Shadows of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 2)

by Arianne Richmonde

  As if on cue, Rex bounds his way into the bedroom, excited from his morning walk. He often barges in on our intimate moments. His black Labrador-cross tail spins about like a windmill; his tight muscles rival his master’s.

  “Oh Rex, how I’ll miss you, my boy,” Alexandre says, bending down to hug his dog. “Look after him for me, Pearl. Don’t let Anthony spoil him with too many treats. I’m late, I have to rush. See you in a couple of days.” He embraces us in a family trio and then looks into my eyes and says, “I love you, Pearl. You’re my everything - my light, my future. Take care now.” He plants another kiss on my lips and makes his way down the corridor to the elevator where his ready-packed case is waiting. I don’t follow as I’m still naked. Anthony is staying in one of the guest rooms – God forbid my brother should see me with no clothes on.

  Anthony is in his element. He arrived late last night and couldn’t believe that Alexandre’s chauffeur was there to meet him at the airport. He tells me that he’s moving in (joke). Or is it? Anthony could get used to this lifestyle. Not to mention his boy-crush on Alexandre.

  I get dressed and find breakfast waiting in the kitchen. Coffee, cereals, home-made yoghurt and jellies, fresh fruit and a spread of croissants and pastries sit temptingly on the table. I begin to set things on a tray to send up to the roof terrace. Sun is streaming through the windows and the sky is crystal blue. The perfect Fall weather. Cool, sunny and crisp but warm enough to still eat outside. Patricia, one of the staff, finds me rummaging about the kitchen and a look of dismay shadows her face. She’s wearing a neat, black and white uniform – her choice – she says she feels more professional that way.

  “Ms. Pearl, please, what are you doing? You’ll make me lose my job if you insist on serving yourself.”

  “I doubt that, Patricia. I thought Anthony and I could sit on the rooftop, have breakfast up there, today, but I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

  “That’s what the Dumbwaiter’s for,” she says with a wink.

  “Best invention ever,” I agree.

  She loads everything into the mini-elevator which sends food or forgotten cell phones up and down between floors. Anthony has not yet set eyes on this marvel. I can hear him now in the living room screaming and yelping.

  “Thanks, Patricia. I’m going to take my excitable brother up- stairs.”

  I find Anthony sitting on the piano stool, breathless, his mouth open so far that his jaw is practically horizontal to the floor. He catches my eye as I’m standing in the doorway.

  “Oh my GOD!”

  “I know,” I reply simply.

  “Pearleee—”

  “Do you want me to call 911?”

  “Oh my freakin’ God!”

  “Yes, I think God has got the point.”

  “What is this place? A museum? I mean, this room is the size of mine and Bruce’s entire apartment in San Francisco!”

  “It is pretty awesome.”

  “Awesome does not even begin to describe this palace.”

  I watch his eyes scan the room; the walnut wood paneled walls, the delicate cabinetry and integrated bookshelves, the parquet floor, the picture windows with views to Central Park on one side and to The Plaza on the other - and the massive marble fireplaces. Rex is wagging his tail as if in agreement. He came from humble beginnings - from a dog pound in Paris – where the poor thing was waiting on Death Row. I get the feeling that he, too, appreciates his luxurious surroundings. Anthony is now caressing the piano keys, whimpering sounds are emanating from somewhere deep within his body as if he were sick with fever.

  “Can you imagine having a grand piano like this?” he gushes.

  “I don’t have to imagine it, Anthony – it’s a reality.”

  “Have you pinched yourself? Are you sure you’re not just dreaming?”

  “Sometimes I do wonder.”

  “A Steinway? Seriously? I really do have heart palpitations - you need to call an ambulance.”

  “Play something, Ant.”

  “Are you talkin’ to me? Are you talking to me?” he jokes, imitating Robert de Niro in Taxi Driver. “Are you talking to me? Well, I’m the only one here!”

  I burst out laughing. Anthony couldn’t look more unlike Travis Bickle if he tried. My brother is heavy, blonde – okay, not heavy - he is actively overweight. And when I say actively, I mean he cannot stop eating, even though every day he swears he has started a new diet. I’ve missed him – he does make me laugh. Except when I’m the object of his humor, which is often.

  He begins to play and within seconds my eyes well with tears with the beauty of the sound. The way he strokes the keys with such a whispery touch makes me remember what a novice I am compared to him in the musical department. He has so much talent I find myself holding my breath.

  “Mom used to sing this to us to get us to fall asleep. Do you remember?” He’s playing Lullaby by Brahms.

  “I miss her so much,” I tell him quietly.

  But he doesn’t reply. His answer is all in his playing. His fingers caress the keys and his eyes, half closed, speak of nostalgia for a life cut short; a woman we both loved beyond measure who was taken from us too soon – her bones ravaged by that evil disease which begins with C and ends in heartbreak. Before I know it, I’m weeping, as if all my pain has finally unleashed itself. Pearl, the Independent One can finally let loose her pent-up sorrow.

  “Why her?” I mumble. “Why her…”

  Anthony stops his playing short. “I know. I know.”

  I take his hand and try to change the mood, “Breakfast, come on! You think this room is cool? You ain’t seen nuthin’ yet,” I joke, “wait till you see the roof terrace.”

  I lead him upstairs, Rex excitedly at our heels, and listen to Anthony’s oohs and ahs as he flips out about the décor, the priceless antique furniture and works of art. His eyes settle on a giant red heart painting with a multi-colored background. “That’s a Jim Dine,” he observes, “isn’t it? A. Goddam. Jim. Freakin.’ Goddam. Dine!”

  “Alexandre gave that to me a few weeks ago. An engagement present.”

  “Oh, so like, the rock of a diamond solitaire you’re wearing on your finger wasn’t enough already?”

  I laugh. “Obscene, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it is big, to say the least.”

  “It belonged to a Russian princess.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Of course it did.”

  “The diamond was part of a pendant and Alexandre had it made into a ring.”

  Anthony’s reaction to the roof terrace with its real lawn, trees and sumptuous views across Central Park and the Manhattan skyline is even more extreme than mine was the first time I laid eyes on it all, back in June. “So the view wasn’t enough… there has to be a freakin’ park on top of this roof as well?”

  “All for Rex,” I say.

  “I’m going to dress up as a dog.”

  I pull my cardigan tighter about my waist. “It’s a little cool, let’s go into the orangery and have breakfast.”

  “Don’t we need to take Rex for a walk in the park first? Do his poops and stuff?”

  “Don’t worry, he’s been out already.”

  “You took him out this morning so early?”

  “No, Rex has a kind of nanny. She comes every morning at 7am sharp. Then again at eleven and every four hours if somebody’s home. If I’m at work then his nanny – her name’s Sally - she hangs out with him. Rex is never alone.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  I giggle. “No, really. Rex lives up to his name. He’s a king.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Come here, Rex, let me see that new collar you’re wearing.” He wiggles up to me sporting a smart, electric blue collar. He’s wagging proudly. “Sally must have bought him that; she’s always getting him gifts.”

  “So who else is running the show, besides Rex’s nanny?”

  “The housekeeper, Patricia, two or three cleaning ladies, a chef who comes and goes if Ale
xandre isn’t in the mood to cook and—”

  Anthony interrupts me with a waving hand. “Stop I’ve heard enough, I can feel myself turning green.”

  I pour some coffee for us both and he’s staring at me as if dissecting my very being. Uh, oh, what now…

  “Pearl, what is wrong with you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What the hell are you playing at with this winter wedding bullshit. Winter - hello - is two months away. What are you waiting for?”

  “Look, Alexandre and I have only known each other for just over four months. I want to be absolutely sure.”

  “Sure of what? That you’re even luckier than Kate Middleton?”

  “I don’t want to make a mistake. I want for us to really know each other, warts and all.”

  “You want him to know about your warts? Are you crazy? Snap him up now before he realizes what’s happened. You don’t want him to see your goddam warts or he could change his mind!”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ant. Actually, that expression is kind of gross. Let’s just say I want us to be great friends as well as lovers before we tie the knot. I want to be open about everything and anything concerning my past and for him to do the same with me.”

  “Are you insane? Keep your goddam mouth shut about anything at all that makes you seem less than perfect. Keep any skeletons you may have locked firmly in the closet. You cannot jeopardize this golden opportunity.”

  “I want us to be honest with each other.”

  Anthony doesn’t hear me – he rattles on, “Okay, I get the whole fairytale wedding thing in Lapland. I do. The whole reindeer pulling the sled, the white silk velvet ribbons on their antlers, the powdery snow – I get it, but please, don’t be a fool – you need to get on with this marriage already and stop dithering about.”

  “You want me to settle for a quick wedding just in case my fiancé changes his mind? If he changes his mind, then I would have done the right thing. If he’s that mercurial I shouldn’t have been thinking about being with him in the first place.”

  Anthony rolls his eyes. “What’s the worst that can happen? The marriage fails and you end up with a nice settlement, thank you very much.”

  “No, Anthony, that is not the plan. I would never marry for money, you know that. I refused to take a dime from Saul. In fact, I ended up lending him a ton of money which he never paid back and I never even asked him for it. I’ve suggested to Alexandre that we do a pre-nup. That way, it’s clear from the outset that I don’t want a cent if it turns out we aren’t made for each other.”

  Anthony buries his head in his hands. His exasperation is palpable. “Please, Pearl, stop. I just can’t bear hearing you throw your life away.”

  “I’m being practical. Realistic. Strong.”

  “You’re being a dumbass – burning all your bridges. What does Alexandre say about this pre-nup nonsense?”

  “He says no, and that he doesn’t even want to discuss it.”

  “Phew, that’s lucky.”

  “Try one of these Danish pastries – they melt in your mouth,” I say, offering him a platter of tempting goodies, knowing that’s the only thing that will shut Anthony up - at least for a while.

  But all he does is stuff the pastry in his gob and talk with his mouth full. “And what’s with all this business you’ve started together, this HookedUp thingamyjig?”

  “HookedUp Enterprises.”

  “Yeah. Why can’t you be content with just being a trophy wife, so to speak? You’d never have to work again in your life.”

  “That is so not my style and you know it. Besides, Alexandre secretly likes me being into my career. He bought up Haslit Films. It’s all under the umbrella of his new company, HookedUp Enterprises, run by me. And he and I are the directors of it, except he’s a silent partner. He doesn’t want any say in how the company’s run day to day – it’s all up to me. So he says, but I’ll need his help. I want him there – I’m not that proficient with the business side of things. We’ve started doing feature films, keeping on Haslit for the documentary side.”

  “So where does that leave your boss, Natalie?”

  “She’s on board, too. She came with the package.”

  “So wait, that means you are now technically Natalie’s boss and the tables have turned and you’re like, some big shot who’s going to hang out with Tom Cruise and Matt Bomer and all those sexy TV and movie sirens?”

  I laugh and breathe in the heady scent of winter jasmine entwined about the trellises of the orangery. “Who knows where it could lead – it’s exciting though.”

  Anthony taps his finger on his nose. “Just exactly how rich is your husband to-be? That is, if you move-your-skinny-ass and hurry-up-and-marry-him and don’t blow it all, somehow.”

  “Alexandre is a very powerful man. Way more powerful than I had first imagined.”

  “Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. If he wasn’t going to be my future brother-in-law, I swear I’d—”

  “Anthony, please – you’ll shock Rex.”

  “Sorry - go on, you were saying…”

  “I actually had no idea how wealthy he was – his T-shirt and jeans look kinda had me fooled.”

  “Doesn’t he wear a suit to meet clients?”

  “Very rarely. Only if the clients are way older.”

  Anthony narrows his blue eyes. “Isn’t everyone way older? I mean, he’s only twenty-five, right?”

  “He’s very laid back about the way he presents himself. On the outside, that is. But I’ve overheard him speak business on the phone. I wouldn’t want to cross him, that’s for sure. Although he never raises his voice and he’s always polite and friendly, but there’s a kind of chilling power he holds over people. I can’t explain it.”

  Anthony is still devouring his Danish. “A computer coder huh?”

  I take a sip of coffee. “That was what he led me to believe when I first met him. He’s very modest - it’s his French upbringing. He never discusses money or boasts about his wealth. He likes to make out he’s just a regular guy.”

  “And what about psycho-sister – does she get a stake in this new company of yours?”

  “Sophie? No, this has nothing to do with her.” I look at my watch. “Oh my God, Anthony, speaking of my new company – I need to run or I’ll be late for my meeting. Will you be okay on your own?”

  “Hell, yeah, are you kidding? I get to play king of the castle.”

  “Sorry, that’s Rex’s role, isn’t it sweetheart?” I say cupping Rex’s wide black head in my hands and giving him a kiss on the snout.

  “Ha, ha, Rex means king in Latin – very cute.”

  “Be good, big brother and don’t get into mischief. If you need anything Patricia can help. See you later.”

  “Later, baby sis.”

  Chapter Two

  This is my first official meeting with a new client at HookedUp Enterprises. We have spoken several times on the phone already and even signed a preliminary deal but this is the first time we are to meet face to face.

  I’m obviously nervous but I feel poised in my sharp, navy blue suit and high heels. I’m meeting a big Hollywood mogul called Samuel Myers – the old-school type who smokes a cigar and calls women ‘sweetheart’. But he’s friendly and easy going. A little too much for my liking.

  As I approach him he looks me up and down but then his eyes wander to my engagement ring and he clears his throat as if to say, ‘okay, never mind’. I smile at him. I’m used to these types - one of my first jobs was a stint in L.A as a casting director’s assistant. This man doesn’t faze me at all.

  He has been waiting for me in our lobby, a cool, modern space with vast opaque glass doors that smoothly open as you approach them. We shake hands and introduce ourselves and I lead him into my office. The windows here look down onto Fifty Seventh Street. There’s a large glass desk and sleek sofas and chairs all in off-white or cool-gray leather. It is the antithesis of Alexandre’s apartment. Here we are ta
lking state-of-the-art, Italian - very contemporary.

  Just as Samuel Myers has eased himself into one of the brand new designer couches and I have sat myself down and crossed my legs neatly on my swivel chair, my cell buzzes. I look down and see a message has come in from Alexandre. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t resist. I quickly read it.

  Just remembering you naked on the bed this morning has made me hard. Can’t stop thinking about your tits and ass and making you come. Can’t wait to get home and fuck you senseless. X

  Bastard – he knew exactly what time this meeting was. He has ways of keeping me in check. Or is it another test? To see if I’ll break? See if I’ll be able to remain composed. A second ago I was cool and poised. Now I feel a rush of adrenaline and heat surge through my body. I squeeze my legs together. Uh oh, no, I mustn’t do that or you-know-what could happen. My heart’s racing from Alexandre’s schoolboy message, my breath short. Who would think that a forty-year old could be knocked out like this every time the one she loves comes on to her? But 40 is just a number. When you’re in your twenties it seems like light years away. You imagine a forty year old to have all the answers, never to lose her self-possession – basically, to be a grown-up. But it’s not like that when you’re in love. Especially when it catches you off guard the way it did for me. When you feel the way I do about someone all your barriers come crashing down. I was a woman when I met Alexandre and he changed me into a teenager.

  Get a grip, Pearl.

  I switch off my cell so I can’t be distracted again and continue with my conversation with this important producer. I take a deep breath and say, “I read the script changes.” Samuel Myers is now lounging comfortably – his weighty body spread out like a sea lion. “I think they’re great,” I add.

  “I’m so pleased,” he replies with a grin.

  I sit erect and try to turn my imagination into a blank canvas – erase the image of Alexandre and his erection. “I know we signed on this project already but have you considered the leads going to women?” I ask calmly.