About Face

by Adam Gittlin

  She doesn’t contest further. I slip it over her shoulders and take back my drink.

  “Besides, I can’t have you getting sick on me. We have a deal to close.”

  The raspy giggle.

  “So,” I go on, “I guess the family connection explains something else for me.”

  “Which is?”

  “How a woman as beautiful as you ended up in this male-dominated world of commercial real estate.”

  I’m not sure which of us is more surprised this just came out of my mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I continue, “Not sure that presented itself as intended. Was actually kind of a stream-of-consciousness thing, I believe.”

  “You don’t need to apologize.”

  “No?”

  “No. The answer is, I like it.”

  “Real estate?”

  “Being called beautiful.”

  Once back inside I excuse myself to find the bathroom. I have a general idea where a door is that leads to what looked like a study. I find it. I casually take a sip of my drink and look up and down the hallway. Looks clear. I step into the room. When I do it’s like I’ve crossed over into an entirely different apartment. The walls and ceiling are dark, rich wood. The carpeting is equally dark brown if not darker. The walls are lined with full bookshelves. In one of the corners there’s a small table topped by an antique chessboard. In the center of the room is a rustic, teak coffee table, a dark-green velvet couch on each side. In the far corner of the office is a massive oak desk. I walk toward it.

  There’s a small fire glowing in the fireplace. This and the dimly lit ceiling lights provide the only illumination in the space. Everything in the room appears as an outline, but as I get closer to the desk I see stacks of papers, a desktop computer, the backs of standing picture frames—there isn’t what seems to be an open inch on the desk’s surface. Finally my eyes locate a desktop pen set. It has a rectangular sterling silver base with a glass globe the size of a baseball positioned in the center. On each side of the globe is a holder for a pen. To my disappointment, a sterling silver pen is resting in each one.

  “Julia mentioned she saw you head this way,” a voice startles me.

  Brand.

  “Something I can help you with?”

  Shit.

  “I was looking for a bathroom,” I shoot back.

  I start walking toward the fireplace slowly, to make it appear I’m just casually wandering around.

  “The fireplace caught my eye as I walked past. Once I peeked in and saw the chessboard, well—” I go on.

  Brand looks down to his left at the small table with the chessboard on top, as if to make the point it’s all the way back toward the doorway. So why had I crossed the entire room?

  He looks at me again.

  “You a big fan of the game?”

  I’ve never played once.

  “I am.”

  “Me too,” Brand counters. “Perhaps we can square off one day.”

  “Perhaps we can,” I respond.

  “Come on. I’ll help you find a bathroom.”

  I follow Brand out of the study.

  CHAPTER 8

  ST. MAXIME, FRANCE

  2004

  The phone rang. Neo, who had fallen asleep on the lounge chair next to mine, sprang onto all fours like a cartoon character. I pulled my eyes from the gulf waters glimmering with orange light from sunset. I looked at the Audemars—1:38 pm in New York, which meant 7:38 pm on the Côte d’Azur.

  I walked back inside. On the fourth ring, I decided not to pick it up. Hopefully, it was housekeeping telling me because of the “Privacy” sign they hadn’t been able to make up the room. My stomach dropped after ten seconds of silence when it began ringing again. Now it occurred to me—if the hotel personnel knew categorically I was there, my not picking up would be suspicious.

  “Hello?”

  “Good evening, Mr. Gordon. It is Brigette from reception. I had the pleasure of checking you in two nights ago.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “Good evening.”

  “How has your stay been thus far? Are you finding everything that you need?”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  “I just wanted to check with you regarding your credit card,” she continued. “According to you at check-in, American Express said you would receive your replacement card today. Unfortunately, there is no record of any packages arriving for you today.”

  “Oh, you know, you’re right,” I countered, a touch of surprise sprinkled into my voice. “I’ve been so preoccupied, I must have subconsciously blocked out anything whatsoever that has to do with responsibility.”

  I had hoped for a little laugh. Which I didn’t get.

  “I am happy we were able to accommodate you upon arrival,” Brigette went on, “but it is strict hotel policy that we must keep a card on file for all guests. Now I’m—”

  “Brigette—say no more,” I cut her off. “I’ll call American Express right now, and get back to you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gordon. I appreciate your assistance.”

  I hung up. Still staring at the phone, concocting my next credit card story, it rang again.

  “Yes, Brigette?”

  Silence. There was a long pause. Was this it, I thought? Was it already time for my next big play?

  Do I say hello again? Or do I hang up?

  Just as I was about to speak, the first word about to leapfrog the back of my tongue, I heard a voice.

  “Jonah?”

  I sucked in a swallow of air.

  “Perry?” I said, in a near whisper.

  “I’m here,” she went on, her voice stern. “We’re here.”

  Max. Her son.

  She stopped. I heard a sniffle. She continued.

  “We’re in St. Maxime. We just got here. What room are you in?”

  Hearing her voice shocked, awed, relieved, and confused me. I was stuck in no-man’s land. My previous life was freshly behind me. Yet after what happened at the market it already felt a thousand years away.

  “I … I, what—”

  “Don’t even think of cracking on me now, tough guy,” she blasted me.

  She called me out for being at an unusual loss for words. I half smiled. Knowing her strength was intact was comforting. But I hated myself for putting her and her young child in a place where her voice could ever sound this nervous.

  I closed my eyes, collected myself.

  “Cinquante-douze. Five-twelve.”

  Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I opened it. Perry, wearing jeans and a tight-fitting white cotton tank top, stood with her hands on the shoulders of Max who stood in front of her. He too was wearing jeans, and he had on a blue t-shirt with the Superman S. Both were in Nike running sneakers. There was one small, black rolling suitcase standing upright next to them.

  The second our eyes met I wanted to pick her up by her waist and swing her around. For a fleeting moment, all the circumstances surrounding our meeting here, now, were gone. That changed when I looked down, as if Max’s gaze was pulling at mine.

  I squatted down so Max and I were face-to-face. He had just turned eight years old. He had a full head of dirty-blond hair and his cheeks were a bit flushed. He had a peaceful yet dazed look on his round face. The look of a confused boy in new surroundings who just completed a long journey, but did so unquestioningly because of the faith he has in, and love he has for, his mother.

  “How are you, Max?” I asked.

  Sure, I knew Max. But overall my experience with children was minimal, and from an emotional standpoint, it was zilch. I stuck out my hand. I was surprised by how small and soft his palm was against mine when he shook it.

  “I’m okay,” he answered with a shrug.

  “Did you have fun on the airplane?”

  His brown eyes looked tired. He rubbed them.

  “I guess.”

  I stood back up, looked at Perry again. Then I reached out and grabbed their suitcase.
<
br />   “Why don’t you both come inside?”

  Max entered first. Immediately, he perked up upon sight of Neo and dropped to his knees to greet him. Always the friendly one, and never of mind to turn away a belly scratch, Neo flipped onto his back. Perry followed Max in and stopped in front of me. Without a word, her eyes briefly taking in the scabbing scratch from Red, she placed her hand on my cheek. I only wanted to touch her back—feel her smooth skin, run my hand through her flowing brown hair. With our eyes we absorbed each other. As usual, she barely had on any makeup. And, as usual, she looked gorgeous.

  “Mommy, I really need to go to the bathroom,” Max said, his gaze still on Neo. Apparently, he had found a good spot on my little partner. Neo’s left hind leg was twitching out of control as his tail wagged wildly.

  “There are two,” I responded as I closed the door. “There’s one right here and another in the bedroom.”

  Max stood up and started for the one off the living room.

  “Baby, use the one in the bedroom,” Perry said taking her hand from my face. “Mommy needs a minute alone with Jonah.”

  Max listened and headed off. As he did, neither of us said a word. We just stood there, face-to-face, staring into each other’s eyes. After a few seconds we heard Max close the door behind him.

  Perry stepped closer to me. She reached up with both hands and grabbed the sides of my head. Then she pulled me into her and kissed me deeply. I let go of the suitcase and wrapped my arms around her waist. Between her pulling up high and me pulling down low, lifting her into me, our bodies were pressed against each other in a way that I’d previously only imagined. Her stomach was as tight as her grip. Her breasts were firm and her hard nipples sticking into my chest were driving me crazy. I wanted to tear her clothes off. The only thing stronger than my urges was the reality Max would be back any minute.

  Perry pulled her lips from mine. We both froze.

  “I’m so happy you’re a good kisser,” she said. “Talk about potential for the utmost disappointment.”

  We went back at it, our hands now moving over each other wildly. I could feel my testosterone rising at a rate it never had before. Yes, this was a moment with Perry I’d dreamed of, but it was more than that. It had come at the time in my life—the second in my life—I most needed to lose myself.

  I unraveled my tongue from hers, moved my nose into her neck, and took a deep sniff.

  “Ahhh,” I exhaled, “you smell so good. Like, like—”

  We heard Max open the bathroom door in the other room. We jumped apart. Staring at each other still, we straightened our twisted shirts.

  I called Brigette and told her Amex had screwed up. That they had sent my new card to my address back home and promised one to me at the hotel by the next evening. Then, once we had Max and Neo situated on the terrace having some fresh fruit together, Perry and I sat down on the couch.

  “How bad are things at home?”

  “You have no idea. You weren’t kidding when you said people would be looking for you,” she said. “Police, FBI—two mornings ago, after seeing you the night before for the last time, they swarmed the office like yellow jackets.”

  “I was skeptical that you’d actually meet me here,” I changed directions. “I mean—I know we decided we’d do this together, that you wanted it for Max as much if not more than for us. And it’s not like I consciously doubted you. I just—still—”

  “You know I’m a woman of my word, Jonah. And you also know I’d do anything for Max. Anything.”

  I also remembered exactly what she said just a few nights earlier outside Acappella in Tribeca. I had just let my three partners know that the deal presented to us by Andreu Zhamovsky was a sham, simply a ploy to move a large sum of money into the United States. I could still feel her warm breath on my skin as she whispered into my ear.

  “Are you really prepared to let even the dream of us being together die?”

  To which, I replied, no.

  “You’re sure this is best for him?” I asked, immediately sorry I’d let the words slip past my lips.

  What was I thinking? Did I want to scare her? Send her running back to the U.S. before they even settled in?

  “I am. I was sure when I told you the other night. I was kicked in the ass when I received notification from my ex-animal’s attorney that Max should immediately be turned over to his father’s fulltime care as a result of those with whom I’m associated.”

  “Jesus,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  She looked down for a second, then back into my eyes.

  “Who’s the cop they pulled from the river? Why are they looking for you?”

  “It’s not at all what you think. Not even close,” I replied.

  “I know that.” she said reassuringly. “I do. But I need to know what’s going on. Everything. I mean—your father being murdered, Zhamovsky using us to round up these Fabergé eggs, the cop—I need to know what the hell is going on.”

  Over the course of the next couple hours, I took her through every hour, every minute, of the previous three weeks.

  “You still haven’t explained why you’re tied to the cop,” she eventually said.

  I explained to Perry that I accidentally shot him. And that Mattheau, my father’s chauffeur and a man with secrets of his own who viewed me as a second son, clumsily disposed of him. I also told her I was still struggling with the memory of watching his life—dirty bastard or not—drain from his body right before my eyes.

  CHAPTER 9

  ST. MAXIME, FRANCE

  2004

  For almost the next twenty-four hours Neo and I remained in the room. While Perry and Max spent most of that time with us, her not being a fugitive with her image plastered all over the news enabled her to take Max into the pool midday and get a bite at the hotel restaurant. Both activities were more about not letting Max sense anything too peculiar and less about enjoying the Côte d’Azur.

  Around five fifteen p.m., all four of us took a stroll down to the sand as the sun began waving good night by painting the sky with purples and greens. We brought some fresh fruit from the minibar. Max ran down to the surf while Perry—for keeping up the appearance of a true vacationer—spread out on a lounge chair next to me in a purple bikini. After chewing and swallowing a nice chunk of pineapple, Neo jumped down from the lounge chair to my left then up on to Perry’s glistening stomach. She gently began petting his back and rolled her head to the left. My eyes moved from Neo, and Perry’s awesome body, to her eyes. She stared at me, but said nothing.

  “What?” I asked.

  “When do we need to leave?”

  I shrugged.

  “Not exactly sure. Pretty new at all this.”

  “But soon,” she continued.

  I nodded.

  “Real soon.”

  “After all this talking, all this strategizing, is there actually a next move?”

  Fifty-two hours and counting. So much pondering, thinking, questioning, hypothesizing, querying, evaluating, postulating. The incident back at the market had been gnawing at me since it happened. Being scared for Neo and myself was one thing. Perry and Max on top of that was another. At first glance of them walking into the hotel I thought it would only add to the blizzard in my mind. But their appearance had worked in the exact opposite manner. Adding Perry and Max to the mix seemed to be the precise kick in the ass I needed. Having a next move wasn’t an option now. Would never be again. As a broker, I always snapped into my next move. As someone living a one-hundred-mile-per-hour double life the last few weeks, I always snapped into my next move. Now, as a worldwide fugitive on the run with an innocent woman and her child, this had to be the case more than ever.

  Take the facts. Take your gut. Snap into the next move.

  I clenched my teeth. I turned my head and looked out again over the gently rolling water.

  “There is.”

  About quarter to seven we all walked back into the room. Max walked out onto the te
rrace eating a piece of cantaloupe. Neo followed him, hoping for some sharing. Perry headed straight for the bathroom. Just as she closed the door, the phone rang.

  “Shit,” I whispered to myself.

  “Good evening, Brigette,” I began. “I just got off the phone with American Express and it—

  “Bonjour, Mr. Gordon. Good evening. This is Monsieur Acelin Bernot. I’m the manager of La Belle Aurore. I trust you are enjoying your stay?”

  Acelin Bernot definitely had a French accent, but his English was perfect.

  “I am, Monsieur Bernot. Thank you.”

  “Fantastic,” he went on, “we certainly aim to please. Now, I understand there has been an issue with your credit card. Our lovely Brigette has filled me in on the situation and at this point we need to have the issue resolved. According to Brigette it was supposed to be finalized last night.”

  This guy was no-nonsense.

  “I, yes—she—”

  I pulled my mouth away from the phone, covered it, and took a deep breath.

  “That’s correct, sir. My card was lost, and instead of forwarding me a new one here as I had requested American Express sent it to my home in the States.”

  “I understand this, Mr. Gordon. Thank you. I also understand it was supposed to have arrived by this evening, but, unfortunately, it has not yet. Now, I am sorry to bother you—but I would appreciate it if you might join me in the lobby so we can call American Express together. Due to the fact all deliveries have usually been made by this time, it is imperative we take this step if you’d like to continue your stay.”

  “I just got out of the shower,” I countered. “Why don’t I give American Express a call and see exactly what’s happening. If there is in fact a problem with delivery, I could have them call you directly and—”

  “I apologize, Monsieur Gordon,” he cut me off, “but I would prefer you to join me in the lobby.”

  Huh. I could understand his concern, but such urgency? Something didn’t feel right.

  “I understand, sir. Of course. Let me get dressed, and I’ll be right down.”

  The toilet flushed, the faucet ran, then Perry emerged from the bathroom as I was hanging up.