Green Tea Won't Help You Now! (7 page)

Oh, spare me your insinuations
.

"Right."

"Why did you take the sign off the wall? I almost didn't find my way here yesterday... harr, harr, harr, no, I'm joking. I would always find my way to you..."

"Legal reasons," I replied curtly. "How fortunate for you that this is the only brick building in the vicinity... Why don't you go ahead into the studio and start with your stretching," Drake was an ostentatious stretcher, "while I finish my paperwork?"

"We could also—" he started to protest, but Samantha and Amber, an elderly couple— she a brain surgeon, she an art professor—came walking in. Much to my relief.
 

"Yeah, sure. Will do."

"Hi, girls," I greeted the new arrivals with as much enthusiasm as I could muster in my present state.

"Good afternoon, Trixie. How are you? We just discovered that we need new punch cards," Trudy informed me.
 

"Great, I make them ready for you. Do you still have one open or should I charge today on the new card?"

"On the new card, please."

"Perfect."

Slowly, the studio filled with people. My afternoon, "Go with the Flow", class is quite popular and there were a lot of cards to punch and water bottles to be sold. I was momentarily diverted from my obsession with Alex Silverston's habits of communication and whether I would ever have the pleasure of being on the receiving end of them.

Only when I was standing in front of the group, did it occur to me that I had not eaten anything since the pizza the night before.
 

I was ready to faint, but what could I do? I had already begun the class.

The next ninety minutes must have been the longest in my life, or so they felt at the time. My stomach reared, my head spun and when the group finally settled into Shavasana, I tiptoed up the stairs to my home and gobbled down two peanut butter toasts in order to be at least able to carry the tea pot without falling over.

The clock informed me it was almost 6.30 pm. My already low spirits sank to level zero. If nothing had happened until now, nothing ever would.

Oh, how I hated Alexander Silverston! I hated him like I had never hated anybody before. How dare he kiss me and then abandon me? How dare he turn me on like a power drill and then just unplug me as if he had no more use for me? How dare he make me have butterflies in my stomach and make me fantasise about dancing on a pasture in an apron dress? How dare he rob me of my strenuously acquired calm? How dare he destroy my little studio? How dare he even breathe the same air as me? If I ever saw him again, I would land him a shiner he could tell his grandchildren about! What an arrogant, self-important swine he was!

"I have a flower delivery for Ms. Beatrix Beaumont," a voice with a Spanish accent ventured from the door.
 

For an instant the world froze, it seemed like one of those situations in a sci-fi movie where everything stops, right before the terrible super weapon explodes and destroys a city, under normal circumstances New York.

"Really?" I yipped.

The delivery boy made a face as if he thought I was supremely stupid. Well, I was supremely stupid due to hypoglycaemia and sleep deprivation.

"Are you her?"

"Yes," I yipped again.

He ambled forward, holding the cardboard box as far away from his body as humanly possible. Maybe it was a nuclear bomb after all.

I took the item from him rather awkwardly and placed it on top of my desk. Anxiously, I lifted the lid, half expecting the flowers to come from somebody other than Alex Silverston. My father or my brother perhaps. Or even Drake Siriakis.

 
A large red rose appeared and on top of it, there was a card. Even the Chinese must have heard the beating of my heart across the Pacific when I picked it up and read:

Sorry for running away.
 

I'd understand if you never want to see me again, but if you do, I'm standing outside right now.

Alex

This time I did not yip, I made some other noise. I do not really know how to describe it accurately. Maybe we should call it a strangled noise? Anyway, I made the noise and again, the world froze.

Fortunately Drake Siriakis weaselled genially through the studio door with his toothpaste smile in place and asked, "Can I help you with the tea?"
 

That was enough to shake me out of my stupor. I started and ran towards the door, but managed to stop myself before I dashed into the street like a groupie in pursuit of a rock star. Arms crossed in front of my body, I walked out of the studio with a high degree of composure.

He had come in the Jaguar and was looking much like he had the day before, in business attire, standing by the car's bonnet (or hood, if you otherwise imagine the car to wear a Jane Austen style hat).
 

My street is very small and it took me only four steps to reach him.
 

"Hey..." he said. He was not smiling, instead he looked at me apprehensively, like a child expecting to be admonished by a teacher.

"Hey..."
 

I decided to take on the role of the injured party. If he thought he had gone too far, why not let him believe it?
 

His gaze was still shifting somewhat when he began to speak, but soon the bright blue eyes turned into focus. "I'm glad you came out."

I chewed my lower lip for a moment. I have always read about women chewing their lower lips in such situations, so why not try it myself? Maybe it would give me that air of slightly offended innocence I hoped to attain, when in truth I was already willing to jump his bones again. I cleared my throat. "I have another class in twenty minutes, I really don't have much time."
 

"Sure. Hey, listen, about last night. I didn't want to... I mean, it just got over me, I guess."

"Uh-uh."

He hung his head in shame. "It was stupid of me to run away like that but I—" he halted for a second or two, "I tend to overpower people, I know, and I didn't want to make you feel like I only wanted to take advantage of you. So I just had to go."

"I see."

I did not see. Was he really such an innocent? Had he completely forgotten how I had begged to be "taken home"? How I had melted like hot wax beneath his touch? My behaviour had not been open to interpretation. What else could I have wanted from him other than to be taken advantage of?
 

"Will you give me another chance?" The blue eyes bore into me with their uncanny force.

"I—," I hesitated, forcing myself not to say
'yes, right now, on the Jaguar's hood'
. I inwardly reprimanded myself for my undisciplined thoughts. There were more important things to be clarified.
 

"I have a question. Are you married? Or do you have a girlfriend?"

He was clearly baffled. "No, of course not. Wait, is that what you thought?"

"Well..."

He smiled, relieved, and I nearly flung myself into his arms to be done with it, but I had committed myself to the, "Way of the Wallflower", and I would not stray from it again. He would have to conquer me from here on.

"What about tomorrow? Should we go and have coffee? When are you free?"

I could not help but smirk a little. "Aren't you busy with your OPI?"

"My IPO, you mean? Yes, but I could take some free time."

"Tomorrow's Wednesday, so I have a class from 7.30 to 8.30 in the morning. You could come and pick me up afterwards. There's a nice breakfast restaurant down the street."

"Ok, I'll be here at 8.30."

 
"9.30 is better, I guess. I have to change after class."

"Right."

We stared at each other without saying another word. A muscle twitched in Alex's jaw. He was shifting. His muscles were tensing. I was sure he was about to seize me!
Oh, yes, seize me, my Lord of Hotness! Overpower me!

"Trixie?" The confounded Drake stuck his head out of the door at this very sensitive moment. "I allowed myself to prepare the tea. You have to wake the others from Shavasana. — Ah, we have a visitor, Hi."

"Yes, Drake, sorry, I'm coming."

Alex's face fell and his brows drew together. "Err. We?"

"Oh, that's only Drake, but he's right, I really have to go. I see you tomorrow morning!"

"Yeah..."

"Ok, bye." I lightly hopped across the street and into the studio, secretly harbouring the desire to strangle Drake with a telephone cable.

Nine

When I went to bed that night I felt at peace with the world.

Everything had turned out right. My brother had been correct in his assumption: Alexander Silverston was simply a decent chap. Even better, my wanton character had not been unmasked and I could continue my career as a good girl in the eyes of the aforementioned decent chap. I had got away with a black eye. From now on, I would take things slowly and I would not let my appetites get in the way of what might be the beginning of a healthy relationship.

I sighed and hugged my pillow. I felt so lenient, I even called Jacob Weinberg.

"Laetitia. Hi. How good of you to call me back..." He sounded a bit off.

"Is everything all right? Am I disturbing you?"

"It's one am, but apart from that, I'm fine."

"Oops, I'm sorry, Jacob. I wasn't thinking, but when do I ever, eh? I see the good old times of midnight pow-wows with my brother and your Japanese colleague are over?"

"Yes, they are and I do not miss them."

"How's my money?"

"Doing good, merrily multiplying."

"Such nice little pennies and pounds. Why am I calling you?"

"Because I need you to sign some papers and I need you to do it as soon as possible. You know, I try not to molest you, but this time, it really is important. Craig O'Neal will fly over tomorrow, if you're okay with that."

"Who's Craig O'Neal?"

"Your lawyer."

"I see. Can't we send the papers by mail? You know, the real mail? Envelope? Stamp? Or fax them? Wait, I don't think I have a fax machine."

I could just imagine how Jacob's face was turning red beneath his greyish curls. He detested me! But I paid him several million dollars a year so he tried not to show it.
 

"No, you can't."

"Because I don't see why we should pay for Craig's business class ticket to Los Angeles and why planet Earth should pay for his carbon footprint."

"Those documents are important. A large amount of money hangs in there. Jobs too. It's a sensitive matter. We had problems with this asset before."

I stretched my legs under the cover and thought I could torture him a little more. "What do you mean?"

"One of the companies you own in part will be transformed from a private company into a public company in two months time."

"Does that mean the state will buy it?"

"No, it means everybody can buy its shares at the stock exchange. But in order for us to let it go public, we need to shift the capital and you are the only one who can authorise that."

"Ah, now I understand."

"That's good, because the last time we—" He broke of in mid sentence.

"The last time we?"

"Never mind."

"I do mind. What happened the last time?"

"The last time you told me I was to stop everything and set up your fund."

"Oh."

He cleared his throat. "So that's what I did."

"Oh. Ah. You were correct of course. Well, this time I shall not interfere."

"Great, because it was a bad blow to all of us when it happened, especially to the people at Hard Pack. I'm going to call Craig right away and he'll be there with the documents tomorrow. I think you can expect him in the early afternoon..."
 

His voice faded into the darkness. I did not listen any longer. The moment I heard the words "Hard Pack", my body convulsed into a knot.
 

"Laetitia, are you there? — Hello?"

"Hard Pack," I managed to say.

"Yes. They make sports equipment. They're coming out with a new brand, too, which was also scheduled to come out three years ago. I sent you the relevant papers back then. Don't know if you ever read them..."

"Maybe."
Ragadabagadabooh!

"I thought so. Can I text you about Craig's arrival time?"

"Sure..."

"Thanks."

"Good night, Jacob."

"Good night."

This could not be true. It just could not be true! I could not be the co-owner of Alex's company! I did not want to be!
 

An even deeper feeling of trepidation got hold of me. I climbed out of bed and padded down the stairs.
 

I did not own a car, but I did own a garage. The garage was home to an army of cardboard boxes holding the documents Jacob Weinberg regularly sent me. I never actually looked at the stuff. I trusted him implicitly, but when I moved from London to Venice after my time in Berlin and before I went to India, I had repacked the papers for transport. I explicitly remembered a day when I had been sitting among a mountain of papers, trying to get some sort of order to them. I must have unconsciously seen it then.

I found the relevant box and opened it. I sifted through the papers until I lost patience and turned the box over.
 

And then there it was. It almost jumped at me. It was a logo: the word "InspYre" written in flowing letters of magenta.
 

"Ragadabagadabooh!"

Ten

I did not remember if it was Andy Warhol or Woody Allen who said women are at their most beautiful when they are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Whoever it was, I hoped they were right.

It was 9.28 am and I was waiting for my breakfast date. Another night had gone by with very little sleep and I began to understand why sleep-deprivation was sometimes used as a therapy against depression. If I was anything at all but exhausted, it was light-headed. Also, I was certain there were large neon signs hovering all around me, pointing arrows at me, saying "Laetitia Corvera-Fabergé" and "Guilty!"