I growled into her mouth as I kissed her, my fingers entering her liquid warmth, “That’s it, no more drama games Pearl—you want this as much as I do.”
I gathered her in my arms, carried her into the bedroom and threw her on the bed. Being a gentleman was not the first thing on my mind in that moment. The scene that ensued was hectic, wild, both of us like savage beasts. We ripped off our respective clothing, both acting like a pair of jungle cats in heat. Pearl spread herself out like a starfish—wanton—on the bed. I lay on top of her, no time to lose. But ever the little actress, she then squeezed her thighs together, trying not to let me enter her, meanwhile kissing me frantically, her slick pool beckoning me to stretch her wide open. She wanted me to ravage her. Play the dominant.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” I said, my hips pumping into her as I fucked her dripping wet clit. “You want me to despoil your tight little pussy?” The crown of my cock was going to detonate any second. I kept the rhythm up, sliding my length up and down her slit, the pressure of her tight, worked-out thighs like vices around my dick, not letting me in. This game was really arousing me—Pearl’s thighs squeezing the sides of my cock as she whimpered and moaned beneath me.
“Oh baby, fucking you is like flying on a cloud straight to Heaven.” I grabbed the mane of her hair as I fucked that nub relentlessly until she couldn’t hold out any longer—she opened her thighs and I slipped right in. Deep. Cramming her full. Oh fuck!
“This wet, hot pussy can’t deny me, baby. Whatever your brain tells it to do, it has a mind of its own.” I slammed into her hard and she cried out. I made little circular movements, my hips grinding round and round as I found her G-spot—her already sensitized clit was swollen like a ripe fruit.
She opened her thighs even further, maneuvering her body and hooking her ankles around my neck, bucking her hips up at me, as she clawed her nails into my ass and started shuddering beneath me. Usually she screamed, but this time she started weeping. “I’m coming, baby,” she whimpered through tears, “I’m coming so hard.”
My button was pressed. My thick cock expanded even more as I felt her pussy contract around me, sucking me in, gobbling me up with its avaricious grasp. I thrust back and forth mercilessly and she started screaming, as I exploded inside her, my scorching seed shooting into her womb. I sucked her neck like a vampire needing blood. I had to have her taste on my tongue; I needed to mark her. As I pumped my orgasm into her, she climaxed again. I accentuated my thrusts with each word. “I. Love. Fucking. You. My cock thinks about you. All. Day. Long. All. Fucking. Day. Long. Your. Wet. Pearlette. Always. Ready to be fucked by my….Big. Hard. Horny. Cock.” More of my cum spurted inside her as I moved my mouth from her neck to her lips and lashed my tongue on hers, sucking, licking, locking together. The rampant carnal fireworks between us were insane.
“Are you cured of your cock phobia?” I asked, knowing the answer as she moaned into my mouth.
“Oh yeah, oh God Alexandre, as long as it’s you. I’m still coming, baby…oh my God!”
There was no way we could stay apart anymore. We were addicted to each other. We had to fuck like this every day. We had to satiate each other’s craving for one another.
For the next twelve hours it was intermittent sparring, followed by make-up sex. Then Pearl would get suspicious again; the cross-questioning Homeland-style would begin once more, with me trying to explain. Then I’d fuck her again, and so on. Was it the drama that turned us on so much? Pearl getting me wild and emotional with her cool games which got me simmering with pent-up irritation and desire? It seemed she loved playing cat and mouse so that I would then ravage her, dominate her; fuck the coolness out of her—make her crumble beneath me. Sexually, she was a natural submissive and this was bringing out my bestial instincts. It worried me and excited me. I didn’t want to fight; I wanted a smooth ride but I asked myself if the kind of ride Pearl desired was more of a roller coaster. Or perhaps she was just testing me to see if I was worthy of her love.
But I couldn’t blame her suspicion about Laura. The question still remained unanswered. How the fuck did Laura know all those intimate things about Pearl? I sure as hell hadn’t let anything slip. Had someone betrayed me?
10
Pearl’s resolve to keep me on my toes continued for the next couple of weeks. The chill of the winter air seemed to match her emotions. She refused to move back in with me. Daisy and Amy took up residence with her in her new apartment, which meant I didn’t have her all to myself. Daisy had split with her husband who had cheated on her—all the more reason why Daisy was acting like a guardian phoenix—always on the lookout, scrutinizing me with quiet reserve to see if I behaved well; if I did right by Pearl. Yes, I was on probation; all female eyes monitoring my every move, even little Amy who was only five years old.
Pearl had been trying to get in touch with Laura. She wanted a direct explanation from her. How, she wanted to know, did she have all that personal information? I sure as hell wanted to know too, and at that point—considering my line of work and now knowing how scheming Laura was—I stupidly hadn’t put two and two together. What a dunce.
As for Pearl, she just didn’t trust me—about Laura, about the history of my father—no she didn’t buy my tale that he’d just ‘disappeared into thin air,’ and would slip it into the conversation every so often. I so wanted to reveal my secret, be honest with her, but it wasn’t my call. I was protecting someone who had sworn me to secrecy.
I wanted to be as close to Pearl as possible but I felt that she was only half mine. We were still having sex, but somehow the situation was very confusing to me. She had discovered a newfound joy: sex without full-on commitment. It was as if she were twenty-two again. All those wasted years in her twenties and thirties after the rape—some of those married years (when she had been emotionally and sexually blocked), were given a new lease on life—her inner 1960’s-sexual-revolution-babe had been unleashed. She’d become like a young Jane Fonda. I could hardly complain, but I was wondering if our marriage would ever go ahead. Pearl had what she wanted: me at her beck and call, ‘servicing’ her, filling her up’ but without binding herself to me. She even had a nickname for me: the Exxon Guy. I laughed at her joke—what else could I do?
Talk about an odd juxtaposition of roles; it was as if she were my age and I was forty. All I could think of was getting rings on our fingers, while she stalled me with excuses. The bottom line was her wavering mistrust.
And just as I thought that there was a beam of light at the end of this tunnel (yes, the word tunnel could sound crass), an earthquake separated us as if we had been standing on the San Andreas fault line itself—Pearl and I seemed doomed. Just when I thought that I, the frog, had a chance of becoming Pearl’s prince by finally getting that magical, proverbial kiss, Laura chucked parts of me into her bubbling cauldron, stirring me in with her poisonous ingredients.
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hellbroth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Shakespeare’s lines—which I’d once learned at school—reverberated in my brain. I was busy shopping at Dean & DeLuca when Laura caught me by surprise. I had been eyeing up delicious Stilton cheeses and Christmas cakes and cookies but now I felt like throwing up.
“Darling,” Laura purred into the line like the Macbeth witch she was, “so glad we’re going to finally get a chance to chat.”
My mouth was a thin hard line, my teeth clenched like clamps. “I have nothing to say to you, Laura, I’m going to hang up.”
She quickly replied, “If you don’t want your mother to be arrested for murder, you’d better hear me out.”
I felt like a cartoon character being steamrolled. I looked d
own at my feet and saw that I was still in one piece but my body was experiencing a strange flattening sensation as if I were actually part of the floor itself.
I did a fake, raucous laugh. “You have a great imagination, Laura.”
“Alex, I’m not in the mood to play your beating around the bush game. I’ve given you so many chances to make amends with me—nothing has worked so now I’m going to have to get tough.”
“I don’t have time for this nonsense, I’m hanging up.” But I didn’t hang up. I couldn’t. I stayed on the line, my brain desperately trying to find a way out. I cast my gaze furtively around the store to see if eyes were on me but people were too busy shopping for holiday treats to notice. I said nothing more, just waited to see what would come next.
She went on, “I mean it. I have evidence. You were a fool to leave hip replacement parts hidden in that bookshelf. You supposed, I’m sure, that nobody would have known what they were. Well I did.”
Jesus! It had simply slipped my mind! “I got those bits of junk from a vide grenier,” I said with a weak chuckle, knowing she wouldn’t buy my lie. As if I would buy hip replacement parts at a yard sale.
“Traceable, Alex, and you know it. Because if the patient has trouble after an operation—years later—the prosthesis needs to be traced to the manufacturer. Same thing with the teeth that I found stuffed inside a chopped out encyclopedia. Dental records, Alex. And just like the hip parts, I’d say those teeth belonged to a man. A man that I would also say, quite definitely, was your own father.”
“You’re insane, Laura,” I croaked out, my mouth dry as desert sand.
“Scotland Yard might not think I’m so insane. We all watch CSI. Things are very state-of-the-art these days with forensics.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I have proof. Has your mobile phone been acting up a little lately?”
Duh. How had I been so dumb? In my line of work, especially! She’d bloody listened in on my calls or seen a text message. I knew that it was possible these days. Without even touching someone’s cell you could eavesdrop on a conversation. Calls, text messages—everything could be monitored by the intruder, even if you weren’t actively talking on the phone. Spyware had become so advanced the cell could act as a recording device—as if the listener were sitting right next to you. I thought of a call I’d made to my mother back in the summer, telling her…what had I told her? I couldn’t even remember but whatever it was, Laura had cottoned on. She’d been eavesdropping on Pearl, too. That’s how Laura knew all those intimate details about her shenanigans with Alessandra. What a dunce I’d been not to preempt that!
“Alex? Are you still there?’
“Yes, I’m still here.” I couldn’t do any more denying. “What do you want, Laura? Money?”
“Don’t be silly! What I want money can’t buy.”
“Most things have a price. What’s your price, Laura?”
“Happiness.”
“You have happiness: a very kind husband, a stunning house, money. Your health is back. What more do you want?”
“Simple. I want you.”
“You know that’s impossible.”
“Your choice. Either your mum ends up rotting in jail or you be nice to me.”
If only Pearl hadn’t done a runner! We’d be married. A wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband. We’d be a team. I stood there in silence in the middle of the store, amidst the beautiful display of gourmet foods. I was speechless. My fist was clenched in a ball while the other hand clawed the receiver of my cell. I had to sort this shit out. Now. I had visions in my head of a bus mowing Laura down, or her choking to death on a fish bone.
I heaved out a long breath and said, “I’ll come and see you in London and we can talk this through.”
“Good boy. I knew you’d see the light. I’ll expect you by latest tomorrow. No stalling, Alex. Can’t wait to see you, darling. Bye, bye.”
I bought an apple juice, glugged it all down in one go and called my mother, letting her know I’d be coming to Paris.
Christmas was around the corner. Pearl and I had ordered a tree and bought hand-made glass decorations to adorn it with. She had even found a special red silk ribbon for Rex. Everything was on the brink of perfection.
Until now.
I stood on the sidewalk and noticed my hand was trembling. I needed to call Pearl. This news would be the nail in the coffin for me. For us.
I was totally fucked. Merdre!
Her cell number was ominously out of order; a voice message saying it was no longer valid. I called her landline in hope.
In dread.
She finally picked up. “Pearl, baby,” I said quietly. I could hear the tremors in my voice. “Your cell isn’t going through.”
“That’s because I changed my phone number. It was hacked. By Laura.”
“I know.”
“What? You knew this? Why the hell didn’t you warn me?”
“Because I’ve just found out myself. I’m sorry, I’ve been a fucking idiot; I can’t believe I didn’t think of that one, especially in my line of business. I’m so sorry, chérie.”
“This is monstrous,” she said, her voice cracking. Little did she know the monster had gotten even more out of control.
I swallowed. The lump in my throat barely giving me airspace. “Baby, I’ve got bad news. I have to go away for a week or so. It’s an emergency; I have to see my mother.”
“Oh my God, she’s not ill, is she?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Are Sophie and Elodie okay?”
“Yes, everyone’s fine. Look, I wouldn’t be going if it weren’t an emergency.”
“What, Alexandre? Why aren’t you saying what the emergency is?”
“When we’re married I’ll tell you.” As I said those words I realized it came out wrong. Like some sort of moral blackmail. Pearl latched onto that immediately, chewed me out, and then added:
“But what about the holidays?”
“I know, I’m as disappointed as you are.”
“Disappointed? That doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel, Alexandre. I’m fucking devastated.” Pearl rarely swore. “It’s our first ever Christmas together.”
“I’m in a real bind, baby. A real mess. I need to see my mom. I don’t want to lie to you, chérie, so please don’t ask me any more questions.”
“You’re going to London, aren’t you?” Her voice was an ice pick.
“I have no choice.”
“We always have a choice, Alexandre. Only abused children or animals, or women who are locked up in a basement somewhere, with their passports taken away from them working as slave prostitutes for their sick pimps, or starving people in Africa—they don’t have choices, but us? You and I do have choices because we’re the lucky ones who live in wealthy western civilizations. We do have choices, so don’t lay that shit on me.”
I listened to Pearl’s rant. A knot tightened in my throat. A choice with a price to pay so high, I’d never forgive myself. My mind flitted to Pearl being gang raped at college. She didn’t have a choice then, although I knew that she was still blaming herself. Those fuckers would get their comeuppance—one of them I’d already tracked down. I thought of Laura again. How she was fucking up everyone’s lives. I said in a low voice, “External forces are trying to pull us apart.”
“Laura, you mean,” Pearl said flatly. Just hearing that woman’s name made the apple juice I’d drunk rise in my throat.
“Yes,” I admitted, shame caught in my vocal chords.
It was all my fault. That bloody evidence had been sitting happily in a drawer at my mother’s in Paris. I brought it to my house in Provence to make sure my stepfather would never find it. To protect my mother. To make her safe. What a fucking joke!
“Laura,” Pearl repeated. “You’re going to see Laura?”
My internal voice pattered on in my head: I should have chucked the teeth and hip part
s in a river but my mother wanted to keep them as a souvenir to remind her that he was dead. Really dead. My instinct begged me to destroy everything. And I didn’t fucking listen.
“Laura,” she said again, annunciating the L.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Pearl hung up.
11
If you asked me to describe Christmas with my mother, or my trip to London to see Laura, or anything about that dark period, I couldn’t. It was a gauzy haze of nothingness, like white noise on an old TV screen. I do remember my mantra, What’s yours will come back to you, and I said this to myself over and over, truly believing it. If Pearl and I were meant to be together, then all this Laura business would somehow sort itself out.
But all that happened was that things got worse.
Laura had stashed the evidence in a safety deposit box at an undisclosed bank. Or so she told me. With a letter saying that if some strange accident befell her, that it would be murder. Names cited. Namely me. She didn’t admit to this in so many words, but that was the gist of it. Meanwhile she wanted us to get married.
Or else.
I didn’t tell Sophie any of this, and my mother was so distraught that she lay in bed reading romance novels, eating pretzels and drinking white wine, pretending she had the flu, begging me every day by telephone to find a solution.
I called Pearl but of course she never picked up. It seemed she now went about without a cellphone—normal, why would she want Laura tracing her calls? Or me, knowing her every movement? So every now and then, I had a chat on her landline with Daisy or Anthony, who had come to visit her for Christmas. She was fine, they told me, but had no interest of having anything to do with me as long as Laura was in the picture.
I didn’t pursue Pearl. How could I until I had a plan up my sleeve? I watched her from afar, though, as she stalked Rex when he went for his walks to Central Park with his ‘nanny’ Sally. I was stalking her and she was stalking Rex. Ironic. That was what gave me hope. Pearl, Rex and I were a little family unit. We belonged together. I knew that we had a chance when I observed her excitement every time she saw him. I followed her like some sort of detective in a hard-boiled Raymond Chandler novel—keeping my distance, ducking into alleys, lurking behind corners and trees. All I needed was a Fedora hat to complete the look. I had taken to wearing a long, dark, wool, military coat. I wondered what war hero had played his part in it. Did he die on the battlefield or come home triumphant?
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