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CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Papers

  Stan usually spent just two weeks a year at his Sunset Island estate in Miami. He enjoyed the boating there but the humidity simply did not agree with his Southern California weather acclimation. The compound's main residence, a 16,000-foot Mediterranean, was built to resemble a home he had been a guest at while visiting Siena. Stan stood out on the balcony of the master suite and gazed upon the water. His 110-foot Queensland bobbed up and down gently from the wake of a passing boat. Stan was contemplating taking a walk down to the dock when the phone rang.

  "Meet me at Velvet. I'll be at the bar," said the surprisingly feminine voice.

  "What time?" asked Stan, wanting to get the unpleasant business of Marle's divorce behind him as quickly as possible.

  "I'm sure you'll want to freshen-up. Let's say 10:00."

  "I'll see you there."

  Freshen-up? Is he?is she?crazy. I just want to get this over with. With my luck, I'll run into someone I know. Fancy running into you here, Jim. This is my friend Maxine formerly known as Maxwell. What a fucking nightmare. Dread?is the word I'm looking for.

  Velvet was one of many clubs that lined Collins Avenue, the popular South Beach street. Stan remembered when South Beach was nothing more than a retirement village filled with old Jews. "The Lord's waiting room" they used to call it?the wait was over. The old folks were gone, replaced by young people who drank, danced, and did drugs all night long before fucking-then sunbathing nude on the pristine white sand beaches.

  "I'll leave it up front," said the valet, a Caucasian kid.

  Stan handed him the keys to his white Rolls Royce Phantom-his Miami car. "How old are you?"

  "I'm nineteen, sir."

  "And why are you parking cars?" Stan asked drawing out "And" so it sounded like, "Annnd." Clearly making it understood that he didn't approve.

  "I'm working my way through college, sir. I have class all day. This was the only job I could get at night."

  Stan shook his head?As if he didn't have enough to think about?Then he handed the kid his business card. "Call my office tomorrow and tell my secretary, Marle, I said to give you a full scholarship to whatever school you want to go to." Stan reached into his pocket again and pulled out a wad of hundreds. "Look here's a few grand to hold you over until you get the paperwork done with Marle."

  The kid looked at the business card and money in the palm of his hand. "Mr. Peters, I don't know what to say. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me."

  Stan nodded. "Because you're white. Oh, and let me guess, your parents are hard- working middleclass people?"

  The kid's chin drooped toward his chest. "They would help me if they could."

  "I know." Stan put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "I'm giving you a break kid. Study your ass off and get out into the world and make a lot of money. The middleclass dream is gone-you need to make it big."

  Stan walked toward the deep burgundy curtains. The bouncer that stood in front held up his hand. "I.D. please."

  "You're kidding right?"

  The bouncer smiled. "Lots of money and Academy Awards don't mean shit to me. I'll need to see your I.D."

  "I really don't have time for this, big guy. But because I'm feeling benevolent, I'll take a moment and enlighten you."

  The bouncer clasped his right hand tightly over his left in front of his massive body. "Please do," he said with a grin and a nod. He had obviously had many such confrontations-and enjoyed them all.

  "Whoever owns this little place hired you to do a job. Your job, I'm sure, has several responsibilities-none of which are asking someone that is obviously forty-years- old for his I.D. But you insist on doing so because you want to feel important. In fact, you want to feel more important than me. The problem is, you're not. And the reason you're not isn't because you're a slab of beef that gets paid to stand at a fucking door all night. It's honest work and I appreciate that. The reason you're not as important as I am is that you don't love yourself for who you are. And you don't respect people who have accomplished more in life than you have. So, here we are. You can move out of the way or I can show you my I.D., buy this place tomorrow, and fire you."

  "You would actually buy this place just to fire me?" asked the bouncer, realizing he had made an egregious mistake.

  "And everywhere else you ever try to work." Stan thought of Nelson Ballsworth sitting in his study-prepared to buy every studio in Hollywood if need be to enforce his will. "Big guy, there's always someone bigger than you. Trust me, I know?It pays to kill people with kindness."

  Or anal beads, but that's a whole different matter.

  The bouncer stepped aside. "Thank you for the advice, Mr. Peters."

  Stan handed him a hundred, because he believed in positive reinforcement and headed for the bar.

  Wow! Look at all these hot chicks. And I'm meeting a guy that had his dick snipped off. What a waste of a night. Two billion dollars fuck head. Did you forget about that?

  "What can I get you?" asked the bartender.

  Stan smiled. "Blue Label, double, straight up."

  "I like it straight up," said the gorgeous brunette seated at the bar. She licked her lips and took a sip of her martini.

  "Well then, your next one should be on me," Stan said suggestively.

  "Where are you from, sexy man? You don't look like a local."

  "I'm from L.A. Born and raised." Stan raised his glass. "To you, beautiful." He downed the double with one gulp. "Two more please. One for me and one for the lady."

  "What brings you to Miami?"

  "My future wife's husband, to be honest."

  "That sounds intriguing."

  "If you're intrigued by men who wear dresses. He had a sex change?I just came to get him to sign some paperwork."

  "What does he look like?"

  "I don't know. I imagine ugly. I've never seen one of these jobs that came out right. If you want to do me a favor, keep your eyes peeled for a woman that looks like Sasquatch."

  "I'll do you a favor sexy. Why don't you let me take a look at those papers?"

  "Why would you want to do that?"

  "Because I'm Marle's husband Max."

  "You're Sasquatch? C'mon, you're fucking with me." Stan asked reaching into his coat pocket to retrieve the papers just in case.

  "Call me Yeti, charmer. It turns me on?Of course I'm her husband you putz."

  "You know you're fucking hot-for a guy."

  Max nodded as he took the papers. "Thanks, but I'm not a guy. I'm all woman."

  Stan looked down at Max's crotch. "All?"

  Max nodded as he read the divorce documents. "All." He handed the papers back to Stan. "You could marry anybody you want. Why marry Marle?"

  "None of your fucking business, Max."

  "No one would marry her if there wasn't money involved. And I could use some money."

  "Stealing all the money from the house wasn't enough?"

  Max waved his hand down the length of his body. "Do you know what this cost? And I think we both agree I got my money's worth."

  Stan had to agree-so there was no point in arguing. "How much do you want?"

  Max leaned forward, bringing his luscious red lips a fraction of an inch from Stan's right ear. "One million dollars."

  Stan pushed Max back gently. "Sweetheart, if I tell Marle where you're at, she'll come after you for child support and alimony-and my lawyers will make sure she gets it. I'll give you five hundred grand."

  "What else will you give me," asked Max, his hand coming to rest on Stan's crotch.

  Stan pulled Max's hand from his balls gingerly. "Oh Max, you've got to be kidding?"

  Max's lips tightened into a pout. "You'd rather have Marle than me? We go back to my place or you can tell her to chase me for the money."

  "You drive a hard bargain, Max." Stan held up his glass for a moment before tossing back the double shot.

  "Stan, the hard part is all up to you." Max tossed back his double shot. "Shall
we?"

  Stan dropped a hundred onto the bar. "Let's go."

  This fucking humidity is killing me.

  Stan dripped with sweat as he penetrated Max, amazed at how good a manmade vagina could feel. "I'm going to cum, Max!"

  "Cum baby. I want you to cum."

  "Oh yeah, oh yeah!" Stan rested on his elbows for a moment before sliding off to the side.

  "That was great! Marle is a lucky girl to have you," Max said, rolling over to his side so he could look at his new lover.

  "Thanks, Max. You're not so bad yourself?for a man."

  Max smiled. "You know I'm not a man," Max laughed. "You know better than anybody." There was moment of silence. "Lover, is there anything you won't do to get what you want?"

  Stan rolled over to his side and looked down the length of Max's perfect female body. "I would have given you a million if I had to."

  Max ran his hand through Stan's hair. "I would have done it for free just to know you had to fuck me to get what you wanted."

  Stan looked at Max thoughtfully. "You devious bitch. You know I could probably use a person like you at Peters Entertainment."

  Max smiled happily.

  "But don't you ever tell Marle who you really are," Stan warned sternly.

  "I promise," whispered a content Max.