Belle Pearl (5 page)

As the day went on, I still wasn’t sure what was going on. Pearl thought she had food poisoning. Then I decided that perhaps she was pregnant.
Hallelujah!

We were walking along the oceanfront by Venice Beach. I could feel Pearl’s coolness. Normal, I decided, pregnant women often push their males away—human nature.

“Could you be pregnant?” I blurted out after a long bout of silence.

“I wish,” she said in a sad voice. “No, if I were pregnant my breasts would feel swollen and I would have missed my period by now.”

“What’s wrong then, baby? I get the feeling that you’d rather I weren’t around for a while.”

“Just that smoothie I drank yesterday, I think.”

I was hoping that she’d say,
Don’t be crazy, of course I want you around.
Or,
I’m coming back with you, coming with you to Montreal.
But she didn’t. She just clutched my arm and walked ahead in silence, her private thoughts ticking away in her head. Not letting me in. Mentally pushing me out. Everything seemed more interesting to her than opening up to me. She people-watched the assortment of nutters that passed us: a guy on roller-skates with a guitar, a bodybuilder wearing a leopard-print leotard, a woman with huge round breasts that looked as if they would pop any second, a dog wearing shades.

“Pearl, are you sure you’re okay?”

“It would be nice to live by the ocean, wouldn’t it?”

Ignoring me.
“Just say the word and we can buy a house in Malibu. Whatever you want. I could surf and you could walk along the beach with Rex, unless you’re brave enough to brace the icy water. Would you like that?”

“Maybe.” She smiled weakly. Nothing I said seemed to warm her.

“You don’t have to keep working, you know. You can throw in the towel with HookedUp Enterprises any time. Be my kept woman. Read novels and laze about in the sun.”

“I’ve worked all my life; I’d get bored. Anyway, what about you? You said you’d break things up with Sophie and HookedUp, yet you still carry on, even though it’s obvious she wants to see our relationship come to an end.”

The Sophie issue again.
Whatever I said, Pearl was convinced that Sophie was out to get her. I kept my mouth shut. I got the feeling that
whatever
I told her, it wouldn’t work out in my favor.

“Alexandre, if you and your life met right now, right here, what would you say to it?”

“What?”

“If you and your life could have a conversation, what would you tell it?”

“Je ne regrette rien,”
I said with a laugh, quoting the Edith Piaf song.

“Seriously.”

“I
am
serious. The only thing I might regret is not having kissed you sooner.”

“If you could re-live your life, is there anything you’d do differently?”

I tried to gauge her expression but she wasn’t giving anything away. I answered, “I am who I am because of all my choices; the good and the bad. Even the mediocre.” I thought of Laura and a shiver of shame crept up the back of my neck. “I mean, thank God things happened the way they did, or I might have ended up with Laura and I wouldn’t have met you.” The second I said those words I wished I hadn’t bloody mentioned Laura.

“Do you still think about her?”

Yes. That she’s a fucking fruitcake!
And I just escaped a bloody close shave.
“She’s a friend, I guess. We shared a past, that’s all.” I felt my face heat up.

“So you don’t agonize over choices you made and wish that there were things you hadn’t done?”

Pearl was onto me. Somehow,
she knew.
That’s why she’d cooled off.
Did she know about Laura trying to fuck me?
Or perhaps she’d guessed about my mother? The way she was staring into my eyes had my solar plexus feel as if someone had swung a baseball bat at my gut.

I tried to sound cool. Unfazed. “Sometimes you don’t have a choice, Pearl. External forces choose for you.”

“We always have a choice. A choice not to get ourselves into bad predicaments in the first place. At least when we’re adults, that is. Children don’t get a chance to choose.”

And was she now
choosing
to break up with me, or something? Her glass-cold face wasn’t revealing a thing.

“Your mother, for instance? She had a choice,” Pearl went on.

Jesus! What does she know?
Does she know what my mother did?
“My father was a monster,” I said in retaliation, my teeth gritted.

“What happened to your father, anyway?” she asked, her eyebrows raised as if she had guessed the real truth.

“He disappeared,” I said, as casually as I could.

“Oh really?” Her brows did their thing again.

“Yes, really, Pearl. That nasty douchebag just disappeared into thin air.”

“Aren’t you worried that he may come back and
haunt
you?”

I told her that he had disappeared but she seemed to know that he was
dead
. She used the word ‘haunt.’
How
did she know? I said in a cold-fire voice. “He’s gone for good. He won’t come back. Ever.”

5

I
feel his hands around my shoulders. He’s behind me, pressing himself up against my back; his hug tight—he’s squeezing the breath from my lungs with his grip. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, like dragon fire, and I 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 my mother 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 about my stomach, knowing that it was just my boy Rex, and I flung my arms about 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, 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 now 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,” she 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.”