Shadows of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 2)

by Arianne Richmonde

  Daisy laughs and throws her curly head back and swivels in her therapist’s chair. “That’s brilliant and so true. That’s why I’m doing this! I need ‘fuck-you’ money, too. I mean, Johnny’s very generous and earns enough for us all but if I want to go on a wild underwear splurge at Victoria’s Secret or pig out at the gourmet bakery at Dean & DeLucca, that’s my prerogative, right? I don’t want to feel guilty about it. ‘Fuck-you’ money, I love it! What about your ‘fuck-you’ money, Pearl? Do you feel as if Alexandre is being too controlling, still? A couple of weeks ago it seemed to be really bugging you. Is he still pushing you about getting pregnant ASAP?”

  “Yes, but it hasn’t happened so we’ll cross that unlikely bridge if we come to it. The truth is, though, I’m relieved I’m not pregnant right now. It would all be too much going on at once.”

  “What about the wedding date?”

  “Alexandre’s cooled off a bit about that but just can’t understand why I need a bit more time. And he gave in about the company. As far as money goes, I get a generous director’s salary from HookedUp Enterprises plus a percentage of any future projects that I orchestrate. It’s all been drawn up legally with lawyers. I refused to be given a stake in the company, much to his irritation. If at a later date my projects go well then I can buy in. I want to know I deserve the money I earn.”

  “Wise. What about your apartment? You’re not selling that, are you?”

  “No, I’m subletting. It’s a nice, regular income that I can rely on.”

  “Fuck-you money.”

  I laugh. “Exactly. Just in case I have to take off running,” I joke.

  “Good girl. Smart move. You need to keep your autonomy.”

  “Exactly,” I agree. “I don’t want hand-outs. I’ve always earned my own living. Anthony thinks I’m nuts, though.”

  “Yes, well - he would. I know Anthony’s your brother but he’s such a wanker. Why are you always so forgiving with him? You’ve got to face it - he really is pretty cruel to you, Pearl.”

  “I know. He doesn’t really mean it, though.”

  Daisy arranges some papers on her desk. “There you go again – always defending him. Do you ever tell him to F off? I wouldn’t stand for such continual negativity.”

  “We had a huge fight once and I did, I told him to get out of my life. Well, guess what? I’ve never told anyone this, Daisy, but…well, he attempted suicide…took a load of pills, so you can imagine how I felt. It wasn’t because of me that he did it, but still.”

  “Oh, shit. How long ago was this?”

  “About two years after John died. So you know, John died of an overdose, my mom died of cancer, I hardly see my dad so…”

  “I see. Guilt and fear. Guilt is powerful.”

  “Anthony is incorrigible. He thinks I should ‘snap up Alexandre before he realizes what’s happened’ – those were his very words. Oh, and become a ‘trophy wife’. Do younger men have trophy wives who are older than they are? Don’t you have to be arm candy to be a trophy wife?”

  “You are arm candy, Pearl, believe me. Arm candy with intelligence. Age doesn’t stop anyone being beautiful. In fact, I think you look better now than you ever did. And you seem so much more self-possessed lately, not so needy.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Well when you first met Alexandre you were practically wetting your knickers over him – sorry I didn’t mean that,” she bursts out into a cascade of giggles. “No - but I mean you were behaving as if you were the lucky one, completely dismissing the fact that he, too, was getting a great deal.”

  I put my hand on hers. “Oh, sweetie, you think I’m a great deal?”

  “I think you’re a bargain and he should be bloody grateful. Just because he’s loaded and gorgeous and younger than you doesn’t make him more special than you are. And you need to be aware of that. The truth is, Pearl, you were behaving like a teenager. I can tell you now because you seem to be pretty much back to normal but I was a little worried for a while. I mean, I know you basically hadn’t had any decent sex for twenty years and never thought you’d meet anyone ever again, so I do understand why you went so gaga over him, but still, he really had you under his thumb.”

  Little does she know, I think, and find myself humming Under My Thumb again, remembering what Alexandre did with his magic touch. Is still doing with his magic touch.

  “Yes, but he wasn’t aware of my Jell-O insides,” I say. “One of the reasons he was attracted to me was that I was ‘mature’ – luckily, because of your wise advice of acting ‘cool, calm and collected’ he wasn’t party to my insecure, self-doubting internal dialogue or I think he would have dumped me.”

  Daisy arches her delicate eyebrows. “You worry about that a lot, don’t you? Desertion. Being dumped…left in the lurch?”

  I tell Daisy about the whole Bruce saga, how I fear for Anthony, and how it has triggered the dread of abandonment and loneliness – memories of my mother’s sudden death. Then I add, “I don’t want to go into this marriage for the wrong reasons. I want Alexandre to really know me and love me for me – the good the bad and the ugly.”

  To my amazement, Daisy takes Anthony’s side on this topic and warns, “Be careful, Pearl, he’s a Latin man at heart. I’m speaking as your friend, you understand – professionally I’d probably urge you to be completely honest, but you’re not my client, you’re my best mate. Latin men can be jealous and possessive – believe me I know, I dated one. They have that virgin/whore complex going on. I really, really would think twice about coming clean about divulging sexual history – there are some things better left unsaid.”

  I bite my lip. Maybe she’s right. Although, the truth is I had blanked it all out. I can’t even remember, anyway.

  She goes on, “You don’t want him to know about what happened that time. He really doesn’t need to be privy to it all—”

  “But I was a different person then.”

  “You were cocky and sassy and brimming with self-confidence – you were only twenty-two.”

  “Exactly,” I agree, remembering how I then didn’t suffer from insecurities - that at that age I felt I owned the world.

  “Still, best to keep it all under wraps, don’t you think? Let sleeping dogs lie,” she advises.

  I cross my legs almost in self defense. “It’s a blur, anyway, Daisy. I genuinely can’t remember what happened but it is a part of me still, whether I like it or not. I suppose I just feel like really opening up to Alexandre, that’s all. I don’t want us to hold secrets from each other.”

  Daisy strokes my cheek and brushes a tendril of hair away from my eye. “You want to talk about it, how it messed everything up with Brad…empty your heart and soul, re-open painful wounds? That’s fine - I totally get that, me more than anyone. But talk to me about it, or any other close friend, or even another therapist - I could recommend a colleague to you - but your future husband who happens to be a proud Frenchman? I’m thinking, no, bad idea, or you could really screw things up. Look, maybe I’m wrong and totally overreacting; maybe he’d be understanding, adorable and wouldn’t give a toss. But I’m just speaking from my own personal experience. It’s up to you, Pearl, but my gut feeling is this: he’s crazy about you – he thinks you’re perfect. Why risk jeopardizing that?”

  “I guess you could be right,” I mumble.

  There’s an awkward silence and then Daisy says enthusiastically, “On a brighter note – tell me about your wedding dress; have you chosen the designer yet? Let me know if you want me to come along and help you pick something out.”

  “I forgot to tell you, Daisy – it’s all arranged. Zang Toi is doing my gown.”

  “You’re joking? But won’t that cost a fortune? You told me you didn’t want Alexandre paying for your dress and I know your father doesn’t have a bean. I read somewhere that Zang Toi dresses like…Saudi princesses…and Bill Gates’s wife – that’s when he’s not too busy with the likes of Eva Longoria and Sharon Stone.”

/>   “He does, but Sophie’s paying. It’s her wedding gift to me. She has insisted and won’t take no for an answer. Zang Toi was her idea.”

  Daisy goes white. You. Are. Kidding. Me.”

  “No, really, she’s being as sweet as pie at the moment.”

  “And you trust that?”

  I grimace. “No, but what am I meant to do? Tell her she’s a scheming bitch and that I suspect her of foul play? If she insists on spending sixty-three thousand dollars on me and it makes Alexandre happy and I’m going to get the most stunning wedding gown in the whole wide world, then who am I to disagree?”

  “Sixty-three thousand dollars?? But that’s insane money! I know Sophie and Alexandre are loaded but—”

  “Alexandre,” I interrupt, “is rich and powerful but Sophie? Oh my God, that woman has her money invested everywhere - Vegas and half way round the United States and Latin America, and Lord knows where else. She oozes wealth. Alexandre spends his money on cars and property but her? She invests. She plays the stock market. Who knows what pies her bony fingers are stuck into but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s involved with Russian mafia or something. I know sixty-three thousand is a fortune for you and me, but for Sophie it’s not even a morning’s work.”

  Daisy presses her thumb up to her lips in thought. “Hmm, I wonder what her plan is. Maybe, knowing she’s going to be your sister-in-law has made her turn over a new leaf and the wedding dress is her peace offering.”

  “You think?”

  Daisy sniggers. “No, not for a second, I was being sarcastic. I think she could be plotting and scheming something. Watch out.”

  “Me too. I mean, I’d love to believe that she genuinely wants to be friends - of course - but my little voice inside tells me not to trust her.”

  “If I were you, I’d listen to that little voice.” Daisy narrows her eyes. “I smell a rat.”

  ***

  I saunter through Central Park on my way back to the office, taking my time, mulling over what Daisy has said. I think of Sophie and her dark past, how she worked as a prostitute when she was only seventeen. Alexandre never judged her for that and even got angry with me when I made a benign comment. So how then, would he judge me for one thing that happened in my past? Would he think less of me? Would it spoil everything? Both Daisy and Anthony seem to think it’s not worth the risk. But Alexandre is a forgiving person. He’d love me anyway.

  Or would he? Perhaps things are better left unsaid.

  The day’s still beautiful. I take out my iPod and find Autumn in New York and put on my headset– what song could be more perfect? I have on my lightweight sneakers, which - as any New Yorker knows - is part and parcel of living in this city - walking is one of the great pleasures of living here. I kick up the crispy, golden leaves as squirrels scatter in front of me. I observe them leap up boughs of American Elm trees; a variety which has been decimated all through its range by the ravages of Dutch elm disease, but miraculously still alive and thriving in Central Park.

  I feel the warmth of sun on my back; the sky is crystal blue. There are people sprawled on park benches reading newspapers, Smartphone texting and snoozing in the morning rays. Dogs are charging about trying their luck with a squirrel catch I regret that Rex isn’t with me. Dogs complete a real walk. I decide to pass by the apartment to collect Rex and take him to the office. He loves hanging out there and is a star amongst the staff; his treat every now and then to come to work and lap up the attention they lavish on him – his white cravat of a chest stroked, his ears caressed. I’ll order something in for lunch – some Chinese perhaps – I have a lot of work to catch up on, and Natalie needed a second opinion about a project she’s working on.

  I’m singing along to Autumn in New York and making a mental list when I feel the buzz of my cell. I fumble about for it and pick up.

  The voice is familiar but I don’t recognize it straight away. I switch off my iPod so I can hear better.

  “Pearl?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Sam.”

  “Oh, hi Sam.” Samuel Myers – that was fast. Such a quick answer can mean only one thing. A ‘no’ to my proposal.

  “Lunch?”

  “Oh, okay.” I look at my watch. Lunch is now.

  “You sound surprised,” he snorts.

  Uh, oh - the cool, sophisticated woman in the chic suit is now wearing sneakers, has damp mussed-up hair from swimming and is in a twisted mess of iPod wires tangled all over her head. I take a neat breath. “No, Sam, not surprised at all. I would love to do lunch. In fact, it’ll be my treat. How about the Century Club?”

  He chuckles. “The Century? You’re a member? Too stuffy. Where are you right now?”

  “In Central Park at about Sixty Third, or so.”

  “I’ll book a table at Daniel. Is that good for you, sweetheart?”

  “It’s my local haunt but it’s closed at lunch time.”

  I hear him breathing heavily. “Oh, darn. Let’s just meet at The Plaza, then. Meet me there in… twenty minutes, say – in the restaurant at The Palm Court.”

  I start sprinting. I need to get there fast before he does – empty out my monstrous bag of tricks in the ladies’ room and transform myself into the glamorous ball-breaking executive I was just a few hours before.

  ***

  I emerge fresh from the powder room at The Plaza, looking composed and primed, and as sleek as a panther on the hunt. High heels back on, suit smoothed out, hair in a chignon bun, make-up perfect, just a touch of lip gloss.

  Samuel Myers has something up his sleeve, I can be sure of that, or he would have just called, not suggested a lunch meeting. Or does he just want to get into my panties? Ha! Some chance. He’s used to bimbos in L.A - pretty young actresses who’ll do anything for a break. He’s fat and balding but he’s powerful; the strongest aphrodisiac of them all for a lot of females. Not me, though. Money doesn’t motivate me. Even if Alexandre had been a bus boy I would have fallen for him anyway.

  The maitre’d shows me to our table, and to my amazement Samuel Myers is already seated, eagerly waiting for me. The room is massive, bordered with mirrored arched windows all around and fleur-de-pêche marbled columns. This airy room’s crowning glory is a stained-glass yellow and green skylight way up high – the restored 1907 décor is breathtaking. Funny, how when you live in a city you neglect its best landmarks. I haven’t set foot in The Plaza for years.

  I find Samuel almost hidden behind a potted palm tree beaming at me.

  “Pearl - we meet again,” he says in a motion to get up, although he plunks himself right back down in his chair with the effort.

  “Sam,” I say, shaking his hand heartily.

  “Not the most elegant cuisine in the city but there are some nice organic things on the Eloise menu. I can report back to my wife that I’m being a good boy and sticking to my diet.”

  “Diets are tough,” I say. “Actually, I’ve never managed more than three hours of being on a diet.”

  He snorts with laughter. “I don’t believe that for a minute, Pearl. You’re so svelte, so slim and trim.”

  “I cheat.”

  “Oh yes? How?” he asks eagerly.

  “I swim a lot. It’s amazing what you can get away with when you go for the burn.”

  He sounds disappointed and says in a glum tone, “I wish I could admit to doing the same but I’m a lazy old man with a sweet tooth and a penchant for Cognac.”

  I suppress a grin. The waiter comes and we both order. The swim has given me an appetite so I ask for organic grilled chicken, mashed potato, carrots and sweet peas. Sam orders a hot dog.

  “So should we get down to business?” he breathes.

  My heart starts racing but I smile serenely, wondering what’s in store.

  “You got me thinking, Pearl. A lot. And I want to meet you half way.

  “You do?” I ask, wondering where this is leading.

  “You say Thelma and Louise. I say, just Thelma. No Louise. Because
the other part needs to go to a guy. I need box office. I need testosterone. I’m obliged to hire a star which means I have to go easy on the budget – like I said before, I can’t have two big names. That’s where your Thelma comes in. The guy and the girl. A buddy movie with a twist.”

  I cross my legs, hold my hand up to my chin and listen intently. “Go on.”

  “What’s the name of that woman who won a Tony Award for that play, Seeking Sandrine – the half-Italian actress? She was good.”

  “Alessandra Demarr.”

  He shakes his head. “Forget it. I’ve heard she’s gay.”

  “So? She’s a great actress. Even better if she’s gay - we’d see the character from a different angle – it could really deepen the story. I mean, whatever happens, the script is going to need some more tweaking.”

  He ponders this and says, “I guess the advantage is that she won’t be too expensive and the whole gay thing she’s got going could work in our favor. The two leads can play off each other. Flirt but not get involved, you know. I like it, actually. I like it a lot.”

  “I had a feeling about you, Sam,” I flatter him, “I knew you’d get it.”

  “My wife likes the idea of a female lead. My daughter loves the idea. We could be onto a winner here.”

  “And if Alessandra Demarr’s not free?”

  “Oh, she’ll be free all right. Her agent will be chomping at the bit, guaranteed. Leave it to me, I’ll sort it out.”

  “Really? That simple?”

  “I have to leave for L.A tonight but I’ll set up a meeting. You two can get together next week or the week after.”

  “L.A or New York?”

  “Take your pick, sweetheart. You decide.”

  I look up at the glass ceiling and ponder my options. New York or Los Angeles? “I’ll talk it over with my fiancé,” I tell him, and imagine that a little trip with Alexandre might just be the tonic.

  Chapter Four