Hooked Up: Book 2

by

ARIANNE RICHMONDE

Arianne Richmonde 2015

Kindle Edition

Copyright © Arianne Richmonde, 2013. The right of Arianne Richmonde to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) 2000

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design © by: Arianne Richmonde

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B
ACK IN MY APARTMENT, my mind tumbled over the disastrous breakfast at the Carlyle with Alexandre. Like a real glutton for extra punishment I called my thoughtful brother Anthony. As if that was going the help the situation.

“Don’t you see how childish that sounds, Pearl?” he said, after I told him various details about how I’d hidden information from Alexandre.

I was in my bedroom, throwing off the Jean Muir dress while climbing into something more casual. If I didn’t hurry, I’d be late for work. Sinead O’ Connor’s
Nothing Compares 2U
was blaring on my music system, a reminder that Alexandre was irreplaceable. Unique. And I’d lost him.

“Pearl? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here, I’m just battling with my dress.”

“Rachel from
Friends
? Seriously? You’re likening yourself to a ditzy TV character? I mean, maybe you
are
that way, but you don’t want others to perceive you so. Do you know how lame that sounds? Not to mention
dated.
So 90s. It really shows your age, too.”

“I happen to love Rachel. And you make it sound as if being forty is some sort of disease.”

“It is when you’re dating someone from kindergarten.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t hang up . . . did you mention that to Frenchie—that you are still ‘hung up’ on Rachel from
Friends
?”

“His name is Alexandre. No, I did not mention Rachel from
Friends
to him. Maybe I did tell him I liked
I Love
Lucy
and
Bewitched,
and
I Dream of Jeannie.
”

“Forty years old going on seven. Honestly. Interesting how all those characters tell fibs. I guess you must identify with them.”

“Well I love them all, and I still laugh when I watch re-runs.”

“Honey, you’re not going to get a chance to re-run this little episode, don’t you get that? And I don’t hear you laughing now, sweet pea. Do you know anything about French men? Do you not realize they are the proudest people on the face of this earth? You messed with his pride, girlfriend, you ain’t never gonna get another chance.”

“Stop that ‘girlfriend’ lingo, Anthony.”

I imagined Anthony swanning about San Francisco “girlfriending” everyone and giving high fives, and for some reason it made my blood boil. I yelled, “Anthony, what is all this, ‘French people do this and Americans do that?’ We are human
beings
, not stereotypes from some 1960’s Berlitz travel guide.”

“Do you remember that Mexican travel guide of Mom’s?” he cackled. “How we’d roar with laughter?”

“Listen, Ant, I’ll call you later, I’m running late. Thanks for listening to my woes.
And
being an ass.”

“Laters, baby sis. Take care now, don’t do anything rash, ya hear?”

WHEN I ARRIVED at work, I nearly had a heart attack. Natalie was sitting quietly at her desk.

“Natalie, why are you back so early?” I asked, dumping my monster purse on the floor. It was back with full vengeance now—everything packed inside, just in case. As in
suitcase
, it was so heavy.

“Good morning to you, too, Pearl.”

“I’m sorry . . . just . . . I thought you were in Hawaii until Monday.”

“I tossed up whether to stay and check into a hotel, or come home early. In the end it made sense to get back.”

“Hotel? What happened at Dad’s?”

“Your dad didn’t seem to want me there anymore.”

“What? But he’s crazy about you!”

“Was. Seems he got bored.”

“No, Natalie, you just read him wrong. That’s his style. He’s a loner, a surfer dude, just been used to being independent.”

“Selfish is what he is.”

“Okay, you know what? You are my boss and I love and respect you, but I spent my whole life hating my father and finally, finally we became friends. I know he’s selfish, I know he is a terrible husband, boyfriend whatever, but I do not want to know all the details of what an asshole he is. Especially, not right now.”

I found myself in tears again, and Natalie took me in her arms. I began to howl like some sort of wolf. The fact that she said, “there, there, let it all out,” made it worse. I let it all flow freely. I was like a dam suddenly being unblocked. My whole life was being spilled into her bosom. In between sobs I told her my Alexandre story, minus the mind-blowing sex. That was my precious secret—too beautiful to share with anyone.

“She listened carefully and then said, “Yeah, I had his sister, Sophie Dumas, on the line this morning cross-questioning me.”

“
What
?”

“I mean, it was lucky I was at my desk so early. I came here directly from the airport—took the Red-eye. I guess they’re five or six hours ahead of us in France. She was pretty pissed.”

“What did she say?” I asked, my heart on the floor.

“She wanted confirmation of your name. She had the e-mails in front of her, the ones I had sent her asking for a meeting and confirming your presence at the conference. She couldn’t understand why you hadn’t approached her honestly when you met them at that coffee shop, after their talk at InterWorld. And, of course, she was aware that you’ve been dating her brother—he must have spoken to her about you.”

Natalie was looking at me in a way that said, “Yes Pearl, why
didn’t
you just do things the way you were meant to? You have let us all down.” But no words come from her lips, just
that
look.

“I know. I know, Natalie. I screwed up. She and Alexandre were standing there in line. Very friendly. Very amenable. I just kind of froze with . . . I don’t know . . . with what. Fear? Excitement? All I know is the second Alexandre spoke to me I turned to Jell-O. I thought he might think I was a stalker. I wanted to be the beautiful girl he met in a coffee shop, not someone . . . someone
wanting
something from him. I’m so sorry, Natalie.”

“You would have still been that beautiful girl at the coffee shop, Pearl, no matter what.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again.

“They wouldn’t have gone for it anyway,” she said in a soothing tone. “At least, not Sophie. She sounded pretty fierce. It’s just a shame it has all gone so horribly wrong with you and Alexandre.”

So horribly wrong.
Her words were like clanging cymbals, or nails on a blackboard.

“Were you planning on telling me?” Natalie asked, looking me in the eye.

“Of course. But you asked me not to disturb you on vacation,” I stuttered, telling a half-truth.

THE DAY DRAGGED ON. I could hardly concentrate. I did research, caught up with important calls and e-mails, but I couldn’t picture anything but the shadow of disappointment on Alexandre’s face. I didn’t mention the pearl necklace to Natalie. And I hoped he wouldn’t send it back to me, after all, as he had promised. A reminder of what
could have
been
if I hadn’t been such a dunce.

I reflected on all the dumb things I’d said, the way I behaved like a child when I was almost a middle-aged woman. I loathed, loathed, loathed that word, “middle-aged” and couldn’t bear to let it sneak its pushy way into my vocabulary, but as Anthony had reminded me, “how long, exactly, do you expect to
live
, Pearl?
Of course
you are heading into middle-age, you can’t deny it.”

After hours of beating myself up, I mentally replayed the sex scenes between Alexandre and me, and could actually hear low whimpers coming from my very being, the way when you have a fever and groan quietly. I thought of his worked-out torso, his strong thighs pressed hard between my legs, how the water gushed down on us, swirling about our pleasured bodies. I pictured his tongue meeting mine, and how it licked me, pressed me on my sweet spot until I came, my body writhing in spasms of bliss. I remembered him inside me, and my belly churned upside down.

I had to call him, or at least send a text—I could bear it no longer.
Even if he thinks I’m a despicable human being who lies, surely he can at least have sex with me?
I picked up my cell and began to write him a message:

Dearest Alexandre
 – no, scrap the “dearest,” that sounds ridiculous.

Alexandre, please forgive me. Can we meet up? Just to talk?

No, that gives him a chance to say no. I erased and started again.

Alexandre – I need to see you – please come over.

I could hear Anthony’s voice, “Helloooo, Pearl?
Desperate
!”

My cell rang and my heart practically popped out of my skin. It gave me such a jump. Alexandre? No, it was Daisy.

“Hi Daisy.”

“You called me four times, is everything okay?”

“I’ve really screwed up, Daisy.”

I related to her the whole drama, in whispers. I didn’t want anyone in the office to think I was a hopeless wreck (which of course I was).

“Okay, Pearl, listen to me. DO NOT send him a message or speak to him. Wait for me. How soon can you leave work?”