Pearl (The Pearl Series)

by Arianne Richmonde

  There was another topic I’d been meaning to talk to her about: the Russian.

  While she managed the steering wheel of my Porsche, I steered the conversation in another direction. “So,” I began, “how are things in the documentary department, now that Haslit Films has given up on my company?”

  Pearl’s eyes were on the road. “Fine. Great. Natalie and I want to do a special about child trafficking in the sex trade. What’s going on is really despicable. You’d think it would be getting better with so much publicity and so many arrests, but it’s worse than ever.”

  “I really admire what you do, Pearl. Didn’t you mention something about arms dealers the other day?”

  “I sure did. That’s another thing Natalie and I are focusing on.”

  “Oh yeah? Any leads?”

  “My contact at the UN is pulling a few strings for me.”

  I turned to look at her. To gauge her expression. “What kind of strings?”

  Pearl swerved a little too fast around a hairpin bend. I pressed my foot on an imaginary brake and sucked in a breath.

  “Oh, you know, just organizing a few contacts,” she said, with a nonchalant wave of her hand. Keep your hand on the steering wheel!

  Was it my imagination or was she being cagey? “Anyone in particular?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

  “Oh, you know, just contacts. I prefer not to jinx things. Not discuss them till I have the goods in the bag.”

  The goods in the bag?? What bloody goods? “Have you met any of these arms dealers, personally?” I pried.

  She just shrugged her shoulders. By this point, I could feel my pulse pick up; blood pumping hard. I felt aroused by jealousy, which in turn, made me feel possessive. Possessive, jealous, horny, irritated—all the sort of traits in myself I wanted to keep under control. I can’t remember how I did it, but I veered the conversation toward Laura. I’d mentioned Laura earlier that day. I wanted to let Pearl know that there was an ex in the picture, be honest about it. Just in case Laura called and Pearl picked up the phone or something. But now I decided to toy with the situation; I just wanted to keep Pearl on her toes…let her feel that same stab of jealousy that was spiking my Latin veins.

  “I’ll show you some photos of Laura when we get home,” I told Pearl, “and some letters she wrote me. When you see the pictures you’ll understand why she left me for someone else.” I knew what was going through Pearl’s mind and she fell for the bait.

  “Was Laura a supermodel, or something?”

  “She was beautiful, both inside and out.” Outside, yes. Inside….A grand exaggeration on my part. But I continued, blithely, “Yeah, she did do some modeling.”

  At least, I thought Pearl had fallen for the bait, but she coolly, not only changed gear, but changed the conversation back to the subject of my Porsche like she didn’t give a fuck. Couldn’t give a toss about my exes. Yet I was burning up. Why was she insisting on not mentioning that she’d had dinner with Mikhail Prokovich? My pride wouldn’t let me delve any further, so I dropped the subject. But my curiosity had been whetted and the possessive gene in my DNA got the better of me.

  What was I to do with a cool, independent woman like Pearl Robinson? She was forty. She had her own money, an amazing career, owned her own apartment; men no doubt, were desperate to date her and falling at her feet. She didn’t need a man like me. Was my sister right? Was I just a sort of Toy Boy to her? Was she taking me seriously or just enjoying great sex? Women often confuse great sex with love. Maybe Pearl would wake up and smell the coffee. Find out about my fucked-up past and screwed-up head, not to mention my nutty family.

  Not only did I want Pearl to think me the hottest thing since the sauna, but also the coolest thing since Mount Everest.

  I was balancing a difficult act.

  That night, one of my fears materialized. We went to a party nearby, given by my friend Ridley. Sophie appeared like a bat out of hell, wearing a black slinky dress, her hair loose and sleek. I had an ominous feeling she might show up.

  Everybody’s eyes were on Pearl in her sexy red dress. I mean, everybody, including my sister. As we walked in they were playing Can’t Take My Eyes off of You by Franki Valli & The Four Seasons—the perfect song for Pearl. Charlize Theron was there, and people were getting them confused—that’s how good Pearl looked. Some movie star was chatting her up, without any qualms at all—some blond guy, Ryan, who had been in a romantic, Kleenex type of tear-jerker movie—female film goers wailing with emotion at every scene. I knew this because of Elodie; she’d taken me to see it. That was before Elodie had become an Angry Young Woman. Now, it seemed, she eschewed the male sex in general, so I doubt even this Ryan character would have done it for her. And there he was now, brazenly hitting on my Pearl.

  It was obvious to me that Pearl could get any man she chose. She didn’t look a day over thirty. When I say thirty, I mean a beautiful, hot, sexy thirty. She looked amazing: tall and slim, but with killer curves in all the right places. Her skin and body glowed with health and fuckability. I know fuckability isn’t even a word but it should have been coined just for Pearl because she oozed it from every pore. She was confident, self-assured, elegant. Despite her hot little dress.

  Then Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton was playing and it couldn’t have been a better song to describe how I felt about her.

  But I knew I had to get her out of that party ASAP. Away from Ryan the megastar, and away from Sophie and her sharpened claws.

  While Pearl was being flirted with, I located my sister, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the kitchen, where I hoped we could be masked by a little privacy.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Sophie?” I demanded, with a smile on my face. The HookedUp CEOs. My what a lovely sibling team they are! They get on so well.

  “Ridley invited me,” she said in a singsong voice.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At your place, of course.”

  “You can’t just turn up to my house whenever you feel like it! Especially when I’m there with company.”

  “Company? I can’t believe you’re still fucking that cougar! In her slutty red dress, drawing so much attention. You have seen her, haven’t you, Alexandre, doing the rounds, ‘networking’ as the Americans like to call it.” She added in a whisper: “Four-tee. A cougar if ever there was one—I wonder what poor creature she’ll hunt down tonight.”

  “Sophie, let me tell you something,” I enunciated, pinning her against the fridge. “40 is just a number, forty is just a word. In five year’s time you will be forty. In several year’s time, every single young woman out there will be forty—that is, if she’s lucky enough, and doesn’t get run over by a bus, first. And most of these women, I guarantee you, will not look as hot as Pearl ever during their whole lifetime, let alone when they’re forty. Stop pigeonholing people, especially Pearl. She’s my girlfriend and that’s final. Do. You. Understand?” I glared at her, my eyes burning through her and the smirk on her face. I had never felt this protective about a girlfriend before.

  “Ooh, the Toy Boy’s getting touchy! Have I hit a nerve?” She threw her head back and cackled.

  No, but Pearl has. Pearl has hit a nerve. Every single nerve in my body.

  I answered, “Sophie, I haven’t felt this wide awake for years.” It was true; every emotion of mine had been stirred. Anger, jealousy, fury, passion, desire, sympathy, compassion… Pearl had done that to me. Pearl had woken me right up.

  “It’s just a faze, Alexandre; you’re just in lust with her, that’s all. Mark my words… Oh look, there’s Ridley; I must go and say hello. Please, dear brother, could you kindly unleash my wrist?”

  “With pleasure,” I said. And I got the hell out of her way.

  I exited the kitchen and went on the prowl for Pearl. The party was in full gear. Glamorous people glittered everywhere. Champagne was flowing. A wild boar was being roasted on a spit in the garden; the aroma wafting through the open do
ors. Everybody seemed delighted, chatting in French or English, even Frenglish, clinking glasses and blowing air kisses. Everyone, except me, that was.

  I located Pearl through a sea of floating gowns and penguin suits, marched over to her and pulled her away from the blue-eyed movie star. I nodded at him in a gallant, This is my woman, move aside, type of way.

  I took her gently by her hand. “Pearl, we have to leave.”

  She shrugged her smooth, golden shoulder. My eyes scanned down to her peachy ass, accentuated by her red silk dress. I’d have that ass, later.

  Meanwhile, I was hatching a plan in my head. We couldn’t go home because of Sophie. We’d drive to a hotel. In fact, I’d take her somewhere really special—the French Riviera, the Côte d’Azur. To a stunning place on the southern tip of the Cap d’Antibes: the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc.

  And I’d fuck her senseless.

  12

  My plan to fuck Pearl out of her mind backfired. By mistake, I got her drunk. We enjoyed too many vintage wines with dinner, and by the time we were finished, I had to carry her to bed. The wine, I think, was Pearl’s way of blotting out the unpleasantness of last night: as we were leaving Ridley’s party, Sophie appeared at the doorway, vampire fangs out. Pearl hadn’t even recognized her but knew something was up when my sister practically spat at her: “Cougar!”

  I felt so ashamed. Embarrassed. I suppose I hadn’t understood the extent of Sophie’s possessiveness toward me. She had attacked Laura in the same way, but when Laura and I split up, Sophie suddenly decided that the sun shone out of Laura’s ass. Very convenient. But I hadn’t felt the same sense of fury with Sophie concerning Laura that I was now feeling with Pearl. Pearl was bringing out my protective side.

  I needed to deal with my sister, fast. Before she really fucked up my love life for good.

  The wine, plus the long drive, made Pearl woozy. The hotel prepared us a candlelit dinner under the stars. Crickets were singing, and the Mediterranean waves lapped soporifically, inducing an intoxicating scent of sea and fresh air that had Pearl in a trance. She leaned back in her chair, sipping her Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

  “Am I in Heaven?” she asked drowsily.

  “I’m afraid so,” I said with a guilty smile. “I’ve got you a bit tipsy.”

  “I’m tipsy on the aroma of wild thyme and lavender and France, not to mention this wine which is out of this world.”

  “I’m glad you appreciate it. A good Châteauneuf-du-Pape is like a beautiful work of art that takes you by surprise. It’s not for everybody. It’s earthy and sometimes fierce, the proverbial ‘brooding’ wine.”

  “Like you, you’re a brooder,” she said, pointing her finger at me, almost toppling over in her chair.

  She has my number. “Why do you think I’m broody, Ms. Robinson?”

  “Oh, Mr. Broody, Mr. Moody…you think I haven’t worked you out? There’s more to you, Monsieur Chevalier, than meets the eye.”

  “Honestly Pearl, I’m very basic. Boringly so.” I tipped her a wry smile.

  “Yeah, right, Michael Corleone with your illegal empire.” She closed her eyes and inhaled the saline breeze as if it were her last breath. My illegal empire? Did she know about the gems? And what lengths I would go to, to protect my loved ones? Michael Corleone, huh?…I always did respect that man.

  When Pearl opened her eyes again—her pupils dark like pools of fathomless ultramarine—she gazed at me questioningly, and asked, “Why, Alexandre, don’t you just throw in the towel with HookedUp? You have more money than you need for several lifetimes. You said you wanted to get back to being creative, not just making deals.”

  My throat felt suddenly dry. Perhaps if Pearl hadn’t been so tipsy, I wouldn’t have admitted my failings so readily. “The problem, Pearl, is that making money has become addictive—the more I make, the more I feel I need. Power does corrupt, no doubt. I’ve created a kingdom, and like any king….” I trailed off. Pearl was rocking in her chair, about to pass out. I took her hands to steady her and thought about what I’d just said. I, like Pearl now, could topple. I was afraid to lose my crown. Sophie was part of my kingdom—the queen to my king, as it were. We were equal partners in HookedUp, so it would have been tricky to extricate myself. Her obsession with making money, and more money, and more, had rubbed off on me. But our relationship wasn’t healthy—we were too entwined with each other mentally, as well as being business associates. A ‘marriage’ made in hell.

  I was beginning to want out completely.

  I got up from my chair and walked over to my beautiful Pearl. Her red dress reflected against the glass of deep wine, like blood, glinting under the moonlight. I took the glass from her hand and set it on the table—she’d had enough to drink for one night. “And you, Pearl? Do you care about money?” I asked, scooping her up in my arms and turning in the direction of our suite.

  Her head flopped back and she grinned. “If I did, I’d be doing a different job, don’t you think? Being a producer of controversial documentaries isn’t going to bring me millionzz,” she slurred. “I love what I do. I’ve had a lot of headhunters knock at my door offering me almost double but, you know, I’m not motivated by money.” She nuzzled her head into my neck and kissed me there. I took in the sweet smell of her hair, of her sun-kissed skin, and carried her, like a baby, to bed.

  It was true what Pearl said. I could tell that she really didn’t give a toss that I was so wealthy. So if she didn’t care, why did I? I could wind down HookedUp. Sell my share to Sophie—go back to being more creative. Sophie was meddling with my life, and without realizing it, destroying my happiness. I’d lay my cards on the table, I decided. Tomorrow.

  So the next day, while poor Pearl was suffering from a morning-after-the-night-before hangover from consuming champagne, plus two different vintage wines (each paired with a different course of the meal), I started by explaining to her a little about my past. I told her that Sophie had once been a sex worker, that she was fearful of being poor again, and that she was like a mother to me after we left home when I was seven. I didn’t get into the nitty-gritty details about her being a Dominatrix, nor about her eventually running the show and being a Madame with her own highly illegal ‘house,’ hiring other women to work for her. Too much information at once could have scared Pearl off. I tried to explain to Pearl Sophie’s motivations but I think it came out wrong. It sounded as if I was defending my sister, putting her before all else.

  Putting her before Pearl.

  The look on Pearl’s face after I’d admitted that Sophie was a sex worker made me snap, “Don’t be judgmental, Pearl. Have you any idea how tough it was for Sophie? She was only seventeen when we left home. She was doing her best.”

  “I guess life has never gotten that….tough for me,” Pearl replied, choosing her words carefully in an undertone which said, I would never do something like that—never stoop so low.

  “You should understand, Pearl. Your brother, John, got involved with drugs and alcohol—it was his demise. People don’t always do the right thing for themselves or others but it’s right for them in that particular moment. You can never judge someone else’s life or their choices—the path they take, because there are always two sides to every story. Or more. Sometimes there are multiple sides to someone’s story.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Pearl answered, her eyes welling up.

  I hadn’t meant to bring her down by mentioning John’s death, but I wanted to put us on the same par. I held her hand and we sat there silently for a while, both of us what-if-ing about our individual histories.

  I thought of my mother, what she’d done, and my own shady past and wondered if Pearl would stick with me if she knew my whole story. Probably not. She was a wholesome, star-spangled, American girl who, after the initial novelty of great sex wore off, might decide she didn’t want some screwed up Frenchman in her life. Was that why I had come inside her—to get her pregnant? So she couldn’t get away from me, even if she tried? So that we’d
always have a bond even if she left me?

  We went for a swim in the sea and I watched Pearl in awe. She dipped and dived, her toes pointed like a dancer, and when she swam, she sliced the water like a sharp blade. Watching her do the crawl made my chest fill with pride, knowing that she was my girlfriend, knowing that this interesting, sexy, independent American woman had chosen me as her mate.

  Still, there were undulations of bad feeling about Sophie, rippling between us. I sensed that Pearl had reservations; that there would be only so much she could take. I needed her close to me. Needed to be buried inside her. So after the swim, I took her to our suite. The more hooked on sex she was, I reasoned, the more likely it would be that she would never leave me, despite my crazy family history, despite Sophie’s uncontrollable jealousy. Despite my dark side. I’d fuck her senseless. Literally. Make it so she couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t think straight.

  Outside our suite, the cicadas were singing their summer song, thick in the pine trees. From our open balcony, the blue sea glittered beyond, and an aroma of pine and oleander, sweet as cake, wafted into the room, blowing perfume in the air. But the view that caught my attention was Pearl, herself. We Europeans are used to seeing topless women on the beach. So when Pearl took off her bikini and revealed two vanilla breasts, begging to be sucked they looked so tasty, I was instantly hard—instantly aroused by the forbidden, American fruit.

  I gazed at my beautiful Pearl lying on the sumptuous bed, as she teased me—trailing ice cubes about those full tits; making the nipples pucker up into stiff buds that I wanted to stroke with my rock-hard cock. Yes, I wanted to fuck those tits.

  “You’re asking for it again, Pearl Robinson,” I said.

  She lay there seductively, her lips curved into a knowing smile, her smooth legs splayed open. She slid the ice cube down her stomach, then up and down her slick cleft, slowly inserting it inside herself. She gasped. My dick flexed, as it prepared itself to fuck her, throbbing with desire. I took off my swim-shorts—there was no more room and they were getting uncomfortable. I could feel how big I was—huge. I sauntered up to her, my cock proud against my abdomen, and straddled her on the bed, pinning her beneath me. She had hunger in her eyes; a look of lust that matched mine. I took a sip of champagne, and fed her with the liquid, letting it trickle into her luscious mouth.