MRS. MCCRACKEN AND Mrs. Bolton, both wealthy widows, lived in the most expensive condo in Las Vegas. Mrs. McCracken’s first name was Elizabeth, shortened years ago to Liz. Mrs. Bolton’s first name was Vera, which did not need to be shortened. They were discussing the four young men-young to them-who lived in the largest and most expensive condo in the complex.
Vera asked, “What on earth makes you think that they’re gay?”
Liz replied thoughtfully, “Well, you have to admit, four handsome men living together is a bit unusual.”
“Perhaps unusual, but not indicative. How old would you say they are?”
Liz put her index finger to her lips, contemplating, “Well, they all look like they might be somewhere around thirty-five.”
Vera agreed, “That’s what I thought too. All of them—or at least one of them— has to be wealthy, to afford that condo.”
“From the way they dress, I’d say all of them have money. Then there’s the cars.”
Vera pointed out, “People rarely see the cars, what with the tarps covering them and the night guard.”
“One thing is positive. You don’t put tarps over cheap cars, and you certainly don’t hire a guard to protect them.”
Vera asked, “Then what’s the answer?”
Liz frowned and promised, “I’m not sure, but I plan on finding out.”
Liz’s opportunity to discover something about the four men in the expensive condo happened three days later. As she was returning from the supermarket, having parked in the underground garage, she was struggling with the shopping cart that held her groceries. She was attempting to lift the cart from the trunk of her Mercedes sedan. Sometimes, if the groceries were too heavy, she had to unload them into the trunk, set the cart on the concrete, and then re-load the groceries.
One of the cars that hid under a tarp thundered into the underground garage. The driver parked in his stall and then covered the low-slung pale-silver masterpiece with a tarp. He went to Liz and offered, “Let me help you with that.”
“Thank you. I bought more groceries than I could lift.”
He lifted the cart effortlessly from the trunk. He was tall, six feet four inches, muscular, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She thought he was incredibly handsome. He was wearing an Armani suit that she suspected cost seven or eight thousand dollars. Her late husband preferred Armani. She recognized the gold Patek Phillepe watch and suspected that it was in the fifty-thousand-dollar price range.
“My name is Liz, and I live in 3A.”
“All right, Liz from 3A. My name is Wayne, and I’ll help you with your groceries.”
“Thank you very much. You…you live in the largest condo.”
“Yes, I live there with my business partners.” The condo was glass on three sides and overlooked the magnificent strip and its myriad attractions. He pulled the cart for her, and they headed for the elevator.
“Business partners?”
He nodded, unperturbed by her inquisitiveness, “Yes, we have worldwide investments.” He pushed the elevator button.
While they waited, she asked, “Your headquarters is here, in Las Vegas?”
“Yes, it’s a very exciting city, and the international airport here can get us anywhere in the world.”
The elevator door opened, and he allowed her to go in first. She pled age, “Forgive an old woman for asking so many questions.”
“Two items. First, you’re not old and second, ask to your heart’s content.”
“Thank you, you’re a gentleman.” The elevator door closed, and she felt that strange feeling in her stomach that said they were going up. She explained, “I always have this unusual feeling in my stomach when I’m in an elevator.”
“You’re not alone. Many people experience that feeling. We didn’t evolve going up and down rapidly. The elevator isn’t much over a hundred years old. It’ll take time for our bodies to adjust.”
The elevator stopped, and the door opened. Once again, he allowed her to go first. As they walked to her condo, she asked, “Do you have a wife?”
“I’ve never run across a woman who was unwise enough to marry me.”
She doubted the premise. Handsome, wealthy, successful, with a car that required a guard. She postulated that in the City of Las Vegas alone, there were probably five thousand young women who would eagerly walk down the aisle with him.
They had arrived at her door. She asked, “Does your business have a name?”
“Actually, it does, perhaps a foolish one.”
She frowned, “How so?”
“Some years ago, when we were younger, we were all on a polo team. We became friends and then decided to pool our money and go into business. When deciding on a name, we all played polo together and all had polo horses, so we decided to call ourselves The Four Horsemen.”
She had heard the term before but could not recall where.
He offered, “Do you need help putting up your groceries?”
“No, but thank you for the generous offer.”
“In that case, Liz from 3A, I’ll take my leave. It was a pleasure meeting such an attractive and gracious lady.” As if a Spanish Grandee leaving a female member of the court, he kissed her hand.
She almost swooned.
