That was when she noticed that Einar’s hand was resting on her thigh. How he’d managed to get it there was beyond her. She didn’t remember a thing. They were sitting on a light blue sofa for two in the hotel lounge, and she realized she was sitting far too close to him. He was babbling on about making her his assistant and she was smiling, only God knows why, her very best little girl smile at him. Make-believe stars shone in her eyes.
Why did I drink so much?
He didn’t remove his hand.
She didn’t want him to. Pebble actually wanted to go to bed with Einar now – ugliness and all. It seemed like the logical thing to do. What other conclusion could there be to a night like this? With a man who just offered her the stars, in exchange for a little slip of the tongue. There really wasn’t any other way out. Not in her present state. And who cares anyway if I go upstairs with him? To the very room I saw in my dream. It’ll be just okay. God knows it might even be fun and I’m horny enough. Besides basically every-thing’s okay, right? Everything.
But Einar didn’t want to. Or if he wanted to, he didn’t. It was almost funny. He made no attempt whatsoever to seduce her, even though he kept his hand firmly planted on her thigh, and she couldn’t get her mind off that patch of highly sensitive skin. It was as if her whole being was concentrated under his sweaty hand. Which of course confused her even more. So what’s with this guy? Maybe, in spite of the booze, he remembers what he really looks like. Or maybe he looks worse with his clothes off! Or maybe he really did think Pebble was one talented gal who’d make one hell of an assistant, and he didn’t want to risk spoiling anything. Or maybe he was just biding his time, not wanting to be too fast or take advantage of Pebble’s drunkenness. It could even be that Einar really felt something for Pebble, some real emotion he wasn’t yet ready to share. Or maybe, when all was said and done, he was just a mensch. Some men really are.
Pebble never realized how lucky she was that night, but that was true of so many moments in her life. She never noticed the loving hand that protected her.
All she knew when she got home that night was that she had too much to drink, and that she probably said more than she should have. But she also knew she didn’t to go bed with Einar or tell him the launch date for WonderLift. The rest probably didn’t matter anyway. So what if she’d been a trifle too sentimental and promised the man who might soon be her boss the moon and the stars? She could always change her mind, couldn’t she? Laughing too much and sitting too close to the Vice-President of the Republic Group was probably the dream of more than one Danish secretary, even if he did look like a toad. So what if she’d let him keep his pudgy hand on her slim leg? Human contact is nice, right, and it was still her leg, wasn’t it?
Chapter 3
Thursday found Pebble Beach lunching with her mother Molly at Victor’s, one of those “must” restaurants in downtown Copenhagen. Molly had flown in from New York for a couple of days to see Pebble and her grandsons. Mainly, Molly was concerned about her daughter. A reoccurring problem in Molly’s normal American life, Pebble used up a lot of Molly’s mental energy. And since Pebble’s divorce, Molly had become uncommonly brave. Suddenly she was capable of making transatlantic trips all by herself, as if some of Pebble’s newfound independence had rubbed off on her. (Both women were aware of Molly’s startling change of behavior, but neither mentioned it.) Molly was also firmly convinced that Pebble needed her as never before.
Since Molly had a habit of talking too much (when she got worked up it didn’t matter if it was long distance or not) and since she was not a member of the Skype generation yet, it made more sense to fly to Copenhagen for a couple of days than to talk on the phone. Quite probably she enjoyed getting away from Morris, too. Pebble’s father seemed to get more and more demanding as he got older – and obstinate, in his opinions and habits. Molly, of course, would never have admitted to anything of the kind. She was a product of the old school: Women with husbands who are good providers don’t complain. Molly preferred to explain her frequent trips to Europe (to both friends and herself) by saying, “My daughter needs me.” No woman of the old school could readily admit to needing (let alone enjoying) a little excitement in her well-ordered life.
Sometimes Pebble wondered about Molly. Am I the only woman in the world with a mother like Molly? Did other women have mothers who planned and schemed like Molly did? Not that it mattered anymore. Pebble was older now and more or less in charge of her own life (finally). Molly would go on being Molly for the rest of her life, no matter what Pebble did. No force of nature could change that. And the fact that her only daughter, the apple of her eye, had passed 40 hadn’t made a bit of difference. (Pebble gave up hoping that age would change her relationship with her parents long ago.)
Pebble could have spared Molly some of the bloodier details of her life – it might have been easier on Molly. But why should she? What’s the use of having a mother if you can’t confide in her? The years of cold war between Pebble and Molly had ended. Both had survived Pebble’s turbulent youth, each in her own way. Now, at the beginning of the 21st century, both discovered they were getting older, faster than either liked. Conversation was one of the few amenities they had left. Both understood this, which helped lunch at Victor’s considerably.
And being newly divorced and singularly pleased with her singleness, Pebble had no one to be loyal to – except herself. And Molly was an unexpected comfort.
Actually, if Pebble had been more calculating, she probably wouldn’t have told Molly about Albert (or Einar Bro for that matter). What good would telling Molly do? The whole idea of her romance with Albert was insane. Maybe Pebble already knew it, but sitting with Molly in the sumptuous Danish restaurant on that cold winter afternoon, she was in no way ready to admit it.
Still, explaining Albert to Molly wasn’t going to be easy. The man just happened to be the essence of everything Molly disliked and feared…but after all those years being married to Slim…No, Molly would never understand: Boring marriages were an intricate part of Molly’s world.
“Why don’t you marry a rich man this time?” Molly asked Pebble for the millionth time.
Molly had lived all her life in one secure marriage. She’d never been fucked, front, back and sideways by a new and exciting man at that fascinating age of a little more than 40. How could she know the thrill? Just when you think the game’s over and you find, to your eternal dismay that you were on the losing team all along, you wake up and find yourself moaning and groaning in a wonderful king-size bed getting your brains fucked out by the best lover life ever threw your way. How would Molly ever understand that? Pebble couldn’t imagine Molly moaning and groaning in any bed ever. Did my mother ever do things like that? Pebble knew her kids had no illusions about her – her apartment was too small for that. (At least living in Europe was good for something!) Molly’s sex life, however, was a complete mystery to Pebble, who spent her whole childhood sleeping way down the hall from her parents’ bedroom in their Manhattan townhouse off Central Park on the Upper East Side.
“There are rich men out there, you know.” Sometimes Molly sounded like a broken record. “You know you’re no spring chicken anymore, darling.”
“I’m glad you care,” was all Pebble could muster up. She had somehow hoped that when her mother landed at Copenhagen Airport at 8 a.m. that Thursday morning (after flying all night) she’d show up with a new and soothing voice and the mind of Mother Teresa. Rich men would be a thing of the past. But one look at Molly as she walked through the airport’s sliding doors convinced Pebble that if anything, Molly’s energy level was at a new all-time high. The Marry-A-Rich-Man Crusade was still in full swing. For a moment, Pebble wished she could discuss serious things like sex and ethics with her mother, but she knew she couldn’t – not yet anyway. Molly still needed some breaking in. This burgeoning mother-daughter intimacy required a little more mileage.
Besides talking a blue streak, Molly looked absolutely marvelous. Her facelift co
ntinued to fascinate Pebble Beach. Is this really the same 68-year-old who used to be my mother? Pebble inspected Molly’s face for the thousandth time and came to the exact same conclusion she came to every other time she examined her mother’s face –She might sound the same, but she sure as hell doesn’t look the same. The truth of the matter was – Molly looked marvelous. The facelift had somehow mysteriously changed her personality, too. She even acted more marvelous.
Anyone who saw them walking, arm in arm like close friends, through the airport doors that cold winter morning would have been surprised to know how stormy their relationship once was. Years ago, when Pebble Beach had been quite the rebel, she’d unwittingly almost broken this old woman’s heart.
But now that Pebble was almost 20 years older and Molly looked almost 20 years younger, they were able to meet. They could even wear the same outfits since Molly was almost as thin as Pebble. Pebble liked the fact that Molly had surprised everyone and gotten that facelift. It really changed Pebble’s opinion of her. Molly called Pebble one day, while Pebble was deep in the divorce gloom and said, “Guess what? I’m getting a facelift Monday.” Pebble had nearly dropped the phone. A long silence followed. Pebble knew she had to say the right thing. It was important – significant – that she did. So after thinking that long minute, Pebble shouted, “Marvelous!”
While Molly talked, Pebble Beach wondered if she should tell her that whenever she dreamed about her, she still had her old face. Molly’s facelift hadn’t been able to penetrate Pebble’s dream world.
Pebble toyed with her food which certainly didn’t taste as good as it looked. They were lunching at Victor’s because Molly understood the importance of being seen in the right places, long before Pebble woke up to the fact. As she continued toying with her food, Pebble wondered if she could tell Molly about her recent evening with Einar Bro. She needed to talk to somebody about Einar, but Molly probably wasn’t the right person. Molly had never worked a day in her life, never hustled, never been divorced, never…God, we live in two different worlds. Still, Molly was smart. She read stuff; she watched what went on around her. Maybe she felt sad that she’d never really had any adventures in her whole life. God, thought Pebble, wishing she had a suit like the soft tan leather one Molly was wearing, it probably cost enough to pay all of my bills for the next two months.
Pebble didn’t know how to tell Molly that she’d changed. Matured. (Molly already knew.) Or how to explain that she was trying to earn lots of money (she didn’t need to explain, it was obvious), or that somehow she looked at life differently now. Molly knew it all, and even realized that Pebble’s rebel days were a thing of the past – still it was a difficult subject to broach. So they didn’t.
Instead, Molly was saying, her mouth full of salad, “I only want what’s best for you, darling. Now tell me, this Albert, is he the best?”
Pebble knew he wasn’t – not in Molly’s world. Probably not in hers either.
“What’s with him? Am I going to meet him?”
Never I hope, thought Pebble, full of dismay. “He’s got a job on Greenland, Mom.”
“Greenland?” Molly was so surprised that she almost choked. Maybe Pebble hadn’t changed, after all. After gasping for breath, she popped an olive into her mouth, flashing bright red fingernails.
“What will your father say…? What does Albert do for a living? And Greenland…Pebble, have you lost your mind.”
“I don’t know how to explain it, Mom.”
“Easy to see why,” Molly replied a bit too fast. Then her voice softened, “Darling, I only want what’s best for you…think about your life. I mean you finally got divorced from Slim, and you have two lovely sons, now why can’t you do something nice for yourself? For once in your life? Pebble, listen to me. Why don’t you find a nice man who can take care of you and the boys?”
“Oh Mom, I wish I could explain it…” Pebble tried hard to look like she was concentrating on the food she’d ordered. How could she tell Molly that she was insulted? Her mother would never understand that she didn’t want a man to take care of her. She wanted a companion, a friend, someone to share adventures with and not a man to pay her bills like the boring men in Molly’s life.
“Albert’s an engineer, Mom. He really does make good money.” Pebble knew her reply was too weak. Molly would never accept anything but the best for her daughter and any man, engineer or not, who worked as far away as Greenland, had to be strange in one way or another.
Why don’t we ever talk about sex, thought Pebble. If I could just tell her how he makes me feel, she’d understand. But she couldn’t. She didn’t dare, It’s hopeless. Pebble couldn’t imagine her mother understanding anything so elementary as raw naked passion at the age of almost 45. So she sulked, like a teenager, which was how Molly managed to make her feel.
“Now if only you had money…” Molly continued. Then she blurted out, “Why don’t you move back to New York?”
“I know, I know,” replied Pebble, who had been thinking about it, “but I’m making good money here.”
“But you could make good money there too, you know. You’re so talented.”
How could she tell Molly she wanted to spend more time in bed with Albert first? Or explain that (at that very moment in time) even if being poor and divorced wasn’t fun, she just didn’t know how to get her act together. Not with the way her sex-crazed body was playing tricks on her. The funny part was that Molly would have understood. She’d had her midlife flirts, too. But Pebble didn’t know and couldn’t imagine her mother being younger – and feeling all those hot juices flowing. Pebble was too preoccupied with her own problems to notice the look on Molly’s face. But if she had noticed, she might have got an inkling of the troubles Molly faced in dealing with a patriarch like Morris. Pebble might have realized that with Molly’s mindset, age and lack of skills, there was really no way out of the relationship Molly both loved and hated.
But understanding Molly was beside the point just then. Pebble needed sympathy, not advice or speeches. She needed to talk. She needed a mother, but didn’t dare reach out to the one she had, sitting right across the table. Of course, the meager sexual education Pebble received from her mother when she was young didn’t make communicating any easier.
Oh God, sex! Pebble was thinking. Why does it have to hurt so much? Why do I have to need him so bad? Why does he have to be so far away and so delicious, so touchable, so lovable? Albert’s all man – all I’ve ever wanted – and still it’s all wrong.
When Pebble Beach was young, she’d been programmed by everything around her to believe that love was all that mattered. Material possessions and a good education might be nice for a woman, but the most important thing was love. Nothing really mattered except love. Passionate, insane love. Pebble was a wild child, a party girl, but so were millions of other middle-class kids. But the memory was dim and sitting there, drooling over her Mother’s new leather suit, Pebble almost found it difficult to understand the passions that drove her during those turbulent times. Looking back was so confusing. Maybe Molly was right all along. A rich husband and a good education would have made for so much smoother sailing. What was Pebble now? A divorced woman, struggling to support herself and her two sons? What was so great about that? Suddenly she thought of her dinner with Einar Bro. Would Molly understand how she felt the other night? Could she comprehend the temptation and how disgusted she was with herself at the same time? Her father had always protected Molly. She’d lived her life on a silver pedestal – always taken care of.
“The Vice-President of the Republic Group took me out to dinner the other night.”
Molly was all ears.
“The Republic Group?”
“Yeah, probably the most successful advertising agency in Scandinavia. I write copy for them.”
“Is he married?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he invite you out for dinner? It wasn’t a business meeting, was it?”
“No, M
om, it wasn’t.”
There was silence at the table as this information sunk in. Molly would just have to learn if she was going to be Pebble’s counselor and confidante.
“He is just about the ugliest man I’ve ever met, Mother, but he’s rich and powerful. He can do wonders for my career if he wants to.”
“How old is he?”
“About 57, I guess.”
“Did he make a pass at you?”
“Mother,” there was irritation in Pebble’s voice, “why do you think he invited me out?”
Molly’s mega energy seemed to fade, as her mind processed her daughter’s words.
“He said he was thinking about asking me to be his new assistant. I mean, it’s just such a great opportunity, Mom, you have no idea. This man is so powerful in the ad world here. Creative people are drooling all over him, hoping for a chance to work for the Republic Group. And he offered me the job. I mean up until now, I’ve only worked for Einar and the Republic Group on a freelance basis. But he says he thinks I’m talented – which I am – and with the agency growing so rapidly, he really does need an assistant. God it’s difficult to figure out.”
“Why is it so difficult?” Molly really didn’t understand. “You’re smart, you’re talented, you’re good-looking. Why shouldn’t he be attracted to you?”
“But it doesn’t work like that, Mom. We’re talking about a good job, about a great opportunity and lots of money – and a man who wants to go to bed with me.”
“Don’t sleep with him.”
“I didn’t.” Pebble didn’t dare tell her how close she’d actually been. There was so much Molly didn’t know. And then there was the Fem-Ads thing.
“There’s more to it,” Pebble continued. “God I wish Mel was here. He’d know what to do.”
Adventures of Pebble Beach Page 4
