What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG)

by CJ Roberts

  I am now at Nice airport. Luckily, there is a flight to Paris and I can change there with just a few hours wait for a flight to New York. I’m listening to Beyoncé on my iPhone – If I Were a Boy – you tell’em, Beyoncé. I wish I could understand how certain men’s minds work – how some will stop at nothing to puff up their egos even if they know they’re breaking someone’s heart.

  Just before take-off, I do the decent thing. I call Alexandre to let him know I have left. Just in case he reports me missing to the gendarmes or something. Thank God his voicemail picks up and I can just leave a message.

  “Alexandre – what can I say?” I start in a small voice. “I have left. Obviously. I received a message on my cell from Sophie who seemed to know every intimate detail of my sex life. I’m glad your ‘challenge’ worked out for you, and for me, too. It was a real eye-opener, an experience of a lifetime. It was beautiful. Beautiful because I believed in it. But… now I have found out that it was all a game for you, I know that it could never be the same between us again. As you said yourself, the biggest sex organ is your brain. And my brain is shot to pieces right now. Goodbye, Alexandre. Good luck with Rex, shame that cute dog and I will never meet. Bon voyage.”

  I end the call, sit back in my economy seat and let the tears fall. The catchy tune to Mrs. Robinson is playing over and over inside my head like background music to my misery – a tune I used to love.

  A reminder of who I am.

  And what will never be.

  17

  When I walk into my apartment, its walls feel like a fortress – a welcome haven, safe from the evils of the outside world. Whatever happens (God forbid, a tsunami should strike New York City), this is my security. My nest.

  I haven’t even turned my cell back on. I don’t want to know what Alexandre’s reaction may be. I just need to feel at peace. It’s four in the morning European time, ten pm here – time for bed; I have to go to work tomorrow.

  I keep going over everything in my mind; could there have been some sort of mistake? No, Sophie knew intimate details about my sexuality. I feel humiliated as if I were some sort of experiment. Not to say I didn’t enjoy being Alexandre’s guinea pig – I cannot deny that, but I feel dishonored by him.

  I call Daisy, give her the lowdown on my latest drama and ask if there’s any way she can do an early breakfast tomorrow. I need to talk to someone – get a second opinion about this whole crazy mess. We are meeting at 8am at the café next to my workplace.

  I run a bath and rummage around the kitchen for something to eat. I land on some potato chips which I dunk into cream cheese. I scoff the whole packet. Comfort food. I’ll need to watch myself in the next few weeks. No bingeing – I’ll get rid of those calories tomorrow with a long swim.

  The bath feels soothing, only, it reminds me of our time together. Will I ever get this French bastard out of my system? I hear the house telephone ring. I’ll ignore it. The doorman? Anthony? Who cares – I can’t be dealing with any of that now.

  I mull over the sheer arrogance and inflated ego that Alexandre seems proud to own. A cliché of his own making. Yes, French men have a reputation for being great lovers but also, arrogant shitheads. Why was he playing games with me? To feed his vanity? I dry myself and moisturize my body all over, and then look through the playlist on my iPod. I find the perfect song for him. “This is for you, Alexandre,” I shout into the air. You’re So Vain blares out and I start to dance about the bathroom. I feel energized. I can get through this.

  By the time I flop into bed, I’m exhausted. Did I dislocate my shoulder blade by punching my fist into the air too hard?

  I fall into a deep sleep which feels like five minutes. The alarm on my iPhone goes off and I get ready for work. I have failed both Anthony and Natalie. I did not become Madonna’s NBF and sorry, Natalie, I did not feel inclined to pinch a towel from the hotel. You can buy one online, my dear, from their E boutique.

  Daisy has lost weight in the space of one week. Incredible. Less Annie and more Nicole Kidman. I order a bagel, lox and cream cheese for my breakfast (uh oh) – and she, a fruit salad and tea.

  “Well, you look great for someone who has just had her heart broken,” she observes, glancing me up and down.

  “Don’t be fooled by the tan.”

  “Look, you had a good innings. Inning? Innings? I never know if that word should be singular or plural.”

  “I don’t know either,” I say. “But you’re right, it lasted longer than I expected.”

  “Did you get to keep the pearl necklace?” she inquires with raised eyebrows.

  “No, I left it at his house and he never gave it back.”

  “Oh well. You win some, you lose some.”

  “What would you have done?” I ask.

  “If I still had the necklace?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tough call. Pride would make me want to return it, but then…well…there is such a thing as severance pay.”

  I laugh. “Anyway, I don’t have it – so luckily, I’m not in that predicament.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Humiliated. But strangely grateful.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Pearl.”

  “Look….sex,” I whisper, lowering my voice, “was out of this world with him. I am now hoping that he has awakened something in me. That I can find another great relationship with someone else. In the future. I’m also more open to younger guys, something I never would have dared to consider before.”

  “Watch out, mothers, lock up your sons, here she comes! Just teasing, Pearl, don’t look so horrified.”

  “I’m just a little sensitive to the cougar insult that Sophie spat out at me, that’s all.”

  “Not every woman can pull a younger guy.”

  I squint my eyes at her.

  “Pearl! Where’s your sense of humor?” Daisy takes a large mouthful of strawberries and banana. “So, what’s Plan B?” she asks with her mouth full.

  “Do you think there’s any way all this was a mistake?”

  She shakes her head. “I doubt it. Those two are as thick as thieves. He obviously confides in her. Sorry, Pearl, I’m just giving my honest opinion. Bitchy as Sophie has shown herself to be, there must be some truth in what she said, or how would she have that information about you? I’m sure she made it sound worse than it was, but still. She knew stuff about you that she shouldn’t have been party to. Can you imagine telling Anthony intimate stuff about your boyfriend?”

  “Eew, gross, no!” I glug down the rest of my orange juice. “You know what gets me more than anything?”

  “What?”

  “Not hanging out with his dog, Rex. I had visions of us all together – walks in Central Park, you know, the whole family dream thing.”

  “Were you imagining a real family with him, too? Babies and everything?”

  I haven’t told Daisy about the condom-less sex. I know she would disapprove. A faint shiver runs through me and then I take a deep breath. No, Pearl, that ship has sailed.

  “Well, you know, a girl can have her flights of fancy,” I say.

  “It all seemed so on the cards, Pearl. Until this sister crap messed it all up. I’m surprised. No, shocked, actually. I really believed he was into you. He had me fooled.”

  “You never met him, Daisy.”

  “I didn’t have to. The pearl necklace spoke volumes, the trip to France et cetera. It seemed he went to extremes to make you happy – he didn’t have to do all that, he still could have accomplished his ‘challenge’ without all those extra trimmings. The truth is, the more I think about it, it doesn’t add up. But then….he is French, I suppose. Maybe he wanted to do it all with flourish and style.”

  “I guess we’ll never know.”

  “Hasn’t he called you a million times?”

  “I don’t know. My cell is switched off. Between him, and Anthony obsessing about Madonna, I don’t dare listen to my messages.”

  “You’ll need to give Ale
xandre a chance to at least explain.”

  “Explain what? That his only sister is a psycho bitch from hell who once stabbed her father in the groin, and who has it in for me? To be honest, maybe it’s better like this – I’m well out of it. Do I really want her on my tail? Sharing my life with her? I mean, she’s his sister and they’re business partners. I wouldn’t want to test her temper.”

  “Alexandre did say, though, that the father was a monster, didn’t he? Maybe he deserved to be stabbed,” Daisy reasons.

  “Whatever – I don’t want to be on the wrong side of her. Perhaps it’s best I keep well away from Alexandre.”

  “Probably. If you see him, you’ll only get tempted again. And this Sophie character sounds like bad news, whichever way you look at it.” Daisy checks her watch. “Crap! I’m really late! We’ll speak this evening, okay, Pearl?”

  “I’m late, too. Thanks for listening, Daisy. Thanks for being there for me. And you look great, by the way. Ten pounds slimmer.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Pearl, but thanks.”

  We both get up from our seats, pay the check and dash off our separate ways.

  When I get home from work, Luke, the skinny doorman who I thought had been fired, presents me with a box. I recognize it – wrapped with the same type of white velvet ribbon in the gray box. I think I know what it is. My heart is thumping through my chest, adrenaline pumping through my veins as if I’m preparing to run from a wild beast. Funny how nature has adrenaline kick in whether we like it or not.

  I have a quick shower to ease the day away and when I pick up the box again I am a little calmer.

  Déjà-vu. I set it on my bed and open it. The pearl necklace wrapped in one of his T-shirts which I pick up and smell. Bastard. He knows just how to get to me. He hasn’t washed the shirt and I can smell him all over it. Sunshine, salt, the odor of his skin. I inhale it and feel a surge of desire sweep through my body. There is a long note in his handwriting and attached a typed, printed note on different paper. It reads:

  Darling, precious Pearl,

  You are my pearl, you are my treasure. Don’t deny me this. Don’t deny me the love I have for you.

  When you left my heart broke in two. The Spanish describe their soul-mate as ‘media naranja’ the other half of the same orange. And that is what you are to me, the other half of me, the perfect half that matches me. I have never felt this way before about anybody. Ever.

  You think I betrayed your trust. No, I would never do that. Sophie snooped at my iPad and saw my personal notes. They were written in English so I never imagined she would bother to translate them. Call me a jerk, call me a nerd for making notes concerning you. But here they are. (I have copied and pasted this). This is what she saw:

  Problems to be solved concerning Pearl:

  Needs to reach orgasm during penetrative sex. (My big challenge).

  Needs confidence boosted – age complex due to American youth worship culture.

  Need to get her pregnant ASAP due to clock factor. (Want to start a family with her.)

  I feel embarrassed showing this to you but it is the only way I know how to explain myself. I write lists and notes – I write them for everything – you know that.

  When I first set eyes on you in that coffee shop, I was smitten, instantly. I remarked to Sophie how beautiful you were. Sophie commented on how easy American girls are, how they jump into bed with anybody at the drop of a hat. I told her, that in your case, I thought I stood very little chance – that you looked sophisticated and classy. (Given that I had never been with an American woman I had no idea if what she said was true). It was disrespectful of me to discuss this in French with her while you were standing right there before us when we were all waiting in line. I apologize. But that was then.

  This is now.

  Now I have found my Pearl I do not want to let her go.

  I will fight for you. I want you in my life.

  I have made a decision. I am giving over HookedUp to Sophie. I will still keep shares but will no longer be involved in the daily decisions of running it. I’d like to start up a new enterprise – a film production company and I will be looking for someone to run it (production skills mandatory). I wondered if you would consider yourself for the job?

  Here is the necklace. It belongs to you, and only you.

  A squadron of kisses,

  Your Alexandre

  P.S Rex has arrived and wants to meet you.

  P.P.S For the present time my family members will no longer be staying at my apartment when they visit New York.

  I smell the T-shirt again and go all weak. His natural scent is like an elixir of love. Before I have a chance to consider the contents of his note, the telephone rings. It’s Luke, the doorman.

  “Ms. Robinson, did you call the Fire Department?” he asks nervously.

  “No, I didn’t. Is there a fire in the building?” My voice flies up two octaves.

  “Not as far as I know, Ms. Robinson, but a firefighter is on his way up to take a look. Somebody must have called 911.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me. Mrs. Meyer from the eleventh has been known to call emergency services. They came once to retrieve her cat from the fire escape – did you ask her?”

  “I’ll call her now.”

  “Or that guy on the second floor, what’s his name? Oh yes, Mr. Johnson. He is always burning his food.”

  “Okay, ma’am, thank you.”

  I go to the kitchen and look out the back door to see if I can hear a commotion. Nothing. All is silent up and down the back stairs. Why only one firefighter? Usually they come in pairs. I hear some clanging outside my kitchen window and I look over with a start. The firefighter is right there on the fire escape, peering into my apartment. Is he about to smash my window? I race over to open it – I don’t want shards of glass everywhere. I lift up the window, raise my eyes and cannot believe the vision before me. I break into a smile.

  Hot. Hot. Hot!

  But not from any fire.

  “Excuse me ma’am,” the voice exclaims, “I heard there was fire in this apartment.”

  I observe the sexy outfit, the dark pants with yellow stripes. But the firefighter isn’t wearing a top. His muscles are ripped, shining with perspiration, his cheeks dark with yesterday’s stubble. Any girl’s fantasy.

  I open the window wide and his big black boots jump down into my apartment followed by his drop-dead gorgeous body.

  “You nearly had me fooled,” I laugh. “But your accent gave you away.”

  Alexandre is standing there, legs astride, holding a Fire Department helmet. It’s not such a crazy idea – the electricity between us really does have me on fire.

  “I heard there was a lot of heat coming directly from this apartment,” he says with a big grin on his face. He takes a step closer and stares into my eyes. I can feel his breath on mine. Mint, apples, sun, Alexandre. He takes my chin in his hand and lets his lips graze my mouth. I respond with a gasp. I can hear him take in a gulp of air, inhaling the scent of me, of my hair. It feels like a century has passed since we were last together, yet it was only one night away. I open my mouth a little and his tongue finds mine, letting the tips meet. The connection, like lightening, goes straight between my legs.

  “A lot of heat is coming from right down here,” he tells me. He palms his large hand on my crotch and I feel a rush of blood pump through me. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m going to have to put out this fire any way I can.”

  He gets down on his knees and places himself underneath me. He unzips my skirt and lets it fall to the floor. He pushes my legs apart and hooks his fingers inside my panties, peeling them down. Very, very slowly. He blows softly in between my legs, then flicks his tongue for just a second on my clitoris. Then he blows again.

  “If you knew anything about fire, Mr. Firefighter,” I gasp, “you’d know blowing on a flame just gets it more excited.”

  “True,” he murmurs, letting his tongue lap along my slit. “Perhaps it ne
eds some help cooling down.”

  He presses his tongue flat against my buzzing V-8 and I hold onto his head, my fingers running through his soft dark hair. I push my hips forward, pushing my Venus so the lips rub up and down against his mouth. I am so stimulated – so hot and horny. I’m moaning. I am still wearing a bra, nothing more, and I look down to see my breasts held like cupcakes in a demi push-up. I pull out one breast and play with my nipple, watching it turn hard. Alexandre begins to stand up and circles his right arm around my thighs, lifting me up over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift! He’s so strong – the way he does it so effortlessly makes me feel as light as a feather. I’m hanging upside down over his shoulders, gripping on to the waistband of his sexy fireman’s pants with one hand, and with the other, cupping his cute, tight butt. He’s taking me to the bedroom.

  “Are you abducting me, Mr. Fireman?”

  “I need to teach you a lesson, Ms. Robinson.”

  “What kind of lesson?”

  “To teach you not to play with fire. To trust me, and not play silly, girlish games. Or you could get burned.”

  He lays me on the bed. As he does so, the telephone rings.

  “It could be the doorman,” I say. God knows what chaos Alexandre has caused.

  “Answer it. Tell him I’m showing you some fire safety tips.”

  I laugh, and do as he suggests. Poor Luke is confused. Half of the building is in a panic. I assure him there is no fire here, that everything is under control but he did the right thing letting the firefighter into the building.