Three and a Half Weeks

by Lulu Astor

  He quickly scans the room, ensuring that everything is in place. What the hell was she doing here? Did Carrie, his new housekeeper, actually let her in without checking with him first? He tended to doubt it. He also doubted that Alexis broke in only to say hello to him—there must have been something she was after. But what?

  Chapter 18

  I meet up with Gerard when I get to JFK Airport. I wanted to get a flight out of Newark, which would have been much faster but Lucien booked one out of JFK. It took me over an hour to get here from midtown so Gerard beats me there.

  He seems like a nice guy—jovial, at least. He’s stocky, about 5’9” and has merry eyes. Dirty blond hair sticks up in short spikes from his big head—everything about him is big, now that I think about it: big jaw, big body, big teeth, big laugh. I like him immediately.

  Our flight actually takes off on time, is peacefully uneventful, and we arrive at Marco Polo Airport within minutes of our ETA.

  “Ella, have you heard from Ms. St. Sauveur yet?” Gerard asks me in the taxi to our hotel.

  “Yes, we’re meeting her later this evening for dinner at her hotel—eight o’clock. That gives us time to check in to our hotel and have a long nap.”

  “I need to pick up some things so after we get settled, I’ll head out. I guess you don’t really need me at the dinner meeting, unless we’re taping tonight. Are we?”

  “I’m not sure what Ms. St. Sauveur’s schedule is like so I figured we should be prepared for anything… so, yes, you should come to dinner. If she says we can tape in the morning or later, then you’re free to leave. Does that sound acceptable?”

  “Yes, Ella, perfectly.”

  The hotel Lucien selected is a small European-style affair, luxurious by most standards. The lobby has creamy marble floors and dark wood wainscoting on the walls. The upper part of the walls is painted a creamy beige tone to coordinate with the floor but it’s done in Venetian plaster so it has depth and character. Everything looks brand new—the hotel must have been recently renovated. All the rooms have private baths and are tastefully furnished. Gerard and I part company as soon as we get our room cards, agreeing to meet at 7:15 in the hotel lobby. As soon as I close the door to my room, I plop down my bag and then drop into bed, exhausted. I don’t look at my text messages for I don’t want Ian to upset me. I also shut off the ringer on my phone. I’ll deal with him later when I’m feeling stronger.

  We’re to meet Maya St. Sauveur at a rooftop restaurant at a nearby hotel. Gerard and I arrive for our eight o’clock meeting at 7:45 and cannot be seated until the entire party arrives so we stand awkwardly just outside the entrance, near the elevator bank. At exactly eight on the nose, the stainless steel doors slide open and out strides an elegant woman. I know instantly that it’s her.

  “Ms. St. Sauveur?”

  “Yes. Ella Strong?”

  I nod. “And this is Gerard Brolin, our cameraman. Gerard accompanied me in case you’re interested in taping tonight. Can you give me an idea as to your preference?”

  “Oh, no, dear. Not tonight. I just thought we’d meet and have dinner. I rather hoped we could do the interview in the late morning tomorrow.”

  Her accent is interesting: perfect Queen’s English with some French thrown in as well. “Actually tomorrow morning will be perfect. Gerard?” I look at him. “You’re free to head out to your own pursuits, then.”

  “Very good.” He extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. St. Sauveur. I look forward to seeing you again in the morning.”

  She nods her regal head, perched on a very long neck. “Thank you. Till tomorrow then.”

  A maître d’ comes to seat us a moment later and greets Maya like an old friend, so of course we get an excellent table by a window with a magnificent view of the city and Grand Canal. Venice is romantic and I wish Ian were here with me to enjoy it. With that thought I shake my head: I’m getting too attached to him way too soon. I have to stop it. Plus, right now he’d be lousy company since he’s fit to be tied.

  “I told Lucien Phillips that I’d be done with my engagements by late next week and that I could meet with him in Paris. Apparently that wasn’t good enough for him?”

  Maya St. Sauveur is not the type of woman to cross. She is nearly six feet tall, thin but not painfully so, and has such an erect carriage that she must have been a dancer at one time. She wears her light brown hair in a loose chignon and is dressed all in black, slacks, sweater, and flat loafers—elegant but formidable. I’d much rather be her friend than foe.

  “I do apologize if this taping is inconvenient for you, Ms. St. Sauveur. Am I pronouncing your name correctly?”

  “Yes, your pronunciation is fine. And no, it’s not inconvenient, per se. It’s just that that man irritates me. I’m doing him a favor, not the reverse, and yet he’s quite demanding nonetheless.” She assesses me slowly before continuing and I feel myself wilt beneath her sharp gaze. “Be careful with Phillips, Ms. Strong. He wants what he wants when he wants it. He’ll run ramshod all over you.”

  “Are we talking about the same man? Lucien has been unfailingly polite in my dealings with him thus far.”

  “Oh, really? Perhaps it’s just me he annoys with his impatience and exactitude. I am not a woman with whom to trifle, and Monsieur Phillips doesn’t appear to comprehend this factoid.”

  I begin to get a slightly uneasy feeling about Lucien: first, Ian, now Maya. I dismissed Ian’s instincts as jealousy automatically because he seems to overreact to any men having any dealing with me. Maya, however, does not seem the type to rush to judgment so I put more stock in her opinion—which is weird because I don’t know her at all. My instincts tell me Lucien is a nice guy—and I like him just fine, so far. I hope my instincts prevail.

  Dinner is excellent and I end up having an interesting chat with Maya—as she instructed me to call her. She’s had a fascinating multicultural life and she could be the subject of a film herself. We decide to meet in her suite at eleven the next morning and I walk back to my own hotel two hours later, enjoying the stroll in such a beautiful city. Along the way, I pass a bent old woman, dressed all in black, feeding a group of stray dogs. There are six or seven skinny mongrel waifs and they’re surrounding her as she hands out food. I can’t help but smile because the scene seems straight out of a Fellini film, many of which I watched in my undergrad cinema class.

  The canal waters are shimmering with reflected lights and I watch as the vaporetto slides into a dock to unload its passengers. Tomorrow I’ll go to the Bridge of Sighs and Piazza San Marco to feed pigeons. I’m actually thrilled to be here in Venice.

  It’s almost eleven when I get to my room—that means three in the afternoon in Portland. Time to call Ian. I muster the courage to look at my messages: none. Uh-oh. I call voice mail: there’s one from my mother and another from Lucien, asking me to call him to give him an update.

  None from the man in Portland. A cold, slithery worm of anxiety works its way up my spine. What’s going on with him?

  Lucien gets a quick text message to let him know that Gerard and I have arrived and that we’re meeting with Maya in the morning at her hotel. I grab a bottle of Drambuie from the minibar to fortify myself for my call to Ian. By the time I reach the bottom, I feel warm and courageous. I punch in his number on the speed dial.

  The call goes to voicemail.

  I start to feel ill: he hasn’t called nor left any message and now he’s not taking my calls. What exactly is he trying to tell me? My first instinct is to cry—I don’t know why but I feel as if I should, as if I’ve lost him before I ever really had him. Did I do wrong? Wasn’t he being unreasonable? This job does mean something to me, after all. Shouldn’t he support me in my career ambitions? I would certainly do the same for him.

  But maybe I pushed him too far too soon. Though it seems incredulous for a man of Ian’s looks and stature in society, he is incredibly jealous, possessive, insecure… and crazy. I need to take all of that into account when making
decisions. And Lucien has been imposing on me all at once, I suppose, if I try to see it from Ian’s perspective. My head starts to hurt from all this thinking I’m doing.

  It occurs to me that I’m truly exhausted and that I should go to sleep. I’ll feel better in the morning. After washing up and brushing my teeth, I hit the double bed with the fluffy feather top and I’m out as soon as I close my eyes.

  Waking up early, I go for a jog in one of the most glorious cities in the world, and pick up a huge latte on my way back to the hotel. By 10:30, I’m showered, dressed, and have my script for the interview ready and in hand. Still not a peep from Ian. I shrug off my worries to focus on the job at hand. If I’m lucky, tomorrow I’ll be back in Portland and I’ll deal with the fallout then, whatever it is. For now, I’ll do my job and enjoy Venice.

  Just as I’m setting up for the shoot, Gerard walks in and he’s accompanied by… Lucien? My face must register the shock I’m feeling because both men smile.

  He’s even more gorgeous than I remember. His black cashmere vee-neck sweater clings tightly to his chest and shows off his superior physique. He looks taller today though he’s wearing loafers. I can’t seem to keep my eyes off him, while at the same time, my heart’s gone into overdrive at the fact that he’s here.

  “Ella, I know it must be a surprise to see me today. Allow me to explain,” Lucien says smoothly, as he walks over to me and greets me with a kiss on both cheeks. “I was meeting with an attorney over a contract dispute and my appointment was for tomorrow afternoon, which is why I couldn’t make it to Venice on time to meet with Maya. However, last night as I was having dinner in a bistro on the left bank, the attorney in question came into the same restaurant and we were able to amicably settle the matter like gentlemen over appertifs.” He smiles. “By the time our discussion was concluded, you were already in the air. I decided to come here so we could do the interview together.”

  “Oh. Well, that works out nicely, then,” I say, darting my eyes to Maya who is wearing a self-satisfied smile. I feel the flush come over my face as I consider her warning in light of this new development.

  Maya is calm and collected as Lucien and I sit opposite her to ask the questions. Our voices will be edited out so it will seem like a seamless conversation. Lucien is friendly and charming with Maya but she holds her reserve with him: it’s obvious she doesn’t like him and I’m not entirely sure why. His insistence on the interview being done quickly seems like a minor thing to hold a grudge over. I can’t help wondering if these two were romantically involved at some point.

  Three hours later, we’re wrapping up and Gerard is packing up all the gear. Maya goes into the bedroom of her suite to make calls, saying her goodbyes before she does. She tells me to look her up the next time I’m in New York.

  “Ella, may I take you to lunch?” Lucien asks, as we’re about to leave.

  “Sure. That would be nice.” I check my phone: no calls, no messages, my heart sinks. “Let’s go.”

  “I know of a great little trattoria not far from here. They have the best cioppino I’ve ever tasted. Are you game?”

  Having no idea what cioppino is, I am nonetheless on board. I give a little shrug and smile. “I’m game. Lead the way.”

  Once we’re seated, Lucien takes some papers out of his messenger bag. “Ella, these are for you: you’ll find more information on the people we need to interview and the research required. Also, this is the credit card I obtained for you; please charge all business expenses to this account, and here’s a check for cab fare and tips. I didn’t want you to wait until we ironed out the compensation details. I very much appreciate how flexible and accommodating you’ve been.”

  “Not at all, though in retrospect, I didn’t need to come at all since you were able to make it.”

  “No, I think it’s a good thing that we got to work together on this one. Now you’ll feel more confident for your next interview. Can you tell me what your schedule is for the next two weeks or so?”

  The waiter interrupts then to take our order. In what seems like perfect Italian to my untrained ears, Lucien orders our lunch—the cioppino—and a bottle of wine, winking at me when the waiter says something in response. Since I don’t speak or understand Italian, I have no idea what the waiter said. Lucien later told me he commended his choice of wine but I’m not sure I believe him.

  “So,” I pick up the thread of our conversation, “the next two weeks? Tomorrow I’m going back to Portland and I believe I’m going to Tokyo with Ian on Saturday. I don’t think we’ll be there for more than a few days, however. When I get back to Portland, I’ll get started on the research.” I pause. “Actually, I’ll get started as soon as I return tomorrow.”

  Nodding, Lucien says. “Why are you going to Tokyo? Is it just for pleasure?”

  “Ian’s going for business and wants me to come to take some time to sightsee.”

  “Ah. Are you two serious?”

  I play dumb because I don’t really want to discuss it with him. “Serious?”

  “I mean in terms of commitment. I assume you are romantically linked with Mr. Blackmon?”

  I can’t help it; I blush. I barely know the man and he’s asking personal questions. Why does he care?”

  “Uh, yes. I suppose you can call it a committed relationship,” I reply, thinking in my head that often I think Ian should be committed—to an institution—so, yes.

  He smiles. “He’s a lucky guy. Is he comfortable about our working closely together?”

  “He’s fine.” I change the subject. “So, are you going back to Paris now?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  The waiter returns with our wine, pouring Lucien the first sip and then fills both glasses after he approves the wine with a nod. I take a sip and it’s delicious: Lucien must know his wines. Ian does, too. Every time I think of Ian, my heart hurts. I don’t understand why he’s avoiding speaking to me and it’s leaving me unsettled.

  “Oh, my literary agent mentioned that she knows you, Lucien.”

  “Really? What’s her name?”

  “Mo Jackson? She said she met you at a gallery opening?”

  “Ah. I can’t say I recall the name. Describe her to me.”

  I do, and he nods his head. “Yes, I recall meeting her now. She seemed very interested in my project. So, she’s your agent? I wasn’t aware that you’re a writer, Ella. A woman of many talents, I suppose.”

  “Hardly. I wrote a book on a lark, as a Christmas gift for my friends. They started sending it around and it went viral online. Before I knew it, I had a contract and a film deal. It was rather absurd.”

  “A film deal? Really? What’s the title of the book?”

  “Oh, do I have to tell you? I’d rather not.” Saying that to him is like dangling a carrot in front of his face. Now, of course, he’s dying to know what book it is. “Can we discuss the St. Sauveur interview?”

  Smiling with an enigmatic look in his eyes, he allows the conversation to move on. Whatever else he is, Lucien is a gentleman. “Surely. Do you have any questions?”

  We discuss the interview in minute detail throughout lunch—which was absolutely delicious. After we polish off the bottle of wine, Lucien asks me to take a walk with him, agreeing to show me the Bridge of Sighs and Piazza San Marco. He even buys me a bag of food to feed the pigeons, an experience so exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Anyone who has ever seen Hitchcock’s The Birds can’t help but think of it when all those pigeons come swooping down toward the poor person holding the feedbag. I throw the rest of the bag of food down in a big hurry, and run toward Lucien, who is laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach.

  “Oh, Ella, it hurts to laugh so vigorously on a full stomach. Did you not expect that outcome?”

  I shake my head, a rueful grin on my face. “No, I suppose I don’t always think ahead. Where to next?”

  “Let’s take a look at the Palace of the Doges,” he suggests and takes my hand unexpectedly. I don’t pu
ll it back but I’m immediately uncomfortable. It seems an awfully intimate thing to do and inappropriate for our relationship as colleagues who’ve just met recently, no less. Once again, I think of Ian’s reaction to Lucien and wonder if it indeed has merit.

  After seeing the Doges’ palace, we stop for espresso at a bar. I have to admit that Lucien is a lot of fun to hang with. All around us, women are eyeing him as if he were made of chocolate. When I’m with Ian and other women flirt and swoon over him, it makes me jealous and insecure because I consider him mine, right or wrong. With Lucien, though, it’s fun because they all think he’s mine, yet I don’t mind the flirting since he’s not. I can and do appreciate his finer qualities and I wonder what might have happened between us if I hadn’t already been with Ian when this job arose.

  At dusk, Lucien walks me back to my hotel. As soon as we step into the lobby, I turn around. “Thanks, Lucien. I had such a good time. I appreciate your showing me around the city.”

  “You’re so very welcome, Ella. I like working with you and I’m looking forward to getting back to New York and further collaborating.” He grasps my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it softly. “I hope you have a safe trip back to Portland. I suppose I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  I jerk my head. “Yes,” I say quickly. Having him this close is tipping my equilibrium. I mean, yes, I’m faithful and monogamous, but I am female and only human, for God’s sake, and Lucien is a rare specimen of gorgeous male. He smells good, too—like an expensive man.

  Kissing me on both cheeks, he says goodbye and takes his leave. I rush to my room to pack and text Ian, letting him know I’m coming home and what flight I’ll be on. I sit down to worry about what awaits me when I get there and began contemplating how strange it is that life took me to Ian in the first place.

  My flight is delayed by nearly an hour so I arrive at Portland International at 11:03 a.m. that same day. It was odd because I’d left Venice at 10:30 in the morning and I arrived in Portland at eleven so it was as if I never lost any time. I am startled to see that Ian is waiting for me just past the security gate as I make my way out. Seeing him stops me in my tracks for a moment: he looks mouthwateringly good. Before I even know what I am doing, I run into his arms.