Love under contract (29 page)

“It’s been a long time,” she said then and had to remember why she had actually called. “Someone from a hospital called me; my daughter had an automobile accident.”

“Is she hurt?” she asked. She had been taken by surprise, but her daughter was always somewhere at the margin of possibility and she had accepted that. She lived her life and her daughter lived her own. “Not really, she was full of stimulants,” Gregor said. Aceline simply ignored her daughter’s drug problem. “I thought that you were in New York.” “The hospital also called me.” “Aceline, your daughter has a problem.” Aceline was silent. “I think that’s none of your business. Zara can take care of that; she takes mostly stimulants, but not always, and maybe some sleeping pills.” Was he an idiot to worry, while this woman, who called herself a mother, seemed to find it perfectly fine? For her it was probably also perfectly fine that her daughter became pregnant at age fourteen and that her husband betrayed her with young girls.

But before he could say anything, Zara came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and took the receiver away from him without a word.

“Hello, Mama . . .yes, I’m fine, but the Mercedes is gone,” she said calmly, as if it were a daily occurrence. Gregor looked at her in disbelief; what kind of world was this?

“Thank God, but how did Gregor get into your apartment?” “Oh, so . . . Zara tried to avoid the subject. “I thought the situation was over.” “I’ll tell you about it some other time. I have to go to bed; I’m a little weak in the knees. Will you be there tomorrow?” She knew the answer already; her mother was preparing for her wedding, why should she come to the damn graduation party? “My little one, I can’t; there is still so much to do. I’m getting married in a week, but have fun celebrating!” “Yes, Mama, if Gregor lets me . . . Bye.” She hung up and looked at Gregor. “I’m going to sleep now.” She moved slowly toward her bedroom and halfway there, she let her towel drop and crawled into the unmade bed.

She had barely fallen asleep when Gregor gathered all the medications that he could find in the apartment and threw them in the trash basket, which he carried to the dumpster in the courtyard.

Gregor was so furious with her that he preferred to sleep in the guestroom, although he could hardly fall asleep. He had these conflicting feelings again; on one hand he was pining away for  Zara, on the other hand, he could hardly look at her, because then he always thought of her crazed gaze, her arrogance, and the anger surfaced in him again. He tossed and turned in his bed, back and forth. It was well after midnight when he finally fell asleep.

Zara had awakened long before he did; she had already showered and her suitcases stood packed in a corner. She had a slight headache and searched in the cupboards for her painkillers, but couldn’t find a single tablet. The man hadn’t thrown everything out, had he? Her pain medication? She ran through the apartment and found Gregor, as he came back into the apartment with the newspaper. He had gone running while she showered.

“Where did you hide my medications?” she cried hysterically. Gregor looked at her, flabbergasted. What had she expected? “I threw them away. You have to live without them.” he said coldly and opened the newspaper.

She tore the newspaper out of his hands. “Those were medications, you idiot!” she screamed louder and began to hit him. Gregor held her hands fast. “Control yourself, you’re behaving like a junkie.” What had happened to this woman? She was really addicted to these pills. Zara thought about the medications and about the pain that she suffered once a month and suddenly sobbed loudly.

Gregor couldn’t believe it; she was really addicted! Tears ran down her cheeks. He had never seen her cry – and now she was sobbing because of her drugs. He felt sorry for her, somehow. He pulled her to him and held her tight. She sobbed into his T-shirt for a few minutes. Then she caught herself again and turned around without a word, wiped the tears away with one hand, and went into the bathroom.

She fixed her eye make-up and came back as if nothing had happened. She was already dressed, in a long, close-fitting tunic, which she had buttoned only down to the waist. It had a square neckline and short puffed sleeves, and she wore tight-fitting pants that were fashionably longer than usual. Both the tunic and pants were of a fine black silk and linen fabric. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she added long pearl earrings with diamonds.

Gregor had taken a shower in the meantime and was also fully dressed – in a light colored suit; it was summer, after all.

“I have to go to the graduation. I assume you’re coming with me?” she said, without looking at him. “The chauffeur will take the suitcases along so that we can head to the airport right afterwards,” said Gregor, and picked up his jacket. He had the job offer for Zara with him and had wanted to give it to her already, but this wasn’t the right moment.

She nodded, grabbed her leather clutch bag and walked out of the apartment. She was silent during the entire drive to Fontainebleau, staring out the window while Gregor drove, also without saying a word. He was so furious with her that he couldn’t put it into words.

Several of the students recognized Gregor; his picture was often in many of the business newspapers, and some greeted him shyly. He stood off to the side during the ceremony and as the Dean saw him after the distributing of the diplomas, he came toward him and extended his hand. “Doctor Levy, it’s a pleasure to have you come to visit us. I’ve heard that some of our graduates are going to New York and London.” Gregor smiled. It reminded him of his time there. He looked around for Zara, and found her gossiping and laughing with her colleagues. The Dean noticed that Gregor was searching for someone. “You’ve come as someone’s escort?” he asked. “Yes, my wife received her diploma today.” “Oh, your wife?” Zara was heading in their direction, and the Dean raised his eyebrows. “Now, my dear Levy, you’ve chosen the prettiest girl on campus.” Gregor sighed. “This little blueblood is not easy, I’m sure, but I have to tell you, I’ve had encounters with her myself, and sometimes she frightens me. Sharp mind; sharper tongue. I don’t know where she’ll find work.” “With me,” Gregor said. The other man laughed. “Well, then, have fun! We’ll see each other again,” he said, and turned to go.

Zara had arrived at his side, and said “We can go now.” Gregor reached into his pocket and gave her a white envelope. “What is that,” she said, surprised. “Open it.” She ripped it open and pulled out a signed contract, offering her a position. Actually, it had been signed six months ago, right after her job interviews. She looked at him, taken aback. “Thank you, but this is already six months old . . .” “Yes, it’s been lying on my desk the entire time.” He had blocked it that long. “I hope that I won’t regret this,” he said and stroked her cheek with his hand. “How can you say that? This was all your idea, wasn’t it?” “I didn’t sign it. I hope that my employees know what they’re doing.” He had not interfered or tried to influence them; he wasn’t in favor of nepotism. “And Zara, believe me, they don’t know that you’re my wife.” She looked at him gratefully; she wouldn’t have wanted the job for that reason. “Thank you.” She gave him a kiss, and he embraced her and said softly, “I’m sorry that I slapped you,” and gently touched her cheek. “Asshole, but you left me alone for so long,” she murmured and gave him another kiss nonetheless. He laughed, put his arm around her and together they left the celebration without being noticed by the others. “Is that why? Zara, we have to talk about that.” “No, please not now.”

They immediately drove to the airport and as the private plane lifted off, with Paris far below them, Gregor asked, “What have you been celebrating so extensively in the last few days?” He was thinking of the condoms, the empty bottles. “My departure from Paris,” Zara responded. “With condoms?” He wrinkled his brow. No, he didn’t want to sound jealous, but he was and Zara noticed. “Hey, you’re really jealous!” She unbuckled her seat-belt and came over to him for an embrace. She knelt in front of him and took his hands and kissed them. “Admit that you’re jealous,” she challenged him. Gregor drew his hands away and pulled her ponytail. “What do you think?” “I know you are, but . . .” He didn’t want to hear that she had slept with someone, he simply didn’t want to hear it, so he said, “I’d rather you didn’t tell me.” He picked up her chin and looked deep into her eyes. Zara smiled. This man really loves me, she thought. He loved her? She had behaved like a crazy person rather than a fine lady, and he still loved her. Was this the kind of love that’s described in the novels, that’s supposed to last forever? She didn’t believe in that any more than she believed in Santa Claus.

“I don’t want to lie to you, but I really didn’t sleep with anyone; there was no one that appealed to me,” she said then – and it was simply the truth – no one looked even roughly as good as he; no one gave her that certain kick, so she let it be after a little flirting and some harmless kisses. Gregor stroked her cheek. He even believed what she said; no, he wanted to believe it.

“I didn’t expect you to be faithful to me,” he said quietly and unbuckled his seatbelt. He pulled her to him . . . “one can only be true to someone whom one loves,” he said, and it hurt when he said it. Zara embraced him and buried her head in his lap, and his trousers rustled. She almost felt ashamed because she could hear the resignation in his voice.

Then she looked at him and took his hands into hers. “You would have deserved someone who loves you too, not such a crazy . . .”, and she meant it in earnest. It hurt her that she was unable to respond in kind to his feelings, and that she didn’t want to. Gregor smiled and stroked her cheek again. “Nice of you to admit it, but that’s my masochistic bent.” “Or your Jewish one,” Zara said, grinning. “Maybe that too.” He played with her curls.

Zara lay down on one of the benches in the plane, pulled a book out of her totebag, and began to read, looking at him now and then as he looked out of the window, lost in thought. What was he thinking?

What was love? Was it the security that she felt with him sometimes? Or this feeling of being lost and lonely when he wasn’t with her? This feeling that then drove her to swallow far too many little pills, or was it sex . . .Perhaps she would never be able to love anybody? Maybe she hadn’t earned the right to love.

While she was thinking about these things, she noticed that he was watching her; he came over and sat down on the sofa, next to her. “What are you reading there?” He looked at the book, a popular mystery novel. “Boring.” she responded. She had bought the book at the airport in a rush. She’d have to admit, in all honesty, that literature wasn’t exactly her thing.

A private plane like this one certainly had its benefits, and she wanted to take advantage of them. She put the book on the floor. One could do something other than read, right?

“Would you like something to eat, for a change?” he asked. “What is there? Caviar?” She grinned. “You like caviar.” He remembered that he had seen her eat caviar a number of times. “I like a number of things . . .,” and she stretched out her arms and pulled him to her. “This, for example.” She kissed him gently on the lips. “Or this . . .” she reached for his fine cotton shirt, pulled it out of his trousers, slipped her hand inside and stroked his bare back. He laughed and moved her hands away, got up and went to the front cabin. In a few minutes, he returned with Champagne.

She had begun to read again, but when she saw him she put the book down again and sat up half-way. He handed her a glass and sat down next to her. “The stewardess will bring us something.” She smiled seductively, took a sip, put the glass on the small table, and pulled him to her. “We could use the time well,” she whispered and ran her fingers through his hair. “Zara . . .” She was a witch, a crazy woman, but he couldn’t do anything about his feelings for her . . . “Doctor, don’t say a word.”

The house was exactly as she remembered it, as she left it the previous year. It was late in the afternoon, and Fiona came to meet her and gave her a big hug. “It’s so nice that you’re here again . . .” “Fiona, how are you?” The Mexican housekeeper laughed; she was happy when someone spoke Spanish with her. “I’m fine, Madame; I’ve put flowers in your study, the white lilies that you like so much.” She had made a note of that.

She greeted Gregor briefly. “One of your secretaries called; she wanted to know if you were coming to the office yet today?” “Thank you, Fiona.”

Zara had already run up the stairs. The chauffeur brought the heavy suitcases in, with a little help from Fiona. Gregor leafed through the mail, and Fiona said to him, in her heavily accented English, “So, will the house return to normal now?” Gregor looked up, and she was standing there with her hands on her hips, looking like a dragon.

“What do you mean?” “You should marry Madame, so that she doesn’t run away again.” Gregor laughed. “Good idea, but I actually already hit on it myself . . .” Levin had brought in the last suitcase. “Thanks, Levin – I won’t need you any more today.” “Good-by, Doctor Levy; what time should I pick you up tomorrow?” “Nine o’clock, thank you. Good-by.”

As he went upstairs, he could hear music and found Zara in the big Jacuzzi once again. “Do come here,” she insisted and stretched out her arms to him. He would make sure that she would never leave him again, never again, he thought, while his clothing fell to the floor and he went to her – even if he, like Moses, had to part the sea for her.

Gregor watched Zara in the Designer Department at Bergdorf Goodman. It was Thursday and she needed dresses, she thought. It was a rainy day and Zara had ordered some things in France, but it was mostly evening dresses that she was after. Now she was trying one on by Zac Posen, following an evening dress by Chloé. He looked up once in a while, looked at the dress she had on, and then continued to study his reports.

After another hour – Gregor himself had bought three suits in the meantime – Zara had shopped enough. The dresses were sent home to her, and as both were leaving the department store, Gregor asked, “Why do you need an evening dress particularly today?”