Belle Pearl (6 page)

While Pearl was in sunny LA, New York was turning from autumn into winter. Days were passing more slowly; dark evenings were descending more rapidly. Montreal was even worse. The minute I stepped off the plane, I felt the air, icy on my cheeks. Pearl and I had spoken on the phone before takeoff but the line went dead. She said she had something important to tell me—the thing which had been responsible for her nightmares. Finally, she was going to divulge her secret.
We all have secrets and that’s what a relationship is all about—finding the right moment to reveal pieces of our past.
Pearl was about to share hers, but I was still hiding my own slithering nest of vipers in a dark pit. It felt unfair and reminded me that she was too good for me.

Her call came through, and I picked up, feeling a sense of relief. Though her voice was shaking, trembling with rage.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Alexandre?”

Heat spiraled through my veins. My mother’s secret? Laura’s Bloody Mary? “Hey, babe, great to hear your voice. What’s up?”

The tirade began. Samuel Myers. Sophie. Shit, I’d forgotten to tell her about Sophie coming on board when we’d spoken yesterday.

“Calm down, chérie, I was going to tell you; it just slipped my mind.”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s just money, Pearl. No big deal. Sophie won’t be involved in any way whatsoever—she’s just helping out financially.”

The conversation dragged on—Pearl screaming at me, which she had never done before. She was usually so calm but her conversation was laced with threats, tumbling from her livid lips: phrases like ‘future ex-marriage’ and ‘our relationship is over.’

I had to act fast. She was hysterical about this Sophie thing. I said in a level voice, “I’m coming to get you now, Pearl. I’m going to cancel my meeting, hire a jet, and fly straight out to be with you and we’ll get married in Vegas tomorrow. You can still have your white wedding but let’s just stop this waiting game nonsense and get married.”

But she wasn’t having it. “You’re not listening to a goddamn word I’ve said, Alexandre Chevalier. Once you have split with Sophie, once and for all—gotten out of HookedUp,
then
we have a chance of making our relationship work. Until then, adios amigo, because you know what? The last thing in the world I want right now is a relationship with a cock.”

I felt like the dragon being lanced by St. George. So
that
was it…she was gay, after all! She’d fallen in love with Alessandra Demarr and wanted me out of the picture. More fool me. What an idiot I’d been to be so casual about the whole thing. Worse, actively encouraging her to explore her inner bloody lesbian!

“Is that all I am to you? A cock?” I said quietly.

“Men are pigs. Pigs! You rape women. Everything you do is conditioned by your dicks.” She went on another tirade…something about rape in South Africa, celebrities shagging mentally handicapped children, and men fucking underage girls. She must have been getting updates from Natalie for their documentaries. But Pearl was preaching to the converted. If anyone knew how sick men could be, it was me.

“Pearl, my darling,” I said in a gentle voice. “What’s suddenly brought all this on? Is it Alessandra?”

Between her sobbing and hitched voice gulping for air, I could hardly understand a word Pearl said. “Call Daisy,” she hiccupped, “she’ll explain. I can hardly speak right now I’m so furious about Sophie. I do not want Sophie in my life!” She hung up on me.

So we were back to the Sophie topic again. Pearl was all over the place. The hairs on my arms bristled with chilled fear. I was about to lose my Pearl. My
life
. For whatever reason, she wanted me
out
and she was using Sophie as an excuse to extricate herself from me. But I simply wasn’t having it. No fucking way.

I called the videographer with whom my meeting was scheduled, and cancelled him. And I instructed my assistant to get a plane to take me immediately to LA; I required a car and he also needed to book a preacher to marry us in Vegas that very night—orchestra and all—and a jet to take us away to Bora Bora for our honeymoon. I’d nip this nonsense in the bud. Pearl and I would get married and live happily ever after. I’d deal with the Sophie issue at a later date when I’d got Pearl under control. Because she
did
need to be controlled. She was like a racecar spiraling all over the track. She needed me to steady her. If she’d turned gay, I’d simply ease her back again into being heterosexual. She’d loved sex with me before—I’d win her back again. I’d mend her broken wing; the wing someone had damaged in her nightmares.

I was used to hysterical women. Pearl would be no different. And even if she were just as nutty as the rest of them, I didn’t care; I wanted her anyway.

I called her back. She would have had time to cool down a little. “I’ve cancelled my meeting; I’m on my way.”

“Well I won’t be around when you get here,” she said through tears.

“Don’t be silly, Pearl, just stay where you are.”

“I don’t want to see you.”
The lance, again…stabbing me.

“Please explain what’s going on, baby. Is it Alessandra? Is it those nightmares you’ve been having? What’s going on?”

There was a long pause and she eventually said, “A long time ago when I was at university…”

Finally the truth. But she stopped mid-sentence.

“Go on, chérie…I’m here for you. I love you. Please share your pain with me. Your pain is
my
pain—I can get you through this.”

“No you can’t, you’re a guy and sorry, Alexandre, but males repulse me right now. I am
disgusted.”

“I understand, baby. I swear, I do. I agree—men can be pigs. I may be a man but all I want is to love you, protect you, and care for you. Please tell me what happened, my angel. You can trust me. I’m here for you.”

The floodgates opened. It all came out. The gang rape at college. The spiked drink (well, Laura taught me about the infallibility of that one). How Pearl felt she’d asked for it because she was wearing a miniskirt. The guilt. The sense of culpability, shame, and then the blackout which morphed into a blank-out—memories better left buried.

Oh Pearl,
I wanted to say;
I’ve been there, too.
But I didn’t get a chance. I managed to assure her how it wasn’t her fault, how we’d get through it together, but she was so upset she couldn’t hear me. She started ranting on about Sophie again, then hung up. I called back but she’d put her cell on voicemail. I left several messages, anyway, telling her to meet me at Van Nuys airport where we would catch a private jet to Vegas. Although, somehow, I knew things weren’t going to be quite so simple.

I’d have to be the bulldozer guy. I had no choice. Whether Pearl liked it or not, I was coming to get her. She was falling off a cliff with her broken wing and I was the only person who could catch her.

I dozed off on the plane, planning every move in my head: our flash-lightening wedding, our honeymoon, and how I’d insist on us both taking a break from work—maybe that tree-house in Thailand I’d been fantasizing about would be a good plan. Pearl needed a rest, needed time to heal.

August in Paris. Tempers are raising the thermometers even higher.

We had a picnic by the river today and everything was perfect. Sophie’s back home from staying at her friend’s. Papa’s been on good behavior. Maman loves him with every tiny piece of her heart. Smiles; making sexy eyes, laughing, happy dinners, and happy faces. But I can feel the demon returning. The slimy creature is making its way back inside him and settling in for the night. Sophie says he’s okay; that he’s taken his medication, but I can feel it bubbling under his skin. I hold Sophie’s hand. We’re watching TV.

I whisper in her ear. “Stay in my bed tonight.”

She laughs. “You’re a big boy, you don’t need me.”

I want to tell her how he rubbed himself up against me—when she was away. When he wasn’t taking his pills. He rubbed himself up and down, through the sheets, and I could hear him moan when he stopped. I could feel the wetness. He gripped my shoulders. He rubbed. He cried. He rubbed. He got up and left.

“I don’t want him rubbing again,” I tell Sophie.

She takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom, away from our parents, who are still staring at the TV screen. Sophie isn’t smiling now. “What did he do? Did he touch you here,” she asks, her finger pointing to her private place.

“He didn’t touch me there. But he breathes in my ear and cries and rubs himself up against me. He tells Maman he’s coming to say goodnight to me and read me a story but sometimes he falls asleep in my bed when he’s drunk.”

“The bastard.” Her eyes are looking about her as if she’s planning something. “And Maman does nothing?”

I nodded my head. “She doesn’t know.”

“No point telling her because she won’t believe you anyway. But I believe you, Alexandre. I know what he does. I know.” Tears are in Sophie’s eyes now. I wonder if he has rubbed her too, but I don’t ask. “Are you going to stay at your friend’s house again?” I ask with fear.

“No, I’ll stay here tonight. If he touches you, call out to me. Okay?”

I nod my head.

I woke with a jolt. The plane was landing. Pearl and I had more in common than she realized. We were both victims. The only difference was that I was a victim who would seek revenge because I’d grown tough over the years. I wasn’t that vulnerable little boy anymore. I’d find out who had hurt Pearl and give them what was fucking coming to them.

The rental car my assistant had organized for me was waiting. I was glad to see it was the latest Mercedes—I’d need something speedy because Pearl was really giving me the runaround—not picking up her phone. I drove to the hotel in Santa Monica where she was still staying. But soon found out she wasn’t. She’d bloody well checked out without giving any indication of where she was going. Calling her was fruitless. She was obviously in a terrible state and it seemed she wanted nothing more to do with me, until I, literally, handed her a signed affidavit proving that Sophie and I had parted ways. It was crazy—as if that were something I’d be able to do overnight…a multi-billion dollar company? Pearl should have known better, but then I guessed that working in documentaries and film was a far cry from what I did, and she simply didn’t have a clue about how many people it would involve—the logistics of doing such a thing. Pearl was morally blackmailing me: wanting me to choose between her and Sophie, obviously still convinced that Sophie was out for her blood. I could see, too, from Pearl’s perspective, why it looked like Sophie was being sneaky. What a fucking mess!

The only place I could imagine Pearl being—unless she’d hightailed herself out of LA altogether—was at Alessandra Demarr’s house. Of course, Alessandra wasn’t picking up either, but I sped along Pacific Coast Highway toward Topanga Canyon, hoping I’d find Pearl there.

What a fucking fiasco. I had never chased a woman like this before in my life. All that talk about letting women come to you like cats or children, and here I was flying along in this Mercedes in hot pursuit of a madwoman. A fucked-up, dysfunctional, neurotic nutter, just like every other female in my life.

The only difference was that this time I felt that my world was at stake. I needed Pearl and I couldn’t be without her. At least, I couldn’t be
happy
without her.

The gods were on my side. I spotted Pearl exit Alessandra’s driveway, but because it wasn’t the same powder blue Cadillac, it took me a second to register. She’d changed her rental car and was now (I was pretty sure it was her) driving a BMW. I did a screeching U-turn and pursued the car. It sped up—a wild driver was at the wheel and I knew, by that point, it was definitely Pearl. Our cars were careening along the highway as if we were in a Steve McQueen movie—I was racing to outrun her. The Mercedes and the BMW…always had been rivals on the road. I flashed my lights at Pearl but it only made her go faster. This was insane; we’d get pulled over by a cop—worse, this was LA, we might have a gun held to our heads or flung on the ground and handcuffed.

I zigzagged like a lunatic, weaving between other drivers to pin Pearl down.

Finally, she pulled over at a restaurant parking lot. I overtook her, and then screeched to a halt. I got out of my car and pelted towards her, just in case she got it into her head to take off again. She buzzed down her window, and in that moment, I knew that she was not only crazy, but loving the attention, lapping up the drama.

Yes, Pearl Robinson was a drama queen. She was trying to suppress a grin, which stretched across her full, wide lips.

I leaned into her open window. “Nutter. You want to get us both killed?” I couldn’t help but smile too.

But, stubborn as ever, she continued her little game. “I meant what I said, Alexandre. I am not going to Vegas with you. I’m going to Kauai to see my dad.”

“Oh Kauai now, is it? I don’t think so.” I opened her door and hovered my lips centimeters away from her face. “Correction.
We
are going to Vegas.
Together
.” I heard my own voice and I sounded so French…
togezzaire
. “We’re getting married tonight; it’s all arranged. Then we can go to Kauai for our honeymoon.”