Love under contract (14 page)

Suddenly Owen asked, “You surely know the CEO of LHM, right?” Zara started a bit – her mother had just excused herself to visit the ladies’ room. What had her mother told Owen? She hoped that it included nothing from their conversation in Paris!

“Yes, my firm works for him, why?” Sara asked and sipped from her glass of mineral water. “I know him from the early days.  How is he, then?” Owen asked, curious. He didn’t really want an assessment of Gregor’s person, but rather wanted to know what Zara thought of him. “I only have a business relationship with him, I really can’t judge,” Zara said objectively. What had he heard about Gregor from her mother?

“A good-looking man,” Owen said and looked at Zara to see her reaction. Zara only returned Owen’s look and wondered what her mother saw in him, particularly after someone like Antonio?

“Well, he was a model, so it’s not surprising,”  she explained briefly. “We could go out alone together some time,” he said, and gave her a suggestive glance. Zara shivered; what did this guy want from her! Her look could have killed him. “I don’t think so!” she said emphatically. When her mother returned, she said her good-byes and left quickly. What had become of her mother?

As soon as she reached the street, she dialed Gregor’s mobile phone number. She now had to deal. When he saw the unfamiliar number, he wanted to delete the call, but it was already long past midnight, and something told him he should take it.

As he answered ”Levy,” Zara paused for a moment; now she had to prove that she understood something of the work of an attorney. “It’s Zara. We have to talk.” Gregor could hardly contain his satisfaction. “When, today?” he asked. He had just returned home. “Have your attorneys prepare something, and I’ll look at it.” She hung up – without wishing him a good night – just like a business partner.

Gregor held the telephone in his hand and stunned, stared at the Display line. Was this again Zara’s other personality, who had just called him? He had for some time now had the suspicion that she was a bit schizophrenic. But, one always says that about nobility – too much incest, too many illnesses . . .Who knows, perhaps that’s why she was so unusual.

A day later, Gregor had a conversation with his lawyer – it was Goodmann, whom Gregor called and to whom he gave the instructions as to what should be included in the contract.

David took the notes and glanced down at them, saw Zara’s name and caught his breath. “You want to marry – as you said yourself – this cold, arrogant aristocrat?” Gregor smiled. “Now, when you read the notes you will see that it’s not going to be a normal marriage; I am buying her, although with a great deal of money, and there are a few conditions. Your job will be to gather all this into a legally binding contract.”

David said nothing. “It sounds like slavery,” he finally said, after he had read a few of the notes. ‘It’s a rational situation,” Gregor responded curtly. David shook his head. “Marriage is not rational!” “In our century perhaps and also not everywhere. My parents didn’t know one another before their marriage and have been married over forty years, and happily. Don’t tell me anything about love! When I look at the statistics, I know what I should think about that,” Gregor interrupted him sharply. David sighed and looked into his friend’s blue eyes, but couldn’t quite define what he saw, not even a little.

“I have to warn you. Something like this can also go wrong. What will happen if you fall in love and she never returns your feelings? Then you’ll suffer for the duration.” Gregor shook his head. Love her, no, that he wouldn’t, he was quite sure. “I’ll take care of it, if it comes to that.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at David thoughtfully. “When can you have the contract ready? I assume Zara will give it to her lawyer – and that will be no one other than Edward Winston.” David grinned. Edward Winston was the specialist in this field, a devil as a divorce attorney! “I’ll do my best and consult someone with this specialization as well.” Gregor nodded. “I can rely on your discretion.” Of course, Gregor; you know that.” 

3.

In the meantime, Gregor had received the report about Zara and now knew why she was so confused in Paris. She was about to lose all of her family properties, the beautiful Paris apartment near the Place Vendôme among them. She would hardly be able to sell the properties – it would be such a scandal – but he had a solution for that. He was good at such things, very good, as a matter of fact; it was not for nothing that he had come so far.

When Zara received the contract by mail a few days later, she was shocked at first because he actually intended to go through with it and because it was such a long document. And then she laughed resoundingly – he’s a madman! He was every bit as crazy as she!

She began to read and could hardly believe it. Everything was prescribed: sex, reproduction, social obligations. Marrying him would mean that she could never refuse him except in the case of illness. She was to bear him a child within ten years – and before the birth was to convert to Judaism, so that the child would be born a Jew. No, she wouldn’t sign this, nor did she intend to marry him, once was more than enough and especially not this blond, arrogant Jew. Reproduction?! Where did the man think he was living?

She took the contract and began to cross-out line after line. Did he really seriously think that he could buy her?! She was not for sale!

Gregor had rented a huge hall that overlooked the roofs of Tribeca, with a view of the Hudson River and the Empire State Building. It was a former warehouse and was now used for event bookings, for birthday celebrations, for example; for his birthday celebration, to be exact.

Until the point in time when Zara, in her floor-length, slashed-to-the waist silk dress appeared at the entrance, Gregor had not seen her, nor heard anything from her for three weeks. She let him squirm. And how. And he thought of her constantly.

She looked incredibly beautiful in this black Qipao dress; her hair was down, in curls, with a dark red orchid behind her ear, and she carried a packet in her hand, bound with a red ribbon.

It was his birthday, and it wasn’t unusual that she should bring a gift with her, he thought; but he had a strange feeling. In addition, he hadn’t expected it; he wasn’t even sure that she would come, and had invited the entire staff of the legal firm so it wouldn’t be obvious if she were among the missing.

Zara looked around – every field was represented: bankers, models, lawyers, half of New York danced and drank on these old wooden floors. She glanced out of the large windows. New York was breathtaking from up here. She had noticed that there was a staircase leading to the roof, and even up there a buffet had been set up and people were dancing. It was a warm late-summer day. Zara went up to the roof and looked down at the Hudson.

There was a band and a DJ on each of the two floors. She had to admit that Gregor knew how to organize a party, or more likely, that he had someone who did. She knew quite a few people there and spoke to a few. But actually, she wanted to give him the packet and then get drunk – or maybe she should do it in reverse order, first get drunk and then give him the packet? She would have liked to dance as she would have in her earlier life, but still had to wait – it wasn’t time yet – she was still the prudish aristocrat here.

At these moments, she missed her old life and felt as if she were disguised, not authentic, like an actress in a tragedy.

She stood in front of the Champagne fountain on the flat roof, looking a little helpless. She was about to help herself to a glass when Gregor appeared next to her and handed her one. “Thank you,” she said, and looked at him. He wasn’t wearing a suit, like the other guests, only a white shirt and black pants. She held the packet, tightly clenched. It seemed to burn in her hands. It was the contract, changed by her and Winston. Would he sign it?

The pact with the devil, as she described him, the packet worth millions, if one wanted to look at it that way.

“All best wishes on your birthday,” she said then and wanted only one thing: to hand him the packet and run far away. She took a long sip of Champagne and handed him the scarlet red package. Red like sin, like love, like fire, and the symbol of hell. She had chosen the fire-red silky paper on purpose; it was red like love, or like blood.

The champagne went to her head, and with doubled effect on her empty stomach. It was good, and she thought she recognized the label, but she could also be mistaken.

Gregor took the packet. “I didn’t expect a present from you,” he said, surprised, and a little amused. Her eyes blinked and she smiled somewhat genially. He noticed how her hand trembled as she held her glass. “I thought you wanted to have it back,” she said then, finished her Champagne and took another. Then he knew what it was, and he smiled. For him, it was a relief, for sometimes he had doubted that she would even read it.

“Is it what I think it is?” he asked, to be sure. She nodded. Gregor bent over and pushed a curl behind her ear. As his hand touched her cheek, she flinched. Zara’s heart suddenly beat faster. Now it had happened, the first step had been taken. “Don’t rejoice too quickly; there are many changes in it . . .”

“We’ll see, I’ll read it,” he said. “And you won’t regret it,” he added softly.

The other guests appeared to be watching them. “I very much hope so,” she said.

She had goose-bumps. It was a cool night and New York lay in front of them. Music played in the background.

She looked toward the distance, she seemed so untouchable, so dreamy. He reached for her slender hand. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry, not even a wristwatch, and he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. Zara flinched again and held her stole tightly with her other hand. She had chosen this kind of bond herself; he hadn’t forced her. She couldn’t really say that he had.

Catherine had also received an invitation and she had waited for this moment, since Gregor had ended their relationship shortly after their vacation. She wanted to win him back, which one could tell by looking at her. She hadn’t been this extravagant before, even for her Oscar appearance.

All eyes were drawn to her, as if magnetically, when she arrived. She wore a floor-length, tight lace dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her long dark hair was loose and she was beaming, until she saw Zara with Gregor, who at that moment, pushed a curl back from Zara’s cheek.

Already from a distance, Catherine saw the two standing together – next to the Champagne fountain, against the light of the illuminated city, a little separate from the other guests. Zara in a black, narrow, Asian dress with flowers in her hair. How thin she is, how delicate and fragile she seems, Catherine thought; above all, how she stood there next to Gregor, who was a foot taller, broad-shouldered, manly, sexy.

She stood there, unsure, trying to decide what to do next. But a Catherine McLean didn’t give up so easily so she headed in their direction.

“Am I interrupting?” Catherine asked. Both of them looked at her, startled. No one had expected Catherine at that moment. Gregor wasn’t thrilled that she had appeared just then; even though he had invited her, he didn’t think that she would come. He looked at her – she was a knock-out – and he couldn’t help but think of the sensational sex he had with her. “Catherine,” he gave her a kiss on the cheek. She embraced him. “Best wishes,” she said breathily and looked at Zara. “Hello, Zara . . .” and she gave her a kiss, too. Zara smelled the strong perfume and immediately understood: Catherine had come to reclaim Gregor.

Let her sleep with him, but she mustn’t disrupt her plans. It would be difficult for her to do so, anyway, since what did this actress have to offer except for broad hips and a big bosom?

Catherine’s thoughts weren’t much different from Zara’s. Gregor apparently preferred this thin aristocrat to her. She had already noticed his glances on the boat. Hadn’t he said himself that she was cold and conceited?

Catherine would have gladly exchanged a few more words with Gregor, but despite her sensational dress, he had eyes only for Zara.

His friends were calling Gregor to join them. He took Zara by the hand, smiled at Catherine, and said, “I think I have to go downstairs; I know what my friends are up to – they’ve probably prepared a surprise for me . . .”

Zara went down the stairs with Gregor and he held her hand tightly, almost as if he feared that she would run away.

With accompanying music and a lot of noise, a film was about to be shown on a huge screen that had been mounted on the large wall downstairs. 

Gregor smiled; he had assumed that this was coming at some point. Goodmann looked at him and smiled, too, but his smile froze when he saw Zara. She hadn’t really brought the contract with her! What kind of a woman was this, who would sell herself? She was dangerous. He had such a strange feeling, but his friend didn’t want to hear his warnings. Who knew what she was planning. Did she want revenge, was that what she was out for? David was aware of Gregor’s background, he knew the whole story; Gregor had told him everything in the last few weeks. But the music interrupted him and distracted him from his thoughts.

Fashion show images flickered across the screen: Gregor as a model. Zara couldn’t contain a smile. There he was in jeans, very colorful jeans, in suits, impossible outfits, with moderately long hair. Then the white latex suit also appeared, and Zara burst out laughing.

Gregor looked at Zara. She could really roar with laughter -- laugh so hard that her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and little dimples appeared next to her mouth.

He did look impossible; it really was laughable. One could also see how he cursed at Maurice backstage, that he had to wear this outrageous costume, and how he had to force himself into it. And all the guests laughed as loud as Zara.