A Japanese gong sounded, followed by Asian music, and a small group of people streamed in, all young and beautiful. “Ah, here they come,” Alessandro said.
He wasn’t the only one who noticed; it seems that most of the other guests had been waiting for their entrance.
There was a lot of laughing and joking around and from a distance Gregor saw a few of the most well-known models as well as one or two of the younger fashion designers. Then, in a black latex suit with extremely high heels and long blown-out hair, there was Zara. She had large, heavy diamonds in her ears and looked like an expensive prostitute. Gregor noticed that the other girls had a similar appearance, so that was no doubt the current look in these circles.
She looked incredibly beautiful, radiant, with her long hair swirling around her as she said hello to all kinds of people.
Well, she certainly wasn’t pregnant, Gregor thought. One would be able to tell with an outfit like that -- tight, like a second skin. He didn’t notice that he had spoken his thoughts aloud, but Alessandro said suddenly. “Zara can’t get pregnant, not any more . . .” Gregor looked at Alessandro, astonished. “Excuse me?” “You were thinking out loud, apparently. Did she pretend that she was pregnant?” Alessandro laughed cynically. Gregor felt acutely embarrassed. Here was someone who could see through him probably because he had experienced the same things himself.
“I thought so because she vomited often; also a good ploy.” “Very good; she had an abortion at fourteen, something went wrong, and since then nothing more could be done. And believe me, she would have become pregnant by someone by now,” Alessandro explained dryly. Gregor thought about Zara’s artful lovemaking and it was now clear why she was so experienced, and not in the least bit reticent to have sex in the most impossible places. He had always wondered that she was so expert – obviously she had slept with a great many men . . .
“I believe she throws up a lot because she takes too many drugs and stimulants.” Alessandro waved to a young woman who threw him a kiss and looked at Gregor with a wide-eyed stare. She seemed to recognize him and bent over to Zara, who was joking with Celine and a tall, slender man.
Zara saw Gregor with Alessandro and had to laugh! What a couple, she thought. She smiled at Alessandro and came over to the two men, at first paying no attention to Gregor. She breathed a kiss on Alessandro’s cheek and whispered to him, “We’re having a party later at Diane’s – come with us!” She stroked his hair lasciviously, and Alessandro embraced her briefly. “I will; that’s why I’m here.” Zara knew that Alessandro loved these parties. He had become a good friend who wouldn’t miss any of the parties whenever he was in Paris.
In her latex outfit, Zara reminded Gregor of a comic-book figure, a kind of Superwoman. The suit disguised absolutely nothing, and he assumed that she had nothing on under it.
Then Zara said to Gregor, “Doctor Levy, in Paris once again?” Her eyes sparkled. It was as if she had never lived with him, as if she knew him only from afar. “Don’t you have anything else to say?” Gregor asked – and there was that rage again, that incredible anger, that even displaced his pain.
Zara laughed aloud. “No, not that I know of . . .” She couldn’t leave it at that, however, and leaned over to him so that she was very close, and asked softly, “Did it hurt?” Gregor couldn’t believe what he had just heard.
He saw her big eyes and the full mouth that smiled at him; she was mocking him. “Are you mentally ill?” he asked. What prompted this woman to do what she did on purpose, to intentionally hurt him? Zara straightened up and raised her chin high; she looked very arrogant. Alessandro had turned to another woman and was chatting with her. “I’m good; you’re no match for me, Doctor Levy.” Zara said and savored the moment. She had heard how he had suffered, and apparently it wasn’t yet over for him.
“It would be best if you forgot everything and tried to find a proper Jewish girl that would give you many children,” she said and was about to turn around. Gregor reached for her hand and held it tight. “Not so fast, we’re far from finished.” Zara tore herself loose and stepped toward the dance floor. “No, Doctor Levy, we are finished; accept that; it’s over.” Before he could say anything, she had returned to her friends.
That was good. During the preceding months she had thought about him now and then, and she had to admit that she had missed him sometimes. But this conversation helped; love was something only for weak people, something for idiots, like her mother. She turned around and embraced her next victim, Andrea, handsome, young, rich, from a good Monegasque family, long dark hair, blue eyes . . .
Was it really over? Gregor asked himself, when he saw Zara with this young man who was perhaps a year or two older than she.
Then his friend arrived, an old acquaintance from his time in investment banking , who distracted him with a discussion about business – and that was good, since Gregor’s wounds were ripped open again, if they had ever actually healed.
Zara had spent the last months creating a new life for herself. She had sold the old, grand apartment and rented one in the Marais section of Paris. She had enrolled at Insead; danced at the clubs in the evenings; and after many years, felt free again. She neither missed her career as a lawyer nor New York, or the many charity events which her mother had taken over since her own move to New York.
She had found her old rhythm – and it included hours in a café near her apartment that she visited daily in Paris after she returned in her Mini-Cooper from Fontainebleau. Surrounded by books and her Notebook, she prepared her papers and worked on her assignments.
On this day as usual, she sat in her favorite café at the largest table and typed her material into her Notebook. She had tucked her legs under her and was sitting on her heels. On the table in front of her was some mineral water and a pot of coffee.
Gregor didn’t call it a coincidence; it was fate that he was searching for a café after a meeting with business partners so that he could have a cup of coffee in peace and read the papers. He had barely sat down when he saw Zara – the girl over there at the table with the long curly hair, the dark blue jeans and the heavy pink turtleneck sweater, without a stitch of make-up. If he didn’t know better, he would have judged her to be in her early twenties. That was the girl that he loved and probably would always love. But, he couldn’t let her know that; otherwise, he would be at her mercy again.
She yawned a few times, which didn’t surprise him. The night had most likely been very short. She rubbed her eyes often and stretched. It seemed to him as if she would fall asleep on top of her books at any moment.
He couldn’t do anything but stand up and walk over to the table. Then something occurred to him and he picked up a plate with a chocolate croissant at the counter and took it with him. She didn’t notice him right away; either she was completely absorbed by the column of figures in front of her or simply tired.
He looked over her shoulder and saw immediately that she was creating some kind of complicated assessment models, but his experience told him that the numbers were not correct.
Zara leaned back and looked up, directly into Gregor’s blue eyes and quailed. She was completely taken aback.
“Do you always sneak up on somebody like that?” she asked. Gregor smiled and pulled one of her curls. “Sometimes, above all if I don’t know if the person is ready to hit me!” Zara made a face and said, “Very funny, but if I hit anyone, it’s because the person deserves it.”
Gregor placed the plate in front of her. “No, don’t say that I’m too thin,” Zara groaned, but actually a little touched. Gregor sat down in the corner, turned the Notebook around, and typed the correct numbers into her column.
Zara looked at him, dumbfounded. “What are you doing?” she asked, startled. Gregor turned the Notebook back toward her. “I made a correction; it was wrong.”
“You’re not here to write my seminar paper, are you?” she asked, and looked at the column of figures, which now looked a lot better. “A ‘thank yo
u’ would also be nice.” he said curtly.
The waiter had noticed that his guest had changed tables and brought Gregor’s espresso to Zara’s table. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“Complete coincidence.” answered Gregor. “Many coincidences in the last few days,” Zara commented softly, and she sounded a little annoyed. She reached into her purse and brought out a little box of pills, opened it and dropped two into her hand. She swallowed them and washed them down with some mineral water.
Gregor took the packet from her and saw that they were stimulants. He knew the name. When he began working as an investment banker, some of his then-colleagues swallowed these as if they were Gummi-bears.
“This is pretty shitty!” Sara looked at him. “It’s none of your business!” She drank a little coffee. Her stomach hurt; maybe she should eat the croissant after all. She bit a piece off. “You’re ruining your stomach with those.” “You’re not my father – and if you were, it would still be none of your business, get it?” she hissed at him. “And you’re behaving like an ill-mannered little kid.”
She felt as if she were going to vomit, and jumped up to run to the toilet – just what she needed.
Gregor sighed. So that’s what it was when he thought she was pregnant. It was only too many tablets, too much coffee, too little to eat . . . how stupid could he be.
When she returned her face was white as a sheet. She drank a little water. “So, are you pregnant again?!” Gregor said sarcastically. Zara raised her chin high. “Ha, I thought that today you were going to give it a rest.” Gregor shook his head. “You’re crazy.” Zara smiled. “I’ve never claimed the contrary.” That’s very true, he admitted to himself.
“You were completely taken in by my number about the pregnancy,” she suddenly laughed aloud. Gregor pressed his lips together. He didn’t want to be reminded of that. He leaned forward and said quietly, “Do you really find that amusing? How was I supposed to know that you can’t have children, after your abortion at age fourteen?” Zara grinned. “Oh, my ex told you that? The old gossip!” Alessandro was going to hear from her!
“Isn’t it true?” He leaned back. Zara turned off the Notebook. These probing questions – she felt very insecure in his presence. What business of his is it – he should live his own life and leave her in peace.
“Yes, it’s true, but it’s absolutely not any of your business.” She looked at him. Her heart beat fitfully; that must be the stimulants. She took his hand, turned it over to see the time on his wrist-watch. “Appointments?” he asked sharply. “That too is no longer any of your business.” She tossed her books into the computer bag and tucked the Notebook in. As if he knew what she was going to do . . . and his good mood was finally gone.
“You are mistaken, you signed a contract.” he said calmly. Zara had gotten up and laughed aloud. “The contract is not legal because it’s not ethical. You know that very well. One can’t buy someone -- and one doesn’t have to be a lawyer in order to know that,” she rebuked him. “That may be correct, but you signed it nonetheless.” She interrupted him. “My God, Gregor, find a woman who loves you, who will give you children – all this bourgeois crap that you stand for, move on . . .” She shook her head and then said slowly, “Oh, something else – if I had actually been pregnant, I would never have left you.”
Gregor looked into her eyes. She really meant it sincerely. Was he supposed to create a miracle? “I’m not Moses who parted the sea, even if I am a Jew.” She put on her heavy down jacket and her gloves, put her bag over her shoulder and wanted to go. Gregor held her by the arm. His fingers sank into the fabric. “I didn’t want you because I wanted children; that was never the reason. Why did you do it? Not because of the money?” He hadn’t understood anything to this point.
Zara tore herself loose from his grasp. “Because of my mother and because it’s fun to torture men.” That’s what he wanted to hear, right?
She tried to turn to leave. “Because of your mother? What the devil does your mother have to do with us?” He didn’t understand, he grasped her arm again. She looked at him, enraged. “Let me go immediately!” The waiter looked at Zara – should he help her?
Gregor saw hate in her eyes, but also fear. “Don’t pretend that you know nothing; but it’s resolved now. I had my revenge and you should forget everything.” she said louder, as she intended. Why was he playing the innocent one? He should know exactly what he had done to her mother.
“No, nothing is resolved.” Here was this rage again. “You will marry me, you will honor the contract – and believe me, you can’t fight me on this and win.” What is this crazy blueblood imagining? What am I supposed to do penance for?
His voice was so cutting that cold shivers ran down Zara’s spine, although she was wearing the heavy down jacket and gloves. “What do you want to do, kidnap me?” He had finally loosened his grip and she hurried to the door.
She couldn’t get his words out of her mind and she had to admit that she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she would have liked to have been – even if it wasn’t love that she felt for him. But what was love, actually? She didn’t know exactly, either. Did she ever love Alessandro?
Gregor, on the other hand, wanted to teach her a lesson – and he made a few phone calls. It wasn’t possible to get through to the little arrogant aristocrat in a nice manner, so she should experience the opposite. Yes, he loved her, but no one was going to play games with him!
His first act was arranging for a search of a club where Zara and her friends were celebrating one evening – and of course, something was found – no one had expected a raid; the next day Zara was driving to Insead and ran into a police trap, where her driver’s license was taken away because she was speeding and had taken stimulants. A number of these significant coincidences piled on within the course of a single week. But Zara didn’t make the connection to Gregor so quickly -- how could she?
But when she didn’t receive a single job offer, despite her excellent qualifications, from any of the investment banks where she applied, doubts began to trouble her.
She considered the rejections in despair – not a single interview! How could that be? She wanted to know. It was already after Easter and she picked up the telephone receiver and called one of the best known investment banks where she knew someone in the Personnel Department, a fellow student from Harvard.
After a few attempts, she reached Andrew, the former student-colleague, on the phone. They spoke briefly about Harvard and then Zara asked directly whether he was aware of her application. Andrew was silent, briefly. Zara said, “Andrew, are you there?” becoming a little insecure. “Yes, and to be honest, you should perhaps return to being a lawyer.” Zara didn’t quite understand. “Why, I don’t understand exactly . . .” Her heart beat faster. “You have an enemy – and he has very, very good contacts; your application was immediately rejected.” “You can’t be serious, I’ll sue the guy, who is it?” “Zara, please, I can’t say anything; I’m happy working here.” But she knew who was behind all this; only Gregor had these good contacts.
Zara hadn’t been so angry in a very long time. She slammed the receiver onto the cradle, threw a book at the bare, white wall of her living room and screamed loudly, “Just you wait!” Tears of rage welled up in her eyes. She slipped into her light coat and took a taxi to the LHM Headquarters . Her driver’s license wouldn’t be activated again until August. “Watch out; if Gregor is there, he’ll experience something that he never has; how did he dare to interfere with my life!”
She rushed through the revolving door toward the two receptionists who recognized her immediately. “Oh, Madame Valois, how can we help you?” Zara was hardly aware of the two women. “I have to see Doctor Levy, is he here?” That she had had something going with Gregor had also been common knowledge in Paris and the redhead smiled. “I’m sorry, Madame, Doctor Levy left LHM a month ago.” Zara stared at her. “What!” Did she miss something? Had she not read a news report? Shit!<
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Gregor had turned his back on the fashion business once again – after two successful years as the head of the concern he had simply had enough, and if he was honest with himself, Zara was also at fault. Everyone seemed to have known, but no one said anything. He had always been happy as an investment banker; he had earned an extremely good salary and was very successful. When a friend in Paris made him an offer in January to come back – and at the executive level – he did not hesitate for very long in taking his leave as CEO.
Zara had simply not read any papers and the people with whom she spent her leisure time did not read the Wall Street Journal -- which is why she preferred going out with models and artists rather than lawyers and managers.
She found the announcements regarding his departure on the Internet and she had an “Aha” moment as she read that he had once again become an investment banker. That explained certain things.
After a few phone calls and a night without sleep, she knew that Gregor was in London for some business meetings.
Gregor was at dinner with some important business partners and billionaire clients, in the trendy restaurant of the Claridge Hotel. It must have already been 11:00 p.m. as he, deep in conversation with Sir Anthony Lodon, was nudged in the side by his colleague in the seat next to him. “Say, Levy, don’t you know that young woman?” Gregor looked up and saw Zara at the entrance of the restaurant talking with the waiter.
He sensed trouble, since he knew full well how he had disrupted her life in the last few weeks. “Yes, I know her,” he said. She would know how to behave in public, he hoped.
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