Pleasure Seekers

by Rochelle Alers

  Clamping her jaw tight, she closed her eyes. “I hated everything about him—his sweaty palms, his smell, the way he jumped on and off me like an animal in heat. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, a man thirty-five years my senior saved me from Sydney and myself.”

  “What happened next?” Faye asked quietly after an uncomfortable silence. “How did this man save you?”

  Ilene opened her eyes and took a deep breath. “I didn’t know who he was at first, but I’d noticed that he kept turning up at parties and restaurants I’d been invited to. We were formally introduced at a dinner party held at a French diplomat’s Paris pied-à-terre. Rene Carpentier was fifty-two, a self-made millionaire and married father of four who was rumored to have a fondness for black women. He admitted that he’d taken a liking to me and was willing to give me anything I wanted if I’d become his mistress.”

  Alana sat up straighter. “What did you tell him?”

  Ilene smiled. “I told him I wanted my freedom. I wanted him to get rid of Sydney Chandler, whom I’d suspected was stealing from me. I later discovered he was taking thirty-five percent of my earnings instead of an agent’s usual fifteen or twenty. Rene had one of his representatives make Sydney a deal he couldn’t refuse. He signed me over to Rene, and I never heard from him again.

  “Rene moved me into a restored château outside Brussels with a full staff to see to all my needs. I was tutored in French, taught table decorum, forms of address for government officials and he taught me how to use my body to bring him and myself maximum pleasure. He never took any of the money I earned from modeling, so I sent it to my mother with instructions that she buy herself a nice house.

  “Rene was a very strange man. He claimed he enjoyed making love to me but preferred watching me with other women,” Ilene continued, ignoring the soft gasps coming from Faye and Alana. “And I have to confess that I enjoyed being with them, too. They were gentle, affectionate and it was never a contest as to who would come out the winner. And, more importantly, there was never a question of getting pregnant whenever I slept with a woman.”

  “Do you still sleep with women?” Alana asked.

  “I slept with one several weeks back. She was the first one in more than five years.” Ilene paused. “I was with Rene for eleven years when he died from a blood clot in his lung. He was sixty-three. His family’s executor came to the château and told me that I had to leave because Madame Carpentier was going to use it as her summer residence. I found myself homeless and nearly penniless. I’d sent all my earnings back to the States to my family, so all I was left with was a small fortune in jewelry Rene had given me.

  “My modeling assignments had dwindled, and when I saw the new crop of models on the runways, all blond teenagers from Russia or the Eastern European countries, I knew my days were numbered. I sold my jewelry in Paris, paid for a ticket to come back home on one of the last flights on the Concorde and hooked up with a woman in the East Village I’d met in Europe.

  “I went to Mississippi to see my mother, and instead of living in a house I found her in a women’s shelter. She’d gotten hooked on crack and resorted to selling her body for her habit. When I saw her I didn’t recognize her. She had full-blown AIDS and died two months after my return. I buried her, came back to New York, signed up to get my GED and spent every cent I had buying a co-op in Chelsea.

  “I found a new agent who got me gigs in music videos, which led to the hookup with P.S., Inc. Believe me, working as a social companion is a lot easier than modeling, and the pay isn’t too shabby, either.”

  “It’s real good,” Alana admitted, smiling, “but I don’t know how much longer I’m going to work.”

  “Why, Lana?”

  “I found out this morning that I’m pregnant.”

  “Pregnant? Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “I’m a week late, and I’m never late. I also took a home pregnancy test and it came out positive. I have an appointment with my gynecologist on Monday.”

  Ilene sat up and placed a hand on Alana’s ankle. “Are you going to keep it? If not then I’ll take it.”

  Alana stared at Ilene as if she’d taken leave of her senses. “I have no intention of carrying a baby to term then give it up for adoption.”

  Faye hadn’t realized how fast her heart was beating when she leaned over and hugged her best friend. “What are you going to do?”

  CHAPTER 74

  Alana returned Faye’s hug. Earlier that morning she’d asked herself the same question: What was she going to do? Could she do this? Did she want to end up like her mother, depressed, plagued with episodic breaks in reality, wishing and praying for what’d been and will never be?

  “I’m going to do exactly what I told you I’d do the day I got tested. I’m going to become a single mother.”

  Faye pulled back. “What about Calvin?”

  Ilene scooted closer. “Who is Calvin?”

  Settling back to her pillows, Alana stared at Faye, then Ilene. “He was my live-in boyfriend.”

  “Was?” Ilene questioned.

  “He’s in Europe touring with a band.”

  “How long has he been gone?”

  “Two months.”

  Ilene’s mouth formed a perfect O. “Am I to assume that you’re not pregnant with your boyfriend’s baby?”

  “Your assumption is correct.”

  “Oh, shit,” Ilene whispered.

  “The fact is, I don’t know whose baby it is.” Alana was forthcoming when she related the events that led to her being date-raped. “The only thing that bothers me about having this baby is what will I tell my son or daughter when they ask about their father?”

  Faye saw the pain in her friend’s eyes. “Just tell your son or daughter the truth, Lana. There’s no doubt they’ll love you even more when you explain that even though they weren’t conceived in love, you still wanted them.”

  “Hey, that’s beautiful,” Ilene crooned. “You sound like you really have your shit together, Faye.”

  Faye snorted delicately. “I’m glad you think so. I have a brother in jail on a bogus rape-and-assault conviction, my boss’s ho is trying to take my job and I’m practically living with a man whom I find myself liking a little too much to be a client.”

  Alana gave Faye a sidelong glance. “You slept with him, didn’t you? Yeah, you did. Didn’t I tell you that you were going to become lovers?”

  “Just don’t let Enid know, because she’ll sanction you like she did me,” Ilene warned.

  Alana shifted her attention from Faye to Ilene. “Why did she sanction you?”

  “I slept with the daughter of the man who owns a private island in the Caribbean.”

  Alana frowned. “Was the man your client?”

  “No. But Enid told me that the island is her client. And please don’t ask me to explain that bullshit.”

  “I doubt if Enid would sanction me,” Faye said in a quiet tone. “Bart Houghton paid a cool million to P.S., Inc. for my services for the summer.”

  Ilene flipped a fat plait over her shoulder. “Dam-n-n-n, Faye! Did he pay the million before or after you gave him some?”

  A flash of humor crossed Faye’s face. “Before.”

  “The man’s got jungle fever,” Alana crooned in a singsong.

  “Jungle fever or not, it was the easiest half mil I’ll ever make in my life.”

  Alana sobered. “Was he good, girlfriend? Did you make his eyes roll back in his head?”

  “Did you have him speaking in tongues?” Ilene whispered like a coconspirator.

  Faye laughed until tears rolled down her face. Reaching for a tissue from a box on the nightstand, she dabbed her eyes. “I thought he was good because it’d been so long since I’d had sex. But I knew better the second time. I have to confess that he turned me out.”

  “No-o-o!” Ilene and Alana chorused. Faye nodded, laughing at their shocked expressions.

  Alana ran her fingers through her hair. “How does his lov
emaking compare to Norman’s?”

  “He’s more uninhibited.”

  “Oh, so there’s a little freak in the white man,” Alana teased.

  “A lot of freak,” Faye confirmed.

  “Good for you,” Ilene complimented. “There’s nothing worse than a lover who doesn’t know what to do, and you end up having to tell him everything you like.”

  “I like everything but the back-door action,” Alana volunteered.

  “I’m with you, Lana. That’s where I draw the line.”

  “No comment,” Ilene said smugly.

  “No-o-o!” Faye and Alana said in unison.

  The three women laughed, holding their sides, as tears rolled down their faces. They’d become teenagers once again, giggling at any and everything.

  “I’m thinking of leaving P.S., Inc.,” Ilene said once she’d recovered from her laughing fit. The other two sobered quickly.

  Faye blew her nose in a tissue. “Why?”

  Ilene recounted what Amelia Wells had offered her. As promised, Amelia had the agreement delivered and Ilene had taken it to a lawyer who lived in her building. Amelia had offered to deposit ten million dollars in a bank in her name with an irrevocable clause that stipulated all Ilene had to do was spend three years with Amelia and the money was hers free and clear. She’d also indicated that Ilene would be free to sleep with a man if she wanted a child or elect to be artificially inseminated.

  Faye hadn’t realized she’d bitten down on her lower lip until she tasted blood. “Damn! What happens if you don’t make the three-year goal?”

  “I get a million for each year. If I don’t complete the third year, then the million will be prorated.”

  “Do you like her, Ilene?” Faye asked.

  “Yes.” Her smile told them everything.

  “So, are you going to accept her offer?”

  Ilene’s expression stilled and grew serious. “Yes.”

  “Is it about the money?” Alana questioned.

  “No. My relationships with men have always been filled with bullshit and disappointment. I’ve been used, abused, cheated and I’d take my own life rather than die in poverty.”

  Faye and Alana shared a knowing look. Ilene had become the darling of the fashion world at fifteen when she should’ve been hanging out with her friends at the mall. She’d lost her virginity to a man who had been nothing more than a pimp when he’d used her body and stolen her money. At seventeen she’d become a mistress to a man old enough to be her father, a man who’d introduced her to passion, bisexuality and, in the end, hadn’t provided for her future.

  Moving down to the foot of the bed, Faye held her arms out to Ilene. “Good luck.”

  Ilene hugged her back. “Thank you.”

  Alana repeated the gesture, also wishing her love and happiness.

  The fragile bond that had begun hours before tightened until Enid’s exotic jewels became girlfriends in every sense of the word.

  CHAPTER 75

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Alana, but there’s a Mr. Warren in the reception area who would like a few moments of your time. If you’re busy I can tell him to make an appointment.”

  Alana, swiveling in her chair, turned to see a summer intern poking her head through the slight opening in the door to her office. She appreciated the interruption because she’d proofread the same article three times in the past hour.

  “No,” she said much too quickly. “Give me five minutes, and then show him in.”

  The door closed behind the college student, and Alana stood up, came around her desk and made her way into a restroom across the hall. Why, she wondered, had Derrick come to her office? Had he uncovered why she had turned down his request to see him again? Did he know who’d raped her?

  She washed her hands before splashing cold water on her face and patting it dry. Her gynecologist had confirmed her pregnancy, and ruling out any unforeseen complications, she hoped to deliver a healthy son or daughter the following spring.

  Alana returned to her office to wait for Derrick. She stood near the door, watching his approach. A smile softened her mouth. He appeared every inch the successful businessman in a lightweight summer suit in an attractive taupe, stark white custom-made shirt and a silk tie in contrasting colors of ecru and chocolate.

  She extended her hands. “To what do I owe this most pleasant surprise?”

  Derrick grasped her fingers, squeezing them gently. “I’m sorry to come unannounced, but I did want to surprise you. However, this won’t take long.”

  “Come in, Derrick.” Alana waited for him to enter her office, then closed the door. She gestured to a small table with two pull-up chairs in a corner. “Please, sit down.”

  Derrick pulled out a chair, waited for Alana to sit before he sat down opposite her. She looked different—younger, innocent. Her curly hair was held off her forehead with a black band, her scrubbed face shimmering with a glow that seemed to come from within. Her business attire was a pair of navy blue slacks and a classic white cotton blouse.

  “Would you like coffee or tea, Derrick?”

  He blinked as if coming out of a trance. He’d forgotten the sound of her beautifully modulated voice. Her voice was only one of many things that had drawn him to Alana Gardner.

  “No, thank you. As I said before, I’m not going to take up too much of your time.”

  Alana clasped her hands in a prayerful gesture. “How can I help you?”

  Leaning forward, Derrick met her questioning gaze. “Why have you turned down my requests to see you? Did something happen on the Fourth?”

  “Which question do you want me to answer first?”

  A muscle twitched noticeably in his clenched jaw. “Start with the one about the Fourth.”

  “Why do you think something happened?” she asked, answering his question with one of her own.

  He lowered his gaze. “Please answer my question, Alana.”

  She leaned forward. “Nothing happened, Derrick. I didn’t feel too well when I got off the boat, so I went upstairs to lie down.”

  Derrick’s head came up. “You don’t remember Kris taking you upstairs?”

  There was a pulse beat of silence. “No.”

  Her answer appeared to satisfy Derrick as he exhaled a breath. “Why won’t you see me?”

  “I’m pregnant, Derrick.”

  “You’re married?”

  “No.”

  “You’re engaged?”

  She nodded. “Yes.” She hadn’t lied because Calvin had promised to marry her.

  The folds around Derrick’s eyes seemed to shift like slow-moving lava when he wrinkled his nose. “He’s a lucky man.”

  A sad smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I’d like to say that I’m a lucky woman.”

  “But you’re not,” Derrick said perceptively. “Lucky, that is.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Reaching across the table, he placed his hand over her clenched fists. “You can’t or you don’t want to?”

  “Both.”

  Derrick tightened his grip over her knuckles. “Look, Alana, I don’t want to get into your business, but if ever you need anything, and I do mean anything, then I want you to call me.” He released her hands, reached into his jacket’s breast pocket and placed a business card on the table.

  Alana picked up the card. It was blank except for two handwritten telephone numbers. “Thank you.”

  “You’re not going to call me.”

  “Is that a question or a statement, Derrick?”

  “Both,” he said.

  Knowing that the life growing inside her was totally dependent on her for viability gave Alana a sense of strength and comfort she’d never felt at any other time in her life.

  “I might need your assistance.”

  Derrick, with wide eyes, sat up straighter. “Talk to me.”

  “I want to sell my apartment.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Midnineties and Cent
ral Park West.”

  Derrick whistled. “You’re talking about prime real estate.”

  “I have a neighbor who wants it, but I’m reluctant to sell to him.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s offering less than what I actually paid for it.”

  “What are the specs and how much do you want?”

  “I live in a doormanned building with a private health spa and large indoor pool. My apartment has one bedroom, one and a half baths, eat-in kitchen, sunken living room with views of the park, elevated dining area and spacious entryway. There are also plenty of closets.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for one point two million, but that’s negotiable.”

  Derrick didn’t react to her selling price. He didn’t need another property. He’d purchased the house overlooking the Hudson River and owned one-third of the Tribeca loft with his cousins.

  “Let me talk to my accountant then I’ll let you know,” he said, unwilling to commit until he conferred with Marcus Hampton. “Once you unload your apartment where are you moving?”

  “I’m going back to New Paltz to live with my mother. She’s not well, and hasn’t been well for some time.”

  “What about your fiancé?”

  “What about him, Derrick?”

  “Is he going to live in New Paltz with you?”

  Alana stared at her hands, the fringe of her lashes casting shadows on her high cheekbones. “No, he isn’t.”

  “It’s not his baby.”

  Her gaze came up to rest on Derrick’s questioning eyes. “No.”

  The seconds ticked off as Alana and Derrick sat in silence. The record producer was no longer her client; however, he had ties to P.S., Inc., which meant whatever they discussed would never become fodder for the public or the media.

  “Do you want a father for your child?” Derrick asked after a pregnant pause.

  “The question should be do I need a father for my baby. The answer is no. Would I like a father for my baby, then the answer would be yes.”

  Derrick stared at the incredibly beautiful woman whose inner strength had overpowered the glimpses of vulnerability he’d seen during their previous encounters. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but then that would make him weak, vulnerable and put him at risk. He and his cousins were viewed as mavericks in the music industry, challenging the status quo and taking risks others thought were impossible, and all with incredible success. He’d made so much money the first year that he hadn’t had time to count it. Once Marcus straightened out their tax problems and monitored their revenues and expenses, the Warrens still were unable to fathom that individually they were multimillionaires, and collectively their net worth approached billionaire status.