Hooked Up: Book 2 (35 page)

My mouth hung open at what she’d just said. I was speechless. I’d known her for less than ten minutes. I replied simply, “Yes, he is.”

“Of course, that’s something I don’t do anymore, but sometimes I miss that, you know, I miss that hard rod between my legs. But the whole man thing is such a bore. The pride, the bullshit, and they just don’t
smell
like we do. There’s nothing like a woman’s touch to make you feel like you’ve come home.”

At the words “woman’s touch” she placed her hand on the small of my back, letting her fingertips linger on my butt. I thought of Natalie’s warning and knew that this woman was just getting warmed up. I felt scared but thrilled and mostly . . . curious. Not even Alexandre had come on so strong when he met me. Then it suddenly hit me. The names:

Alexandre.

Alessandra.

The yin and the yang.

Why was this woman making me feel as if I had no control? As if she were running the show? What happened to Pearl the ball-buster? Was it because Alessandra had no balls
at all
that I was at a loss for words?

I wriggled away from her contact, but she grabbed my hand instead and led me to the pool.

“I’m hot,” she said, and pulled her slinky dress over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I glanced awkwardly at her body. It was perfect. Her legs were smooth and long, her golden arms hung cool beside her hips. Her breasts perfect and not surgically enhanced like so many actresses here, but curved upwards like full but perky teardrops, the nipples pert and small. She caught me watching her and smiled seductively. The dimple on one cheek reminded me eerily of Alexandre when he looked at me that way. It was uncanny. She was like a female version of him. He may have been Alpha male but she was Alpha female, all woman. Tough, but whimsical; strong, but softly feminine. Her eyes were also green like his, but more feline. The similarities between them were frightening.

“Come in, the water’s perfect,” she entreated, after she had accomplished a perfect swallow dive. Her hair was now sleek on her head, and her eyes dark from run mascara—it made her the epitome of a Hollywood ‘femme fatale.’

I took off my sandals and dipped my toes in the water. It really was warm and I was tempted.

“Come on, don’t be shy. Nobody’s allowed in this pool with a swimsuit—only skinny-dipping here at all times. Come in, Pearl.”

I slipped my dress over my shoulders and stood there in my bra and panties. A matching, pale pink lace set from La Perla that Alexandre had surprised me with the other day. I suddenly felt awkward and embarrassed—
I don’t know this woman!
“You know what? I think I’ll just dangle my feet in and wait until Alexandre gets back.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I won’t bite, you know,” and then she dove down and did a handstand, her elegant toes as pointed as a ballerina. She emerged from the water and looked like a Bond girl, all sex, heat, and temptress. As if she were designed by God to do nothing but seduce. I turned my eyes away and reached for my dress and struggled back into it—I should never have taken it off in the first place.

“Come, I’m going to make you the best Bloody Mary you’ve ever tasted,” she told me, water dripping off her tanned body as she grabbed a towel.

I followed her to the kitchen, which was country-style with a large pine table in the middle, and baskets of dried flowers hanging from rafters and wooden beams. She took a jug out of the refrigerator and poured the mixture into two tall glasses, garnishing them with sticks of celery and lemon slices. She handed me a glass. “Here, try this, it has a kick to it, a touch of horseradish. And help yourself to my spread of cold meats and
bruschetta
. The basil’s fresh from the garden and the tomatoes from my greenhouse. Oh, and the olive oil I brought from Sicily, where my grandparents are from. It has a nutty taste—quite delicious. Actually, let’s take it all outside on the porch.”

We put everything on a tray and took it outside, where there was a wrought iron table and chairs. I delved into the
bruschetta
and could taste sun in the tomatoes. It was true; the olive oil was sublime.

“So Pearl, Sam says we need to get to work on the script straight away.”

“We?”

“You didn’t think you’d be doing it all alone, did you? No, no, my darling, this needs to be teamwork. I want the script to feel natural to me. You know, be part of who I am.”

But you’re an actress, ACT!
“Oh, Sam made out that I’d be working with just the script writer, he never mentioned that you wanted to be involved,” I said, as politely as I could.

“Nuh, uh, I want to put in my two cents—I want to have my say.”

“With all due respect, Alessandra, that wasn’t part of the deal—it wasn’t written into your contract.”

She pouted her lips like a child. “But Sam wants me to be happy. Don’t you?”

I took a sip of my Bloody Mary and then replied, “Well of course I do. I think an actor’s input is very important, but you know, too many cooks spoil the broth.”

“I just need a week with you. Just so you get to know me. I thought we could do a little improvisation, you know, have some fun.”

“But we’re only here for three days and then we have to get back to New York.”

“Who has to get back to New York?” It was Alexandre. He came up behind me and massaged my shoulders. His touch was warm. I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“Hi Frenchie,” she said. “Hope you had fun with my car. Just trying to persuade your other half to stay on a few days. You know, we need to work on the script together before the others get hold of it. I want it to be our baby.”

Alexandre laughed. I could see her flirtatiousness toward me was amusing him for some reason. Even calling him
Frenchie.
I felt as if I was being fed to the wolves when he said to me: “Stay, darling. Enjoy this beautiful LA weather—relax a little. I can’t as I’ve got a meeting in Montreal, but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.”

“No way,” I stated assertively. “I have to get back to Manhattan. Natalie and I are working on something very important. She needs me in the editing room.”

“Nonsense. That was your old job, remember? You’re on features now, not documentaries. Natalie can take care of it all herself,”

Whose side are you on?
But all I said was, “I’ll call Sam later and discuss it with him.”

Just then a black cat shimmied its way around my bare legs. Its soft fur seductive, its purr intense.

“That’s Lucifer,” Alessandra told me. “He’s an Oriental. Isn’t he the most handsome thing you’ve ever set your eyes on?”

The cat continued to purr and rub itself against me. Why did I have this ominous feeling that between Lucifer and Alessandra I didn’t stand a chance?

L
A WAS PERFECT. Sunny, blue sky, palm trees, people smiling incessantly as if they were taking some sort of happy pill. Our trip was made all the more enjoyable by our choice of rental car: a powder blue, 1960 Eldorado Biarritz convertible Cadillac. It had fins and glistening chrome that shone silver in the sunlight. I felt as if Pearl and I were riding on a giant shark, cruising the wide avenues, spotting other vintage cars and California girls as we sped by, the wind catching our hair, the music blasting through the speakers. Pearl looked like a true California Girl herself—tanned and lithe, golden and sun-kissed, so I played the song,
California Girls
by The Beach Boys, and we sang along.

We were on our way to Alessandra Demarr’s house in Topanga Canyon, and when we arrived my eyes strayed—not to Alessandra in her black negligee number—but to her classic car, a 1962 Porsche 356B, also black. As Alessandra eye-fucked Pearl, roaming her saucy gaze lasciviously all over Pearl’s body and suggesting Bloody Marys of all bloody things (yes, I know), I was only too glad to take Alessandra up on her offer of taking her car for a spin.

“She’s all yours, Alexandre, the keys are under the mat.”

“I can see you can’t get rid of me fast enough,” I said with a wink.

“Come back in half an hour,” she said in her lilting Italian accent, taking Pearl’s arm and guiding her away.

Pearl looked like a lamb being led to slaughter. Sophie had been right; beautiful seductress Alessandra was all over her. Funny, we could have been siblings Alessandra and I. She had eyes my color: fiery green. I guess I was used to looking at myself in the mirror and didn’t think about my eyes, one way or another, but on Alessandra they looked predatorily unnerving, as if she were about to literally devour Pearl. I wondered if I looked the same. Like a wolf. Or a panther. Because before Alessandra began her feast, I imagined that she’d lick Pearl all over first and taste every inch of her body. It turned me on, actually, to envision this, and I felt rather wicked for leaving my fiancée in her clutches, but it also amused me.

At first.

The drive was beautiful. I took the car along Pacific Coast Highway, speeding, seeing how the old Porsche could handle corners, as the ocean shimmered on one side and scrubby mountains rose above on the other. I figured that if I got stopped, I’d just show the cops my French license—it usually did the trick. No points off because the paperwork was too much hassle.

When I returned I found the two women snacking, and drinking their Bloody Marys. I wondered for a second if Alessandra had done a Laura on her, as Pearl was innocently sipping her drink through a straw. Alessandra was wet, had obviously gone for a swim; her pert breasts clinging to her see-through dress, her hand on Pearl’s thigh. A vision of them kissing flashed through my head. I closed my eyes to think of something else so my hard-on would go away.

Alessandra looked up. “Hi Frenchie.”

“Hi, baby,” Pearl said. “How was your drive?”

“Beautiful.” I stood there, legs astride, watching the two of them.

“I was just trying to persuade your fiancée to stay on as we need to work on the script.”

I knew it. She was going to get her smooth, gay fingers all over Pearl. For a second, I felt a frisson of jealousy tingle through my spine. I stared Alessandra down.
She’s mine, bitch-on-heat.
I walked over to stake my claim. I put my hands on Pearl’s shoulders and kissed the nape of her neck.

I’d test Pearl, I decided. If she wanted to stay . . . well then . . . she’d get seduced and she damn well knew it. She’d have to battle with her inner-gay-goddess all on her own. If she came home with me, then she really was my girl. I couldn’t make that choice for her.

“Stay, chérie, enjoy the weather, have some
fun
with Alessandra,” I said with a wry grin. “Anyway, I have to go to Montreal for a meeting so you might as well hang out here for a bit.”

“I don’t know,” she wavered, looking at Alessandra and then at me. “I should really get home, but it
is
so beautiful here; so nice to feel the sunshine on my back.”

“You’re staying, Pearl,” Alessandra barked like the she-wolf she was. “I won’t allow you to leave yet. We have important work to get done here with the script.”

I almost wanted to take the two women at once and fuck them both, there and then. Show Alessandra who was boss. I was also extremely turned on thinking about them together. My heart raced just imagining our threesome, but I knew it would be a very bad idea. Pearl would go wild with jealousy, and anyway, it would feel like incest; Alessandra was too similar to me.

What would happen, I wondered, if Pearl were truly gay though? If she played around with Alessandra and got converted? The woman was every inch a movie star. She had the X factor, that
je ne sais quoi
that set her apart from the crowd. And she wanted Pearl. I almost felt like calling Ellen DeGeneres to break up the happy party . . . distract Alessandra, get her away from
my
woman. Insanely, I felt threatened by her. Ridiculous! Being threatened by a she-wolf when I was the alpha male?

I guess that’s why I toyed with the idea of Pearl staying on. To prove to myself I could handle it. So paradoxically, by not stopping her and being so blasé about it all, I actively encouraged Pearl to remain in LA for a few days.

O
N THE WAY BACK to the hotel, Sam called and confirmed my worries. He wanted Alessandra to “assist” me with script changes. He told me that the buzz was out, and he needed this film to not only be a blockbuster but a “classy blockbuster” –to have a chance to be nominated for an Academy Award. He felt that Alessandra was going to put it into a higher category because she was a “real actress,” and that we needed to respect her wishes. He persuaded me that I needed to stay on a few more days, work with her, before handing our changes over to the main script doctor. It all felt odd, but as I was a virgin to the world of movie producing, I had to take his word for it.

Alexandre and I were sitting on the balcony of our luxurious room that overlooked the ocean. We were listening to the rhythmical sound of the surf and enjoying the feeling of being on vacation. I used this opportunity to discuss Sam and Alessandra with him, and the rather bizarre situation.

Alexandre kissed my hand and said, “You make it sound as if it’s some sort of punishment, Pearl—don’t be so worried. How bad can it be to hang out in the sunshine with a beautiful actress while you fiddle about with the script?”

I sighed and fixed my eyes on some surfers in the distance waiting to catch the next big wave. “She’s just so persuasive, so . . . so . . . ”

A mischievous smile spread across his gorgeous face. “You’re worried she’s going to try and seduce you.”

I looked into his sparkling, amused eyes. “Yes.”

“Ooh, how
dangerous
,” he teased.
Don gaire oose,
his accent said.

“You’re laughing about it now, but what happens if she succeeds?”

“Sexy.” He grinned. “You can sex Skype me—the pair of you. I can’t think of anything that would turn me on more. Two beautiful women getting it on together—two, sexy, female bodies entwined. Feel my cock,” he said, taking my hand and putting it on his crotch, “I’m hard just thinking about you two together.”

I traced my hand over his huge, stiff erection, through his jeans, but then took it away and said, “Seriously, Alexandre, she means business, I can tell.”