Cleopatra�s Perfume (31 page)

“I have my ways,” he answered, smiling and embracing what he left unsaid as his own personal secret. “But that is not important.
You
are.”

It was no blind impulse that made him come to my suite, and I could see how he fought to control his intense emotions. I also detected the sickening-sweet smell of hashish, knowing the fumes inhabiting his body darkened the beauty of his soul. Alone with him
I feared him, not because of what I knew about him, his sexual prowess and his taste for perversion, but because I understood his nature, that his charm was manipulative and cunning. I imagined his tall, muscular body pressed up against a diminutive hotel maid in awe of his glamorous form, seducing her with a confident charm that came natural to him. Did she sigh when he reached for the keys around her waist while his other hand parted her thighs to find the wetness seeping down to her cotton stockings?

“Put down the gun, Ramzi.” I made an effort not to show fear. “And get out of here.”

“No.” He cocked the trigger. “You are not leaving Cairo, is that understood?”

“You won’t shoot me.” I struggled to believe what I was saying, while inwardly I knew the attraction between us had diffused day by day, moment by moment, slipping away in the chaos of deceit, greed and jealousy.

“I don’t wish to see you die, my English rose, but you leave me no choice.” Ramzi stood up, then pointed the pistol at my head. “You have betrayed me!”

“You mean the American?”

“No. I will deal with him later.” His voice became menacing, threatening. “You allowed Mahmoud, a servant, to fuck you. That is against the law of my tribe and for that you must die.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying, that allowing Mahmoud to pleasure me was a crime when
he
had observed the Nubian touching me, penetrating me with his fingers and bringing about wild sensations in me that haunted me like ghostly fingers twisting and turning in my anus.

I neither confirmed nor denied his accusation. Instead, I looked at Ramzi as if seeing him for the first time, a man with an urgency in his voice to right a wrong no matter what the consequence. I was intrigued by his statement, my mind burning with the sudden question I could not avoid.

“Where is Mahmoud?” I asked with caution, though I feared the answer.

“I have taken the fates into my hand,” he said without hesitation. “He stands before Allah to be judged.”

“You
murdered
him?” I choked on the bile rising in my throat. “Are you mad? The Nubian did as I asked him, begged him, what
you
could no longer do. Satisfy me.”

“No man can satisfy you, my English lady,” he said with a total calm that unnerved me more than the menacing tone in his voice. I shuddered. Because I knew it was true. Since the death of Lord Marlowe, I searched for illumination of my sexual soul, an openness and communication forged with the power of being the submissive yet never losing control. My late husband understood that and aligned his role of master accordingly. Ramzi would never do that. Would the American? Would I ever find out?

The tension between us increased, the Egyptian’s anger apparent, his whim for revenge but half finished, as if death leered over his shoulder, waiting to claim its next victim. I dared to step backward, loosening the sand clinging to my white pumps. It settled like fine powder onto the carpet, reminding me I was high on the intoxicant.

“
Damn
you and your beauty,” he yelled. “I am cursed because of you. But I cannot live without you.”

He staggered back and forth, waving the gun at me, a glazed look
in his eyes erupting into a hellfire of hatred, inhuman, mad, drug induced. I panicked, knowing he could lose control of his emotions and death would be imminent—

Wait. I must find courage, will myself into action. I would make a stand. Daring, provocative, somewhat irrational.

I threw my head back and laughed. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Ramzi?”

He seemed puzzled that his threat didn’t frighten me. “Nothing you say will stop me from doing what I must.”

“Cleopatra’s perfume. You
can’t
kill me, remember?”

A lie, I admit. I experienced none of the tremors and scrambling of my senses when faced with the immediate danger of his threat. It must have been the cocaine working on my neurotic mind, imbibing my brain with the willingness to believe in the fantasy of the perfume in an effort to save my life. All I knew was I had to keep him talking, anything to defuse the tense situation between us.

His face registered shock, as if he’d forgotten about his insane plot to ensnare me with the legend of the perfume. Then he recovered and sniffed me all over. “All I smell upon you is the scent of a man,
not
perfume.” He aimed his pistol at me. “
Nothing
must stop me from killing you.”

I fought down the agonizing fear crawling all over me like black scorpions in the desert.
How could I have hoped to fool him? I’ve not applied the perfume since I left, more than a day ago.

“Then you
do
believe if I wore the perfume you couldn’t kill me?” I challenged him, hoping my plan would work. I wasn’t yet convinced in the power of the perfume, but imagine the fear overwhelming me and you’ll understand why I did what I did.

My words took him by surprise. “You’re a foolish woman. The perfume is worthless, a silly story to entrap you, a rich Englishwoman, and secure vast amounts of money from you.”

“You’re wrong, Ramzi. It
does
work.”

“What?”

“I will prove it to you. Allow me to apply the perfume,
then
shoot me.” My scheme was daring but I had no other choice. “If I die you’ll be rid of me and the Cleopatra Club will be yours—”

He spit on the carpet, his saliva thick with hate. “I don’t want the club. It’s
you
I want, close to me, my hands touching you, my cock probing you…”

I refused to listen to him. I didn’t believe him. “But if I
don’t
die, you will promise me you won’t prevent me from leaving Cairo.”

“No. It is written you are mine.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why were you fucking Maxi?”

“Laila wanted me to find out what the girl knew about the Nazi plans to invade Poland and if Goering intends to secure Polish art treasures.” He snickered. “My stepsister is a fanatical woman, obsessed with controlling me
and
Egyptian antiquities. I never wanted to fuck Maxi.”

I lost my courage upon hearing this. “Maxi
knew
about the German invasion?”

He shrugged. “If she did, she kept it to herself. The German bitch revealed nothing to me. She wanted sex and I performed my duty.” He cursed under his breath, then looked at me with such desire I found it impossible to understand the complexity of his mental makeup. “But with you as my obedient slave, my English rose, I found a passion I have never known. I can
never
let you go, even in death.”

What did he mean by that? Did he intend to mummify my body then grind up my remains to use as an aphrodisiac? Dizziness made me stagger, his words destroying any dormant obsession I had for him, as I knew it would. I
did
care for the Egyptian once, I realized, though I had let my jealousy override my feelings for him. But while our relationship was wild and erotic, it lacked that innermost depth of trust and understanding I had with my late husband. Over the past twenty-four hours, I had tasted a renewal of such feelings with the American flier, making me hunger for him. Still, I couldn’t believe a man such as Ramzi could love me. He was a fascinating, seductive creature who used his wiles to do his sister’s bidding. Nothing more.

I put my hand to my forehead, the fatigue of the past events overcoming me. I was tired, hungry, and facing the crash of the intoxicant. Ramzi took the moment as a show of weakness and grabbed me around the waist, holding me close to him, whispering endearments in Arabic in my ear. The sickening-sweet smell of hashish overwhelmed me, making me gag. He touched my breasts, rubbing my nipples through my blouse, reaching up underneath my brassiere, grabbing my soft flesh.

“No, Ramzi,
stop!
” I cried out, my voice pleading. A strange feeling of arousal came over me, disturbing me more than I expected. What was wrong with me? I stiffened when I felt the cold kiss of steel against my back, chilling me as he pressed the Luger into my ribs. This man was threatening to kill me if I didn’t do his bidding and my body responded like that of a common street prostitute?

“I
can’t
stop,” he yelled. “I
must
have you!”

“Let her go.”

The command was direct, simple. I dared not turn around lest Ramzi fire the pistol and kill me instantly, but I knew who it was.

Chuck.

I imagine he heard us arguing outside the door in the hallway and I’ll always be grateful to the American flier for his impatience at not finding me in the lobby and demanding the front desk clerk tell him my suite number. His quick actions saved me.

The Egyptian shoved me aside. I stumbled and fell, landing on the carpet, my body hitting hard, my cheek scraping against the coarse floor rug. The sharp sting made my face feel as if it was on fire. A dizzying effect kept me from moving, but as I looked up, I saw the Egyptian aim his pistol at Chuck.

“Get out of here!” Ramzi yelled.

Chuck didn’t back down. “I believe
you’re
the intruder.”

“You arrogant bastard.” Ramzi laughed. “British, American, whatever you are, you’ve been masters here too long. The war has started and soon the German army will take Cairo. Then it will be
our
turn to rule. Until then—”

I screamed as a shot rang out.

It pains me to recall what happened next, dear reader. The horror still lives with me, torturing my mind with the acuteness of having been a witness to it all yet knowing I couldn’t stop what was inevitable, my imagination breathing life into each detail so the memory grows sharper not duller. Ramzi aimed at Chuck, but the American got off the first shot, striking the Egyptian in the chest.

“Ramzi!”
I turned to the American, not believing. “You shot him.”

“I had no choice—” Chuck offered no apology for his action and
I expected none. I was grateful to him for saving my life, but that didn’t stop me from falling to my knees beside the Egyptian. I can still see him slumped on the floor, a pool of blood forming around his prone body, his arrogance as well as his evocative manliness, sensual voice, elusive touch, all ebbing from him. The scene was filled with groans, cries, my body racked with sobs. It was a drama of self-pity and repentance. I had used him for my own pleasure, but he, not I, had paid the price. I imagine you accuse me of the same duplicity I accused Ramzi of possessing, paying homage to a man who would have killed me if he could, who deceived me from the beginning, yet I had found pleasure in his arms and something else. I believe Ramzi
did
love me in his own way.

“It wasn’t supposed to end this way,” the Egyptian sputtered, blood oozing out of the side of his mouth.

“Don’t talk, Ramzi. We’ll get help.”

He shook his head. “Adieu, my English rose…”

He stared at me, his eyes clear not dark, as if he could see me, but his chest was still. I almost believed he was holding his breath, the perfume of our sensual pleasures filling his lungs, his suffering bearing the memory of that perfume, the fragrance keeping him alive for a while longer.

“Ramzi,” I cried, pulling on his robe.
“Ramzi!”

“He’s dead, Eve.” Chuck pulled me to my feet, holding me close to him. He hadn’t spoken when I tried to help the man he had shot, as if he understood something was at play here he wasn’t privy to and he respected that. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“No, I can handle the police.” I looked down at the Egyptian, his native garb swirled around him like wild brushstrokes on the canvas
of a madman. Yet even in death, his handsome features struck me as alive, revealing a man who knew his life would end because of a woman. “It’s you who must leave. Go. Quickly.”

I opened the door to the hallway and it was as if a pack of savage animals descended upon us, crushing any opportunity of escape for Chuck. The sound of the gunshot had turned an already charged atmosphere in the hotel into chaos.

Curiosity about where the shot came from.

Fear.

Need to expose the perpetrator. Arrest him.

If only I could change what happened in those next few moments, help Chuck escape through the crowd of peeping hotel guests, brash British officers, Nubian security guards and arrogant Egyptian police. Crowding into my suite, seeing Ramzi’s body on the floor, women screaming, men yelling, someone grabbing Chuck, taking his gun, holding me back, writing down my statement. Keeping me away from the American flier.
Why?
I cried.
Why won’t they listen to me?

No one will believe it was self-defense.

“Are you hurt, Lady Marlowe?” the Egyptian police captain asked.

I shook my head, though bright red blood stained my blouse, my trousers, my shoes.

“
What
did he call you?” Chuck demanded, his curiosity piqued.

“I’m known as Lady Eve Marlowe.”

“The desk clerk never said—”

“It’s not important
who
I am, Chuck. What’s important is what we have together. I swear I’ll get you out of this mess.”

“Yeah, sure,
Lady
Marlowe. I bet you make a habit of cleaning up all your indiscretions before you go on to the next one.”

“Chuck, listen to me,
please!
I have money—”

“You can’t buy everything you want. Especially me.”

He looked away. Dismissing me. Why wouldn’t he accept the fact my title and privilege were all I had to help him?

“Are you that much of a fool not to realize the Egyptians hate us?” I rambled on, my breath coming fast, my words faster. “They don’t want to believe your story of self-defense. You won’t get a fair trial.”

“Enough talk,
madame.
” The surly man in the official uniform of the Egyptian police gestured to his two underlings to handcuff the American and take him away. Then he turned to me, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes flashing, his brown face pale and angry, confirming my fears. “There will be a hearing first, of course.”