“I’m over here doing a photo shoot. I’m a model and I’ve been working all week. This is my first night off. I’m from Texas, in America,” she lied. Why she had chosen Texas, she didn’t know. Texas? It had just come out of her mouth. And why had she felt the need to tell the count that Texas was in America? Kelly guessed that not many people out of the States had heard of Savannah, but was sure that they would have heard of Texas. Anyway, didn’t Jerry Hall hail from Texas?
“And you?” Kelly asked the smiling count, hoping that he hadn’t been offended by her assumption that he might not realize that Texas was indeed part of the United States. The count’s smile grew bigger. “First of all, may I say that I guessed you were either a model or an actress? You have what the French say, a certain je ne sais quoi.” Kelly could feel herself blushing; she had never received so many compliments at one time, not even from Tom.
“I am a mere count, of Veronese descent; you could say that I am an international businessman. I enjoy traveling, so I have many ventures around the world, and I am here in Paris only for the weekend, again for business, though I am lucky today, for my business is over and I do not return to Rome until Sunday. I suppose that I have luck twice today,” he added as their eyes met. His deep-blue eyes seemed to pierce her skull; she felt butterflies in her stomach. What was wrong with her? This man, superficially at least, was not a patch on Tom. Tom was far better looking and built like a movie star. Maybe it was the Paris night or the count’s wealth or accent, or even just the fact that she was alone in a foreign country, but whatever it was, she found herself drawn to him. She breathed in the smell of his cologne. She was enjoying this. She felt different, special, and it was as if Savannah had suddenly ceased to exist.
“My dear,” said the count, “I know not your name, please. You may call me Enrico, but what may I call you?” he asked, as Thierry brought over more drinks. Kelly thought for a moment. She didn’t want to lie, but she needed to sound like a model. She looked around before replying.
“Jerry. My name is Jerry Gordonston,” she said as she fondled the glass that contained her Coca-Cola and brandy. The count acted as if he recognized the name, and Kelly was sure she could see him thinking hard before dismissing it. Maybe there was a real Jerry Gordonston; Kelly hoped not, and almost immediately she wished she had thought up a better alias.
They talked for hours. She explained how she had arrived earlier that week to pose for a famous French photographer. She made up another name, and Pepé Le Clic had been the first thing that popped into her head. The moment she said the ridiculous-sounding name, she regretted it. Luckily the count just nodded. Either the name wasn’t as stupid as she feared, or maybe he just didn’t hear. She told him she had appeared in many magazines worldwide but was not in the supermodel category, at least not yet anyway. She was hoping to branch out into acting. She would be flying back to Texas, via New York, early Monday morning. Her agent had booked her into a catwalk show; otherwise, she would have extended her stay in the Paris. It was her first time in Paris, and no, she didn’t have a boyfriend or husband. She just wore the wedding ring to fend off men who gave her unwanted attention.
Kelly had no idea why she had said that. She had no reason to lie. She just thought that it was more plausible that a top model not be married. She regretted it the moment she said it. How could she have said she wasn’t married? She loved Tom. She felt awful. Despite her regret about lying, she had plenty of opportunity to change her story, to get up and walk back to the hotel. But she didn’t. Instead, she stayed where she was and listened to the count’s story.
Count Enrico de Cristo was only twenty-six. His inherited title came from his father, who had died recently, leaving his businesses in the hands of his only son. He owned homes in Rome and Geneva. His businesses were mainly based around the manufacturing of clothes. He had factories in Rome and Milan that made suits and eveningwear to be distributed to the larger, better-known fashion houses, which branded them with their own labels. He also had an interest in several finance companies. His great passions were the casinos of Monaco and sailing. His yacht was at the moment undergoing a minor refit in Barcelona, and he enjoyed nothing better than sailing to Monaco to play the tables at the famous casinos of Monte Carlo. Due to his traveling and business ventures, he had had little time for girlfriends, though he had once briefly dated an Italian soap star, and the Italian tabloids had followed and photographed the couple for months. Eventually, according to the count, the relationship ended due to the pressures of their celebrity. His great love was his mother, and like Kelly, he would love to stay longer in Paris but had promised the elderly lady he would fly back to Rome on Sunday to be at her side for evening mass.
It was just after ten o’clock when the count invited Kelly to dine with him. Neither of them was particularly hungry, so he suggested something light, maybe a pizza. He knew of a great pizzeria, not far away, which did the most spectacular food.
Kelly considered the count’s invitation. The evening had flown by all too quickly for Kelly, and she felt she really should be heading back to the hotel. Tom was expecting her to call. “I would love to dine with you,” said Kelly as the count moved her chair from under the table to assist her rising. The count left a fifty-euro note on the table for Thierry, who, with Jean-Claude Papillion, bade them farewell. Jean-Claude insisted that a photograph be taken of him and Kelly together before she left with the count.
They shared a pizza and continued their talking. Kelly didn’t want the night to end; they ordered the house wine and chatted until 2:00 a.m., the pizza only half eaten. At one stage it seemed they were going to kiss; and after a lull in the conversation their eyes met once again, and she willed him to move his head toward her. But he was a gentleman. Although he offered to walk her back to her hotel, she said she was fine on her own, so they arranged to meet early the next morning under the Eiffel Tower, where they would begin a day of sightseeing in Paris together. The count hailed a cab for Kelly. She just said “Hotel Bonaparte” to her driver, and he nodded and sped away.
That night she could hardly sleep. She had never experienced anything like this before. An Italian count with a yacht and houses around the world was interested in her, although she was just a simple girl who worked behind the beauty counter at Macy’s. She had begun to believe her own lies and had convinced herself that she was indeed a model. That night she dreamt of Enrico, of yachts, of show business parties, of diamonds, racehorses, and champagne. It was only when she awoke that she realized she had forgotten one thing: Tom.
She grabbed the telephone at the side of her bed and dialed home. Tom answered immediately. “Tom,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too guilty. Not that she had anything to be guilty about. She hadn’t done anything wrong—just shared a pizza and a few drinks with a new friend.
“Huh?” said Tom, sounding as if he were half asleep.
“Tom, it’s me, Kelly. Are you in bed?” she asked, remembering that the telephone at her home was placed by the bed and that for Tom to answer as quickly as he had meant he was lying in bed.
“Kelly? What time is it?” he asked, as if just rising.
“It’s eight in the morning here, so I guess two in the afternoon there. Are you still in bed?” she asked, curious as to why her husband was still sleeping.
“No, silly. It’s three in the morning. How is everything? Are you enjoying yourself?” Tom seemed to be regaining his senses from the initial shock of his abrupt awakening.
“Yes, it is wonderful here. I miss you, though,” said Kelly
“I miss you too,” replied Tom. Kelly could hear the rustling of sheets and swore she could hear someone else breathing, and maybe a cough. It sounded as if Tom weren’t lying in bed alone.
“Is someone else there?” asked Kelly, not wanting to sound concerned. The truth was, she was very concerned and wanted to know what was going on in her absence.
Tom l
aughed at the other end of the line. “Only Shmitty. He jumped up next to me. He’s on your side of the bed. I think he’s missing you as much as I am. That’s him you hear.” Kelly felt awful. How could she suspect that her husband would be in bed with anyone else? What sort of woman was she? She felt bad—guilty and unworthy. It was she who had come close to kissing the count the previous evening. She suppressed her guilty feelings and carried on the conversation.
“Well, tell Shmitty I miss him too, will you?” Tom promised he would, and before hanging up, they each said, “I love you” five times.
After the phone conversation, Kelly showered and dressed, finding the shortest skirt and the tightest top she had packed, and made her way to reception. Henri, the concierge, greeted her as she entered the hotel lobby. “Good morning, Mademoiselle,” he said. He tried hard to avert his gaze from Kelly’s long and tanned legs, but somehow, as if he had no control over his own head, his eyes wandered back to them. Kelly smiled inwardly. If she were having this effect on old Henri, how would the count be able to resist her?
Henri hailed her taxi, which wasn’t a difficult task, as every cab made a beeline straight to the hotel once they saw Kelly exit the building. The ride didn’t take long, and she arrived at the Eiffel Tower by nine. The count was waiting for her.
She knew that she looked good. She was wearing sunglasses and looked for all the world like a movie star. The count smiled as she approached. He was attired just as elegantly as the previous night. He wore a different suit, though the same style, this one dark blue. Sunglasses and a black T-shirt under a single-breasted jacket. He kissed her on the cheek, just as he had done last night when they had parted.
“You look beautiful—like a goddess. I am speechless. It is an honor for me to spend the day with such beauty. I thank you for brightening up my day.” Maybe Kelly was getting used to the compliments, or maybe she was just getting used to the count, but either way she didn’t blush. She complimented him on his own outfit and thanked him again for such a wonderful evening the previous night.
Their first stop that day would be the tower that stood behind them. They would, however, take breakfast first. They ordered croissants, though while the count drank coffee, Kelly sipped fresh orange juice. They resumed their conversation of the previous evening, Kelly explaining how hard it was living the life of a model and that though she had done a shoot for Vogue only a few months ago, the traveling was difficult. The count was very interested in listening to all she said. The lies came easily for Kelly. Modeling had been her dream, and she had read all about the different locations and how photo shoots worked. After a while it didn’t feel like she was lying; she actually believed that she was a model. And why shouldn’t I be? she thought. If a man like the count could be interested in her, then there must be something special about her.
After they ate breakfast, they proceeded to the tower. She did not realize it at first. It was only when they got to the turnstile to pay that she noticed. They had been holding hands.
The Eiffel Tower was as Kelly had always dreamt it would be. It was a clear day, and she could see the whole of Paris. The count explained what spires belonged to which church and named the buildings on the horizon spread before them.
The next place to visit on their list was the Church of the Sacré Coeur, which they reached by winding their way through the back streets. Again, the count filled her in on its history, and they marveled at its architecture. He suggested they visit Notre Dame next, and it was then that Kelly nearly blew it.
At first she thought she might have misheard him. Why would they want to see a football game, especially at that time in the morning? She said nothing at first, but when he mentioned it again, she asked, “Who are they playing?”
He looked at her, a puzzled expression on his face. Then he laughed. “You are not only such a gorgeous creature, but you are also very funny. Come, my dear, let’s take the Metro.” He grabbed her hand and off they rushed. When they arrived at the old church, she could have died. What a fool! She hadn’t realized that Notre Dame was actually a real place and not just a football team. The count pronounced the words in an unusual way, but she discreetly didn’t mention this; he couldn’t help being foreign. Anyway, the count was convinced she had only been joking with him earlier, and she bluffed her way through it. It had been a close call.
They lunched at a curbside café not unlike the Café Papillion and decided their next place to see must be the Louvre. Kelly was mesmerized by the paintings and sculptures, and when they reached the Mona Lisa, she let out a squeal of familiarity. Of course she had seen the painting on TV many a time, but here she was, face to face with the enigmatic features of Da Vinci’s most well-known model. She turned to the count; he too appeared to be spellbound by the painting.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
“Like you,” he replied.
The kiss had been expected. She fell into his arms, and their tongues entwined. Kelly knew what she was doing was wrong but didn’t care. The count suggested that they abandon their tour and return to his hotel. She suggested hers, and the count agreed with her that it would be better as it was nearer.
Henri greeted Kelly and the count as she entered the hotel lobby. He looked the count up and down and smiled politely. Luckily, room service had already cleaned Kelly’s room, and the count was mightily impressed with the room and the view.
It was an afternoon of pure passion. She had never felt this way with Tom. Sex with the count was only a small part of it; the tenderness he showed, his accent, his whole persona had made her tremble. After they made love, they lay in each other’s arms and slept. When they awoke, they made love again. They forgot about dinner and instead made love for a fifth, sixth, and seventh time. She was in ecstasy. They slept through until the following morning, holding each other tightly through the night.
The sunlight seeped through the center gap of the curtains, and the sun’s rays flooded the palatial room. Kelly awoke and looked at her watch. She thought about calling Tom but decided against it. How could she call him with another man in her bed? She looked over at the count as he lay sleeping. She kissed him on the cheek and fell back to sleep. Kelly slept well for another hour. When she awoke this time, it was the count that was watching her sleep. He smiled at the woman next to him.
“I have to go,” he whispered and kissed her on the lips. “I must return to Rome today, to be with my mother. I have chartered a jet I cannot cancel, and though it pains me, my dear, I have to leave you.” Kelly nodded. They both knew their romance was over. Brief and passionate, not quick and sordid, was how she would remember it. She watched as the count dressed. She would miss him, but she had a life at home, and it was impossible to carry on the lie, so she didn’t offer him any way of finding her. She kissed him once more and mouthed “goodbye” before eventually closing the door of the room and returning to bed.
She slept for a few more hours, and when she awoke again, bathed and took a shower. Somehow she felt the need to cleanse herself. She tried to forget him, but the smell of his fragrance lingered in the air. She knew she should really call Tom but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was already missing the count and wished he could have stayed the rest of the day.
Kelly spent the rest of the day sightseeing the monuments and churches still not scratched off her list. She felt lonely traveling around Paris without the count at her side; everywhere she turned, she thought she had seen him. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She returned to the hotel, exhausted. Henri recommended that she eat in the hotel restaurant, as it was her last night, and she did.
Kelly ate well. She tried an assortment of new foods. Frogs legs, veal, and dishes she had never heard of. She ordered a bottle of red wine and drank it all. By the time she returned to her room, she felt queasy. By midnight she felt rotten. She must have thrown up at least seven times during the night. The alcohol,
coupled with her upset stomach, had brought about a dramatic change in the way she felt. This was punishment, she was sure, punishment for her unfaithfulness. It was punishment for sleeping with a complete stranger, never mind his being a count. She felt disgusted with herself. She toyed with the idea of calling Tom and confessing, but luckily she was too drunk to remember her home phone number. She eventually fell asleep in the bathroom.
She awoke at 6:30 and felt awful. She rubbed her head and saw that she had vomited all over the bathroom floor. She was a wreck. She looked in the mirror. She looked like anything but a model now. She felt guilty to the pit of her stomach, wretched and remorseful. Poor Tom. How could she have done what she had?
She called home, but Tom didn’t answer. Maybe he was walking Shmitty or at the gym. No matter, she would be home soon. Her flight was at seven that evening, which gave Kelly plenty of time to pack and do some last-minute shopping for gifts and postcards. She showered and cleaned as much of her vomit up from the bathroom floor as possible. She threw her clothes into her suitcase, along with anything else that looked like it needed packing. She glanced at the orange piece of paper on the floor and tried to remember what it was. She couldn’t, so she threw it in her luggage anyway, in case it should turn out to be something important after all. She took breakfast on the terrace and left what she thought was a big tip for François. She really was tired of Paris and couldn’t wait to get out of the place. It was funny how her whole perspective on things had changed. Yesterday it was the most wondrous place on earth, but now she would quite readily swap it all for an afternoon in Gordonston Park.
The day dragged, and by the time she arrived back at the hotel after her afternoon of shopping for gifts and postcards, it was three o’clock. Henri informed her that the hotel had organized a car that would pick her up from the lobby at four. That would give her plenty of time to get to the airport to catch her flight. She repacked her suitcase, jamming into her luggage the gifts and postcards she had just purchased, and called reception to send up a bellboy to take her case to the car.
The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club Page 13
