******067:

Rafe

I felt a kind of rage inside, smoking and seething its way into my blood--- a rage I'd never felt before. It encompassed Madonna--- the boy--- myself--- her father--- John--- everybody in that room.

My eyes met and held Madonna's, long--- piercingly. Hers were just as cold and angry. I bit my lip---

"Besarion--- Pietro, please leave this room. What I have to say, I will say to Madonna privately." My voice was more controlled than I felt inside--- I felt like I weighed as much as the whole building, and that my limbs were weighted down.

First: I don't lie. I never have. I don't care enough what others think to lie about things. I don't apologize for who and what I am--- not to anybody.

Second: I don't get caught.

And this situation--- is fraught with me getting trapped and caught a dozen times over. The feeling was beyond comprehension. I seriously needed a moment to decide how I was going to behave.

I had no idea what to say to Madonna privately.

I steepled my fingers over my chest as the two in question exited after my wife--- if she was still my wife after this fiasco. God, how could she not be? She was my soul, my heart--- I would die without her. She was just surprised that I'd lied. Maybe as surprised as I was.

As soon as they were gone all the lawyers in the room ruffled their papers. I took a very deep breath.

There was no use reiterating for anyone that the meeting a month ago in New York--- the run into the old friend meeting we'd had had obviously been contrived.

"Rafe, before you say anything." John held up his hands. "My agency has turned up plenty of information you should be aware of, and since Madonna Darajan is not above sharing personal secrets to get her point across I will be blunt."

"Please do." I said, but I already knew what he had dug up. It was why she'd looked me up to begin with. Not that I knew that then--- a month ago in New York.

"Madonna Darajan is currently unemployed. She's been privately released as one of the Elite Forum's ambassadors due to drug use and blatant contract violation--- public displays of another agency's projects among others. Her net worth is less than poverty level in the US and she has declared bankruptcy. She is unable to meet her obligations and is being sued for fraud."

I already knew all this. She'd told me the night in New York--- the night before the fateful concert when I'd been so freaking sick. We'd run into each other in the hotel--- isn't that where you run into people?--- and then gone for coffee--- in my case, herbal tea--- after my meeting, just to catch up on old times.

And we'd had some old times.

We'd dated for over a year. The longest of any of my super models.

She'd asked for a loan--- and I'd promised it to her. That night, before I knew about the kid, or her plans. Now I knew she didn't really want a loan--- she wanted to take me for everything I had. She knew my temper, she knew what would happen if she forced this.

But I was a changed man. I had a beautiful and very hurt wife out there who I longed to go to. I really did. I had to make her see---and forgive me.

That kiss. Madonna's last ditch effort. She'd made the pass--- and I'd initially responded--- in my defense--- I was used to kissing a lot of super models before I met Aubrey, and this almost seemed like time collided, and I forgot where and who and when I was. Her touch had been familiar and--- yeah--- it was kind of who I had been. That side of me got confused when Madonna had kissed me.

How had she collected DNA? Didn't there have to be some kind of swab?

It had been a pretty forceful kiss for the moment. We hadn't seen each other except casually and at a distance for years.

My eyes refocused on her now. She looked haggard under the make-up--- too skinny, not vibrant. I could see this minute, what I'd been trying not to see before. How bad off she was.

I suddenly knew why she'd brought her dad too--- because she expected a fight. She thought I was going to incriminate myself. Then she'd have grounds to go after me--- for assault, or battery or slander or something. She could cause a scene, get the police involved.

Because--- once---

I had been that guy.

I had a flashy violent temper---I was moody and unrepentant. I was a smart ass--- God, was I a smart ass! I'd kicked things, torn up a hotel room in my day, crashed a car deliberately, slashed tires. I was --- not recently--- but had been in my youth--- a playboy, womanizer, bad ass.

But I'd changed, long before I met Aubrey. I had gotten help--- counseling, quite a bit of it, and therapy for my ADHD, meds. I found healthy outlets---

I looked at Madonna---

She had obviously chosen a different route.

She expected me to fight her. She wanted it.

That was what she hoped for.

I stood up.

"John, I did meet with her, I'll get you the exact dates. She did kiss me—and I did respond. It was in December--- right before Aubrey and I left on the cruise, the night before the concert. It wasn't exactly a meeting, except I ran into her in the hotel and then agreed to have coffee with her later. I shouldn't have, but she seemed pretty desperate. I did know she wanted money, and I had initially agreed to loan her some, but then I got to thinking and decided against it--- I don't loan money that way--- to friends, or old friends, whatever. I told her this over the phone about a week after we met. She's been pestering me ever since. But she must have cooked this up even before, to be ready to somehow get the DNA---- ahhhh.... She didn't get it from kissing me, that was the distraction. She took a hair sample."

I looked over at her. "That's illegal."

She smiled. "But also permissible in court."

"Not in the US." I stood up. "I will not consent to a paternity test. He's not my kid. I will not be forced this way. Your methods are bogus. If he really was my kid you could have just told me, not tried to steal DNA from me."

I stood and shook down my suit pants, shook my head and glared at Madonna's lawyers.

"Do you want me to pursue this?" John asked, holding up the file.

I jerked my head at him, to indicate meeting him in private. Madonna began to rattle in Russian and I closed my eyes, trying for a calm I did not feel inside. I was used to punching things when I felt this angry. Usually a punching bag, or pounding my feet against the pavement, or brutally forcing P90X down my own throat. I wasn't used to being manipulated, or tricked.

I ignored her and met John in the lobby. "I have to find Aubrey."

"Yes, I agree. But do you want me to pursue this? I highly recommend it, seeing as she has gone to this trouble illegally, she can actually get a court order to do a paternity test. It will be easier if I follow up. Here, come in this office."

It wasn't exactly an office, but a smaller room. Here his researchers were seated at a long table, with files, cabinets and computers. They all looked up as we entered disturbing them immeasurably, I was sure. He went to a floor to ceiling cupboard.

"Our lab uses AABB. It's legal, it's simple." He handed me the test kit. It really looked like a Q-Tip with a plastic baggie. What I'd always pictured.

"Just to be on the safe side."

"What safe side? I was already on the safe side and so was she. There is no possible way."

"You gave me the dates of your affair with her. I will check these against----."

I popped the Q-tip in my mouth and swabbed but good. Didn't want to have to do this twice. I started recalling famous people who'd been called into court recently, Michael Jordan, Kourtney Kardashian with that millionaire----what was his name? Eddie Murphy, Steve Jobs.... Shit. I did not want or need this. I was changing my image—this was a piece of my past.

I guess---

Who really did?

Not to mention if the kid was mine--- I'd just missed twelve years of his life. I would never forgive her for that. We had been far too open for her to trick me and keep me in the dark this way. I felt completely duped and betrayed.

I handed the sealed baggie to John and his eyes were compassionate, but he knew better than to say anything. So did anyone else in this room.

I left quickly.

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