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  Robbie’s Scheme

  Copyright © 2021 Justin Haines

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher or author.

  ISBN: 9798584017293

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  First printing edition 2021.

  Thank you to Victoria, Norm, and Gisele for always supporting and believing in me.

  “There is so much wealth and so much misery at the same time, that it seems incredible that people can endure such class difference and accept such a form of hunger while on the other hand, the millionaires throw away millions on stupidities.”

  - Frida Kahlo

  Chapter One

  “Looks like I’m not the only one looking for an escape.”

  The voice catches Maya by surprise. She left the evening’s charity gala nearly an hour ago to wander the museum and admire its many exhibits. She supports the evening’s cause, combating poverty in the State of New York, but she’s only here because her boss ordered it. Tired of the boring series of speeches from donors and small talk with colleagues, she’s been enjoying her solo tour.

  Now, she turns away from the dinosaur exhibit to look at the approaching stranger who’s interrupting her solitude. He appears to be another guest at the charity gala, though he’s wearing a tuxedo far more expensive than Maya’s dress, a dress that she can’t even afford — the tag still attached, tucked underneath the fabric.

  He, on the other hand, has an unrealistic tan for late October in New York City, perfectly whitened teeth, and an immaculately sculpted hairstyle. Maya can’t help but think everything about him looks perfect, a little too good to be true. As he approaches, he flashes her another smile with those pearly whites before taking a sip from his scotch glass, no doubt filed with something more expensive than what tonight’s open bar is serving everyone else.

  She chooses not to respond to his statement and returns her attention to the fossil exhibit she’s been admiring.

  “What’s the matter,” he continues, “don’t enjoy

  eating with a giant whale dangling overhead?”

  “I just needed a moment to myself,” Maya says. “To catch my breath.”

  “Ah, so I’m intruding then.”

  Maya takes a sip from her glass of champagne and lets her silence speak for itself. It’s still her first glass of the evening since she’s technically working. Savoring the sip on her tongue, she puts it back on the railing surrounding the exhibit. It presents far too great of a temptation to drink when she holds it in her hand.

  “You don’t look content with the evening’s festivities,” he says as he takes a place beside her, admiring the dinosaur bones. Placing his scotch glass on the railing beside Maya’s, he mimics her pose looking at the dinosaur. “But at least this, away from the pompous gala, is beautiful. It’s amazing that such beauty can still survive in this cold, cruel world. Don’t you agree?”

  “We’re looking at a fossil, it’s hardly surviving.”

  “I was talking about you,” he says as he turns from the dinosaur to face Maya.

  She blushes as he continues to flash his pearly whites at her. She can feel his dark blue eyes on her skin even though she isn’t turning to face him. Flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder, she tries to smile. Feeling awkward, she doesn’t know what to say in response.

  Mercifully, he fills the silence for her. “That dress looks amazing on you.”

  “Thanks,” Maya continues to blush. “This is the first time I’ve ever worn it.”

  “Well, it certainly shouldn’t be the last.” He leans forward to grab his glass and takes another sip while Maya worries her cheeks are turning redder than her dress. “So tell me, why wander so far from the rest of the gala? Are you disillusioned with the fight for income equality and the battle against poverty? Are they risking next year’s donation from you?”

  “Oh, my goodness, no. I could never afford to buy a table here.” She opens her clutch and flashes a press badge to the stranger. “I’m a reporter with the New York Star.”

  “Ah, dare I ask how I’ll fare in tomorrow’s style section? Like you, this is the first time I’ve worn this ensemble. Unlike you, I fear I’m not pulling it off nearly as well.”

  Maya finally turns to face him. “I’m not one of the style and events columnists covering the gala. I’m a political reporter. I’m following Senator Redman’s presidential campaign, and he’s here giving a speech tonight.”

  “My apologies,” he says as he does a mock bow in front of her. “I never meant to insult your intelligence or drive.”

  She waves her hand to dismiss his concerns. “Don’t worry, no insult taken. Those style section reporters are equally driven and more ruthless than politics. You wouldn’t want to cross them, they’re scarier than that whale in the air.” Maya looks up and down the man in front of her, exaggerating her head movements and facial expressions to make the up-down obvious. “You’re just lucky they’re not here to comment on your looks.”

  “Wow, that stings. I made sure to visit my barber this afternoon in preparation for tonight.”

  “Your hair looks fine,” Maya does her best to say in a tone that sounds unimpressed. “But you should spend less time in the tanning bed. Besides, the style section would be focusing more on your suit.”

  Maya has no idea how the style section would feel about his suit, but considering the obvious expense it required, everyone should love it. She also likes his tan and teeth, both stopping just shy of going too far. But it’s more fun to tease him than flatter his ego.

  “Ouch. Okay, I’ll take your word for it and hope it’s never an experience I suffer. This is enough of a beating for my self-esteem.”

  “I’m sure you’ll survive,” Maya says as she winks, wanting to let him know she doesn’t mean any harm. “You’ll have plenty more opportunities to go out hunting whales instead of risking your life eating below one.”

  He pouts his lip and turns back to the dinosaur, away from her. It’s his turn to play up a reaction, but Maya isn’t worried about his feelings actually being hurt, and she doesn’t bother to say anything more. She’s content to look at the museum’s exhibits, as she’d been doing before his appearance.

  “So, what should we be expecting to hear from Senator Redman tonight? Any new initiatives in the battle against poverty?”

  “Please,” Maya sighs. “This country wages war on poor people, not against poverty. Whatever Redman’s saying tonight will be empty words, no actions will follow.”

  She notices the surprised look on the stranger’s face and realizes she shouldn’t have said anything — she has no idea who she’s talking to. She prides herself on maintaining an impartial public persona and knows that would vanish if readers heard her disparaging a candidate she’s covering. Thankfully, she hasn’t told this stranger her name.

  “Are you against equality?”

  “No,” Maya shakes her head, wanting to hold her ground. “I’m all for the redistribution of wealth. But I recognize it’s a pipe dream. The rich will never consent, they don’t play by the same rules as the rest of us. I’ve covered too many politicians to believe it’ll ever happen.”

  “You�
��re too young to be this cynical. I don’t believe there’s any real difference in the sets of rules everyone plays by. And if there is, events like this are closing that gap.”

  “And you’re too old to be this naive or optimistic. By the way, those are synonyms as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Ouch,” he says as he mimes being shot and stumbles backward. “Why do you insist on hurting me? I think we’re around the same age.”

  “It’s hard to tell how old rich people like you are, with the Botox and everything. You clearly belong in that room.”

  “I’m not in that room, I’m out here with you. Who says I didn’t also need a break from all the optimism?”

  Maya notices he doesn’t deny being rich. “You left because you don’t want your death certificate to read ‘falling whale.’”

  “I think you’re being too harsh. Look at this gala full of Wall Street titans who are happy to pledge their bonuses to charities and supporting change.”

  “Sure, they use part of their bonuses to buy some goodwill and tax deductions. Then they take the rest to Las Vegas and gamble it away. You might not like sitting under a whale, but I hate sitting surrounded by them. And with the price to buy a table at tonight’s poverty gala, everyone in that room is a whale pretending to be a dolphin.”

  “I think this event does some good. You know, it raises quite a bit of money.”

  “Of course, they can’t cover their expenses without raising money. These people are donating so the charity can keep affording to rent out a museum for their galas, hire the fanciest caterers in New York City, and pay all of their staff. The charity probably employs a bunch of Wall Street housewives so their husbands will show up to these events. Don’t forget, this thing has an open bar. The Wall Street guys are all breaking even on the price of admission by poisoning their livers tonight.”

  Together, they stand in silence for several minutes, both facing the dinosaur exhibit without turning to look at the other or say a word. They both have their own beliefs concerning the benefits of evenings like this and they aren’t likely to talk the other onto their side.

  Eventually, Maya realizes he has no plans of leaving her alone with her thoughts and the exhibit, so she decides to return to the gala. Besides, her editor will blow a gasket if he finds out she was alone and away from the other reporters and the politicians for so long.

  “Would you like to accompany me back to the open bar for a drink?” Maya asks, deciding that she doesn’t mind this stranger’s company. He’s good-looking and competent enough to carry a conversation, making him better than so many of the other pompous wannabe philanthropists putting on airs out in the gala’s main dining room. “We can guzzle the money away from the poor together.”

  “Are we sure it’s safe to drink underneath a whale suspended by shockingly thin wires?”

  Maya’s no longer sure if he’s joking about the whale or has a legitimate phobia. He notices the quizzical look in her eye, trying to decipher his puzzle, and reaches his arm out for her to take as an invitation.

  “I’d love to accompany you,” he says. “I’ve always wondered if the stories about the alcohol tolerance of political journalists are true. You must show me.”

  “Are you trying to get me drunk, sir?” Maya asks teasingly.

  “Well, from what I’ve heard, that isn’t possible.”

  “Let’s find out,” she says as she places her hand on his outstretched arm and walks with him back toward the sound of the gala.

  Walking back through the museum together, they comment on each exhibit they pass. Maya finds the amount of distance she covered in the past hour surprising; she clearly wanted to leave the gala behind. She also wonders how he found her so far from everyone else. Was he also trying to avoid the crowd of snobs and take a solo tour of the museum?

  “Are you a martini or cosmopolitan girl?” he asks as they approach the bar.

  The question drags Maya away from her thoughts and back to the present. She smiles at him and steps past to grab the bartender’s attention.

  “I’ll have a scotch, neat, please,” Maya says. “And my friend here will have an appletini?”

  “Make that two scotches,” he says as he steps up to join her at the bar. He points to his current almost empty glass and the bartender nods before leaving to fetch the exclusive bottle they’re drinking from. “Point taken. I need to stop assuming with you.”

  Maya nods and looks around the room, again feeling uncomfortable with the wealth and power surrounding her. She loves her job as a journalist but prefers to cover it from afar, self-conscious when she’s pressed to mingle and socialize with her subjects. Her out-of-budget dress for the night is clearly one of the cheapest dresses in the room. Still, she looks good and is turning a few heads, much to the chagrin of their expensively dressed companions. As usual, she’ll be full of sadness when she returns the dress to the store tomorrow.

  The bartender returns with a bottle Maya doesn’t recognize and serves them a pair of drinks. She immediately takes a big gulp hoping the scotch will help settle her nerves. The liquid that meets her lips is delicious, far smoother than any of the bottles back home in her apartment. She takes another slow sip as she relishes the burn at the back of her throat.

  Rather than having another drink, Maya knows she should be heading back to the press area and preparing for Senator Redman’s speech, but she doesn’t enjoy the thought of working her way across the room again. She can feel the women’s eyes on her, judging the dress that cost her more than a month’s salary but seems cheap to them.

  “If Moby Dick shows up with his harpoon, we’re all toast,” he says, dragging her attention back to the bar. “That thing will come crashing down on us.”

  It takes her a second to realize he’s still harping on about the whale overhead.

  “You mean Ahab,” Maya laughs. “Moby Dick is the whale. He’s already here.”

  “The whale’s already here?”

  Maya doesn’t answer. Instead, she points to the ceiling, reminding him what’s dangling precariously above their heads.

  “Forgive me,” he says as he takes another sip of scotch. “It’s been a while since I’ve read the SparkNotes version.”

  “I believe you talk about books without ever having read them. I’m scared to ask what the last book you read was.”

  Both sip on their drinks and an awkward silence settles on them. Thinking about returning to the press section, she decides there are worse ways to spend the night than listening to his terrible taste in literature.

  “You know what, let’s rip it off like a band-aid. What’s your favorite book? And just so you know, answering with anything from Ayn Rand is justification for me throwing a drink in your face.”

  “Does it have to be fiction? I mostly read non-fiction books.”

  Maya rolls her eyes but continues to stare at him. She expects a better answer than that, though it’s not worse than Ayn Rand would be.

  “Robbie,” a man shouts as he approaches the bar.

  They both turn in the direction of the voice. Maya notices he’s also wearing an expensive tuxedo and appears to have spent more time on his hair than most of the women at the gala.

  “Oh boy.”

  “Is this for you?” Maya asks. “Robbie?”

  “Robbie,” the man repeats as he reaches the bar and takes the scotch glass out of her companion’s hand. “It’s almost time, Senator Redman’s about to start speaking.”

  “Oh, shoot,” Maya says as she places her scotch glass back on the bar. “I have to run. It was nice meeting you, Robbie.”

  Maya rushes across the room in preparation for Senator Redman’s speech. It would be a much easier task if so many of the women in attendance didn’t insist on blocking her path and forcing her to maneuver around them. As she finally finds her seat, Maya pulls her phone out of her clutch to make sure it’s ready to record whatever Senator Redman’s planning to say.

  “Thank you all for coming this
evening and showing your support for this important cause,” Senator Redman says as he takes the podium on the stage.

  He delivers a fairly long but empty speech, filled with many of the usual political talking points but devoid of actual substance.

  It’s easy for Maya to understand why he’s fallen to second place in the primary. His opponents aren’t attending Wall Street charity galas. They’re actually out in the streets, campaigning and fighting poverty.

  Maya fights to stay awake throughout the speech. Her editor is wrong, as usual. There’s no important story to cover here.

  Thankfully, Senator Redman is only the guest of honor, and he’s not delivering the night’s main speech. Maya feels a rush of relief as Senator Redman begins wrapping up his remarks, grateful she’s survived his tedious spiel.

  “And now, if you’ll all join me in welcoming our host to the stage,” Senator Redman announces from the podium, “Robert Locke.”

  In amazement, Maya watches as her earlier bar companion struts across the stage and shakes hands with Senator Redman. He waves for the crowd to sit back down and stop their applause; easy for Maya to do as she practically collapses into her chair from shock.

  “I want to start by thanking you all for coming this evening,” Robbie says from the podium. “I know we have a lot of whales in this room who could be wasting their money in Vegas tonight, so I appreciate you coming here to help me combat poverty instead.”

  The crowd lets out a small laugh at the opening joke as Maya feels her chest tightening. She’s racking her brain, trying to remember what else she said to this man.

  “I hope you’re enjoying the open bar. I’m sure some of you are trying to break even while you guzzle the money away from the poor.”

  Oh right, that.

  “If your spouse gives you a hard time, remind them your drinking is earning a tax credit tonight.”

  Maya feels her cheeks turning red. Her paranoia tells her Robbie is looking at her from the stage, but she keeps repeating to herself that it’s a crazy thought — how could he know where she’s sitting?