by Q. Zayne
Gabe engaged the parking brake and opened his arms. I hesitated. Taking a breath the way I used to before diving into the swimming hole, I leaned toward him, accepted his embrace. Without thinking about it, my hands pressed against his back, my face rested against his chest. I heard his heart. I felt peace. If I didn’t move, maybe it would last.
He held me a long time, with perfect patience, not trying to touch me more, not pushing me away. Just there for me like the old tree I used to throw my arms around when things at home were too bad to bear.
“You can come with me,” he whispered into my hair, “But I’m not sure you should.”
I had the sense that honesty cost him. That as much as I wanted to believe he was a good man, he wasn’t entirely, and in that moment he forced himself to go against his inclinations and give me a warning out of concern for my wellbeing. A concern he didn’t want. I wasn’t sure how I knew that. It seemed to be the same kind of knowing that prompted Mom to knock me across the room until I learned to keep my mouth shut about the thoughts that came into my head. When my life was filled with routine and prayer, I kept that sense at bay. With Gabe, it bounded out of the cage, stretching itself in the sun and leaping.
I felt happy, a strange thing after all my fears and his tragic story. And his warning. Yet somehow, I sensed I was in the right place, with the right person, doing what I was meant to do. I hadn’t felt that in months.
I cherished it, and cherished Gabe for giving it back to me.
I looked him in the eye. “You’re going to have to try harder than that to get rid of me,” I said, with a confidence unusual to me.
“Look at that. A good meal and you’re a new woman.”
I blushed and looked away at a blimp floating over the ragged, smoggy skyline. His admiration warmed me. He was right in what he said earlier. I was in trouble.
But maybe there were times in life when you could float right above the past, see everything, and not be weighted down by it. Levitate like a dirigible. Find out where the ant trails went and what they did in the nests and why they thought it was so important that they drove a certain kind of car and wore enough scented products to make sensitive people’s eyes water. Why some people, like my priest, seemed to find it easy to be good. Why others were bad. I wanted to understand life. I wanted to live it.
He pulled out into traffic and I held onto the leather seat.
Gabe struck me as the man, or being, who could take me from my crazy downtrodden existence right into the heart of life. So I’d let him.
I hoped I wouldn’t regret it.
The drive across the bay in his sleek green Jaguar left me grinning like a kid at a carnival.
My heart stopped for a couple of beats when he pulled in at a lonely meadow out of sight of anyone. Nothing there but a long stretch of pavement that seemed to go on to the sky and a low, dingy white building. Who said a man in exquisite shoes couldn’t be a killer?
He pressed a button and one of the doors rolled open. He pulled in and parked. Darkness closed in around the car. Decrepit small planes crouched in there looking like dinosaur bones in a cave. The place gave me the creeps with its musty smell of old things and a pinup calendar on the wall from maybe the 1940s. That bountiful redhead had aged beyond recognition and gone to her grave. Or to a crematorium, which I’d arranged for Mom due to her wishes, but the thought of her body burning still disturbed me. Nothing comforting about cremation, even though it was less wasteful of land than burial. I hadn’t grown up with a belief in physical resurrection, as in those paintings of angels blowing trumpets and people rising from their graves, but ashes were so final.
I shuddered. Gabe jumped out and opened the door for me. From someone else, the gesture might have seemed weird, but from him it was old-fashioned and charming. Even though my nerves felt jangled in the remote place, I drew comfort from his closeness. From fear of him to reassurance at his closeness in a few breaths. Nothing wrong with me. A whiff of his fresh forest scent and individual masculine musk, and I could handle anything.
But no one knew where I was. I trusted this total stranger, based on his vague assurances that he’d help me. Not the brightest thing I’d done in my life. I’d even given him my keys and took his word he’d have someone garage my car and pick up my bag at the hotel. I didn’t want to think what any normal person would think of my free-box outfit and frayed panties. My old bra’s under-wire was so bent it poked my ribs as I breathed. By contrast, the things Gabe picked, or had some astute sales woman pick, fit like clothes you wear in a dream, so right you don’t feel you’re wearing them.
Getting out of the hangar into the sunshine eased my mind. A breeze blew through the weeds bordering the long stretch of pavement. The new dress blew between my thighs. I hustled to keep up with Gabe’s fast stride. He moved like a boy anticipating a treat.
We rounded the low building and she came into view. A lustrous jet with a long nose. I whistled. I’d never in my life whistled in response to anything. That machine pointing down the runway wrenched at my heart — so beautiful. Such freedom! I got right then why some men became devoted to their transportation: plane, boat, car, motorcycle. Majestic harmony and fine engineering went into every line, every detail of that machine. She impressed me as a living thing. I understood the eagerness on Gabe’s face as we approached.
He answered my whistle with a grin that stretched across his face. “I hope you don’t mind my secretiveness. You were so delightful about experiencing dessert, I couldn’t resist surprising you with a ride. We’re going to my island.” He pushed a button on his key fob and the hangar door closed. A step unit rolled toward the jet on its own.
“Your island.” I squinted up at him. The strong sunlight highlighted his perfect white teeth.
“Yeah. Cleaner place than this by far.” He looked out in the distance toward a massive oil plant operating right on the coast. “I bought it after Natalie was killed. My buddy Ralph took on my security. He wanted me to lay low, avoid letting someone mark me off as a successful hit. I didn’t care much at that point.” He turned and eyed me. “I never talk about myself this much. What did you do, cast a spell on me?” His lowered brows made his eyes dark.
“I’m a listener. So Ralph talked you into increasing your odds of staying alive.” I’d plunged into dark water, so I swam ahead.
He stroked his sculpted chin, “Yes, you’re right about that. He got forceful about it. If we didn’t go so far back, I might have fired him for insubordination. But he was right. He saved me in more ways than he knows.” His brows rose. “I’ll tell him that when we get there. What I just realized, talking to you, the island became more than a refuge for the safety of the people I care about — it gave me a project. In the months since Natalie’s funeral, I worked on designing a compound there, moving in my most trusted staff, friends — and creating an exclusive club. I’ve been busy and absorbed. It probably keeps me sane.”
I sensed the crux of the mystery and grabbed my chance. “What kind of club?”
Gabe’s face colored to his hairline. “Okay, well. This is the part where I might offend your beliefs, and believe me, Sister, I don’t want to do that.”
“Don’t call me Sister. I’m not a nun anymore.”
“What shall I call you?” He had a deep voice that caressed me.
I felt it in my bones, the way certain kinds of music, Gregorian chants, Reggae, Tibetan harmonies, could just strike right there and hum inside me. My gaze dropped below his belt. Did it move? I imagined it as a creature with a life of its own. My cheeks flamed.
“Pia. My name is Pia.” Did his knowing about me not extend to divining my name? Maybe not.
“Pia the pious.” He said it lightly, but again I got the sense that it rankled him, that he didn’t like that I was a good girl.
I felt certain if he knew my secret, he’d like that even less. Maybe I wasn’t fair to him, but I suspected he preferred a certain kind of young woman, the kind they used to call, ‘no better
than she should be.’ At his age, that term fit. But what kind of woman had Natalie been? I envisioned her as my age, much younger than him. But maybe she wasn’t. Had he stuck to the old-fashioned formula and chosen a different kind of woman for his wife than the kind he desired for fun? But whatever kind of woman his deeply-mourned Natalie had been, I felt sure she hadn’t died a virgin.
Sunlight and shadow shifted across my face. The jet landing brought me awake with a jolt. It amazed me I slept during the flight. Went to show I did trust Gabe. Months of sleeping in my car left me tired all the time. I curled up in the backseat in the fetal position hidden in laundry. I never went out deeply, stayed at the ready to grab my car keys and flee. I woke up feeling like a zombie.
This waking made me feel renewed. Feeling well-fed, well-rested and well-dressed were such novelties, all my senses felt keen. Not in preparation for fight or flight, for adventure, for living. I pressed my nose to the window, looked out at a lush jungle. I didn’t recognize myself, my sudden verve for life. It made me feel even closer to Gabe. I imagined how his friend Ralph strong-arming him into creating a secure compound transformed into a project that got him engaged with life, eased him out of the sleep-walk of grief.
The sound of something gliding put me on alert. The hatch opened, a vibration went through the plane as the steps locked in place. I stretched in my seat, getting a better view of the runway bordered by jungle, the steps ready for our descent as if by magic, no one in view.
Maybe that’s part of being a billionaire, technology other people don’t imagine exists. Privacy that regular people can’t imagine, because you can pick and choose what you want to use people for and automate everything else. No wonder he looked like he owned the world. If it hadn’t been for my glimpses inside the wounded man, I’d be too in awe to speak to him the way I had.
“Come on.” He rushed out of the cockpit and bounded down the aisle. I unfastened my seatbelt, grabbed my purse, and headed after him.
A warm wind pressed my dress against my body as I ran down the steps.
He turned back and smiled. “Welcome to my island! Let’s get inside in case this turns into a monsoon.”
Maybe he was joking. I ran to keep up with him anyway.
The path through the jungle reached a garden, a spread of well-tended, fenced soil lush with vegetables and flowers. The heady scent of nectar flowers surrounded me. Gabe turned again, my hair blew across my face. His smile died. I yanked my hair back. Natalie. He saw her in me. That’s why he brought me here, not for me. The knowing hit me as hard and true as one of Mom’s slaps. I kept following him. There was nothing else I could do.
He jogged though a courtyard and smells of baking reached me. We rounded a kitchen with huge windows and French doors. I caught a glimpse of several smiling young women in old-fashioned pastel dresses with crinolines baking. Okay. This was strange. We cut through a courtyard with wrought iron furniture and a fountain.
The front of the mansion came into view. White pillars, the whole plantation effect with imposing spires and wrapped porches. It looked like more than one architectural style mated and had a big, unusual baby that turned out attractive yet kind of off at the same time. Somehow the place, despite its cheery kitchen and garden setting, looked ominous. I steeled myself for a Gothic experience. Rebecca remained one of my favorite novels of all time.
Gabe seemed to move even faster, his feet barely meeting the ground as we raced through the last stretch of garden.
Seen head-on, outside of the garden’s shadows, the entrance to his home made me think of stylized images of heaven. Immense white pillars stood for the gates to paradise. My heart lifted. He couldn’t be a bad man.
Gabe threw open the door. I hurried up the steps and hesitated on the threshold. I had a sudden horror that he might pick me up and carry me. I entered on my own. My heart beat fast and it wasn’t only from the jogging. Maybe he was just eager to be home. Not everything had to be sinister. I was behaving so out of character, I spooked myself.
I touched the dress where it hugged my waist just right. The day filled me with wonder. I still could taste hints of vanilla and caramel, feel that delicate custard on my tongue. Yet even good things can be unsettling when it’s a sudden change.
“Oh, it’s wonderful!” I twirled in the entry, taking in the handmade tile floor, white walls, vaulted ceiling, colorful textiles, the warm sense that it was a home, not a mansion in a decorating magazine. The place looked big and elegant, like my host.
A massive staircase caught my attention. Masterfully lit black and white nude photos adorned it. Nothing embarrassing, all of it gorgeous and tasteful. I stood there, awestruck. The place was so light and spacious, far from the gloomy Gothic horror I first imagined. The furniture emanated pure tropical joy with the shapely curved lines of rattan and colorful cushions that mimicked the jungle and its flowers.
“Everything here says welcome to paradise!”
“It is paradise!” Gabe watched me fondle a muscular angel sculpture. Satisfaction lit his face.
Just as he’d enjoyed my response to dessert and my surprise at his jet, he drank up my wonder at his home. I took hold of the banister and put my foot on the bottom step.
I longed to walk up those stairs in a trailing gown with my hair up, to be the glamorous woman who belonged in such a house, who deserved such a house, who loved and was loved in such a house. I’d keep my hair bound. He’d see me, not Natalie, only me.
I turned toward the door to hide my face. I’d never felt so silly in the presence of a man in my life. Not even with my priest, that was dirty, not giddy-silly. I knew the good father would never marry me. I wasn’t completely stupid. Just lonely, just somewhere deep inside, still hopeful of having someone to care for and be cared for by in return. Just that, despite everything. It hurt to feel that, think about that, in the depths of isolation, living a horrible life I couldn’t bring myself to admit to anyone, even people who might have wanted to help. My shame and sense of failure had been complete.
My gaze turned again to the angel. The sculptor had captured male beauty between the earthly and the ethereal. I stared at Gabe.
“You’re Gabriel.”
“Why do beautiful women keep doing that?” he murmured. He scowled and looked away. “Parents. Fanciful, you know. Yes, they named me for the angel.” He stomped away in full Mr. Rochester mode.
It was difficult to take pleasure in being right about his name, I was so distracted that he seemed to have just referred to me as beautiful. I hurried to keep up with him.
My mind still reeled from the flight on his private jet and my dizzying first glimpse of his island, a green gem in the sea. So far, my intuitions about him proved true. He piloted the craft with expert control. Maybe that unusual watch helped with aviation. Or his mastery came from a lifetime with wings.
As I caught up to his long stride, my face burned remembering our conversation. He hadn’t hinted what he wanted from me until he drove us across the Bay Bridge on the way to the air strip. I didn’t know what to make of his vague mentions of a contract, promises of helping me let go of guilt — and his offer to pay me enough for one night’s entertainment to start my life over again. What did he want from me for $10,000? He didn’t say. But he promised I could leave at any time. Despite my misgivings, I allowed myself to be seduced by the mysterious stranger. I let him fly me to his private island.
I shuddered. It brought back an expression of Mom’s, a goose walked over my grave.
The whole experience was so dreamlike, I stamped my foot in one lovely new shoe. I felt and heard the stamping. Gabe turned and grinned. “You aren’t dreaming.”
“I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I’m not sure I can do whatever it is you want me to do.” I stared at my hands, nails clipped short to stay as clean as possible. I couldn’t look at him.
Uncanny man. He seemed to know my thoughts, my feelings. Some part of me wanted to feel that close to someone, but it also meant he’d le
arn all the bad stuff, my worst thoughts and desires. He’d know the way I’d craved my priest, imagined him holding me down and taking my virginity forcefully, making me cry while he filled me and took his pleasure. He’d sense the crazy heat that made me touch myself and shake at the thought of my priest inside me, doing it to me, the act I kept trying not to envision, yet couldn’t help feeling as though he were actually on top of me, finally responding to my desire with his own until he couldn’t hold back and he flooded me, and the fulfillment took me so hard I almost passed out.
Gabe said I’d have to be less good, but could he stand a girl as bad as me? And could I go through with whatever entertainment this sophisticated man priced at 10 grand? The man with this island, this home, wasn’t hiring me to sing at a picnic. I remembered the nudes ascending to the upper stories. What a home! Was its message that the pleasures of the flesh led to heaven? I wasn’t the kind of girl he wanted; I was sure of that. I glanced at paintings we rushed past, expanses of flesh in tones from palest ivory to luminous black with darker breast tips and men’s members rampant. His world overflowed with desirous and sated flesh.
I didn’t want to disappoint Gabe. He’d given me the most wonderful day of my life. It embarrassed me to be swayed so much by worldly things, but I was. He was a beautiful, attentive man who could have everything he wanted. What did he want with me? But as unsettling as it all was, it filled a place in my heart that had longed for a day like this all my life.