Scorpio Series Boxed Set

by Monique Domovitch

  One week after construction on the pool was completed, Alex hired a swimming instructor and called David to the library. “Here’s the schedule,” he said as he handed him a typewritten sheet. “From now on, you’ll be taking lessons every day after class. We’ll have you ready for the Olympics before you know it.”

  David waited until Alex left. “Mom,” he said as soon as he was alone with her. “I don’t want to take swimming lessons. I’d rather use that time for painting. There’s this new technique I’m practicing…”

  “I understand sweetheart, but you know Alex. When he sets his mind to something, nothing can change it. Why don’t you just give it a try for a little while? Don’t worry; you’ll still have plenty of time for painting.”

  Alex had other plans for what remained of David’s free time. Over dinner a few nights later, Alex made his announcement. “Son,” he said as he pushed away his untouched plate. “I’ve been thinking about what you should do with your summer vacations this year. I’ve decided you’ll be spending them with me.”

  David looked stunned. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  Alex wiped his mouth on the lace linen napkin and explained. “I think it’s high time you started doing something constructive with your life. From now on, you’re going to learn about the business world. I am officially hiring you as my junior assistant at Power Properties. Can you think of a better learning experience than that?”

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Anne Turner sat before her husband’s lawyer in shock.

  The lawyer, a wrinkled old man with a hair piece, said, “From what I can see, your husband spent every last penny he had. At the rate he was spending, another few months and he would have been bankrupt. As horrible as this may sounds, one could say he was lucky he died when he did.”

  “This—this can’t be,” she exclaimed, horrified. “What did he do with all his money? He had millions.”

  The old lawyer hesitated. “My dear lady,” he said gently to the stricken widow. “Your husband loved you very much, and he demonstrated his love very generously over the years.” He shook his full head of fake hair sadly and continued. “Unfortunately, Harry never took my advice. I don’t know how many times I told him to be more careful with his spending. But Harry never wanted you to know that his fortune was dwindling.”

  For an instant, Anne thought of the vast amounts of money Harry had spent on her over the years—all those exotic trips, the numerous pieces of expensive jewelry, and the endless shopping sprees at the designer salons. Why didn’t I get him to buy real estate? she asked herself bitterly. At least that would be worth some money now.

  After the meeting, Anne Turner jumped into her Porsche Carrera and drove back home with the engine roaring and tires screeching. Inside, the house was dark and quiet. Anne ran from room to room, flipping on light switches and turning on the radios and the TV. In the living room, she stopped before the picture of her deceased husband.

  Suddenly, she started trembling. First her hands quivered, then the shaking spread to her knees, to her legs, until it had taken over her entire body. Eighteen years, she had spent with him. Eighteen long, fucking years, waiting for the bastard to die. And now this!

  “Why the hell did you fall behind in your life-insurance payments?” she screamed, her voice echoing through the empty rooms. “You told me you were rich! If I had known this, I would never have married you.”

  She turned away abruptly and ran to the bedroom. She fell to her knees in front of her open closet and began pulling out shoes and boots, throwing them angrily across the room. There it is! She picked up the shoebox and carried it back to the living room.

  One by one, she removed them. There were hundreds of them, articles and pictures of Alexander Ivanov, his wife Brigitte, and the boy David. Anne stared at the boy for a long time. Then she began to scream. “He’s not even your flesh and blood, you damn bastard. You should have married me!” She grew silent again as her mind tried to comprehend what had happened.

  The front door opened and closed, but Anne did not hear it. She picked up the issue of Fortune magazine with Alex on the cover. “I hate you!” she screamed. She tore the magazine into shreds. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she kept screaming as she ripped through the stack of articles and papers, scattering them across the room.

  A shadow fell on her and she turned around, her makeup streaked from the angry tears.

  “Mom! Are you all right?”

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded hoarsely. “You’re supposed to be at college.”

  “I just heard about Harry. Why didn’t you call me? I should have been here, with you.”

  Anne turned away and looked at the remains of her collection.

  “What are those?” asked the boy.

  Anne Turner looked at her son, her eyes full of venom. “Do you recognize him?” she asked.

  “Yes, sure. Who wouldn’t?” he answered, puzzled.

  “He’s your father.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “You heard me. He’s your father. And he is stealing your birthright away from you.”

  For a long time that night, Richard thought about the story his mother had told him. If what she said was true, he was the illegitimate, but flesh and blood son of one of the richest men in America. Wow! he thought. There’s got to be some way I can get my hands on some of that dough.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  Although it had been founded on real estate, Power Properties had diversified and expanded all over the United States until it owned two casinos, a chain of luxury hotels, a variety of co-op and condominium projects, and of course, the jewel of the Power Properties collection, the Power Properties Tower.

  In his boardroom, Alex exclaimed, “The Royal Victoria is a floating palace. It’s the largest ship in the Cameron fleet. Lucky for us, Bernie Cameron is having a few problems lately.” He laughed. “Let’s just say that the old fox was outfoxed,” he said, referring to the man’s sharp young wife who had filed for divorce and sued for half of Bernie Cameron’s fortune.

  David looked across the table to Gerald, Andrew, and Natalia. Nobody said a word.

  “So what do you think, David?” asked Alex.

  David nodded. “Sounds good.” Some people’s misfortune… he thought morosely. It had been six years since Alex had made his announcement over dinner—six long years, since David had grudgingly joined Power Properties and ended all hopes of ever becoming a serious artist. It was true, as Alex continuously reminded him, that he would most probably have made very little money as an artist.

  Instead, he had a private office at Power Properties and an impressive gold plate on the door that said, David E. Dartois, Vice-President. In reality he was no more than a glamorized gofer. He followed Alex around from meeting to meeting, listened to endless discussions and multimillion dollar negotiations, and in return for his occasional opinion, which was never adopted, he took home a six figure salary. It was impressive for a twenty-three year old. He would still have preferred being a struggling artist.

  Alex kept talking. “So Bernie’s got a bit of a cash flow problem right now. It’s an incredible opportunity for Power Properties. So here’s the deal,” he said and pulled out a thick folder from his alligator briefcase. “The Royal Victoria is conservatively valued at six-hundred-million dollars and Bernie had to mortgage two-hundred-million of it to try and save his fleet. He hasn’t made a payment in seven months, and they are sweating bullets over at the bank. I spoke to the bank president and they have already begun the foreclosure procedures, and,” he added after a dramatic pause, “they are willing to sell to us for the balance of the mortgage.”

  Gerald Masson raised his eyebrows. “You mean the whole deal will cost us only two-hundred-mill?”

  “Right!”

  Andrew let out a long low whistle. “I can’t see how we can possibly turn it down. The only problem is that we’re not very liquid at the moment. Just how
do you propose to make the payments?”

  “The bank is willing to give us six months before the first payment. That gives us plenty of time to get the advertising department to do their stuff. I want the Royal Victoria to be known as the world’s most luxurious floating casino.”

  Natalia’s heavily made-up eyes nearly popped out of her head. “You’re transforming the Royal Victoria into a casino?”

  Alex’s chest puffed out proudly. “You bet. Can you think of any way to make the Royal Victoria more profitable than that?”

  “My God, it’s almost sacrilegious,” said Natalia. “But I have to admit, it’s brilliant. We’ll be in international waters, so we don’t have to worry about gambling licenses.”

  Andrew nodded. “Getting regulated won’t be nearly as complicated as it was for Atlantic City.”

  “Do I assume everyone’s in favor?” asked Alex, his eyes going over the group.

  “In favor,” said Andrew.

  “In favor,” said David and Gerald simultaneously.

  “I better get to the advertising department and start working on this,” said Natalia as she heaved herself out of her chair. “Alex, I’ve got to hand it to you, you’re brilliant. I’ll try and get you a few ideas by tomorrow afternoon.”

  The meeting came to a close and the rest of the group rose from the table.

  Just as David was leaving the room, Alex called out to him. “Oh David, I have another meeting I have to go to. Can you tell your mother I’ll be home late?”

  “Sure, Alex,” answered David, his face carefully blank. For years, there had been an endless series of late night ‘meetings.’ “I’ll tell her.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, the long black limousine wove its way through the traffic. In the back, Alex was pouring two glasses of champagne. He handed one to the pretty blonde in the tight red jumpsuit.

  “To you,” he said. “And the best blowjob I ever got in my entire life.” He lifted his glass and drank.

  “To more good times,” said the girl, and she took a sip. She put down her glass on the mahogany sideboard and smiled seductively. “So when will I see you next?” she asked in her best temptress voice.

  Alex could almost read her mind. Let’s see now, one dinner, then two rolls in the hay. Next, she’ll be expecting me to divorce my wife and marry her. He looked at the girl again. She was tall and curved in all the right places, and she was a great lay. But baby, there are a million other girls out there, just like you. “I have a surprise for you,” he said.

  The girl squealed and her face broke into a delirious smile. “Ohhh, Alex! I love surprises.”

  He pulled a small box from his pocket and dropped it into her greedy hands. She opened the box and gasped. Inside, was a fine gold chain with a pendant in the shape of pursed lips. “Oh Alex, you shouldn’t have,” she said again.

  “It’s an original by Fred. Here, let me help you put it on.” He closed the clasp in the back of her neck and turned her around to face him. “They’re not half as beautiful as your lips, but then Fred never did get the pleasure of meeting you, did he?”

  She giggled. “My lips can also do things these can’t.”

  Alex gave her a bored little smile and waited impatiently for the driver to pull up in front of the girl’s apartment building. “Listen baby, I’m going on a business trip, so you won’t be hearing from me for awhile.”

  “Will you call me when you come back?” she asked, her eyes full of hope.

  He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. “Just as soon as I can.” He watched as she climbed out of the car and ran across the street to her building.

  She fell for the ‘Fred original’ bit, Alex thought and chuckled. In reality, there were dozens of girls all over New York, all wearing identical pieces. All members of the Alexander Ivanov blowjob club, thought Alex with amusement.

  A few years ago, Alex had seen the original piece in the window of Fred’s and it had caught his fancy. On impulse, he had walked in and bought it with the intention of giving it to his girl of the moment. Why spend that kind of money on someone I will only see two or three times? he had asked himself later.

  Instead, he found a corner jeweler and convinced him to make a dozen copies of the piece. Since then, it had become a tradition for Alex. Whenever it was time to dump a girl, she got a pair of gold lips as a parting present. I guess I’ll have to run up another dozen copies soon, he thought.

  The blonde turned and waved, then walked into her building. Alex tapped on the window and the glass partition slid silently down. “Where to, Mr. A?” asked the driver, his face a mask if impassivity.

  “Home, Ray. It’s been a long day.”

  * * *

  From her bedroom, Brigitte heard the loud crash across the hall, and she instinctively knew. “Réjeanne! Viens vite!” she yelled as she ran. “Hurry!”

  At the door of David’s room, she stopped and listened for a moment. There was nothing but silence. “David!” she called and knocked.

  “What is it?” asked Réjeanne breathlessly as she came running up the stairs.

  “I just heard a crash. I think…” She turned the handle and opened the door. Inside, David thrashed about on the floor. Vomit ran from his mouth and he made gurgling, choking sounds. “Quick,” ordered Brigitte. “Help me turn him on his side.”

  She and Réjeanne pushed and pulled David’s convulsing body until he lay on his side. Brigitte put her ear to his mouth and listened. “He’s breathing clearly. I don’t think he inhaled any vomit. Get me my kit.”

  Réjeanne ran out. A moment later she was back with a small leather bag. Brigitte grabbed it and pulled out the syringe. “Go get the car,” she ordered. Réjeanne ran out again. With an experienced motion, Brigitte pulled up her son’s sleeve and plunged the needle into his arm. A few minutes later, the seizures stopped. David’s body relaxed, he opened his eyes and looked around, disoriented.

  Brigitte was frantic. “Honey, we have to get you to the clinic.” He looked at his mother blankly.

  Réjeanne reappeared. “The car’s ready,” she said breathlessly.

  “Okay, he’s stopped. Is anyone around?”

  “No. Jeremy was in the kitchen. I sent him to his room. I told him you wanted some privacy tonight.”

  “Okay, let’s go.” The two women pulled David to his feet and with their arms under his shoulders, managed to half-carry, half-drag him all the way down the stairs, through the foyer, and outside to the car.

  A moment later, Réjeanne watched as Brigitte’s Mercedes pulled out with a squeal of tires. I don’t care how often I’ve seen him this way, it still kills me every time, she thought to herself. The old woman turned to go back into the house when Alex’s limousine drove up.

  “Réjeanne, what are you doing out here at this time of night?” Alex asked as he stepped out.

  “Brigitte and David just left to go to dinner and I ran out to give Brigitte her bag. She had forgotten it on the credenza.”

  Alex grimaced. “They just left?” He looked at his watch. “For Chrissake, it’s nearly midnight. Why would they want to go out at a time like this?”

  * * *

  The Bateman clinic was privately owned and operated. For years, David had been under the discreet care of Dr. Silver, a kindly old man with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair. He stepped out of David’s room and joined Brigitte in the waiting area down the hall.

  As soon as she saw him, Brigitte hurried over. “How is he?” she asked nervously.

  “He’s still post-ictal, so we’ve got him on IV. Good thing you gave him that shot of Valium. This attack was a bad one. He could have gone into another seizure immediately.”

  “Oh, my God! Isn’t that terribly dangerous?”

  Dr. Silver hesitated for a moment. “It can be. So far we’ve been able to keep David’s condition under very tight control, but I think we’ll have to readjust his dosage again. I’m going to keep him for observation overnight. I’m sure b
y morning he’ll be as good as new.”

  The relief was indescribable. Brigitte stammered, “T-thank you,” and hurried to David’s room. He was sleeping peacefully. She walked over and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  It was four o’clock when Brigitte finally got home. She tiptoed into the dark bedroom and slid carefully between the satin sheets. She stopped and listened. Alex’s breathing was soft and regular. Thank goodness I didn’t wake him, she thought, with relief.

  “Where the hell have you been all night?” asked Alex suddenly in the dark.

  Brigitte’s heart nearly stopped. “Out,” she answered angrily.

  There was a moment’s hesitation before her husband continued. “Is that all the explanation you’re going to give me?”

  “That’s right. That’s the same explanation you give me all the time.” She could feel his anger, but for once it didn’t matter. “Oh, and by the way,” she continued. “David will probably be late for work tomorrow.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Let’s just say, he’s spending the night out.”

  To her surprise, she heard Alex chuckle. “That’s a relief,” he said. “I was beginning to worry about that boy. He’s nearly twenty-five and he still doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

  The next morning, as soon as Alex had left for the office, Brigitte drove over to the clinic. She found David sitting up in bed and flirting with one of the nurses.

  Brigitte laughed. “I guess I don’t have to ask how you are,” she said from the doorway.