Psychos: A White Girl Problems Book (13 page)

I walked Donna downstairs and waited while her driver loaded her bags into the car. I didn’t know what to do, so I went in for a limp hug.

“Thanks for emailing me.”

Donna squeezed me and held on really tight. Like, really hugged me before pulling away.

“I’m sorry I freaked out last night, but I’m glad it made us talk about our shit. I feel like I know you now, Babe.”

“Yeah . . .”

“And I’m sorry you inherited my emotional bullshit.”

“It’s fine.”

“You can always call me. I know how it feels.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Then I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

“It was good to see you, Donna. And I don’t blame you for Babette. But I kind of do.”

With that, Donna kissed me on both cheeks and turned toward the black Mercedes idling by the curb. Before shutting the door, she turned to me and yelled, “Just call him!” The words stung, but I pushed out a smile anyway. I obviously wanted to call Robert, but I couldn’t let myself go down that path. Forward motion was the key to my growth, I knew that. Robert and Babette were my past. Forward motion. Forward motion. Forward motion. I kept repeating those words to myself as I made the trip up to my apartment and let myself in. Forward motion. Forward motion. All this talk about Robert had made
me want to call or text him more than ever, so I decided to take a shower. It was the only way I could be alone without reaching for my phone. I disrobed and headed for the bathroom. Forward motion. Moving on. Growing up. Losing weight. Finding peace. Forward mo—

That’s when I saw it. Written in black lipstick, on the mirrored bathroom door:

Wouldn’t it be fun to get murdered in Paris? Enjoy your time on this earth while you still can.

TTYL

I
must have passed out cold on the marble floor, because when I came to, the random maid who cleaned the apartment every week was standing over me looking extremely concerned. She helped me to my feet and I hugged her and started weeping.

“How is this possible? Did you see anyone in here? Who is doing this to me?!”

The maid looked completely freaked out. She tried to console me, but she couldn’t speak a word of English, so I couldn’t really understand what she was saying. She started wiping the note off the door.

“No! Don’t touch that!” I screamed. “It’s evidence. We need to get a forensics team in here, pronto. Somebody is trying to fucking murder me.”

The maid stared at me blankly.

“Can you call the police?”

Silence.

“The police? POLICE? 911?”

Nothing. She was clearly going to be of no use to me.

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just go ahead and clean the rest of the apartment,” I said, wiping my tears away as I nudged her out of the bathroom. Confused, she hustled out into the bedroom.

I locked the bathroom door behind her and began to have the world’s biggest panic attack. Whose handwriting was this? How had my stalker followed me across the world? How could they have known I was in Paris? How did they get into the apartment? All I had were questions and no answers. I sat on the floor, curled up next to the sink, shivering and hyperventilating for the next two hours while the maid cleaned the rest of the apartment. I waited until she left and then emerged. I obviously had to get out of there, but I had no idea where to go next. America and France were no longer safe. Fuck it. I’d just go to Charles de Gaulle and choose a destination once I got there. The point was, I needed to escape, and fast. I started shoving clothing into random suitcases.

Suddenly I heard my phone ringing. I fished it out of my purse, praying it was my dad or Mabinty or someone familiar, but it was a foreign number I didn’t recognize. Maybe this was my stalker? I answered.

“Listen, you motherfucker. If this is the person who’s been threatening to kill me, you’re not gonna get away with it,” I said in the most authoritative tone I could muster.

“It’s Cal. Come with me to Greece.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“What?”

“Is this Babe?”

“Yes?”

“This is Calisto. We met last night at Silencio. You have been on my mind ever since. I am leaving for Mykonos this afternoon and would love for you to join me. My private jet departs from Paris–Le Bourget airport at sixteen hundred hours. If you tell me your address I can send a car for you.”

This was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment. Cal’s words made me feel protected from the vicious forces of evil in the world. Plus, I needed an out and a flight to Greece wasn’t a bad option.

“Okay.”

I
left the Paris apartment with all my shit shoved haphazardly in suitcases. Nothing was organized, but it didn’t matter. I would figure it all out once I was in Greece.

I met Cal on the tarmac of the private airport around 3:45 p.m. The car he’d sent for me pulled up right next to his plane. My mind was still racing, desperately trying to process the fact that someone had followed me to Paris with malicious intent, but despite my mental unclarity, it was a really chic moment overall. Getting on a private plane with a complete stranger felt like an organic decision for Euro Babe. Also, I had to get the fuck out of Paris before I got murdered, and Cal had provided a direction that at least solved that part of the equation.

Fortunately for me, there was something about Cal that was so captivating. He was brooding and sexy, and he had really
honest eyes. The energy between us was palpable and exciting. Our spirit animals must have mated in their past spirit lives.

On the short flight from Paris to Mykonos, we made it through the usual “here’s my background” talk. Cal was born in Greece and raised in Paris, his grandfather was the son of a shoemaker and then became a billionaire shipping magnate, and now Cal was running the “family business.” He was thirty-two, divorced, no kids, and he drove Formula One race cars for fun (unclear). His plane was nice, but not as nice or as big as you would think it would be, for a billionaire. I expected more rooms and more white leather. Just more everything, really.

“That’s a beautiful Hermès bag you’ve got. Whoever bought that for you must really care about you.” Cal smiled.

“Oh, this old thing? It’s my travel Birkin. I bought it for myself as a middle school graduation present.”

“I noticed you had a different Hermès bag when we met at Silencio.”

“Hermès is kind of my thing.”

“My ex-wife asked for a Birkin every birthday, but I never obliged. Deep down I guess I knew it wasn’t going to work out in the end.”

“I get it. Birkins represent eternal devotion.”

“Yes, they do. I would buy you a Birkin, Babe.”

“That’s so sweet.”

Apparently Euro Babe had it all figured out.

Two huge men were on the plane with us. I could only assume they were Cal’s security detail. They wore dark sunglasses, didn’t say a word, and had matching Brioni suits (so chic). It was weird, because Cal never introduced them to me or
even mentioned them. They just sat there in silence the whole flight (soooooo chic). Their stoic presence was not only calming, it also made me feel incredibly secure, which was a huge turn-on considering the fact that my stalker still very much wanted to assassinate me.

On the plane, as I was looking out the window at the Mediterranean below us, it occurred to me just how much I was looking forward to being in Greece. My dad and I had spent a couple of Augusts in Mykonos and I had loved it. My Parisian lifestyle encouraged far too much espresso drinking, cigarette smoking, and death threats. I was wanting a beachy, sunny, sandy scenario. Basically anything that would let me not think about the danger I was clearly in.

I wanted to be in Mykonos with my new super-rich boyfriend, under a giant fucking umbrella, where nobody could see me beneath my huge sunglasses and hat. As soon as we landed and I stepped off the plane I could smell the sea, imagine the tan bodies, and taste the vodka sodas that I was about to imbibe to keep my little body hydrated in the warm Mediterranean air. Heaven.

The two huge security randos helped me with my suitcases and we all loaded into SUVs that were waiting for us on the tarmac. Cal had booked the most amazing room for us at the super luxe Apanema Boutique Hotel: a suite with two bedrooms and bathrooms (thank fuck), both with Jacuzzis, a huge kitchen, and a private pool with amazing views of the sea. Of course, I’d also gone ahead and reserved a luggage room next to our suite. “The Luggage Room” is the extra room I always need at hotels. It’s where I store my suitcases and travel gear once the
clothes have been unpacked or dumped onto the floor. It’s not a good idea to sleep near large, empty vessels like luggage—ask any shaman.

Everything in the hotel was white. The walls, the floors, the halls, the sheets, the furniture. You have to love any isle that features an all-white backdrop with pops of bright color.

Cal and I sat out on the terrace to look at the stars and have a few glasses of champagne. He’d arranged for the hotel’s head chef to come up and cook us something fresh and low in sodium, per my request.

“I’ve never done this before,” I admitted.

“And what is this?” asked Cal.

“Picking up and running away with a man I don’t even know. In fact, I pride myself on being very untrusting.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve already met your mother—who is extremely beautiful, I might add.”

“Thanks, Cal. I’ll let Donna know you’re into her.” I smiled.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. I’m fucking with you. She’s a lesbian anyway.”

“I want to make love to you. And I don’t want to wait any longer,” Cal said as he looked deep into my eyes.

“We haven’t eaten yet.”

“Food is not what I’m hungry for.”

It felt really great to be in the presence of a man who was strong, a little dangerous, and totally taking control of the situation.

“Okay then.” I relented.

“Good, then go take a bath and meet me in the bedroom when you’re ready. No more than twenty minutes, please.”

I didn’t respond. I just got up from the table, smiled, and headed to my bathroom. I’d never been bossed around like that, but I kind of loved it. I drew a hot bath, did a quick ten-minute meditation/Kegel ritual, got out, and stared into the mirror for thirty seconds while repeating my new mantra: “Fuck you, Babette.”

I left my skin damp before putting on a robe. My body was warm from the bath, and my heart was pounding in anticipation. I hadn’t been this nervous about something sexual since I was about to try anal for the first time when I was eighteen. When I entered the room, Cal was already sitting in a chair next to the bed. He was fully clothed but the top few buttons on his shirt were undone. He wasn’t smiling, which was very unnerving. Cal gestured for me to come closer to him, which I did. Then, he beckoned me to come even closer. I slowly closed the gap between us until I was standing right in front of him. With his hands he indicated for me to lean down to him and when I put my face next to his, he whispered in my ear.

“
Chorépsoun gia ména
.”

I don’t really speak Greek, but I knew enough to understand. He wanted me to dance for him. And the strangest part was that I wanted to dance for him.

Euro Babe was all about expressing her body through the power of naked movement and strategic hair flips, so I dropped my robe and started to sway back and forth in a Stevie Nicks/Eddie Vedder kind of way, which eventually led to more Eddie Van Halen–esque undulations, but I didn’t feel weird about it. My heart was still pounding with nerves and excitement, but I wasn’t embarrassed in any way. Plus, I could see that Cal was
getting turned on, which made me feel even sexier. He smiled at me and almost immediately pulled me down onto his lap. He whispered into my ear again.

“Close your eyes.”

“I don’t want to,” I replied.

“You are mistaken if you think that this is about what you want. What you want is what I want. So you want to close your eyes.”

I gently closed my eyes and he picked me up, threw me on the bed, and lay down next to me, kissing my neck. I wanted to open my eyes to look at him, but I didn’t know if I was allowed to. So I just lay still as he caressed my breasts with so much attention and grace that I almost said, “Fuck me.” My body was pulsing with heat. Cal took off his shirt and I could feel his warm skin against mine as he slowly lay on top of me. His body was hard, smooth, and heavy. Although my eyes were closed, I could imagine what he looked like based on how he felt on top of me. This was his plan all along: by making me close my eyes, Cal had forced me to rely on the way he felt, smelled, and tasted. I could feel how focused he was on our lovemaking. He spent a lot of time making sure that I was good and ready for him.

When he finally pulled me close and pushed himself inside of me, I let out a sound that I’ve never heard anyone make. It wasn’t an ugly sound, but it caught me off guard because it was coming from my own mouth. Cal was massive. Not like, “Oh yeah, I’m sleeping with this really hot guy who has a big dick,” but more like, “I’m pretty sure that less than half of my boyfriend’s monster cock can actually fit inside me.” I was glad he made me close my eyes—if I’d seen that thing coming at me,
I would have never let this happen. The weirdest part was that it didn’t hurt at all. Cal was clearly an artist who had thoroughly prepared his subject for what was about to happen. His diligent groundwork had ensured that the only thing I’d be experiencing was sheer pleasure and ecstasy.