Three and a Half Weeks (19 page)

I can’t sleep. My circadian rhythm is all screwed up from the back-to-back travel I’ve been doing. It’s five a.m. and I’ve been staring at Mariah’s guest bedroom ceiling for an hour, noting all the imperfections in the paint that the soft lamplight allows to show. Giving up the fight for more sleep, I decide to shower and dress. I’ll go buy breakfast and surprise Ian with it. We’re leaving for Tokyo tomorrow afternoon and he told me he was taking today off to get ready for his trip so I know he’ll be home. Anyway, I’ll get there well before seven.

As soon as I finish my shower, I throw on my favorite jeans and a cotton sweater, and grab my phone, which I left charging the night before on the kitchen counter. There are several messages and I scroll down to see two of them are from Lucien. I read the most recent.

Ella, something’s come up and I have 2 travel 2 L.A. tomorrow. I will b there 4 a week at least -- if I’m still there when u get back from Tokyo, can u meet me? We could tape interview w/Stieglitz/O’Keefe subject and go 2 exhibit at Getty Ctr 2 c his NY Gal collection there. Keep me posted RE ur sched. LP.

Ugh, I think. Ian is not going to like that one little bit. Am I going to have a steady diet of stress from him until I complete this project and finish working with Lucien? And what about the next project that I get involved in? Do I have to work with only women and ugly old men to make Ian happy? He’d probably be jealous of ugly old men, too, now that I think of it.

Well, yesterday I got everything packed, paid bills, called friends and family, and even had time to hike over to the library to do some research on the subjects we’ll be focusing on in the film. Mariah and I had dinner together at a neighborhood bistro and I soaked in the tub for an hour, then crawled into bed exhausted. I actually feel pretty good today and I’m dying to see Ian. Though we only had forty-five minutes or so together yesterday, every second was golden. He’s so yummy that the more I have, the more I want: I can’t seem to get enough of the man.

So, happily I head out into the still-dark morning in search of breakfast and my beautiful boyfriend.

A half hour later, just as the sun is poking through the cloud cover, I arrive at Ian’s houseboat. Curiously I find the front door open and an alarm bell rings through my brain. It’s certainly not like Ian to leave the door open—quite the contrary; he leans to the more paranoid side. Debating whether or not I should go in or call someone instead takes up five minutes. Who would I call? I don’t know Jarvis’ number—his head of security at Excalibur. Finally, I very cautiously edge the door further open to peek inside. Nothing looks amiss so I step in, all the while looking all around me. So far, so good, but my heart is thudding in my chest. I make a quick detour to the kitchen to grab a weapon and put the breakfast bag down, feeling foolish but better safe than sorry, right?

Good thing I’m wearing my comfortable jeans and my low-heeled biker boots. That way, I can run fast if I need to—but also kick worth a damn. I regret they don’t have steel toes. As I make my way up the stairs, kitchen knife in hand, I can’t help but feel like the idiot girl in a horror film, the one at whom the audience is screaming not to go inside, open the door, go down to the basement, answer the phone, or whatever she’s doing that’s egregiously stupid. We all know she’s in mortal danger by the music scoring the scene. If only real life had a soundtrack to let us know when danger is near, it would be very helpful.

I get to the top of the staircase and nothing looks to be out of order. I don’t hear anything, either. I tiptoe to Ian’s bedroom door and ever so slowly turn the handle. Luckily, everything in the house is new so nothing creaks, squeaks, or clicks. Pushing the door inch by inch, all the while holding my breath, I finally have it open enough to peer inside. And what I see almost sends me into cardiac arrest.

Ian is sleeping peacefully in his big bed, wrapped in his 600-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. His lustrous dark hair spills upon the white pillow and his face is serene as he slumbers, his tanned, muscular arm wrapped around a dark-skinned, dark-haired woman—who is naked. At least I’m assuming she’s naked by the upper part of her body that’s not covered by the sheet. Ian’s arm is slung around her waist and her huge breasts are resting on his forearm. It also appears that Ian has his leg across her. He wraps around me like that, too.

Or at least, he used to.

I back out and leave the door slightly ajar, my guts twisting tightly as if a hand is wringing them out
like a sponge, inside my body. Bile rushes up my closing throat and I think I’m going to puke, plus I’m shaking like a leaf in an approaching hurricane. I hurry down the stairs and right out of the house, pulling the door shut behind me. Too late I realize I left the breakfast I’d bought in the kitchen. Oh well. I guess the cat’s out of the bag now: he’ll know that I know when he sees the food there. Just as well since I never plan to see him again… ever.

First, a white-hot anger takes ch
arge of me: I feel it inhabit my body and it makes me want to kill him, the fucking bastard! How dare he do this awful thing to me? Now I know why he didn’t want to spend the night with me last night. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl that I am, it never occurred to me that Ian might be a player, a cheater. Why not, I wonder in retrospect? True, he never seemed to look at another woman with any interest at all when he was with me. But the man is rich, gorgeous, and relatively well known: he can have just about any woman he desires so why did I think he’d possibly be exclusive to me? Because he said so?

I scoff at my sheer gullibility. I do
n’t know why but I believed him. Somehow I’d convinced myself that he had feelings for me, and only me. I know I have strong feelings for him—I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him. And that, more than anything, is my personal tragedy.

Then dire misery—a combination of sadness and
acute pain over the betrayal—sucks me into its dark, inescapable vortex: the tears cascade down like rain, with almost no warning. I stagger over to my rental car, barely able to see a few feet ahead, I’m crying so hard. How am I going to drive? I have to calm down but I can’t. I’m sobbing and I can’t stop so I sit in my car, switch on the ignition and turn on the A/C so it’s blasting cold air in my face—I figure if I’m so freezing cold, I won’t be able to concentrate on the burning pain flaying open my guts right about now—and I manage to slow down the weeping long enough to shift into drive and pull out of the marina parking lot.

Somewhere
along the highway, I find enough resolve to help me make it back to Mariah’s apartment. The pain I’m experiencing is so intense, I just want to shrivel up and die. Fleetingly I wonder if anyone ever dies of grief? Surely the answer is yes. I allow myself an hour to curl up in the dim room and wallow in the abject misery that grips me.

Since my bags are packed already and I’m not going to Tokyo after all, I decide to go straight to the airport and wait for the next flight to L.A. I’ll drop the rental car off at the airport and I’ll go back to my leased cottage in Los Feliz where the deep pink
bougainvillea
will be in full bloom.

So that’s exactly what I do. Along the way, I open my window and say my final goodbyes to Portland and all its denizens.

The solar rays streaming through the window shine directly onto his face, warming it and gently edging him toward a conscious state. He keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the heat of the sun that so rarely makes an appearance in Portland in such potency. Next to him, he can feel the added warmth of body heat.

Mmm, Ella.

He snuggles up to her. It takes a few moments to remember that Ella wasn’t with him last night and, as if someone jammed his thigh with a hypodermic of adrenaline, he jerks his head up to look at the woman in his arms.

The
naked woman
in his arms… who’s not Ella. “What the fuck?” he screams and Alexis jumps up, startled.

“Chill out, lover boy,” comes her throaty voice. “One would think you’d never seen a naked woman in your bed before.”

“What the fuck are you doing in my house, Alexis? Was I not crystal clear the last time you broke in? Do you have a yen to go to jail? Because that’s exactly where you’re headed.”

“No,” she purrs, reaching out to brush the lock of stray hair out of his eyes. “I have a yen for you.”

He slaps her hand away viciously. “Don’t touch me,” he says in a scathingly cold voice as he jumps out of the bed and pulls on a pair of jeans, grabbing his phone and punching in the number for Jarvis’ cell.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he screams into the phone when it connects to Jarvis’ voice, thick with sleep. “Were my orders not explicit enough? I told you to watch Alexis Martinez 24/7 until I left town. Which part did you not understand, Jarvis?”

The voice on the other end is suddenly on high alert. “Mr. Blackmon. We’ve tried to comply but she never came home for us to pick up the tail. It’s impossible to follow someone you can’t find.”

“Well, that’s because right now she’s in my fucking bed, Jarvis. Get someone here now to get her the hell out.”

“Do you want to bring in law enforcement at this point?”

“Use your professional judgment. If you do bring the cops in on it, make sure you tell them I’ve already left the country. I don’t want my trip delayed by this bullshit. Just get here now!”

He shrugs into a tee-shirt and snatches his leather jacket out of the closet before heading downstairs. Running his hand through his hair, he realizes how lucky it was that Ella wasn’t with him last night. Would Alexis have hurt her? There was no way he was bringing Ella to this houseboat again. They’d both be safer in the glass house

He puts on his running shoes, sans socks, since he doesn’t want to go back upstairs and see the crazy bitch again. She can’t leave from the upper story unless she wants to break a limb or two. There’s no climbing down unless she knows where the ladder is concealed. Shit! She might just know it, the crafty wacko. He runs back upstairs to check on her.

Alexis is not in the master bedroom when he gets there. Thinking she went out the window, he’s about to check the roof garden when he hears water running in the master bath. Talk about calm: she’s freshening up for her arrest? The door opens a few moments later and she’s fully dressed. She smiles.

“A dress, Alexis? Do you have something a bit more casual for jail?”

Laughing, she says, “Oh, Ian, you know I’m not going to jail. I know you don’t want negative press right now when big things are happening at your company. Being involved in a sordid stalking won’t calm your investing partners’ anxiety.”

His eyes narrow menacingly as he takes a long, hard look at her. What exactly is going on here? Choosing his words carefully and struggling for calm, he says, “At least you acknowledge that you’re a sordid stalker. Exactly who are these investing partners to whom you refer, Alexis? Please, enlighten me.”

She shrugs. “Oh, you know very well who they are. I do my homework, baby. So… when do you get back from Tokyo, you and what’s-her-name?”

His blood boiling, Ian grabs her upper arm and hauls her out of the bedroom and down the stairs. When they reach the living room, he forces her into a chair to wait for Jarvis to arrive. Fortunately, his residence is five minutes away so he should be able to get here soon, providing he can get a back-up team together. In the meantime, Ian attempts to extract more information from the woman.

“What’s this all about, Alexis? Who are you working for?”

“Working for? Why would you assume that, Ian?”

“Obviously, you’re trying to glean information about my company… and what’s with the sudden obsession with me? You didn’t seem so broken up when I stopped seeing you. Methinks I sense a nefarious plot afoot.”

Tossing her glossy head back, she laughs. “Paranoid bastard, aren’t you, Ian? I hate to disappoint you but I’m just your standard garden-variety stalker. I don’t take kindly to men dumping me, baby. That’s really all there is to it. And what does what’s-her-name got that I don’t?”

There’s a loud knock on the door and he gets up from his perch on the arm of an upholstered chair to open it. That was fast: Jarvis and three of his men rush into the house.

“Mr. Blackmon, we’ll take it from here.”

Alexis looks surprised that the men are actually there. She rises to her feet and begins to back away from them, but the two stockiest go after her and easily restrain her. Ian watches as they drag her out of the house.

“Don’t touch me,” he hears her scream. “Rape!”

One of the men claps a hand over her mouth and she bites him and yells again as he mutters a curse. They push her into a white van they left running in front of the house. Jarvis watches from the door. “We’ll let the police know you’ll be available next week but honestly I don’t know if they’ll hold her without you personally pressing charges, Mr. Blackmon. Is there any possible way you can just put in an appearance at the precinct today?”

Ian runs his hand through his hair in agitation. “Yes, I suppose I will if it means they’ll hold her. Something like this, they’ll almost definitely set bail and expect me to take out a restraining order—am I correct?”

Jarvis nods. “That’s usually the way it goes, yes. Let me see what strings I could pull. I know one of the desk sergeants at that precinct.

“Very good. Keep me posted.”

Ian glances at his watch, wondering if Ella would be up by now. It’s after nine so she’s almost certainly awake. Taking the steps two at a time, he hurries into the bathroom to take a quick shower, only to find all of Alexis’ toiletries on the vanity—she truly made herself at home. Sweeping his arm across the lot of them, he pushes them into the garbage in disgust and then pops into the shower. He needs to get to Ella and explain about Alexis—he is not going to take any chances.

Before getting into his convertible, Ian tries calling her on her cell but it goes directly to voice mail—he bangs his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. Then he tries Mariah’s home phone. Mariah answers, her voice groggy.

“Mariah, it’s Ian Blackmon. Is Ella there?”

“Uh, I don’t know—I was sleeping. Can you call back in ten?”

“I’m on my way now. I’ll wait till I get there.”

“Okay. I’ll make coffee if Ella hasn’t already made some. See you soon.”

Why isn’t Ella picking up her phone? He’s trying to push down the anxiety that’s creeping up his spine but he can’t stop its encroachment.

Pulling up in front of the apartment, Ian takes a deep breath, trying to quell the premonition that something’s truly amiss. He strides with purpose toward the front door, anxious to see Ella.

The apartment door opens as soon as he knocks.

“Ian. Come in.” Mariah looks subdued, even troubled.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Ella?” Now the knot in his stomach tightens painfully.

“She left.”

“What do you mean, left? We’re leaving for Tokyo tomorrow.”

“She was gone when I woke up… she left a note.”

“May I see the note, please?”

Mariah looks hesitant. “Come in and sit down, Ian. Let’s talk for a bit. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

He has no choice but to play by her rules so he complies but as every minute ticks by, he feels the meltdown approach ever nearer. Right now, his body feels as tense as a bow the moment it’s drawn.

“What happened?” Mariah asks, handing him the coffee mug. “What sent her running?”

The hot coffee anchors him to the sofa: if he weren’t holding it, the adrenaline in his body would force him to his feet. “I’m not sure, Mariah. I need information.”

Ella
’s friend is thinking, mulling something over, and it makes him wonder what the hell the note said. Did Alexis contact Ella? Hurt her in any way? What the hell was going on?

Clearing her throat, Mariah begins again. “Did something…
unusual
occur between last night and this morning, Ian?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

He sighs. “A woman is stalking me. Sometime last night she broke into my home… and got into bed with me. I didn’t discover her presence until I opened my eyes this morning to a rude awakening. Very rude,” he adds sardonically.

“Ah, that explains things.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her robe pocket and hands it to him. “Have a look.”

Taking the paper, he quickly scans it. Now a lump of lead sits in his chest as he begins to put two and two together.

Mariah, I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye but I had to leave, like, right away. I won’t be coming back to Portland. I’m going back to L.A. to stay and it happens that Lucien is there and asked me to meet him so it works out conveniently. I’m including the rent check for next month since I didn’t give you any advance notice. If Ian calls, please don’t give him any information. He and I are through (I’ll explain next time we talk).

All love,

Ella

Ian sits staring at the paper long after he finishes reading, imagining the possible scenario. “Did Ella leave the apartment anytime last night?” he finally asks.

“I don’t know but it looks that way. Either that or the stalker contacted her and somehow convinced her of something she didn’t like. You have to leave for Tokyo soon, don’t you?”

Not bothering to answer, he asks, “Where is she? Do you happen to have her address in L.A.?”

Mariah gets up, her bare feet padding across the hardwood floor to the breakfast bar, where she pulls an address book off the corner. Flipping through it, she finds the page. “Yes.” She tosses a pen to him and he catches it, turning over the piece of paper to write on the back. Mariah reads off the address.

Checking the time, he wonders if she’s already in the air or if he could still i
ntercept her at the airport. Traveling on a commercial flight takes time to book, make it through security, board the plane, etc. He might just get lucky. The other option is to take no chances and just get there, possibly ahead of her.

Always decisive in crisis situations, Ian reaches into his pocket for his phone. “Jonas. Is the Gulfstream available this morning? Good. Call Scott and tell him I’m on my way and I need to get to L.A. If he’s not available to pilot, I’ll do it myself but ask him if he could at least file a flight plan for me. I need to get in the air ASAP. I’m on my way to the airfield right now. Thanks.”

Less than two hours later, Ian buckles his seat belt and leans back into the
buttery leather chair as the plane taxies down the runway. Fortunately, Scott was available to pilot the plane, allowing Ian to make calls and try to resolve some problems during the flight. Right now what’s eating away at him the most is the possibility that Lucien will get to Ella first. Would she succumb to his charms if she thought Ian was cheating on her?

Either Alexis somehow got to Ella or Ella walked into the bedroom and saw the psycho in bed with him. Knowing Ella, rather than confronting him then and there, she would run. That’s her MO. He’s trying, with monumental effort, not to be angry with Ella for rushing to judgment—after all, what other conclusion could she have drawn? He hadn’t yet told her about the woman stalking him. Besides, how many women would want to have a scene with her lover while he was in bed with a naked woman? Rather intimidating, he’d think.

His phone chimes. “What’s going on, Jarvis?”

“Mr. Blackmon. Alexis Martinez was arrested and booked but was released on her own recognizance. As your head of security, they permitted me to press charges against her for stalking, as well as breaking and entering, but the bail assigned was paltry and she made it within a half hour. I went back to your houseboat and secured it.”

“Good. Do we know how she got in?”

“Not yet. The lock on the door wasn’t jimmied—in fact, a lock like that is virtually jimmy-proof. It looks like she had a key, believe it or not. We also found a bag of take-out coffee and croissants in the kitchen. Did you put it there?”

He closes his eyes in frustration. “No, I didn’t… but I don’t think it was Alexis who did, either. I think it was my girlfriend who apparently came over unexpectedly. Now at least I know why she left town.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We have someone on Martinez now. She won’t pull a stunt like this one again.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Jarvis. I want this matter dealt with expeditiously—and harshly. I suspect the woman is working for someone… might even be corporate espionage at play here.”