His hands found her breasts. No please God, not this.
“Albert,” but she bit back her words, fearing his strength.
He misunderstood her, thinking she had forgiven him. “Ma chérie,” he was unbuttoning her blouse, undoing her brassiere. Fondling her nipples.
Suddenly there was urgency in his hands; he bent forward, kissing her neck. He might kill me if I don’t cooperate. His hot, drunken breath was everywhere. When she arched her neck backwards, trying to escape, the curve of her body only ignited him further.
He removed her blouse and brassiere and she let him. And let him lift her up to the bed and remove the rest of her clothes. When she was naked, he sat besides her with a wild look in his eyes, one hand fondling her vagina, the other unbuttoning his shirt. She tried to stare beyond the need in his eyes to the open sky and the infinity it contained beyond the open door and the balcony overlooking the sea. When he finished unbuttoning his shirt – and it seemed to take forever – he stopped fondling her clitoris and inserted two fingers deep inside her vagina. He kept them there for several moments, probing her deeply and hurting her. She moaned, but not with pleasure.
“Un moment, ma chérie, un moment.” Again he misunderstood her signals. He bent forward and kissed the lips of her vagina. Then, thinking she wanted him badly, he removed his lips and his fingers and stood up, pulling off his shirt and pants as quickly as he could in his present state of intoxication. Then he stood for a moment besides the bed, swaying slightly and breathing heavily, regarding her nakedness. He must have picked up her true frame of mind because suddenly his face twisted into an ugly snarl again, and he muttered, “Women like snakes…”
Pebble, still fluttering like a leaf in a storm, caught his change of mood and panicked, picturing herself battered beyond recog-nition…
“Albert? Please…please darling…make love to me…please…” Her voice was like mountain honey…smooth and sweet. This is rape…dear God…please, protect me…please…
The sound of her sweetness brought him down upon her in a rush, his hands and lips everywhere, seeking her breasts, her buttocks, her cunt. “Never leave me again…Pebble…never…” He was rough and drunk as he smothered her with kisses. She felt his powerful arms surround her as the hot ramrod of his need penetrated her, finding the depths he knew so well. That was when she began to moan, surprised at how the fear and ice in her melted suddenly and mysteriously into quick, liquid fire. She did not want him, with her mind, she hated him, despised him, loathed him. But her body and soul opened hot to him as his power and fury forced her to find in herself, some twisted, ecstatic state of need, of hunger she’d never experienced before.
The fact that she hated him, the fact that he hit her, the fact that he had overwhelmed her and was now forcing his way into her innermost depths had nothing or everything to do with it. By some demented, roundabout path, Albert guided Pebble to a place where nothing except total surrender was possible. She was no longer Pebble Beach with an identity worth protecting or preserving. He had robbed her as thoroughly as any man could of whatever it was she was. He had stripped her bare. Left her with nothing she could identify with, and in that strange, naked state of being no woman she knew, she found herself connected to a sexuality so powerful that it jolted her beyond everyday reality to some awesome cosmic plane she did not recognize. This is not me. This is not anyone.
He plunged headlong, headstrong, into her, finding in her an intensity she did not know she possessed. She spread her legs wide, baring her soul, allowing him entry everywhere – allowing him anything, everything. And when he raised himself up above her, supporting himself with his powerful arms, staring down at her like a madman – she understood him perfectly.
Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out. For one short moment, the real Pebble Beach, the Pebble Beach inside the writhing, aching body of Pebble Beach, laughed. And though no one else in the entire universe heard, she laughed heartily and joyfully at herself, and at Albert, and at her life, and at her search for wisdom, too. It’s almost too funny. She stood perched, perfectly poised, before that formidable plunge into the cosmic void when all that light hit her. He is the most strange and powerful man I’ve ever known. And right before she let go and jumped, heart first and ecstatic, in the nothingness before her, she knew, once and for all, now and forever – that nothing in her life would ever be completely clear-cut and understandable ever again. Then she closed her eyes and let the passion – his passion and her own passion, and the passion of loving and fearing and being alive all wrapped in one – finally carry her over the edge. And as she flew fast, hurtling through space towards her infinite self, she screamed, delirious as a sacrificial lamb suddenly released from the agony of an evil spell…And this is exactly the way it’s supposed to be.
* * *
Later, when Albert fell into the deep, undisturbed sleep of a drowned man, Pebble hastily put on her clothes, locked her suitcase and left, a strange smile on her lips.
Chapter 22
“Mel?” Pebble’s tense, eager voice reached across the Atlantic to her uncle in New York.
“Pebble?” He would recognize his favorite niece’s voice, no matter where in the world she was calling from. “Where are you?”
“Me? Oh, I’m in Copenhagen, where did you think I was?”
“I don’t know, last time I spoke to your mother, she told me you were on vacation in Croatia with some Frenchman.”
Pebble laughed, amazed at how well-informed Mel always was. “Well, I came back early.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, things didn’t work out too well.”
“How come, sweetheart – what happened?”
“Albert’s a jerk, that’s all. I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“All of a sudden, just like that – the guy’s a jerk? According to Molly, you were pretty hooked on this guy…Isn’t he the one you went all the way to Greenland to visit?”
“Yeah, but I found out he’s got a drinking problem.”
“Oh…”
There was a pause.
“I know…” Pebble sighed, wanting to get on with the conversation, “alcoholics are bad news. Look, Mel, you don’t have to tell Molly and Morris, okay?”
“Sure, I guess not…”
“I mean there’s no reason for them to know, it will just upset them. Don’t even tell them I called or that I’m back early. I’m calling you about something else anyway…”
Mel yawned. “What time is it anyway in Copenhagen?”
“It’s two in the afternoon here. Did I wake you up?”
“Well, yes you did, if you really want to know.” It was 8 a.m. in New York.
“I’m sorry.” She was. “The only reason I called this early was it’s important and I wanted to be sure to get you. I figured if I waited till you got to your office I’d never get a chance to talk to you…”
Mel laughed.
“How come you’re still in bed at this hour anyway?” Mel was a notorious fast-tracker. “I thought you went jogging in Central Park at six thirty in the morning come hell or high water…”
“I usually do, but last night I had to go to this big shindig…you know how it is – a big client. The whole thing just went on and on and since it was my account, I couldn’t leave early…”
“I didn’t know.”
“No problem. In fact, I’m glad you woke me up: I’ve got tons of work waiting for me anyway. So let’s hear it, Pebble. What’s on your mind?”
“I want you to get me in the door at Nordkyst, here in Copenhagen.”
“Nordkyst?” Mel laughed. “Isn’t this a bit late in the game, Pebble?”
“No, you don’t understand,” Pebble lowered her voice. “I found out something – something important.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Nordkyst has developed a new product line. They’re branching out into the pre-teen market.”
“That’s interesting. But how do you kno
w?”
“Well, one day when Einar was in Germany, he called me and asked me to pull a file for him and give him some data over the phone. When I put the file back in place, I stumbled over his Nordkyst file.”
“Well, well, well – my talented little niece is finally growing up…”
“Come on, Mel, I know it wasn’t ethical, but look how they’ve treated me. All this stuff with Peter Cato’s made me change the way I look at things. And besides, a lot’s happened to me in the past two years…I’ve changed, you know. I always wanted to tell you, you were right then, I should have gone public, but I guess I didn’t have enough self-confidence at the time. So I acted like a jerk, all right? I admit it. I never told you before how bad I feel whenever I think about it. It makes me mad as hell. Somehow I always feel like I passed up this golden opportunity.”
“Well, you did…I‘m glad to hear it makes you mad. It should.”
“The thing is, Mel, this is another golden opportunity. It’s got to be. Einar and the Republic Group are in the process of developing a campaign for the new account and from Einar’s notes I can see that Peter Cato’s doing the same thing.”
“Clever, clever girl.” Mel chuckled. Pebble enjoyed the honest warmth of family in his voice.
“Mel, I want a crack at it, too. And you’ve got to help me!”
“You? Whoa, whoa, slow down a minute, sister.” Mel was now fully awake, processing Pebble’s information. “Just backtrack a second and tell me exactly what you know about this new line…”
“Well according to Einar’s notes, what they’re basically going to do is take their signature line of bright-colored cotton kids’ clothes – and modify them slightly and sell them to pre-teens. It’s a brilliant idea, isn’t it? And an obvious one, too. Just think about it. All the kids who’ve been wearing Nordkyst stuff for the last couple of years are growing up. They’re not going to want to dump their neat image…”
“Hmm…not bad…Monica Soderland’s real smart, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, and tough. Anyway, Einar did a pilot survey in the New York area to check the market before deciding whether or not he wanted the Republic Group to work on developing a new campaign for Monica. From what I gathered from his notes, the results must have been quite promising or he wouldn’t have decided to go for it in such a big way.”
“How come you’re not involved in developing this new campaign? You’d think somebody with Einar’s nose would know you were behind the first campaign. He’s seen plenty of your work – or he wouldn’t have hired you.”
“I thought of the same thing, especially when I discovered he does know it was me…Do you believe it…” Pebble still couldn’t, “that Einar’s known all along I was the one?”
“Doesn’t surprise me in the least. To tell you the truth, Pebble, I suspected he knew. Things make a lot more sense now. I mean, him hiring you to be his assistant – and all that. Maybe you don’t realize what a good job you landed there. What doesn’t make sense is Einar not involving you in the creative team who’s devel- oping the new campaign.”
“Well, all I can tell you is he’s got my name scribbled in the margin on one of the pages where he was kind of brainstorming about the pitch, so maybe he is thinking of involving me. I don’t know. The other thing I thought of is that maybe nobody’s started working on the presentation yet. Or let’s put it this way, as far as I know, nobody’s doing any work on anything that could be even vaguely related to Nordkyst at the moment in there. I guess you’re used to ad agency hysteria. But I’m not yet. It seems to me everybody’s pretty much gone off the deep end because we’ve got so much new business coming in. And so many of the new accounts are such other high-priority clients – like the big Odenweiss & Hauser deal they just finalized – that maybe Einar simply hasn’t had time to pay any attention to Nordkyst yet.”
“When is the Republic Group supposed to make their presen- tation?”
“They’re scheduled for June 29th at Monica Soderland’s headquarters in Hellerup.”
“June 29th, June 29th. That doesn’t give you much time, Pebble. What’s today’s date?”
“The ninth.”
“What makes you think you can do it, Pebble?” She was glad he asked.
“I’ve been thinking about it day and night, Mel. I know I can do it. I just know. I’ve got the whole thing in my head. All I need to do is get it down on paper.”
“You’re going to need more than a concept and copy, kiddo. You’re going to need the visuals, too.”
“I’ve already thought of that. One of my friends is this great graphic artist – Steffen Kellerman. He spent some time in New York at the Parsons School of Design. I’m positive I can get him to work up some visuals for me. At least some preliminary stuff. But I don’t dare go to him with the idea until I’m sure I can get my foot in the door. It wouldn’t be fair to Steffen.”
“No, you’re right, it wouldn’t be.”
“And there’s one other thing, Mel…”
“Which is…?”
“Peter Cato’s got to be in deep trouble.”
“How so?”
“Everybody thinks he did the last campaign, so everybody will be expecting more of the same from him. The thing is – the poor man can’t do concept or even write a complete sentence in English. So he’s going to have to hire somebody else to ghost for him, like he did the last time.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard to do.”
“No, there are plenty of copywriters in Copenhagen who do good work in English, but the problem is the style and the tone. Don’t you remember my stuff?” Pebble was insulted. How could her favorite uncle, her mentor, the hotshot from Young & Rubicam forget? “You told me at the time, you thought my work was terrific.”
Mel laughed. “So I did, so I did. I was just wondering if Monica Soderland would go for exactly the same style again – now that they’re so successful over here. Maybe it’s got to be a little bit more sophisticated than the last time. Don’t forget the kids – and their mothers – are slightly older now.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing…it’s going to need a new twist. Something which is subtle, but which is an obvious development of the old theme…” Pebble replied, grateful for his advice, but impatient for a commitment from him to help her. “Mel, please…please, you’ve got to help me. Please! You can get me in the door. I know you can.”
“Well, it’s not going to be easy, you know. Unless you let me tell their vice-president over here that you did the first campaign. That would change everything.”
“No, no, you can’t. You promised you wouldn’t tell Richard, remember?”
“But things have changed, Pebble. You said so yourself. Why should Monica Soderland give you the time of day, unless she knows you were behind the first campaign?”
“You’ve got to find another way, Mel. You’ve got to.”
“Give me one good reason why.”
“I don’t know; I just have this feeling that it won’t work. Peter Cato will deny it and Monica will believe him. Somehow, I’ve got to prove myself first…and besides there was some funny information in that file I didn’t really understand.”
“Like what?”
“Something like Peter Cato being Monica Soderland’s secret partner. Some of Einar’s scribblings were unclear, and besides how could Peter be Monica’s partner. It just doesn’t make sense. But according to Einar’s notes, Peter’s sky-blue BMW roadster was a gift from Monica, too.”
“You should have had the car, you know.”
“Yeah, I should have.”
“Richard Davis tells me Monica’s quite a character. The other day while we were playing golf, he pulls this picture of Monica out of his pocket – from some Danish gossip rag – she looked absolutely wild driving this white Porsche with the top down and her short, flaming red hair plastered flat by the wind.”
“That’s her all right. She’s the talk of the town.”
“She might just go for you
, Pebble. She might.” There was a hint of irony in Mel’s voice.
“Thanks a lot.” Sometimes Pebble loved her uncle so much.
“Look, kiddo, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve thought this through…You’re sure I can’t tell Richard it was you…”
“I’m sure…”
Chapter 23
With so little time to develop her concept and put together her presentation, Pebble was working around the clock like a woman possessed. And in fact, she was. She barely found time to sleep or eat. For some reason, she knew that this was her time, her moment. She had to grab it before it vanished from the face of the earth, never to appear again. Nordkyst is my call to arms. There isn’t a moment to waste, a second to lose. If I’m ever going to make it, it’s got to be now.
When Albert socked her on the jaw, he socked her out of her Sleeping Beauty slumber forever and ever.
Goodbye days of innocence. This is my time, my life. I can do it.
In a way I’m lucky Albert hit me. It gave me enough steam, enough anger – and most important of all – enough time to get home and do this stuff while Einar thinks I’m off vacationing in sunny Croatia. He’s not going to like my suntan!
Fortunately, Pebble still had her comprehensive notes from the first Nordkyst campaign. Peter Cato had briefed her extensively. Since she was ghosting for him, she never got to meet Monica personally or visit Nordkyst – and it looked like it would be pretty much the same this time. So her copious notes stood her in good stead. She had filled reams and reams of paper with her scratchy, sprawling, American handwriting – a bizarre collection of all kinds of data about Nordkyst. Not knowing what would be relevant, she wrote down everything. That was her technique – to dive in headfirst, trying to get a feel of the company and its product, instead of trying to see and analyze it first. During the time when she was unable to meet Monica and sniff around her factory located outside Odense, she bought a whole bunch of Monica’s kiddie clothes and sent Peter the bill. When he hinted that she might be going overboard, she replied, I’ve got to feel the stuff. And smell it. Peter had trouble connecting smelling and feeling with writing advertising copy, but she knew she had to have more than the company’s history and strategic goals. She had to get inside Monica and her concept for a while. Peter’s approach was so masculine, so intellectual. He could provide a shotgun rundown of Monica’s life story, but it wasn’t enough for Pebble so she kept grilling him. She needed personal insights, stories. She wanted to know how Monica wore her hair. It wasn’t enough to know what; she wanted the why and the how, too.
Adventures of Pebble Beach Page 23
