Just for Fun: Five plus One!

By Lance Thorburn

What happens, when a successful young inventor of an oil pump, is rewarded with five wives? Follow the life changing journey of Frank, from South Africa, to Saudi Arabia, and the rich oil fields, rewarding him with wealth beyond his wildest dreams. However, he has to return to his country, where he and his wives have to make their home. How does one cope with one wife, let alone five, in a land that practices monogamy? What will their everyday lives be like? What happens when he hears the words, "l am pregnant'?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After the success of his first novel, Freedom's Price Tag, an adventure story, Lance Thorburn turned his hand to writing novels of a different genre, compared to his first one. The book you have in your hand, is the first in a series of topics that will bring the reader much pleasure.

Lance currently lives on the south coast of KZN in South Africa, after having retired from his engineering work in Johannesburg, where he was born, and lived for many years. As a young man, he completed his compulsory military training, and later joined the citizen force, where he saw action in Angola in the 1970's.

During this time, he served as national editor of the Gunners' monthly magazine/newsletter - Ubique. He retired from the citizen force, in 1991 , having gained the rank of an Artillery Major; Pro Patria with leaf; JCM; JCD.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lance Thorburn
• Release date: Apr 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463102442

Book preview

JUST FOR FUN:

FIVE PLUS ONE!

LANCE THORBURN

Copyright © 2020 Lance Thorburn

Published by Lance Thorburn Publishing at Smashwords

First edition 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

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

Published by Lance Thorburn using Reach Publishers’ services,

Edited by Peta Lee for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Website: www.reachpublishers.org

E-mail: [e-mail]

For my dear wife, Jean,

whose love and assistance, I cherish.

Chapter 1

Wealth grows like a turtle, and goes away like a gazelle!

Saudi saying

How in the name of all that is reasonable do I take five wives home to a country in which most people practice monogamy? Frank shouted, as he slammed down the telex he was reading on to his desk.

He reached for his cigarettes and lighter, stood up, and went to the window. It was a brilliant hot day, like every day in Riyadh. The temperature by noon would be well into the early forties, and oppressive, and already the heat was forming mirages out on the vast desert horizon. Frank had never really got used to this extreme heat, and considered himself lucky to be able to afford an air-conditioned office, car and home. He had often wondered how the locals managed to survive the heat during the day, and then the bitter cold in the night.

Talk about extremes! But over the past four years, Frank had survived, and by now was considered to be one of the locals, with one exception; he was a very wealthy man, by anyone’s standards. If you understand that this vast, entire country produced only oil, and that oil was paid for in gold, then there were some very wealthy types in this part of the world. How Frank had joined the ranks of these rich Arabs was really quite simple! But we’ll save that story for a little later. Right now, the telex on his desk was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

He lit the cigarette and took a long draw. It seemed to soothe his nerves momentarily, and then he exhaled. He honestly didn’t actually want the smoke, and reckoned he had cheated anyway, once he looked at his watch. He had made a pact with his lungs that he would only have one cigarette every hour on the half hour, and right now, it was only quarter past ten.

He picked up the confounded telex and read it for the sixth time. We feel that the product is doing well enough, and have an executive position for you at head-office STOP Making arrangements for a junior to take your place no later than end of month STOP Look forward to seeing you at beginning December, back at office in Republic STOP Regards John F. Riley MD.

Curses, he mumbled, and pushed the button on his intercom. Bring me another cup of coffee, he moaned, and sat down heavily in his luxurious leather chair. What was he going to do? The company had him by the short hairs this time. He had spent only four years with the firm, and had signed a five-year contract with them. He still owed them one year!

Frank leaned back and chuckled to himself. Four years ago, he was a nobody, young and inexperienced, with even less cash. Sure, when he had approached J. F. Riley Manufacturing Company, they had taken a huge chance on him and his invention, but for that opportunity, and his part of the bargain, he had signed a five-year contract with them, and in return, after much deliberation, they had agreed to manufacture and market his new invention. It was a lucky break at the time, and luckier still was the clause that gave him sole selling rights in the Middle East, and better still, a fifty percent commission on each article sold.

With the company manufacturing only on order, J.F. Riley & Co didn’t have much to lose. Right now, however, Frank’s invention was their main product, and contributed to probably ninety percent of their annual turnover. Executive position, he said to himself as Abdul brought in the coffee, and bowed and scraped as he left the room. Abdul! Frank called after the retreating man. How long have you worked for me?

Abdul had learnt very little English over the past few years, but he held up three fingers. That is what I thought, said Frank as Abdul again left the room.

Executive position, my eye! They should make me the bloody chairman! I’ve made more money for that company in four years than they’ve made in the last thirty! I’ll resign, that’s what I’ll do! He took a sip of the thick, black Turkish coffee.

Miss Shadiffi, come in here please, Frank called into the intercom. Miss Shadiffi entered the office with her notepad and pencil, ready to take down the dictation. She was a beautiful girl of twenty-five, with a dark complexion and a supple, yet firm, body. For almost four years, Frank had worked with her, and saw two of the most appealing black eyes looking at him each day. He had never seen her hair either, as she always had her headscarf on. It was the custom here, however, for an unmarried girl to never bare her arms or legs, and Frank had learnt to respect the ways of the Middle Eastern culture. But still, he yearned to see what she looked like under all that silk she wound around her body each day.

We won’t be doing a letter today. Just please get me the original file on J.F. Riley, the one that has my contract in it, said Frank smiling appreciatively as the young secretary left the room and closed the door behind her. He finished his coffee, looked at his cigarettes, and then at his expensive wristwatch. Still another fifty-five minutes before he was due for the next one. His secretary returned with the file, and placed it on the desk in front of him. He could smell the sweet, intoxicating perfume of her body, and he smiled. Thank you, he said and she was gone.

Frank paged through the file and found the contract he wanted – the one he had signed four years ago. In it was the normal leading paragraph, all in typical legal terms which he didn’t understand anyway. He paged further looking for the real nitty-gritty – those special clauses written in ordinary English, and which really mattered. He found them, and slowly, with his finger, traced along the lines and read the paragraphs aloud. At last he came to the one he was looking for – Termination of Employment.

It read, Should Frank M. Miles for any reason not detailed above terminate this agreement prior to the five-year contract period as stated in clause 11b, then he will forfeit all rights and positions gained out of/received during the time of this contract. He will, for a period of two years after termination of employment, not enter any organisation that markets any products similar to the patent, in the areas mentioned in sub-clause 26c, and the Appendix B2.

Damn, damn! Frank fumed. What are those idiots trying to do to me? He closed the file, and looked at the model of his invention on his desk.

************

Chapter 2

If you want to go fast – go alone!

If you want to go far – go together

South African saying

Four years and nine months ago, Frank had worked for an engineering company as a sales representative. He was twenty-six at the time, and loathed every day of his work. He hadn’t married – Couldn’t find the right type, he had explained to his questioning parents.

But Frank, his mother had said, you seem to have had your choice of so many nice girls! Surely you could find some quality that you enjoy in at least one of them?

Frank had smiled at that. Yes! They all had one quality which he had enjoyed, but he could hardly explain that to his mother! And besides, if all the girls he had met were so eager to share that quality with him, on a nightly basis, what was the use of marrying them anyway? Further, the one thing that Frank couldn’t stomach was the repetition and monotony of style. Yes indeed, Frank preferred variety, and the challenge of new territory.

One evening while watching a TV programme, he saw a contraption that was used to pump oil out of the wells in the oil-rich Gulf area. As he watched, it occurred to him that this process was old and extremely tedious. It worried him that night, and much of the following day, so much so that he cancelled a date and ended up spending the evening by himself. He wasn’t going to let the night go to waste, so he sat at his dining room table and having cleared a reasonable work area, proceeded to design a pump suitable for extracting oil faster than the example he had seen on TV.

Frank got so taken up with his design work on the new pump that he cancelled all of his dates for the next week. By the following Sunday, he had emerged quite a lot thinner, and much more randy, but with a design for a pump that was going to revolutionise the entire world’s oil pumping-countries. Not that Frank knew that at the time. All he had was a piece of paper with a hand-drawn design that really could be understood only by him. Not perturbed by this fact, he set about phoning and then visiting numerous people, giving them each a tiny section of the pump-manufacturing process. He decided to go to different organisations rather than just one, to avoid letting them know what the final product would be. This, he figured, would stop anyone from stealing his invention before he could patent it himself.

The whole process took Frank almost six months, and very nearly crippled him financially, not to talk about what it did to his love life. Anyway, complete it he did, and to his utter surprise, and after some minor adjustments, the prototype pump worked. The next task was to take out a world patent on the pump, and this took another three months, again costing him an arm and a leg, which right now, he couldn’t afford. But finally, the patent attorney contacted him and said it was now safe to show the world his new invention. Easier said than done. Frank hauled the precious prototype to and from numerous and varied, manufacturers and organisations, and even though they enthused over it time and again, no one was the least bit interested in investing their time and money in the product. By now, he was totally disillusioned, and losing all faith in himself and his pump.

It was just then that he found himself in the offices of J. F Riley Manufacturers. It was late on a Tuesday afternoon when he asked to see ‘the man in charge of the company’. The receptionist had asked him to wait, and Frank told her that he was going to get the pump out of his car. By the time he returned, John F. Riley was waiting for him. Frank put out his hand and shook the older gentleman’s hand. Frank Miles, he said.

John F. Riley, the older man said, and smiled at Frank. What do you have there, and how can I help you? He looked curiously at the contraption Frank was carrying. Frank had rehearsed his opening statement well, which had failed so many times so far. He rattled on about the uniqueness of his pump, the energy-saving characteristics, the profitability and ease of manufacture and marketing.

John Riley cut in, Listen my man, why don’t you cut out the pitch, and get to the point? My time is money, and right now, you are costing me money.

Sorry, sir, what I want is for someone to back my venture – this pump. I need to have it manufactured under my patent, and then I would like to sell it once done.

Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place? Come up to my office, and let’s discuss business. John F. Riley beckoned Frank to follow him.

Frank could hardly believe his ears. This was the first time that he had made it past first base, and here he was, following someone to their office to talk business. This part, he hadn’t had the opportunity to rehearse, and he wasn’t at all sure what he would say. He was on his own, and would have to wing it from here on. He, followed the older man up steps, still clinging to his prize – his pump.

John F. Riley showed him into a small but efficient looking office, and asked him to sit. Frank balanced the pump as he sat down. Behind Riley’s desk and to the right as well, were numerous certificates and diplomas, revealing that John F. Riley was no walkover, and was obviously highly qualified. The one certificate that worried Frank the most was one stating that John F. Riley had a Bachelor’s degree in Business Management. Frank shuddered at the thought that this man knew all about business deals, and that his own knowledge was limited. Well, Frank, let’s hear more about your pump. Have you had it patented?

Crafty, thought Frank, trying to catch me out already. Yes sir, the patent papers are lodged with my lawyer. Frank knew full well that the papers were actually in his inside jacket pocket. Anyway, it sounded impressive.

Riley stood up and walked around the desk to take a closer look at Frank’s invention. This is only a prototype, said Frank. It does need a few changes, but I’m sure we can organise to smooth out some of the rough design points. For all his business prowess, Frank could sense that the older man was interested. So he decided to go for it, double or quits! Mr. Riley, I think this could certainly be a winner for a company like yours, and I believe that you and I would make an excellent team.

John F. Riley didn’t even acknowledge or look as if he had heard Frank. He merely said, I’ll get my works manager to take a look at it in the morning. Why don’t you leave it here, and give me a ring tomorrow afternoon? (Frank learnt about a year later that Riley and his works manager had spent the entire night stripping and putting the pump together again.)

Frank was a little hesitant at first about leaving his pump there, but he touched the patent documents in his pocket and agreed. He wished Riley a good evening, and promised to phone the following afternoon. He was elated, and sort of relieved, as he got into his car and drove home. He was too excited to go to bed early and decided to consult his little black book and phone a few of his lady friends. Tonight, he would organise at least two dates – one for an early, leisurely dinner, and whatever might happen thereafter; and one for drinks and whatever might happen thereafter!

His plan had worked. By two o’clock the next morning, he was exhausted and fast asleep in his own bed, the furthest thing from his mind being the pump and John F. Riley Manufacturing.

At one o’clock the next day Frank was on the phone to John F. Riley. I think you ought to come and see us, was the reply, when Frank asked whether the works manager had seen it.

The rest was history. Riley had agreed to manufacture the pump, and Frank was to go to the Middle East to sell the product. But there was still the document that Frank had signed, and it was now proving to be an unbelievable problem in his life.

***********

Chapter 3

Wishing does not make a poor man rich.

Arabic saying

For the rest of that day, Frank could not concentrate on his work. Not that he did much work anyway. In the Middle East and Gulf region, his renowned pump was a standard and ideal piece of equipment, and all that he and his staff had to do was make sure they had enough stock available and collect the money whenever they were sold. And they were sold by the score every day. The money rolled in, and Frank really had no idea what he was worth. It didn’t much matter anyway.

At three-thirty, he felt he’d had enough and so he left, telling Miss Shadiffi he wasn’t feeling well, and that he would see her in the morning. She called for Frank’s driver to meet him downstairs, and wished him a good afternoon.

Downstairs, the smartly dressed Arab doorman opened the huge glass door for Frank and he was immediately engulfed by the hot desert south-easterly, which hit him like a blanket. He closed his mouth against the fine sand swirling around. Fortunately, it was only about five steps to his white stretch-Cadillac, and the relief of the car’s air-conditioning system. He told the driver to take him home.

The Arabs had spent millions of American dollars on the roads, and the luxury machine he was travelling in oozed its way along the hot, sticky tar back to Frank’s house. One couldn’t really say that he lived out of town, because the towns seemed to run into one another. It was easier to say that he lived further than most.

At last they turned off the main road and up the long winding driveway. The government had, in recognition of Frank’s contribution to the oil industry, tarred his long driveway all the way up to his triple garage. From the outside, Frank’s house was really nothing to look at, because the harsh desert climate had seen to that. But by western standards, it was a grand looking structure, and by the poverty around him, it was a palace. At first, he had really missed the gardens of his South African home, with the lush green lawns, high trees and colourful flowers, but after four years in Riyadh, he had adapted to the harsh climate, and built a magnificent indoor garden and pool area, climatically as close to his South African home as possible. The building venture, and controls, plants and other items, had cost more than the wages of a hundred locals. A bit extravagant. But he had the money and nothing to spend it on.

The wooden garage doors opened automatically at the push of a button, and in they drove. Frank didn’t wait for the driver to open his door. He got out, slamming it behind him. The driver bowed politely as Frank passed him and went through the door into the main house. As he walked down the long passage, he passed several servants wearing starched white uniforms. They too, bowed, to acknowledge Frank’s presence, and he gave his briefcase to one of them. He proceeded through the house and into the garden, to a bar under a huge palm tree next to the pool. He poured himself a whisky, filled the glass with crushed ice, and then drowned the drink in cold coconut milk.

News of his early arrival filtered through the house, and in no time, five beautiful young women presented themselves before him. To most, this would seem like one man with five women, but in Frank’s case, these five were his wives. Frank’s early arrival from work was not unusual, as it happened at least twice a week, and on those days, he would swim with them in the refreshing water of their private pool, before having another drink or two. Eastern culture precluded women from drinking alcohol. Thereafter, on a roster basis, one of the wives would offer themselves to him for his pleasure.

They were not aware that Frank had come home early today because of the telex he’d received. He took a long drink and called the senior wife. With a bow, she moved away from the others, and came to Frank. The others did not think this strange, because when they were in a group, it was always the senior wife who could speak to Frank. Eastern women saw their husbands as masters, and not much talk was made – only action! Frank preferred it that way. Cecille, ask the others to leave us please. I wish to discuss something with you, he said, and Cecille motioned to the others, who left with a bow. Cecille was a tall, beautiful woman with dark brown eyes and skin darker than most European women, as if she had an all-over tan.

When Frank had arrived four years ago, he had found it difficult to date single women. The customs, norms and values were totally different. In those days, he didn’t have much cash, so dating was nearly impossible. He found that the only way he could spend time with a member of the opposite sex was to offer to marry her, and then visit her with the rest of the family. He had met Cecille at the office of