Things Not Subject To Gravity - Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Fifteen minutes before eight, Dee gazed at his reflection for one last time. He couldn't say he liked it, but it appeared ordinary and reassuring, as it should've. The mirror reflected the kind of man a woman would have considered dependable – a neat, tasteful, and meek intellectual, good-looking and rolling in money, yet not conspicuos. Neither traffic police nor airport security would stop him for a check – basically, the best cover possible.
Mr. Green had hazel eyes embellished by thick, dark eyelashes, lush brown curls properly held back with a hint of gel, and a fair complexion devoid of distinguishing marks. He wore no trinkets beside the black-rimmed Armani glasses – wide and square-framed, as the harmless-employee-look required – and a 1931 Louis Erard watch showing off on his wrist to give credit about his stay at the Penthouse.
In fact, Mr. Green didn't have anything to do with Dee's real appearance.
Maybe, a trained eye would've been able to spot the tiny scar beside his right brow, although it was well hidden by a professional concealer. A daring woman could've noticed his pierced ears, even discovered the tattoo on his chest – a little gift he made himself when he was sixteen, while his father had his hands full with the Bosnian war. Nevertheless, the midnight-blue Huntsman's suit he'd picked for the evening fit him like a glove. To an inexperienced eye, the only noticeable details were the missing tie and the open-neck white shirt, which were perfectly appropriate for a casual meeting.
Dee flashed the mirror a daddy smile, exposing his perfectly white teeth. "It's showtime," he told himself in his heavy, finely-honed accent from Glasgow.
A few minutes later, he reached the lobby. There was the Red Moon – a Japanese-Vietnamese fusion restaurant and, in his opinion, one of the absolute best dining choices. At night, the place was too dark and intimate for a business meeting, but it became a perfect setting for a date, thus Dee had made the reservation without thinking twice.
The hotel, originally chosen by Sybil Vain, held a modern interior with a minimalistic vibe. It was almost a cultural shock for the Doctor, who was used to a more orthodox and traditional environment, but all in all, it was sophisticated and pleasant.
At ten to eight, David Green took a seat at his reserved table. The idea of waiting stirred in him a sudden urge for smoking, but he held it back, gracefully adjusted the collar of his shirt and ordered a shōchū on the rocks. The doubt that Angéline might not show up didn't even cross his mind. To prove him right, six minutes later, the girl was approaching his table.
Her brown hair was held in a French twist, with few curled locks falling on the sides of her lean neck. She wore a knee-length, burgundy dress. The strapless corset clung tightly to her breasts and fell into a soft A-line skirt. Two delicate points of light pierced her ears, matching the dazzling, lily-shaped pendant that lingered provocative over her chest. She was sexy in a tactful way.
Mr. Green stood up and welcomed her with a slight bow.
"I'm honored that such a fine lady has chosen to join me," he started in his most seductive tone, slowly lifting his gaze to meet her eyes.
Angéline didn't miss the hint and granted him a flirty smile. "At this point, you could drop the formality, don't you think?" She sat on the chair the waiter had shifted for her.
David smiled back while staring into her eyes. "I didn't think it was possible, but tonight you're even more charming, Angéline."
"Usually I don't make this kind of statement about men, but so are you," she replied, holding his gaze.
Green sat back and, after asking her permission, ordered for the both of them a sushi and sashimi set, along with the first round of hot sake. Angéline made some appreciative remarks about the restaurant, noting the convenience of its location and letting slip a little complaint about her working day, revealing that she was, in fact, the shop owner. David quietly listened.
"So, David, tell me about yourself," she asked as curiosity sparked in her eyes.
"This is the sort of question that puts an ordinary man in a tight spot," he noted, arching his brow.
She smiled at his wittiness but kept her eyes on him, waiting for a reply. He took a deep breath.
"My father is from North Yorkshire, Scarborough to be precise, while my mother is from Glasgow, where I was raised. I graduated from Glasgow University with a major in comparative literature, then I specialized in media communications and international journalism. Also, I've got a doctorate in creative writing. With some luck, I stepped into the Evening Times. I did my share long enough and here I am – editor-in-chief and special envoy." As he lied artfully, the corner of his mouth twitched in a half-smile. "Pretty boring, isn't it?"
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-nine. What about you, Angéline?"
"A lady's age should not be asked, I'd expect you to know that," she teased, but her voice kept sweet and mellow.
He nodded and chuckled softly.
"Well, I don't really care. I'm thirty-three." She leaned slightly over the table to have a better look, a faint smile curving her cherry lips. "You've held up pretty well, I can't find a grey hair," she praised, slightly squinting her eyes, as if she was actually trying to spot it.
"It may not seem like it, but I'm a modern man. I'm not shy about dyeing my hair," he replied honestly. Although the reason he dyed wasn't concealing his age. "Did you grow up in New York?" he asked, not giving her the time to think about it.
She gracefully shook her head before she spoke again, in her lovely French accent. "I was born and raised in Paris but, five years ago, a friend from University asked me to come over. We didn't see each other since when she studied at La Sorbonne – she had joined with the international exchange program of NY University." She took a sip of her sake. Her glance rested upon the surface of the clear liquid as she held the small cup between her hands. "Well, she asked me to reach her and start a business together. I wasn't satisfied with my previous job, so I took her offer and we opened that French lingerie shop." She tucked one strand of hair behind her ear and her eyes lifted up back to his. "Pretty boring, don't you think?" she teased him again.
Dee arched his brow again, a glimmer of amusement playing in his eyes. Her subtle teasing had triggered his desire to subdue her. In fact, he had a thing for rebellious women.
"As much as my British pride suffers from it, I'm afraid I have to acknowledge that Paris, New York and a transatlantic journey meant to start a new life, sounded far more interesting than Scarborough, Glasgow and their 238 miles of distance." He pushed his accent, making it vibrate as the speech of a British nobleman.
Angéline couldn't contain a chuckle and thus the dance began. Their conversation kept flowing through all the dinner, varying from personal anecdotes to politics, without downtime. At the mention of past relationships and expectation for the future, the Doctor admitted that he had been too caught up in his career to build up something stable. He didn't feel like lying to her more than necessary.
When the dinner reached its end, although the sake had already clearly taken its toll on her, she asked him to stop at the bar for a couple more drinks. Eventually, it got so late that she couldn't procrastinate any longer. Her hand reached out to rest over his chest, pulling her close enough to be kissed. True to his gentleman's getup, Mr. Green held her other hand and lent a soft kiss on its back.
"You're irresistible tonight," he blew over her skin, lifting his gaze back to hers. "Are you sure you feel right about this?" he asked thoughtfully.
Her beautiful green eyes widened in surprise.
"I'm here on business," he explained again. "There's just one week before I leave..." He turned around her hand and slowly kissed her palm. His lips slightly parted, allowing his tongue to touch her cool skin. "We may not have other chances to meet," he warned her.
Angéline tensed. Her fingers contracted over his shirt. Despite the desire burning in her eyes, her gaze pulled away from his. She seemed unsure whether she should take his words as an unforgivable offense or as a heroic act of honesty. Since she was a reasonable woman, she went for the latter. She straightened her back, took a deep breath to chill down and gifted him a polite smile, retrieving all the elegance she was stripped of by the wine in a single movement.
"It's almost a shame I'm not the hookup type," she whispered, moving her hand away from his chest, but tapping his nose with her index. "Now, back off, before I change my mind."
David didn't let go of her hand, and neither did he pulled back. He lifted his free hand over her naked shoulder, tracing a line with his fingers and climbing her neck up to the back of her ear.
"The feeling is mutual. You don't know how hard it is for me," he said in a husky voice, as his face pulled closer to the point his fingers rested. "I think we should call you a cab," he blew gently into her right ear.
The sigh she let go turned into a moan and her head tilted towards his mouth. He nibbled her lobe and moved down her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses. Then, he slowly worked his path back up to her jaw and finally conquered her lips. At first, he gave her a soft and reassuring kiss, but Angéline didn't fight back. She parted her lips and sought his tongue. The French kiss lasted long enough for them to run out of breath.
Hardly managing to contain the urge, Mr. Green stood and led her to the elevator. After a handful of minutes, Angéline was in his room, her dress laying on the floor and her hands feverishly ripping his clothes off.
Under his impeccable clothing, David Green hid an athletic built, too fit for someone confined to office work. Also, an old-school tattoo adorned his solid chest. It depicted a red rose in the middle of a Roman cross, overlooked by the letters I.N.R.I.* It was a memento of his Rosicrucian time as well as the seal used by the exorcists.
Angéline didn't seem to notice anything.
She couldn't turn back anymore and she certainly wasn't going to stand against him. She was totally subdued by his devilish charm. It was the best possible outcome. Still, it left him kind of unsatisfied.
Despite his apparent courtesy, Dee dwelled in lustful darkness, and there he led her. Thanks to his little secret – a mark of his controversial past that was sealed within his own body – he had the kind of touch you'd expect from a demon.
All women ended up begging to be subdued.
He took all the time and freedom he wanted. He did things to her that she would have normally refused to a stranger. He tied her hands, blinded her eyes and let the beast come out. He took her five times in a row. Played hard. Danced on the golden thread that separated pleasure from pain.
He gave her Hell's ultimate delight.
Only when she cried her last scream and passed out, he froze. Just an inch before he crossed that subtle line and stepped into violence. His hands still clutched around her neck. His gaze lingered over her pale skin as her pulse beat against his palms. He forced his fingers to open and withdrew his arms. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, like the grave chanting of the darkness yearning for more. Screaming for blood. Panting hard, sweat dripping down his skin, he clenched his fists and forced himself to pull back.
At late morning, Angéline was finally getting into the back of the taxi she should've taken the previous night. As a perfect gentleman, Mr. Green held the door open. He wore his grey lounge-suit and was back to his elegant, collected self as though they had just met.
"Will you call me?" she asked, giving him a hopeful glance.
"No," he stated, a cool smile hanging on his lips. "My current priority is to complete my job." The look on his face grew cold and calculating.
Her lips trembled slightly. He could read it in her eyes – from the moment she woke up, she couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something dark about him.
She was right.
Still, she had been drawn to him like a moth to the flame. She couldn't help it, but for a moment she tried to resist. Her head jerked towards the other side of the road. Dee leaned over and stretched his hand to reach her. His thumb stroked her bottom lip as he gently turned her head back.
"Pour ton bien, chérie (for your own good, sweetheart) – preténd que tu n'est m'as jamais rencontré (pretend you never met me)," he whispered, his Glasgow's accent replaced by a perfect French.
Angéline nodded slightly, her lips half-parted, her eyes glassy. The Doctor pulled closer and gently kissed her mouth. For an instant, she lost herself again and the kiss deepened, but as soon as her brave hand wrapped his neck, he pulled back. In a swift movement, he pushed the cab's door close. Before she could react in any way, he turned on his heels and, never looking back, he gracefully walked into the hotel.
Back to his suite, Dee sat at the desk, checked his own notes and gathered his thoughts. The night-play succeeded in replenishing his energy and relaxed him, and he shuffled through the pages, whistling to the tune of a Canadian-French children's song. Alouette, gentille alouette. Alouette, je te plumerai. Little skylark, lovely little skylark. Little skylark, I will pluck your feathers off. He chuckled as he realized how creepily appropriate it was.
The information he collected was utterly incomplete. There were too many blind spots and the newly arranged meeting with The Oracle was sure to hold some unpleasant surprise.
Dee decided to follow the best lead he had and, given his skills with women, get to the bartender's daughter. For that, his cover was already blown and the hitch he scratched with the Frenchwoman might've complicated things.
The whole situation called for a radical change.
Dee asked room service for lunch and spent two hours surfing the net to find the vehicle and the flat he was looking for. After fixing the basic requirements, he booked two different spas. He made all bookings and payments with different names to keep David Green as clean as possible. The journalist was his favorite cover and he'd booked a return ticket to London, in his name for Sunday morning.
At 5 p.m., Dee got to the lobby to have his tea. Then, he informed the receptionist that for a few days he was going to be extremely busy. He explained that he'd scheduled some night meetings and most probably he would be unable to come back to the hotel. He told the man to not worry about him and asked to keep the room until Sunday, since he loved the accommodation. To make things clear he paid in advance. As soon as he was done, he walked off to the first spa he'd booked.
Back to his suite's bathroom, after dinner, he washed his face and finally removed his contact lenses. The hotel had CCTVs everywhere and Dee couldn't afford to take them off lightly, but he could finally be at ease within the safe walls of his private room.
He glanced at his reflection in amusement. His freshly-tanned skin didn't quite match the office look. He promptly reapplied the lighter foundation he'd bought. It was a temporary solution. He'd already booked another spa so that he could be fixed back to a more British appeal by Friday evening.
Obviously, he'd decided to accomplish his task before Saturday's meeting with Vain.
Dee walked back to the suite's hall, grabbed a thick crystal glass and poured himself some vodka on the rocks. He pulled out his documents from the safe and shuffled through them, checking out the different passports. He selected the black one with the eagle, plus the related I.D. and credit card, and carefully stored everything into his briefcase.
All preparations set, Dee picked up his glass and strolled out on the terrace. He sat in the comfy chair sipping his drink. As the cool breeze stroked his hair, a cunning smile curved his lips.
The time had come to turn the tables.