About Face (29 page)

A
MSTERDAM
, T
HE
N
ETHERLANDS
2010

One evening, after cocktails with the owners of a half-built Class A office tower going up in the South Axis market of Amsterdam, Cobus's Maybach made its way through the city. The night was chilly, damp. Cobus and I were in the backseat.

“What do you think?” asked Cobus. “Do we really want the responsibility of finishing the construction? We're talking about the tallest building ever built in Amsterdam, Ivan.”

“Diepenbrock's group is in trouble, Cobus, and we're talking about pulling the property for peanuts on the euro. We make money on this deal the second we sign the paperwork.”

Cobus was nodding his head as he added, “And the construction has been spot on so far. Gropius is doing a flawless job.”

Gropius & Immendorf was the German engineering firm handling the construction.

“There is a reason Diepenbrock came to you first, Cobus.”

“To us, Ivan,” Cobus went on. “To de Bont Beleggings. A firm you are essentially helping me steer at this point.”

Cobus changed directions. He leaned forward and said to his driver, “Alex, let's head over to Keizersgracht Straat.”

He leaned back again.

“What's happening on Keizersgracht?” I inquired, looking at the time on my iPhone. “I thought we needed to meet van Buuren at Vermeer at eight o'clock.”

“There's no meeting with van Buuren tonight, Ivan,” Cobus responded. “No dinner at Vermeer. I canceled.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cobus turned his attention away from me, out the window.

“I love how Amsterdam looks passing by from inside the car. The people. The buildings. We have so much to do with both of them. It's a lot, Ivan, no?”

“What's a lot?” I responded, puzzled.

“Holding it all together. Maintaining life. Working hard, but doing it in an honest way. Really spending each day not only attacking this world, but doing it in a way one can be proud of. Doing it in a way that is—”

Cobus returned his attention to me.

“Honest.”

Something strange was happening.

Fuck.

Cobus had never even used the word honesty in relation to me.

Was he on to me?

I thought of Perry. I thought of Max, Neo.

“I knew from the moment we met, Ivan, that you were different. That there was more there than one could see. I just never could have imagined knowing what, well, I now know.”

I was ready. I subtly moved my hand to the armrest on the door near the door handle. Before he said another word, I was prepared to open the door, tuck my chin, pull my arms and legs in tight, and roll for however long was needed until I could spring back up and head back the other way. Under my polished new façade, I was still Jonah Gray. I was still, and would always now be, a warrior who could flip a switch.

“Is that right? And what is it you now know?”

Could it be? Could Cobus have stumbled on to my real identity and turned me over?

I could feel my jaw stiffening. I was ready for combat.

His face became serious. He reached inside his jacket pocket. My hand slid to the door handle. Just as my fingertips started to grip it, he pulled out a gold Gucci keychain with two keys hanging from the ring.

“That you are one of the brightest real estate minds I have ever been around. That you are as humble as you are filled with integrity. And that this company could have never flourished this much, this fast, without you.”

I relaxed again.

“Our numbers for this year are going to be extraordinary, Ivan. Do you realize this?”

“I do.”

Did I ever. Cobus's foresight and positioning had put de Bont Beleggings, flush with cash and strategically aligned up the ying-yang, to capitalize big-time in the face of something like a global commercial real estate meltdown. We had spent the better part of two years kicking the overleveraged, already down, square in the teeth and taking names.

Cobus flipped me the keychain.

“What's this?”

“My way of saying thank you,” Cobus said. “And also your bonus for the year. In fact, I probably wouldn't count on one next year after this.”

Just then we rolled up to a magnificent five-story canal house on Keizersgracht Straat.

“A little something for you and Tess. You've earned it.”

Funny. One look at the canal house reminded me of the townhouse I had grown up in on the Upper East Side of New York City. The one my father was gunned down in front of.

The car stopped. I looked at Cobus.

“I'm not quite sure what to say. This isn't at all necessary,
Cobus. As you know, I'm not one much for luxury. I'm more the simple type.”

“I know you are. That's why I think you'll love how the place was decorated...”

As I mentioned earlier, the ultracontemporary and immaculate interior of the home was predominantly white and state-of-the-art. We stepped into the kitchen where a bottle of Perrier-Jouët 2002 Fleur de Champagne Rosé was on ice. There was a woman in the kitchen—a fifty-something housekeeper type—who reached for the bottle upon our arrival.

“This is Laura,” Cobus said. “Her quarters are at the north end of the second floor. And as part of the gift I have picked up the first year of her salary.”

“Cobus, I really need to say that this is too much. I mean how—”

“Stop it, Ivan. Really. For the amount of profit you have helped this firm generate, I'm probably going light here. Especially since—I must tell you—the owner was getting foreclosed on. I had mentioned to Marco—”

Marco Oud—a banker we often deal with.

“—a little while back what I intended on doing for you and told him to keep his eyes open. Once I saw this, I knew it was perfect. I figured that little dog you adore so much would feel right at home with all of the white.”

Laura handed us each a glass. We clinked, and each took a sip.

“Thank you, Cobus,” I said. “This is quite overwhelming. And quite the motivator to keep at it.”

I had called Perry to let her know what was happening. At three a.m., Max asleep in his new
enstig kunnen
—Dutch for seriously awesome—room, I heard the whir of our new elevator out in the hallway. I heard Perry's heels click as she made her way down the wide-plank, white, light bamboo hardwood floor. Without stopping, she entered the bedroom. The click of her heels, now absorbed by the plush white carpet, was gone.

Our new bedroom was sleek, minimalist. I was laying on our new low-to-the-ground platform bed, arms behind my head, waiting for her. Lorna Lee's “La Lune Foncée” played faintly in the background, blending beautifully with the sounds of the Amsterdam night as I had left the windows open. The lights in the room had been set to a soft glow.

Perry stopped in front of the bed. The owners of the supperclub liked the female staff—especially the hot bartenders like Tess Beel—looking sharp as a Kasumi knife. She wore Helmut Lang stretch leather skinny pants and a black, skin-tight, scoop neck Burberry matte jersey tank finished off with popping royal-blue suede, Giuseppe Zanotti colorblock platform sandals.

Another perk for Perry of her new life. All the great fashion—only now it was just the fun stuff.

“Pretty nice digs you got here, Mr. Janse.”

“Glad you like them,” I tossed back.

She slowly peeled off her top, enjoying me enjoying her. She tossed it aside, as well as her black satin bra. Then she kicked off her six-inch heels. She crawled up on the bed on top of me. Above me on all fours, staring into my eyes, our noses—our faces—gently caressed each other. Then we kissed deeply.

“You seem to have left something on,” I whispered.

“I wanted you to peel them off me yourself.”

She sat up on top of me. I unbuttoned and unzipped the leather pants. Then in an instant, I lifted her off me and I circled around back of her. Feeling both of our excitement, and only wanting that excitement to get hotter, I slowed down. My left hand enjoyed the skinlike leather covering her perfect ass. My right hand gently grabbed the front of her neck from behind and lifted her up. I put her left earlobe in my mouth. Her left hand reached back and played with my hair. Her right hand started playing with her right breast.

Finally, I reached down with both hands and slid her pants off. I dropped them off the bed.

“Did you ever wear panties when we were at PCBL?” I joked.

Perry sexily crawled forward over the silky white sheets, her torso low and her ass high, and crawled up the wall behind our new pillows. Once she was at a ninety-degree angle, she turned and looked at me, her hands still in place.

“Get over here and take care of me, Ivan Janse. Now.”

Sixty sex-soaked minutes later, both of us exhausted, glistening with sweat, we were on our backs. Our legs were tangled like a pretzel as we looked at the ceiling. My left hand, reaching across my body, tickled the crease on the inside of her left elbow.

“So?” asked Perry. “You going to give me a tour?”

Both naked, we stepped out of the bedroom.

The top floor—floor five—was ours. All ours. I had grown up in luxury, then been beaten down by life, self-taught to shun bullshit. Over the course of five years, I had created this from nothing for Perry, for Max, for me.

Ivan Janse.

Jonah Gray.

As we walked down the hall, wood under our feet and the soft, white luminescence of the home's lighting system set for nighttime bathing us, Perry had her arm out. Her fingertips grazed the wall as we walked.

“I'm impressed, Jonah. You've become such a world-beater again from scratch that Cobus gave you a fucking sick house …”

She giggled.

“With a freaking elevator.”

“Gave us a house, Perry. You, Max, Neo, me.”

We examined our new digs. Our master bathroom, like the bedroom, was enormous, and connected to two his-and-her walk-in closets that were each the size of a Manhattan studio apartment and equipped with its own flat-screen and chaise for a little predress lounging. On the opposite end of the top floor was Max's bedroom, as well as his video-game room. Upon sight of her sleeping son, Perry cocked her head and smiled.

“Stairs or elevator?” I asked.

“Definitely, elevator,” Perry said. “Seriously, have you ever been on an elevator naked before? How can we not?”

Just before getting on the elevator, I heard Neo's nails clicking on the floor. When he got to me, he reached his right front paw out. I scooped him up and carried him for the rest of the tour.

The fourth floor was all about work. I had a state-of-the-art office. It was tricked out with every imaginable gadget and up-to-the-second piece of technology possible in order to work from home—and correspond with people anywhere in the world—seamlessly, as if I were in the office. There were four fifty-something-inch flat-screens on the wall. The fourth floor also had a private den equipped with a fully loaded wet bar and multiple comfy chairs and couches. The last thing on the fourth floor was a gym with every piece of cardio and weight-lifting equipment one could ever need to stay fit.

Floor three was exclusively for entertaining. There was a small, cocktail type of room as well as a larger room with a long, rectangular glass table with surrounding contemporary white chairs running the length of the space. Nouveau works of art lined the white walls; a beautiful, sleek white blown-glass-and-ceramic chandelier hung from the ceiling. There was also a full kitchen on floor three—more like one you'd find in a restaurant as opposed to a home—to handle all the catering needs of whatever soiree was going on.

When we got back on the elevator, I hit the button for the ground floor.

“What about the second floor?” Perry asked.

“That's primarily Laura's space. And I'd rather not wake her up.”

“Laura? Who's Laura?”

The doors opened on one, I put Neo down, and explained who Laura was. First, we checked out the living room, then the dining room. We checked out both ground floor bathrooms and ended up in the kitchen. The soft, white lights, like the rest of the house, were on nighttime setting and extremely low. There were no vivid colors, just black, white, and gray. Perry hopped up and sat on the
island, letting out a quick “ooooohh!” as her naked ass hit the cold marble. After a couple of misses, I found the cabinet holding the champagne glasses. I took two out, grabbed the still half full bottle of Perrier-Jouët from the fridge, set the glasses down next to Perry's perfectly contoured thigh, and poured.

We raised our glasses and clinked.

“Do you still love it?” Perry asked before taking a sip.

“Love what?”

“The rush. The feeling of making it happen every day at such a high level. Like when we were in New York.”

She looked around, extending the hand with the glass in it.

“Creating this.”

“I don't know, Per. I don't really think about it anymore. All that matters to me is taking care of you and Max and Neo. And making sure the past never catches up to us.”

Perry reached out and put her hand on my face.

“You really don't care about any of this anymore. Do you?”

I shook my head no.

How could I possibly?

“Thank you, Jonah Gray. Thank you for keeping us safe and helping Max and me have a new life away from his father. You are the father he is supposed to have.”

I took Perry's hand and kissed it.

“Do you ever regret running with me?” I asked.

“Never. Not for a single second. Ever.”

I wonder how she'd answer that question today.

N
EW
Y
ORK
C
ITY
2013

My eyes open. My head's a mess. Where the fuck? Right. Julia's bedroom. The room is dark from the blackout shades, but the thin line of sunlight running around the shades' outline tells me day is in full swing. The sheets feel soft, inviting, but I need to get my shit together.