Scorpio Series Boxed Set

by Monique Domovitch

  New York was alien, though. Everywhere she looked she was surrounded by ugly gray buildings on city blocks the size of soccer fields. The streets were filthy. People looked angry, harassed, scared. They scowled at each other as they walked by. On the way from the airport, the cab stopped at a red light and a big black man with crazed eyes walked over to the car and stared openly at the occupants inside.

  “Don’t worry sweetheart, he’s just another beggar.” Alexander rolled down the window and tossed a few coins to the man. A second later he had already moved on to the car behind. As Brigitte looked around at the unfamiliar city, she wondered if she could ever feel at home again.

  Three weeks later, with Brigitte eager to move out of the rooming house where they had found temporary lodging, Alex reluctantly signed a lease on an enormous loft in Greenwich Village. The building, an old warehouse, had been empty for over a year and the owner was desperately trying to rent it.

  “It isn’t a residential building. I can’t imagine how you can expect to live there,” the agent had said when Brigitte expressed her interest in moving in. No matter what he said, he could not dissuade her. She loved the high ceilings, the large skylights, and the distinctly artistic community of the area, while the low rent agreed to Alexander’s sense of economy.

  “How are we going to turn this into a home?” Alex asked skepticaly as he walked around the vast expanse of dusty space.

  “Leave that up to me, mon chéri,” replied his new bride.

  With her boundless energy and artist’s flair, Brigitte soon transformed it into a comfortable and functional home. The old hardwood floors were sanded and varnished. The brick walls were painted a flat white and the ceiling starkly contrasted in black. Stand-alone walls were built to provide privacy for the two bedrooms and the bathroom. The remaining space was left open, and once the industrial-size windows and the skylights were cleaned until they gleamed, the place was unrecognizable.

  “Et maintenant, all we need is some color,” declared Brigitte.

  “It looks great already,” agreed Alex sounding more excited than he actually looked.

  Brigitte was not finished. Over the next few weeks she found a variety of old, but solid second-hand furniture to give the apartment some character.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Alex, sounding close to the end of his confidence in the project. “I agreed to a loft because I know you need space and natural light for your studio. But I’ll be damned if I agree to live like a pauper. This furniture is garbage. It’s probably full of fleas.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There is nothing wrong with this furniture. All it needs is new upholstery. You must trust me,” Brigitte insisted.

  For days, samples of fabrics in dozens of colors hung from every available surface until Brigitte made the final selection. One morning, a truck pulled up and all the old furnishings were carted away. Two weeks later they were brought back, looking like new.

  The dusty old loft was unrecognizable. Huge screens in bright turquoise, sunny yellow, electric blue, and bold pink separated the living and the dining room from the kitchen. One space was left totally bare except for the professionally sized easel standing directly before the window. That was to be Brigitte’s studio.

  From the ceiling hung long rows of black funnel-shaped light fixtures. Newly covered in shiny white vinyl, the furniture looked like it had come straight from a high-end retailer. Tropical plants filled every corner, and Brigitte’s oils livened every spare inch of wall space. The effect was electrifyingly modern.

  Brigitte was triumphant. “Voilà,” she said jubilantly one evening. “Now what do you say?” she asked her husband.

  “I say, you are a witch. A beautiful, talented, sexy witch.” He took her in his arms.

  From across the room, Réjeanne signaled to David and led him away. “Let’s go for a walk,” she whispered to him. “I think your Maman and Alex want to be alone right now.”

  Brigitte was consumed with passion for her husband. He was her friend, her lover, and her savior. Sometimes she wondered what might have happened if she had not phoned Alex and prevented him from flying away that day. She shuddered at the thought.

  For weeks in Paris, she had avoided Alex’s attentions. Then came the day she learned he was flying back to New York. If she hadn’t picked up the phone and called him, God only knew what might have happened. One thing was sure. She would not be in New York any more than she would be his wife. Lucien would have done as he pleased, and David might have been torn from her forever.

  For the first time in a long time, she felt loved. Abandoning her career to follow Alex had been a small price to pay for what she enjoyed now: a loving marriage and the reassuring knowledge that Lucien was out of her life forever. Since the wedding a few weeks ago, nightmares no longer plagued her.

  Alex carried Brigitte to their room and threw her on the bed. “Alex, what are you doing?”

  He unbuttoned her blouse and buried his face between her breasts. Brigitte laughed throatily. At the beginning, she had been terrified of sex. Slowly, gently, and ever so patiently, Alex had helped her overcome her fears. Not only had he not seemed to mind Brigitte’s inexperience, but it appeared to excite him. Now, he found one of her nipples and sucked greedily. She moaned. “Oh, God, Alex. I want you so much.”

  “I’ve created a monster,” he said, chuckling. He pulled up her skirt and slipped his hand inside her panties. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

  Brigitte’s knees went weak as a surge of desire filled her. She felt so much love she thought her heart might burst. “And you’ll never love anybody else?”

  “And I’ll never love anybody else,” he repeated dutifully as he climbed on top of her. A moment later he was inside her, moving at a deliciously slow pace until Brigitte could no longer tell where her body ended and his began.

  * * *

  By day, while Brigitte struggled to adapt to life in New York, Alex fought his own battles. Since his carefree days in Paris had come to an end, reality had set in full force.

  In Paris, falling in love with Brigitte and their quick decision to marry, had seemed like the best thing that had ever happened to him. Now, back in New York, it often felt more like insanity.

  I’m only twenty-five years old. What am I doing with a wife and a son? he asked himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his wife. He was completely captivated by her. Although he couldn’t think of a single woman he would rather make love to, he missed the feeling of being free. Occasionally, he remembered the vows he had spoken on their wedding day, ‘…forsaking all others,’ and he felt trapped.

  Also weighing heavily on Alex’s mind were his new financial responsibilities. It had been months since his last pay check, and he now had an extended family to support. Although Brigitte had insisted on helping financially, he was equally adamant about being the sole provider.

  “Don’t you understand?” he argued with her. “I don’t want your money. I am your husband. What kind of a husband would I be if I allowed my wife to pay the bills?”

  “But Alex, I really don’t mind. We’re married now. The least I can do is help until you find a job.”

  “Absolutely not. I won’t have it.”

  Brigitte had grudgingly conceded. Over the next few months, Alex watched helplessly as his bank account, which he had so painstakingly grown to a sizable sum, dwindled steadily. His sense of urgency rose.

  Every day, rain or shine, while Brigitte busied herself with their new home, Alex continued his search for work. He studied the classifieds daily, applied with every employment agency and mailed countless resumes. He even swallowed his pride and went back to see William Brandon, his old boss.

  To his immense relief, he did not run into Anne Turner. At her desk was an efficient looking middle-aged secretary, who gazed at him with professional disinterest and ordered him to sit and wait.

  “Mr. Brandon is busy. I’ll see if he has a minute for you,” she told him and left him st
ewing in the reception area while she hurried down the hall to Brandon’s office. The sounds of her heels muffled in the deep carpeting. Alex glanced around.

  Nothing in the reception area had changed. The same expensive paintings hung on the walls and the same classical music played softly from the hi-fi. It was almost as though he had never left.

  A voice suddenly broke through his thoughts. “Alex, what the hell are you doing here, you old son of a gun?” It was Ben, one of the guys from the bull pen they had nicknamed, ‘purgatory.’ “I thought you had decided to stay in Europe indefinitely.”

  Alex chuckled. “Naw, life was too hard there. Who can take all that fine wine and French food? Give me a good old hamburger anytime. Is Andrew around?”

  “Didn’t you hear? Andrew left months ago.”

  Before Ben could say anymore, the secretary reappeared. “Mr. Brandon will see you now.” Alex hurried down the hall to the executive office.

  William Brandon sat back in his chair, puffing away at his eternal cigar. He looked at Alex with distaste. “Well, if it isn’t the wonder boy. You didn’t do too well in Paris, did you? What makes you think you can just waltz back into your old job, now?”

  Alex struggled with his ego for a few seconds. He needed this job. Then he saw the amusement in Brandon’s eyes. The fucking bastard was enjoying his discomfort.

  Without a single word, he turned and walked out.

  Chapter 2

  In the end, it was Brigitte who came up with the idea.

  “Did you know that this building is for sale?” she asked over dinner one night.

  They were alone in the dining area. Réjeanne had pleaded fatigue, put David to bed, and retired. Now, Alex stared glumly at the boeuf bourgignon growing cold on his plate.

  “Is it?” asked Alex with disinterest. He picked up his fork and speared at his food. “What good does that do me? I don’t have a job. And according to my last interview, I’m overqualified. It seems nobody will pay me the kind of salary a person of my experience should get.”

  Brigitte ignored his comment and said, “How much would this apartment normally be worth?”

  He put down his fork and looked at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”

  She gestured to the room around them, and said, “Suppose we rented a place like this, one where we hadn’t done all the renovations ourselves. How much could we expect to pay?”

  “A hell of a lot more than we’re paying now, that’s for sure.”

  “How much more?”

  He groaned with impatience. “How would I know? Double. Maybe triple. Why?”

  “And how much did the renovations cost?”

  “Very little, actually,” he answered. “I got all of the materials wholesale and I did most of the work myself.”

  Brigitte smiled victoriously. “I have an idea,” she said and launched into her proposal.

  Long into the night, Alex stayed up, going over the figures. He couldn’t quite admit that Brigitte’s idea was brilliant, but it made good sense. He just might be able to pull it off, but the down payment would take up nearly all of his savings. Every last dime that remained would go toward the renovations. Which would leave him with a very real problem. He would be left with no income and no savings. Without a job, how the hell would he get a bank to grant him a mortgage? By the time he climbed into bed, exhausted, the sun was already rising.

  Brigitte stirred and opened one eye. “So, do you think we can do it?” she asked sleepily.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it some more,” he answered. He gave her a quick kiss, rolled over, and fell asleep.

  The next day he got on the telephone. After half a dozen calls, he finally located his old friend, Andrew McGregor.

  “Why the hell didn’t you call me sooner?” asked Andrew. “How long have you been back in town?”

  “Not long, and I’ve been pretty busy. I have a wife and a son,” he told him. “And now I’m looking for work.” Alex could imagine his friend’s freckled face grinning happily.

  “What! You have a wife? Well, for Chrissake! When am I going to meet the lady?” Then everything else seemed to sink in. “Wait a minute. How could you have a son? Last time I saw you was only about six or seven months ago.”

  “He’s from a previous marriage,” Alex lied. “Why don’t you come over for dinner Friday night? I’d like you to meet Brigitte. I know you’ll love her.”

  The following Friday, Andrew arrived punctually at seven with a bottle of Dom Perignon.

  “This certainly deserves a celebration,” said Andrew as he passed the bottle of wine to Alex.

  He kissed Brigitte on the cheek and gave David a playful slap on the back. “I never saw anyone with hair redder than mine.” He turned back to Alex. “I must admit that the color looks better on your wife than on me.” He leaned forward, whispering, “She’s gorgeous. No wonder you kept her all to yourself.”

  They sat and enjoyed a dinner of coq au vin—Réjeanne’s specialty. They popped open the bottle of champagne, and during the meal, Alex brought Andrew up to date with his situation.

  “You should have called me as soon as you came back,” said Andrew, shaking his head. “You don’t have to look any further. I have a job for you. You can start tomorrow, if you like.”

  “What do you mean?” Alex didn’t dare to hope.

  “You can come and work for me. When I left Brandon and Company, I started my own business.” At the baffled look on Alex’s face, Andrew explained. “My father agreed to back me financially.” He chuckled. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not rolling in dough. The old man lent me the absolute minimum I needed to buy a tiny parcel of land at the outskirts of the city. That’s where I plan to build a small residential project. And you, my friend, are exactly the person I need. Keep in mind I can’t afford to pay much, but if you want it, the job is yours.”

  * * *

  A few days later, it was official. With the confirmation of employment in his pocket, Alex put in an offer to purchase the building.

  Brigitte was putting the final touches to a new painting when Alex burst in. He ran to her, picked her up in his arms, and twirled her around the room, almost knocking down her easel in the process. “Alex, pour l’amour de Dieu, put me down. What is going on?”

  He pulled away from her. “You are looking at your new landlord,” he said, beaming.

  “Wh-what? Why didn’t you tell me? When did this happen?”

  “I signed the papers this morning. I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Well you did. You certainly did,” said Brigitte. She beamed at him, and he pulled her close for a passionate kiss.

  * * *

  Alex settled back into working his twelve hour days with enthusiasm. This was the lifestyle he knew best and enjoyed most. He rose early every morning and worked all day by Andrew’s side, drawing plans for inexpensive, well-constructed houses. This was a far cry from his old dream of developing luxury buildings, but at least he was earning a living, and the job gave him some measure of financial safety.

  Evening arrived and he came home to a quick dinner, and then spent hours renovating his building. Brigitte was amazing. She always helped, which eased his load. During the day she ran his errands and ordered the long lists of building materials needed for the renovations. She supervised the electricians and plumbers. To his surprise, she quickly learned the difference between good and shoddy work. Often, she surprised him and the workers who he saw when he came home by pulling on overalls and joining them in plastering and sanding. Because of her art, she seemed to enjoy painting along with her husband. Even with their combined efforts, it often seemed the renovations would never end. Most nights, they crawled into bed so exhausted they had no energy left for talking, let alone lovemaking.

  “Why don’t we take the weekend off?” asked Brigitte one morning over breakfast. “We could relax for a change; maybe go out to dinner and a movie.”

  Alex was gulping down his coffee
in his usual rush. “Sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could, but I just don’t have the time. I have some plans to finish for Andrew, and there’s still so much work to do on the downstairs apartment.”

  Brigitte hesitated. “Alex, I hardly see you anymore. I miss you. David misses you. Couldn’t you find some time, maybe just one evening a week, for us?”

  Alex looked up at her, scowling. “Really Brigitte, don’t you think you’re exaggerating? I come home every single night. When I’m not home, I’m working. I have to finish that apartment and rent it fast. Do you think I’m made of money or something? I can’t afford to keep paying the mortgage on this building without getting rent from at least one apartment soon. I would like your support instead of this constant nagging.”

  After a quick kiss, Alex left for work.

  * * *

  Brigitte swallowed her disappointment and saw Alex off with her usual warm kiss. After Alex left, Brigitte sat and thought for a long time. Whatever she had expected of married life, this was not it. Sometimes she almost regretted having shared her idea of buying this building. She knew that Alex was serious about creating a successful career for himself, and she appreciated his efforts, but she missed the quiet times they used to spend together, talking and cuddling. I hardly see my husband anymore.

  During those first months in the unfamiliar city, David became Brigitte’s only solace. I don’t know what I would do without him. Every morning, after Alex left for work, Brigitte prepared breakfast for her son and played with him until it was time to leave for school, and then they would walk together the few blocks to Saint Martin’s Academy, where David was registered for first grade. Luckily, David had adapted to his new country more easily than his mother. From the first day, Brigitte had employed a tutor to help him with his English and within a short time, he was fluent.