About Face (10 page)

Every eye in the house, male or female, checks out Julia as we move through the crowd—some because she's a business acquaintance or associate, others simply because she's so damn hot. We stop intermittently as Julia handles a couple of work-related odds and ends and introduces me to a few worthwhile people. Soon we're outside. The terrace, overlooking Central Park, is probably about twelve hundred square feet. The sun is almost gone.

We walk to the edge of the terrace. Aside from us, there are only a few other people outside.

“Sorry about Mr. Green,” I say, just before we stop. She turns to me. “That must have been a big shock for everyone,” I go on.

“Yes, it was,” she responds. “It's always sad when someone dies too young.”

“Did you know him well?”

“No. I mean—a hello here or there, but essentially we only spoke on legal issues as they pertained to leases or deals. That's really it.”

She changes directions.

“I know I sent you all the specifics on where we are with the Lorgan negotiation—”

Lorgan Engineering is a tenant in the Freedom Bank Building whose lease is about to turn over.

“But they're resisting the numbers harder than I thought they would. They're a twenty-thousand-square-foot user, so while it wouldn't be the end of the world if they walk, I'm doing my best to
keep them. Even at a dollar or two lower per foot, I think it's the better move for the building. Hence, for de Bont.”

“I agree. And I appreciate you filling me in.”

We each take a sip of our drink.

“Inside you mentioned you like to do your homework on people GlassWell is dealing with,” I go on. “Now, I don't mean to overstep, but why would this be of interest to you? I mean—why wouldn't you simply care about the leasing elements to a deal like this? Why would you be interested in who de Bont is? Or who any buyer is for that matter?”

“You're an astute man, Ivan Janse. It turns out I'm a bit closer to the situation than being one of the leasing directors for the firm.”

“Closer how?”

“My best friend growing up here in the city was Chloe Spencer. Mr. Spencer's daughter. Chloe and I were together literally from the time we went to nursery school all the way until the end of high school. At that point we split up when we went to different colleges.”

“Are you still in touch?”

“Very much so. We speak on the phone once a week. She's a dermatologist in Los Angeles. And for her father, who has always been like a second father to me, it worked out perfectly. While Chloe was always the science-oriented one of us, I was the nerdy business type. When I graduated from Duke armed with a business degree, and not a clue of what I wanted to do with it, Mr. Spencer couldn't have been happier to bring me in. It was like he was able to give me the spot he'd hoped Chloe would fill. I think it did something for each of us.”

“So you feel an obligation to look out for the company,” I say.

“I do.”

It's getting colder. I notice Julia shivering ever so slightly.

“Hold this,” I say, handing her my drink.

She takes it without a word. I start taking off my jacket.

“Oh, Ivan, no. Really, I'm—”

“Please,” I cut her off without altering my actions. “It's my pleasure.”

She doesn't contest further. I slip it over her shoulders and take back my drink.

“Besides, I can't have you getting sick on me. We have a deal to close.”

The raspy giggle.

“So,” I go on, “I guess the family connection explains something else for me.”

“Which is?”

“How a woman as beautiful as you ended up in this male-dominated world of commercial real estate.”

I'm not sure which of us is more surprised this just came out of my mouth.

“I'm sorry,” I continue, “Not sure that presented itself as intended. Was actually kind of a stream-of-consciousness thing, I believe.”

“You don't need to apologize.”

“No?”

“No. The answer is, I like it.”

“Real estate?”

“Being called beautiful.”

Once back inside I excuse myself to find the bathroom. I have a general idea where a door is that leads to what looked like a study. I find it. I casually take a sip of my drink and look up and down the hallway. Looks clear. I step into the room. When I do it's like I've crossed over into an entirely different apartment. The walls and ceiling are dark, rich wood. The carpeting is equally dark brown if not darker. The walls are lined with full bookshelves. In one of the corners there's a small table topped by an antique chessboard. In the center of the room is a rustic, teak coffee table, a dark-green velvet couch on each side. In the far corner of the office is a massive oak desk. I walk toward it.

There's a small fire glowing in the fireplace. This and the dimly lit ceiling lights provide the only illumination in the space. Everything in the room appears as an outline, but as I get closer to the
desk I see stacks of papers, a desktop computer, the backs of standing picture frames—there isn't what seems to be an open inch on the desk's surface. Finally my eyes locate a desktop pen set. It has a rectangular sterling silver base with a glass globe the size of a baseball positioned in the center. On each side of the globe is a holder for a pen. To my disappointment, a sterling silver pen is resting in each one.

“Julia mentioned she saw you head this way,” a voice startles me.

Brand.

“Something I can help you with?”

Shit.

“I was looking for a bathroom,” I shoot back.

I start walking toward the fireplace slowly, to make it appear I'm just casually wandering around.

“The fireplace caught my eye as I walked past. Once I peeked in and saw the chessboard, well—” I go on.

Brand looks down to his left at the small table with the chessboard on top, as if to make the point it's all the way back toward the doorway. So why had I crossed the entire room?

He looks at me again.

“You a big fan of the game?”

I've never played once.

“I am.”

“Me too,” Brand counters. “Perhaps we can square off one day.”

“Perhaps we can,” I respond.

“Come on. I'll help you find a bathroom.”

I follow Brand out of the study.

S
T
. M
AXIME
, F
RANCE
2004

The phone rang. Neo, who had fallen asleep on the lounge chair next to mine, sprang onto all fours like a cartoon character. I pulled my eyes from the gulf waters glimmering with orange light from sunset. I looked at the Audemars—1:38 pm in New York, which meant 7:38 pm on the Côte d'Azur.

I walked back inside. On the fourth ring, I decided not to pick it up. Hopefully, it was housekeeping telling me because of the “Privacy” sign they hadn't been able to make up the room. My stomach dropped after ten seconds of silence when it began ringing again. Now it occurred to me—if the hotel personnel knew categorically I was there, my not picking up would be suspicious.

“Hello?”

“Good evening, Mr. Gordon. It is Brigette from reception. I had the pleasure of checking you in two nights ago.”

“Of course,” I replied. “Good evening.”

“How has your stay been thus far? Are you finding everything that you need?”

“I am. Thank you.”

“I just wanted to check with you regarding your credit card,”
she continued. “According to you at check-in, American Express said you would receive your replacement card today. Unfortunately, there is no record of any packages arriving for you today.”

“Oh, you know, you're right,” I countered, a touch of surprise sprinkled into my voice. “I've been so preoccupied, I must have subconsciously blocked out anything whatsoever that has to do with responsibility.”

I had hoped for a little laugh. Which I didn't get.

“I am happy we were able to accommodate you upon arrival,” Brigette went on, “but it is strict hotel policy that we must keep a card on file for all guests. Now I'm—”

“Brigette—say no more,” I cut her off. “I'll call American Express right now, and get back to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gordon. I appreciate your assistance.”

I hung up. Still staring at the phone, concocting my next credit card story, it rang again.

“Yes, Brigette?”

Silence. There was a long pause. Was this it, I thought? Was it already time for my next big play?

Do I say hello again? Or do I hang up?

Just as I was about to speak, the first word about to leapfrog the back of my tongue, I heard a voice.

“Jonah?”

I sucked in a swallow of air.

“Perry?” I said, in a near whisper.

“I'm here,” she went on, her voice stern. “We're here.”

Max. Her son.

She stopped. I heard a sniffle. She continued.

“We're in St. Maxime. We just got here. What room are you in?”

Hearing her voice shocked, awed, relieved, and confused me. I was stuck in no-man's land. My previous life was freshly behind me. Yet after what happened at the market it already felt a thousand years away.

“I … I, what—”

“Don't even
think
of cracking on me now, tough guy,” she blasted me.

She called me out for being at an unusual loss for words. I half smiled. Knowing her strength was intact was comforting. But I hated myself for putting her and her young child in a place where her voice could ever sound this nervous.

I closed my eyes, collected myself.

“Cinquante-douze. Five-twelve.”

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I opened it. Perry, wearing jeans and a tight-fitting white cotton tank top, stood with her hands on the shoulders of Max who stood in front of her. He too was wearing jeans, and he had on a blue t-shirt with the Superman
S
. Both were in Nike running sneakers. There was one small, black rolling suitcase standing upright next to them.

The second our eyes met I wanted to pick her up by her waist and swing her around. For a fleeting moment, all the circumstances surrounding our meeting here, now, were gone. That changed when I looked down, as if Max's gaze was pulling at mine.

I squatted down so Max and I were face-to-face. He had just turned eight years old. He had a full head of dirty-blond hair and his cheeks were a bit flushed. He had a peaceful yet dazed look on his round face. The look of a confused boy in new surroundings who just completed a long journey, but did so unquestioningly because of the faith he has in, and love he has for, his mother.

“How are you, Max?” I asked.

Sure, I knew Max. But overall my experience with children was minimal, and from an emotional standpoint, it was zilch. I stuck out my hand. I was surprised by how small and soft his palm was against mine when he shook it.

“I'm okay,” he answered with a shrug.

“Did you have fun on the airplane?”

His brown eyes looked tired. He rubbed them.

“I guess.”

I stood back up, looked at Perry again. Then I reached out and grabbed their suitcase.

“Why don't you both come inside?”

Max entered first. Immediately, he perked up upon sight of Neo and dropped to his knees to greet him. Always the friendly one, and never of mind to turn away a belly scratch, Neo flipped onto his back. Perry followed Max in and stopped in front of me. Without a word, her eyes briefly taking in the scabbing scratch from Red, she placed her hand on my cheek. I only wanted to touch her back—feel her smooth skin, run my hand through her flowing brown hair. With our eyes we absorbed each other. As usual, she barely had on any makeup. And, as usual, she looked gorgeous.

“Mommy, I
really
need to go to the bathroom,” Max said, his gaze still on Neo. Apparently, he had found a good spot on my little partner. Neo's left hind leg was twitching out of control as his tail wagged wildly.

“There are two,” I responded as I closed the door. “There's one right here and another in the bedroom.”

Max stood up and started for the one off the living room.

“Baby, use the one in the bedroom,” Perry said taking her hand from my face. “Mommy needs a minute alone with Jonah.”

Max listened and headed off. As he did, neither of us said a word. We just stood there, face-to-face, staring into each other's eyes. After a few seconds we heard Max close the door behind him.

Perry stepped closer to me. She reached up with both hands and grabbed the sides of my head. Then she pulled me into her and kissed me deeply. I let go of the suitcase and wrapped my arms around her waist. Between her pulling up high and me pulling down low, lifting her into me, our bodies were pressed against each other in a way that I'd previously only imagined. Her stomach was as tight as her grip. Her breasts were firm and her hard nipples sticking into my chest were driving me crazy. I wanted to tear her clothes off. The only thing stronger than my urges was the reality Max would be back any minute.

Perry pulled her lips from mine. We both froze.

“I'm so happy you're a good kisser,” she said. “Talk about potential for the utmost disappointment.”

We went back at it, our hands now moving over each other wildly. I could feel my testosterone rising at a rate it never had before. Yes, this was a moment with Perry I'd dreamed of, but it was more than that. It had come at the time in my life—the
second
in my life—I most needed to lose myself.

I unraveled my tongue from hers, moved my nose into her neck, and took a deep sniff.

“Ahhh,” I exhaled, “you smell so good. Like, like—”

We heard Max open the bathroom door in the other room. We jumped apart. Staring at each other still, we straightened our twisted shirts.

I called Brigette and told her Amex had screwed up. That they had sent my new card to my address back home and promised one to me at the hotel by the next evening. Then, once we had Max and Neo situated on the terrace having some fresh fruit together, Perry and I sat down on the couch.