I look down at my achingly beautiful ring and wish Sophie hadn’t laid her hands on it. As if her touch could pollute it in some way.
Swallowing a mouthful and then smiling sweetly she says, “These BLTs are so delicious, Pearl, you must tell me zee recipe.”
Recipe. The recipe is in the title of the sandwich. BLT - bacon, lettuce and tomato. Of course, Sophie’s irony is not lost on me but does seem to go over Alexandre’s head. Men are so clueless when it comes to women’s sharp claws disguised in white kid gloves. I tell Sophie, “The secret is in the bacon itself, Sophie. It’s from a small farm Upstate where the pigs roam free in fields and lead a happy life.”
Alexandre gets up from the table to get another bottle of champagne and Sophie whispers to me out of his earshot:
“Pearl, make sure you don’t wear zat pearl choker my bruzzer gave you on your wedding day, itself. Pearls are unlucky for a bride, you know.” Then she adds in a hoarse whisper, “I hope zat doesn’t make you unlucky, having Pearl as your name.”
***
I couldn’t even remember how we got there. I guess it was by his car – what was his name? Later, I blanked that name out. Later, when it was all too…
Late.
My friend, Julia, had somehow slipped out of the equation. I was left with both boys, lascivious, like hungry dogs drooling for their dinner. But I was lapping up the attention, thinking of Brad studying with his new girlfriend – well I, too, could have some fun – two guys at once. An erotically-charged night – a threesome. A one-time pleasure adventure - just the once. Isn’t that every girl’s secret fantasy?
“Baby, what’s wrong?”
My breath is short, my back is drenched with sweat. My eyes fly open and Alexandre is there beside me in bed. I heave a sigh of relief.
“You were having a bad dream, Pearl.” He holds me close to him and kisses the lids of my wet eyes. “It’s okay, everything’s okay, baby. You can go back to sleep.”
***
Alexandre brings me breakfast in bed the next morning. He sets down the tray and pours me coffee, adding steaming hot milk – a change from just the usual black caffeine fix that I always drink at work – he thinks the calcium is good for me. He knows just how I like it and it’s always more delicious when he makes it than when I do it for myself. In every way he is the most sensitive man to my needs and desires, except in one aspect:
Sophie.
She is like the cliché Italian mother-in-law who wants to protect her son from the wicked influence of his wife or girlfriend. He is the eternal baby. Forever suspicious, she will always be jealous, no matter what you do or how you prove yourself. Sophie may be just his sister but because these siblings are so embroiled in HookedUp together this is a tough battle. She’s a sister who is unfortunately embedded in my life, whether I like it or not. I am doing all I can not to nag. I have to be smart about this. My long game plan is to get her out of our lives.
“Alexandre,” I begin, wondering how to broach the subject. “No, never mind.”
“You want to tell me about these bad dreams you’ve been having, my darling?” he asks, sitting beside me on the bed. He’s already dressed, ready for work.
I look at my watch and see I overslept. That dream has turned me upside down. “Actually,” I venture, “I wanted to ask you if you noticed how…how spiky Sophie was being yesterday evening. I mean, she covered it up well with smiles but her intention was to make me look small.”
He holds my hand. “Yes, I did notice. But the best thing to do with Sophie is ignore her when she’s being like that. She wants to get a rise out of you – if you react it’ll just feed her desire to overrun you even more. It’s her way of getting your attention. Be flattered she’s investing so much of her energy in you.”
“Flattered? I’d like you to stop her behaving that way.”
Alexandre shakes his head. “I can’t stop her.”
“Alexandre, why do you weaken when it comes to Sophie? If she’s going to be like that, I don’t want to see her. Period.”
“Look, Sophie loves you.”
“What?” I say incredulous. “Are you serious? She hates everything about me!”
“She was saying only yesterday how good you are for me. Singing your praises. That you’re beautiful and have the face of an angel. She thinks your eyes are…what was the word she used? Yes, that’s right…’soulful’. She loves you, Pearl. Believe me, if Sophie didn’t like you, you’d soon realize. It’s just her manner. Plus, her English comes out a bit strange sometimes…the translation goes a bit awry and things sound critical or odd but she doesn’t mean it that way.”
“She’s playing us both, Alexandre.” I sigh, exasperated. We are going nowhere with this conversation. “I wish I’d never agreed to the wedding gown gift.”
But he just kisses me on the forehead as if I’m his little daughter who hasn’t had her rest and is cranky from lack of sleep. “She adores you, Pearl. Now, I’ve got meetings all day so I’ll see you later this evening. I’m taking you to the opera tonight.”
“Wonderful,” I mumble grumpily but then realize how spoilt that sounds so I ask with more energy, “What are we going to see?”
“Surprise.”
I walk to work with Rex and decide to spend the day with Natalie. For some reason, I thought that working on feature films would be more exciting but I’m finding that I miss the detail of documentaries. There is something satisfying about delving into a world you would never normally encounter and unveiling truths and horrors that the normal public would never find out about. Sharing real life stories rather than selling fantasies – that is fulfilling.
Natalie’s latest venture is into the dark cavern of modern slavery and human trafficking. This is something she feels passionate about as her ancestors were African slaves shipped to America. She’s horrified that with all our education, this travesty is still happening all over the globe; the difference being that it is undercover and illegal, but nevertheless rife. I agree with her and think this project is crucial.
I find her in the editing room. The light is low and I study her concentrated hazel eyes set amidst her smooth café au lait toned face. She is staring at the screen in the semi-darkness.
She clicks her fingers. “Cut right there,” she instructs her assistant, John. “And then pick it up again at the voodoo dance bit.” She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, “Hi, Pearl. We have so much footage I don’t know how to squeeze it all in, in under just one hour.”
“Make it ninety minutes, then.”
“Can we get away with that?”
“Why not? I think people will be riveted by this story. We can do a special on it. I mean, this is world news. Most people think slavery finished with Abraham Lincoln – they need to know what’s going on right here in New York City. Also, in London and Rome and in so many of the ‘civilized’ cities of the Western world.”
Natalie wipes a tear from her cheek. “It breaks my heart.”
Just as she says those words, Rex comes wagging up to her.
I laugh at his adorable dolphin face. Dogs can smile. “Mention the word ‘heart’,” I tell her, “and Rex will be at your side. He has an uncanny instinct when it comes to emotions. He can feel it when people are sad.”
Natalie holds Rex’s wide head in both hands and kisses him. “You sweet boy, just what the doctor ordered.”
“By the way, sorry to change the subject but while it’s on my mind, Dad called.”
Natalie raises an eyebrow. “Did he now.”
“He misses you and wonders why you won’t return his calls.”
“Men,” she sighs.
“I think he loves you, Natalie.”
“Think being the operative word.”
“No, really, I’m sure of it. Every time Dad and I speak he wants to talk about you.”
“Look, your dad is gorgeous. Very sexy, very attractive but as a human being he has a lot of failings. A lot. One of them being that he clams
shut when it comes to his emotions. I’m sorry, Pearl, but I need a man who is more demonstrative.”
“Well, I’m just passing this information on. Feel free to consider giving him another chance. You know, he is just a guy.”
We laugh simultaneously.
“What about co-living with Alexandre? Any better with psycho sis?”
I tell her about my Zang Toi visit, my wedding gown and Sophie’s snarky comments about my ring.
Natalie responds, “Clever woman. She has you over a barrel. Buying you with an amazing gown – now she feels she has control over you.”
“You make it sound as if I had a choice in the matter.”
“We always have a choice, Pearl.”
“I wish I could be more assertive like you, Natalie. You think I should cancel the gown, then?”
“It’s a little late for that now. But don’t have her over to your home anymore. Meet her at a restaurant, if need be – keep her at arm’s length.”
“I can assure you, there’s no ‘need be’ – I’d be delighted if I never set eyes on her again.”
We both fix our gaze on John for a moment as he prepares to show us more footage, and then Natalie says, “So pleased about Alessandra Demarr and that you came out on top getting a female lead.”
“Girl power,” I joke.
“You may laugh but it’s true – we women need to look out for each other. When are you going to meet her?”
“It looks like Alexandre and I are going to Los Angeles in a few days. He’s just waiting to hear back on something.”
“Well, watch out for her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She has a reputation, Pearl. She’s a seductress.”
“I have confidence in Alexandre – I trust him.”
Natalie chuckles. “Not him, dummy. You. Be careful you don’t fall for her charms.”
***
The opera was awe-inspiring. A new soprano (whose name I can’t pronounce) has everyone enthralled with her angelic voice. Afterwards, Alexandre and I went for a late supper and came home well after midnight.
I’m lying in bed unable to sleep. Not even sex has been able to calm my nerves; in fact, it made things worse. Natalie’s film has been playing over and over in my mind. All I can think about is how men control so many parts of the world and women are their victims. Poor innocent girls, some as young as thirteen are being sold by their husbands or families in Nigeria – lured away for a ‘better life’ in Europe or The States, being promised lucrative jobs or an education but ending up working for the sex industry. And ‘industry’ it is with no thought for their feelings or their well being - like cattle they are being herded in droves.
How can there be so many monsters in this world? The image of Sula, one of the children in the film who was later lucky enough to have been saved, is turning over in my thoughts. Her large, doe-like eyes, her long, elegant neck; a sweet child who was abused by hundreds of men out for a cheap thrill. Cheap. As if she were worthless; just two holes - orifices for them to abuse. It makes me sick.
Finally, I drift off to a worrying sleep….
I lay down on the futon in just my bra and panties. The room was dimly lit with just a flickering candle. I felt nervous but excited. This was a first. I could hear them mumbling between themselves, discussing me. It was exhilarating to be the center of attention. I lay back, the tequila whooshing through my veins. I told them my name was Jane. Jane Doe. They were from another college, I’d probably never see them again but still, I didn’t want to get a bad reputation – didn’t want to be gossiped about. This was going to be a one-off, a secret. I wouldn’t even tell Julia.
Jane Doe. I smiled to myself – I wondered if these boys believed my silly fib.
A firm hand touched my ankle, stroking me gently. Then a different hand, a little rougher, on my other calf. “Fuck, she’s got a body on her,” one said.
I looked at them hazily and saw the blonde one had his shirt off. He, too, had a body on him. He was a football player. They both were. I was in for a treat, I thought. My boyfriend Brad’s body was different from these two – he was lithe and slim. He hated sports – he was too intellectual for that. These guys were hot. Dumb, from the basic way they spoke and the things they’d been saying all evening like, ‘stoked’ and ‘dude’ - their vocabulary was limited, but they were hot, nevertheless.
One hand trailed up my leg and lingered on my thigh. I felt myself clench inside and I gasped.
“Turn over,” the blonde one said.
I turned on my stomach. He unclasped my bra and I felt some warm oil being rubbed on my back. Four hands were massaging me and it felt incredible, the knots in my shoulders being kneaded away. One set of hands was working on my upper body and the other traced down to my ass, cupping it, squeezing it; the fingers brushing past my crack. I moaned. This felt amazing. The same hand parted the cleft in my butt and trailed an index finger along it, resting at my entrance. I could sense my moistness gather, my clit tingling with pleasure. The hands moved down my thighs, and then up again, I could feel a hand press against my panties and his finger exploring my opening.
“She’s as wet as a Mexican.” one said.
“Like a wetback, dude,” and they both laughed.
Blood rushed to my head for a second, riled by the racist comment - normally something I would have jumped at - but I felt so good, so relaxed, the liquor coursing through my body, throbbing in my groin.
The other pair of hands moved underneath me, caressing my belly, then cupping my whole mound, the base of his palm pushing in just the perfect spot. I groaned and took his hand, thrusting it against my clit and I lifted my stomach upwards off the futon and pressed hard back down on it again. I felt so aroused.
“Jesus, her pussy’s wet,” this one said. He opened my legs apart and slipped his fingers inside me with one hand and peeling my panties off with the other.
“Turn back over,” the other one said. “I want to suck those hot tits.” He pushed my body so it rolled like a heavy stone. He pulled off my bra. I felt woozy. I was now on my back, my eyes closed. I could smell some patchouli incense coiling in the air, rich and thick. My head was propped up by cushions.
The blonde one edged further down the bed and prized my thighs apart with his hands. “Gotta chow down on this pussy,” he told me with a sexy groan. His tongue darted out at my clit and I could feel my body, almost as if it didn’t belong to me, writhing with desire. He pressed his entire mouth over my folds and began to lash his tongue up and down my cleft then circle my clit with his flipping tongue. I arched my back up high and moaned, pressing myself against his mouth.
The other guy was sucking my nipples. Nibbling on them, gently tugging with his teeth. “Christ, this feels incredible,” I whimpered, the alcohol drumming through my veins.
I flexed my hips even closer to the blonde one’s mouth. I could feel the need building, the need to be penetrated as the guy working on my torso flicking his tongue again on my hard nipple making it pucker. He then kneeled up and I saw his erection press towards my face.
“Suck my dick,” he commanded.
I could feel the other guy’s finger slide inside me. “Gotta fuck this pussy,” he said.
The other one shoved his penis in my face. I held my breath – the reality of what I had got myself into suddenly hit me.
I heard him say to his friend, “Wait up, dude, she’s gotta suck my dick first. I wanna come inside her mouth. I want her to lick her sweet tongue all over my cock and suck it till my hot creamy cum jets out to the back of her throat. Then I’m gonna fuck her, fuck that tight, horny little cunt – fuck it till she’s begging me to stop.”
“Dude, I’ve gotta bone her first – she’s got my dick so pumping and hard – gotta fuck that wet cunt – gonna make that cunt come all over my cement-hard dick.”
I need air. I need space.
“Wake up!”
I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to see.
>
“Darling, wake up! “
I dare to peel open my eyes and see Alexandre’s concerned face staring at me. I let out the breath I’ve been holding in – my lungs expire with relief.
Alexandre shakes his head. “There’s something wrong. I don’t understand. Why all of a sudden these nightmares? Baby, what’s wrong?” He grips me tight and covers my face with kisses.
“Just a bad dream.”
“You were moaning – muttering in your sleep. Everything seemed fine at first, your lips were even curved in a smile but then you started thrashing about the bed and crying out. Tell me about your dream, Pearl, baby. Maybe if you speak about it, these nightmares will go away.
“I can’t remember,” I lie. “I don’t remember. Please just hold me, Alexandre.”
Chapter Six
Los Angeles has not let us down. The sky is so blue that just looking at it makes you feel warm and happy, as if you’ve never had a problem in your life. The palm trees line Sunset Boulevard, the leaves shimmering in a gentle breeze as we cruise along in our hired 1960’s Cadillac convertible. It’s powder blue. Only in L.A.
I remember that when I lived here, brief as it was, I felt that I was on vacation every single day, even though I had a nine to five job. People are easy in Los Angeles and constantly in a good mood. They don’t call it La La Land for nothing. Beneath the veneer of perfection lie secrets and a dark interior but why delve deep when you can savor the trappings of glitz? At least for a little while.
Sunset Boulevard is a winding road, over twenty miles long linking the urban streets of downtown to the grand and glamorous residential avenues of Beverly Hills, Bel-Air and Brentwood. It continues to the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, passing some of the most beautiful properties that money can buy. Why take the freeway when you can soak up the ambience of the old-style Hollywood allure along this stretch? Gloria Swanson immortalized this place with her 1950’s film, Sunset Boulevard – I imagine the debauched parties that were held in the exquisite homes here, the deals, the passion and the back-stabbing divorces that followed.
Shadows of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 2) Page 7
