Hooked Up: Book 3 (11 page)

“No, you know what, doctor? I think it would be a great idea to dump my phone, once and for all. It’ll be safer for both me and the baby.”

I
F YOU ASKED me to describe Christmas with my mother, or my trip to London to see Laura, or anything about that dark period, I couldn’t. It was a gauzy haze of nothingness, like white noise on an old TV screen. I do remember my mantra, though,
What’s yours will come back to you,
and I said this to myself over and over, truly believing it. If Pearl and I were meant to be together, then all this Laura business would somehow sort itself out.

But all that happened was that things got worse.

Laura had stashed the evidence in a safety deposit box, at an undisclosed bank. Or so she told me. With a letter saying that if some strange accident befell her, that it would be murder. Names cited. Namely me. She didn’t admit to this in so many words, but that was the gist of it. Meanwhile, she wanted us to get married.

Or else.

I didn’t tell Sophie any of this, and my mother was so distraught she lay in bed reading romance novels, eating pretzels and drinking white wine, pretending she had the flu, begging me every day by telephone to find a solution.

I called Pearl, but of course she never picked up. It seemed she now went about without a cell phone—normal, why would she want Laura tracing her calls? Or me, knowing her every move? So every now and then, I had a chat on her landline with Daisy or Anthony, who had come to visit her for Christmas. She was fine, they told me, but had no interest in having anything to do with me as long as Laura was in the picture.

I didn’t pursue Pearl. How could I until I had a plan up my sleeve? I watched her from afar, though, as she stalked Rex when he went for his walks to Central Park with his “nanny” Sally. I was stalking Pearl and Pearl was stalking Rex. Ironic. That was what gave me hope. Pearl, Rex and I were a little family unit. We belonged together. I knew that we had a chance when I observed her excitement every time she saw him. I followed her like some sort of detective in a hard-boiled Raymond Chandler novel—keeping my distance, ducking into alleys, lurking behind corners and trees. All I needed was a Fedora hat to complete the look. I had taken to wearing a long, dark, wool, military coat. I wondered what war hero had played his part in it. Did he die on the battlefield or come home triumphant?

I was in my own mini battlefield myself.

An emotional battlefield.

I had become a recluse in my apartment in New York, sporadically going to visit my mother in Paris, or Laura in London, trying to convince her to put an end to her blackmail. She wanted me to father her child. Insane. I was going to give it one more go, I decided. One more go to convince her that her scheme was crazy; that I could never love her child—that the only child I wanted was Pearl’s. I had even fantasized about taking Laura heli-skiing, deep sea diving; on some dangerous, life-defying vacation, where an accident could happen and nobody could prove a thing. But every time, the image of my mother’s face would loom before me, her misting eyes wide, her plea pitiful. She had finally found some peace in her world. I needed to protect her, and the letter Laura spoke of in that safe-deposit box, coupled with the evidence, made the risk too great, although my instinct told me she was bluffing.

A
LEXANDRE HAD BEEN spying on me through my cell (the rare times I used it), but I was spying on Rex. I missed that dog. I couldn’t break our bond. On my way back home, I got off the bus at Central Park South and walked into the park, listening to Michael Jackson sing
Ben
, the best love song ever written about an animal. But instead of “Ben,” I sang along with the word, Rex.

I knew Sally’s schedule. She and Rex would be somewhere near the big bronze Alice in Wonderland statue, chitchatting with her dog owner friends, discussing their “children’s” behavior, and comparing notes. Would I be doing the same soon? Only with a human child, not a four-legged one? I guessed I should have joined prenatal classes and discussed breastfeeding options and which was the best brand of diapers.

Maybe I’d be coming to this spot myself, watching my child climb on Alice. Unlike most sculptures, children were invited to climb, touch and crawl all over Alice and her friends. In fact, through the decades, thousands of hands and feet had literally polished parts of the statue’s bronze surface completely smooth. I observed Alice now, sitting on a giant mushroom, reaching toward a pocket watch held by the White Rabbit. Peering over her shoulder was the Cheshire Cat surrounded by the Dormouse, Alice’s cat Dinah, and the Mad Hatter, and yes, I saw Rex and Sally not far off, just behind this landmark, Rex sniffing a fellow mate.

Sally loved to pass by here every day. With her shocking pink pigtails and punk rocker outfits, Sally was an eternal child. Alexandre had found her walking dogs with one of the dog walking companies that roamed the Upper East Side. The handlers typically walked ten dogs at a time, all leashed, making sure their right hand was free for picking up dog poop, with wads of newspaper stuffed in their back pockets. But Sally made three times the money now, being Rex’s personal nanny.

“Hi Sally,” I shouted, rushing over to Rex to hug him.

“I wish you’d come home, Pearl,” Sally grumbled with a sad pout. “Alexandre is a bit mopey without you there.”

“Really?” I asked, thrilled to know he was suffering a little (obviously not enough, though, to stop seeing Laura).

“Yes, really. He’s always on the phone doing business . . . doesn’t smile much these days, his temper’s short; he seems to have lost his sense of humor.”

“Have you seen Laura?”

“No, who’s she?”

I tried to sound casual but failed miserably. “Do you ever hear him speaking to a woman on the phone—you know, sweet-talk.”

“The only person he’s been talking to more than usual is his mother. I know it’s her because he has one voice for his mom and one for Sophie. You know his ‘mom voice’ is super-protective—it’s very cute. Not that I understand French, but I can hear the tone.”

“No lovey-dovey talk with other women, then?”

Sally shuffled her big biker boots along the muddy grass. “No way! He obviously misses his precious Pearl. Sometimes I hear him say so to Rex, discussing how lost they are without you. Not that Rex can talk, but you know, I think he understands. And the other day, Alexandre gave me a whole bunch of photos of you—I was asked to drop them off at the framers. Like I said, he’s either working, or moping about you all day long. Rex is sleeping in his bed now.”

“You’re kidding?”

“I know! Alexandre snuggles up with Rex everywhere. He’s now allowed on all the couches, even the bed. Since you’ve gone, all Alexandre wants to do is be with his dog.”

“Has Alexandre been traveling lately? To London?”

“Yes, he went to London last week.”

“I see.” I was now reminded of my mission. To forget about Alexandre for good and let him go . . . move on with my life. He had Laura now; he couldn’t have us both.
Be strong, Pearl.
“Oh, Sally, I have something for you.” I brought out my Smartphone and handed it to her. “A gift for you. It’s already unblocked.”

She jumped up and down, and her pink pigtails swung from side to side as if in celebration. “Wow! Really! But this is like, brand new! This Smartphone is the best!”

“It’s a great phone. It has advantages. You can keep your gloves on when you dial a number, not all Smartphones let you do that. Handy here in New York with the cold winters.”

Sally’s Cheshire Cat smile spread across her whole face. “This is the greatest gift ever.”

“Don’t let Alexandre know I was asking about him.”

“Okay, sure.”

“And if you hear any information about Laura, pass the word along.” Oops! I had just broken my own resolution to put him out of my mind. I added hastily, as if to excuse myself, “I just worry about him, that’s all.”

“Of course. You have my word, this is just between us.”

Sally, Rex and I meandered about the park for a good half hour before I wended my way back home.

I was cell phone-less and it felt great. After all, once upon a time we humans made dates with people, arranged a time in advance and turned up. We couldn’t cancel at the last second and flake-out when a better deal came up. We were responsible people, once. We could spell: see you tonight, not C U 2 nite. We had attention spans of more than five minutes at a go. We painted, sketched, and wrote in notebooks, not just flicked like mindless idiots through our Facebook and HookedUp pages, worrying about what everyone else was doing and living vicariously through them. Yay! I was no longer shackled-down with invisible chains to my social-media addiction!

It was a wonderful feeling, with no cell, to know I was not being spied upon, nor stalked. I felt liberated and brain tumor-free. Most of all, I felt protective of that tiny bundle inside me; not that there was much evidence; no more swelling than a large bowl of pasta or rice wouldn’t do. But there was life within me and it felt incredible, especially as I was so in love with its maker, despite Alexandre being a heartbreaking bastard, I would still love everything about his future offspring . . .

Because deep down inside me (call me a clueless fool), I felt there must have been some mistake . . . he could not be lying to me, he did love me.

Yet, I needed to get a grip—all the evidence was there, clear and sharp as crystal: he still couldn’t give up Laura.

A WEEK PASSED BY. Sneaking off for my secret Rex
rendez-vous
had become a regular habit. If I couldn’t have Alexandre himself, I could feel close to him through his beloved dog. Today I’d arranged to take Rex alone.

I met Sally at the entrance at Sixty Forth Street, by Central Park Zoo. Rex was there waiting, all excited. Funny how Labradors and Labrador mixes wiggle the middle of their torso when they wag their tails. He was ready for his tour around the park.

I kissed Sally hello and gave her a one hundred dollar bill. “Have a nice breakfast.”

She shook her head; her Cerise-colored pigtails swung in surprise, and her wildly plucked eyebrows that seemed no more than painted curves, shot up. “Pearl, this is way, way too much.”

“I don’t have change,” I lied, wondering if she had caught onto my not-so-subtle bribe. It was good to have Sally on my side, to get snippets of information about Alexandre, know where he was going and when he’d return. “Treat yourself to something delicious. I’ll meet you back here in an hour and a half.”

“Are you going to the Central Park Paws event this morning?”

Only dog-mad Sally could know about such a thing as Central Park Paws. “No,” I answered, “but tell me more, I’m intrigued.”

“Well, Central Park Paws hosts regular events for dog owners in the park. Today is Monthly Bagel Barks—it gives dog owners the chance to meet, talk, and have breakfast while the dogs enjoy some off-leash playtime. It starts in fifteen minutes, until nine o’clock.”

“I’m so sorry, Sally, am I robbing you of your meeting? We can go together if you like.”

She looked at the hundred dollar bill and said, “No, it’s okay, I’ve always wanted to go to the Carlyle for breakfast . . . well, thanks so much, Pearl. Have a nice walk.”

The Carlyle: where Alexandre and I had that dreaded breakfast, when I hadn’t been honest with him about wanting to do a documentary about HookedUp and he lost his temper with me. This was the third time we’d split up, and this time I feared it was for good. It still didn’t make sense. He didn’t strike me as a person who would lie, but the evidence was there: he couldn’t keep away from Laura. She had some kind of emotional hold over him, no matter how in love with me he claimed to be. I wanted him so badly, but this time I needed to keep my resolve.

I waved Sally goodbye, and Rex and I went into the park. It was covered in a blanket of fresh, virgin snow and looked like a fairy tale; the sky a clear, icy blue. Some pale crystal flakes fluttered through the air. It was snowing, but only just.

We started wending our way across the twisting paths and buried grass toward Bethesda Fountain, to the other side of the lake, now frozen, near to the woods, and where I could confidently unleash Rex to run free and sniff about. I loved New York. Here in Central Park, you were allowed to let your dog off the leash before nine a.m., and again after nine at night. Not that I would have braved Central Park at night alone, just in case. I let Rex loose; he was so well behaved that I didn’t have to worry about him escaping, unlike Zelda, the beautiful Husky of my childhood years.

We walked at a fast-paced clip, my thermal boots squeaking on the powdery snow, my huge, floor-length overcoat brushing against itself, whooshing and shuffling in muffled silence. Hardly anyone was around, just a few other dogs and people walking with purpose as if they were going home after an all-nighter, or cutting through the park to work. It was still only seven thirty.

“Stop it, Rex,” I scolded, as he peed against a lumpy, half-melted snowman with a drooping carrot for its nose. I took the carrot between my gloved fingers and pushed it farther inside its head. “There we go, Mr. Snowman, you’ll last a little longer.”