Seduce Me

by Georgia Le Carre

  ‘He never loved us,’ she whispers. Her eyes are full of unshed tears. I was about to tell her to sit down while I make the tea when we hear the front door open. Before either of us can move Blake is standing in the kitchen doorway. For a moment they simply stare at each other.

  ‘How did you get here so fast?’ she gasps.

  ‘I was closer than you thought,’ he says simply.

  With a great sob she rushes into his arms. I am invisible to either of them. He holds her in the tight circle of his arms.

  ‘I’m so sorry, my darling. So sorry,’ he whispers into the top of her head. She presses her cheek into his chest and squeezes her eyes shut. Forgotten by both of them I watch them with avid curiosity. So this is what the great man is like when he is with her. Tender. Gentle. As if she is irreplaceably precious. It makes me long for that sort of a love.

  Lana lifts her head slowly and looks up into his face. There is something sad about the way he gazes into her eyes. It is as if it is he who has been wounded and not her. Billie is right, he truly, truly does love her. No yachts, no expensive toys, no helicopters. This was the real thing. They didn’t need anything or anyone else. They were quite simply blissfully happy with each other.

  ‘He came for money,’ she says so softly I almost don’t hear it.

  ‘I know,’ he soothes gently.

  ‘I gave it to him.’

  He raises his hand to her face, and with the back of his hand brushes her cheek. He does not ask how much Lana has given away, but says, ‘You do know, he’ll be back for more.’

  ‘When I was very young he used to carry me on his shoulder. And he would make my mother laugh and laugh and laugh. In the end, does it matter that he didn’t love me? Does that mean I should love him less?’

  ‘Shall I arrange for him to receive an allowance?’

  Lana nods. ‘Yes, let him have his money. Let him be happy. I have you and Sorab. Why should I wish ill on anyone else? My mother forgave him. I didn’t. I let it eat me up all these years. Let him be well.’

  They don’t hear it, but I do. The boy is awake in the other room. He is opening his door and making his way towards the kitchen. I make a small sound in my throat and Lana swivels her head in my direction.

  ‘Oh my God, Julie. I’m sorry. I didn’t invite you here to witness my family drama.’

  But I am no longer looking at her. I am looking at Blake, how his eyes have frozen over as soon as they left Lana and found me in his kitchen. He flips out his phone from his pocket.

  ‘Tom will give you a lift home,’ he says and starts dialing. The speed at which Tom answers is impressive. ‘Tom, can you pick Julie up from the lobby.’

  The child, his face still sleepy, appears in the doorway.

  Again I see a transformation in Blake’s face. All the lines, all burdens in his shoulders leave. ‘Lookie who’s here,’ he says, and, bending at the knee, opens his arms. The boy toddles over to him, little arms outstretched like a miniature Frankenstein. His small arms encircle his father’s neck and his father kisses him and lifts him high into the air making him squeal with delight.

  Lana turns towards me.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll arrange that makeover trip,’ she says. I take my gift from the kitchen counter and we go out towards the front door. I feel strangely reluctant to leave. I want to stay and absorb the deep intimacy and happiness I have witnessed. I don’t want to go back to my shitty home and my non-responsive, miserable family, all trapped in their layers of lard.

  ‘Thank you for my present.’ I smile, clutching the box.

  Lana smiles back. She opens the front door and walks me to the lift. She presses the button to call it and it arrives very quickly. The door swooshes open.

  ‘Call you tomorrow,’ she says again, and the doors close on her.

  Seven

  The next time I see Lana is a week later, on a Thursday. She sends Tom to pick me up to bring me to her apartment. I sit inside the clean, softly scented interior of the Bentley wearing my best jeans, a top patterned with pink daisies teamed with a hot pink jacket and sandals with pink bows.

  ‘I love your top,’ she says as soon as she opens the door.

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply, but I am thrown into confusion. Does that mean she doesn’t like the rest of my outfit? Lana is in a white sheath dress and a pair of deep red wedge shoes. White contrasts beautifully with her hair. She looks cool and understated.

  There is a middle-aged woman in the apartment. Lana introduces her as Gerry, the nanny. She smiles pleasantly, and goes back into Sorab’s room. She is taking the boy out to the park.

  ‘Hello,’ I greet the child.

  He looks at me solemnly. There is a great deal of reserve about this child. He is eerily adult-like. Lana is right, he is exactly like his father. The nanny leaves with the boy and Lana takes me into the kitchen.

  ‘I baked a carrot cake yesterday. Want a piece?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ I say, and climb onto the stool I had used the last time I was here. She already has a teapot ready. She puts a cup and saucer in front of me and pours some tea in. Then she pushes a sugar bowl and a jug of milk towards me.

  ‘I like mine black,’ I say with a smile, and bring the cup to my lip.

  I watch her cut a slice of carrot cake and put it on a plate. It looks moist—crumbs fall onto the china. I look at the walnuts embedded in it and consider telling her that I have a nut allergy, and then I realize I want to try her cake. Perhaps it will be lousy. She comes around the island and places the cake in front of me. I break a tiny bit off and pass it into my mouth. It is freaking delicious. Sweet and oily. The way everything should be. Is there nothing that this woman will not do well?

  ‘Well?’ she asks, popping herself on the stool next to mine, a huge slice of cake on her plate. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Delicious,’ I say, truthfully. She smiles at me warmly and I smile back.

  I break off another small piece.

  ‘You remind me,’ she says, ‘of those French actresses in the black and white movies that my mother used to watch. They used to break off minute pieces from their bread rolls or baguettes or whatever they were eating and slip them daintily into their mouths too.’

  ‘Really? You used to watch black and white movies?’ How boring. I break another piece.

  ‘Sometimes. They were classy.’

  We sit quietly for a minute, both sipping our tea.

  ‘What do you do all day?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, Billie and I were planning to set up a baby clothes business.’

  I nod. Ah, that would explain the colorful drawings I found in Billie’s place.

  ‘But,’ she carries on, ‘I realized that it would be a total waste of my time. The reason people take up jobs that they hate or start a business is to earn money. I have more money than I could possibly spend. I am in the process of starting a children’s charity. I’ll start in Britain but eventually it will be a worldwide organization. I’m calling it CHILD. I have to be careful, though. I don’t want it to be like the other charities where so little actually gets to the intended recipients.’

  She’s right there. I just read that Lady Gaga’s charity took in over two million and paid out one grant for five thousand dollars while hundreds of thousands were squandered on expenses.

  She turns slightly away from me to look at the clock on the wall and I break a large piece of cake off and, with my hand under the counter, squeeze it into a ball in the palm of my left hand.

  ‘Can I use your bathroom?’

  ‘Of course. There is something wrong with the toilet in the cloakroom. Just use the one in my bedroom. Do you still remember where it is or do you need me to show you?’

  ‘No, no, I remember.’

  ‘OK,’ she says, and forks another piece of cake into her mouth.

  I go into her bathroom and flush the cake down the toilet, wash my hands quickly, and go back into her bedroom. Her laptop is open, but the screen has g
one dark. I go to it and tap the mouse pad. The screen opens to an odd sight. It is a website about sex magick and secret cults! What the…? Huh?

  I read the first paragraph of something titled The Emerald Tablets.

  “Far in the past men there were who delved into darkness, and using

  dark magick called up beings from the great deep below us. Forth came

  they into this cycle, formless were they, existing unseen by the children

  of earthmen. Only through blood could they become, only through

  man could they live in the world.”

  Dark magick? Beings from the great deep below us? Formless ones? Blood rituals! What the hell is Lana doing on a crazy site like this? There is a notebook open by the laptop. I recognize Lana’s handwriting. I scan through it.

  The brotherhood of El

  El =Saturn

  The worship of Saturn is the oldest secret religion.

  Their symbol – the one eye

  Why is the one eye symbol on the American dollar bill??

  Symbols are perceived by humans on a subconscious level.

  Is that why modern media and the entertainment industry is filled with one-eye symbols? Are celebrities flashing it without realizing its true meaning and what they are communicating to the public or are they puppets?

  The occult symbols and imagery are everywhere, in movies, television, music and fashion, but human beings are totally blind to them.

  The first and most important tenant of initiation into almost all cult sex magick is the sodomizing of children!!!! Sodomy and pedophilia is the foundation of the whole thing!! Goes back to Nimrod and the Egyptian initiations.

  CANNOT proceed to the next level without this step.

  Blake’s dad!

  Child sacrifice is a worldwide phenomenon. Every culture has at some point in history stooped to it.

  Why?

  Is there a long-term agenda? An unseen hand?

  Who are the children of the shadows? What do they want with us?

  Need more answers. Can’t find! Who to ask?

  I can make no sense of her notes. Why is Lana doing research on sex magick and such dark subjects as child sacrifice? Why is Blake’s dad mentioned in the notes? And the sodomizing of children! Why is she interested in such an unspeakably horrible subject?

  I run to the door and hurry down the corridor. In the kitchen Lana’s slice of cake is almost gone and she is sipping her tea.

  ‘Finish your cake,’ she says. ‘We should be going or we’ll be late for our appointment.’

  I sit down, my mind racing. I eat the rest of the cake without tasting it.

  We have just got into the car when Blake calls. I can tell by the way her voice softens and becomes all giggly. I find it hard to marry up this love-struck girl/woman with the dark research I found on her laptop. If this is a mask she is wearing then it makes me determined to find out what is really going on. When she terminates the call I ask her if there will be paparazzi at the wedding.

  ‘No, Blake has had the area designated as a no fly zone. It is just for close friends and family.’

  ‘How come you’re not having a bridal shower?’

  ‘I guess because I don’t want my friends to shower me with gifts. I already have everything I could possibly want!’

  Wow! How amazing to be able to say that. ‘What about a hen night? Don’t you want one of those?’

  ‘Blake doesn’t want to have a stag night and even though he’s cool with me having a night out with the girls I hate leaving him at night. I see so little of him as it is.’

  ‘Why doesn’t Blake want a stag night?’

  ‘He says stag nights are a form of consolation for men who feel they are sacrificing a cherished state for the sake of love. He knows he is sacrificing nothing.’

  ‘He works really hard, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, very.’

  ‘I thought rich people spent all their time quaffing champagne and caviar and going to the opera.’

  ‘Blake’s father didn’t want his children to be trust fund kids. They were taught that even the greatest empire can be brought to its knees if the king and his favorites are sunk in luxuries and dissolution.’

  Something flashed in Lana’s eyes when she mentioned Blake’s father. What, I do not know…yet.

  Tom drops us outside Selfridges and Lana takes me to a make-up counter where an Asian girl smiles politely at me. Lana introduces us.

  ‘Go on, work your magic,’ Lana says. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’

  First Aisha takes a photograph of me.

  ‘Why are you doing that?’

  ‘Usually women who are used to wearing very heavy make-up feel naked and dissatisfied when they first look in the mirror at what I have done, but they react in a totally different way to a Polaroid of themselves.’

  I sit on a stool and she positions herself in front of me.

  ‘Are you wearing colored contact lenses?’

  I nod.

  ‘Are they for correction purposes or just cosmetic?’

  ‘Cosmetic.’

  ‘Right.’

  Going to a drawer she brings out antiseptic wipes and a contact lenses case and some storing solution. She gives the wipes to me and fills the cases with the solution and passes them to me. I clean my fingers and remove my lenses.

  ‘You have such lovely hazel eyes,’ she says. ‘What a shame to cover them with those lenses.’

  Then she wets a cotton wool pad with make-up remover and starts taking the layers off. Once it is all gone she takes a step back and looks at me carefully. ‘Your eyebrows are so light. Is that the natural color of your hair?’

  ‘Yes.’ I grimace.

  ‘Why do you do that? It’s a beautiful color.’

  She says no more. Just quietly gets to work. Lana comes back just as she is finishing. Her mouth becomes a surprised O and her eyes sparkle with delight.

  ‘Oh, Julie,’ she exclaims. ‘You look stunning.’

  Another photo is taken of me and then the stool is turned around. I look at the mirror.

  And I am not pleased.

  The girl looking back at me is too exposed. Too young. Too uncovered. Aisha brings the two photos and puts them into my hands. The photos tell a different story. One is harsh with black eyebrows, fake blue eyes and thickly painted lips and the other is a dewy and soft eyed. I know which one I prefer. I look in the mirror.

  ‘I guess I am just not used to it,’ I say uncertainly.

  Lana comes close to me. ‘Julie, you look beautiful. I have never seen you look more beautiful.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Look, let’s go do your hair, and then you can decide.’

  Lana pays for my cosmetics and we leave. I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the mirrors and maybe, maybe Lana is right. I do look better. Different anyway.

  Inside the fragrant air-conditioned confines of the hairdresser’s, Bruce Lenhart’s eyebrows fly into his hairline.

  ‘What’s the inspiration for this?’ he asks, running his hands through my hair.

  ‘Morticia Adams,’ I say meekly. I’m not about to tell anybody that Lana is my inspiration.

  He crosses his arms across his chest. ‘Your hair is very dry. Do you straighten it as well?’

  I nod.

  ‘So your hair is curly.’

  ‘Wavy.’

  ‘And you have been coloring your hair for how long?’

  ‘Years.’

  ‘Let’s get to work.’

  As he works he explains that trying to bleach away years of chemicals is very harmful and he won’t be able to strip it back to its natural color. But he will take away as much as he can, throw a medium brown dye on all of it, and add three shades of highlights everywhere, which will turn me into a dark blonde overall.

  Afterwards he cuts a good four inches of damaged hair off. By the time he is finished I am totally confused. I don’t look like myself, but I can see that the creature in the mirror
is attractive. With soft tendrils around her mouth, drawing attention to its glossy color.

  It’s… It’s, well, I guess, it’s quite…sexy. I look sexy. Lana comes up to me, meets my eyes in the mirror. She smiles and nods her head.

  ‘You’ll do,’ she says with great satisfaction, and I know it is the highest compliment I could receive from anyone. Because the truth is I don’t just secretly hate her, I also secretly admire her.

  Eight

  It is the eve of the wedding. Tom comes to pick Billie and me up and drives us to the church for the rehearsal. Made of ancient grey stone it has a quaint feel to it. We are introduced to India Jane, the wedding organizer. She has a posh voice, no-nonsense eyes, and oozes superficial charm from every pore. As soon as everyone arrives she sets about taking us through our paces with impressive efficiency, but I am too excited to pay much attention to any proceedings that do not directly involve me. Tomorrow I will see Jack again! I try to picture that moment and wonder what he will make of my dream dress, and the new me.

  I hardly speak to Lana as Blake never lets her out of his sight. I do, however, meet Blake’s sister. A fully-grown, handsome woman who smiles artlessly, and behaves like a child. In the procession, she walks with a basket of flowers behind the flower girls and baby Sorab, who is carried in by his Nanny. He is given a dummy ring pillow to clutch.

  I also meet all the groomsmen except for the best man who apparently has been through his part separately as he is attending a funeral wake. I wonder what it must be like to attend a funeral one day and a wedding the next.

  At the end of it all, when Billie and I are about to get into the Bentley to be driven to Wardown Towers, where we will spend the night, Lana runs up to us and gives us devastating news.

  I did do some research and discovered that Wardown Towers houses one of the largest and most fabulous art collections in private hands and is considered the grandest estate in Bedfordshire. It even has its own Zoo, but I go to it heavy-hearted and saddened. It is all for nothing.

  Jack is not coming to the wedding.

  The Wedding