Small Town Girl (12 page)

“Yes, thanks. I’ll just sip some sherry. Dennis says we’ll sit down to dinner soon. He’ll open that new red I bought in Italy. Now, did you get everything taken care of up there?”

“I hope so. The Realtor said it shouldn’t take too long to sell the place.” Lauren did not want to talk about the house, the countryside, or what might have transpired there. She changed the subject. “I’m so happy you didn’t have to leave for Singapore today. I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

“Well, I am, too,” said Charles, looking out the window. Lauren stood beside him. The city was settling into evening. Lights were blinking on, and there was a bluish tint to everything. “I do have to leave in the next day or two, though. That’s what the meeting was about this evening. Just lining things up so I can get there, get the business done, and get home. I’ll have a stopover in London, but I shouldn’t be gone more than a week.”

“A week!” exclaimed Lauren. Then she added morosely, “We haven’t been together very much lately.”

Charles smiled patronizingly. “Do I detect a bit of whining, darling?”

“I’m not whining, Charles!” Lauren was really irritated now.

Charles laughed. “I’m sorry, really. I was just teasing you. You know my business involves a lot of travel.”

“Yes, I know,” she conceded. “I just want us to spend some time together. I’ve got a ton of things about the wedding to discuss with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about discussing anything with me,” said Charles. “I’m sure anything you decide upon will be just fine. Ask your mother about some of that. Make her feel involved.”

“My mother!” snorted Lauren. “If my mother and father had their way, we’d be married in a field of daisies by some kind of random preacher. The guests would all get hay fever and we’d be eating tofu salad. They don’t understand the kind of life I lead.”

Charles laughed. “Well, whatever you decide is fine with me, darling.”

Dennis appeared at the door. “Dinner is served,” he said.

“Thank you, Dennis,” said Charles. “Come along, darling.”

Lauren reached for Charles’s hand, but he had slipped ahead of her through the door. As she walked behind him out of the study, she noticed the crystal bowl of red roses. Dennis always made sure there were fresh flowers throughout the house in strategic places, but this evening the roses caught her eye. Lauren stopped as she passed them and dipped her nose to them. They were beautiful, but there was no fragrance, no seductive perfume like the aroma that had wafted up from the old roses in her grandmother’s garden. Lauren blinked, swallowing down an odd lump in her throat. She looked up, saw Charles disappearing into the dining room, and followed after him.

Dennis served the dinner. Tina had prepared a seared rib-eye on a bed of arugula and roasted peppers with roasted Russian fingerling potatoes. In a separate dish on the side was roasted asparagus with a light balsamic sauce. As usual, Tina had outdone herself. The meal was elegant. Charles and Lauren were still sipping the new Italian red wine when Dennis served the tiramisu for dessert.

Lauren laughed as she picked up her silver dessert fork. “Oh, Dennis! Tell Tina this is fantastic! Charles, this is just decadent!”

“Maybe we should have skipped the main course and gone straight for dessert,” Charles said jovially. “Let’s take it out onto the balcony and enjoy the night air.”

Lauren followed Charles through the living room, out the regal French windows, and onto the rooftop garden. They sat in the comfortable garden chairs and looked out over the city. It was nearly nine o’clock. The well-appointed outdoor lighting, automatically set to turn on at dusk, suddenly flooded the rooftop with soft light. Lauren looked up at the sky. She could not see the stars. Her brow furrowed, and she set her tiramisu down on the little wrought iron table beside her chair. She stood up and wandered over to lean on the garden wall. She could see the traffic below, the lights on the yellow cabs. Sirens blared from different places around the city, and the night was punctuated with occasional shouts and music. The air was slightly pungent with the odor of carbon emissions and something sour. Lauren could not help but focus on just last night, when she and Caleb had sat on the steps of the porch. In her mind, she could smell the roses and newly mown grass. She could hear the bullfrogs. She could taste the heady, grain flavor of the cold beer.

“Something wrong, darling?” she heard Charles say. She turned around. He was lounging in the chaise. He had taken off his jacket and tie, rolled up his sleeves, and opened the collar of his shirt. He was the picture of wealthy sophistication. Nothing could touch him. He commanded respect. No event that was in any way important took place without his receiving an invitation, from long-standing charity dinners to presidential inaugurations. And he had picked her, Lauren Smith, with no background whatsoever, except an old house in New England. She smiled fondly at him.

“Oh, no, Charles,” she said, walking over and taking a seat on the edge of his chaise. She played with the gold band of his watch. “Explain to me about your business again. I feel I don’t fully understand that part of you, and since I’m going to be your wife, I guess I better understand all of you.”

Charles gave a little chuckle and squeezed Lauren’s hand. “Don’t worry yourself about it, Lauren.”

“No, really, Charles, I need to understand your business. Tell me again.”

Charles sat up in the chaise and set his drink down. He took both of Lauren’s hand in his own. “Nice ring,” he said humorously. “Your boyfriend must be rich.”

“He is,” said Lauren flippantly. “Now you tell me how he got that way.”

“Okay,” sighed Charles, giving in at last. “As I’ve explained to you before, I own Beckinsale Industries. Beckinsale is a holding company, meaning that it is the parent company of several smaller companies. This makes it much easier to work internationally, worldwide.”

“How many smaller companies is Beckinsale the parent of?”

“That varies depending on what type of business we’re involved with at the time, or whoever we’re doing business with at the time. We can change our companies to fit a country’s specific laws or needs depending on which product or service they buy from Beckinsale.”

“What is the product you sell?”

“We sell various products directly, and our brokered sales exceed our direct sales. Some companies sell the actual product, and some companies are brokerages and arrange deals. Their income is based on percentages of sales. Right now we’re negotiating a merger between Beckinsale and Chong Industries in Singapore.”

“What products do
you
sell?” Lauren rephrased her question.

Charles let go of her hands and adjusted his watch on his wrist. He stood up, picked up his drink, and walked the length of the rooftop garden and back. Lauren sat still, watching him, waiting.

“Well, we broker currency, for instance, all over the world. One of our companies sells bridges.”

“Bridges?”

“Yes, actual bridges. All the steel parts you need to build a bridge across any chasm you want.”

“And?”

“We sell arms. We broker arms, too.”

“Arms? Like guns?”

“Well, yes, American-made arms to foreign markets.”

“Is that legal?”

Charles laughed harshly. “Of course it’s legal. It’s one of the largest industries in the world. Beckinsale owns two arms-manufacturing companies.”

Lauren was silent. Money and guns. Finally she said, “I guess I didn’t realize I was so close to such a sordid subject.” She stood up and gazed off over Central Park.

Charles came up behind her and put his arm around her. “Oh, I wouldn’t call it sordid. True, people don’t like to discuss money a lot of the time. It’s considered, well, gauche, but it is a fact that currency trading and arms sales are two huge businesses. The world is not always a pretty place, but what do you think bought you that ring?” Lauren stared down at her finger. Charles continued, “Look, darling, you’ve got an American Express card. You can buy anything you want. You’ve got a great car and a man who thinks you’re beautiful.” He put his arms out. “You live here — will live here — with me. Let’s leave my business interests out of our personal lives, shall we? You know what I want to talk about?”

“What’s that?” said Lauren, trying to focus on the here and now of the city rooftop and not think about business. The nature of true love and marriage, so clear a few days ago, seemed to be eluding her. And then there was that business of the prenuptial agreement. She had accepted the process, even when it seemed so demeaning to her. She had accepted it because she assumed that was how sophisticated, successful people managed their lives and assets. Then she’d had that unfortunate discussion with Caleb in the pub, and all of a sudden, she almost felt she’d been duped. She banished the thought from her mind along with the uneasy feeling that went with it.

“I want to talk about how gorgeous you are going to look at the New Yorkers Against Hunger Benefit Ball next week in your Oscar de la Renta and how proud I’ll be to have you on my arm! How’s that?” He kissed her on the forehead.

“Am I not to be involved in that part of your life, then?” Lauren could not let it drop.

Charles drained his glass. He looked at her, and Lauren was aware that his eyes had changed, becoming somehow shrouded, distant. He answered her question in a voice she hadn’t heard him use before, a hard voice. “That’s correct. There is no need for you to be involved in that part of my life. In fact, I’ll tell you straight up, I don’t want you in that part of my life. That’s my business. It’s difficult enough to keep on top of it without having it spill over into our personal life here. Everything else I’m happy to share.” Then, the strange look on his face passed. He smiled his old relaxed smile. “I’m going in to bed. It’s getting late. I haven’t heard yet when I have to leave, so I need to be ready early in the morning. Come to bed, darling. I’ll make you happy to be here.”

Lauren knew there was a choice to be made. She could persist and tell Charles she considered it part of a sound marriage for each spouse to be familiar with the other’s business interests or jobs. She could tell him it was of the utmost importance that he consider her intelligent enough to know what he did when he flew to Singapore or Johannesburg or anywhere else. And yet she could not bring herself to enter into an argument. After all, she thought as she followed him back inside the penthouse, what he said was correct. Everything was provided for her. Why should she rock the boat? The intricacies of how that provision came about was Charles’s game, not hers. In fact, she thought as she struggled to bury that conversation with Caleb she remembered so vividly, that a share-everything, hand-in-hand attitude about marriage was colloquial, provincial at best. Sophisticated couples had a true division of labor, a true separation of business and home life, and kept it that way. It simplified things.

She was lost. That she knew. She had no idea which way to go. All around her was a forest of some kind, an unfamiliar landscape. She knew she was a prisoner and that she had to escape. There were people everywhere, but no one would talk to her.

“Please,” she entreated them desperately. “Please, which way do I go?” And they all walked around her. Some looked at her with disdain. She forged on, her feet leaden.

Then, in the very far distance, she saw him. Caleb was standing there, beckoning her. He was smiling, his face alive, his eyes sparkling. She ran, even though it seemed to take every ounce of energy she had. And then she was in his arms. “I love you, I love you,” she heard herself saying.

He didn’t answer, but bent his mouth to hers. Lauren felt the heat grow between her thighs as his kisses traveled down her neck to her breasts. It was then she realized she was naked and his lips were gently pulling at her nipples. She moaned.

Suddenly, she fell backward, in a sickening spiral. He was yanked away. She tried to get up, but she could not. She looked up to see him dragged away by men. The men had big guns. They were pointing the guns at her.

“Caleb!” she screamed. “Caleb! No! No!” She couldn’t see his face anymore, just the men with the guns, dragging him away. She began to scream uncontrollably.

“Lauren!” She was being shaken. “Lauren!” She opened her eyes. It had only been a nightmare. Charles was shaking her shoulders. “Wake up. You were dreaming.” His cell phone, always beside the bed, was ringing. Lauren dragged herself up through her unconscious. She heard Charles’s conversation as she awoke.