I’M LOOKING AT THE PICTURES of a woman on my mobile phone.

Her name is Mariana, or Mara, as Corazon fondly calls her. She’s a prospective surrogate mother for my yet to be conceived child.

My heir.

It’s roughly a thirty-minute flight on my chopper from Manhattan to Everland, and I have a little time to ponder on what I’m about to do.

My lead housekeeper Corazon gave me a couple of pictures of the candidate just the other day, and here I am now, flying to meet her amid my busy schedule.

The young woman staring back at me from the screen is very pretty. No. Lovely. In a breathtaking way. Strange, because nothing takes my breath away anymore these days. Nothing surprises me anymore. Nothing excites me anymore, certainly not women.

But Mara did. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, of the baby I can make with her. I was hard while at it, too, aroused in a manner I didn’t understand. Was it because she came in the context of baby-making? But it’s a clinical procedure, nothing sexual at all.

Strange, indeed.

She’s got long, coppery hair. Her eyes are light brown and deeply set, and her lips look full and cherry red. And her smile. Damn, it does things to my system. Her smile is both happy and sad. Funny how I can see the sadness in her eyes. I’m not emotional. I’m the most pragmatic person and rarely moved by sentimentality.

But I want to erase that sadness in her eyes, whatever it is, until only pure happiness remains in their depths. I’m sentimental, after all. This woman is bringing out that rare quality in me.

Her complexion is golden. I wonder if she’s fairer or darker in person. I haven’t seen her at Everland and I regret that I didn’t even round up all the help for a meeting when I was there a few months ago. I haven’t been visiting Everland as much as I did since Grandfather died last year. Corazon said Mara has been working at Everland for close to five months now, and I haven’t even seen her once.

But why would it matter if I’ve never seen her?

Corazon took a whole body picture of Mara, too. My eyes are again drawn to her curves. She’s wearing her staff uniform and it fits her well. The generous swell of her chest indicates she’s well-endowed in that area. Her waist is tiny. Her hips flare out gracefully like it was molded by a master sculptor, curvaceous and perfect to carry babies. My baby for that matter.

Damn, what am I doing?

I’m marveling at the young woman’s physical assets. And I’m getting aroused again while looking at her pictures.

Not good.

Corazon said she’s twenty-five. I’ll be forty in two years. Our age-gap is quite huge, but she’s way past the age of consent, and most probably mature enough to enter into an arrangement like what I have in mind.

But I should not be interested in her like that. She’ll be nothing but a surrogate. I’ve selected the source of my child’s genes and it won’t be from a stranger. I have an egg donor already. A good friend of mine.

Yes, Mara will be just a surrogate. If she agrees to my proposal, that is.

I had several choices for surrogates suggested to me by Caitlyn, the woman who’d volunteered to donate her healthy eggs for the IVF procedure, but I wasn’t feeling any of those women. I really didn’t know what I was looking for until I blurted out my desire to have a child to Corazon, my dear housekeeper who’s been with the Vandercourt household for as long as I can remember.

“I know a person just perfect for the job, Mr. Vandercourt,” she’d told me excitedly like she had a light bulb moment.

“Who?” I’d asked.

“Her name is Mara. Mariana Cortez. She works at Everland. You’ll like her to carry your child. She’s very beautiful. You will have a beautiful baby together.”

I was amused. “Corazon, she’d just be a surrogate, just in case. You know what that means?”

“I don’t understand. You want to have a child with a woman, si?”

“Yes, but the woman will just carry the baby. It’s a medical procedure wherein the embryo will be injected into the surrogate and she’ll carry my child in her womb to full term and give birth to it. I’ll pay her generously for her services.”

Corazon looked even more confused.

“It’s called in vitro fertilization. A sperm will be taken from me and an egg will be taken from the woman of my choice. The source of the egg is another woman, not the surrogate. My sperm will fertilize the egg in a laboratory, and the fertilized egg which is called a zygote will develop into an embryo which in turn will be injected into the surrogate’s uterus. You get the picture now?”

Corazon had looked crestfallen for a bit, but the enthusiasm on her face came back right away. “Si, I understand now. So okay, if Mara agrees to be the surrogate for your baby, you’ll help her with her visa?”

It was my turn to be confused. “Visa?”

“I apologize for my bluntness, Jeff, but these are desperate times for Mara and I want to help her. You know the problem for many of us, Jeff…” Her voice had trailed off.

“She’s an illegal alien?”

Corazon looked nervous. “Please, don’t be mad. Mara is the best among your staff at Everland. I can attest to this. I rely on her so much. I can take a few days off and not worry about Everland because she runs it well in my absence. I need her at Everland but she’s in danger of getting deported,” she’d said in a rush.

“Corazon…” I wasn’t liking the information.

“But I assure you, you’ll like her very much once you meet her. She’ll be a perfect surrogate for your baby. She’s beautiful!”

“Corazon, I don’t think you understand—“

“Please, Jeff, Mara needs help with her visa, even just an extension. I know you have friends in high places who can help her. You can sponsor her stay here if you give her a legal tenure. Por favor, Jeff, I beg you. I love Mara. She’s very kind and respectful and I don’t want her to leave Everland.”

“I don’t—“

Corazon pulled out her phone from her apron, pushed some keys and showed the screen to me. “Here! That’s Mara.”

I’d stared at the picture of a young woman laughing with the other Everland staff and illegal alien was the last thing on my mind since then.

I sigh again for the nth time.

I have a feeling I’ll fuck this meeting up big time, not to mention my original plans.

Yeah. Fuck is the operative word.

I love this room the most. Jeff’s study. It also doubles as his office here at Everland. It’s spacious, warm, rich in history and speaks of authority. I love being in it at least once a week, cleaning it, making everything polished and spotless. I have taken the job to heart. It makes me feel like I’m taking care of him. Making this room smell good and impeccably orderly also gives me a sense of security, something I’ve been longing for since I arrived in this country.

For months, it has been just a fantasy. But finally, we will meet.

Today.

Suddenly, Jeff is no longer just the man I admire but my hero, as well. My lifeline.

Mama Zon said Jeff has a new job opening and I might qualify for it. She said she told Jeff about my predicament and he promised to help if I qualify in his requirements for this job. I asked Mama Zon what kind of job it is, but she wouldn’t tell me. She said Jeff will tell me the details himself.

I shouldn’t let this opportunity pass. It could be my only chance.

The words of my colleague echo in my mind, making a chill run down my spine.

Uncle refuses to give us visa extension or legal refuge, but we’re working on the petition. Don’t attempt to cross to Mexico or Canada and reenter. Immig is very strict, thanks to this new Pres, and there’s a huge possibility you will be denied an entry back and we won’t be able to help you outside the US. Our best option is to stay in the US, no matter what. We’re still safest here. Keep a low profile. I’ll contact you again when there’s a new development. C and I are okay. We hope you are, too.

But my time has run out. My tourist visa expired last month and I must hide from the US immigration authorities for real. More so now that the new President of this country has been very vocal about deporting illegal aliens and building walls. Following my colleague’s advice, I did not try to exit and reenter the country via the usual route—Mexico and Canada. I didn’t want to risk it with this new administration’s stricter immigration rules.

I can’t go back to Venezuela. There’s nothing for me there anymore. No job. No family. Nothing. Just shattered memories of the life I once had.

My eyes heat up from the pain that clenches in my chest as I remember my recent past, but I quell the emotion. I have to be at my best when I face Jeff. I have to impress him.

Whatever this job is, it can’t be too hard. I know I’m smart. I have a degree from a university back in Venezuela. I even graduated a year early and with honors, too. I got hired right after college by the biggest TV station in Caracas. My career was taking off just fine until President Hugo Chavez died and my life has never been the same. I got caught up in a political storm that has been building up for some time in my country. A few years later, it exploded into violence.

I became a hunted woman. I thank God for a few people who owed my father some favors in the past. They helped me get out of Venezuela before I was harmed. But my family was not spared.

I have never told anybody this here, not even Mama Zon. She thinks my presence in America was motivated by the desire to have a green card and have a better life here. I let her believe it too. I have decided to bury my past for my own safety, even if my heart is crying out for justice. I just hope Jeff won’t require too much information from me or I’d have to decline the job. Well, that is if I qualify anyway.

What could be the job? I’ve helped clean this manor for months now. I could use a job that utilizes my intellect for a change. I can be a secretary or an executive assistant. I have excellent computer skills. I speak good English, can write in the language quite well too as I’ve been writing my own English spiels for my short segment in a TV program back home, and I don’t look bad either. Modesty aside, I’ve been considered as a TV anchor before all hell broke lose and my career went from promising to suicidal.

Now I’m in danger of being deported back to Venezuela. Once that happens, I’d be shot the moment I set foot at any airport in Caracas or Bolivar.

I don’t want to die yet.

I don’t want to be deported.

I have to get this job.

I sigh and look at the wall clock. I’ve been waiting here for close to forty minutes now. Is he really coming to see me today? Mama Zon said he’s on his way.

I find it strange that he would take time off of his busy schedule in New York to personally interview me for this job. It must be really something.

Oh God, I need this job. Please, let me get this job.

Just then, I hear the familiar sound of a chopper in the air.

My heart lurches in my chest.

He’s here.

He has really come to see me.

Finally, I will meet Jeffery Lawrence Vandercourt!