Walter clapped his son on the back. Ivo rolled his eyes at his dad’s usual uniform of shorts and bare chest. Walter looked after himself and liked to show off his physique.
Ivo sat down next to his mother’s lounger. “I didn’t know you were over from Rome, Mama.”
Adria waved a hand. “Ah, I just got in last night. I thought I’d settle in and then call you.” She dropped her sunglasses down her nose and peered at him. “You look well. Have you gotten back with Clemence yet?”
Ivo sighed. This had been his mother’s mantra since the split. “No, Ma, Clemence and I are still over.”
“Shame that,” his father said mildly. “Lovely girl.”
Well, why don’t you date her? Ivo swallowed his annoyance and changed the subject. “Actually, I just came over to tell Dad, well, both of you now, that I’m going to be in Paris for a while. Do you remember Desiree?”
Adria shook her head, frowning, but Walter’s eyes lit up. “Tall. Blonde. Skin the color of milky coffee. Gallery owner. That the one?”
Ivo smothered a grin. He wondered how Walter would react if he ever suspected that Desiree, beautiful, gorgeous, a hell of a woman, was transgender. He wondered if his dad was that enlightened yet. “Yes, that’s her. Well, she called me. Seems she’s having a drought of artists worthy of her development skills, so she’s asked me to go over and headhunt for her. Seems like a good idea. I could do with getting away from the States for a while.”
Walter chuckled. “Nothing to do with the fact that Clemence is seeing that Senator from Washington State, is it? Seems funny, her picking up with him just as soon as you’d settled in Seattle.”
Ivo felt his skin itch. “Dad, I told you before, Seattle was supposed to be temporary. I have work to do with the Quilla Chen Mallory Foundation, but only for three months.”
His mother was still studying him. “Piccolo,” she said softly, giving him the nickname he’d had as a kid, and now quite incongruous for her six-foot-five son, “You look tired.”
Ivo nodded. The break-up might have been his doing, but it hadn’t been easy to get over. “I admit, Mama, a good deal of this trip to Paris will be vacation time. I’ve worked for four years straight. I need some down time and I can combine headhunting with pleasure too.”
Adria nodded, seemingly satisfied, but Walter squinted at his son. “You tired of your work?”
Ivo smiled at his father. “Not even a little bit. I know you wanted me to go into acting, but really, I’m never going to be the right sort of personality for it. Art is my life.”
Walter harrumphed. “Sometimes I do think we brought the wrong baby home from hospital.”
“You mean…the nannies brought the wrong kid home?” Ivo teased his father, who shrugged good-naturedly.
“Just the way it was, kiddo.”
“I know. And yeah, maybe I was swapped but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Love you both.”
“Ugh, mushy,” his dad shifted in his chair and Ivo and Adria laughed. Ivo leaned over and kissed his mother on the cheek.
“Anyway, my flight is in a couple of hours, so I’d better get going. I’ll call you from Paris.”
Paris, France
Desiree gathered him in a huge, perfumed hug as Ivo made his way into her gallery the next day. “Are you jetlagged, honey?”
Ivo shook his head. “Not even one little bit.”
Desiree gave him the tour of her gallery on the Left Bank of the Seine. “Obviously, we’re still in the process of renovating, Ivo, the façade looks glorious but inside, we’re still in chaos. A bit like me.” Grinning, she led him into what he assumed would be the exhibition hall. For now, it was just a huge space, wood, sawdust and wires, and a band of sweaty workmen who didn’t even glance up at them as they passed by. Desiree chuckled as Ivo took in the amount of work still to be done. “Now, you know me. I’m not the most patient of people and when I bought the place, I thought any other pace that looked like this I would have bothered with, but this place has this.” She pointed upwards and Ivo looked up to a huge glass dome above, colored glass depicting a tornado of colors and shapes.
“Wow.”
“Wow is right. Talk about a USP.” Desiree tucked her hand under his arm. “If only I had artists worthy of showing in this room.” She sighed dramatically and Ivo laughed. “Come see what I have got, Ivo, mon chère, I need your opinion.”
Desiree studied Ivo as he looked through the portfolios of work. He looked older than when she’d last seen him, perhaps even older than his thirty-seven years. His almost-black curls had streaks of silver in and there were violet shadows under his eyes. Even so, he was still gloriously handsome, almost beautiful, his large green eyes standing out against his swarthy, tanned skin. His body was solid, honed by a strict regime of swimming. Desiree knew Ivo hated to work out in a gym, and she had often joined him on his one of his swims. He was at his most relaxed then and Desiree loved to try and match him stroke for stroke but could never manage it.
“Which pool are we meeting at tomorrow?” She asked with a grin and he laughed.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m branching out? I’m going to try La Piscine Josephine Baker this evening.” Ivo grinned at her. “I know, I know. What can I say? Swimming relaxes me.”
Desiree shook her head. “How are you related to Walter and Adria? The King and Queen of the Lotus Eaters?”
“Exactly what they said to me before I came out.” He put the portfolios back on the desk. “Look, Desi, I have to be honest. What I’m seeing is fine work but nothing that makes me salivate. Where are the junior Rothkos or Hoppers or O’Keefes? Something with atmosphere, with a sense of story? Of the artist? These are technically flawless – and as soulless as a painting could be.”
Desiree nodded. “I know. And Ivo, a sweeter bunch of kids you couldn’t find, too, but maybe that’s the problem. Most of these kids have come from middle class families, have never known hardship. They try, but…we need someone who is…”
“Damaged?”
Desiree grimaced. “When you put it like that, it sounds bad. What I mean is someone with fire in their belly, with rage, and hurt, and pain inside of them.” She sighed. “I don’t think we’re going to find that looking in the colleges, which is depressing, because otherwise, why do we have colleges?”
Ivo nodded. “Point taken. Well, look, while I’m here, I’ll scour the city. Montmartre is the good, if obvious, place to start, but I have a feeling I’ll be more likely to find someone the more off the beaten track I go. I’m prepared to do a lot of walking.”
“And swimming.”
“And swimming.” They both laughed. “Maybe I’ll find a mermaid who channels Grant Wood. Listen, you have given me an idea, though.”
“What?”
Ivo smiled, shaking his head. “Let me knock it around in my head for a few days, and I’ll get back to you.”
“Tease. Well, okay, listen…come to my apartment tonight for an early dinner. I assume you’ll be doing your swimming late night as normal?”
“Always. Thank, Desi, I’ll see you later.”
Ivo walked out of the gallery and turned towards the river. He would spend the next few hours doing what he always did when he came here, to his favorite city. He would take a river trip, then head to Shakespeare and Company, his beloved bookstore to browse. Dinner with Desi and then a late swim…that was his heaven. His mind went back to the portfolios Desi had shown him. It bugged him that it was so hard to find new talent, but it had been a problem back in America too. His friend, Grady Mallory, had bemoaned the fact to him only last month.
“Nothing makes my senses soar at the moment, Ivo,” Grady had said. “It’s all so…blah.”
No. I’m going to find an incredible artist and Desi and I will work hard to shape him or her into the next big thing, I swear we will. Energized by his talk with Desi, he strode down the riverside to where the bateaux mouche awaited.
Sofia woke, cold and stiff under the marke
t stall. There was a face staring at her, a kid, just the right height to peek in on her. A rustle and the cover was pulled up and Stefan’s face appeared. “Pardon, Sofia, time to get up.”
Stefan was sympathetic and let her sleep under the stall during the day while the covers were on. Sofia found the constant presence of customers and noise made her feel safer than when she slept somewhere at night – besides, at night it was easier to steal food. She would scoot along the length of the outside cafes, whipping leftover food from plates. She figured she wouldn’t go to hell for stealing paid-for-yet-abandoned food. Last night, at one of her usual haunts, she had been stopped by a waiter, a regal man in his fifties, who said nothing but handed her a parcel wrapped in aluminum foil, and nodded. “Whenever I can,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, in a small voice and he waved her away.
“Keep warm, child.”
She could have cried. It had been one of the few acts of kindness she had been shown since she came here, along with Stefan. Another was the swimming pool attendant. She had been sketching down in the Tuileries one afternoon and a young teenager came to see what she was doing. The girl looked at the sketches with wide eyes. “You are so talented,” she said in broken English. She reminded Sofia of herself – black hair, brown eyes, punky look. She offered her the sketch and the girl, Leonie, took it, smiling shyly.
“I work at the swimming barge,” she said, pointing along the river. Sofia had seen it – La Piscine Josephine Baker, an open-air lido. “I work in the evenings, just me and a security guard until 11pm. Come, use the facilities, swim, shower, clean your clothes. I wish I could give you more but I cannot.”
Since then, Sofia had gone along at night, swum when the pool was almost empty in her t-shirt and underwear, then cleaned her clothes and herself in the showers. Just the feeling of being clean made her feel as if she could conquer anything.
She never thought she would be a street girl, but she found, with only a little human interaction, she didn’t need to trust anybody and that way no one could hurt her. Even the kindness of these three other humans – she didn’t know when it might end so she took every advantage of anything offered.
Sofia discovered she was more resilient that she had ever thought. She avoided the roughest districts now – she’d learned that lesson the hard way. She kept her back-pack with her at all times. If nothing else, it had her art supplies and her toothbrush. It did make her ponder how easy it was for a human to disappear so totally. After a few weeks, she had stopped thinking about the Rutland family – who had been her family for over thirteen years – as people that she knew anymore. It was only Jonas who she even let herself think about – she wondered if he missed her, if he was looking for her. Forget me, Jonas, don’t make yourself unhappy. Sofia didn’t think about Fergus and Tamara at all, if she could help it.
Now as evening set in, she decided to go find food. It was a Monday and she knew her friendly waiter wasn’t working tonight, so it was a case of grabbing what she could. She scored some bread and some left-over fries. She used her last few cents to buy a couple of water bottles and headed down towards the river to eat. She sat with her legs swinging over the side of the river wall. Stefan always gave her any spare fruit after the day was out, and tonight she had a few apples and oranges. Stave off the scurvy, she thought as she bit into the apple. At ten p.m. she would head to the pool. She had a routine now; she would swim for forty-five minutes then the last fifteen she would wash herself and her clothes if needed, tying the damp clothes to the straps of her backpack. It was August, and still warm, even at night, so her clothes dried quickly. She hadn’t yet figured out what she would do in the winter about any of it – where she would sleep…how she would stay alive.
Sofia didn’t let herself think about it. One day at a time. And for the most part, astonishingly…she was happy. Free. When she wasn’t sleeping, eating or swimming, she was sketching. She found paper everywhere, especially discarded where the artists would hang out in Montmartre, or in the Marais, or along the Left Bank. She kept it all, and when she couldn’t find blank paper, she would sketch in the margins of abandoned newspapers, or free leaflets from the tourist information office. Stefan had given her a brand-new sketchbook after she’d helped him out on the stall – he couldn’t afford to pay her a lot and the gift had really been something she treasured. Sofia swore that if she ever made it off the streets, she would never forget her three guardian angels.
Tonight, Leonie sneaked her into the pool office earlier and bought her some snacks from the vending machine. “I’ve told the security guard that you’re my cousin,” she said, piling junk food on the table. “I still think it’s safer for you to swim later on, but I thought you could paint or something in here until then. There’s a kettle, make yourself some hot drinks, or there’s soup in the vending machine. It’s free in here, just use my code, four-oh-six, okay?”
Sofia shook her head, grinning. “You are the sweetest person I have ever met. Why are you doing this for me?”
Leonie smiled. “Because two years ago, I was where you were. I was fifteen, on the streets. I got picked up by the police one night and taken into care. It was just the luck of the draw that I got fostered the next week. You’re not that much older than me. I wish I could do more for you, but my foster parents are already at full stretch, which is why I work three jobs to help them out. Hey, I could get you a job here?”
Sofia felt herself tear up again. “I can’t. I can’t work here, I’m not supposed to be here. I don’t have visas…and there’s no way they’d let me stay and I can’t go back to the States.”
Leonie nodded in sympathy. “I get it. Well, if I hear of anyone looking for someone who can draw like a dream. Have you thought of selling your work?”
Sofia chuckled. “I’m not that good.”
Leonie nodded. “You are, you just don’t realize it.”
Ivo slid the swim cap onto his head and dived into the deep end of the pool. He felt the tension in his body slide away as he began to swim, the water streaming past his limbs. Swimming had always been his method of meditation. He swam a quick ten lengths then floated on his back, looking up at the night sky. Despite the light pollution from the city, he could see the stars. Nothing else mattered really, he thought, when you looked out into the vast cosmos.
He felt a shift in the water and realized someone had dived in. He looked around and saw a figure, under the water, her long dark hair streaming behind her. She wore only her underwear and her lithe, athletic body cut through the water easily, gracefully. Ivo suddenly felt as if he were intruding on her space and looked away, concentrating on his own swimming.
After a while, it seemed as if their separate rhythms were coordinating as they began to swim side-by-side, the young woman easily keeping up with him. Ivo, never very competitive, enjoyed the weird camaraderie he was sharing with this stranger as they swam, as if by some silent agreement, they were in this together.
After a half hour, his swim companion pulled herself out of the water and Ivo felt a little bereft. He swam another couple of lengths but his heart wasn’t in it and he soon got out and headed for the showers. He stood under the hot spray, washing off the chlorine. He was tired now, the jetlag finally catching up with him.
As he left and thanked the young receptionist, he saw the swimmer outside of the pool entrance. His heart began to beat quickly as he took in her delicate features, her dusky skin. Her long black hair hung in damp ropes around her shoulders, her large dark eyes wary. Her face was exquisitely beautiful and Ivo felt a tug in his groin. He stepped out into the night, and paused a little way from her, not wanting her to feel alarmed by his presence.
“Same time tomorrow?” He said lightly, not looking directly at her until his question was asked. She started slightly and met his gaze. A shot of pure desire went through Ivo’s body. She gazed back at him, unsmiling, then gave a quick, barely perceptible nod, before turning away and disappearing into the night.
Westchester, New York
Jonas Rutland didn’t wait to be invited into his father’s study. He opened the door in time to see his father screwing the new housekeeper and rolled his eyes.
“Gee, Dad, all class as always.”
The housekeeper, whose name Jonas hadn’t bothered to learn, jumped up and rushed past him, her face red. Fergus tidied himself up, shooting his son an annoyed glare. “How about knocking next time?”
“How about not being an asshole, next time?”
So far, the conversation had been nothing different than for the last six months. Since Sofia had been thrown out, Jonas had barely talked to his father – hadn’t talked at all to his sister who he knew had orchestrated the whole fiasco. At the start, Jonas, heartbroken and confused, had begged his father to tell him why he had done such a horrendous thing, but Fergus remained tight-lipped. Jonas had raged at him.
“You put my sister out on the streets for nothing!”
“She isn’t your sister, Jonas.”
“Sofia is my sister! More than that viper you call a daughter. Tamara is evil, Dad, twisted. She always has been but you, god, you always turned a blind eye. Mom saw it, Devika saw it, Sofia saw it. Tamara is a fucking little jealous bitch whose only goal is to screw her darling Daddy and take his money. Literally screw, probably.”
His father’s eyes had lit up with rage then and he punched his son across the room. Jonas had gotten straight up, his own anger a seething, violent thing. “You disgust me in every way.”
He turned to leave. “Get back here, boy. Don’t think I won’t cut you off the same way I did Sofia.”
Nobody's Girl Page 2
