Love under contract

by Karin Fromwald

  He knew that she had already gotten a job; he would have her by his side so that she wouldn’t do anything nonsensical. Plus, he would be able to credit the employment of his own wife, with her top-notch qualifications, to others. It hadn’t been his decision to take her on. He had even used his veto, but only to get his way. And, thank heavens, his plan worked. He pushed her wet hair out of her face.

  The sound of the telephone pulled him away from his thoughts. Zara had brought the cordless receiver into the bathroom, and it lay on the wide rim of the huge bathtub, although tub was the wrong term. It was almost a Jacuzzi. Gregor reached for it, but Zara shook her head. “Don’t! It’s my mother.” She took the telephone away from him and answered.

  It was, in fact, her mother, who was planning her next wedding. She was going to marry Owen in September. “Hello, Mama,” Zara said, trying to keep the receiver dry, and sat up a bit. She was sitting so close to Gregor that he could also hear her mother’s voice, bringing thoughts to his mind that he would rather have forgotten.

  “Zara, am I interrupting you?” Aceline heard Zara’s voice, which sounded a bit strange. It echoed a little in the bathroom. “I’m in the bathtub.” She looked up and smiled at Gregor. “It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, Zara!” Aceline feared that her daughter was turning into a do-nothing lazybones since she had become a student again and was making Parisian nightlife unsafe for man and beast.

  It was time that Zara came to her senses.

  “I had sex all afternoon and after that, one has to take a bath,” Zara said amiably. Gregor couldn’t believe it; this woman was truly shocking. “Zara, you can’t be serious, can you?” Aceline naturally thought it was a joke. “Yes, naturally.” Zara had to stifle her laughter and, in the meantime, kissed the palm of Gregor’s hand, which tasted like bath oil.

  “Well, I’ve just decided to get married at the Pierre again, or do you think it inappropriate?” It would be her second wedding that she would have at the hotel. It was more than inappropriate, Zara thought. Zara made a face, and gestured helplessly toward Gregor. Her mother and her weddings! “If you think it’s alright.” What does my new stepfather say? Are you getting a discount?” “He doesn’t care one way or the other; it will be a small wedding.” Aceline didn’t hear the second remark. “Does small mean 100 people, or 200?” Zara had to laugh; she knew her mother. “Approximately...” She was silent. “You’re making fun of me, right?” “Mother, you should write books about weddings.” “Zara, I’ve had bad luck, and I don’t like being alone!” Zara sighed. “As usual; get married at the Pierre – just let me know when everything is arranged.”

  Zara turned around, and the water sloshed over her. “Are you alone? What are you going to do in the fall when you’re finished with this course?” Aceline somehow had the feeling that her daughter wasn’t bathing alone.

  “No, I’m not alone and I don’t know what I’m going to do in September. Maybe I’ll go to Africa as a Peace Corps worker. I should probably try to do something for others.” Gregor had to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. “I’m hanging up. You’re talking nonsense. Have you had something to drink?” “No, Mama, not yet. Talk to you soon . . .” She hung up and burst out laughing.

  “My mother and her weddings. I really liked Antonio, but this Owen...” She shook her head as she thought of him. Gregor wrinkled his forehead. “Owen Keanne?” he asked. “Do you know him?” Gregor was holding Zara’s buttocks. How lovely she was, how soft her skin was. He actually didn’t want to talk any more, rather... “Yes, I actually am involved in some business with him currently.” “Oops.” Gregor’s face became serious. He stroked Zara’s face with his index finger. “At some point, we have to talk about your mother,” he said slowly. Zara sighed. “But not now!” She kissed him; she didn’t want to talk about her and ruin her good mood, and in a few minutes Gregor, too, had forgotten what he wanted to ask or say.

  A little later, Zara was sitting on her apartment terrace in her Juicy Couture jogging outfit with her Notebook and wrote her paper, while Gregor had spread out in the study and was on the telephone. From time to time he glanced out through the door of the balcony and saw her sitting there, in her Bikini top and jogging pants, busily writing. Why couldn’t it always be like this?

  He had placed her wedding ring on the desk in front of him and sighed. He looked at his wristwatch. Tomorrow he had to fly to New York again. He would rather have stayed with her than being in New York alone for a few days without her. He got up and went out onto the large terrace. It was actually a beautiful apartment, although not as large as her grandmother’s by far. The environs were livelier too. He saw the busy streets, the street musicians who were playing in front of a restaurant not far away. From the terrace there was a view of the Centre Pompidou, which provided a colorful contrast to the rest of the surrounding houses. He could see people leaving the synagogues, and bent over the balustrade and watched them for a while.

  “Oh, that’s Gerard!” She pointed to the rabbi, who was speaking to several young people. “You know the rabbi?” he said, and hoped she wasn’t going to tell him that she’d had sex with him. At this point, he thought Zara was capable of anything. Zara laughed. “Oh, yes – I know him!” As she saw Gregor looking at her askance, she considered briefly whether she should lie to him to make him jealous, but she had left all that behind. So she simply said, “Have no fear, I haven’t slept with him! I met him in the café, and we’ve conversed about this and that. Sometimes he’ll come for dinner, when I’ve invited friends in. He’s pretty liberal!” She smiled and stroked Gregor’s cheek. “You really thought that I had slept with him, didn’t you?” She knew him, and he realized she had read his thoughts. “It’s quite possible that I’ve slept with many men, but there’s not a pastor or a rabbi among them.” Gregor laughed, relieved. “Good to know; I would have a real problem with a rabbi.”

  The sun began to set over the rooftops of Paris and Gregor found it so beautiful that he could fully understand Zara’s homesickness for the city. Professionally, Paris was unfortunately not for him, and Zara had, after all, applied for some positions in New York again. Gregor had always felt at home in Paris. He pulled Zara away from the balcony railing and put his arm around her. “Have you finished your work?” he asked. She nodded and looked at him. He was so perfect in so many ways that she had to be careful that he didn’t hurt her. She missed him when he wasn’t with her.

  “We have to leave soon,” he said then, pulled her hand up and put her wedding band on. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, startled, and wanted to take it off again. “Oh, come on, you can wear it this evening!” He pulled her to him and kissed her. “Why should I?” she asked saucily. “Well, let’s think about it?! Maybe because it’s beautiful?” She smiled. “Who, the ring or you?” Gregor laughed. “Both?” She took his face in her hands and stood on her tiptoes. He was handsome, but the ring with its many diamonds was also nothing to sneeze at. Did he still have the engagement ring?

  “Okay, you vain man, but only for that reason!” She kissed him passionately and pressed him to her. She pulled her legs up and Gregor couldn’t resist holding on to her. Her hands were everywhere, and his trousers fell to the floor. Gregor sighed loudly. They were going to be late.

  Zara watched as he got dressed. She was ready to go.

  He’s actually too beautiful for a man, she thought once again, as she watched him tie his tie. Gregor noticed her watching him and looked in the mirror so that he could see her face, and smiled at her. She looked beautiful, although the turquoise dress was a little too low-cut for his taste, actually to her navel, and he hoped that the two pieces of fabric – one really couldn’t describe them as anything more – would stay in place and cover what needed to be covered.

  Then she turned around and his eyes grew wide – the dress in the back was as low-cut as in the front and almost showed the beginning of her rear-end. It was breath-taking. Her high silver sandals matched and wer
e adorned with the same gem-like stones as the hem of the dress.

  She looked over her shoulder and grinned. Naturally she had chosen the dress with the intention that she would be noticed. It fell around her hips softly and ended just above her knees. Her hair was combed back severely into an artful ponytail and in her ears were the long diamond earrings with the aquamarines that Gregor had once given her and which matched the color of the dress perfectly.

  “It’s cut very low,” Gregor remarked and raised his eyebrows skeptically, although he couldn’t resist touching her bare back and her shimmering skin. He breathed deeply; she smelled so good, too. Zara burst out laughing. “So that your uptight friends have something to look at!”

  The men and a woman were waiting in front of the building in which the well-known Parisian rooftop restaurant was located. The individual diner there could expect to spend a minimum of $450 per person for dinner.

  It wasn’t just business partners who were waiting for the black Mercedes to pull up; there were also two colleagues from the London branch and members of the Board who wanted to baptize their agreement here in Paris. It was, after all, a multi-billion dollar deal.

  Peter Sanderson was the colleague from London and while taking a puff of his cigar, he asked his old French partner, Alphons Monet, “Do you know Levy’s wife?” Alphons didn’t hear him – in his thoughts he was with his mistress, a dark-skinned model, with whom he had spent the afternoon. “Pardon me?” he asked. “So do you know his wife?” One of the clients, an industrialist as rich as Croesus who was accompanied by his wife, listened. He had thought that Gregor was gay and the many women were only escorts for the sake of appearance. But he couldn’t say that; it wouldn’t be politically correct. “Levy is married?” he asked, interested. His wife, a beautiful young woman about thirty years old, certainly almost twenty years younger than her husband, smiled. “Oh, I would be interested to hear about that too; wasn’t he involved with one of the Hollywood movie stars – Catherine McLean?” Her husband smiled; his wife knew her way around Hollywood gossip. “Well, we’ll know in a few minutes; it seems no one knows his wife, but he said on the telephone that he was bringing her.”

  Alphons indicated the black Mercedes. “I think they’re here...” Peter threw his cigar away. The chauffeur opened the car door and Zara got out. Alphons looked over at her and said, “That’s the wrong car – the wrong woman; she’s a crazy aristocrat, unbelievably sexy, who has slept with half of Paris.” Wow, she looked better than in any photo. The dress was also a knock-out, he thought, and that low-cut back – God, every man would get weak.

  The industrialist’s wife leaned over to Alphons. “Wow, that’s Zara Valois, I’ve seen photos of her. She was the best party hostess on the East Coast!” “Not only on the East Coast – also very popular in London and Paris, I would say, but very indecisive, if willing.” Alphons waved to the beautiful woman. “Oh, what is she doing here?” “She’s with Levy,” Peter said, and walked toward Gregor, extending his hand.

  Gregor greeted the wife of the industrialist. He had already met her once before, briefly. Her name was Anne-Marie, which occurred to him at the last minute. “I’m sorry we’re late,” he apologized and looked for Zara, who was standing behind him. “Oh, this is my wife, Zara . . .” He had hardly said her name when Alphons interrupted him. “We know Madame, of course,” he smiled and kissed her hand, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her navel.

  “My dear Gregor, you surprise me every time,” said the wealthy industrialist and patted Gregor on the shoulder. He had really thought that Gregor was homosexual. He wouldn’t have minded having this woman himself – aristocratic, young, beautiful. The absolute trophy wife.

  Zara looked at Gregor in the elevator, her eyes blazing. The dress attracted a great deal of attention. For a short moment, she was concerned that it was too daring, but it certainly seemed to appeal to the men. Gregor’s brow furrowed, somewhat skeptically. Yes, she was beautiful and every man in this elevator was probably jealous of him for having this woman – he could tell by their glances. At the time that he signed the contract with her, this is what he had hoped. She was what every man wanted and desired, but now what others thought of her didn’t play a role any longer. Now he wanted her simply because he loved her, her laughter, even her craziness – okay, that not so much.

  He reached for her hand, squeezed it, and she looked at him with her green cat’s eyes and smiled softly. She was crazy, but she was still wearing the wedding band.

  They had a view of Paris at night from the beautiful terrace. Soft music played in the background and they sat down at the large round, festively set table.

  The maître de came to the table and greeted Zara first, with a bow, which amused Peter. “Madame, what an honor. I didn’t know that you were here too. Your father is sitting over there. Zara looked at Gregor. Apparently her father was here with his blond bimbo. The evening could only get better.

  Anne-Marie giggled softly. That was just like in the movies or in a romance novel, she thought.

  “Champagne? We have your label, Madame,” a waiter offered. Gregor nodded. “Yes, bring her label for Madame,” he responded instead of Zara, albeit with a mocking undertone.

  “My dear, you have a Champagne firm?” Zara could hardly keep from laughing and looked the other way. Gregor poked her under the table, and she said quickly, “It carries my family name, but strictly speaking the wine cellars belong to Gregor.” At the time that they were in financial difficulty, Gregor had bought them. “I didn’t know that you know your way around Champagne, Levy...” Gregor shrugged his shoulders, “Only as a hobby; the firm is administered by professionals; I don’t get involved on a daily basis.” He didn’t want to be reminded of the time when she went behind his back, only to hurt him. He still didn’t know why she had done it.

  The Champagne came and after a toast, the recitation of the recommendations from the menu, and ordering dinner, Zara said, “I have to say hello to my father; please excuse me...” She got up and left the table.

  “So, and now my friend, tell me where you found this wife,” said the industrialist, blinking his eyes and leaning toward Gregor. “In New York; she sued me, I married her.” Everyone laughed. It was thought to be a joke, but actually it was essentially true. “Oh, Madame Valois is an attorney?” Beautiful and smart, this was getting ever hotter. One of the industrialists secretly wondered how much money it had taken to reel her in. Perhaps he could buy her? They were all available for money.

  Gregor could see the table in the other corner where Zara’s father was sitting with his blonde wife and baby, Zara’s half-sister. Peter followed his glance. “Who is the blonde woman, her sister?” Gregor laughed aloud; he had also once had the same impression. Alphons answered on Gregor’s behalf, “His wife, Zara’s stepmother. The old gentleman prefers young women, that is to say, very young women.” “Oh, I’m sorry...” Peter was a little embarrassed. These degenerate aristocrats and their extravagances; it was the same in every country. “You don’t have to be sorry,” Gregor said dryly and took a sip of the Champagne. “He had to sacrifice his career as a politician because of it, because he was fond of schoolgirls.”

  Zara greeted her father with an embrace and also kissed his wife, Christine, quickly. “What a surprise,” Philipp said and looked at his daughter. The dress is really cut low, he thought, and saw the diamond jewelry. “Beautiful jewels.” He looked past her. “Isn’t that Levy?” he asked. Zara leaned over to kiss the baby, Coralie. “Hello, my little one,” Zara said. “She screams all the time, Christine sighed. Zara looked at Christine. “That’s what happens with babies,” she said quickly and stroked the child’s cheek. How soft such a baby was, and how innocent. Poor child; her parents’ marriage has a “use by” date. “How are you both?” It was more a polite question than sincere interest. “Well, thank you, and you?” “Good. I’ll be going to New York again in September.” Philipp wrinkled his brow and laid his napkin aside. “With Levy?�
�� He had an inkling. “Yes, with Gregor. He is also in New York.” “Please don’t marry again, once was enough, really,” her father begged her and thought about Alessandro. “Father, it’s been quite a while since then, and my parents haven’t been a very good example in this regard.” Where did her father get the nerve to give her advice when he was married to a woman who was hardly older than his own daughter, and who continuously had affairs during his marriage with young girls!? She looked at her hand with the diamond ring fleetingly; this would be her last marriage, she swore to herself; she didn’t want to end up like her parents. “Have a nice evening.” She kissed the baby and said good-night.

  Philipp watched her go and sighed. “She probably would also like to have a child,” Christine said without thinking. Philipp looked at his young wife. “Could be, but she can’t have any children.” “Oh, I’m sorry.” Christine was truly sorry for Zara; although she wasn’t the brightest, she had a big heart, and she had always admired Zara.

  Zara returned to her table; in the meantime, the first appetizer and the accompanying wine had been served, and everyone was waiting for Zara.

  “So how is your father?” Alphons asked between courses. “Thank you, well.” “Is it a boy or a girl?” Anne-Marie asked. “A girl.” Zara smiled and Gregor would have liked to have been one of the biblical forefathers who could bring about miracles. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.