Hooked Up: Book 2 (41 page)

“Do you know Sophie Dumas?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“I know who she is and we once spoke on the phone. She’s one of the producers of
Stone Trooper.
I mean co-producer with Sam and HookedUp Enterprises—you’re partners, aren’t you? I mean, HookedUp Enterprises is Sophie Dumas and Alexandre Chevalier fifty/fifty, isn’t it?”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shout out,
No, actually, that meddling bitch is not part of HookedUp Enterprises at all!
I could feel my knees trembling, but I tried to stay calm. “The coffee sounds like it’s ready. One sugar, you said?”

“Half a teaspoon.”

“Oh yes, that’s right.” I set the cat down and went back to the kitchen. I cradled my head in my hands and wondered what I should do next.

I’d been duped.

I needed to see Samuel Myers. Find out what the hell was going on.

I
FEEL HIS HANDS on my shoulders. He’s behind me, pressing himself up against my back; his hug tight—squeezing the breath from my lungs with his grip. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, like dragon fire, and wonder what would happen if I lit a match—would his breath go up in flames?

I imagine myself as St. George, piercing this creature—because when he’s like this, he IS a creature. Yeah, I could lance this slimy dragon right through his leg. He would roll over in pain. I wouldn’t actually kill him but I’d maim him so he could never hurt me again. Because he would truly fear me.

Forever.

I want to move. But I don’t. If I move, it’ll wake him and he’s beginning to snore; the air around us thick with molecules of whiskey, dancing around his smelly mouth. Molecules of hate. And lies. I mustn’t hardly breathe. I mustn’t make a sound. He’ll fall asleep, snoring like a wild hog, and when he’s out cold, I’ll leave the room.

I want to go to Maman, but she’s so weak she can’t protect me. She can’t protect herself. If she cared, she’d do something. Only Sophie cares but Sophie isn’t here.

I can hear the snow, softly tapping against the windowpane of my room. I look at the posters on my wall and wish I could escape inside them. Fly in my spacecraft to a different planet and never return. I close my eyes and prepare myself for the cold outside. My parka will have to do. If I walk fast enough, I’ll keep warm. There’ll be the man selling chestnuts—in a couple of hours. I want to steal some coins from Papa’s pockets but he’ll hear. Like a bat, he is, even when he’s drunk.

Why? The only word now in my head is why.

Why, why, why?

Why does it have to be this way?

I felt something pressing into my back and realized with relief that it was Rex, his paws digging into my shoulders as he stretched out on the mattress, snoring rhythmically. I was about to push him off the bed (when did he jump up?), but a wave of gratitude swept over me, a surge of butterflies swooped through my stomach, knowing that it was just my boy Rex, and I flung my arms around him and hugged him close, kissing his soft ears. I was grateful for every goddamn thing in my life at that moment.

I had escaped. I got away free and clear. Scarred, both mentally and physically yes, but free. Not in a mental hospital somewhere. Not beaten down. Not the speck of dust, the vessel of despair my father wanted me to be. I was a survivor, I
am
a survivor, and like all survivors, we learn the hard way.

I am who I am because of my past. Je ne regrette rien.

However crazy Sophie drove me at times, I thanked her for everything she had done for me. She gave me my dignity back. She told me I was a hero and deserved to be called Chevalier. She taught me to be strong, and how to fight. She fed me.

I owed her—literally—my life.

I got showered and dressed and took Rex to Central Park. With Sophie on my mind, I called her. I wanted to let her know that Elodie was doing fine; had even been going out with friends, and was dressing less like a Vampire Goth and more like a girl her age. I missed Sophie. We’d been sparring, mostly due to her previous attitude towards Pearl, which, although now over (as far as Sophie was concerned), Pearl was still wary and suspicious. It was going to take more than a wedding gown to patch things up. It was going to take time.

Time . . . the great healer of adversity.

“Sophie,” I said into my cell, as I walked with Rex past Tiffany’s, casting my eye along the display of jewelry, wondering if I could find a necklace to match Pearl’s ring. “How are things in Paris? Have you seen Maman lately?” I don’t know why I asked—I knew the answer.

“No, I haven’t had time. So many meetings.”

“Oh yeah? Anyone I should know about?”

“I’ve bought a chunk of Myers Industries.”

“Myers Industries?”

“Samuel Myers; the one you and Pearl are doing
Stone Trooper
with.”

“Well that’s a surprise,” I said, wondering how this news would go down with Pearl. “What brought that about?”

“He’s going broke, Alexandre. He’s in dire straits. If someone doesn’t bail him out, that movie won’t get made.”

“Since when have you felt so charitable, Sophie?”

“Not charity, just a good business deal and, you know, looking out for my future sister in-law.”

“Have you told Pearl?”

“I think you’d better tell her. Something tells me she might see it as a sort of
coup d’état
if my money’s involved in helping produce the movie.”

“Yeah, she’s proud of her autonomy with this project. I know she wouldn’t be too thrilled about you being a part of it. I mean,
I’m
not even involved. I’m not sure how she’ll take this, Sophie.”

“It’s only money, Alexandre. I’m not getting involved in any way creatively. It upsets me that she’s so offhand with me. I wish she didn’t feel so alienated, so mistrustful. I’d like to be friends. Go shopping, see a movie, you know.”

“Just give it time, Soph. Give it time.” I moved on, crossed the street and walked toward the park.

“What are you up to right now?” she asked.

“About to go to Montreal. I’m seeing a video games artist there. This new venture could be big, Soph, really big.”

“Well, good luck. I know you love that shit.”

Despite my reservations about Sophie being involved with Samuel Myers, I felt a rush of nostalgia pump through my heart—I believed that my sister really did want to make things right with Pearl. It was true; her money would save everyone’s ass if Sam Myers really was in a financial bind. “What about you? Are you happy?” The question popped unexpectedly out of my mouth.

“Happy?” Her voice cracked just a touch.

“Well isn’t that what life is all about? Finding your slice of happiness? Love? Peace?”

There was silence. I felt bad. I wondered for a second if Sophie had
ever
been truly happy. I had found my little piece of heaven with Pearl. Was Sophie still searching?

“I’m getting there, Alexandre. I’m seeing someone now.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“We’ll see.”

“Okay, you don’t want to tell me. That’s fine. I’m glad you’re dating, anyway.”

“I’d prefer to tell Pearl, myself—when the moment’s right. And I don’t want Elodie to know.”

“Of course not.”

“You know, gay is all very cool and hip, but when it’s your own mother? It might not go down so well with Elodie.” She sucked in a long breath. “Have fun in Montreal. Is Pearl still in LA?”

“She’s hanging out with Alessandra Demarr.”

“Hanging out?”

“Tinkering with the script. Alessandra has taken a shine to Pearl—you were right.”

“Slut.”

“What?”
She bloody better not be referring to Pearl.

“Actresses are all the same,” my sister ranted. “Such narcissists. Always seeking attention. Not enough love from daddy or something. They want the world to love them. Anyone will do.”

“Pearl’s not anyone, Sophie. I can easily see why a gay woman would go potty over her.”

“Shut up already!”

“Why does this bother you? You’re feeling protective over Pearl?”

“Something like that. Anyway, I must go. My trainer’s coming over any minute, and I need to get ready.”

“Okay. We’ll speak soon. Oh Sophie, one more thing . . . ”

“What?”

“This Sam Myers business. You swear it’s just your share of money involved in
Stone Troope
r? You promise you won’t get involved in the creative side of things.”

“I swear.”

“Okay, then.”

“Bye.”

I pressed “END.” A frisson crept up my spine—a sort of premonition of doom, although I couldn’t pinpoint what. I pulled Rex away from the edge of a mailbox—dogs, men, we all want to make our mark—piss on everything; tell the world that this spot, or that, belongs to us. “No, Rex, enough is enough—how come your bladder always has extra to spare? Come on, boy, let’s go to the park.”

I
T TOOK A WHILE to park my shark of a car in the garage of Samuel Myers’ office building Downtown. I hadn’t warned him of my arrival in case he detected the anger in my voice. I had been duped—I needed to get to the bottom of this without losing my cool. If that was possible. Once I’d extricated an answer from him I’d call my sweet, future sister-in-law to find out what the fuck she was playing at. On second thoughts . . . no. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I didn’t want her knowing that she was getting to me.

Then I’d call Alexandre.

I took the elevator up to the seventh floor. I was not prepared for this. I looked very casual in just a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and Converse sneakers. I was not even wearing makeup; I had wanted to dress down for Alessandra, to try and keep her advances at bay.

I needn’t have been worried, though. The receptionist, and everyone at his office was very laid-back, LA style, although a little put out that I didn’t have an appointment. I was in luck. Sam was here, just finishing up a long distance call, they told me. The setting was not as grand as I had imagined, and a little dated, with big old couches and a wooden and glass coffee table piled with out of date magazines. They offered me a drink and I glugged down a glass of water—the heat I felt inside needed to be quenched. I sat there, flicking through an old Vanity Fair. I heard a door open and I looked up.

Sam waddled towards me, his smile beaming as if he was delighted to see me. He ushered me ahead of him, into his office, pulling the door closed behind us. The bookshelves were lined with movies, and there was an Oscar statuette in prime position. There were family photos in gold frames on his large desk, and at one end of the room, a basketball net. I could just imagine him making million dollar deals while simultaneously scoring a goal.

“Siddown, Pearl. Did they offer you something to drink?” He eased himself into his large leather swivel chair, panting with the effort.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Myers.”

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s with the Mr. Myers? You look pissed.”

“Well, yes, I’ve had quite a shock and I’d like you to explain yourself, and the situation. Perhaps there’s been a typo on a letter I saw. I’m hoping that I’m completely wrong, hoping this has all been a mistake. However, if I am not wrong I think your prerogative to call me ‘sweetheart’ will be null and void.”

His eyes looked shifty. He twiddled his fat, caught-in-the cookie-jar hands.

I pinned my eyes on him like darts. “Please can you explain why Sophie Dumas is one of the producers?”

“Okay Pearl, firstly, she is only
technically
a producer. She’s not involved in any decision making at all. Not a bit. That’s just you and me. It’s just money, that’s all. She’s fronting the money—she’s a silent partner, so to speak.”

“So to speak? So to
lie
more like.”

“Hey, Pearl, nothing has changed between you and me! Sophie Dumas is not calling the shots here.”

“Oh no? So if this is
her
money, not yours, she is kind of like your boss, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s not like that.”

“What is it like then, Mr. Myers?”

“You are the director of your company, HookedUp Enterprises, but you are not the owner, am I right?”

My blood was boiling.
What has HookedUp Enterprises got to do with Sophie Dumas?
I tried to remain calm. “Sophie Dumas has nothing whatsoever to do with HookedUp Enterprises, Mr. Myers. It is owned by my fiancé.”

“And I signed the deal with him.”

“Co-signed by me.”

“Nowhere in our contract did it stipulate that I could not bring in money from my side from whatever source I chose.”

“That’s not true. You signed a deal saying that no backers would be involved in politically incorrect dealings—”

“Sophie Dumas is not laundering dirty money, Pearl. Hey, she’s practically your sister-in-law, what’s the big deal? She told me you two were close.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sam. If we were so close, you wouldn’t be red in the face from embarrassment right now. You would have been straight with me.”

“What was the point of telling you? Money is money. The point is, the movie is going to get made—we have the money. You will make a lot from this—you still get your cut just the same—your percentage. Nothing has changed, Pearl, sweetheart.

“My trust in you, that’s what’s changed.”

“Okay, okay, I admit it. I screwed up, I should have let you know sooner. But she only just came on board a while ago. I’ve been having a rough patch and she came along at the perfect moment. She’s bailing out my ass. I had an unexpected loss on a project recently—as far as I’m concerned, Sophie’s doing us all a big favor. Your fiancé isn’t upset about this, so why should you be?”

I felt as if I’d just been hit over the head with a baseball bat.
Alexandre already knows about this??
I needed to get information, so I couldn’t let Sam know that this was such a shock. “What were Alexandre’s words to you exactly? And at what point did you discuss this?”

“Just after he landed back in New York.”

“I see.”

“He told me it was best if he discussed it with you first. That’s why I didn’t mention it to you, Pearl. You know, I didn’t want to get out my big wooden spoon and stir about someone else’s family affairs.”