“I’ll wait over there,” he says, awkwardly handling my bag, as if it were a bomb. Why is it men find a woman’s handbag so embarrassing? But he seems relaxed now, getting out his cell phone as he makes a call.
I race into the ladies room making a dash to the window. I climb on the toilet seat trying not to make any noise and raise my leg up, twisting and contorting myself into yogi-like positions until I am able to squeeze myself through the window. Better this than dead in Vegas, I think. It’s dark out there and it’s hard to tell where I’m going to land. All I have is the wad of dollar bills in my front jeans’ pocket with the car key, my passport in the back pocket. My cell and everything else is in my handbag with him. There’s no point bringing any of it - he could trace the movement on my credit cards and cell phone - and would. My heart’s pounding in my chest. I’m falling head-first, now, and manage to twist my torso back around so I land on my feet the other side. My eyes dart about to fix my location. Luckily, this airport is fairly small and I spot the position where we parked the Mercedes. I sprint like crazy until I reach it.
I leap inside, turn on the ignition and drive like a bat out of hell.
Chapter Twelve
Anthony’s apartment is up on a hill in a beautiful tree-lined street in Pacific Heights. He and Bruce live in part of a stately Edwardian house which has been divided into three condos. His is the first floor sporting huge bay windows that look out over the city of San Francisco. It is light and roomy, decorated impeccably with graceful feminine furniture and walls painted in robin’s-egg blue and whites that are not white but tinged with subtle tints of ivory - worthy of a spread in a designer magazine. There are two large fireplaces and detailed crowned moldings that run around the ceiling. Dead centre, an elegant crystal chandelier hangs like dripping jewels – a ‘souvenir’ that he and Bruce brought back from Venice, Italy. Which is where my eyes are fixed now, as I lie on the sofa in the living room contemplating what I should do next. It’s nine a.m, the morning after the night before, and I still haven’t gone to bed yet.
Bruce, thank God, is visiting his parents in Napa Valley so I don’t have to make small talk with him. I am not in the mood to make an effort with my brother’s other half and am exhausted from last’s night’s long drive. I look like hell, too.
I drove without stopping. At every moment I half expected to hear a helicopter above me searching with headlights for a Ms. Pearl Robinson, ‘belonging to’ a certain, Mr. Alexandre Chevalier. But I made it through the night. I guessed he would have suspected that I got on a plane to Kauai. Sorry, Dad, next time. Besides, Sophie will be expecting me to be there and I’m too freaked out to risk it – I want to stay out of her radar. Alexandre has called here, of course, but Anthony did a great job of sounding shocked and worried. I feel terrible, thick with guilt but what else can I do? Anthony seems to be enjoying all the drama but thinks I’m nuts not to have snapped up the wedding opportunity in Vegas. That’s what he says but his ironic sense of humor can have you easily fooled sometimes.
Anthony minces into the living room in his pink silk pajamas. I am still in a trace, staring at that flickering crystal chandelier which is catching beams of morning light flooding through the bay windows. He brings in two large mugs of steaming drinks –coffee for himself and cocoa for me.
He sets the mugs on the coffee table on top of a thick book about Renaissance Art. “Just hire a bodyguard, Pearly. Get the marriage over and done with,” he says carrying on with this morning’s no-sleep conversation. I still haven’t got any shut-eye at all.
I cover my yawning mouth. “Dead in a dumpster somewhere with a ring on my finger? What good would that do?”
“As long as I’m your next of kin and can inherit half of Alexandre’s empire,” he jokes.
I glare at him.
“Seriously, Pearl, he’s behaving like a total, control-freak asshole. Of course you can’t go through with this union as things are right now. He can’t just abduct you into marriage, that’s insane. Even I get that.”
“Yes, well, he’s a man who’s used to getting what he wants.”
“To me it screams insecurity. A man who is so hooked-up on you, HookedUp, pardon the pun – so obsessed with you that it’s scary. Like you’re his possession. It won’t be long before he arrives here, or sends someone – I could tell by his voice on the phone that he didn’t quite believe me when I said you weren’t here. There’s probably someone watching the front door as we speak, waiting to pounce on you. Lucky the rental car is parked in the underground parking, anyway. I’ll warn the neighbors not to say a word.”
“He’ll think I’ve gone to Hawaii.”
“Nuh, uh, he’s already checked all the flights out of L.A. and has people on the case. He said so on the phone.”
I sigh. “I feel mean and guilty. I should call and tell him where I am.”
“I bet he already knows where you are.”
“How?”
“He has a whole team of private detectives working around the clock – that’s what he told me, or warned me, more like. If you stay here he’ll be on the front doorstep any minute now throwing you over his shoulder again and riding off into the sunset with you on his galloping black stallion.”
“You make it sound so romantic.”
“Well, it is romantic, in a way. Who wouldn’t dream of a guy so in love with you that he’s willing to take you hostage? Especially one as drop-dead gorgeous as Alexandre. However, this psycho sister shit is no joke and I totally see, Pearly, where you’re coming from.”
“You do?”
“Yes, she sounds like a total fruitcake. And a dangerous one at that.”
“But he just doesn’t get it. He refuses to take it seriously, just tells me that she’ll ‘get used to me’. The fact that she wheedled her way into Samuel Myers and my movie deal doesn’t faze him at all. Alexandre acted like I was over-reacting and P.S. he forgot to let me in on the fact that he knew about it.”
“It sounds as if he and Sophie are so close after what happened when he was a child that no matter what she does he will always forgive her and make excuses for her until the day he dies. Blood is thicker than water, and I’m sorry, Pearl, but you are the water and she is the blood. He’s obviously crazy about you but he wants to have his cake and eat it too. He wants you both in his life and is juggling everything to keep it so.”
“Yeah, well, I won’t be in his life much longer if she has her evil way – I’ll be dead.”
“You really believe she could try and kill you?”
“I told you, Laura called to warn me. She sounded really kind. Really concerned. She supposedly tripped down some stairs because the next door neighbor’s child had left some toys there. But she ended up in a wheelchair because of it – she could have died. The whole scenario sounds suspicious to me.”
“She’s still in a wheelchair?”
“No, apparently she’s all better now. Just has a vague limp. But it was a miracle that she was able to walk again. Poor thing.”
“What’s she like?”
“Very nice, I think – does a bunch of stuff for disabled charities. Despite what happened, she hasn’t felt sorry for herself in any way. From photos she looks like a super-model. Legs that reach up to her armpits, about five foot ten tall, a body to die for, a face like an angel, long blonde hair and sporty. At least she was sporty once before the ‘accident’ – I think she’s doing round the clock physical therapy and is doing really well. Alexandre mentioned that she wants to sail again. To compete - so she’s dedicated to getting a hundred percent better. So brave. She sounds like a really admirable person.”
“They’re still in contact?”
“Yes, they’re still friends. He still cares for her.”
“Does that make you jealous?”
“It would but she’s happily married with a husband who dotes on her. Her childhood sweetheart who she knew before she met Alexandre. Of course, that pang of envy is there, knowing how in love Alexandr
e was with her once and, as I said, she really is beautiful but you know, it was a long time ago.”
Anthony takes my hand in his and says softly, “You’re beautiful, Pearl.”
I look at him in shock. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me for years.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I owe you a big apology. I’ve been a total ass for so long. I’m really sorry, sis, I guess I must have been envious of you and holding in a lot of anger about John.”
“Envious? Of me?”
“I always felt that Mom loved you more. She always confided in you, not me, especially towards the end. It made me resentful inside and I blamed you for all sorts of things. I now realize I was wrong. Will you ever forgive me?”
My eyes are prickling with tears and I feel a lump in my throat. “Thank you, Anthony for that. It means the world.” I hug him, his bear-like body is now trembling as his tears come gushing out. “Pearly, I feel like such a big, fat failure. When Bruce nearly died it knocked the wind out of me. I thought I was going to be alone forever and it was then I stopped and thought about you. Really took responsibility for the way I’ve been acting towards you. I’ve been unfair and snarky and bitchy and you’ve…you’ve been so patient with me.” He’s blubbering now, his large body shaking with emotion. My heart goes out to him and I, too, am crying.
I stroke his pale hair and say, “Because I knew that it wasn’t really you saying all those negative things. That you were hurting after John died and then Mom, and all that guilt you felt inside. You were taking it out on me because I was the closest person for you to lash out at.”
“How come…” he asks between sobs, “you’re so wise?”
“Because I felt angry, too. I felt guilty, crazy guilt about the tough love thing we were doling out to John. Those goddam meetings we were going to that encouraged us to look out for ourselves more and not pander to him and stop the co-dependency…you know, I felt mad at myself because I didn’t call him back that time - like if I’d been there more for him he wouldn’t have taken that overdose. I was mad at you because you and he had had that fight… and worst of all? I felt mad at Mom for abandoning us - even though it wasn’t her fault. Can you imagine? I felt furious at her for dying – how screwed-up is that?”
Anthony wheezes out a little laugh. “I guess we’re both as fucked-up as each other, huh? We probably need several sessions with a therapist. Can we be friends now? Can you forgive me for being such a jackass?”
I squeeze him tightly and say, “Of course I forgive you and we have always been friends, no matter what. I have never given up on you, Ant. Ever.”
We nestle in each other’s warm embrace. I feel the softness of his pink silk pajamas and smile. What a pair we are. He - the consummate drama queen and I, a basket-case disaster in every possible way. I can’t hold a deal together, have hand-picked a stalking Frenchman as my future husband who probably murdered his father, and I don’t even know if I’m bisexual or if I can even ever have sex with a man and his penis again.
Anthony’s breath hitches from his weeping, he draws back from me asking suddenly, “Well, did you call her back last night and ask for details - about her accusations about Sophie? Proof?”
“Call who back?”
“Laura, of course.”
Oh okay, so we are back to that conversation. Heartfelt sibling reunion over. Fine.
“I didn’t have time,” I answer. “The second after I’d listened to Laura’s message, Alexandre and I had that crazy car chase and then he threw me over his shoulder and took me to Van Nuys Airport to catch the private jet to Vegas. I didn’t have a second.”
“And then you escaped through the toilet window.”
“Exactly.”
“Leaving your cell behind with her number on it so you can’t call her back.”
“Yes.”
“Laura could be making it up or accusing Sophie of something she never did.”
“Whose side are you on, Anthony? You sound like Alexandre! I’m going to end up in an asylum like in one of those psychological horror movies where nobody believes the heroine and sends her stark-raving mad!”
“Sorry, just I haven’t met this Sophie but I have to admit she does have a pretty face from photos and looks kind of nice.”
I pound a feather cushion with my fists to stop myself from smashing my brother in the face. “Shut up!” I yell.
“Sorry but all this is kind of… I mean, Alexandre loves you, right? He must know his own sister. If she were really going to harm you physically, he’d stop her in her tracks.”
“She stabbed her own father in the groin, Anthony.”
“After he’d repeatedly raped her and beaten her – the father had it coming to him.”
“That’s exactly what Alexandre always says.”
“What happened to their dad anyway? Where is he now?”
“Oh, right, get this…he just ‘disappeared’.
Anthony laughs. “Wow, you really are entangled in a family affair, aren’t you? You think Sophie killed their father?”
“Maybe,” I reply, secretly thinking that Alexandre was in on it too, but not daring to say that to Anthony. I think of how Alexandre mixed rat poison with his father’s food when he was only a small child. Killing him could have been the next step. Alexandre could be capable of anything, especially recently with all his money and power. He could have even paid someone to do it for them. And that’s why Sophie has such a hold on him. They share a guilty secret. I’m wondering at what point the father disappeared. Hum…it would be interesting to know that.
Anthony breaks my train of thought, “It sounds to me as if, deep down inside, you like the fact that your fiancé could be a killer.”
I stare at him incredulously. “What?” Can Anthony read my mind? How does he know I think Alexandre could be guilty of murder?
My brother raises his pale blond eyebrows. “Who are your favorite movie characters?”
I roll my eyes. “What’s that got to do with any of this?”
“You love fucked-up tough guys, Pearl, let’s face it. You like bad boys, menacing, unscrupulous men.”
“Alexandre is not bad, he’s sweet and kind.”
“Who are your favorite movie characters?” he sing-songs. “Travis Bickle and Michael Corleone, aren’t they? I think that says it all, don’t you?”
“Okay, I love Robert de Niro and Al Pacino just because they are great actors, nothing more.”
“No, what you love most is the mysteriously sinister characters they portray, their ice-cold, ruthless interiors mixed with their dark, brooding panty-melting eyes. The irresistible villain. Well, in The Godfather and Taxi Driver Bobby and Al were in their prime, of course – they’re grandfathers now but—”
“Alexandre’s eyes are green, anyway,” I interrupt.
Anthony takes a swig of coffee. “Your fiancé doesn’t have me fooled for a second. Oh, he’s Mr. Perfect on the exterior, alright, with his textbook French manners, opening doors for ladies and pulling out your chair at dinner and giving to charity et cetera etcetera, but within him lurks a dangerous man, believe me. Let’s face it, you’ve always gone for the typical bad boy.”
“That is so not true! Brad wasn’t a bad boy.”
“He started fooling around on you and you gave him the perfect out by having that little adventure with those footballers. Which means, maybe he wasn’t bad enough for you. You sabotaged the relationship because you secretly found him boring.”
“How d’you know about the footballers, anyway, I never told you.”
“I overheard Mom talking on the phone to you.”
“You eavesdropped?”
“You know how she used to whisper so loudly that it attracted attention? That, ‘no you don’t say’ voice she had that made you instantly stop what you were doing and prick up your ears? Well, she had that voice on when she was on the phone to you and I….well, I just overheard, that’s all. You were not cut out to be the perfect doctor’s
wife anyway, Pearl.”
A wave of sadness engulfs me remembering my mother and I feel heaviness weigh down my heart like a dull ache. “Well Saul was good. He wasn’t a bad boy.”
“Oh no? Mr. Tax Evasion himself! They nearly sent him to jail and would have if you hadn’t bailed him out. But again, he wasn’t bad enough for you so you divorced him, and that’s why you’re so crazy about Alexandre and so addicted to him. He’s your Michael Corleone.”
I think back to my conversation with my mom and how she was always there for my problems; I could tell her anything, she was like a sister to me. I’m tempted to share my saga of the recurring nightmares with Anthony and reveal the real story of what happened with the rapist footballers, but I keep my mouth closed. The thought of my brother knowing anything about my sexual life repels me. “Listen,” I yawn, “I need to get some sleep; I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“Your bed is all made up with fresh sheets. The bathroom has everything you need. I’ll guard the front door as I’m sure Mr. Possessive will be knocking at it any moment now. But don’t worry, he’ll need a warrant first, I won’t let him in.”
“I don’t know what to do next, Anthony. I’m being cruel to him – he’ll be worried about me.”
“Let him suffer for a while. He needs to understand you mean business about getting that nut-job sister out of your life first. If you don’t stand your ground now the next thing you know she’ll be moving in to your apartment.”
I flinch. Needless to say I haven’t shared the worst of it with Anthony about my adventure with Alessandra. The too-close-for-comfort mess I got myself into, never mind the kinky business. Curiosity killed the cat, that’s for sure.
Shadows of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 2) Page 17
