Domino

by Chris Barnhart

  Clarissa suddenly felt invincible and strong, towering above the masses that scratched and clawed for their daily bread in the concrete and steel hive of the city. A chilly breath of a breeze stirred her shoulder length pale blond hair, exposing high cheekbones, and dark sable eyes. Twenty eight years ago, that writhing sea of struggling humanity had spawned the soon-to-be Mrs. Wolfe. Clarissa, with a smug sense of accomplishment, vowed never to fall into that dismal abyss again.

  Clarissa dove into the water and swam with powerful strokes to the shallow end. Although the dive was executed perfectly, it broke the shoulder strap of her white bikini. She was trying to fix it as she climbed the steps out of the pool, and did not notice Morgan staring at her.

  He took a sip of the drink in his hand, and his dark eyes did a slow tour of her body. Clarissa smiled coyly as she grabbed a terrycloth robe from the chaise lounge and wrapped it around her shivering figure. His white polo shirt was soaked with sweat and his black hair, worn longish around the nape of his neck was curly and glistened with dampness.

  "Kind of chilly for a swim this time of year," Morgan said.

  "Pool's heated," she smiled brightly. "The cold is invigorating. How was your game?"

  "Alex is improving," he replied without smiling. "I beat him four to three instead four love."

  "What will you do when he gets better than you?"

  "He won't."

  "It's almost six," she said. "Shouldn't you be getting dressed for the dinner party?"

  "Make excuses for me, darling," Morgan quipped. "I have business tonight."

  "Morgan, this is our engagement dinner."

  "Shouldn't you be dressing, Clarissa? You don't want to be late."

  “Morgan, damn it, I can’t go to our engagement party alone. What’s so important that you can’t be there?”

  “Reschedule, sweetheart. “

  “Morgan...” His eyes suddenly went cold and dead. The look sent a shiver up her spine. She forced the anger down and smiled. She moved close to him and put her arms around his neck but, before she could kiss him, he extricated himself gently from her embrace and held her at arm's length.

  "I don't see why you can't go with me to Sylvia's," she pouted.

  "I told you. I have a meeting here at the house tonight. It's important business."

  "Then we'll have to wait until Senator Sanderson's Thanksgiving party two weeks from tonight to announce our engagement."

  "You've told everybody you know, already."

  "I know, but this makes it official."

  Wolfe took her left hand and raised it up to his lips. He kissed it gently, then played the diamond against the late afternoon sunlight.

  "I thought this made it official," he said.

  "No, my love, we have to be announced."

  "Excuse me. Did you call the Times?"

  "This morning," Clarissa teased.

  Again a shadow seemed to fall over Morgan's violet eyes, made them almost black and malevolent. Clarissa instinctively drew back from him. He had never laid a hand on her, always treated her with gentleness, as if she were a rare and beautiful flower. But there were those times when that dark, volatile mask would surface, sometimes only for a fleeting second. It would unnerve her every time, something that she could never get used to in Morgan. She would always turn away or avert her eyes. She felt as though she were looking into the eyes of a demon, into the bowels of hell.

  "I don't like publicity, Clarissa."

  In the year that she had lived with Morgan, Clarissa learned to recover quickly, never letting Morgan know that he threw her off balance.

  "But I adore it, my sweet."

  "You know better."

  "Morgan, do your stuffy old business meeting tomorrow night. I don't want to go alone. Not with everyone expecting the announcement."

  "Another time."

  "Then I'm not going either. I'll have Virginia call Sylvia and make an excuse."

  She flung the towel coyly over her shoulder and started for the house. Morgan's dark eyes bore into her back. His sudden, commanding voice stopped her and she turned to face him, not knowing exactly what to expect from this illusive, spirited man.

  "I expect you to go to the party, Clarissa. It's important for my business that you attend."

  "What business, Morgan? I don't know what the hell you do. You never talk to me. I don't know anyone at this party. These are your business associates. What do I tell them? I know you own a bunch of art galleries and other vague sorts of businesses. What do I talk to them about? I'm not going. You know I don't like going out alone at night."

  "You don't have to say anything, but Sylvia is an important client. She; interested in the rare Middle Eastern antiques we have coming over next week from a dealer in Istanbul.”

  “The ones you saves from those terrible radicals?”

  The very ones. And I saved something special for you. So just go and look beautiful." He drew her to him and kissed her, stroking her hair gently. "Do this for me, will you darling? I'll make it up to you, I promise you."

  She looked into his eyes and couldn't say no to the wide infectious smile on the boyishly handsome face.

  "For you, Morgan. I love you."

  "Look on your make-up table. There's a little something you can show off tonight."

  "Did you pick it out yourself, darling, or was it that little bitch of a secretary of yours?"

  "You're going to be late," Wolfe snapped impatiently.

  "Fashionably," Clarissa forced a smile through her sudden fear.

  Virginia pulled the last page of the contract from the printer and slid it into the top feeder of the copy machine. As the machine churned out the required number of copies, Virginia slipped back into her jade green silk blouse and black linen skirt. She dug her shoes out from under the sofa and her hair band from down between the cushions and tied her long midnight black hair back with the band. Easing into the sling-back heels, she scanned the den with a practiced eye before opening the drapes across the french doors that always made a nasty glare on the laptop’s screen.

  Virginia avoided the scene outside beyond the doors, also with much practice, though the pain of it never ceased to tug at her. She had seen them come and go, red heads, brunettes, and Morgan's favorite, very pale blonds. All had been in their late teens or twenties and extremely beautiful, tall and fragile, like the one standing on the diving board out there now.

  Virginia watched Clarissa for a moment as she dove into the pool. Just another contestant in Morgan Wolfe's beauty contest, she thought wryly. Some lasted a couple of months, some longer. The blonds and red heads usually made it to the finals and won the gifts of jewels and cars, a condo or two, and the special bonuses of traveling to exotic locales with Morgan. A very select few won the grand prize, the coveted diamond ring and heady dreams of the impending wedding.

  Virginia turned away and sorted the contract copies on Morgan's mahogany desk, but it was difficult not to watch. She knew he was out there scrutinizing Clarissa's every move like he was studying a painting by a master. Virginia forced down the jealousy that rattled the papers in her hand and replaced it with the firm knowledge that this contest was almost over. Clarissa wore the grand prize on her left hand. Soon there would be the emergency extended business trip, the house closed for the duration, the luxury apartment for the distressed fiancé somewhere on a French coast. Then the arranged repossession of the car, the robbery of the designer clothes and jewels, and the eviction from the luxury apartment for non-payment of rent. Virginia would arrange it all as she had done many times in the last ten years. Morgan would be unavailable in Europe and Virginia would be given an extended working vacation, meeting Morgan at the villa in Portugal or the condo in the Cayman Islands. The heartbroken fiancé would be left with nothing but shattered dreams and an acute hatred of Morgan Wolfe. Then it would be business as usual until the contest began again.

  Virginia shook off the melancholy mantel that wrapped around her like a black cocoon w
henever she thought of Morgan's collection of doe-eyed, porcelain-skinned beauties. They had personalities like a dish of empty peanut shells and brains the size of a mustard seed, if that. At least they had the wealth and the dreams for a while. Morgan had given his personal, private, executive secretary nothing. Virginia earned the eighty thousand a year salary at the computer terminal and in Morgan's bed. She was loyal and discrete, on call twenty four hours a day, three hundred and sixty five days a year. She paid her own rent in a penthouse house apartment on Wilshire Boulevard in West Los Angeles, and made car payments on the dark blue Mercedes. She was given a modest expense account when she needed to travel with Morgan or run errands for him. Christmas bonuses had consisted of everything from a turkey to a working holiday in Hawaii.

  He had once given her a designer wardrobe that she was not allowed to wear except for business, and a pair of diamond earrings Morgan told her when and where she could wear them. So it was not without a twinge of jealously that irked Virginia when she spent hours in Beverly Hills jewelry stores selecting trinkets worth thousands of dollars for the latest arrogant, stuck-up little she-devil vying for the bogus grand prize.

  Virginia punched the keyboard on the laptop with a little more force than necessary, and called up the program that interfaced with the main computer that ran the house electronics and security systems. She entered the code and waited. Behind her, a bookcase of law books, that would rival any law office library, slid silently to the vaulted ceiling, revealing a bank of eight steel reinforced, fire proof file cabinets. Virginia looked at her watch and quickly gathered up the copies of the contracts and the flash drive. She had to be out of the house by six and it was already ten minutes of. Morgan was strict on obeying orders to the fullest.

  With the contracts and drive safely stored away behind the panel and the computer shut down, Virginia grabbed her purse and unlocked the den's double oak door just as the antique clock in the living room chimed six o'clock.

  Clarissa was padding softly through the living room, drying her hair with a towel, as Virginia closed the den door behind her.

  "Working late, Gin?" asked Clarissa.

  Virginia recoiled inwardly at the nickname, an acid remark instantly dying on her lips. Clarissa was no different than the many before her except that she had lasted a couple of months longer than most. She was air-headed and arrogant, drop dead gorgeous, and had fallen blindly into Morgan's trap hook line and sinker. Virginia looked on them all as anyone would a magnificent house cat. They were mere pets, pampered and groomed, all with jeweled collars, who would be abandoned by the roadside at Morgan's whim, to become the straggly strays they had been in the beginning. With Clarissa there was one exception. The willowy blond had been nothing but pleasant to Virginia, despite Virginia's obvious disdain.

  "Actually, I'm quitting early," Virginia replied.

  "That's odd," Clarissa smiled. "What's gotten into the old workaholic? Usually you two burn the midnight oil." Clarissa's tone was neither sarcastic nor accusing, yet Virginia felt slightly uncomfortable.

  "Not tonight," said Virginia, turning toward the front door. "Morgan's got a business meeting here tonight. Gives me a chance to catch up on my reading."

  "You need a sex life, Gin."

  "I need peace and quiet," snapped Virginia with sudden unconcealed bitterness.

  "Why don't you come to the party with me tonight? Maybe you'll meet somebody."

  "No, thank you." Clarissa's naiveté was almost painful, Virginia thought.

  "Suit yourself," Clarissa said as she tossed the towel over the shoulder with the broken strap and started to climb the winding staircase.

  "Morgan dismissed the house staff a little while ago," Virginia told Clarissa. "All except Dory. Your hairdresser arrived while you were out at the pool. He's setting up his stuff upstairs. I'll be at home if Morgan needs me."

  "I'm sure he knows where to find you, Gin. Have a good one."

  Virginia watched Clarissa climb the stairs and wondered just how naive this one was. There were times when she was empty as a Barbie doll. Then, when Virginia least expected it, a glimmer of iron laughter mocked her from those sable eyes.

  Clarissa studied her nude form in the bedroom's full length mirrored wall. The extra two days a week with her personal trainer had added a little shape to her biceps and her shoulder muscles, and given a bit more definition to her otherwise flat buttocks. It had flattened her lower abdominal muscles and rounded out her pencil thin thighs. But all of the energy and sweat, pain and exertion, had done nothing for her pectoral muscles or uplifted her tiny breasts. They drooped as if they were chronically depressed. The only answer was implants and Morgan had refused.

  "You have a perfect body, my darling," he had told her when she begged for the implants. "I would not change an inch of it."

  "Well, to hell with your blind eyes, Morgan Wolfe," Clarissa whispered to the image in the mirror. She had already made plans to sell a thin diamond and sapphire bracelet Morgan had given her on their first vacation together in Rome. At dinner last night, Morgan told her he was planning a business trip to the Cayman Islands, Venezuela, and Paris right after their wedding. He would be gone for nearly two months. That was plenty of time for Clarissa to sell the bracelet and have the surgery done by Dr. Brown in Santa Barbara. It would be a nice surprise for Morgan when he returned, and too late for him to do much about it. Clarissa patted her breasts and grinned impishly.

  "Your bath is ready, miss," Dory's round dark face peered at Clarissa from the bathroom. "I've poured you a cup of tea and laid out your dress for this evening. The black De La Renta."

  "I'll need a facial too, Dory," said Clarissa.

  "I'm sorry, miss. There isn't time tonight. I should have been out by six o'clock and it's nearly six fifteen. Mister Wolfe has given Hugo until seven-thirty to do your hair, so you'd better hurry, miss. No one would want to disobey Mister Wolfe, if you know what I mean."

  Clarissa's cheeks flushed with sudden anger. She curtly nodded to Dory who bustled out of the bedroom as if chased by banshees. Clarissa slipped into a pale blue silk robe and stepped into the spacious bathroom. A Japanese silk screen separated the sunken black marble tub from the make-up table where Hugo was sitting reading an old copy of Vogue with Clarissa's picture on the cover, her blonde hair tucked up under a wide-brimmed red hat.

  "This stuff is disgusting," he sneered as he tossed the magazine on the floor. "I could cut hair better when I was ten. Really. Who do these New York hussies think they are? Yet, that's all you see in these magazines. Hair by Alfred Sayer, New York. Hair by Randolph Iveres, New York. Give me a decent break. So how are you, Clary? You look pale."

  "You always say that, Hugo. You've been telling me I look pale since I was fifteen."

  "Don't get testy, Clary."

  "Sorry, hon," Clarissa slipped out of the robe and eased herself into the steaming bath, barely disturbing the pink peaks of the jasmine bubble bath. "I'll be out in a bit."

  "So, Clary, you've decided on complete retirement?"

  "Morgan wants me to quit. I can understand his feelings."

  "You were, the best, you know. You've still got it."

  "I looked in the mirror, Hugo. I'm twenty-eight. Way past prime. I'm too old to go back in front of a camera. I've found someone who will take care of me. Give me a good life. I've been working since I was fifteen. It's time for a break."

  "Are you in love? There was silence for a moment then Hugo heard the movement of the bath water. "Clary?"

  "Yes, Hugo, I love him. You want to come to this party with me tonight?"

  "Can't. I'm going down to La Jolla tonight. We open the new salon Monday, you know. Invitation only. The grand opening is on Friday. I need a good receptionist, Clary. Interested?"

  "Drop dead, Hugo."

  "Don't be snotty, girl."

  "How are things at the Beverly Hills salon?"

  "Now that I own it, it's a damn lot of work," Hugo replied as he crossed his thin legs an
d admired himself the lighted mirror. Hugo smiled. He was small and slight, dressed in his usual black t-shirt, and black jeans, black boots, and silver Indian jewelry. He was handsome with dashing black eyes and an infectious smile. He had had several small roles in movies but his first love was hair. He could flatter the plainest of women, making them feel like a Vogue model. Everyone loved Hugo. His clientele grew so fast that he bought out his partner in the Rodeo Drive salon and bought a rambling ranch style house in Pacific Palisades. His success was due partly to Clarissa's praise of his talents with brush and comb to anyone who would listen. It was the least she owed Hugo. He had saved her from a life on the streets nearly thirteen years ago.

  Clarissa stepped from the behind the Japanese screen and slid into the chair in front of the mirror.

  "I worry about you," said Hugo as he started to comb out her freshly washed hair. "You okay marrying this Wolfe guy?"

  When she looked at him in the mirror, for a moments it was the face of the fifteen year-old, wide sable eyes frightened and innocent. Then she broke into her impish smile.

  "Don't be silly, Hugo. Morgan is wonderful. This is what I've wanted all my life. "

  "He scares the hell out of me."

  "I'm going to be okay. I just don't want to end up back on the streets."

  "Have you told your brother?"

  "Andy wouldn't understand. He never wanted me to model or do anything but go to college. After mother died, he insisted that I come to Egypt or Kuwait and live in some American oil company settlement for two years. That was thirteen years ago. He's still there. I don't know how his wife stands living in that pile of sand. I couldn't."

  "So you thought the streets were better?"