The Fortune Cookie

 

 

“I mean no disrespect, like none, but come the fuck on. Why can’t you call him?”

The petite woman behind the desk shimmies her chair away from the crazy American as she most likely reaches for her hidden can of mace.

After flying thirteen-odd hours to get here, I don’t want to fuck around. I want to see Mr. Yeong, talk some sense into him, have some sake, and then go back home. Mary’s sweet kisses still linger as she dropped me off at the airport yesterday morning, promising to welcome me home in nothing but heels. But Mr. Yeong’s secretary is being a complete mood killer, because no one seems to know when Mr. Yeong will be back in town.

I suppose this is my fault for up and leaving without a solid plan, but this guy is a workaholic. It’s smart business. That’s why his office is open on a Sunday. I just assumed he would be here, but apparently, he’s not, which makes me all the more suspicious that something is rotten in Beijing.

“Fine then, I’ll just wait here.” I literally mean the spot I stand when I use the marbled counter as my La-Z-Boy.

My plans are foiled however, when a mean looking Korean Hulk Hogan saunters from out of nowhere, ready to chop suey my ass. “We will let Mr. Yeong know you visited.”

“Visited? This isn’t a social call. This is business. Business which Mr. Yeong and I need to discuss immediately.” My pleas fall on deaf ears, however.

Sick of hearing my own voice, I reach into my suit pocket and retrieve my business card. “In case he lost my number. Thanks.” The secretary accepts it as she would a diseased limb. “For nothing,” I add, tempted to sprint into the elevator doors behind her. The hulking macho man reads my thoughts and stands in front of them, arms folded, daring me to make his day.

This is nothing but a waste of time, so I leave. When I eventually find where Mr. Yeong is holed up, I’ll be sure to tell him his staff are complete asshats.

The streets of Manhattan have nothing on the bustle in Beijing. It’s like Times Square on steroids. On most days, I would sightsee, definitely have a beer or two, but today, I just want to catch a cab back to my hotel and sleep this fucked up day away.

D2 decides now is a good time to pep up and announce his belief that my sullied mood is because I’m missing Mary. I hate to admit it, but it’s true.

This past month has been fucking incredible, and that’s not just because fucking Mary is incredible, it’s because every minute I spend with her is equivalent to being the best minutes of my life. Oh my god, I sound like a Michael Bolton remix, but it’s the truth.

Giving her a key to my apartment should have freaked me out, but it didn’t. In my unromantic brain, it seemed like the logical thing to do, because I want her there in my apartment, always. I know it’s a big deal to some, but to me, it felt liberating to finally rid myself of this stigma.

I like Mary. She likes me. I don’t see the point in fucking around.

I know she’s guarded at times because of what her asshole ex-boyfriend did to her, but I’m not like that ball-less little chump. I still feel like I need to thank her when she lets me bury myself in her.

I still don’t really know the proper protocol when it comes to dating, but I’m learning. Even though we’re both comfortable with the no labels, Mary is my…girlfriend? Partner? What are the kids calling it nowadays? Either way, she’s my woman, and being here is taking time away from slapping that fine ass and kissing those addictive lips. What a complete moron I was for not kissing her sooner. Just think how many kisses I’ve missed out on.

I rub over my chest, the ache amped tenfold. I try not to think about her because this happens…I hurt, and then I feel the need to binge on sugar. Holy shit—I’m turning into Finch.

A small part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop. There is no way my life could be this perfect, right? I haven’t told anyone, too afraid Mary will run, and Dixon will laugh, but I’m fucking terrified. There’s got to be a catch. Dating can’t be this easy, I mean if it were, half the soppy country ballads are a lie.

People talk about the hardships, that relationships are hard work, but this is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I’m scared one day I will wake up and all of this will all just turn to shit.

Focusing on getting the fuck out of here, I type out yet another text to Ming, who also seems to be MIA. I can’t help but think Keira was right and this cold shoulder is thanks to that fuckwad, Gail.

What does he have that has a smart man like Mr. Yeong falling for his bullshit? And that’s the million-dollar question.

Catching a cab back to my hotel, I buy a bottle of scotch, which I plan on making long, sweet love to. Kicking off my shoes, I fall face first onto the mattress, hating how empty the bed feels. I need to cut it with this soppy bullshit now.

The only cure is porn.

Deciding to check out what kinky shit I’ve got on my pay per view, I scroll through the selections, not even remotely interested in what’s up for offer. I’m actually falling asleep, remote control in hand, when my cell pings on the bedside table.

Reaching for it, I smile like a dopey fool when I see who the message is from.

Your apartment is so quiet. I didn’t realize what a loud mouth jerk you are.

I know you miss me and my loud mouth…

Maybe ;)

My dick stirs. This is fucking ridiculous. Now her text messages have the capability to make me hard? This is a new low.

Whatcha doing?

I don’t see the point in being coy. I was about to watch porn, but the selection is rather dry…no pun intended.

Tossing the remote onto the bed, I settle against the headboard and unscrew my bottle of scotch.

Porn? I’m disappointed. You’re in Beijing! Just as I’m about to backtrack, apologizing for my uncouth behavior, she adds something which accents the reason why I am completely smitten by her. Surely there is a ping pong show you can catch.

My heart aches. I thump over it to stop this starry-eyed nonsense. I’m sure there is, but I’d rather watch a different kind of show…

I take a swig of scotch, the smooth burn exactly what I need. The dancing buttons on my screen taunt me. I’m moments away from telling them to hurry the fuck up.

I suppose it’d be mean telling you I got myself off on your side of the bed about ten minutes ago.

Whatever scotch is left in my mouth dribbles down my chin as I re-read her message.

My hard on is now rock solid. I’ll have you know I’m typing this message with my cock.

You’re so multi-talented.

I so want this conversation to end in me coming in my pants. I’m such a nasty bastard. So…what are you wearing? An oldie but a goodie.

Nothing.

Holy guacamole. I know it’s after 2 a.m. and Mary does sleep naked, but she’s over there and I’m over here. The struggle is real. I’ve forgotten what nothing looks like…

After two minutes of nothing, I’m wondering if I need to touch up on my sexting skills. But when my phone lights up, I’m certain the message is sent from the big man himself because this can only be described as divine.

It’s a picture of Mary—naked.

I thought I catalogued every freckle, every curve of her milky soft skin, but I thought wrong. She’s taken the picture from above, showcasing her entire body from head, down…down. Her rose nipples are pearled, giving life to her tear-shaped breasts. The small freckle near her areola has my mouth watering, desperate for a taste.

Memories of kissing that flat belly, running my tongue in and around her navel, flood my brain and fill my pants with the need to unleash this hunger for her. Unbuttoning my pants, I take my dick in hand and begin to pump.

I feast on her hairless pussy, the sight is just too much. The flush to her skin reveals she wasn’t kidding when she said she just got herself off. I’ve memorized her comedown. That soft pink she turns just after those soft mewls slip past her plump lips is what I fucking live for.

Are you jerking off?

Holy fucking yes, I am.

I’ve showed you mine…show me yours.

It seems only fair. Deciding to give her an action shot, I continue pumping my cock while taking a happy snap.

Quickly sending my very hard cock into cyberspace, I fist my shaft, using the naked picture of Mary as my inspiration to bring this home. It won’t take long, considering I missed her touch the moment I set foot on the plane.

I zero in on her lips, lips which have changed everything I ever believed in. Kissing them, listening to what they’ve had to say, watching them consume every part of me has slayed me, and I don’t know what I’d do without them. Without her.

You’re so beautiful…

Completely uncaring that she described my dick as she would a flower, I come in my palm, grunting loudly as I milk myself dry. Now that beats watching porn any day.

Once I reach for some tissues to clean myself up, I reply the only way I can. So are you.

:) Thank you. I’ll add sweet talker to your list of talents. I’m going to sleep. Am so tired zzz

I take a long sip of scotch to drown my sorrows that she’s hitting the hay. Why are you so tired? What did you do last night?

The dancing dots are no more, hinting Mary may have fallen asleep, phone in hand, but after a couple of minutes, they return. Nothing really. Just saw Maddy.

I don’t know why, but something inside of me, some may call it intuition, screams at me that she’s lying. But why would she lie? There’s no reason for her to.

Just as I’m about to ask what exactly ‘nothing really’ means, she signs off. Goodnight. I miss you xoxo

XOXO has never tickled the cockles of my heart more than they do right now. Goodnight. I miss you too. I love… Whoa, back the fuck up. Was I really about to write that I loved her? The word on my screen confirms that yes, I was.

Quickly backtracking, I decide to stick to the basics and not declare my undying love over a text. That would be awkward. Goodnight. I miss you too.

Once I’ve stared a hole through my screen, ensuring there are no more messages, I decide to go to sleep as well.

Nothing will ever, ever compare to Mary, but I reach for the lumpy pillow, realizing just how much I really do miss her, because it seems to fall asleep, I need to pretend this stand-in is her. Dixon and Finch would be so proud.

 

 

I’ve never wanted to run over my phone with a bus more than I do right now.

Not even bothering to look at the screen, I blindly reach for my cell off the bedside dresser and bark, “What the fuck do you want?”

“Good afternoon to you too, Mr. O’Shea.” That smooth, confident voice can only belong to one man.

Sitting upright, I brush the hair from my brow. “Well, aren’t you one hard man to track down. What did you do? Forget your wife’s birthday and split town?”

Mr. Yeong laughs, always a fan of my humor. “I must apologize for my absence. Things have been rather crazy. I believe you’re in Beijing.”

“Yes, that’s right. I was hoping for a one on one.”

As always, Mr. Yeong has the floor and he will only speak when he’s ready. To kill some time, I gulp down a mouthful of scotch.

“Yes, okay, that should be fine. I have forty-five minutes to spare at six.” Looking at the clock on the wall, I see that it’s 5:15 p.m. “Do you know where Temple Restaurant is?”

“I’ll find it,” I reply, springing from the bed and rummaging through my suitcase to find something presentable to wear.

“Very good.” The line goes dead, but I’m unsure who hung up first.

I shower in record time and am out the door, hailing a cab. I have no idea why we’re going to a restaurant. Who the hell can order and eat a meal in forty-five minutes? Although, with Mr. Yeong, I wouldn’t be surprised.

Thankfully, the cab ride isn’t too painful, and I’m out in front of Temple with thirty seconds to spare. I open the lavish door and am immediately greeted by three servers. “Hello, Mr. O’Shea. May we take your coat?” This would be comical if my job and pride wasn’t on the line.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

All three bow, before silently hinting I’m to follow as they scurry through the very impressive, traditional looking Chinese restaurant. This place reeks of money, but it has a gentler note with feng shui looking items like marbled yin yangs, bamboo water features, and gold statues of buddhas I’ve seen Mary admire, sprinkled around the place.

I could use some feng shui mojo right now, because when I see Mr. Yeong sitting in what looks like a golden alcove, I know he means business. This man doesn’t want to hear excuses. He gets what he wants, when he wants, and the fact some simpleton from America can’t find a humble watch is not working in my favor. I’m surprised a man with his connections can’t find the watch himself, but who knows, maybe this is what he does for fun—tortures stupid Americans.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Yeong.” He doesn’t bother standing and points to the throne opposite him. I sit. I’m poured three different sorts of drinks before we’re left alone.

Mr. Yeong is a fifty something, self-made billionaire. He struck it rich because he’s a smart businessman and followed a dream of not only building houses, but selling them as well. Real estate is his game and he’s damn good at it.

On most days, I admire and respect Mr. Yeong’s success because nothing but hard work and determination got him there, but on days like today, when he’s pissing me off because a man of his intelligence should know better, I can’t help but rage.

Taking a sip of what I’m assuming is wine, I measure my words, because I know I only have a few of them. “I know you’re a busy man, so I’ll cut to the chase.” Mr. Yeong nods, appreciating my frankness. Deciding to honor this code, I declare, “You obviously think it’s okay to fuck me in the ass without any lube.”

I’m not sure if he’ll appreciate such directness, but time’s ticking—literally.

“What do you mean?” he asks, leaning back in his seat.

“What I mean is, why are you dicking me around, Mr. Yeong? We’ve known one another for years. I’ve given you advice whenever you’ve asked. I thought we were solid. But now I hear you’re talking to some bottom feeding brownnoser, who couldn’t give two shits about you or the hard work which has seen your empire grow.”

Just the thought of that scumbag has me reaching for drink number two.

“You’ve heard the saying, ‘don’t put all your eggs in one basket’?” he poses, always the enigma.

“I have. And surely you’ve heard the saying, ‘you lie with dogs, you’ll get fleas.’ I just don’t get it. Help me understand why you’d even consider doing business with Gail. He is not someone you want to work with. Or to represent you.”

Mr. Yeong nods, appearing to consider everything I just said. And then I wait, wait for him to eat into my thirty-nine remaining minutes.

“Here, have a fortune cookie.” He slides the cookie along the bright red table cloth.

If this were anyone else, I would tell them and this cookie to eat a dick, but I reach for it and unwrap the innocent looking gimmick. There better be some sort of answer inside of here, otherwise, I want a recount.

Snapping it in half, I expect to see the typical white piece of paper, spewing words of “wisdom.” Instead, all I’m left with is a fistful of crushed cookie. “Looks like my fortune is working on EST time.” I toss the handful onto the table, so not surprised I got left with a handful of nothing.

Mr. Yeong smirks, reaching for his cookie. Once his snaps open, it too reveals there is nothing inside. Whoever manufactures these things needs to take the fortune out of their fortune cookie spiel. “A great fortune depends on luck.”

“If you ever give up your day job, you could always write for this mob.”

I know there is a lesson to be learned, but I can’t help comparing my empty fortune to how I’m feeling right now. “Mr. O’Shea, I admire your tenacity. The fact you’re here shows strength, determination. I’m a man of my word, and now that we have an equal playing field…”

“Excuse me?” Surely I misheard him. How in the hell do we have that? Gail is in no way, shape, or form on my level. “We had a deal.”

Those sharp eyes focus, a cat among the pigeons, as Mr. Yeong shatters my world forever. “Yes, you’re right, we do, but now that Mr. Gail knows what I want…the players may have changed, but the game has remained the same.”

“What do you mean?” The golden walls begin to close in on me and I suddenly feel like I’ve been kicked repeatedly in the balls.

“Mr. Gail is also looking for the watch.” Holy motherfucking hell. “Things have now shifted. Let the games begin, as you Americans like to say.”

“What do you mean, he’s looking for the watch? You told him?” I spit, clenching my fist against my thigh. I thought Mr. Yeong was a man of his word. Now I know he’s just a greedy, narcissistic asshole.

“No, I did not. He called me, promising me he could deliver on what you’ve failed to do.”

So many thoughts are crashing around my brain right now, but at the forefront is, how the fuck does he know?

“I can see you’re surprised.”

“No shit,” I reply, shaking my head in utter disbelief.

“He told me an office romance had led to him finding out…”

This just goes from bad to fucking apocalyptic. “Office romance? With who?” Every nerve ending in my body is firing, my fight or flight response ready to kick in and save me from the truth.

Mr. Yeong folds his hands on the tabletop, cool as cool can be. “A woman with hair the color of fire.” The air hitches in my throat, because suddenly, I can’t breathe. “Matches her personality, I believe. I think he said her name was…Mary.”

…Time stands still and nothing else matters, because the inevitable has just joined us for dinner. “There must be some mistake,” I utter more to myself than to him.

Mr. Yeong goes on talking, but I don’t listen to a single word he says, because nothing matters other than the fact Mary sold me out. She was the only person I told, the only person I trusted, and in return, she crapped all over my honesty, and in the process, she broke my fucking heart. But my heart doesn’t just break—my entire body does.

There must be some mistake. My self-preservation kicks in, because I’m seconds away from throwing down. But thinking back to last week, I was certain I caught Mary and Gail in the kitchen in some weird moment. At the time, I shrugged it off as my vivid imagination playing tricks on me, but processing over every small moment, I thought she was a little friendlier than usual, I now know I was right on track.

Mary has been sleeping with the enemy—the perfect fuck you. But why? None of this makes any sense. I need to call her. She needs to tell me there’s been some mistake.

I don’t know how that cunt knows about the watch, but quite frankly, I don’t care. All I care about is mending something which I thought was unbreakable.

Kicking back my seat, Mr. Yeong pauses from whatever bullshit story he’s telling. “With all due respect…you, Gail, and your pathetic watch can go fuck yourselves. I’m out.”

I should take great satisfaction in doing something which I should have done months ago, but I feel empty—a stranger in someone else’s skin.

I don’t bother waiting, because we’re done here. I don’t intend on seeing this man ever again. I thought he had honor. I was wrong.

Charging through the restaurant, my goal is to get out of here before I do something I will forever regret. The bustling sidewalk just adds to my fury, so I hustle down the road, desperate to find a quiet place to call Mary and find out what the fuck is going on.

I manage to find a small walkway, not ideal, but off the noisy street. With anxious fingers I dial Mary, but her phone is off. Refusing to jump to conclusions, I text Dixon instead.

Hey, man. Did Mary and Maddy catch up last night? Did I miss anything big? I try to keep it level, not clue Dix onto my current clusterfuck of events.

As I’m waiting for him to reply, I lean up against the brick wall, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. There’s got to be a reasonable explanation why. I refuse to believe this is as black and white as it seems.

My cell buzzes in my palm. Flipping it over, I can only hope Dixon has the answers I seek. But the message isn’t from Dix. It’s from Keira.

I’m really sorry, but I had to tell you. I know you wouldn’t believe me, so here’s proof.

The lag feels like hours, but when an image flashes onto my screen, everything is slowed down because I’m certain the world stops spinning.

The proof Keira speaks of is a photograph of Gail and…Mary. There’s no mistaking they’re out for dinner, a candlelit one at that. Mary looks beautiful in a flaming red dress, accenting her trademark locks.

A bottle of champagne sits in the center of the table, both glasses half full.

To onlookers, this looks like a romantic dinner between two people who are clearly into each other, but to me, all I see is my stupidity for ever believing I deserved a happily ever after. People like me don’t get a HEA. I’ll always be a manwhore in gentleman’s clothing.

Another message comes through. Again, from Keira. This one is Mary’s number…on the back of Gail’s business card. In case the picture message wasn’t clear, the love heart near her name clears up any confusion.

I’m hypnotized by the images—it’s a morbid insight into what my future holds. I still don’t want to believe it, but the evidence is damning, because a picture doesn’t lie. But this is impossible. I refuse to believe it. She wouldn’t do this to me.

When my phone sounds once again, I contemplate smashing it against the wall. But I man up and read the message from Dix—the proverbial nail, if you will.

Nope. Mary has been MIA. Probably missing your sorry ass.

So my suspicions have been confirmed. Mary was lying. She never saw Maddy like she claimed to have done. At the time, I wondered why she lied, I now know why. She couldn’t exactly divulge the fact she was having dinner with an asshole like Gail because that would lead to her confessing that her after dinner mint would be his cock! Bile rises, but I push it down.

A surge of anger comes spurting from me and the end result is me smashing my fist against the wall. I barely feel the sting because no pain can compare to the one lodging within.

I need to do something, anything, so I fucking run.

I have no idea where I’m running to. It doesn’t matter, either way. I just need to free myself from this weight—the vibration of…I told you so. Was I a fool to think that this was different? That Mary felt for me what I feel for her? No. Just no.

I keep running, the world passing by me in a blur, but the chaos complements the raging war within. I don’t know when I’ll stop, I just know that when I do, I’ll see this for what it is—for what it’s always been.

Running further and further, I wish I could do the same for the thought playing a loop inside my head. No matter how desperate I was to believe that what we had was real, the truth shatters any misconceptions, setting me straight—I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think that I was enough, but now that my eyes have been opened, I won’t make the same mistake ever again.

Love can blow me.