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Three weeks later and half a million pesos poorer, Fred had still not slept with Esther. Never had he spent so much money on a woman for so little, and he was determined to bring matters to a head.
He was confident the apartment would do the trick. He had bought a place in Ayala Avenue in Makati – the classiest part of the city – not too far from his own apartment.
Every device known to luxury had been included – state of the art sound system, high-definition plasma TV, high speed internet – these he had taken care of himself, but he had taken the trouble to ask a lady friend, Florine, to advise him about ‘softer’ matters; the furnishings, curtains and carpet, and the luxury bathroom.
“Who are you spending all this money on?” she asked in amazement.
“That’s not for me to say.”
“She must be one heck of woman!” cried Florine. “I wish I could see her!”
To himself Fred thought, “So do I!” for Esther had been keeping him at arm’s length recently (while continuing to extort money by various wiles).
When Florine had gone, he sat down at the new computer and composed the following email:
Dear Esther, you’re treating me like a rich uncle – but that’s not what I want. I want to be your lover. Tonight you’ll move into an apartment which will be yours if you want it. Now make up your mind, will you still treat me as an uncle, or will you make me happy?
Your Fred
“Phew! how he bores me – this money bag!” cried Esther, when she read the email. Then, remembering her duty to Lucian, she collected herself, and wrote:
Dear Fred.
You’ve paid. I will not disappoint you.
Esther
When, half an hour after, Eugenie went into Esther’s room, she found her kneeling in front of a crucifix. After saying her prayers, Esther had renounced her happiness and her new-found honour, and prepared for her descent into hell. She knew that there could be no more delay; she must give herself to the banker. It would not be the first time she had had to endure his fat, smelly body, his foul breath, and his crudely groping fingers – he was an old customer after all – but since she had met Lucian, everything was different. Before, she could put the money in her purse and laugh it off, now, it seemed to be a sacrilege.
She rose.
“Oh, Esther, you will never look like that again!” cried Eugenie, struck by her sublime beauty.
She hastily turned the long mirror so that the poor girl could see herself. Her eyes still had the light of a soul flying heavenward. Her complexion was brilliant. Sparkling with tears, her eyelashes were like leaves after a summer shower. For the last time they shone with the sunshine of pure love.
“I wish Lucian could have seen me like this!” she said with a smothered sigh. “Now,” she added in a strident tone, “now for a crazy fling!”
Eugenie was shocked at the words, as though she had heard an angel blaspheme.
When the banker arrived, Esther was ready. She had dressed to please. Over a pair of tight designer jeans, she wore a baby-doll top, cut low at the front. She ran her fingers through his thinning hair and said, “I’ll do my best to please you tonight.”
“You make it sound like hard work,” said Fred sadly.
“You want to win my heart? Well, I’ll tell you how to do it.”
“Tell me – there’s nothing I won’t do for you.”
“Be young, be handsome, be like Lucian, and you shall have for free what your millions can never buy!”
“I’m going!” said the banker, with a lengthened face. “That’s just too bad of you!”
“OK, goodnight then,” said Esther. “You’d better go straight to bed because you’re looking your age this evening.”
The banker stood up and had got as far as the door when Eugenie caught up with him and whispered in his ear, “She’ll forget that young man soon enough when she sees her new apartment.”
Then she turned and made a sign to Esther. Esther knew what she meant. Behave better, or she would report to Carl – and after all, thought Esther, it’s all for Lucian. I must be brave.
“Come here, Fred,” said Esther, in a softer tone.
The banker came over to her with dog-like devotion.
“Take me to my new apartment and we’ll spend the night there. I’ll do anything – anything you want,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek, and just to make sure, she added (though she had no intention of doing it), “I’ll give you 69.”
“Fantastic!” said Fred, “I’d listen to such abuse all day for an ending like that!”
Esther pretended to be thrilled at her new apartment, but it’s refinements were lost on her. She knew it would cost her dear enough – in fact, she had already made up her mind what that price must be – but she must make certain it was not for nothing.
“The deeds...” she said.
“I will sign them over to you in the morning,” said the banker, a little of his harder, business-self coming into play.
“Sign them now, and I promise you, you will be too tired to lift a finger in the morning,” she said, kissing him, and allowing her baby doll top to fall open.
Fred was mesmerised. In a kind of trance, and thinking of the promised 69, he signed the document, almost salivating as she slipped out of the rest of her clothes. He could hardly believe it was happening – and not before time.
Martyrs have gone to the lions with more enthusiasm than Esther went to the banker’s bed. And then she just lay like a corpse taking no notice of his embarrassing fumblings. He heaved, he sweated, he grunted, and in minutes it was over. Fred lay panting beside her promising himself that he would do better next time.
Like a zombie, and without once looking at him, Esther rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. After a few moments, Fred heard the splashing of the shower – it seemed to go on and on for ages.
After a long time, Fred decided he had better investigate. The door was locked. He called.
“Esther!”
No answer. He called again, then fearing she might have slipped and had an accident, he heaved his not inconsiderable bulk against the door and burst it open.
Esther was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She had slashed her wrists.
© Bangkok Byron, 2007. All rights reserved by the author.
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