The Pirate (19 page)

Carriage laughed with him. “They’d probably shit. I’ve already heard talk that they suspect you of being a simple savage. That’s a very snobbish group down there. All WASP. No Jews, no Catholics, no foreigners.”

“They should love Jordana then,” Baydr said. It was true. She was a born and bred California girl and they didn’t come any WASPier.

“They will,” Carriage answered.

“Still, it’s not going to be easy. I have noticed a lack of enthusiasm in their pursuit of new business, and we have dropped some important accounts since we’ve taken over the bank.”

“According to their reports, they blame it on the Jewish-controlled Los Angeles banks.”

“That’s too easy an excuse to satisfy me. I always get suspicious when they tell me something they think I will accept. They bungled the Star Ranch offer and let the Japanese maneuver us into a bid situation.”

“They said the Japanese were working through the LA banks.”

“Not good enough. They were there on the ground floor. We should have had it all wrapped up before LA even heard about it. Now it’s had time to get all the way to Tokyo and back.”

They were at the bungalow. Carriage opened the door and they went into the cottage. The cool, dark air-conditioned room felt good after the white heat of the sun.

Vincent got to his feet, the inevitable glass of whiskey on the cocktail table before him. “Baydr, it’s good to see you again.”

“It’s always good to see you again, my friend.” They shook hands and Baydr walked around the small table to the couch and sat down. “How is the script coming?”

“That’s what I wanted to see you about. At first, I thought it would be easy. You know. Like my films about Moses and Jesus, there would always be some miracles to fall back on for visual excitement. The parting of the Red Sea or the Israelites, the Resurrection. But it’s not like that at all. Your Prophet has no miracles going for him. He was just a man.”

Baydr laughed. “That’s true. Just a man. Like all of us. No more and no less. Does that disappoint you?”

“Cinematically, yes,” Vincent answered.

“It would seem to me that should make the message of the Prophet even more convincing and dramatic. That a man, just like any of us, should bring the revelations of Allah to his fellow men. What about his persecution by the pagan Arabs and the taunts of the Jews and Christians, and his banishment and flight from Medina? And what about his battle to return to Mecca? Surely, there should be enough drama in that for several films.”

“For the Muslim world perhaps, but I doubt very much that the Western world would take to the idea of their being the villains of the piece. And you did say that you wanted this film to be shown all over the world, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There’s our problem,” Vincent answered. He picked up the whiskey and drained his glass. “We’re going to have to solve that before we begin on the script.”

Baydr was silent. The truth in the Koran was self-evident—why, then, was there always this problem? The unbelievers didn’t even want to listen. If, only once, they would open their minds and hearts to the Prophet’s message the light would come to them. He looked thoughtfully at the director. “If I remember your version, the film on Christ had him crucified by the Romans, not the Jews, is that right?”

Vincent nodded.

“Was that not contrary to fact?” Baydr asked. “In reality did the Jews themselves not condemn Christ to the cross?”

“There are different opinions,” Vincent said. “Because Christ Himself was a Jew and betrayed by one of His own apostles, Judas, who was also a Jew, and because He was hated by the rabbis of the Orthodox temples for threatening their power and authority, many believe that the Jews pushed the Romans into crucifying Him.”

“But the pagan Romans were made the villains of the film, were they not?”

“Yes.”

“Then we have the answer,” Baydr said. “We will build our film around the Prophet’s conflict with the Quraish, which led to his flight to Medina. The Prophet’s wars in reality were not with the Jews who already had accepted the principle of one God, but with the three great Arab tribes who worshiped many gods. It was they who drove him away from Mecca, not the Jews.”

Vincent stared at him. “I remember reading it but I never thought of it in that light. Somehow I felt that the Arabs had always been with him.”

“Not in the beginning,” Baydr said. “The Quraish tribe consisted of pagan Arabs who worshiped many gods and it was to them rather than the Jews and Christians that Muhammad first directed his teachings of the true Allah. It was they whom he first called ‘Unbelievers.’”

“I’ll try that approach,” Vincent said. He refilled his glass and looked across the table at Baydr. “Are you sure you would not be interested in writing the script with me?”

Baydr laughed. “I’m a businessman, not a writer. I’ll leave that to you.”

“But you know the story better than anyone I have met.”

“Read the Koran again. Maybe then you will see what I see.” He got to his feet. “Youssef will be arriving later this afternoon and we’ll all get together after the weekend. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out to the airport to meet my wife.”

Vincent got to his feet. “I think you’ve set me on the right track. I’ll get right to work on the new approach.”

They shook hands and Vincent left the bungalow. Baydr turned to Carriage. “What do you think?” he asked.

“If I may say so, chief, I think you ought to pay him off and forget the whole thing. The only thing you can guarantee yourself in a film like that is losses.”

“The Koran teaches that man can benefit in many ways by his actions, to seek not only the profit but the good.”

“I hope you’re right, but I would still be very cautious before you go ahead with the film.”

“You’re a strange young man. Don’t you ever think of anything but dollars and cents?”

Carriage met his gaze. “Not when I’m working. I don’t imagine you hired me for my social graces.”

“I guess not,” he said. “But there are some things more important than money.”

“That’s not my decision to make,” Dick said. “Not when it’s your money.” He began to put some papers into his attaché case. “My job is to be sure that you are aware of all the risks. The rest is up to you.”

“And you think the film is risky?”

“Yes, sir.”

Baydr walked to his bedroom door. “Thank you, Dick,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you ever to feel that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do for me.”

Dick flushed. It wasn’t often that Baydr complimented him. “You don’t have to thank me, chief.”

Baydr smiled. “I’ll grab a quick shower and I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes. Have the car brought around in front of the bungalow.”

“Will do, chief.” Carriage was on the telephone before Baydr closed the bedroom door.

CHAPTER 5

As usual, the plane from Paris was an hour late. Silently Baydr cursed the airlines. They were all alike. They never gave accurate arrival information until it was too late to do anything but sit at the airport and wait for the plane to come down.

The telephone rang in the small VIP room and the hostess picked it up. She listened for a moment, then turned to them. “Double-O-three is touching down right now. It should be at the gate in a few minutes.”

Baydr got to his feet. She rose from her desk and walked toward them. “Mr. Hansen will meet you at the gate and expedite Mrs. Al Fay through the formalities.”

“Thank you,” Baydr said.

There was a crowd around the arrival area. Mr. Hansen, a heavy-set man in an Air France uniform, came to meet them. Quickly, he ushered them downstairs through the restricted customs area. A uniformed immigration officer joined them and they went into the entrance room, just as Jordana came from the plane.

He nodded to himself in approval. Jordana had great instincts. The casual tie-dyed jeans and see-through clothing she affected in the south of France were nowhere in evidence. Instead, she was the fashionably dressed young California wife. The Dior suit with its modestly cut skirt, the slouch hat and lightly applied makeup were exactly right in the society they were about to enter. He moved forward to greet her.

She held her cheek for his kiss. “You look lovely,” he said.

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“The flight comfortable?”

“I slept all the way. They fixed up a special bunk for me.”

“Good. We have a kind of difficult schedule in front of us.”

Youssef, slightly rumpled in his dark suit, appeared behind her with her secretary. Baydr shook hands with them, as the Air France representative collected their passports for clearance. He led Jordana away from the crowd of people so they could talk privately.

“I’m sorry I could not get back this summer,” he said.

“We were too. The boys especially. They gave me a message for you.”

“Yes?”

“They wanted to tell you that they are doing very well in their Arabic. That you would not have to be ashamed of them.”

“Are they?” he asked.

“I think so. They insist on speaking nothing but Arabic to all the help whether they are understood or not.”

He smiled, pleased. “I’m glad.” His eyes met her own. “And you? What have you been doing with yourself?”

“Nothing much, the usual thing.”

“You look very well.”

She did not answer.

“Were there many parties this year?”

“There are always parties.”

“Anything exciting?”

“Not particularly.” She looked at him. “You’ve lost weight. You look thin.”

“I’ll have to eat more,” he said. “It would never do if I were to go back to the Middle East looking like this. They might think I was falling upon hard times.”

She smiled. She knew what he was talking about. The Arabs still judged a man’s success by his girth. A portly man was always more highly regarded than a thin one. “Eat bread and potatoes,” she said. “And more lamb.”

He laughed aloud. She knew how Western his taste was. He disliked starchy and fatty foods, preferring to eat beefsteaks. “I’ll remember that.”

Hansen came over to them. “Everything’s okay,” he said. “We have a car waiting on the field to take you over to the helipad.”

“We can go then,” Baydr said. He gestured to Youssef, who came toward them. “Vincent’s at the Beverly Hills Hotel,” Baydr told him. “You spend the weekend with him and try to find out exactly where we’re at. I’ll be in touch with you on Monday.”

Youssef tried to conceal his disappointment. He hated to be left out of anything that might be important. “Do you think there’s a problem with Vincent?”

“I don’t know, but it would seem to me that in three months he should have at least made a start.”

“Leave it to me, chief,” Youssef said confidently. “I’ll build a fire under him.”

***

“It will take about a half-hour to get down there,” the helicopter pilot said as they lifted off.

“What’s the dress for tonight?” Jordana asked. “How much time will we have?”

Baydr looked at his watch. “Cocktails are at eight, dinner at nine. Black tie.”

Jordana looked at him. She knew how he hated evening dress. “You’re going all out.”

“That’s right,” he said. “I want to make a good impression. I have a feeling they resent me for taking over the bank.”

“I’m sure they’ll get over it once they meet you.”

“I hope so,” Baydr said seriously. “But I don’t know. They’re very clannish down there.”

“They will. I know that crowd very well. Expatriate Pasadena. But they’re no different than anyone else. They go with the money.”

The giant bouquet of red roses presented to Jordana by the president of the bank, Joseph E. Hutchinson III, and his wife, Dolly, when they arrived proved that she was at least partly right.

***

There was a soft knock at the door, and the muffled sound of Jabir’s voice announcing, “It is fifteen minutes past seven, master.”

“Thank you,” Baydr called back. He rose from the small table at which he had been reading the latest bank reports. He would have time for another shower before he changed into his dinner jacket. Quickly, he took off his shirt and trousers and, naked, he started for the bathroom which separated his bedroom from Jordana’s.

He opened the door, just as she rose, glistening, from the scented bath. He stood for a moment, staring. “I’m sorry”—the apology sprang to his lips without thought—“I didn’t know you were still in here.”

She returned his look. “It’s all right,” she said, a faint tinge of irony in her voice. “There’s no need to apologize.”

He was silent.

She reached for a bath towel and began to wrap it around her. He put out a hand to stop her. She looked at him questioningly.

“I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you are,” he said.

Slowly, he took the towel from her hand. He let it fall to the floor. His fingers traced a line from her cheek, across the flushed, rising nipple, past the tiny indentation of her navel to the soft swelling of her mound. “Just beautiful,” he whispered.

She didn’t move.

“Look at me!” he said, a sudden insistence in his voice.

She looked up into his face. There was a gentle sorrow in his eyes. “Jordana.”

“Yes?”

“Jordana, what has happened to us that we have become strangers?”

Unexpectedly her eyes began to fill with tears. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

He took her into his arms and pressed her head against his shoulder. “There are so many things that are wrong,” he said. “I would not know where to begin to correct them.”

She wanted to talk to him but she could not find the words. They came from different worlds. In his world the woman was nothing, the man everything. If she said to him that she had the same needs he did, the same sexual and social drives, he would regard it as a threat to his male supremacy. And he would think that she was not being a proper wife. Still, these needs were what had brought them together in the beginning.

She pressed her face against his chest, weeping silently.

He stroked her hair gently. “I’ve missed you,” he said. He put a hand under her chin and raised her eyes. “There is no one else like you for me.”