My Dark Knight Read online

  I bite my lip. Maybe she’s right. Although, the truth is I had blanked it all out. I can’t even remember the details anyway.

  She goes on, “You don’t want him to know about what happened that time. He really doesn’t need to be privy to it all—”

  “But I was a different person then.”

  “You were open and gullible and trusting.”

  “Exactly,” I agree, remembering how I then didn’t suffer from insecurities – I felt I owned the world.

  “Still, best to keep it all under wraps, don’t you think? Let sleeping dogs lie,” she advises.

  I cross my legs almost in self-defense. “It’s a blur, anyway, Emma. I genuinely can’t remember what happened, but it is a part of me still, I guess, whether I like it or not. I suppose I just feel like really opening up to Max, that’s all. I don’t want us to hold secrets from each other.”

  Emma strokes my cheek and brushes a tendril of hair away from my eye. “You want to talk about it, how it messed everything up...empty your heart and soul, re-open painful wounds? That’s fine – I totally get that, me more than anyone. But talk to me about it, or any other close friend, or even another therapist – I could recommend a colleague to you – but your future husband who happens to be a proud Englishman? I’m thinking, no, bad idea, or you could really screw things up. Look, maybe I’m wrong and totally overreacting; maybe he’d be understanding, adorable and wouldn’t give a toss. But I’m just speaking from my own personal experience. It’s up to you, Arielle, but my gut feeling is this: he’s crazy about you – he thinks you’re perfect. Why risk jeopardizing that?”

  “I guess you could be right,” I mumble.

  There’s an awkward silence and then Emma says enthusiastically, “On a brighter note – tell me about your wedding dress; have you chosen the designer yet? Let me know if you want me to come along and help you pick something out.”

  “I forgot to tell you, Emma – it’s all arranged. Mark Finn is doing my gown.”

  “You’re joking? But won’t that cost a fortune? You told me you didn’t want Max paying for your dress, and I know your dad doesn’t have a bean. I read somewhere that Mark Finn dresses like...Saudi princesses...and Bill Gates’s wife – that’s when he’s not too busy with the likes of Emma Stone and Jennifer Aniston.”

  “He does, but Jenny’s paying. It’s her wedding gift to me. She has insisted and won’t take no for an answer. Mark Finn was her idea.”

  Emma goes white. You. Are. Kidding. Me.”

  “No, really, she’s being as sweet as pie at the moment.”

  “And you trust that?”

  I grimace. “No, but what am I meant to do? Tell her she’s a scheming bitch and I suspect her of foul play? If she insists on spending sixty-three thousand dollars on me and it makes Max happy and I’m going to get the most stunning wedding gown in the whole wide world, then who am I to disagree?”

  “Sixty-three thousand dollars?? But that’s insane money! I know Jenny and Max are loaded but–”

  “Max,” I interrupt, “is rich and powerful, but Jenny? Oh my God, that woman has her money invested everywhere – Vegas and half way round the United States and Latin America, and Lord knows where else. She oozes wealth. Max spends his money on cars and property, but her? She invests. She plays the stock market. Who knows what pies her bony fingers are stuck into, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s involved with Russian mafia or something. I know sixty-three thousand is a fortune for you and me, but for Jenny it’s not even a morning’s work.”

  Emma presses her thumb up to her lips in thought. “Hmm, I wonder what her plan is. Maybe, knowing she’s going to be your sister-in-law has made her turn over a new leaf and the wedding dress is her peace offering.”

  “You think?”

  Emma sniggers. “No, not for a second, I was being sarcastic. I think she could be plotting and scheming something. Watch out.”

  “Me too. I mean, I’d love to believe that she genuinely wants to be friends – of course – but my little voice inside tells me not to trust her.”

  “If I were you, I’d listen to that little voice.” Emma narrows her eyes. “I smell a rat.”

  I SAUNTER THROUGH CENTRAL Park on my way back to the office, taking my time, mulling over what Emma has said. I think of Jenny and her dark past, how she worked as a prostitute when she was only seventeen. Max never judged her for that and even got angry with me when I made a benign comment. So how then, would he judge me for one thing that happened in my past? Would he think less of me? Would it spoil everything? Both Emma and Kevin seem to think it’s not worth the risk. But Max is a forgiving person. He’d love me anyway.

  Or would he? Perhaps things are better left unsaid.

  The day’s still beautiful. I take out my trusted old iPod (a gift from Mom) and find Autumn in New York and put on my headset– what song could be more perfect? I have on my lightweight sneakers, which – as any New Yorker knows – is part and parcel of living in this city – walking is one of the great pleasures of living here. I kick up the crispy, golden leaves, as squirrels scatter in front of me. I observe them leap up boughs of American Elm trees; a variety which has been decimated all through its range by the ravages of Dutch elm disease, but miraculously still alive and thriving in Central Park.

  I feel the warmth of sun on my back; the sky is crystal blue. There are people sprawled on park benches, reading newspapers, texting, and snoozing in the morning rays. Dogs are charging about trying their luck with a squirrel catch. I regret that Prince isn’t with me. Dogs complete a real walk. I decide to pass by the apartment to collect him and take him to the office. He loves hanging out there and is a star amongst the staff; his treat every now and then to come to work and lap up the attention they lavish on him – his white cravat of a chest stroked, his ears caressed. I’ll order something in for lunch – some Vietnamese perhaps – I have a lot of work to catch up on, and Cecile needed a second opinion about a project she’s working on.

  I’m singing along to Autumn in New York and making a mental list, when I feel the buzz of my cell. I fumble about for it and pick up.

  The voice is familiar, but I don’t recognize it straight away. I switch off my iPod so I can hear better.

  “Arielle?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Billy.”

  “Oh, hi Billy.” Billy Gold – that was fast. Such a quick answer can mean only one thing. A ‘no’ to my proposal.

  “Lunch?”

  “Oh, okay.” I look at my watch. Lunch is now.

  “You sound surprised,” he snorts.

  Uh, oh – the cool, sophisticated woman in the chic suit is now wearing sneakers, has damp mussed-up hair from swimming and is in a twisted mess of iPod wires tangled all over her head. I take a neat breath. “No, Billy, not surprised at all. I would love to do lunch. In fact, it’ll be my treat. How about the Century Club?”

  He chuckles. “The Century? You’re a member? Too stuffy. Where are you right now?”

  “In Central Park at about Sixty Third, or so.”

  “I’ll book a table at Daniel. Is that good for you, sweetheart?”

  “It’s my local haunt, but it’s closed at lunch time.”

  I hear him breathing heavily. “Oh, darn. Let’s just meet at The Plaza, then. Meet me there in... twenty minutes, say – in the restaurant at The Palm Court.”

  I start sprinting. I need to get there fast before he does – empty out my monstrous bag of tricks in the ladies’ room and transform myself into the glamorous ball-breaking executive I was just a few hours before.

  I EMERGE FRESH FROM the powder room at The Plaza, looking composed and primed, and as sleek as a panther on the hunt. High heels back on, suit smoothed out, hair in a chignon bun, make-up perfect, just a touch of lip-gloss.

  Billy Gold has something up his sleeve, I can be sure of that, or he would have just called, not suggested a lunch meeting. Or does he just want to get into my panties? Ha! Some chance. He’s used
to bimbos in LA – pretty young actresses who’ll do anything for a break. He’s fat and balding but he’s powerful; the strongest aphrodisiac of them all for a lot of females. Not me, though. Money doesn’t motivate me. Even if Max had been a busboy, I would have fallen for him anyway.

  The maitre’d shows me to our table, and to my amazement Billy Gold is already seated, eagerly waiting for me. The room is massive, bordered with mirrored arched windows all around and fleur-de-pêche marbled columns. This airy room’s crowning glory is a stained glass yellow and green skylight, way up high – the restored 1907 décor is breathtaking. Funny, how when you live in a city you neglect its best landmarks. I haven’t set foot in The Plaza for ages.

  I find Billy almost hidden behind a potted palm tree, beaming at me.

  “Arielle – we meet again,” he says in a motion to get up, although he plunks himself right back down in his chair with the effort.

  “Billy,” I say, shaking his hand heartily.

  “Not the most elegant cuisine in the city, but there are some nice organic things on the Eloise menu. I can report back to my wife that I’m being a good boy and sticking to my diet.”

  “Diets are tough,” I say. “Actually, I’ve never managed more than three hours of being on a diet.”

  He snorts with laughter. “I don’t believe that for a minute, Arielle. You’re so svelte, so slim and trim.”

  “I cheat.”

  “Oh yes? How?” he asks eagerly.

  “I swim a lot. It’s amazing what you can get away with when you go for the burn.”

  He sounds disappointed and says in a glum tone, “I wish I could admit to doing the same, but I’m a lazy old man with a sweet tooth and a penchant for Cognac.”

  I suppress a grin. The waiter comes and we both order. The swim has given me an appetite, so I ask for organic grilled chicken, mashed potato, carrots and sweet peas. Billy orders a hot dog.

  “So should we get down to business?” he breathes.

  My heart starts racing, but I smile serenely, wondering what’s in store.

  “You got me thinking, Arielle. A lot. And I want to meet you half way.

  “You do?” I ask, wondering where this is leading.

  “You say Thelma and Louise. I say, just Thelma. No Louise. Because the other part needs to go to a guy. I need box office. I need testosterone. I’m obliged to hire a star, which means I have to go easy on the budget – like I said before, I can’t have two big names. That’s where your Thelma comes in. The guy and the girl. A buddy movie with a twist.”

  I cross my legs, hold my hand up to my chin and listen intently. “Go on.”

  “What’s the name of that woman who won a Tony Award for that play, Seeking Sandrine – the half Spanish actress? She was good.”

  “Valentina Gimenez.”

  He shakes his head. “Forget it. I’ve heard she’s gay.”

  “So? She’s a great actress. Even better if she’s gay – we’d see the character from a different angle – it could really deepen the story. I mean, whatever happens, the script is going to need some more tweaking.”

  He ponders this and says, “I guess the advantage is that she won’t be too expensive, and the whole gay thing she’s got going could work in our favor. Gay is trending. The two leads can play off each other. Flirt but not get involved, you know. I like it, actually. I like it a lot.”

  “I had a feeling about you, Billy,” I flatter him, “I knew you’d get it.”

  “My wife likes the idea of a female lead. My daughter loves the idea. We could be onto a winner here.”

  “And if Valentina Gimenez’s not free?”

  “Oh, she’ll be free all right. Her agent will be chomping at the bit, guaranteed. Leave it to me, I’ll sort it out.”

  “Really? That simple?”

  “I have to leave for LA tonight, but I’ll set up a meeting. You two can get together next week or the week after.”

  “LA or New York?”

  “Take your pick, sweetheart. You decide.”

  I look up at the glass ceiling and ponder my options. New York or Los Angeles? “I’ll talk it over with my fiancé,” I tell him, and imagine that a little trip with Max might just be the tonic.

  4

  I’VE BEEN PARTED FROM Max for less than twelve hours, yet I still ache with his absence. I had gotten so used to living alone before I met him that it seemed normal to be doing everything solo, save a dinner here or there with Emma or with a group of friends. All I did was work. Now I’m part of a busy household, loved by a fiancé who calls me every few hours, and I even have a dog. Everything has changed – I wonder how I survived before.

  The day has been so full-on with those two meetings with Billy Gold, swimming and Emma that I’m now soaking in the tub with some magazines, a glass of wine, and some great chill-out music. Heaven. Made all the sweeter by Kevin’s call to me earlier – Charles has been stabilized, the operation was a success, and he’s going to be okay. Panic over. I’m searching online on my iPad for hotels in Los Angeles when a Skype call comes through from Max.

  “Hi hon,” I say and wait for the video to come on. His handsome face appears on the screen, and my stomach gives a little lurch. I can’t believe that still, every time I see that face, or wake up with him next to me, it’s as if I’m setting eyes on him for the very first time.

  “Hey sexy,” he says, his voice deep, his eyes heavy-lidded. You’re in the bath?”

  “Had a busy, very eventful day.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t call earlier – was in that fucking meeting forever.”

  “And?”

  “All good. Jenny ate them alive. We’re going to do extremely well with this. Got an edge on any future competition – got the British government eating out of our hands.”

  I think of how Max promised me that he would sell his share of Finders Keepers to Jenny and concentrate on starting new projects of his own, but now I realize that may never happen. He and his sister are as entwined as ivy in this business together. It seems he needs her on some deep, psychological level. But I don’t want to nag him on this issue, so I have said very little lately. Especially as she’s being so sugar-sweet to me – I really don’t have a leg to stand on.

  “What about you?” he continues, his eyes scanning my naked shoulders soothed with big white, foamy suds from the bubble bath.

  “Well, after that little porn film that you whipped up this morning, right in the middle of my million-dollar meeting, thank-you-very-much, dear fiancé, I have to say it was a little tricky to concentrate, but Billy Gold and I have made a deal.”

  Max smirks irreverently; his wicked mouth a little crooked making a tiny dimple appear in his cheek. “I knew you’d handle it. Nothing can faze you, Arielle, not even my dick.”

  I laugh. “Of course Billy Gold is delighted. He really enjoyed your video – thinks you could be a big star. He’s branching out into doing porn movies and would like to sign you.”

  Max’s face flinches for a second but then breaks into a broad grin. “Very funny.”

  “No, but seriously, the meeting went better than expected. Two meetings, actually. We’ve got Valentina Gimenez on board,” I tell him proudly. “An LA trip could be coming up shortly.”

  “Really, you’re joking – Valentina Gimenez?”

  A rush of surprise courses through my body. “You know who she is?”

  “Of course I do. I saw her at the National Theatre in a play. She’s an amazing actress – stunning too – she looks like a young Sophia Loren.”

  I smile sweetly but feel nauseous inside. Why am I jealous? It’s absurd. Perhaps it’s because I’m blonde and girl-next-door-ish and Valentina Gimenez is a ravishing beauty – the type that screams sex-siren and smoldering sophistication. “She’s gay,” I snap, not meaning the words to come out that way.

  “So I’ve heard. Nothing like a sexy gay woman to turn a man on.”

  “You’re attracted to her,” I hear my voice creak out. I try to stay
cool – after all, he can see every expression on my face, every nuance of emotion.

  “I’m attracted to you, baby, and I know you have a penchant for pretty women. That first time in your apartment, when you told me the story of your first real orgasm when your best friend stroked you with a feather? That was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. Fuck, I’m hard now just thinking about it.”

  “I’d love to suck your cock right now,” I purr, making sure he has me on his brain and not Valentina Gimenez. I know I’m going to have to keep him well away from her. Gay people can be swung, and I’d rather not put temptation in his path.

  “Tell me what you’d do,” he says, running his tongue along his upper lip. His thickly lashed eyes sear into me – tiger’s eyes – keen, intense, as if he wants to eat me whole.

  “First, I’d take your big, beautiful cock in both hands and bury my head between your legs,” I murmur. “I’d run your silky smoothness around my nose, my cheeks and then on my lips, breathing in the smell of you, and just run my eyes all over you – this one thousand percent pure, unadulterated all-male, luscious helping of Max Knight.”

  His lips tip up in that crooked smile of his.

  And I keep talking, “I’d tease my lips along your balls and gently flick them with the tip of my tongue, letting it ride up your length – your thick, throbbing cock – thinking about how it’s gonna make me come after I’m done with sucking it first – how it’s so sexy and virile that even after that big bad boy has spurted in my mouth, it’s ready again for round two.”

  He groans. “Always ready for another round with you, Arielle. Always ready to fuck your slick, wet, tight cunt.”

  I smile at his dirty mouth and continue, “I’ll ring my tongue around your soft, satiny head, making it flicker over your one-eyed jack. I’ll slowly lick off your pre-cum – you always taste so good, so sweet, Max. The only man in the world I could ever do that to.”