Hooked Up: Book 3 (8 page)

A week had passed. Alexandre wanted me to move right back “home,” he said, (his place), but I had managed to resist. I was still in my new apartment. Daisy and Amy had moved in, sharing the second bedroom. I managed to keep a modicum of autonomy. Because a little voice inside my head was warning me to be cautious. All that did, though, was make Alexandre even keener.

Because of my insistence, the wedding and the gown were on hold. I wanted to hear it from Laura’s lips that there was nothing going on between them, and find out how she knew private stuff about me. Alexandre was on probation. The southern part of my body (the Deep South) may have been foolish but I, the cerebral tough nut up north (the Rocky Mountains) was not.

My brain, at least,
must stay intact
, I decided. For the moment I had told him it was just sex, nothing more. No marriage, no living together officially, until this Laura nonsense got sorted out. The only problem was that she wasn’t answering my calls, nor replying to emails and snail mail letters. I wanted to ask her why she was pretending that they were together if they weren’t.

I also tried contacting her estranged husband James, although rumor had it that he’d slinked off to the Cayman Islands. Alexandre, too, had tried to contact him, but he wouldn’t respond. Did Laura feed her husband the same story, and now James hated Alexandre’s guts? For good measure, Alexandre’s precious, classic Aston Martin (how men love their cars) had been moved; collected and driven by his driver, Suresh, over to his house in Provence. That was one of my demands, and he had obliged without flinching.

Alexandre swore that he wouldn’t see Laura again, not even as friends, and that all connection had been severed for good. Still, I was biding my time. In my head, I’d moved our marriage to Valentine’s Day. It would still give me my white winter wedding, but let me sort things out. I did not tell Alexandre about my secret plans.
Let him teeter on the edge, let him be the one to feel insecure for a change.
I thought long and hard about this. I had imagined before that if I ever got Alexandre back, I’d snap him up, rush to the altar just to seal the deal, but I wanted this marriage to be secure. I really did need to clear up the Laura issue—be one hundred percent sure.

A marriage is for life, not just for Christmas, I told myself.

To my surprise, I enjoyed being the Sex Only woman. I felt liberated . . . free. I held the cards. I had control . . .

Except, of course, in the bedroom. Alexandre still seemed to have jurisdiction over my body. It had a mind of its own, as if it were a marionette—he being its puppet master.

To think that I’d spent eighteen years without anyone being able to give me an orgasm, and Alexandre could just ease them out of me, every single time, like falling drops of rain.

It was a miracle.

WORK WAS BETTER than ever. I was still in contact with Sam Myers, via Skype, and had decided to keep the HookedUp Enterprises fifty/fifty deal going with Natalie—even with feature films. If a good movie script came in, I’d take it. But I would not get so emotionally involved again, and I certainly wouldn’t tamper with any script, nor have private meetings with movie stars.

Natalie and I could have changed the name. After all, Alexandre had severed any connection to HookedUp Enterprises by bowing out gracefully and handing the business over to us. We could buy him out over time, although luckily, no money had yet come in before he and Natalie did their “sweet” deal so, in effect, we were just buying options, rather than anything that existed. The features could help us budget our documentaries that were, bit by bit, gaining more recognition. Not to mention the favor Alexandre was granting us: HookedUp Enterprises getting free advertising on his social media site. Another reason to keep that name.

WHILE I WAS busy doing a spurt of cleaning, organizing, chucking out the old and in with the new, Laura called. Finally. About time. Now I could get on with my life and plans, get a few facts straightened out. I could tell, right away, by the tone in her voice, that she was feeling triumphant.

“Hello, Pearl,” she purred in her upper class British drawl. She sounded like Cruella De Vil. Perhaps if she got her hands on Rex, she’d turn him into a fur wrap. “Sorry I haven’t got back to you but we’ve been busy.”

We’ve.

“Laura, stop trying to pretend that you and Alexandre are an item. I’m not buying it.”

She groaned. “God, I hate that American expression, ‘buying it.’ You lot should really learn how to speak properly. You’ve got
us
now infected with your way of speech: all your inane TV shows . . . going up at the end of perfectly normal sentences as if they’re questions when they’re not. Saying cute instead of sweet, warranty instead of guarantee, kidding instead of joking. Next thing you know we’ll be calling our knickers panties.”

“Speaking of panties, Laura, stop throwing yours at Alexandre. It’s over between you two and it has been for three years. You’re acting like some deluded fan who won’t take no for an answer.”

“Ooh, Pearl, I can see your claws are really out for the kill.”

“You bet they are, Laura. Just keep away from Alexandre, okay?”

“How can I keep away from him when he won’t keep away from me?”

“Stop bullshitting me, Laura.”

“I think you’ll find out in time, Pearl, that you’re the deluded one, not me.”

“I want to ask you a few direct questions and I’d like direct answers, please.”

Silence.

“Laura? Are you still there?” I asked between gritted teeth.

“I really don’t think I owe you a thing after you insulted me. Do you know what it’s like being in a wheelchair? To imagine never being able to dance again? Or sail. Or even walk. Can you imagine that?”

“I apologize, I do, for insulting you at your front door. It was a gross, unkind thing to say and I’m glad that you are no longer in a wheelchair, but it doesn’t give you license to lie to me. Pretending that Sophie was out to kill me. Lying about you and Alexandre, telling me that you were sleeping with him again and getting married and—”

“What makes you so sure that’s not true, Pearl?”

“Because Alexandre swears it’s not true, that’s why.”

“He’ll swear his father just ‘disappeared,’ too. He’s a good liar, Pearl. Anything to get into your ‘panties,’ as you so vulgarly call them.”

I could see this conversation was going nowhere, fast. “Why did you lie to me about Sophie?”

“For your own good.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, kicked off my shoes furiously, and held the phone closer. “Something tells me, Laura, that you are so
not
concerned about my welfare.”

“Listen, it’s only a matter of time until Alexandre and I are back on track. It was kinder to nip things in the bud between you two, sooner rather than later.”

This woman is something else!

“You don’t give up, do you?” I spat out.

“Alexandre and I are meant to be together. One day, you will accept that. Really, Pearl. Give up. I’m stronger, mentally, than you are. I’m like a Rottweiler with a bone. You’ll see. Soon, you’ll be so exhausted by this whole ordeal that you’ll be handing me Alexandre on a platter, relieved to be out of it. Do you really want to go into battle with me? Do you
really
want to find out what I’m capable of?”

“I don’t take threats lightly.”

“Oh, please, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a threat. Oh no. This is a friendly warning.”

I leaned against the bedhead. Maybe this conversation would be longer than planned. “Where’s your husband?”

“James is indisposed right now. He’s having a holiday.”

“Why isn’t he returning Alexandre’s calls?”

“You know how it is, Pearl . . . sometimes people just go AWOL. Bit like Alexandre’s father . . . just slipped off one day, never to be seen again.”

“What are you telling me, Laura?”

“I’m not telling you a thing. You’re a bright girl: summa cum laude and all that. I think you can work it all out for yourself. Especially with your penchant for super-sleuthing.” She burst out into a demonic cackle.

“Speaking of sleuths, Laura, how did you know about me and Alessandra Demarr?”

“Alexandre told me.”

“No. You know that’s a lie. Tell me the truth.”

“You are a bit thick. I’m amazed you passed any exams at all.”

“Just tell me, Laura, I need to know.”

“Well, because I don’t
need to know
what you’re up to anymore, plus I really couldn’t give a toss now that I’ve got Alexandre’s attention back. Well, I’ll give you a clue.”

“I’m listening.”

“I really shouldn’t be divulging my secrets.”

I sighed into the receiver.

“Alright, but this is just between you, me, and the gatepost.”

I clawed my nails into a cushion.

She whispered, “I’ll give you a itsy, bitsy, little hint . . . does your phone have trouble shutting itself off, or stay lit up after you’ve switched it off, or does it light up even when you aren’t using it at all?”

Yes, all of the above,
I thought. Which surprised me because it was new. “My Smartphone? But how? You’ve never had my cell in your possession.”

“As I said, you’re a bit slow on the uptake. You’re so 1972, Pearl. So Watergate. But I suppose it makes sense for you, at your age, to be locked in a time warp. Anyway, must dash. Lovely chatting.”

“Wait! That means you’ve hacked Alexandre’s phone too? Maybe even Sophie’s . . . hello? Laura, are you there? Laura!!”

In a frenzy, I went online and looked up cell phone hacking. The British newspapers did it, so why couldn’t Laura? Especially with all her money and contacts.

I read hungrily:

Cell Phone Spying: Is Your Life Being Monitored?

It connects you to the world – but your cell phone – anyone from your boss to your wife could be monitoring your every move.

The same modern technology that keeps you on the move and in touch with everyone could also be your road to ruin – without you suspecting a thing.

Long gone are the days of simple wiretapping when all you could fear was someone listening into your conversations. The new generation of cell phone spyware provides a lot more power. Eavesdropping is easy. Your calls and text messages can be monitored – systems can even be set up so the spy is automatically alerted when you dial a certain number. Anyone who can perform a basic Internet search can find the tools and figure out how to do it in no time.

Even more worrying is what your phone can do when you aren’t even using it.

Location – simple surveillance.

A service called
World Tracker
lets you use data from cell phone towers and GPS systems to pinpoint anyone’s exact location any time – even with the phone switched off – as long as the person has it on them.

I thought of Alexandre—knowing I was at Laura’s and when I would land in New York, upgrading my plane ticket. But he’d had my phone in his possession so that made sense. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could be a technology target of Laura’s. Scary. I read on:

All the spy has to do is log onto the website and enter the target phone number. The site sends a text message to the phone that requires one response for confirmation. Once that response is sent automatically by your phone, the spy is locked into your location and you can be tracked. The response is only required one time – after that, you, the cell phone owner, can be monitored – pinpointed on a Google map, without even knowing it.

Eavesdropping.

So once that person has been located they can also be spied upon.
Even if you are not talking on the phone, the eavesdropper can still listen in to conversations.

Dozens of programs are available that can turn any cell phone into a high-tech, long-range listening device, undetectable to the average person. A phone’s microphone can let the listener hear any conversation within earshot. The program can be installed from afar – the spy does not even have to come into contact with your cell phone. Once your number is dialed it taps into your phone’s mic and can hear everything going on. Your phone won’t even ring and you will have no idea that the listener is virtually at your side.