Karma (5 page)

Michael
Thompson was a nerd.

During
his awkward teenage years he was short and weedy, with a full head of dark
messy hair and thick, dark-rimmed glasses. He had been an avid techno nerd with
an idealistic heart. Mike had seen every Star Trek episode dozens of times,
read fantasy and science fiction, and played fantasy games with his friends (generally
on-line). He avidly read magazines including 'Engineering Today,' 'Scientific
America' and 'Wired.'

When
he hit seventeen, he shot up to six feet one inch, but remained skinny, nerdy
and dateless. He saved his money from an after school job and received laser
surgery, making his vision 20/20 without glasses. The only sport he enjoyed was
fishing, something he and his father did together.

His
nagging cousin, Anthony, not wanting to go alone, made him attend swimming,
tumbling and diving instruction. For over a year Mike threw himself into these
sports, dreaming of competing in the World Aquatic Championships.

He
started too little too late, but that was okay. Instead of swimming and diving
medals he created a strong masculine physique. Finally, when he turned
eighteen, he managed to discover girls – or at least they discovered him.

Mike's
problem with girls was that to him, love and romance was all tangled up with
the sexual act. Casual sex made him uncomfortable. A born romantic, Mike wanted
to "make love" rather than just "bang her" or "tap
that" as the boys in P.E. would say in the locker room.

Mike
was a loner on the subject and unpopular, but he preferred it that way.

An
army recruitment officer had found him when he was trying to work out what he
wanted to be when he grew up. With his technical skills, he was recruited for army
intelligence. There he worked with other nerds as they eavesdropped on the
entire radio spectrum and interpreted it in real time. This included broadcast
radio, television, military traffic, radar emissions, and even microwaved
telephone and telegraph traffic, including satellite information.

Mike
was good at his job because technology fascinated him, and his avid interest
only aided his advancement. He stayed with the army for ten years, traveling
the world while installing and maintaining a variety of surveillance systems.

He
had loved his job, but he missed his parents, two younger brothers and sister,
not to mention his other relations. Mike was a family man and wanted a family
of his own.

Not
long after Mike left the army and set up his own business installing and
maintaining security systems, he met and married Barbara. They put off having
children, preferring to get their debts and his business in order first. This was
a mistake, as she became terminally ill and passed away. Barbara had been gone
for over two years, and had been sick for a year before that.

Now
Mike was alone with nothing to show for their love except for memories and
photographs.

At
thirty-nine years old, Michael Thompson was still a nerd. No longer socially
inept, he had the sleek, muscular build of a competitive swimmer. While not totally
bald, Mike lost a lot of hair on his head. This only seemed to make him more attractive
to the opposite sex.

The
embarrassing fact was that Mike Thompson looked exactly like Jason Statham, the
tall, tough English guy in 'The Transporter' movies. Mike amused his friends
now by putting on a gravelly English accent and saying in a deep voice things like
:
"Rule number one. Never change the
deal."

His
business had prospered so well that now he only contracted to André Chevalier
and one casino. He kept up to date technically, and still loved his work. But
what was the point? Wasn't it ironic that with all the time and financial
security he wanted for a family, now he had no family to enjoy it with?

André
called Mike in to background check and evaluate a woman that he planned to
place on his household staff. This was a first. Why now? And why this woman,
Mike wondered?

Explaining
the unusual circumstances, André spoke of Marcy Paget's struggle with her
conscience and the decision not to steal. He wanted Mike to "take the time
he needed" and to "interview her most properly." Mike was
further admonished to "show her respect" and to "be particularly
kind to her" because "I like this woman."

Mike
laughed at that because as far as he could tell, André liked every woman he had
ever met. The cheerful Frenchman also found no difficulty in having sex with all
of them, too. André really
knew
women mentally, emotionally and in the
biblical sense.

"
Mon
ami
," André assured him. "You will like her, too."

"Oh?"

"
Mais
oui
,
je suis désolé,"
he said sorrowfully.
"S
he has informed me
more than once that she does not date. Perhaps you should guard your heart.
Unless you wish to try your luck to make her change her mind?"

This
suggestion was no surprise. André was always advising him to find another
woman, ever since Barbara's death. "It is not good for you to be
alone," André frequently admonished him in a disapproving tone. This
censorious attitude was mainly because Mike also turned down casual sex.

Mike
tried a brief sexual encounter only once since Barbara's death. The momentary
pleasure of a one-night-stand just wasn't worth it. Somehow it just didn't seem
right.

Masturbating
was a given – he was a fit and healthy man after all. When he jacked himself off,
he often thought of Barbara as she was, before she got sick. Mike recalled all
the fun they had in bed together, their laughter and how close they'd been.
This always made him hard, and gave his body relief. Yet afterwards he
remembered that she was gone and he was left in a melancholy mood.

Mike
enjoyed his own company and at one time was happy enough to be on his own. It
wasn't until after Barbara passed that he discovered the aching solitude of
loneliness. Why had they put off having children? That was a regret that he
would always have.

After
her death he had gone through the normal stages of grief: denial, anger,
bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. It had been an incredibly
difficult road. The black empty void of depression had been the hardest, when
he had to find a reason to get up every day. Then came a period of sadness that
never seemed to go away. He worked fifteen hours a day to keep himself
occupied.

He
had fallen into a dark hole. It took time and all his effort to climb back out
again.

His
parents, sister, brothers and their families had been there for him. As much as
possible they understood. For them he would pretend, maintaining the face and
conversation of a man with his shit together.

Eventually
came a point where he would go hours, then days without becoming crushed at the
thought of Barbara. There were times when he imagined that he had recovered.
Yet simply finding a recipe in her handwriting, or a sweater she had knitted could
make him break down completely.

He
was even past that now.

Barbara's
picture sat on his bedside table, and while he had regrets, he remembered how
lucky he had been with her. Uncovering something that reminded him of Barbara
now no longer hurt. It only brought back sweet and poignant memories of the
woman he had loved.

Mike
would be more than happy to oblige André Chevalier and find someone. His
friends set him up with women, and he even put his name down on an internet
dating site. As a result he went out on a large number of first dates that were
as unsatisfying to him as to the women involved.

There
was just no spark.

Whatever
spark he did have seemed to have died with his wife. Mike was pretty certain
that True Love, like lightning, only struck once in a lifetime.

He
already had his chance and would have no other. Mike Thompson had been lucky in
love with his wife, Barbara. Mike went on thinking that, right until he walked
into André's library where he saw Marcy Paget.

Just
then his heart stumbled with wishful anticipation, shock and surprise.

Because
from the first moment he saw her, Mike Thompson considered that he might actually
be wrong about lightning striking twice.

The
door opened soundlessly and the thick carpet camouflaged the sound of his
footsteps.

The
woman had her back to him as she was studying the wall of leather bound, and no
doubt incomprehensible, French books. Her brunette hair came down just lower
than her shoulders, thick as a lion's mane.
God.
It had an enticing wave
and a healthy shine. It was so vibrant… so alive!

Mike
stifled an unexpected impulse to walk over and run his fingers through it.

Her
dress was cream colored, covered by dark and deeply feminine blue lace. It was
short sleeved, and it was pulled close at the waist with a thin red belt.

Mike's
first impression was of wonderful vitality and health. Marcy Paget was curvy, soft
and voluptuous. This fact instantly attracted him. His wife, Barbara, had been
far too thin for the last years of her life. Thin equals sick - that was his
mental association. This woman was not super skinny. Not in the least.

Death
from an incurable illness was not in her near future. This woman ate, was clearly
able to keep her food down, and was therefore physically well.

A
tension in his body that he had been unaware of, suddenly relaxed.

"Marcy
Paget?" he asked.

The
woman turned and stared at him, frozen to absolute stillness for a moment. Her
features were angular, her nose far too long for her face… but her eyes. Mike
took a deep breath as his heart skipped, taking an extra beat.
Those eyes.
Surrounded by dark lashes, they were striking. Why did that honey-brown color
look so sweet and womanly?

He
blinked with an unexpected internal vision. Those beautiful eyes, dazed with
pleasure, looking up at him. Her body under his, his hands upon her, her soft
lips moaning… begging for more.

What
the hell?

He
cleared his throat and banished the image, returning to the present. "I'm
Mike Thompson," he said in a formal manner. "I work security for Mr.
Chevalier and need to ask you a few questions."

Her
honey eyes took him in, lighting up with astonished good humor. The sudden
enchanting smile that animated her face was unbelievable. Mike felt as if he
had been sucker-punched - or more like stabbed in the chest. Her open smile
pierced his heart so completely.

"Oh.
My. God!" she said, putting a hand to her heart. Then she began to laugh.
It wasn't just any sort of laugh. It was a full throated, "stop tickling
me or I am simply going to die" kind of belly laugh. As she stood there,
holding her stomach, bent almost double, grinning and laughing, Mike began to
laugh, too.

"Jesus,"
she gasped. "Mr. Chevalier warned me that you looked like a movie star. I
had no idea what he was talking about. I just thought he was just giving me a heads
up, letting me know that you were unnaturally handsome. I didn't think that you
would look like a
particular
movie star!"

The
woman roared hysterically, tears coming into her eyes. "You poor thing! Honestly,
I swear to God you could be twins. How in the world do you go through life
looking exactly like Jason Statham?" She reached into her bag, took out a
tissue and wiped her eyes. "People must ask for your autograph all the
time," she added, having finally caught her breath.

"Actually,
it isn’t too bad," he said. "I did grow the Van Dyke." He
pointed to his facial hair. "You know the moustache and goatee. That
helped. You seemed to see right through it however."

"Is
that what it's called? A Van Dyke?"

"Yeah,"
he trailed a thumb and forefinger over his moustache, and then ran them over
the short trimmed stubble of his goatee. "If they aren't connected then
it's called a Van Dyke." Unusually comfortable in her presence, he modeled
it for her in a silly fashion, turning this way and that. "Do you like
it?"

"It
looks great," she giggled with her hand over her mouth again. "Honestly.
I just have to get over the Jason Statham bit. I mean really. "With
narrowed eyes she studied him intently. "I see you and I can't help… well,
mainly I think of 'The Transporter' movies. With the white shirt, dark slacks
and tie, you're dressed like him, too."

Mike
cleared his throat, making his voice as gravelly as possible. Straight-faced
and deadpan he said with an affected English accent, "Rule number one,
'Never change the deal.' Rule number two, 'No names' and Rule number three
'Never open the package.'"

Marcy,
as intended, totally lost it.

Jesus
could that woman crack up or what? Mike found his own chest shaking hard as he was
laughing uproariously again, just by watching her uninhibitedly laugh. Talk about
an ice breaker. For the first time that he could remember, Mike was honestly
glad that he looked like the famous movie star.

When
they both caught their breath, he motioned her to the dark leather sofa. Marcy was
still giggling as they both sat down. "Did you manage to fill out your
forms?" he asked.

"Oh,
yes," she said and pulled the paperwork from her handbag, passing them to
him. As she bent toward him he caught her subtle scent. Vanilla? Sandalwood
perhaps? It made something low in his belly tighten.

Jesus.
Why was he so damn attracted to this woman?

He
took the papers and as he did so his hand made contact with hers. An electric
zing zapped his skin. Sensual heat flowed through him, just from that one touch.
Wow.

Mike
studied her for a moment, to see if she was aware of his reaction. Marcy Paget
met his gaze guilelessly, still wearing that delicious grin.
Holy shit.
Her lips were soft and pink and full. Mike became aware of an overwhelming
impulse to kiss her. His cock immediately stiffened, becoming painfully hard.

Get
a grip, Thompson,
he told himself.

His
throat was thick, so he cleared it, and took a cursory look through the
documents. "This is what I am going to do," he said. "I'll read
through this, and ask any questions that may come up as I go. Sound okay to
you?"

"Sure."

Mike
brought out a pen and they began. The basic questions of schooling, place of
birth and such were easy. André told him what he knew of her financial issues
with her ex, and her daughter. Her background check aligned with her statements
on the form. Getting through the paperwork was straightforward. As far as he
could tell, Marcy was an average girl with a fairly typical American
upbringing.

"Alright,
here we are," Mike said pulling out a sheet of paper. "This
non-disclosure form, did you read it?"

"Oh,
yes. It was pretty comprehensive."

"Any
questions?"

She
shrugged. "Not really. I can't imagine what I would want to disclose to
anyone. I suppose famous or important people come here all the time? André is a
relationship counselor, right?"

Mike
smiled. "He certainly is."

"Well
I won’t know any secrets anyway. I mean, how would I?"

"We'll
go into the details later today," he reassured her, handing her his pen
and putting the paperwork on a clipboard. "For now, you sign and I'll
witness."

Marcy
Paget had a financial millstone to the tune of $45,000 around her neck. The
debt was to Spring Valley Medical Hospital, and she was paying a small amount
of that debt off weekly. When Mike asked her about it, Marcy explained how her
mother died a year ago, but needed extensive treatment before she passed.

"I'm
so sorry for your loss," he said. The words sounded empty, yet there was
real compassion in them. Mike's own grief always seemed close to the surface.

"Thank
you," Marcy said. "I was lucky to have her as long as I did. She was
the best mother in the whole world."

"So
now… you have no one?" Mike asked, aware that her father died a few years
before. That knowledge hurt, creating a strange ache in his chest. He considered
his own parents and siblings, nieces and nephews. Crazy as they could be at
times, he loved them. What was the point of it all without family? How did this
woman manage on her own?

Marcy
beamed a large genuine smile in response to his question, and this surprised
him.

"Oh,
no," Marcy said. "I have a beautiful seven year old daughter who is a
fantastic kid. I'm really lucky. And honestly I've been so busy that I haven’t
had time for anything except work and Katie. But my best friend moved to L.A.,
hoping to get into the movie business, so I guess you could say that I am on my
own."

Mike's
admiration for her cheerful attitude grew. Now he understood André's
inexplicable desire to hire this unknown woman. André, intuitive as he was, would
have recognized her not just her honesty but her indomitable spirit. No wonder
he wanted to keep her.

Mike
stared at her for a long moment, captured by her vivacious personality, "How
did your mother die, if you don’t mind me asking?"

"Breast
cancer."

Mike
stiffened, frozen to instant stillness. For a second, or a minute, the whole
world stopped. All movement and sound in the room faded into a buzz of white
noise. Jumping to his feet abruptly, Mike gradually became aware that he was
frowning.

"Are
you okay?" Marcy asked with a concerned expression in her eyes.

He
forced a smile. "Yes," he said in a low voice. "Tell
me…you," he cleared his throat, "you get regular mammograms
right?"

"I
had one two years ago when I first found out that my mom was sick," she
said.

"If
your mother died of breast cancer, you should have them yearly," he said.
His strict tone made his admonition sound like a parent's scolding, and he
reined himself in. A confused and uncertain furrow formed between Marcy's
brows. "André is paying for your medical now, so be sure to arrange for another
one," he added, forcing himself to speak in a more composed voice.

He
took a deep breath, recovering from the unexpected panic at the thought of her
dying. What was that about?

Without
thinking, Mike pulled her to her feet. Her eyes widened in surprise when he
grabbed her hands, but he ignored her response. Adrenaline was still pulsing
through his veins. Just now he had to get away.

"C'mon,
I'll take you to lunch. It's a beautiful day and the rest of this interview deals
with us chatting about a few things. I think we need to get out of here."