Hooked Up: Book 2 (15 page)

I ended the call, sat back in my economy seat and let the tears fall. The catchy tune to
Mrs.
Robinson
was playing over and over inside my head like background music to my misery—a tune I used to love.

A reminder of who I was.

And who I knew I’d never be.

I
GUESS I SHOULD have known that when things seem too good to be true, they usually are.

Sophie really outdid herself this time. She had made me so furious that I began to have fantasies of having her shipped off to a desert island and dumped there, with no means of communication. I’d have care packages flown in by parachute, but she’d have to survive on her own. Because, boy, was she being one hell of a bitch.

I was happily basking in the sun, on the hotel rocks by the sea, having sex flashbacks of Pearl, when I discovered she had done a runner on me. While I was busy being Master of the Universe; taking care of business calls and making more money that I didn’t need, Pearl had taken herself to Nice airport, alone, and never wanted anything to do with me again. I listened for the forth time to her phone message on my voicemail (the message had come in when I was otherwise engaged). It was too late to catch up with her. More fool me.

“Alexandre—what can I say? I’ve left.” I listened with horror as she revealed things Sophie knew about her sex life.
What the fuck
! Her message ended with “Bon voyage.”

What the fuck had happened?

I called my sister.

“Alright, what have you done this time?” I demanded when she picked up.

“You’ll get your share of the rubies and stuff, don’t be impatient, Alexandre.”

“I’m not talking about the fucking rubies, I’m talking about a rare pearl—more important than any gem.
Pearl.
What did you say to her?”

“Nothing she doesn’t already know.”

“You told her stuff about our sex life, didn’t you? Stuff I have never, ever discussed with you. Why did you spin her a load of lies, Sophie?” I shouted, my voice on fire.

“Not lies. The truth. She’s a stalker. A cougar-stalker, almost twice your age. I found things on your iPad, too. You should lock it with a less obvious password, you know.”

“My iPad is private, for fuck’s sake. I had no idea you’d be gatecrashing my house. Plus, I write stuff down in English so people like
you
can’t snoop. More fool me, obviously.”

“Google Translate is my new best friend, Alexandre. Sorry, but I couldn’t resist taking a peek.”

My stupid list about Pearl,
I remembered.
That’s what freaked Pearl out and made it look as if I’d betrayed her confidence
.

I said coldly, “You and I are over, Sophie. From now on, speak to my attorney because I can’t deal with you anymore. I’ll find a solution to HookedUp. Meanwhile, stay out of my fucking life.”

“She’s too old for you, Alexandre. What’s more, she was trying to stalk you. I was just looking out for you.”

“You yourself know that Pearl doesn’t look her age, Sophie. And even if she did, so what? And Pearl and I have moved forward. She was not
stalking
us, per se. The past is the past, and I want that woman
in my life
. As I said, stay out of my affairs. You and I are DONE.”

Sophie was silent. I could hear her hitched breaths on the line. “Shit, you’re really in love with Pearl Robinson, aren’t you?” she said in a shaky voice.

“Yes, I am and I’m choosing her over you, Sophie. So either get with the fucking program, apologize to Pearl, be nice to her for
evermore,
or get the fuck OUT of my life for good, because not only are you making Pearl miserable, you are making
me
miserable, too.”

“Okay,” she muttered in a quiet voice.

“You mean it?”

“Yes, I do. I’m sorry, Alexandre, I didn’t know she meant
that
much to you. I don’t want my little brother to be unhappy, I really don’t. I care for you too much.”

“The damage may be too great. She might not even take me back. She’s a nice girl, Sophie. A nice, wholesome girl, who doesn’t need a couple of dysfunctional French nutcases in her life. I’m hanging up now. You’d
so
better make it up to her in the future. That is, if she and I even
have
a future. She might not want me now.”

I clicked end and dialed Pearl’s number. I suspected her cell would be off, but still, I just wanted to hear her voice. I left three messages in a row, explaining things and I prayed to God, Jesus, even (my
Personal Jesus)
, that I could make things right again, and that Pearl hadn’t given up on me for good.

I
FLEW BY HELICOPTER to Paris. I
had
planned to do this with Pearl, of course, so she could meet my mother and we could collect Rex and take him back to New York with us. That part of the plan still stood; I needed my dog with me now more than ever, not just for myself and for Rex, but as bait to catch Pearl. Even if she hated me by now, and loathed Sophie’s guts, surely she wouldn’t be able to resist my loving black Lab? I refused to give up.

I
would
win Pearl back, no matter what.

When I saw my mother, I took a double take. People say that the woman you end up choosing will resemble your mom, and I laughed to myself. I
could
see Pearl in her. Tall, elegant, poised. Beautifully dressed. Blonde hair and large blue eyes—her complexion flawless. What lay beneath her cool exterior, though, nobody would have guessed. I had still kept her dark, dark secret; hadn’t told a soul, not even Sophie.

Maman was reading a book in the living room, a romance, no doubt—she was hooked on them. She loved the dominant alpha male, the type that rode up on horseback and swept a lady off her feet and galloped off with her into the sunset, the lady protesting but secretly delighted that the hero wouldn’t take no for an answer. I slipped in quietly and observed her lying back on the sofa, shoes off, her feet up, and I wished that her real hero, my father, hadn’t turned out to be such a demon. Wished that she could have been stronger, more resilient, because what happened in the end—the finale—could have been a scene right out of a horror story. She was smiling as she read, and as I stepped closer I realized that it wasn’t a book she was holding in her hands, but an e-reader.

“You’re very modern, I didn’t think e-readers had caught on yet in France,” I remarked.

She jumped up and hid the thing behind her back. She looked mortified, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. “Alexandre. Darling! How wonderful to see you.”

I came up to her and kissed her on both cheeks. “Did I interrupt something, Maman?”

She quickly switched off the contraption and composed herself. “No, of course not. Just a non-fiction, non-descript book, you know. Quite dull, actually.”

Yeah, right.

She smoothed her hands over her skirt. “Where’s your friend? The girl you said you were bringing to meet us?”

“She had an important meeting in New York sadly. Had to get back early.”

“Oh. How disappointing. This is the first time you’ve asked a woman to come here to meet us, so I was all excited. I figured it must be someone very special to you. I’ve got all sorts of delicious treats for dinner.”

“Yeah, she is special to me. Look, Maman, I’m so sorry but I can’t stay long. I
also
need to get back to New York. I just came by to say hi and pick up Rex. I’m sorry you went to so much trouble for dinner, I feel terrible. But we have a jet waiting for us; I’ll need to get going any minute.”

“A jet? A
private
jet?”

“Yes, I didn’t want Rex to travel in the hold.”

“I know you’re doing very well, Alexandre, but a private jet for an
animal?”

“Sure, why not? Speak of the little devil!” Rex came bounding in from his walk with my stepfather, who stood in the doorway awkwardly holding his leash. Ever since I had started making so much money, my stepfather felt redundant. As if a man’s merit were measured by his wallet
. . . ridiculous.
But I guess that’s how he felt. I stroked Rex’s soft black ears and kissed him on the nose. “Thanks for looking after him so well.”

Silence was thick in the air, save the tick-tock of a grandfather clock in the hallway. The house was replete with antiques and Persian rugs, which gave the atmosphere an even more somber air. More reminders, I supposed, that I had furnished this house with these luxuries. You can’t buy love. Only fear, respect, and resentment. My stepfather smiled at me uneasily and came over to shake my hand, and patted me on the back.

“Still in flip-flops and jeans even when you can afford the best shoes and suits that money can buy,” he quipped, eyeing my feet disdainfully. It was only a matter of time before he suggested I get a haircut.

He was a tidy, attractive man but he lacked charm and charisma, something my father had oozing from every pore. That was when he wasn’t carrying his dark passenger about with him—the character who took him over at any unexpected second. If only my stepfather knew my mother’s secret.
If only he knew.
He’d probably pick up the phone and call the police
. No wonder she stashed her erotic romance behind her back when I walked through the door. He would have been shocked. He saw her as perfect. The man had no idea whom he was married to. Not
a damn clue.

Still, he wasn’t beating her up, so in my mind, he was worth his weight in platinum.

“Look, I feel so rude to do this to you, but the jet, even though it’s private still gets a slot, you know, a take off time. Rex and I really need to get going. Come and visit me in New York. Any time. There are some great Broadway shows, fabulous restaurants—”

My stepfather cut me short with a chuckle. “We have the best food in the world in Paris, why would we be tempted by foreign cuisine?”

“Whatever,” I answered. “But you know what? You’d be surprised what you discover when you scratch beneath the surface. When you dig deep, you never know what you may find.”

My mother gave me a look that was more potent than a poison dart. “Bye darling, she said. “You’ll need to
leave
now so you don’t miss your private jet. Bye, Rex, baby,” she said, cupping Rex’s head and giving him a kiss—and she added with dry sarcasm, “Do send us a postcard from New York, sweet doggie, and let us know how you’re getting on with the American cuisine.”

I winked at her and smiled. My stepfather eyed up my mother—her seamless perfection—my comments flew right over his head.

Good. I wanted it to stay that way.

W
HEN I WALKED into my apartment, its walls felt like a fortress—a welcome haven, safe from the evils of the outside world. Whatever might happen (God forbid, a tsunami should strike New York City), this was my security. My nest.

I hadn’t even turned my cell back on. I didn’t want to know what Alexandre’s reaction was. I just needed to feel at peace. It was four in the morning European time, ten p.m. here—time for bed; I had to go to work the next day.

I keep going over everything in my mind; could there have been some sort of mistake? No, Sophie knew intimate details about my sexuality. I felt humiliated, as if I’d been some sort of experiment. Not to say I hadn’t enjoyed being Alexandre’s guinea pig—I couldn’t deny that, but I felt betrayed by him.

I called Daisy, gave her the lowdown on my latest drama and asked if there was any way she could do an early breakfast tomorrow. I needed to talk to someone, get a second opinion about this whole crazy mess. We decided to meet at 8 a.m., at the café next to my workplace.

I ran a bath and rummaged around the kitchen for something to eat. I landed on some potato chips that I dunked into cream cheese. I scoffed the whole lot. Comfort food. I’d need to watch myself in the next few weeks. No bingeing—I’d get rid of those calories tomorrow with a long swim.

The bath felt soothing, only it reminded me of our time together. Would I ever get this French bastard out of my system? I heard the house telephone ring. I ignored it. The doorman? Anthony?
Who cares—I can’t be dealing with any of that now
.

I mulled over the sheer arrogance and inflated ego that Alexandre seemed proud to own. A cliché of his own making. Yes, French men have a reputation for being great lovers, but also, arrogant shitheads. Why was he playing games with me? To feed his vanity? I dried myself and moisturized my body all over, and then looked through the playlist on my iPod. I found the perfect song for him. “This is for you, Alexandre,” I shouted into the air.
You’re so Vain
blared out and I started to dance around the bathroom. I felt energized. I could get through this!

By the time I flopped into bed, I was exhausted. Did I dislocate my shoulder blade by punching my fist into the air too hard?

I fell into a deep sleep that ended up feeling like five minutes’ worth. The alarm on my phone rang, and I got ready for work. I had failed both Anthony and Natalie. I did not become Madonna’s NBF and sorry, Natalie, I did not feel inclined to pinch a towel from the hotel.
You can buy one online, my dear, from their E boutique.