Gorgeous Rotten Scoundrel Read online

  "I do!" But ever in a million years did I ever imagine getting a trip with a personal shopper who has dressed people for the likes of Vogue.

  "Okay, let's go cherie. You will be fun to dress up. You have a beautiful color and hair."

  "Thank you," I said bashfully.

  Celeste made a beeline to a fashionably dressed man and they kissed and chatted in French as if she was filling him in on some quick details. She turned back to me, "I know the staff here very well as I bring clients here. They are going to set us up with a dressing room. Heath said to get whatever you want. He will pay. I will handle all the details."

  "Wow," I said, glancing over at a pair of shoes which I mentally converted to six-hundred US dollars.

  She asked about my style and what I like, but I told her to dress me however she wanted as long as it was something I could wear with Heath tomorrow while we enjoyed Paris together. After all, what's the point of a stylist if you are going to tell her how to dress you?

  We walked swiftly through the store, stopping at rack after rack for Celeste to snap up one item after another, pressing each against me and muttering to herself before deciding to keep or return to the rack. Then we made our way to a dressing room, where I relived the shopping scene from Pretty Woman that I had watched hundreds of times as a kid. Heath had said I could get anything, but I didn't want to take advantage of his generosity. I could have walked off with most of the store. But I insisted that we select one outfit, which here was still enough to pay my rent for two or three months in Brooklyn. Celeste tried playfully to convince me otherwise, telling me Heath insisted, but eventually she conceded. We settled on a chic shift dress that flattered my collarbones ("très érotique," Celeste murmured approvingly), the softest and richest leather ballet flats, a deceptively simple purse in oxblood-colored python (sooo sorry, snake!), and (of course) an enormous printed silk scarf that Celeste tossed elegantly over my shoulders, knotting it firmly in that way that French women seem to be born knowing how to do. I felt like I was straight out of a French street-fashion spread in a fashion magazine.

  "Before we finish, you cannot visit Paris without getting some perfume!" Her tone was mischievous. "This is more for him than it is for you," she said, raising her eyebrows.

  "Well, if you say it like that..."

  Celeste led me to the perfume counter. She chatted with the young lady who selected three bottles from a virtual laboratory on the shelves behind her. We dabbed all three on my arm, using coffee beans to neutralize the scent in between attempts. They were all lovely, but it was the Délire de Roses that blended perfectly with my chemistry, and had just the right notes of roses and fruit. The fact that the 1.7 ounce bottle cost well over $300 made me hesitate and ask the shop girl to put the bottles back but Celeste jokingly wrestled the bottle out of my hand and told the girl to ring it up immediately.

  "Next we will go to the Hammam. Have you been to one?"

  "No idea what that is."

  "It is a Turkish bathhouse next to the most beautiful mosque. It is nice to be with a friend because there are some customs you might not know. I hope you are not shy because almost everyone is topless. There are only women however."

  I thought back on the note: Not just any spa. Trust me, your mind will be blown. Now I imagined a much more mischievous tone in his voice.

  The mosque appeared like a Moroccan oasis on a Paris street. Entering the women-only bathhouse, we were required to strip down to underwear at the very least, but when my new French friend, Celeste (as well as nearly everyone else) whipped off her top, I thought: What the heck, I am in fucking Paris. Time to let the boobies fly in honor of Heath.

  The interior of the building was exquisitely decorated with jewel-like tiles and meticulously detailed wall paintings in rich, deep hues. Sweeping arches flanked by plastered columns and indoor fountains exuded an exotic, timeless luxury. The royal colors that enveloped us had all the vividness of a van Gogh or Matisse painting. It felt like I had visited two countries in one day, instantly transported from Paris to Morocco.

  This was not the Western spa of my previous (admittedly limited) experience. No, not even close: There is no such thing as privacy; naked bodies were everywhere. The gommage ladies (I'll get to that in a bit) actually get angry if you do things out of order--no gentle redirection, and certainly no New Age sayings or glasses of cucumber water! I was relieved and happy to have Celeste around to help me, despite accusations of misanthropy from Heath.

  First Celeste and I had a quick shower and then a sauna with a special savon noir rubbed on our skin. This gave us some time to chat.

  "So, are you close with Heath?" I asked her.

  "We don't see each other often, but I consider him like a brother," she said. "He is a funny person, Heath. Makes me laugh." I didn't get the vibe they had anything other than a platonic friendship, but I never knew with Heath.

  "Yes, yes he is," I said, tongue-in-cheek. "He can be very silly." I playfully rolled my eyes.

  "I knew him when he was a new model, and I was new too as a stylist. He became on demand very fast. Very popular. I used to work for a boss who was very rude. In the high-fashion world it happens very much when you are an assistant, but Heath was always very nice. Once my boss screamed at me in front of everyone and Heath spoke to him, then he came to me alone and told me that it would not happen again." A pattern was beginning to emerge, Heath may be a lot of things, but he didn't like men who bullied women. Swoon.

  After the sauna, we threw buckets of water on each other to clean off the savon. Then we hit the shower and then we did the GOMMAGE of HORRORS.

  Now maybe I am a huge American pussy. Well, now I know I am. Because I couldn't decide if this was a spa or some sort of Turkish torture chamber. While other women waited and watched, I lay naked on a table while a much older woman rubbed me down with a glove that I can only assume was made of the stuff used to sand concrete floors. I had to bite the inside of my lip to stifle screams of terror, but by the end I was as pink as a newborn piglet. I am sure I left the gommage with at least one less layer of skin than I came in with. Like I said, maybe I am just made of marshmallows. It is entirely possible. After the gommage, there was another shower and a honeymoon period where another no-nonsense woman massaged me with argan and eucalyptus oils, which seemed to make all the epidermal trauma more than worth it. After all the brutality, I was as smooth as the day I was born.

  Celeste and I sipped some peppermint tea at the Hammam before getting dressed. She walked me out into the Parisian afternoon to the final leg of my day out in Paris: a street market on the Rue Mouffetard. This part of the journey was for me to go on my own as Celeste had to meet a girlfriend. We hugged, I thanked her for her hospitality, and we parted ways.

  This was exactly the quaint, charming outdoor market one imagines when fantasizing about Paris. The narrow cobblestone street was lined with stalls offering brightly colored fresh fruits and vegetables, which spilled over from their crates begging to be plucked from a crowd of their peers. Small bakeries, cafes, and specialty food shops were tucked underneath antique block-lettered signs and awnings. All the tempting sights and sounds were on full display, each stand or shop vying for your attention.

  I was starving, so I popped into Au P'tit Grec for the most delectable crepe with a touch of Nutella (I feared I wouldn't fit into my dress tomorrow with all the baked goods I had been eating, but not enough to stop). Feeling reenergized, I decided that for dinner I would put together a spread of fresh fruit, cheese and bread. I spotted the reddest most plump cherries I had seen in a long time and scooped a heap into a bag. I hand-picked tiny green plums, fragrant apricots, and grapes of several different colors. Fussing over fruit like this reminded me of my grandmother, who almost always got her fruit from the small Korean and Chinese fruit stands in New York. She always insisted they were a better deal and far better quality than the supermarket. She would have loved to shop this market with me. I ducked into a small and deliciously stinky
cheese shop, and I did my best to ask about their offerings, using broken French as they patiently assisted me by conversing very slowly in French or translating to English when it was clear that I was completely lost. Apparently just saying the word "fromage" over and over again in shop with 300 varieties of cheeses only gets you so far. A wine boutique was conveniently next door, and all I had to do was show the proprietor the food I had purchased for him to select what he assured me was exactly the right bottle of champagne. Finally, I stopped at a bakery for a baguette, feeling like a very French cliché with it tucked under my arm as I went to look for the car. During my time at the market, I snapped a few photos using Heath's phone and sent them to my phone so that they would be waiting for me upon my return to the states. I looked forward to sharing them with my grandmother during my next visit with her.

  George drove me back to the room in time to freshen up and prepare a little balcony picnic before Heath's arrival. I was just starting to cut up the fruit when Heath entered the suite.

  He looked so tired.

  "Hey." He barely had the strength to push out a smile.

  "Long day?"

  "You have no idea. I'm so jet lagged and I haven't been off of my feet since 4am. How was your day?"

  "Heath...it was amazing. Seriously, everything. Thank you so much. But I do have to say that I think they used a cheese grater on me at the hammam."

  Heath keeled over and laughed. "I wondered how you would feel about that, but it's something you must do while you're here. Tell me you went topless. I was fantasizing about that all day." He touched my arm. "Ooh, you're soooft."

  "That's why you sent me there, so you could imagine me topless with Celeste?" I snarked playfully.

  "How'd you like her?"

  "She was really nice. She told me how nice you have always been to her. It was shocking." I said, cocking an eyebrow.

  "I paid her to tell you that," he winked.

  "Of course. So...she's like a sister to you or something?"

  "Are you trying to ask me if she and I have ever known each other biblically?" Am I that transparent?

  "Your words."

  "No, Sadie. We have not. Contrary to popular belief I don't just stick my dick in random orifices. Besides, she likes poisson if you know what I mean...huhuhuh!" He did that last part in a stereotypical Frenchmen's accent. "I bet she looooved your tatas!"

  "She's a lesbian?"

  "One hundred percent. Completely hates the dick. Kind of makes the idea of you two topless together about 300% hotter." Well, there went my worries about them ever having hooked up.

  "Oh so when she said she was meeting her girlfriend..."

  "They weren't going to paint each other's toenails...at least I hope!"

  I swatted Heath's arm and he pulled me in, kissing me softly, but passionately. He paused and leaned back to look into my eyes, and he just stood there for a moment, taking me in with the warmest smile. It was almost too much, and I broke the intimacy by speaking.

  "I was just making us a little picnic here out on the balcony. I thought you might be too tired to go out."

  "It's like you read my mind." He plopped face-first onto the bed. "Can you peel me off? I have to wash off all this crap they put on my face and body."

  I looked at his arms. "You're golden."

  "Yeah, I tried to get as much crap off as I could on the set. It was an editorial spread where I was an ancient Greek statue."

  "Bwahaha!" I barked out a laugh. Heath sneered at me playfully. "I knew it! Your life really is like America's Next Top Model. Let me finish cutting the cheese and I'll come get you when I'm done. That should give you some time to wash up if you want. Though, I kind of like the gold," I said as I walked out the room.

  "You said cut the cheese!" he called out, his voice obstructed by his face being smooshed into the mattress.

  I took a few minutes to meticulously arrange the fruit and cheese and create a beautiful spread for us against the backdrop of Paris at dusk.

  "Heath dinner's rea--" He was completely unconscious on the very spot where he had thrown himself on the bed. So fucking adorable. I grabbed an extra blanket from a closet and covered him. Then I was going to turn and leave, but I couldn't stop myself. My heart was so full watching him sleep there. I reached down and gently ran my fingers through his soft, golden tendrils, then I kissed him on the cheek, turned off the light and let him get a good night's rest.

  ***

  It was about 3am when I felt Heath's tall silhouette standing over me. He had fallen asleep smack dab in the middle of the bed and I didn't have the heart wake him, so I slept on the loveseat in the adjoining room.

  "What are you doing out here?" He asked, rubbing his eyes, his thick hair every which way, his boxers sitting low on his hips.

  "You passed out and I didn't want to move you. You were so tired."

  "Just shove me the the side next time. You can even use your feet if you have to. I'm pretty much a corpse in my sleep." He reached out his hand for me and helped me up. "Come back to bed with me."

  I followed him and watched his back as slivers of outside light flickered over his still-golden body. Was this really happening? There was something about him I don't think I allowed myself to see before, or maybe he never allowed himself to show it.

  He spooned me, caressing my hair and sliding his fingertips over the outer part of my arm. Nothing had ever felt so right before. Tread lightly.

  "You're so beautiful." Sometimes when he said it, I found it hard to believe. I thought of it more as a throwaway line guys say to women when they want to bed them. He was constantly surrounded by beautiful women, what would make me so special in his eyes? But during this trip, I felt it. I felt it in the way he rubbed my cheek when he didn't know I was awake, in the way he left me the note after taking time to plan the perfect day in Paris for me, the way he felt my absence in the middle of the night. And now, I began to feel a new ache, this time in my heart. It wasn't just the ache of longing, it was the ache of longing and fear of loss. What if this wasn't real? What if this weekend was just a fragment in time, where the stars aligned perfectly, just like his seemingly unfortunate accident forced us to spend more time alone together than we had ever planned? What if we went back to the US and this became a hazy memory, only as real and as tangible as the dreams I had had of him?

  And just like that night he had slipped into my room and held me as I exploded into millions of stars, I knew there was only one way to make the ache go away. I turned to face him and kiss him on his soft lips. He moved on top of me, his hardness had developed long before the kiss and now he seductively snaked his hips against me. He moved softly, tenderly, but he was so hard. His firmness was reassuring, it meant he wanted me in this way, just as badly as he had wanted me in the closet, and in the limo, and on the balcony. All I wanted was for him to be close to me, but close wasn't enough, he had to be inside of me, and even then I knew that wouldn't be enough. Each slow, deep thrust was an attempt to be that much closer. But I couldn't get enough of him. I wrapped my legs around his hips, and we kissed so passionately, so longingly, that the ache rose to my chest and it began to form in the back of my throat.

  I ran my fingers along the firm ridges of the muscles in his arms and back. I had never wanted anyone so badly in my entire life. My yearning for Kenneth wasn't even close to this. Over time I had come to realize my feelings for Kenneth were wrapped in fantasy, an idealization of a boy I had carried with me from my teenage years. My feelings were more about finally getting him, proving something to myself, than they were about the man himself. Kenneth was a challenge I thought I had won, and then the victory was snatched from my grasp. But with Heath, all I did was fight, resist with every ounce of emotional fortitude I could gather. I didn't want to care, I didn't want to feel anything about him, but there was something undeniable there, something true.

  And if Kenneth turned me into the bitter man hater I had become, what would Heath do?

  Heath could de
stroy me.

  "Sadie, come for me gorgeous," he moaned in my ear. I recognized the tenor of that moan, it meant he was near too. I hadn't closed the shades the night before, and the twilight sky cut through the window sheers and illuminated the patches of gold still on his skin. In that moment, looking into his glowing eyes, feeling the ache fighting to escape from my body in the only way it could, I knew. I knew.

  "Heath!" I called out, my insides clenching around his girth. I drug my fingers into the smooth skin of his back. His forehead pressed against mine and his warm breath blew on my lips as he moaned my name over and over again.

  I hoped the darkness would hide the tears welling from my eyes, but he knew right away. He didn't beg to find out what was wrong, or make me talk. He was just there. I've got you. He brushed my hair away and kissed one of the tears on my cheekbone and gently wiped the other one away with his thumb.

  I think he knew too.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  "I can't sleep," Heath murmured into my hair.

  "Me neither."

  "This is nice, lying here without you kicking me out or running away like you just stole something."

  "It is." He finally got me to admit it.

  "I hope this because you want to be with me and not because this is your only option while sharing a room with me in a foreign country."

  "It is."

  "Good, because I wasn't looking forward to tying you up," he jested.

  "God, I am so weird, aren't I? I gave you a hand job and proceeded to clean you up like nothing had just happened."

  Heath silently laughed to himself. Although I couldn't see him, I could feel his cheeks rise against the back of my neck and feel the vibrations of his laughter against my scalp . "Yeah, I didn't think anyone could surprise me until you did that. That entire night I was completely confused, replaying what happened in my head. I was sure you were going to walk in at any minute and tell me you quit again, then you just strolled on in like nothing happened. You are such a mindfucker."