Love under contract (21 page)

Nonetheless, he felt a bit lost as he arrived at the Four Seasons and looked down at the Avenue George V from the windows in his suite. The city was so quiet when the snow was falling. Being alone in town wasn’t exactly his thing. He knew Paris well and he decided to meet a friend at one of the nightclubs that had recently been touted in the press.

When he arrived there a little before midnight, the club was already full, with French music blaring through the loudspeakers.  He saw a few well-known models who also recognized him, and smiled and waved. Gregor was dressed completely in black, which suited his mood. He withdrew to the bar and ordered a Martini.

Gregor leaned against the bar and watched the dancing crowd. He took an occasional sip from his glass, and suddenly noticed a younger, dark-haired man standing next to him also ordering a drink.

Gregor glanced in his direction. The man was almost as tall as he and could be described as handsome, with fine facial features, dark complexion, and large dark eyes. He was wearing a white shirt half open, leather jeans, and the watch on his wrist and the pullover he had tied around his narrow hips revealed more than affluence and good taste. As he ordered his drink in good, but not perfect, French, Gregor noticed immediately that he had a strong South American accent. The bartender seemed to know him.

The man turned around, looked at Gregor briefly and said, “I know you from somewhere – are you here often?” Gregor shook his head. “No. . .” “Model?” Gregor laughed. “No, but thank you for the compliment. . .” “Alessandro.” He extended his hand. “Gregor.” He shook his hand. The man laughed. “Oh, yes, Gregor Levy.” He seemed to know him. “You
were
a model and now you’re this banker . . .” Gregor smiled a little.

“Well, that was a number of years ago . . .” “I’m in the business; my family makes the finest fabrics . . .”

Alessandro gestured toward the entrance. “We’re about to witness the arrival.” Gregor didn’t quite understand. “When the shows are over, everyone goes from one bar to the next, from club to club – and the party mostly begins here around midnight. Then all these coked-up models come here and if you want to have a little fun, you can join them . . .” Gregor wrinkled his forehead. That was long since not his scene; it reminded him too much of his years as a model, of a past that he wanted to forget.

“No, thank you, that’s all bygones for me; I don’t need that anymore.” Alessandro laughed. “Good for you – and have you recovered from Zara?” he asked. Gregor looked at him, floored; was their affair a topic, and was he thought a fool, here too? He was silent, and Alessandro looked at him briefly. “Hey, fear not, I can understand fully; I was once married to her – even if just for five or six months.” “That seems to be the critical length of duration,” Gregor said. Alessandro laughed. “Then you’re the ex-husband?” Alessandro nodded. Gregor had already heard of him – he was one of the few points of information that the detective had gotten right. Alessandro leaned in Gregor’s direction. “And which role did she play with you – the aloof aristocrat?” He laughed mockingly. Gregor shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently she’s a good actress.” “Oh, yes . .  .” Gregor ordered his second Martini. “With me it was love at first sight. But it was over after the first day and I found her in bed with my best friend,” Alessandro said. There was bitterness in his voice and Gregor became aware that Alessandro still loved her.

That can’t all be true, Gregor thought, and took a hefty sip. “The bad thing is that once you fall, you’re never free of her. In any case, at least I’ve gotten it to the point that we’re friends. I see her now and then – now that she’s studying here and makes Paris unsafe at night.” Gregor was astounded – he had no idea. “She’s studying and enjoys the nightlife here?” “Oh, yes – you probably had no clue – she’s doing an MBA at Insead, the graduate business school based near here, in Fontainebleau.” He sighed, and ordered another cocktail.

A girl was wending her way toward them and Gregor recognized Celine, his good-by present. She embraced Alessandro and kissed him on the mouth. When she saw Gregor she smiled, briefly stroked his cheek, and warbled “Oh, Doctor Levy, what a surprise.” Then she turned in her high heels, her black page-boy swirling around her narrow face, and walked away.

Alessandro explained that Celine was probably Zara’s best friend, if she actually had one. Her father owned various night-clubs in Paris – and she and Zara had some kind of  -- and he made a gesture in the air. He meant a relationship, but didn’t want to say it – it was simply too much!

“They play at being a lesbian couple,” Gregor said  -- he had seen and experienced it. “Exactly, mostly a “ménage à trois . . .” Alessandro grinned suggestively. “I know,” Gregor said, and thought back to that unforgettable night. That’s why everything was so masterful, so perfect – practice makes perfect.

The alcohol and the third Martini were slowly going to his head, since he never drank too much otherwise. “Well, at least it’s good to know that one isn’t the only idiot!” Alessandro laughed. “No, welcome to the club  -- at least we were allowed to sleep with her – some are even excluded from that pleasure.”

A Japanese gong sounded, followed by Asian music, and a small group of people streamed in, all young and beautiful. “Ah, here they come,” Alessandro said.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed; it seems that most of the other guests had been waiting for their entrance.

There was a lot of laughing and joking around and from a distance Gregor saw a few of the most well-known models as well as one or two of the younger fashion designers. Then, in a black latex suit with extremely high heels and long blown-out hair, there was Zara. She had large, heavy diamonds in her ears and looked like an expensive prostitute. Gregor noticed that the other girls had a similar appearance, so that was no doubt the current look in these circles.

She looked incredibly beautiful, radiant, with her long hair swirling around her as she said hello to all kinds of people.

Well, she certainly wasn’t pregnant, Gregor thought. One would be able to tell with an outfit like that --  tight, like a second skin. He didn’t notice that he had spoken his thoughts aloud, but Alessandro said suddenly. “Zara can’t get pregnant, not any more . . .” Gregor looked at Alessandro, astonished. “Excuse me?” “You were thinking out loud, apparently. Did she pretend that she was pregnant?” Alessandro laughed cynically. Gregor felt acutely embarrassed. Here was someone who could see through him probably because he had experienced the same things himself.

“I thought so because she vomited often; also a good ploy.” “Very good; she had an abortion at fourteen, something went wrong, and since then nothing more could be done. And believe me, she would have become pregnant by someone by now,” Alessandro explained dryly. Gregor thought about Zara’s artful lovemaking and it was now clear why she was so experienced, and not in the least bit reticent to have sex in the most impossible places. He had always wondered that she was so expert – obviously she had slept with a great many men . . .

“I believe she throws up a lot because she takes too many drugs and stimulants.” Alessandro waved to a young woman who threw him a kiss and looked at Gregor with a wide-eyed stare. She seemed to recognize him and bent over to Zara, who was joking with Celine and a tall, slender man.

Zara saw Gregor with Alessandro and had to laugh! What a couple, she thought. She smiled at Alessandro and came over to the two men, at first paying no attention to Gregor. She breathed a kiss on Alessandro’s cheek and whispered to him, “We’re having a party later at Diane’s – come with us!” She stroked his hair lasciviously, and Alessandro embraced her briefly. “I will; that’s why I’m here.” Zara knew that Alessandro loved these parties. He had become a good friend who wouldn’t miss any of the parties whenever he was in Paris.

In her latex outfit, Zara reminded Gregor of a comic-book figure, a kind of Superwoman. The suit disguised absolutely nothing, and he assumed that she had nothing on under it.

Then Zara said to Gregor, “Doctor Levy, in Paris once again?” Her eyes sparkled. It was as if she had never lived with him, as if she knew him only from afar. “Don’t you have anything else to say?” Gregor asked – and there was that rage again, that incredible anger, that even displaced his pain.

Zara laughed aloud. “No, not that I know of . . .” She couldn’t leave it at that, however, and leaned over to him so that she was very close, and asked softly, “Did it hurt?” Gregor couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

He saw her big eyes and the full mouth that smiled at him; she was mocking him. “Are you mentally ill?” he asked. What prompted this woman to do what she did on purpose, to intentionally hurt him? Zara straightened up and raised her chin high; she looked very arrogant. Alessandro had turned to another woman and was chatting with her. “I’m good; you’re no match for me, Doctor Levy.” Zara said and savored the moment. She had heard how he had suffered, and apparently it wasn’t yet over for him.

“It would be best if you forgot everything and tried to find a proper Jewish girl that would give you many children,” she said and was about to turn around. Gregor reached for her hand and held it tight. “Not so fast, we’re far from finished.” Zara tore herself loose and stepped toward the dance floor. “No, Doctor Levy, we are finished; accept that; it’s over.” Before he could say anything, she had returned to her friends.

That was good.  During the preceding months she had thought about him now and then, and she had to admit that she had missed him sometimes. But this conversation helped; love was something only for weak people, something for idiots, like her mother. She turned around and embraced her next victim, Andrea, handsome, young, rich, from a good Monegasque family, long dark hair, blue eyes . . .

Was it really over? Gregor asked himself, when he saw Zara with this young man who was perhaps a year or two older than she.

Then his friend arrived, an old acquaintance from his time in investment banking , who distracted him with a discussion about business – and that was good, since Gregor’s wounds were ripped open again, if they had ever actually healed.

Zara had spent the last months creating a new life for herself. She had sold the old, grand apartment and rented one in the Marais section of Paris. She had enrolled at Insead; danced at the clubs in the evenings; and after many years, felt free again. She neither missed her career as a lawyer nor New York, or the many charity events which her mother had taken over since her own move to New York.

She had found her old rhythm – and it included hours in a café near her apartment that she visited daily in Paris after she returned in her Mini-Cooper from Fontainebleau. Surrounded by books and her Notebook, she prepared her papers and worked on her assignments.

On this day as usual, she sat in her favorite café at the largest table and typed her material into her Notebook. She had tucked her legs under her and was sitting on her heels. On the table in front of her was some mineral water and a pot of coffee.

Gregor didn’t call it a coincidence; it was fate that he was searching for a café after a meeting with business partners so that he could have a cup of coffee in peace and read the papers. He had barely sat down when he saw Zara – the girl over there at the table with the long curly hair, the dark blue jeans and the heavy pink turtleneck sweater, without a stitch of make-up.  If he didn’t know better, he would have judged her to be in her early twenties. That was the girl that he loved and probably would always love. But, he couldn’t let her know that; otherwise, he would be at her mercy again.

She yawned a few times, which didn’t surprise him. The night had most likely been very short. She rubbed her eyes often and stretched. It seemed to him as if she would fall asleep on top of her books at any moment.

He couldn’t do anything but stand up and walk over to the table. Then something occurred to him and he picked up a plate with a chocolate croissant at the counter and took it with him. She didn’t notice him right away; either she was completely absorbed by the column of figures in front of her or simply tired.

He looked over her shoulder and saw immediately that she was creating some kind of complicated assessment models, but his experience told him that the numbers were not correct.

Zara leaned back and looked up, directly into Gregor’s blue eyes and quailed. She was completely taken aback.

“Do you always sneak up on somebody like that?” she asked. Gregor smiled and pulled one of her curls. “Sometimes, above all if I don’t know if the person is ready to hit me!” Zara made a face and said, “Very funny, but if I hit anyone, it’s because the person deserves it.”

Gregor placed the plate in front of her. “No, don’t say that I’m too thin,” Zara groaned, but actually a little touched. Gregor sat down in the corner, turned the Notebook around, and typed the correct numbers into her column.

Zara looked at him, dumbfounded. “What are you doing?” she asked, startled. Gregor turned the Notebook back toward her. “I made a correction; it was wrong.”

“You’re not here to write my seminar paper, are you?” she asked, and looked at the column of figures, which now looked a lot better. “A ‘thank you’ would also be nice.” he said curtly.

The waiter had noticed that his guest had changed tables and brought Gregor’s espresso to Zara’s table. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“Complete coincidence.” answered Gregor. “Many coincidences in the last few days,” Zara commented softly, and she sounded a little annoyed. She reached into her purse and brought out a little box of pills, opened it and dropped two into her hand. She swallowed them and washed them down with some mineral water.

Gregor took the packet from her and saw that they were stimulants. He knew the name. When he began working as an investment banker, some of his then-colleagues swallowed these as if they were Gummi-bears.

“This is pretty shitty!” Sara looked at him. “It’s none of your business!” She drank a little coffee. Her stomach hurt; maybe she should eat the croissant after all. She bit a piece off. “You’re ruining your stomach with those.”  “You’re not my father – and if you were, it would still be none of your business, get it?” she hissed at him. “And you’re behaving like an ill-mannered little kid.”