Hooked Up: Book 2

by Richmonde, Arianne

  Sun on my back, the sky a crystal blue. People sprawled on park benches, reading newspapers, Smartphone texting, and snoozing in the morning rays. Dogs charging around, trying their luck with a squirrel catch. I regretted that Rex wasn’t with me. Dogs complete a real walk. I decided to pass by the apartment to collect Rex and take him to the office. He loved hanging out there and was a star amongst the staff; his treat every now and then was to come to my work and lap up the attention they lavished on him. His white cravat of a chest stroked, his ears caressed. I decided to order something in for lunch–Chinese perhaps—I had a lot of work to catch up on, and Natalie needed a second opinion about a project she was working on.

  I was happily singing along to Autumn in New York and making a mental list when I felt the buzz of my cell. I fumbled about for it and picked up.

  The voice was familiar but I didn’t recognize it straight away. I switched off my iPod so I could hear better.

  “Pearl?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Sam.”

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

  “Lunch?”

  “Oh, okay.” I looked at my watch. Lunch was now.

  “You sound surprised,” he snorted.

  Uh, oh—the cool, sophisticated woman in the chic suit was now wearing sneakers, had damp mussed-up hair from swimming, and was in a twisted mess of iPod wires tangled all over her head. I took 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 chuckled. “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 heard 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 started sprinting. I needed to get there fast before he did—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.

  ALEXANDRE

  IT SEEMED ONE minute I was making a business call, and the next thing I knew I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Fast asleep! I tried to shift myself but felt all floppy. I remembered now. . . . Laura was here, having a fucking bath! I tried to jolt myself out of my position but I realized my arms were above my head, tied together with some sort of wire cable. In fact, all of me felt buzzy and floppy, except the one part of my anatomy that mattered most. When I finally focused I saw Laura on top of me, pinning me down like a vice—her nude body straddling me, her long knees digging into the sofa, either side of my hips. A scar ran down her left thigh where they’d operated on her after her accident. My eyes flicked down. The buttons of my jeans were open, my shirt, open. Fuck! My dick was mysteriously rock-hard, and she was about to ease herself on top of me.

  Laura, what the fuck are you doing? I thought I said the words, but all that came from my lips was a sort of incoherent groan.

  She pushed back my head as I attempted to get up. “Ssh, Alex, just relax. All you have to do is lie there, darling, I’ll do the work.”

  Madonna’s Frozen was playing, ringing in my ears. How apt, considering every cell in my body felt numb. Laura’s long blonde hair was flopping over me, her lips centimeters away from mine.

  “Hmm, I’d forgotten how good you smell,” she purred.

  She had my cock firmly in one hand and was guiding it toward her pussy like a rocket aimed for liftoff.

  Any second now, that rocket was about to be launched.

  PEARL

  I EMERGED 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, makeup perfect, just a touch of lip gloss.

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

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

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

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

  “Sam,” I said, 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 said. “Actually, I’ve never managed more than three hours of being on a diet.”

  He snorted 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 asked eagerly.

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

  He sounded disappointed and said 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 suppressed a grin. The waiter came and we both ordered. The swim had given me an appetite so I asked for organic grilled chicken, mashed potato, carrots, and sweet peas. Sam ordered a hot dog.

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

  My heart started racing but I smiled serenely, wondering what was in store.

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

  “You do?” I asked, wondering where this was 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 contract 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 crossed my legs, held my hand up to my chin and listened 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 shook 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 pondered this and said, “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 flattered 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 LA tonight but I’ll set up a meeting. You two can get together next week or the week after.”

  “LA or New York?”

  “Take your pick, sweetheart. You decide.”

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

  WE HAVE LIFT OFF

  ALEXANDRE

  IT’S TRUE WHAT they say about muscle memory; that your body instinctively does whatever it has been trained to do, seemingly without your brain being involved.

  My brain was in a fuzzy haze. My limbs felt like the puppet, Punch, left in a tangle of strings and broken joints, abandoned by his puppet master—gone for a coffee break. My arms were still above my head, tied tightly together. I lay there, all askew, my body in fragmented pieces, but my cock like a thick, solid, wooden rod. Laura’s breath was heavy in my ear, her skin oiled and sweet as she sniffed me, her hand clamped about my dick, aiming it inside her.

  “Oh yeah, Alex, I’ve been fantasizing about this for years. In my bloody wheelchair, in my bed, dreaming of you instead of James. Oh darling, I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

  My leg kicked up and over her as if it belonged to someone else, not me. I watched it with fascination, curl its way in front of Laura’s chest, not kicking her, but the force of it pushing her off balance, knocking her hand out of its vice-like grip, freeing me from her tight hold and pushing her sideways off the sofa. She tumbled onto the floor.

  “Fuck you, Alex! What the fuck? That bloody hurt!”

  I tipped my head forward and brought my arms in front of me, but my neck instantly fell back into the soft, feathery nest of silk cushions. I’d never felt more uncomfortable about being comfortable in my life.

  Laura lurched her skinny body back on top of me. “Not so fast, Alex, I want to get my money’s worth out of this Viagra!”

  So that explained my erection! Again, I tried to shout and scream but only groans emanated from my cotton-wool mouth.

  “I know, baby. I know. You think you have to be all Mr. Faithful to that silly American tart, but we know very well that your lusty relationship won’t last, so why not nip it in the bud now, eh? You’ll thank me later for this, I swear.”

  “Laoor . . . .ra.”

  “I know, darling, I know.” She gripped her knees around my hips, spat on her fingers and smeared them inside herself for lubrication. So much for her being turned on. This wasn’t about love or lust; Laura had other plans, obviously. She spat on her fingers once more, and spread another glob of spittle where she felt she needed it most, thrusting her skinny frame over me, covering me like a blanket. My arms pushed forward, pressing on her collarbone. I didn’t want to hurt her, I just wanted her off me. I saw that it was electric cable tying my wrists together. In an infallible sailor’s knot.

  She tumbled backwards and cried out. “Alex! Ouch!”

  “Fuck ow, Laoara,” my tongue managed. Fuck off, off of me! I pinned her down with my torso so she was locked beneath me.

  She grinned as if she had won a prize. “Ooh, sexy, I like a bit of rough. Come on then, Mr. Stud, give it to me, ram it in me, baby!”

  My breath was uneven. My heart pounding out of sequence. Jesus! What the hell had she put in that Bloody Mary apart from Viagra? Qualudes? Some sort of date-rape drug? Enough to bring a horse to its knees, anyway.

  We lay there panting, her arms draped about my neck, holding me close to her, her legs hooked around my calf muscles and she thrashed her groin up at me, her hands grappling, trying to find their way back to my dick. But I pressed myself even closer so there was no space between us. I almost wanted to laugh the situation was so absurd. There was something comical about Laura, and in that moment, I remembered the fights we used to have, which would always end up with make-up sex and then us laughing about it afterwards. She would goad and provoke me, knowing that the only way we’d even end up speaking to each other again was after we’d fucked.

  “Oh Alex, oh Alex, how I’ve missed this,” she breathed into my ear. “You and I are destined to be together. Destined. I love you, darling.”

  No you don’t, you nutter! “Laaoura.”

  If I moved from my position, she could get leverage again, and I couldn’t risk it. I wanted to call for help but then realized how mad it would seem. A big grown man like me being “raped” by a beautiful ex-model? Yeah, people would really believe that one. My hands fumbled in front of me, trying to cup my dick to protect its “virtue.” No, “cup” is the wrong word, as it could not be cupped—it was like a fucking missile.

  My tongue tried to wrap its way around a simple sentence: “Laaoora, pleathe.”

  She started inhaling me again, writhing beneath me, edging her way higher so my missile was in the perfect spot to be fired into her. “Oh yeah, Alex. Oh yeah, just a couple of centimeters lower . . . come on baby, give it to me.”

  And my dick was tempted. How do you undo centuries of male instinct? I wasn’t made of stone. Except . . . I was—my cock, anyway. The drugs were now making me horny too. I half wanted just to fuck her and get it over with, but even in my woozy state I knew that it was just the beginning of something more ominous. If she got away with this, who knew what was next on the cards? Besides, I was engaged to another woman. Being a cheater wasn’t my style even if I was being coerced into it.

  No. Laura isn’t fucking getting her insane way with me!

  Except . . . she was. Almost. I could feel her pussy poised at the crown of my cock, now soaked with her spit.

  Using the arm of the sofa to maneuver myself, I pushed myself down the sofa so my head was now on her chest. My dick was free. For the moment anyway.

  “Oh yeah, baby, suck my tits, that’s good.”

  I thrashed my head from side to side, fumbling with my butter-fingers to untie the electric cable, which was digging into my wrists. But it was useless. So I dipped my head over the edge of the sofa and performed a very ungracious somersault, crashing into the coffee table—glasses and Bloody Marys tumbling to the floor—but I managed to roll myself forward with enough force that I landed on my feet in a crouch. Laura’s arms slapped into my thighs as she tried to bring me down again, her hooky nails clawing at my jeans, which were half way down my thighs. But I leapt to my feet. At last, I was upright.

  Stars flooded my brain as dizziness threatened to topple me over again. My head rushed with a mélange of bright colors, swirling about in dashes and flashes. I could hear Laura cackling hysterically.

  You think this is funny, eh? I tried to say without words forming, just moans. But to my horror I too was laughing—my belly contracting in painful howls—the drugs coursing through me. I was now doubled-up. In that second it was as if every hilarious movie, book, play, and memory was crashing into me, making me roar with uncontrollable mirth.

  “You see how we’re made for each other, darling? That American just doesn’t have your sense of humor! No American does. They’re so bloody earnest, so goody-goody. You and I are a real team, Alex. We’re naughty, irreverent, wild! We break the law, we will stop at nothing.”

  I howled with hilarity at every word spoken. It was true: Pearl is a good person. Too good for me. Too wholesome. Too honest. I’m bad. Rotten inside. Killed people. Done illegal deals with Sophie, smuggling gems and all sorts of other moneymaking schemes to get rich and powerful. Pearl deserves better. I deserve Laura. Laura knows how fucked-up I am and she still doesn’t care. I tried to button up the fly of my jeans, my wrists tied, my fingers hopelessly numb. I screamed with laughter at my ineptitude.

  “Let’s have another drink,” suggested Laura.

  I burst out laughing again. The idea that she was about to mix another Bloody Mary, lacing it with another round of drugs, was the funniest thing I’d ever heard in my life. I held out my wrists. “Undooo,” I howled.

&
nbsp; “You want me to undo that sailor’s knot, darling?”

  I nodded.

  “Where would the fun be in that? You know very well that if I undooooo you, I will be undone. I think we should get back on the sofa, don’t you? One more try and if it doesn’t work, I’ll mix another cocktail.”

  A cocktail of drugs. Hmm, not so amusing. My pulse was pounding in my ears. This woman could kill me! I took a deep breath and staggered towards the door. I needed air but not just air—I needed my freedom.

  In my peripheral vision—a blur of flesh and limbs—I saw Laura race after me. I kept going, my heart like an old-fashioned steam train, pumping as hard as it could to gain momentum. Laura rugby-tackled me but I stepped aside and she went flying on her face. Her arms curled about my ankles but I kept moving—Laura was letting herself be dragged behind me. I dared not bend down to unlatch her in case I lost my balance again.

  “Where the fuck are you going!” she yelled. It was not a question but a command.

  The scenery of paintings, smooth walls and light fittings of the hotel penthouse swam before my eyes as I lugged myself, and the limpet on my leg, to the door. Finally I reached my destination, my head flopping against the wood. I turned the handle and poked my head outside. I wedged my foot in the door and edged my body into the corridor . . .

  Sophie was standing right there.

  With Indira.

  “We came by to see if you wanted to have tea with . . . ” Sophie stopped herself mid-sentence.

  Indira smiled at first, then her eyes swept down to my crotch. I followed her gaze and saw that my missile dick was poking out of my unbuttoned jeans. My hands were still tied with electric cable and groans and moans were coming from my ankles: Laura.