourself, whoever you are. After meeting her, you may make assumptions about Monica's education. You would be wrong. She is fond of saying "there is education, and there is education." She will tell you that she is fluent in three languages and proficient in two others, and that she learned these by paying attention to people. Chances are if you were raised on the east or west coast, Monica can talk to you in your language, or the language of your parents. This also, she believes, makes her just your average American Joe. By way of more fully explaining her education, Monica is very well read. If you are a professor of literature, if you practice law or medicine, if you are a stock broker or a historian, she can hold a lively and informed discussion with you about your work. She is a voracious reader of the classics, of contemporary writers, and of The National Inquirer. The point to be made is that her insatiable appetite for knowledge, her natural curiosity, and her huge consumption of reading material have afforded her, in her own words, "a level of education that is inconsistent with my true academic achievements." "In other words," Monica will jovially declare "I seem to be much smarter than I really am."

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Secret Fears

Monica never revealed her worries to anyone. She was, quite frankly, embarrassed by the situation. For all her many talents, knowledge and experience acquired over the years, Monica had neglected something that became more and more important as the years passed. She had no money. No savings had been amassed. Her meager investments were cashed in several years ago during a period of extended unemployment. Monica's lack of wealth was her great folly. Youthful errors of judgment had matured, and were coming home to roost. Monica had never stayed at a single job long enough to earn a pension. She stayed only as long as it held her interest, then she moved on to something else that did, not unlike her approach to college had been. For most of her life she believed the important things in life were the good deeds you did, how you treated others and the kind of life you led. Though she’d always had a keen interest in finances and followed the stock market avidly, she used to believe being a good person was much more important than the accumulation of material wealth. Recently, though, taking measure of that philosophy and what it had gained her brought about a rude awakening. Now she had come to see that the purpose of work was not solely for one's own amusement or the building of character. The purpose of saving money was not merely a hobby, but was actually to secure financial independence when you no longer worked. The obligation of parenthood was not simply to raise a well-rounded child who would be gainfully employed, but to build at least the foundation of independence on which the child could continue to build. Her focus had changed from the goal of making the world a better place and saving the environment to the accumulation of wealth. She had moved from being content with a cute bungalow and freedom from a lease, to the desire for a grand house with large rooms and high ceilings, a bathroom the size of an average kitchen with a sunken tub, walk-in closet and a sitting room off the master bedroom which contained a large fireplace. She did not require a mansion, or more rooms than she would ever use, but she wanted a very comfortable home with her own office and gym and a full-time housekeeper. She wanted a large private backyard and grounds large enough to require a grounds keeper. Most of all she wanted to be able to travel anywhere she wanted and stay as long as she pleased. Monica now realized that she had failed to build for that type of life, because she never knew she would ever care about it. Now she cared, and for the past two years she had moved through her days in quiet desperation. She worried about financial security. She grieved over her inability to provide a foundation for her son's financial future. Her son was away in college on a full scholarship. Monica would sit on her couch in the evenings with a glass of Merlot and sometimes a cigarette, and look back in regret over her failure to save and invest when she had first entered the work force. She reflected how the decisions made during those critical years between the ages of 18 and 25 had such far reaching consequences. "How ironic," she thought, "since when are we ever more stupid than at ages 18 to 25?" Oh she had tried many things to make up for what she now viewed as lost time. She had taken commissioned based sales jobs and done well. But her net worth could not grow fast enough to catch up to the opportunities bypassed in her youth. She had even joined a network marketing group and done well. But how well she did depended too much on other people, and Monica did not like that at all. Besides, the network marketing groups were too close to cults for Monica's liking. This evening as she sat with her feet up, glass of Merlot in one hand and cigarette in the other, watching an A&E special called "The Curse of the Lottery," Monica made four life-altering decisions. First, she realized she could not get back the years gone by in which she had failed to invest. She determined she needed about 30 to 35 years of consistent, deliberate investing. Was it too late? She did not know. But she decided she would act as if it were not too late. That decision led to her second one, and the instant it was made, she literally quit smoking mid-cigarette. She would do everything she could to assure she got as many years as possible. She threw out her cigarettes never again considered smoking. Third, Monica was an extremely talented writer. She had never used that talent to earn a living. Instead, she had written for her own pleasure, or for the amusement of others. That evening Monica decided she would pursue a writing career, and she began her first book, a work of fiction. She further resolved that she would continue to write for the rest of her life. If she grew successful enough to live profitably from it, it would be a blessing. If not, it would remain a life-long pleasure. Fourth, Monica decided she would buy lottery tickets. It was the A&E documentary that inspired her. She saw the types of people who won; saw they were ordinary people just like her. Many of them had done incredibly stupid things with their money and ended worse off than before they had it. She realized someone had to win, and it was as likely to be her as anyone else. Having made these life-altering decisions, Monica went to her job the following morning with a new bounce in her step. As assistant director of Lubbock Claims, Monica was responsible for training claims adjustors and auditing claims. She no longer viewed her job as a position in which she was trapped. Now, it was a means to an end. The sole purpose of the job was to sustain her as she accomplished her goals of investing, writing, and winning the lottery. Whichever came first, she vowed to continue the other two, for this had become her new life. Beneath it all she could not shake the feeling that she was racing against time. The fear that time would run out before she could accomplish her goals was like a cold stone in the pit of her stomach. Monica had heard the stories of people trying to survive on social security. Though she was not elderly, she was past the age of believing she never would be. She had seen people who became disabled through illness or accident fall to ruin. Beneath her enthusiasm, fear that sometimes occupied the pit of her stomach was never far from her mind. Monica did not like being fear driven. She felt it was bad karma. She deliberately maintained an enthusiastic, positive outlook. This helped dial back Abject Panic to a more manageable Sense of Urgency. Nevertheless, there were times when her anxiety was acute. Then, one day everything changed.

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