The Casanova Embrace

by Warren Adler

  "You are my life, Eduardo. There is nothing else in my life anymore but you."

  Although she hadn't intended it, the words seemed like a warning. When she released him, he gathered up the pictures and replaced them in the envelope, then returned them to the brief case.

  "Everything else in my life is pointless," she said, unafraid now, caution gone. He must know, she told herself. "I will do anything you ask of me. Anything."

  "Please, Marie," he said. "You must go. I fear for your life."

  "And what of yours, Eduardo?"

  His eyes averted hers.

  "I am fully prepared to die."

  "If you die, I die."

  "You mustn't talk like that. It is my cause."

  "And now mine."

  He was silent for a while. She sensed that he was choosing his words. If only she knew what he was thinking.

  "Are you sure about the room now?"

  "Yes."

  "And you have the device?"

  "It is perfectly safe." She had put it in her jewelry box.

  "The Chilean people will be grateful."

  "That is ridiculous." She was suddenly angry. I am not doing this for the Chilean people, she wanted to tell him. "It is for you, Eduardo, for you." She drew him toward her, caressing him, feeling again the fury of her sexuality and the joy of discovering his response again. He grew hard. She felt a sense of victory. "I love you. That is all that matters to me. There is nothing else." She drew him inside of her and she felt her happiness again, her fullness as a woman, and nothing else truly mattered.

  She arrived at the Chilean Embassy in a low-cut gown, designed to display as much of her upper flesh as was appropriate for a diplomatic event. Taking great pains with her toilette, she began early in the day, fussing with her eyes and skin as she never had before.

  "Still at it?" Claude called from the living room. Previously, before Eduardo, his impatience would have been close to rage and he would have railed and cursed, his anger resounding through the house. And she would have been suitably obedient and deferential. Not now. She was contemptuous of the absurdity of his blandness and she deliberately stalled the final touches to her hair.

  "Please, Marie. It's growing late."

  She wanted to make a grand entrance, which was not diplomatic etiquette but, for her purposes, a necessary gesture to draw attention to herself. It would take some doing to get the ambassador to take her to his study, and despite her previous optimism, she was not without trepidation and had spent the last few days mulling over the possibilities that might defeat her purpose. I cannot fail, she told herself, removing the device from the jewelry box and placing it in a little pouch that she had constructed within her dress, dead center, where the slope of her dress reached its lowest point. She could simply slip out the device by reaching between her breasts and placing it in one of the alternative places shown in the pictures.

  "Hurry, Marie. Please," Claude pleaded. She looked at the clock. She was already a half hour late. He was at the foot of the stairs as she moved down, tightening an earring, her purse held under her arm.

  "You look exquisite, Marie," Claude said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. She was pleased, only because he had validated her own assessment. A beautiful woman was an enormous asset in the diplomatic world, she knew, stimulating courtliness and a display of manners and quaint archness which passed for communication in the ritual of diplomatic socializing.

  "I have never seen you looking so radiant," Claude said as they drove to the Chilean Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue.

  "Thank you," she said confidently.

  "And I love you," he whispered, the words meaningless. She deliberately did not acknowledge them.

  When they arrived at the embassy, the guests were still having cocktails in the front drawing room. With a quick sweep of her eye, she noted that there were approximately sixty guests, noting on the posted seating list that there would be six tables of ten. She looked at the six wheels. She had, as she had surmised and hoped, been seated next to Ambassador Pallett, at his left, as protocol required that a guest ambassador's wife be seated at the host ambassador's right.

  In the foyer, the ambassador and his wife greeted her and Claude with kisses and compliments. She squeezed the ambassador's hand to heighten whatever effect she might be having.

  "You are exquisite," he whispered, his lips lingering on her cheek a shade longer than might be appropriate. Then he led them into the front drawing room, where black-tied waiters passed silver trays of drinks. She felt the ambassador's eyes washing over her even as he passed through the crowds, playing the affable host. She watched him peripherally, circling the room, and occasionally when she turned full face, she would deliberately lock her eyes with his, encouraging his attentions. She knew that he was heading for her, merely performing the expected social rituals.

  Eduardo had explained that the ambassador's study was on the same floor as the reception rooms, behind the double staircases that rose on either side of a large chandelier. It had seemed a simple process to find the study and plant the device, but suddenly confronted with the imminence of the plan, she began to question its simplicity. She felt conspicuous and was beginning to regret her deliberate attempt to call attention to herself. Perhaps it was the wrong strategy, she wondered, wishing that she could somehow will herself to be invisible.

  "Your scent is positively divine." It was the ambassador's voice. She turned quickly, felt the intensity of his gaze as his eyes searched blatantly downward into her décolletage. If only he knew, she thought, feeling her attack of anxiety vanish.

  "You're very flattering," she said, moving closer to give him a better vantage for his obvious interest. "And your home is always so breathtakingly beautiful."

  "Yes, I agree. We Chileans have an eye for beautiful things." His meaning was unmistakable.

  "I would love a grand tour," she requested quietly.

  "It would be a pleasure to show you around."

  "I'd love to see where you live and work."

  "Well, actually, we have our main offices a few blocks away. Mostly, this is a residence." Another of the guests had come up to join them and his voice had become considerably more formal.

  "You do not perform any official functions here?" It was an insipid question. As a knowledgeable diplomatic wife, she knew the answer. But she was determined to plant in his mind the idea of the study. He exchanged a few words with the other guest, a silver-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. The ambassador grabbed him under the elbow and they moved away to join another group, but she knew he was merely depositing him in another place.

  "So you will give me the grand tour?" she asked when he had returned.

  "I look forward to it."

  "And you will be the only tour leader?" It was a bold probe, but his reaction reassured her. His voice seemed to take on a new intimacy.

  "I wouldn't think of sharing the experience," he whispered.

  "Nor I," she said, feeling ridiculous as she watched the man puff up again like a bird. He looked at his watch, excused himself with a conspiratorial wink, then announced to the guests that dinner was to be served, and the group entered the adjoining dining room.

  "You've made quite a hit with the ambassador," Claude whispered as he brought her into the dining room. "And see where he has placed you." He could not conceal his pride in her.

  "He's rather a pleasant fellow," she said.

  "Lucky, I'd say." He bent over and kissed her cheek. "To have you for the evening." Claude's fawning added to her contempt. He had never expressed jealousy if she had been flirtatious with men of greater rank and importance. Claude seated her and went off to another table.

  Before she had lifted her fork, she felt the ambassador's leg against hers, stroking it as he talked animatedly with the woman at his right. Deliberately she held her leg inert until the main dish was served and she deemed it appropriate to return the pressure. His face glowed with pleasure as he turned toward her.


  "I'm afraid I've been neglecting you," he said. He had, she knew, overcompensated by giving the ambassador's wife more than her fair share of attention.

  "I don't feel neglected." The reference was pointed and she increased her pressure on his leg, which he eagerly returned.

  "I am, you know, tremendously interested in Chile."

  "Ah," he said warmly. "I'm delighted."

  "Frankly, I don't quite understand what's happening there. It is all so confusing."

  "Yes," he said. "We are having our troubles. We had not expected things to come to this. We are a beautiful country, a beautiful people."

  She thought of Eduardo, his passion, his fear. It annoyed her to see Eduardo's enemy so vulnerable.

  "You Americans do not understand us. We are an example of the failure of civilian government. It is, thankfully for you, beyond your comprehension." His leg continued to rest against hers; then it began to move in a steady rhythm. She could feel his anticipation. Yet she wanted suddenly to talk about terror, thinking of Eduardo and his anxieties.

  "We read all sorts of things about your intelligence services."

  He stopped the movement against her leg. His eyes opened in surprise and she wondered if she had gone too far. Then the stroking began again, and she returned the pressure to reassure him.

  "The activities of our intelligence services are much exaggerated. We must protect ourselves as you do. The French, the Americans, the Israelis are amazingly efficient. And the CIA is everywhere. Why should a country like Chile be singled out? We have been given few alternatives."

  She retreated into the familiar cliché of trivial femininity.

  "I don't understand such things. I only know what I have read in the American press."

  "We live in a dangerous world, Madame LaFarge."

  "Marie," she added quickly.

  "Marie," he seemed to savor the name as if he were tasting the first sip of a rare wine. Then she felt his hand touch her thigh. Even he must have realized that he had gone too far. He dropped his napkin, then quickly bent to retrieve it, watching the faces around him. But no one noticed, and he quickly moved to converse with the ambassador's wife on his right, his leg not leaving hers. He seemed to have increased the pressure, an accurate gauge, she thought, of his excitement.

  She touched the spot between her breasts where she had placed the device, then began to talk to a little man on her left, who appeared to be hard of hearing. He smiled benignly. She knew he had not heard a word she uttered.

  After the dessert, which she ate with unaccustomed eagerness, more out of nervousness than desire, the ambassador clinked his glass and stood up. He cleared his throat and, watching her, began what seemed like an elaborate toast to his guests, who were all characterized as distinguished, the ladies portrayed as elegant and beautiful. He looked toward her pointedly as he made this reference and she felt Claude's eyes resting on her, his pride certainly unbounded as if he were receiving a compliment for a pet orchid that he had grown himself. It was all so brittle and insincere, without any meaning for her, irrelevant to her new life. This is absurd, she thought. Yet she knew her face was beaming up at him, hopefully glowing with admiration.

  When he sat down, his leg immediately took up its accustomed place and she bent over and whispered to him, "You were quite marvelous." But his reaction was deterred by another man who rose to make a countertoast, also complimenting the beauty of the ladies, but his eyes were on the wife of the Chilean ambassador, who certainly deserved the accolade.

  Finally the guests rose and the men and women were separated in the old tradition, the women off to the front drawing room for coffee and the men to a back parlor to enjoy brandy, coffee and cigars.

  "I know it's all very archaic," the ambassador said, "but we follow the tradition. Sometimes we get complaints, but after all, diplomats may be allowed some leeway in following the amenities."

  She shrugged. He was obviously embarrassed now that the moment of truth had arrived, stealing a glance at his wife among the group of departing ladies.

  "I hope it is the appropriate time for me to collect my special good fortune." She wondered if she had inadvertently winked, for he immediately blushed and led her quickly to the foyer.

  "The house was built with perfect symmetry," the ambassador said. "The two drawing rooms are identical, as you can see, although the colors and furnishings are deliberately different." He seemed to have assumed a formal approach and she wondered if he were actually frightened that his private tour might be misconstrued by an observant guest. It was only after he had passed through the drawing room, out of sight of the others, that he began to loosen up.

  "And this is the library," he said, taking her arm, squeezing it, then in a quick motion sliding the door shut. With his back to the high doors, she could see his arm move behind him and turn the lock. Quickly, she looked toward the end of the large library to what Eduardo had explained was the entrance to the study. But before she could turn her head back to face him, he was pressed up against her, his lips searching for hers. She let him kiss her, felt her lips pried open and his tongue shoot into her mouth. A hand slid itself down into her bodice and caressed a nipple.

  "I'm wild for you, Marie," he whispered.

  "Please. Not now. Your guests."

  Gently, she moved him away. His face had flushed a deep scarlet.

  "And what's in there?" she asked, feigning breathlessness and patting her hair. At first, he seemed puzzled by the question.

  "In there?" She wondered if he would understand the implication of her inquiry. Where it's safer, you ass. Must I say it? He came toward her again and put his arms around her, kissing her neck.

  "It can't be safe here," she said.

  "I've locked the door."

  "Still.... "He kissed her again and she let her hand fall limp, feeling his hardness against the backs of her fingers. "Please. I am afraid."

  Again, she managed to release herself and moved toward the door of the study. He pursued her and as he kissed her again, she turned the handle. The door was locked. She felt a sudden burst of anger and pushed him away.

  "Not here."

  "I want you," he said.

  "Not here," she replied firmly. She could see the bulge in his pants and, looking up at his face, noted his confusion. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a key chain and quickly opened the study door. Eduardo would be proud of her cunning, she thought. Had he known that the door would be locked? She moved into the study, searching for signs of familiarity as she converted the pictures in her memory to the reality of the room. The ambassador shut the door behind him and clicked the lock with some flourish, designed to alleviate her fears. She moved quickly to the bookcases behind the antique desk. He did not lose a second in pursuit, gathering her into his arms again, pressing his lips tightly against her own, his body pressing against hers as she searched for a place to put the device. His hand groped at her buttocks and she could feel the relentlessness of his erection now. There was no escape, she knew, as she spotted a place for the device inside the jacket of one of the books. She managed to turn in his arms and place her back against him. His arms came around her, feeling for her breasts, and she reached backward for his erection.

  "This is madness," she said, turning her head toward him, but still facing the bookcases.

  "I must have you," he murmured. "I must."

  She bent over and lifted her gown, gathering it around her waist and leaning forward. With one hand she gripped the edge of a bookcase. Anticipating the situation, she had worn no encumbering underthings. She heard the sound of his zipper and then he was groping for her, plunging his erection in the general direction of her parts. She was dry, but reaching for him, she managed to insert him. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pain. I must endure this, she told herself repetitively as she reached into her bodice for the device. Then, finding it, she slipped it quickly under the dust jacket of a book. Behind her, his body moved like a pisto
n. This must end. Please! Fortunately he reached a climax quickly, and he stepped away, releasing her.

  She turned and let her dress fall, smoothing it. His face was beet red and he was sweating profusely.

  "I can't tell you how much pleasure...."

  "Quickly," she said, taking his hand and leading him out of the room. She noted that he still retained enough presence of mind to relock the study door. He passed through the library, unfastened the latch, and they moved back into the foyer.

  To her relief, the powder room in the foyer was empty and she stepped in. Her knees were shaking and she was seized with a sudden fit of nausea. The recently eaten dessert seemed to turn sour in her stomach and she gagged, disgorging the half-digested mess into the toilet. When she recovered herself, she cleaned herself up, repaired her makeup, and went back to join the guests. In the foyer mirror she noted that all her rouge could not hide the unaccustomed whiteness, the pallor. Had Eduardo expected this, she wondered as she forced a smile and entered the drawing room to join the ladies.

  X

  As she sat in the carpeted waiting area in the Pan American section of the Miami airport, Frederika Millspaugh felt like someone outside of herself, a different person. She was wearing a pink jumpsuit, a blonde wig, large round-framed sunglasses, and a white scarf around her neck. Beside her on the floor lay an elegant Louis Vuitton brief case. It was all totally out of character, someone completely different from the person inside.

  As she waited, she tried to amuse herself by imagining that she was the person that she was depicting, this someone else. On the plane down from Washington, she had actually answered the hostess in a southern accent.

  "Ah would indeed lak some coffee," she had said, bringing her voice to a higher pitch. That was, of course, the only thing she did say on the journey, although the man next to her tried to engage her in conversation. But Eduardo had warned her about that. "Talk to no one. No one," he had emphasized. Trying on the clothes he had brought her, she had actually made him laugh with her posing and gestures. She had even made him try on the blonde wig. With his mustache and dark face, he looked ridiculous.