Scorpio Rising

by Monique Domovitch

  From the back bedroom, Brigitte heard David laughing and prayed to God Lucien would leave before her son walked in. “How dare you come here?” Her voice was like ice. “You are nothing but a filthy bastard. Get out of here and don't ever come back.”

  Her words seemed to delight Lucien. “You're calling me a bastard? Me? I think you've got that wrong ma fille. It's your son who is the bastard, not me. And I have a feeling I might have a pretty good claim to that little boy. As a matter of fact, I have a feeling I might have as much right to him as you do.”

  Brigitte opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, almost as in slow motion, she collapsed to the floor. Réjeanne screamed. From down the hall, Alex and David came running.

  Alex took one look at the scene before him and grabbed Lucien by the collar. “What the hell did you do to her?” he shouted.

  “Hey! Don't push me. I didn’t do a thing. I was just leaving.” Lucien walked out, and from the doorway, called out again. “But you can tell her that I'll be back. That's my boy she's got there, and unless she and I can come to some agreement, she can expect to see me in court.”

  Brigitte sat on the edge of the living room floor against the piano, elbows on her knees and her face in the cup of her hands.

  “Here, Brigitte, drink this.” Réjeanne handed her a cup of tea. But Brigitte shook her head.

  “Where's David?” she asked.

  “I sent him to bed early. I don't think David should hear about this,” replied Réjeanne soothingly.

  Alex sat next to her, patting her back and feeling helpless. “I wouldn’t worry about what that man said. I know his type. The last thing he wants is your son. What he's really after is money. Besides, he has no claim to David.”

  Brigitte hesitated. “What if he does?” she asked, her voice strained.

  Alex shook his head in bewilderment. “Brigitte, if you want my help, I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

  Brigitte closed her eyes and began to cry.

  Alex was visibly shaken. “Brigitte, this is serious. Is he David's father?”

  Réjeanne interrupted. “Of course not. He said he was Brigitte's father, not David's.”

  Alex looked from one to the other and finally settled on Brigitte. “I think you'd better tell us what the situation is,” he said quietly.

  Slowly, painfully, Brigitte explained. Alex and Réjeanne listened in stunned silence, torn between disgust toward Lucien and sympathy for her.

  “I was so young, and I was afraid,” she said. “He kept saying that if I told anyone, he would kill me. I believed him.” She stopped and began to cry again. “I feel so ashamed.”

  “You have no reason to be ashamed,” said Réjeanne. “You should have confided in me a long time ago, chérie. I understand everything, now. I’m surprised I never guessed the truth. And I'm so sorry for all the times I made you feel guilty.”

  Alex shook his head. He was shocked at what he had just heard and only felt more deeply for Brigitte. “That man belongs in jail,” he said. “The problem is, he is not your biological father. I'm not sure incest charges could be brought against him.”

  “I don't want to bring charges against him,” exclaimed Brigitte, aghast. “It would be a disaster. It would kill both my reputation and my career.”

  “That is exactly what he's counting on. He wants you to pay him for his silence. And if you give him money once, you will have to keep paying him for the rest of your life.”

  “What should I do?” she asked helplessly.

  “I'll think of something,” he said. “There's got to be a way out, and whatever it is, I'll find it.”

  Brigitte looked into Alex's earnest eyes and felt a load lift from her shoulders. She was not alone. Alex would help.

  * * *

  Over the next few days, Brigitte lived in nervous anticipation of Lucien's next move. She knew Alex was trying to find a solution, but that didn’t stop her from worrying. Every day as she left for work, she gave Réjeanne a barrage of instructions. “Don't open the door to anyone. Don't let David out of your sight. Walk him to and from school and don’t let any strangers come near. If anybody calls, don't give any information.”

  “You have nothing to worry about. I won't let that horrible man get anywhere near David,” Réjeanne reassured her.

  There were times when Brigitte was sure Lucien was close by. She could feel him watching and waiting. Yet, when she looked behind her, there was nobody there. During the night, her dreams were agonizing. Her appetite dropped and she lost weight. At work her inspiration was gone, and she was irritable and impatient with everyone.

  “Have you thought of leaving the country?” asked Alex one evening.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped back. “I can't abandon my career. Where would I go? What would I do?”

  “You should consider it. Lucien has no money. He would never find you if you moved to New York.”

  “What in heavens would I do in New York? My life is here. My friends, my work—everything is here. I can't possibly start all over again in a foreign country.”

  Alex felt like a fool. He should never have mentioned his idea. He desperately wanted to entice Brigitte away from Paris and to New York. He had already spent the last month pursuing her, and to no avail. He was no longer on salary from Brandon & Associates. Modern Design & Architecture had stopped paying for his expenses weeks ago. He could not afford to stay in Paris indefinitely. His only hope, now, lay in Brigitte's fear of Lucien. “Sorry. It was just a thought.”

  “You are right about one thing, though,” agreed Brigitte. Alex's hopes flared. “I'll have to be less visible. Every time another article is written about me, it will only encourage Lucien to continue this harassment.”

  Any last vestige of hope Alex might have had died. He would never win her.

  The next day, without any explanation to Fortune, Brigitte canceled the Le Figaro interview. Fortune was livid. He sat behind his desk and glared at her. “After all the work I've put into building your career, this is how you thank me?”

  Brigitte tried to appease him. “It isn't as though it will hurt sales. My reputation is already established. People will still buy my paintings. Fortune, I'm sorry but—”

  “You're sorry? If you were sorry, you would cooperate with me, not work against me. Do you have any idea how much effort went into getting you this interview? Do you have any idea how valuable an article of that kind can be? Anybody would kill for a chance like that, and all you have to say is, ‘I’m sorry.’ Well, I'm sorry, too.” He stormed out of his office.

  The following day, when Brigitte went back to the gallery, the first thing she noticed was that Passion had been taken off the wall. She looked around in shock. Not one single painting of hers was anywhere to be seen. They were all gone. Every last one of them.

  In their place was an assortment of oils by other artists. The message was clear. If she refused to cooperate, Fortune would no longer represent her. She stood in shocked silence, and then she turned and walked out of Le Gallet.

  Réjeanne put away the last of the clean dishes and wiped her hands on her apron. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  Brigitte shrugged. “I have no idea. No idea at all.” She looked at her friend in despair.

  Réjeanne patted her on the arm. “Things will work out. They always do. Oh, I nearly forgot. This just came.” She picked up an envelope from the counter and handed it to her.

  Brigitte picked up the sullied envelope. “What is it?” she wondered. She tore it open and pulled out a sheet of smudged note paper. As she read, she began to shake. “It's from Lucien,” she said. “It is a letter from his lawyer, demanding visitation rights with David.”

  “Let me see that.” Réjeanne pulled the letter from Brigitte's hand. As she read, the color drained from her face. “He says he has a copy of David's birth certificate.” She looked up in horror. “Is that possible?”

  Brigitte rubbed her temples. “I d
on't know,” she said. “I want to speak to Alex. He'll know what to do.”

  Two hours later, when David came in brimming with excitement over his school day, Brigitte listened patiently. Then, with his mouth full of cookies, he asked casually, “How come Alex isn't here?”

  “Was he supposed to stop by?” asked Brigitte hopefully.

  “No, I don't think so. But he usually stops by before dinner. How come he's not here tonight?”

  “Why don't you call and invite him over?” offered Brigitte.

  David's eyes lit up. “Really? You wouldn't mind?”

  Brigitte laughed. “I wouldn't mind at all.”

  “I'll call him right now. Where's his phone number?” Brigitte looked at David helplessly. “I guess we'll have to wait for him to call,” said David.

  * * *

  The next morning was a beautiful winter day. Fine snow fell, lightly covering the streets. Alex looked out the window of his tiny room and thought of how much he would miss Paris.

  Maybe Brigitte did like him, but expecting him to stay and help, knowing she did not love him, was unfair. It was time he accepted this for what it was. Brigitte was only using him. He needed to get back to his own life and forget about her. Chalk it up to lesson learned, he told himself bitterly. With a sudden burst of determination, he marched to the front desk and picked up the telephone.

  “Air France, à l’écoute?” answered the voice at the other end.

  “When is your next available flight to New York?” he asked.

  “We have a flight tomorrow afternoon,” the friendly voice informed him.

  “That would be perfect.” Alex took down the information, hurried back to his room and started packing.

  * * *

  Brigitte returned from taking David to school. She walked into the kitchen where Réjeanne was cleaning out the refrigerator.

  “I wish Alex would call,” said Brigitte glumly.

  Réjeanne stuck her head out from the refrigerator. “I wouldn’t expect to hear from him anymore, if I were you.”

  Brigitte was stunned. “Why do you say that?”

  Réjeanne pulled off her rubber gloves and poured herself a cup of coffee. “That man is in love with you. And you gave him no encouragement.” There was no reprimand in her voice. It was simply a comment.

  Brigitte's heart sank.

  The older woman shrugged. “I expect he’s probably on his way back to New York as we speak.”

  Brigitte gasped. The thought of never seeing Alex again suddenly filled her with sadness. “No, he would have called to say goodbye, wouldn’t he?”

  The way Réjeanne muttered, “Maybe,” said otherwise.

  Brigitte frowned. “I have to find him,” she said, and a thought suddenly occurred to her. “He worked at Modern Design & Architecture. Surely they'll know where he was staying.” She picked up the telephone and called Information. Moments later, she had the number for La Petite Tuilerie. She waited nervously while the proprietress went off in search of her boarder. At last she heard Alex's voice on the line. “Alex! I'm so glad I reached you,” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion. “Why didn't you come by last night?”

  There was a silence for a moment before he answered. “Why would you care, Brigitte?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to make you love me ever since we met. Well, I give up. I’m going home.”

  “Don’t go,” she said. “Please.”

  “Give me one good reason.”

  Brigitte heard the bitterness in his voice and suddenly she knew that Réjeanne had been right. Everything the woman had been telling her these past years was true. She did need someone in her life, someone who loved her and whom she could love back. A million emotions swirled through her mind. She had never felt so sure of anything in her life. “Because I love you,” she whispered.

  Those were all the words Alex needed to hear. He canceled his flight and unpacked his bags.

  When he arrived at Brigitte's apartment and she opened the door, Alex took her in his arms, overcome with emotion. “You know what this means don't you?” he asked her when he was finally able to speak.

  “What?” she answered breathlessly.

  “We have to get married,” he said and the words were as much of a shock to him as they were to Brigitte.

  “If we must, we must,” she replied. Before she could say anything more, Alex’s mouth was covering hers and her body melted into his. In the kitchen doorway, Réjeanne stepped back and closed the door discreetly. Well, it’s about time.

  * * *

  On a bright, sunny December day, Alex and Brigitte were married at the Hotel de Ville. The bride looked radiant in a floor-length cream gown. Her voice shook slightly as she spoke her vows, but Alex held her hands and smiled encouragingly.

  From a few feet away, Réjeanne wiped discreetly at a few tears, while David beamed with happiness. As the justice of the peace pronounced them man and wife, he thought that in his twenty-three years of performing marriages, he had never seen such a perfect couple.

  * * *

  On the same day, almost halfway across the globe, Anne Turner was lying exhausted in the delivery room. The doctor smiled, and announced, “You have a healthy baby boy.”

  She looked down at the shock of black hair on the baby's head and turned away. Just as she had expected, the little bastard looked exactly like his father.

  “You’re lucky,” the doctor continued. “Most preemies are not as strong as he is. Your son will be fine.”

  Lucky, hah! How am I supposed to raise this kid all by myself? she thought, bitterly. Just wait till I find that damned Alex Ivanov.

  The End

  Read about Alex and Brigitte’s life in New York in The Sting of the Scorpio,

  available now.