Shadows of Pearl (The Pearl Trilogy, Part 2)

by Arianne Richmonde

  “Oh, like the HookedUp Enterprises contract we drew up? Fat lot of good that did! Sophie found a little loophole to slip her way in like the sly snake she is!”

  “You’re not listening to reason, Pearl, so I’m coming to get you. I’m calling on my other cell right now and cancelling my meeting here in Montreal. I’m turning around as we speak. I’ll hire a jet and come right now to L.A. We’ll go to Vegas and—”

  “You’re not listening to me, are you? You deal with your sister and HookedUp first and when you can prove to me that it is finished, signed, sealed and delivered, then give me a call. Until then, adieu, Alexandre.” And I add with a tone of spite in my voice, “Besides, the last thing I want is to have a relationship with a penis right now.”

  His voice is incredulous, tight with anger. “Excuse me? Is that what I am to you? A penis?”

  “Men are pigs. All of you. Deep down inside all you do is rule your lives by your dicks! You rape women. You even rape babies to ‘cure’ yourselves of AIDS which, hello, you got from fucking prostitutes in the first place – underage, abused prostitutes who should be in school or playing with dolls—”

  “What has that got to do with me? What are you talking about?”

  “The rape ratio in South Africa? One in four men there have committed rape!”

  “Pearl—”

  “Oh, and that sick, pedophile British D.J who’s dead now? Have you heard about him on the news? Men are sticking their dicks everywhere – they have been since time immemorial - they don’t care who they hurt both physically and mentally – children, disabled people - as long as they get themselves and their stinking dicks off!”

  He replies softly to my accusations, “My darling where’s all this coming from? What is going on?”

  I’m weeping now, yowling. I sound like a braying donkey as I suck in air between sobs, my head resting on the steering wheel, my body shaking. I manage to get out, “I can’t talk about this anymore. Call Daisy, she’ll… tell you… what…h…happened… to…m….. me.”

  I hang up. I can’t even think straight. Here I am sitting in my parked rental car with nowhere to go. I can’t return to New York right now – I’ve sublet my apartment. I need a break from Alexandre. Okay, I know, I’m being dramatic – even childish. But it is the only way of getting it through his head. I do not want Sophie in my life! Why can’t he get that? The one thing I hung onto was my autonomy, my work. And even that she is trying to snatch away from me.

  My cell goes. It’s him. It keeps ringing. I let my blood simmer a little, dry my eyes, take a deep breath and pick up.

  His voice is steady. “I’ve cancelled my meeting. I’m on my way.”

  “Don’t do that because I won’t be here when you arrive.”

  I can hear the clipping sound of his purposeful footsteps. He’s talking in motion, his long legs striding towards his goal which happens to be me right now. “Stay where you are, Pearl. You’re being absurd.”

  “I need some time to think all this through. I don’t want to see you for a while, Alexandre.”

  He sighs. The anguish in his voice is palpable. “What happened to you? It’s about those nightmares, isn’t it? What happened, baby? Please tell me. Please trust me.”

  I close my eyes and draw my knees up to my chest, and sink into the seat of the car. “A long time ago when I was at university…” I break my sentence.

  “Go on, baby. I’m here for you. I love you,” he cajoles. “Please, share your pain with me. Your pain is my pain. I can help. I can help you through this.”

  “No, you can’t. You’re a guy. I’m disgusted by men right now.”

  “I understand. I swear I do. I know that men can be vile. You don’t think I know that after my father? But we aren’t all bad, Pearl. We can be kind and caring. What happened, my angel? Please,” he begs gently.

  “I was… gang raped,” and I add quickly, “but I asked for it. I wore a micro-mini skirt. I went back to their room willingly – I thought it would be fun, me with two guys. I invited it to happen, Alexandre. But it turned into something else. Something sick and gross.”

  I can hear the echoey announcements at Montreal airport and Alexandre’s quiet breathing. I knew it. The idea of me behaving like a slut is too much for him, even if it happened eighteen years ago.

  “Who did this to you?”

  “You think I remember? I blanked out. I blocked it out. All this shit has been resurfacing in dreams. I can’t even prove it happened. I was zonked out - drunk. Daisy thinks they may have spiked my tequila. Who knows? I behaved like a slut and I got raped.”

  His voice is edgy: “You did not,” and he says between gritted teeth, “behave like a slut.”

  “Thank you,” I reply quietly.

  “We’ll get through this together. We don’t have to make love, baby. I won’t touch you, I promise. Not until you’re ready.”

  “Please don’t come, Alexandre. I’m serious about what I say. Deal with Sophie and HookedUp first. I need some time alone. I’ll call you in…like…a week or something. Bye.”

  I switch off my cell and take a deep breath. If any of this is to work between us I want Sophie out of our lives. Poor Alexandre – he’s being understanding…but still. He is part of the male species and for now I don’t want a penis near me bringing back visions of needle and walnut-dicks. I need some time to myself.

  I get out of the car and start strolling towards Santa Monica Pier. The sun is setting - the sky swirling in moody blues, streaked with orange, making shimmering reflections on the ocean. To the north the view to the Malibu mountains is spectacular. I walk briskly until I arrive at the pier. A trapeze school, The Trapeze School New York, is offering classes to anyone daring enough. Their logo reads, Forget fear. Worry about the addiction. Hmm….addiction. That is how I felt about Alexandre - completely addicted to him. But now that the sexual craving has waned on my part – at least for now – how will that affect our relationship? Before, when there was a problem we worked it out through sex. The infatuation and carnal desire we held for one another was so all-consuming, so powerful, it overrode everything. Will that need and desire return? The compulsion to have him inside me? Fucking me at every opportunity? Right now I need space, freedom. I can’t bear the idea of being smothered, my body invaded - even by him.

  My cell is off. He’ll be frantically phoning now. I feel cruel. But then I remember Sophie again slithering into our lives in her oh-so-subtle way.

  I watch one of the trapeze students, a little girl who can’t be more than eight years old - swinging back and forth high above me and I’m tempted to give it a go myself. Anything to clear my mind of its present turmoil.

  I ask the young woman standing there, “I guess all the classes must be booked up way in advance?”

  “Well actually someone just cancelled. Lost his nerve.”

  “Could I take his place?”

  “Sure. Have you ever done this before?”

  “Only in my dreams.”

  She laughs. “Well now you can know what it’s like to fly for real. You wanna try?”

  “I sure do.”

  I whip out my credit card, pay and sign a waiver agreeing to take full responsibility for my own risk.

  She instructs me, “Okay, you’ll need to tie up your hair in a ponytail and have you got anything other than jeans to wear? Something more comfortable that gives you room to move better?”

  “I have some yoga pants in my handbag.”

  “Perfect. You can put them on behind here.” She leads me around to the side where there is a makeshift changing room.

  This is crazy. Here I am in the middle of some existential crisis and I’m about to risk my life on a trapeze. Actually, that’s a wild exaggeration – there’s a safety net to catch my fall but I guess anything could happen or they wouldn’t have asked me to sign that waiver. I’ll be upside down, hooked onto the bar with my knees, swinging back and forth until the ‘catcher’ can get me, our hands linking. It�
�ll take a few goes but let’s see if I can be as good as that child up there.

  When it comes to my turn I climb the ladder in my harness and stand on the platform about twenty-three feet up. I feel vertigo but am determined to go ahead with it. I look out over the dark blue ocean and the streaky sky. It’s cooler up here, a light breeze catches me and the nervy heat I’m feeling inside is momentarily at bay. My heart is thumping – I feel so high up.

  A topless man wearing what look like white pajama bottoms hooks the trapeze with a pole and brings it towards me. He connects another rope to my front. Uh, oh, here we go. I launch out into the air pushing my legs forward horizontally with great momentum and then hook them above my head, under and around the bar. This is scary. I have the choice to stay doubled up or let go. Will my legs be strong enough to hold me? After a few seconds, I do let go and feel my arms and torso drop like a big lead weight. I am completely upside down. I haven’t done this sort of thing since fourth grade! The woman below me is screaming instructions, “forward, backwards, forward, backwards,” and I swing my legs like a pendulum. Then I drop myself into the net. End of go one.

  I wait my next turn, adrenaline pumping and wish Alexandre were here to share this experience with me. It reminds me of our first date together when we went rock-climbing. He’d be proud of me now. My cell is in my purse in the trapeze school’s office. I can’t call him now. Should I later? Or just leave it? I need him to know I’m serious about Sophie. I must remain strong or the next forty years of marriage or as long as we all live, will be one frustrating-as-hell compromise.

  After a few more turns on the trapeze, taking my turn between the eight year old girl, a couple of surfer dudes and another woman around my age, I manage to do the swinging circus ‘catch.’ Hooray!

  This whole experience has given me a sense of strength.

  I walk back to my car. The sun has set for the evening leaving the sky a deep cobalt blue - a lone star is flickering on the horizon and I make a wish. Star light star bright, first star I see tonight… I wish that Sophie would get the hell out of our lives for good.

  An overriding feeling of emotion hits me and I start crying again.

  Alexandre said he’s on his way to get me. But the only man I can bear spending time with right now is my father.

  I need my dad. I make a snap decision.

  Kauai here I come.

  Chapter Ten

  I decide it’s only fair to swing by Alessandra’s to say goodbye and explain the situation. She’s going to get wind of it one way or another so I might as well inform her that I won’t be returning to L.A for meetings – that I’ll be emailing and Skyping, if need be, but distancing myself emotionally from the movie project. What I thought was ‘my baby’ now has a surrogate mother:

  Sophie Dumas.

  I’ve been betrayed on so many levels and it has made me bitter towards Hollywood. It has brought something to light: I want my old job back - I feel the urge to do documentaries again. I don’t care about movie stars and big budgets. I care about those little Nigerian girls who are being sold for sexual slavery. I care about the fourteen year old girl, Malala, shot in the head by a Taliban man for championing education for girls. By some miracle she’s still alive.

  These are the things that drive my passion. Not some blockbuster, even if it does have a gay rights message.

  I call Alessandra just to make sure she’s going to be in. And on my way I swing by a Thai restaurant and pick up some Tom Yam soup and other treats. I’m hungry after my trapeze exertion and I’m sure Alessandra will be up for a bit of Thai food.

  She is. When I walk into her house I realize that I haven’t been here before when it’s dark. She has lit her wood-burning stove and it smells of firewood and rose incense. She’s delighted that I brought take-out and we begin to heat up the soup as we stand in the kitchen chatting.

  She’s wearing tight jeans and I can’t help my roving eye. Women are always checking out each other’s buns – but I’m not comparing myself to her; I’m admiring her sexy curves. I can’t help it. I myself, though, still look a bit disheveled and truthfully need a shower. I know I look anything but hot.

  “You wanna watch a movie or you want to talk about Stone Trooper? she asks, stirring the Tom Yam.

  “You know what? I’m a bit Troopered-out.”

  I reveal to her the whole Sophie saga, keeping the tale simple and not too dramatic but explaining why I’ll be bowing out gracefully from any more script tweaking and future get-togethers. I tell her about my plan to see my father and that I’m flying to Hawaii tomorrow morning.

  “I’ll miss you,” she says, her eyes mournful. “So it’s your last night at that cool hotel, huh?”

  “Actually I checked out. I was in a flustered state, I thought I might be getting on a plane that very second but then I got distracted by the trapeze school on Santa Monica Pier.”

  “Oh so that’s what the sweaty appearance is? I wondered why you were looking so mussed up.”

  “Would you mind if I took a shower?”

  “Sure, of course. You wanna eat now or wait?”

  “I’ll take a quick shower first, why not – I don’t want to stink up the kitchen.”

  She gets out some plates from a cupboard. “I like the smell of your sweat. It’s sexy.”

  I snigger sarcastically. “Now that has to be a lie.”

  “No it’s not. My ex…well she goes crazy for underarms, you know?”

  “Well I have to admit, I like the smell of Alexandre’s day-old T-shirts so I do understand.”

  “She likes it when I have hairy armpits, it drives her wild. I mean crazy wild.”

  I grimace. “Each to their own, I guess. You’re still seeing her? You refer to her as your ex yet you speak about her in the present.”

  She looks uneasy but doesn’t answer directly. “Whenever we have….whenever we had a fight I’d shave to get her pissed.”

  I laugh. “Shaving your armpits was a big punishment?”

  “I know, isn’t it crazy?”

  “What was she like…what is she like, your ex?”

  “Beautiful. A tigress between the sheets.”

  “Does she live in L.A?”

  Alessandra looks uncomfortable. “Actually, I don’t really want to talk about her, d’you mind? Let’s talk about you, Pearl. Any more nightmares?”

  I’d forgotten that I’d laid bare my soul before our bathtub ‘event’. “No, no more nightmares, thank God.”

  “Pearl, can I ask you a very personal question?”

  “You can ask but I’m not sure I’ll give you an answer.”

  Alessandra chuckles and tosses her mane. “Do you have multiple orgasms?”

  Where did that come from? I remember the shock of when it happened in Cap d’Antibes with Alexandre. “Do you?” I ask boomeranging her question.

  “No. Never. And I never had an orgasm with a man. I wanted to…but…I tried…you know, but it just didn’t happen.”

  “Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of women go through that,” I say carefully, not wanting to reveal anything too personal. “You know what? I’m going to grab that shower and then we can eat. I hope you like cold sesame noodles. There are puffed rice cakes, vegetable spring rolls and there’s some spicy prawn curry as well.”

  “I’ll heat up the oven.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  I feel her eyes on my back as I saunter to the bathroom and she shouts after me, “Do you want to borrow a robe? Hey, Pearl, if you already checked out of your hotel, why don’t you stay here tonight?”

  I turn around. “No. Thank you for the offer but I can check into an airport hotel. I’m flying out at the squawk of dawn.”

  “As you please. Grab a terry-cloth robe from the bathroom. You know, you can chill out comfortably while we watch the movie. Have you seen All About Eve?”

  “One of my favorite Bette Davis films - ‘Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night,’ ” I
say, quoting my favorite line.

  “Oh dear, well, we can put on something else.”

  “No, that’s perfect - I haven’t seen it for years.”

  I shower and then we eat watching the movie. Eve Harrington – what an insidious character - and Bette Davis’s Margo Channing who’s just turned forty. Oh, how I identify! Eve Harrington - a seemingly sweet-as-candy actress usurping her idol’s position in such a scheming, clever way. The whole scenario reminds me of Sophie. The story is different but the intention is there: to slowly silently take over, to push out your rival with a smile on your face. Buying me my wedding gown, telling Alexandre she loves me, yet plotting behind my back. Yet she hasn’t actually done anything actively bad so it looks as if I’m paranoid. Sure, she called me a ‘cougar’ and a ‘stalker’ a few months back but I shouldn’t hold that against her forever. She did apologize, too. But I know she’s up to no good.

  So far, Sophie is winning. Getting her way with Alexandre - pushing me away from him.

  We’ll see if she succeeds.

  Alessandra has been plying us both with champagne and because of the spiciness of the Thai food I’ve been glugging it down without really noticing. Uh oh, I have an early plane to catch and now I’m feeling woozy. But I’m so relaxed by the cozy log fire and she has a way of making me laugh with her ironic and direct sense of humor that I’m loathe to leave - just yet.

  All About Eve ends and I’m sprawled out on the couch in Alessandra’s terry-cloth robe, my hair still damp. She’s gazing at me, her lips slightly parted.

  “Pearl, this is our last ever moment together. Probably.”

  “Yes, it is. I don’t think I’ll be returning to L.A.”

  She pouts. “Why?”

  “It’s too tough here. I mean, New Yorkers can be rough around the edges but at least what you see is what you get. Here things are subtly sinister – I can’t explain it but I feel this place is a little Machiavellian - sugar-coated with a seductive sheen, which makes it all the more dangerous. Los Angeles is a magnetic place and you can get sucked in all too easily.”