“It’s no good, Dad. It’s over between us. He doesn’t want me now. He’s not going to give me another chance.”
“Nonsense. You’re coming surfing, young lady. Soon you won’t even be brooding about him anymore anyway, you’ll have better things to occupy your mind.”
I pulled back but he kept yanking me toward him. “Besides, have you seen the talent out there?” he went on. “Have you set eyes on the bodies along that beach?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, still surprised by his sudden air of authority.
“There are, like, at least ten dudes on that beach who are good enough to compete around the world. You think your French guy is handsome and can surf? Wait until you set your eyes on this bunch of kids.”
“Kids?”
“There are some good-looking young men out there, some in their late twenties, early thirties—perfect for you if you’re attracted to younger guys—a few of them interesting too. Everybody thinks surfers are dumb, but we’re not, we have the key to the secret treasure box, the potion to the essence of life.”
I’d heard all this before, but I listened anyway. I watched him as he continued his spiel.
“Meanwhile, most other people out there are too busy running about in a rat-race in some concrete jungle somewhere, so preoccupied with ‘ambition’ and getting ahead that they can’t appreciate what real living is all about. We surfers know: we have the wisdom.” He told me this with an ironic smile, although what he said he truly believed from the bottom of his heart.
“Surfers with brains?” I teased, although my dad was extremely smart. He could tell you anything about philosophy or astronomy and was an ace at mathematics. You wouldn’t have known it, though. At first sight he was so startlingly ‘cool’ and so buffed-up, you’d take him for . . . for what? An old hippie? No, he was too in shape for that, his eyes too focused. An ex-bodyguard? No, he was too graceful, too ethereal. Who was he? I wondered to myself. I observed the flexing of his biceps as he turned his surfboard upside down. His fifty-nine year-old body could have passed for thirty-five. A thirty-five year-old in great shape, no less.
I reflected on what Alexandre had said about living in a tree house and wondered, Is that what my dad is doing, basically? Not that his bamboo house was a shack, no—it was pretty state-of-the-art and modern; he had designed and built it himself. But living the simple life, no frills, no “needs.” He didn’t care about the car he drove, or impressing anyone. He was who he was and he made no excuses for himself.
He squinted his eyes as he gazed at my left hand. My engagement ring was making reflections, twinkling in the morning light. “But take that rock off your finger, first,” he told me, “or it could get washed away with the pull of the surf. I have a safe deposit box in the house, you can put it in there.” I was still wearing the ring even though it was officially over between Alexandre and me, as if the ring was a symbol of hope that somehow everything would work itself out. He’d refused to take it back. So I carried it about on my finger like a wish.
My dad and I left the porch to its spectacular view and went inside. My father taking me in hand the way he was doing was almost a relief. I didn’t have to think anymore; he could do my thinking for me. Isn’t that what parents are for sometimes? To ease the pain? To shake you out of a stupor?
“Change into a whole piece swimsuit or you could scratch your belly on the board,” he advised me, waxing up his surfboard.
“All I have is that bright red Baywatch-type thing from years ago.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll look like a Pamela Anderson wannabe. I’ll attract attention.”
“You’ll attract attention no matter what, honey. They all want to meet you.”
“What?”
“You think it’s normal that you live by the ocean and you’ve been tucked up in hiding in this house for nearly ten days? Every morning when I go down, the boys are asking where you are. They’re curious. Curious to meet my only daughter. Besides, I need your help at the shop today. We’ll surf all morning, have lunch, and then you can help me organize my bookkeeping. Your lady of leisure days are over, Pearl. From now on, it’s hang out in my shop, surf, or swim. No more moping about. Is that a deal?”
“Okay, it’s a deal,” I agreed, and then my mouth broke into a huge grin.
“That’s better. That’s what I want to see. I want to see that big, beautiful smile of yours.”
WANTING CAKE and EATING IT TOO
PEARL
THE SURFER GUYS were really friendly and greeted me with a warm welcome, as if the top of the hill where my father lived were on a different planet. Their dedication to the surf was as forceful as the Pacific waves, unrelenting—they didn’t venture far from the bay during the day.
My surf lesson began on the sand itself, and then once in the ocean, I found out that “paddle” was the magic word. With my torso pressed on the board, I paddled with my arms, feverishly out to sea, and was then spun around by my father at the right moment to catch the wave and ride it to the shore. The idea was to stand up on the board as soon as possible. Easy on land, but next to impossible with a fast-moving, crashing wave. I did several tries, toppling over immediately into the water, each try more exhausting than the last, especially after the paddling; my arms and shoulders felt as if they were about to snap off, but in the end, after a long morning, I got there and managed to ride the wave upright on my shaky legs all the way to the beach.
“Not bad for your first try,” my father said approvingly. “Not bad at all.”
“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this, Dad,” I said, looking off to the green mountains in the distance and then back at him. “It’s really hard, all that paddling, I’m wiped out. No wonder you surfers have such big pecs and biceps.”
“It’s just a question of building up your stamina, honey, that’s all. What do you make of the kids here? Anyone that takes your fancy?” he asked, gesticulating at the guys expertly riding the waves.
“Where are all the girls? The women surfers?” I replied.
“They’re about, just not today. Shame Zac’s not here, he’s a great teacher. Sometimes it’s best when someone who isn’t next of kin shows you the ropes,” he told me with a playful grin.
“Who’s Zac?”
“You’ll see. You won’t be able to miss him. He’s one of our local champions. He could show you a few tricks of the trade.”
LATER THAT EVENING, after dinner, Daisy called. I could tell immediately by her quivering voice that something was wrong. She usually spoke with such bravado and confidence that I was instantly troubled.
After both of us had discussed the horror of Hurricane Sandy, she blurted out, “Johnny is having an affair.”
I took my cell onto the veranda where the reception was clearer. “Wait, hold up, Daisy . . . an affair or a one-night stand?”
“A one-night bloody stand that developed into a full fucking-blown affair!”
Fucking being the operative word, I thought. “But that doesn’t make sense, Johnny’s crazy about you.”
Daisy blew her nose into the receiver. “That’s what I thought, too, but I was obviously dead wrong. Wrong and blind, to boot. I trusted him.”
“Well of course you did. He’s your husband. You had no reason not to trust him.”
“I should have seen the writing on the wall.”
“What writing?”
“The increase in the amount of ‘business’ trips he was making. The stupid cow lives in Phoenix.”
“Phoenix? Who is she?” I asked, taking in a deep breath.
“Another married woman.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Which makes it worse. The pair of them are as bad as each other. She has two kids. She has a husband who’s just as much in shock as I am.”
“You’ve spoken to the husband?”
“It was him that called me. He was the one who discovered what they were up to.”
“How did they meet? What’s her name, how old is she? Why is she doing this?” I shouted out all in one breath.
“The worst? She’s not even pretty. I don’t understand, Pearl. She’s plain, homey-looking, the type that might bake bread. Not that bread bakers can’t be attractive, but you know . . . ”
“What’s Johnny playing at?” I screeched with disbelief.
“You ask me. This has been going on for six months. She’s a secretary—oh sorry, not meant to use that word these days . . . she’s a personal assistant to one of the guys in Johnny’s company. She must give really good blow jobs or something, because I don’t get what he sees in her!”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Her husband made friends with me on Facebook so I could check out their family photos. Two kids, not to mention Amy. All these little hearts being broken. Can you believe it? The husband is devastated of course.”
“Does Amy know?”
“No, of course not, but even at five years old she’s guessed something’s up. Mummy can’t stop crying, Mummy has got red, swollen eyes, so she knows Mummy is in a terrible way.”
“Oh, Daisy, I’m so, so sorry.”
“So am I.”
“What excuse has Johnny given? I mean, is he in love with this woman?”
“He says he needs time.”
“So typical . . . as if you’re just meant to sit about twiddling your thumbs while he works out his inner man-whore.”
Daisy laughed faintly. “He’s still at the apartment. Can’t make up his mind what he wants to do.”
The wanting the cake and eating it too syndrome. Sounded familiar. An idea suddenly occurred to me and I said, “Daisy, why don’t you and Amy come out here for a break? Get away. The airports are all open again, aren’t they?”
“I can’t, Daisy’s in school and stuff.”
“She’s only five, it’s not the end of the world. What she misses in school she’ll make up for by seeing Hawaii. What could be a better education than that? Seeing the Fiftieth State?”
“Tempting, Pearl, but I really can’t afford it right now. If I’d known this was coming I’d have saved some ‘fuck-you’ money.”
“It’ll be my treat. I’ll get your tickets and once you’re here it’s cheap. We’ll eat in—there’s not a lot to spend your money on, the surf and sun are free. Life’s simple here.”
“I don’t know, I really—”
“Come on,” I cajoled. “You need a change of scenery. Get away from Johnny. He needs time? You need a vacation!”
“Good point.”
“I’m going online as we speak and getting you two tickets.”
“Pearl—”
“I won’t take no for an answer. Then maybe Johnny will realize what he’s missing, not having you both at home. It’ll give him the kick up the butt he deserves.”
“You don’t want to listen to me miserably droning on about my problems.”
“Oh, please, Daisy, like it isn’t always the other way round. As if you haven’t had years of me sharing some drama or other of mine while you’ve sat there, patiently giving me wise advice. It’s time I did something for you in return.”
BACK IN HIS ARMS AGAIN
PEARL
FINALLY, AFTER HOURS of lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering how I could have done things differently with Alexandre, I fell asleep. I dreamed about white surf and “killer” waves. I was riding fast on the surfboard, moving my body in balance with the swell, and Alexandre was watching me from the beach, a proud grin on his handsome face.
So I was irritated as hell when my happy dream was woken by a noise. Was it one of those feral pigs? Sometimes they came snuffling and grunting around my father’s garden. The legend goes that Captain Cook introduced them to the islands; a source of nourishment for shipwrecked crews. Now they were proving to be a nuisance. The hogs (in their ongoing quest to find something to eat) dig and root about in the undergrowth, trying to find worms and roots. Whole chunks of land and mountain slopes are being stripped of native vegetation making it easier for invasive weeds like ginger to get established, and the puddles in the mud wallows they create breed mosquitoes with avian malaria that kills the native birds. Hence the offering of Kalua pork on local restaurant menus.
I lay in bed, stock-still, my ears perked up like a dog. Scary thoughts of wild, long tusked, razor-backed boars pillaging my father’s garden—breaking and entering the house and attacking me—filled my racing imagination. I decided I should do something and scare them away. I got up and moved over to the window and looked out. The sky was dark as black ink. I listened. No hog-like sounds at all. No grunting, just a gentle rustling in the bushes.
I nearly had a heart attack when I heard a man’s low voice.
It was Alexandre.
“Hi, chérie,” he said casually as if no time had passed, as if I had never escaped from the airport ladies’ room window.
I leaned out of the window into the shadows and caught a glimpse of his face, lit up by a waxing moon. My heart was racing so intensely I thought my knees would give way beneath me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, amazed. “How did you find this place in the dark?”
“I have my ways; modern technology offers all sorts of solutions these days.”
“You came,” I said simply. “You’re not still furious with me then?”
He bent forward into the open window. His breath was on me, I could taste the smell of him; his Alexandre elixir. “I thought I’d never see you again,” I murmured into his face.
“As if,” he breathed into my hair. “I could never abandon you, Pearl.” His soft mouth pressed on mine and he began to lick along my lips, parting them. But then his gentleness turned like a cat that suddenly becomes over-excited, and he nipped my lower lip. I could feel the salty taste of blood.
“I need you, Pearl. I have to make love to you. Don’t you know that? I can’t live my life without you, without being inside you, without . . . ” He didn’t finish his sentence but continued with his rough kiss, playful and needy all at once. He rammed his tongue deep inside my mouth and I groaned. I could taste the blood, the sweet saliva of his minty apple breath and I returned the kiss with passionate fervor.
“Alexandre,” I moaned.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Of course. My father’s sleeping, so don’t make a noise.”
“Are you ashamed? Worried he’ll disapprove of me?”
“He’s not so keen on you right now,” I said with a sly grin. “He wants to hook me up with one of the surfers. He doesn’t think you deserve me.”
“That’s why I’m here, baby. I got thinking about what you might do here in Kauai. You think I want my future wife fucking some sexy surfer?”
Tears filled my eyes. Future wife? So he has forgiven me! I rushed to the front door and opened it quietly. He was standing there, legs parted wide, and I fell into his embrace. “Alexandre, I’ve been so miserable without you.” And I thought, Even if I die from Sophie’s hand, I’d rather die than be without him.
He scooped me in his arms like a baby and carried me across the threshold. “Nice place,” he whispered approvingly. “I love the huge open-plan space. Great taste your father has.”
“He built this house with his own bare hands,” I replied proudly. “My room is just around the corner, here on the ground floor. Actually, I’ve just remembered, my dad’s out for the night, seeing a friend.”
“A fuck-buddy type friend? I thought he was dating Natalie.”
“She’s not interested. Won’t return his calls. He’s an attractive man, my dad, he can’t be expected to live a monk’s life.”
“No, of course not.”
We went into my room and Alexandre lay me gently on the bed, all the while kissing me ravenously. By the time he slipped his fingers inside me, I was a pool of liquid jelly.
“Always so ready to be fucked by me, aren’t you?”
/> “Yes,” I whimpered. “I need you even more than you need me.”
“The only problem is, Pearl, you’ve been a really naughty girl.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to have to punish you.”
More feather beating, I thought. I knew there was no Nutella in the house so . . .
“This time I mean business though.”
“What kind of business?” I breathed into his hot mouth.
He said seriously, “Look, you know about my fucked-up past. You know how I feel about men hitting women after what that fucker did to my mother and sister—”
“I know, Alexandre, I’m not asking you to—”
“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “Secretly I want to raise my hand to you and give you a good hiding.” He paused and then added, “Let’s put it this way, I’m a clandestine Dom, but you must have guessed that about me already with your female intuition.”
“I had my suspicions,” I admitted.
“I want to beat you then fuck you. Fuck you really hard. I need to punish you for hurting me, Pearl, for humiliating me so badly.”
“Why have you kept this Dom side of yourself so secret?” I asked. “It’s not as if it’s illegal, lots of people—”
“Because I felt ashamed. Ashamed inside. I felt as if I would be betraying my mother in some way, betraying Sophie, too—as if I was psychologically sick ever wanting to hurt a woman in any way.”
I could feel a gush of new wetness gather hot and horny between my legs. I wanted him to do it. I wanted him to dominate me, to punish me. I wanted to be all his even if it meant getting hurt.
“When you disobey me, Pearl, it makes me angry. But it also excites me, gets me hard and makes me want to sort you out, fuck you, punish you and fuck you again.” He trailed his hand along the nape of my neck and a delicious, shimmering shiver coursed along my spine. “Do you understand why I want to punish you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You’re a spoiled, Star-Spangled brat. Independent, testy, and always doing what you think best. Not your fault, of course, you American women are born that way. It’s in your pioneer blood. But it makes me want to fuck it out of you. Beat that disobedience out of your peachy ass, fuck it out of your tight little pearlette. And I don’t want anyone else coming near you,” he said with a threatening gaze, eyeing up my Baywatch swimsuit that was slung over a chair. “You’ve been prancing about in that?”
Hooked Up: Book 2 Page 41
