Departure (Vivienne #3)

by Karen Gordon

  Once inside the enormous marble bathroom she makes me promise to wait for her. I get the feeling she needs me to keep her from stumbling across the lobby on the way back. I agree then pick a stall. As I sit down to pee I remember to grab my phone and Google her. Articles pop up quickly, mostly gossipy, and there’s a string of photos from her movies, some nude. I study them because one, she is one of the few people I have ever met who looks as good in person and two, I want a body like hers. Damn, she’s perfect. I open one of the articles and read quickly. Damned if I’m not hanging out with a star, an Italian porn star.

  Chapter Eight

  Someday, when I’m sitting in a nursing home, I’m going to tell the story of this afternoon. I doubt anyone will believe it because how many people can say they spent a day drinking in a Vegas bar with an Italian porn star, her engineer husband and the men who created the first super-sonic private jet. But more than my odd group of new friends I’m going to remember how it felt to be appreciated. For one shining morning I was with a group of people who saw my mad organization and overthinking skills as the super powers they are—people who welcomed my input and acknowledged how much I could offer.

  While they might be great engineers, Mikel, Victor and Artoon are not salesmen. I look over their notes first. They are filled with tech details, some important, some that could definitely be brought up later. I can see that they will lose Carl Grundich in this sea of numbers. I borrow a red pen from Victor and go to work on his notes, explaining why each point should stay or go. Artoon runs up to their room and gets his laptop to show me the slides they had made. Dull would be a kind description, along with overwhelming and crowded. As quickly as I can I pull up an alternate background and change their font to one that will pop out and specifically speak to Mr. Grundich. Then I cut the amount of information drastically and intersperse it with beauty shots of the jet. We pull estimated sales figures and lay out the most promising numbers in a killer graphic. I won’t lie, it feels beyond amazing to have this group of super-smart men enthralled, mouths agape at my knowledge and skills.

  Between photo ops with fans Annalize pops in for a drink. Mikel explains in Italian what I’m doing and she rewards me with winks and blown kisses, a valuable commodity in her world.

  Victor’s watch alarm ends my reign. Its noon; time for them to pack up, clean up and head to their meeting. I love the energy they are taking with them, so much more sure and excited than a few hours ago. Mikel thanks me over and over and asks me to join them for dinner, hopefully to celebrate. I’m tempted. Spending more time with people who appreciate me after months of forcing my help on Jack is just what I need. I hedge, not knowing what will happen with Jack, but we exchange numbers and I make them promise to text me with an update as soon as the meeting is over.

  On his way through the lobby Mikel stops to talk to Annalize. He gracefully steers her away from her fans. She hides it well but I can see that she is definitely tipsy. I am too and pumped full of adrenaline. I’ve got energy coming out my pores that needs an outlet. The last thing I need is to witness the smoldering sexual energy between Mikel and his wife as he talks to her then kisses her. Months of suppressed hormones rise to the surface as I study them. I need a cold shower.

  And I’m about to go to my room to get one when I realize that I would be leaving Annalize alone here in the lobby. I don’t know what could happen to her but it just doesn’t feel like a good idea. No one asked me to stay with her but I feel like I should.

  ✈✈✈

  I come down from my high a little in the next half hour as I watch Annalize work her small crowd. She seems genuinely thrilled by each request and poses seductively between set after set of goofy men. She possesses a professionalism I don’t have. I could never suppress eye rolls at the number of idiots who make a V with their fingers then snake their tongue between them for the photos. Or those who pose with thumbs up and a look that hints that more than a quick photo happened with her.

  When she’s left alone for a minute she comes back to the table for a drink and is surprised to see me still there.

  “Vivienne.” I could listen to her say my name all day. “You are still here.” The excitement in her voice makes me glad I decided to stay. “We must go eat.” Obviously she is used to making commandments that get no argument. I’m hungry and have more time to kill while I wait for word from Martin. I can think of nothing better than lunch with my new friend.

  “Yeah. Yes. Lunch.” I’m having trouble forming complete sentences so I nod enthusiastically.

  “I like Mexican food.”

  I nod again, “Sure.” I grab my key card off the table and remember that I don’t have my purse and I look like hell, especially next to her. “I need to go change clothes and…” I gesture toward my hair.

  “Ah, si. I will come with you.”

  I’m not sure if it’s her broken English or if she just assumes everything she wants to do is OK with me but I don’t fight it. I shrug and nod and lead the way to the elevators.

  ✈✈✈

  In my room she follows me into the bathroom. She studies my cosmetics as I brush my hair.

  “You like this?” She holds up my mascara and makes a face that lets me know I shouldn’t.

  “Sure. I mean, it works fine.” I notice she has on false eyelashes. What time did she get up to put those on?

  She turns her nose up at it. “Not good.”

  I’ve stopped brushing my hair so she takes it from me and positions herself behind me to start brushing.

  “You have round face.” She stops brushing to demonstrate a circle around my face. “You need more here.” She teases a big fluff ball onto the top of my head then expertly smooths another layer of hair over it. She finishes the look with a cool half hidden pony tail on the back of my head. I turn my body so I can sort of see the work of art she created.

  “Wow, you are good.” It looks like I’ve been to the salon. Annalize puffs up with my compliment.

  Pointing to the counter top she says, “Now you sit and I do this.” All my makeup is scrutinized as she arranges it. It looks like I’m getting a makeover.

  There’s a trick that I never knew for each item. I have foundation patterned in strategic places then blended with my clearly-unacceptable sponge. I can’t see the mirror but it feels like she has put half the eye colors I own on and coat after coat of mascara. She hums to herself, clearly happy to be helping out the poor American wretch. At one point she stops and caresses my cheek. “Such beautiful eyes.” I think she’s just analyzing and complimenting me but there is that constant hint of seduction to everything she does.

  None of my lipsticks are acceptable but she finds one that will do. As she demonstrates how to form my mouth I watch her lips and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss her. The image of her and Mikel kissing earlier is still stuck in my brain. I have never been attracted to a woman before but there is something about her that defies gender. She’s just plain sexy. It’s her whole being.

  When she stops her chatter about lipstick and studies me I feel caught. Can she tell what I was thinking? She smiles and I know it’s true but I don’t see disgust or offence. Her smile shows understanding, like she’s crossed this bridge before. She cups my chin and leans in to give me a peck on the cheek. “Bella,” she proclaims.

  To hide my embarrassment I turn to survey the results in the mirror. Bella indeed. It’s me but with my sex appeal jacked up several notches. I’m already mentally sorting through all the clothes I brought for an outfit to wear to lunch that will meet the sex appeal of her work. But I don’t need to bother. Annalize helps herself to my suitcase with no thought of asking me first.

  I laugh at her unhidden appraisal of my work clothes. I didn’t plan on going out much while I was here. She settles on my ripped jeans, a white blouse and my high, pointy heels. “You have a black brassiere?”

  I feel like I should say no because all I have is a plain black bra. Brassiere sounds waaay too sexy
for this thing. I pull it out of a drawer and apologize. “Just this.”

  She inspects it and gives me a look that says, you can do better than this. I shrug.

  “Get dressed.” She commands as she plops down on my bed.

  For the first time in my life I’m uncomfortable getting dressed in front of another woman. Not only do I feel some sort of sexual vibe toward her but I’ve seen her naked photos and I know her body is amazing.

  She snaps her fingers and waves at me. “Rapidamente.”

  I don’t need to speak Italian to know what she means. I face the wall as I pull my tee shirt over my head carefully so I don’t mess up my hair. It gets caught on the pony tail and I flinch when I feel Annalize’s hand helping me. I need to take off my yoga pants but I can’t with her so near.

  My hesitation is obvious to her. “You are bella. Don’t hide. The body, the female body, is beautiful.” She steps back and gestures to own body. I turn to look at her. “Americans, so…”She locks her hands into fists while she looks for the word. “So tight. No gioia. No…joy.”

  I have to laugh at that. Yes, Americans are uptight but I’m a special combination of uptight and awkward that she’s probably never seen in Italy. I smile and agree with her. “Yeah, Si.”

  She stays near me, way too close for comfort as I keep undressing. I’m trying to be less uptight. I love her ease with her body and I want some of it too. When I take off my bra she openly looks at my breasts and I feel a very confusing mix of fear and longing. I want her to like what she sees.

  She stands behind me and wraps her arms around me to slide the bra up my arms and I shiver. I can smell her perfume and feel her silk blouse against my back. It is one of the most sensual moments I’ve ever experienced. One hand brushes against the side of my breast. On purpose? She settles the bra against my skin and elegantly slides her hands to my back to hook the clasp.

  I’ve stopped breathing, at least until she moves her hands to my stomach and gently pinches me there. “You need to eat.” Her inference that I’m skinny and need food shocks me—so un-American. All the women I’ve ever known hate their stomachs and never think they need more food. “I want naut-chooz.” The sexy spin she puts on the word nachos has me giggling.

  She pops me lightly on the butt before striding back over to my bed and reclining. “Fretta. I am hungry.”

  I try to ignore her presence as I finish dressing. When I’m done I assess myself in the full-length mirror. It’s me, but not. I’m a little sexier, a little more sophisticated, a lot more daring. I smile at my image and at the thought that I want to call Lucca. I want to tell her I’m taking risks, I’m way outside of the rules and my comfort zone—that I was just felt up by a stunning Italian porn star who I have a lunch date with.

  Chapter Nine

  On the way to lunch I get a text from Martin. He’s at the Bunny Ranch but there’s no sign of Jack and no one is talking about who the patrons are, not even for money. After driving through town Martin is sure that the brothel is the only place Jack could be. He tells me he’s staking a spot in the lounge and waiting it out. I cheer him on because there isn’t much else I can do at this point.

  Annalize and I are ensconced in a large booth in the back of a Mexican restaurant. Away from the public eye I become her sole focus.

  “Tell me about your boyfriend.”

  It’s cute how she assumes I have one. “He’s invisible,” I quip.

  She doesn’t get the joke. “He is what?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “But you are so pretty and smart and...” She stops mid-sentence. “Oh, ahhh! I get it, you have a girlfriend.”

  I shake my head. Evidently in Italy there are no women whose love life has been completely sucked dry by whining, baby executives.

  “No. I have no one. I work.”

  “You cannot work and have fun?”

  “Not with my job.”

  This seems to make her very sad and she contemplates my tragic life while she digs into another nacho. “You sell airplanes for this company?”

  This is one of those moments where your life sounds so much more pathetic than it feels. I mumble through a bite of chip, “I’m a secretary.”

  This really surprises her. “As smart as you are?” She has to process this again before she adds, “No, truly? A secretary?”

  I nod, keep eating and try to think of a way to steer the conversation away from me. “Tell me about your movies.” After I say it I realize this may not have been a good question for someone who works in porn. My marginal social skills rear their ugly head again. But she doesn’t seem put off. Her smile challenges me.

  “You have not seen them?” I can tell she is teasing me. I’m obviously not her target audience. I can also tell we are now on a subject that is very important to her. She pushes her plate of food away and wipes her hands on her napkin, no doubt preparing for all her Italian hand gesturing.

  “You would like them. They are very beautiful.”

  Beautiful porn? Okaaay, that’s a new one on me.

  “I have been working with Thomas, my director, since I was eighteen. He discovered me when I was on holiday in Venice with my family. Right away he has a script written just for me.” She stresses the last part, noting how he treated her as a special star from the start. “My first movie, the critics don’t like it, but the people…all over Europe, then here in America.”

  I have no idea how old she is and I don’t feel like it would be appropriate to ask. My best guess would be somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties.

  “After the first movie made so much money Thomas asked Carlo Ricci and his wife Delfina to be in my next film, La Donna Del Pulizie.”

  She’s clearly name dropping from the emphasis she put on the couple but I have no clue who they are. I smile, shove more food in my mouth and nod like I’m impressed. Note to self, google Carlo and Delfina Ricci and the movie, if I can spell it.

  “It was huge. We go to film festival in London, in Scotland, all over America.”

  The more excited she gets the deeper her accent but I’m getting the idea this isn’t American-style porn. Film festivals?

  “When we come back, I meet Luca and the press, they follow us.” She puts up her hands in surrender. “Everywhere we go.” Again, I have no idea who she is talking about but just the name Luca must mean something in Italy. She stops briefly for a sip of water. “Then he goes to Germany and one month later I meet Gisella and the people say, of course, she is bi-sessuale in her films and in life.”

  I’m guessing bi-sessuale is bi-sexual. My feeling this morning wasn’t too off track but…me? I am also guessing Gisella is another movie star, hence the single name, or someone just as gorgeous as Annalize.

  “She is caught cheating on me with the wife of Raoul, like I would not know.”

  I shrug and nod my agreement. I’m so lost in this soap opera.

  “Then I meet Mikel.” She slows down and smiles.

  This is where I can join in, at least I know this person. “Where did you meet him?”

  She beams, “Mi Nonna”

  I know just enough Italian to figure this one out. “Your Grandma?”

  “Si, she knows his father and they make sure we meet.” Even she looks moony-eyed over her own story. “He is so smart, and handsome.”

  I’m caught up in her romance too, happy for her but fighting jealousy. “And so in love with you. I can see it.”

  She takes my hand and nods. “We must find one for you. Man or woman?”

  I blurt out, “Man,” then remember my current situation. “But now is not a good time.”

  “It is always a good time for love…or just sex.”

  All I can do is laugh and nod because I can’t disagree with her.

  ✈✈✈

  After lunch we are both exhausted. Her body clock is off and I’ve had my quota of socializing for the day. I need a nap and time to research more about her (because I’m nosy). In the hotel lobb
y she makes me promise I will consider joining them for dinner. She is sure Mikel will be successful and she wants me to be there to celebrate. I promise to text her later but that’s as far as I will go.

  In my room I put on some chill music and take a hot shower to bring me down off my adrenaline-high morning. When I get out of the shower I see my phone screen loaded with texts from Martin. The shit has hit the fan.

  Joel is texting me

  Wants to know where I am

  I told him I’m with Jack

  Asked me if I’m sightseeing

  Any advice

  They are minutes apart and started about ten minutes ago. I pace and struggle to come up with an answer. I’m exhausted and desperately need some sleep before I can face this. But I can’t leave Martin hanging out there alone.

  I line up all my facts and see if I can piece them together into some sort of feasible story that will allow Martin and me to keep our jobs.

  Jack is at a brothel. I doubt this will really shock Joel but it’s not where he needs to be right now.

  We think Martin is actually with Jack, trying to do his job. That looks good for Martin, sort of.

  I’m here, drinking and eating Mexican food, all documented on the credit card, which does not look good for me.

  The charges also make it look like Martin is out sightseeing and not with Jack.

  We are screwed!

  I start to text Joel then realize that he doesn’t know I’m in the conversation. I also don’t know if Joel has seen any charges on Jack’s credit card for the brothel. He might actually think that Jack is sightseeing…

  I stop myself. Yeah, right.

  He knows. He has to know.

  I pace and think, stop when I think I have an idea, then pace more when I realize how stupid that idea is.

  My phone bleeps. It’s Martin.

  Joel is coming here