My dearest Vee,
I kindly advise you not to misinterpret my gesture. I want to apologize solely for ruining your beautiful blouse and nothing more. Apart from that, your impromptu call into my bedroom was an absolute and indescribable delight. I cannot stop thinking of you, Vee…
With love,
Tee.
PS: Choose one of them and wear it tonight, please…Non mihi, non tibi, sed nobis.
CHAPTER 15
“Hey, boss, won’t you have lunch with us?” the youngest of the construction workers asked, shuffling his feet as he strolled to his old Nissan truck.
Construction engineer Robert Kane answered with a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Not today, guys. Thank you. You go on. I’ll be fine.”
The early snack had turned his stomach upside down. He had detected a faintly rancid smell when he had opened that bag of potato chips, but he had continued to nibble on them absently until the last bit. What a stupid mistake! he acknowledged frustrated.
“You, smart ass! Mr. Kane has a damn good reason not to come with us today,” another worker from the team yelled laughing. “He wants to keep watch, so he won’t miss the maids at the pool. All blonde hair and hot bodies… born to blow your mind, man! If you had any in the first place, that is!”
“C’mon men, that wasn’t a lie,” the youngest of the team insisted.
“No, of course you didn’t lie,” another one interfered, mocking him openly. “You dreamed about it behind the pile of bricks where you usually hide and shirk work, you lousy son of a gun!”
“Give him a break, you guys!” Robert Kane called, laughing with them. “We live in a free country. Everybody has the right to… to have a beautiful dream every now and then…”
“And what could be more beautiful in this world than a gang of young, blonde chicks skinny dipping in a pool?” a bricklayer, long past his prime, voiced his opinion with a melancholic look over his deep-lined face.
“What could be more beautiful right now, you mean?” a young Mexican with a broken accent asked very seriously. “A burrito grande with salsa roja, my friend… It’s worth ten sexy señoritas this minute. I’m hungry, man!”
The noisy group dispersed and vanished inside the few cars parked neatly at the periphery of that huge property on which they were working. The construction of that impressive mansion - erected elegantly on the border of the ocean - had started more than four years ago. Kane had contracted the job quite recently, the year before, but he had gotten bored already. He was dealing with the most insufferable client of his entire carrier – the invisible client – as he liked to call her jokingly. In addition to the stressful lack of communication, this particular client changed her mind often and asked for modifications in the existing project. Now, it seemed that she had reached the bottom of her imagination, and they expected to make the final touches and be done with it. Robert Kane could hardly wait to conclude the business and have that well-overdue vacation he had been planning with his wife and daughters for months.
The contagious laughter of his construction crew faded little by little. Robert took his cellular phone from the pocket of his shirt and called his wife. The woman didn’t pick up, and he declined to leave a message. He would try again later.
He grabbed the water bottle from his truck and decided to take a stroll on the ocean side. Pebble Beach was one of the most enchanting places on the Californian Pacific coast.
As he walked away from his car, the engineer registered cute little voices of children playing somewhere in the distance. Listening more carefully, he came to the conclusion that the hubbub originated in the recently inhabited wing of the mansion where he was working. Curiosity got the best of him, and he went closer to spy. It wasn’t every day that one could see people in that house. Sometimes, Robert Kane was under the strange impression that he had been hired by phantoms.
He sneaked through the labyrinth of stone-made walls partially covered with fragrant bushes of honeysuckle and climbing ivy vines. Without him noticing, the maze came to an unexpected end, and Robert Kane found himself looking dumbfounded at the blue ocean. He could have sworn that he had walked in the opposite direction, toward the house and not toward the ocean.
A few yards from him, a little girl with golden locks cried silently, crouched on the wet sand. She seemed to be four or five years old. From time to time, the ocean waves washed the hem of her yellow cotton dress. The water-imbued crocheted lace danced around her small and bare feet.
Robert loved children. His girls were five and six years old, and he was crazy about them. He couldn’t remain indifferent at the sight of a crying, distressed child.
“Hey, little princess!” he said softly, mindful not to startle her. “Are you lost perhaps?”
The kid turned to him a pair of beautiful grass-green eyes that had become red and puffy from too much crying.
“I want to go to mommy,” the child muttered whimpering. “I want my mommy. Please take me to my mommy!”
It can’t be possible, Robert Kane thought stupefied. She was the supposedly kidnapped little girl on the news lately. Her picture had been broadcast on television and had appeared on every newspaper he read. She had vanished somewhere on the Eastern coast. Earlier that same day, he had thought terrified that her chances to be found alive had been getting slimmer and slimmer. That happened to children taken from their homes usually – the saddest thing a parent should ever have to go through!
Robert kneeled beside her and lifted her in his arms. With excessive gentleness, he wiped her nose and tears with a McDonald’s paper napkin he found in the pocket of his jeans.
“What’s your name, princess?”
“Tiffany,” she whispered.
“Ok, Tiffany, let’s make a deal: I’ll take you to your mommy, but you have to stop crying.”
“Ok,” she accepted obediently.
“What a girl!” he exclaimed contentedly, reaching inside his pocket for the cell phone.
Robert was so happy and absorbed with Tiffany’s well-being, that he didn’t hear the hurried steps behind him. Out of nowhere, he felt the ice-cold barrel of a pistol on his nape, and a malicious voice demanded with chilling clarity:
“Let go of the child and give me your phone. Don’t try anything stupid if you want to see your family again.”
CHAPTER 16
The air seemed as heavy as lead in his office. Timothy got up and opened a window. The outside clamor stressed his conviction that life went on, no mattered what. People continued to run their peculiar existences, indifferent, in fact, to someone else’s troubles. Man is alone in his own pain. And the mind of each of us is so complex, so impenetrable, and so damn sick sometimes, Timothy reflected, disturbed by the latest news.
He could not comprehend how his dear friend Robert Kane had reached the point of desperation and had committed suicide. Robert had been one of the most experienced civil engineers in the Bay Area. Actually, that had been the reason Timothy had contacted him regarding the grandiose, sophisticated project of the mansion in Pebble Beach. At his age of forty-nine, he had enjoyed everything a man could ever want: a flourishing business, a young, beautiful, and loving wife, two children like angels, and a superb house in Palo Alto. Why would a man like Robert choose suicide? Timothy asked himself, enraged by his friend’s final and stupid act.
He had run into Kane recently, just a couple of days ago. The engineer had seemed relaxed and content with the fact that Pebble Beach project was coming to an end. He had talked enthusiastically about the vacation he had arranged for him and his family in Cancun. Timothy had not had the heart to let him know that Miss Phantomas had demanded new changes to her mansion.
Suddenly, the architect felt an immense hatred toward that house. Its construction did not look to have an ending point any time soon. If ever! The death of Robert Kane was not the only tragedy to darken that project. The first civil engineer had died in a car crash as returning from work.
In accordance with the contract, architect Timothy Leigh had no further obligations toward the client in Pebble Beach. He had finished the project three years ago and had received his money. Nevertheless, Miss Never-Shows-Her-Face continued to press him with so-called customizing changes. She paid every time, but Timothy had no more need for her money. He had designed for her a beautiful, unique house, and she had never honored him with a single meeting. That bothered him. He had no idea who she was, how she looked like if she even existed, or if, actually, the client were a “she” or a “he”. A wing of the house had been already occupied, but not even the housekeeper knew the face of the owner.
“Miss LaFontain,” Timothy called through the interphone. “Would you be so kind to come into my office? I need your assistance right away.”
The secretary knocked and entered. As usual, her face did not show any emotion, if she were or not affected by the recent death of the firm’s loyal partner. She brought to his attention the fact that she had sent flowers to the grieving family of Robert Kane.
“Thank you, Miss LaFontain, but the reason I asked you here has nothing to do with Robert. On the other hand, maybe it does, but only indirectly. I would like you to compose a letter in which I inform the Pebble Beach client that my company will cease its collaboration with them. We finished the house as specified in the contract. The people who represented the owner signed, they were happy. All that has followed was excessive politeness from our part. My company has other projects that I wish to involve myself in… My patience has a limit…You’ll know how to write it, give it a polite, formal appearance.”
“Mr. Leigh, I apologize for my objection. However, I hope you would agree with me that it would not be diplomatic to cease your collaboration with them right now, immediately after Robert Kane’s death. His demise has affected them also.”
So what? Timothy wanted to scream. They’re bad luck! I got an awful feeling about them. I’m sick and tired of them! He managed to control his anger and frustration. He kept quiet for a moment and considered his secretary’s unbiased point of view. The woman was right. He had to admit that.
“Thank you, Miss LaFontain. Your smart observation is most welcomed and greatly appreciated. Let’s postpone the sending of the letter for a couple of weeks. But I would like you to start working on it as soon as possible. Have it ready, please!”
“Of course, Mr. Leigh.”
Miss LaFontain left the architect’s office straight as a board. Once she sat comfortably at her own desk, she reached into her old, roomy bag and took her cell phone. She dialed a number. Someone answered on the spot. The secretary spoke only one sentence, and then she hung up.
“Tell her the architect wants to withdraw.”
CHAPTER 17
In the tender darkness of that late autumn evening, the lightning was drawing strange lines – thin fire streaks on the storm-blackened sky. The rain unleashed all of a sudden, wild and cold, hitting with gigantic drops and hail as big as the egg of a sparrow.
Timothy noticed the free parking space left beside Vivien’s Lexus. Like a bolt out of the sky, the young woman showed by his side the instant he exited the car. She covered him with a huge transparent umbrella, saving his elegant Versace suit from that caprice of nature. Taken by surprise, he smiled thankfully and almost kissed her cheek. Almost… Instinctively, his left hand wrapped around the handle of the umbrella, sheltering her cold fingers, as he protectively took her under his coat. His heart rejoiced at the sight of her. His mind fumed, angry with her and very angry with himself for being so in love with her and so weak when it came to her charms. Don’t send me wrong messages, Vee! I know your dirty secret, young lady, Timothy thought, regrouping for the attack.
Without having the faintest idea about what was torturing the man before her, Vivien giggled happily and stepped inside the house.
“Thank you so much for the blouses. They are absolutely gorgeous, but you shouldn’t have to do that, really.”
“I’m glad you like them and they fit,” Timothy stated coldly, averting his eyes. He shook the umbrella vigorously on the doorstep. After closing the door, he reopened the parapluie and left it in the hallway to dry.
Vivien wiped her lace high-heel slippers on the entrance rug, and Timothy noticed her recently done pedicure. Her lilac toenails had diamond brightness. They looked like fine jewels, and he had to control his impulse to get down on his knees and touch them, kiss them one by one. The fury inside him rose like bread dough left to ferment; it threatened to overflow and make a memorable fool of him.
Vivien retired timidly to her piano. Disappointment spread fast all over her good-fairy features. She sensed that something was wrong with him. She could not guess what it was, and his distant attitude didn’t encourage her to ask about it. This Tee seemed to be a different person from the one that had sent her the Victoria’s Secret gift along with the igniting love note.
What did you expect from me today? Timothy raged inwardly. That I would take you in my arms and kiss you breathlessly from the first second I laid my eyes on you? That I would madly desire to make love to you, and I will beg you to let me do it when I would see you dressed like that… like… ready to be undressed?
Unfortunately, that was precisely what he felt, exactly what he wanted that moment, but he would not surrender to her powerful magnetism. He craved for more than just her beautiful, sexy little body. He wanted her mind, her soul, her heart. He would not take pieces. Not when it came to her! He had taken pieces and small bits his entire life. This time, he wanted it all or nothing at all!
The amalgam of contradictory emotions made him feel irritable and unsure of himself.
“I would like to listen to Moonlight Sonata this evening,” he demanded in a glacial tone, as he took off his shoes and coat and stretched comfortably on the sofa. He undid the first three or four buttons of his shirt and rolled its sleeves up to his elbows.
Moonlight Sonata is too sad for tonight, Vivien protested, in her mind only. Beethoven must’ve had the blues when composing it.
She pulled the hem of her dark-blue silk skirt and covered her knees. She had carefully picked that skirt to go with the blue blouse from him. She loved that sexy blouse with its ample and low neckline.
As she started to play, unenthusiastically, she cast instant-lived glances at him from time to time. The image of his strong, masculine body lying splendidly in such close proximity threatened to mix up the musical notes on her score. She struggled to concentrate. The song - although magnificent – did not mirror her frame of mind at all that evening. She felt so content, so joyful, like expecting something wonderful to happen. And it appeared that the only thing that stayed in her path of happiness at that moment was that melancholic song composed by a deaf genius. Through pain, to heaven, she recalled the Christian creed with optimism and faith.
Timothy perceived her disagreement with his musical choice and found sadistic pleasure in knowing that he was giving her a hard time. If I’m so damn furious and sad, why would you be so annoyingly cheerful?
His blood was simmering. Now, that she was concentrated on playing the piano, he could look at her without restraint. He imagined approaching her slowly from behind, kissing her white, graceful nape that evoked a ballerina. In his mind, he started to undo the small, fabric-covered buttons of her silk blouse. It had already slipped off one of her milky, opalescent shoulders, subtly giving away the fact that the woman wore no bras underneath. He continued the sweet torture, he saw himself opening the elaborated bow of her wrap skirt and…
“Enough!” he roared.
Vivien jumped, startled by his act. Involuntarily, her fingers hit two or three dissonant notes. Her right hand flew to her chest, and she watched him appalled.
In a blink of an eye, Timothy got up from the sofa, put on his shoes, and grabbed his coat. He advanced toward her as a bull in the arena and slammed a check on the piano.
“I hope that settles the matter. I’m tired, and I’ve had it with your p
iano lessons,” he snapped and headed for the exit door.
Vivien registered the exorbitant amount paid, and that only enhanced her fury. She tore the check in small little pieces and threw them all over him.
“I don’t need your money, you arrogant brute,” she screamed offended.
Timothy stopped. He turned around and walked toward her with confident strides.
“Then what do you need? What do you actually want from me, Vivien?” he asked in a loud voice. “A DNA sample maybe?” he suggested with a rueful smile, waving in her face the plastic bag with his hair and Detective Leonard’s card in it. “Answer me, you angel-face little viper!”
“I can’t believe it!” Vivien scoffed. “Tee, just tell me it isn’t true. You lowered yourself as much as to go through my garbage?”
“Don’t try to lie to me, Vivien.”
“Then it wasn’t you who found it,” she guessed, suspicious of that detective again.
Like an iron claw, his hand caught her arm. His long fingers sprawled gladly on her velvety skin. He tightened his grip and watched satisfied her indifferent expression at the light physical pain he was sure he was inflicting on her. It was obvious that she was not afraid of him. That transient thought initiated his mollification. His anger eroded at a fast pace.
Broken Serenade Page 13
