Three Rivers (21 page)

He was very big; the thickest she’d ever had. He filled her completely, but somehow or other he managed to move around inside her and she came again. When he felt the warm wet on him, he moaned with pleasure himself but pulled out, first slowly and then very fast in order not to come himself.

He pulled himself up next to her and collapsed. Turning on her side, she faced him. He looked at her and she could see his passion and desire. His enormous member, very pink from the blood pumping in it, was all wet and glistening. Isabel licked and kissed herself off of him, while Alexis watched. When he could bear holding back
no longer, he pulled her off him and held her in his arms.

They lay there like that until he went limp. He told her she was the most erotic woman he had ever had, adding, “We will be very happy together.” He went on, “Listen, darling, I want you to sleep now. Please, it is a big evening, and I am afraid you have not had much rest since you arrived.”

He got up and tidied himself. Isabel left the bed and joined him near the Monet. She said. “Alexis, can I come back? I really did not get much of a chance to see Monsieur Monet’s lilies from the bed.” They both laughed, he kissed her and they walked to the sitting room, where she was introduced very formally to his male secretary.

Isabel was amused to hear Alexis tell the assistant that he had been giving her a tour of the paintings, and that she might be doing some work for them. It was the first time Alexis had mentioned such work since she had arrived.

Taking her through to her room, where the bed had been turned down, he told her he would have her awakened at eight, giving her an hour to dress. Before he left, she asked him about the evening. Should she be at her grandest, or wear something simple?

“I have just seen and felt you at your grandest,” Alexis taunted. “I don’t want you down there like that.” He smacked her ass.

“Oh, please, Alexis, what shall I wear?”

“Surprise me,” he said. As he was about to close the doors he added, “Isabel, it is black tie, if that helps you.”

Isabel was sitting at the desk in her room. She had slept well and was feeling very relaxed thanks to Juju and Maryka, who had again helped her bathe and dress for the evening. She had on her Yves St. Laurent evening dress, a garment of ultimate elegance and chic.

The skirt, in a paper-thin silk taffeta, was the color of a pale opalescent gray pearl, with just a hint of pink in it. It fell smoothly over the hips, and then billowed out lightly at the hem, like a harem skirt rather than pants. The skirt bottom came to just about her shoes, which were silver high-heeled sandals. The top of the dress was made in accordion-pleated silk organza, hand-painted in iced pink and the palest shades of mauve, beige and white. It had bell-shaped sleeves and a round neck in the front
that came to below the collarbone. As it fell over her breasts, it stood away from the skirt, hanging four to five inches below the waistband. It had one silver button in the back, high up on the neck, and was cut in such a way that it fell open whenever she moved her arms, revealing her bare back from the waist up. She wore nothing underneath it.

The diamond bumblebee was pinned high up on her shoulder, and her antique Cartier diamond brooch was worn close to it. Her makeup was perfection.

She had been writing for about ten minutes in the covered notebook she had brought from London. Inspired, she had sat down to work on her latest Meredith Montague. Isabel could have stayed there happily for the rest of the evening.

Alexis quietly entered and watched her for a minute or two before he went up and kissed her on the top of her head. He asked her what she was writing. Going a bit pink, she said, “It is one of my secrets that I have to tell you. It is a detective novel. I am Meredith Montague.”

He started to laugh. “I simply do not believe it. It is true?”

“Yes.”

“I adore Montague. I have read them all. Once I pick her up, I can never put her down. She is my great escape in literature.”

“Alexis, you are too kind, but we both know the novels are not literature.”

“Isabel, is it true? You are not teasing me?”

“No, I am not teasing you. Yes, it is true, and you must promise to keep it a secret, Alexis, it is important.”

“My dear child, you are the most amazing of women. Now I have another reason to admire you. Will you tell me about it? Your secret will be safe with me.”

“Yes, but not now.”

She stood up and he looked at her, saying, “Oh, Isabel, you are perfect. Just perfection. All Cairo will be here tonight and the gossips will have much to say about that dress. Come, let me see you.”

She turned around for him and the skirt swirled out. He made her turn around slowly, and when he saw her back as she lifted her arms over her head, he said in Arabic, “You are a devil.”

“In English, please.”

He repeated it, first in French and then in English. She laughed and turned around and faced him.

“That is the most sexy dress. You will have much trouble with the men tonight, my dear,” Alexis warned. He walked around behind her and lifted the two corners that hung loose in the middle of her back, exposing her from the waist up. He slipped his hands under the front of her blouse, to her breasts.

Isabel pleaded with him to stop, saying, “No, Alexis, you must not. I will get turned on, and if I do, my nipples will go hard and more pointed, and they’ll show through the pleated organza. Please, don’t excite me.”

He laughed again and rolled her nipples between his fingers, pinching them hard. He held up her blouse and said, “Now, let me see.”

Of course Isabel’s nipples were hard, very protruded and very dark. He arranged her blouse over them and the accordion pleats separated. You could see them easily through the dress. Alexis laughed at her and said, “You are quite right, I cannot take you down now. The men will die like flies from heart attacks.”

“I don’t think that is one bit funny, Alexis,” Isabel pouted. “Now what shall I do? I can’t just say, ‘Hey presto,’ and make them go down.”

“Never mind, darling. I will go down and send Gamal for you in ten minutes. Come now, let me see how you look again,” Alexis coaxed.

She waltzed around the room, constantly trying to re-pleat the silk that was separated by her breasts. Laughing, he started for the door, promising to keep his hands off her body for the rest of the evening.

She went back to being Meredith Montague, forgetting immediately about her nipples.

Some time later there was a knock at the door. It was Gamal, to take her downstairs. Isabel stood up and went to the mirror to adjust her dress. She was relieved that all that could be seen through the top of the dress was the faint outline of her bosom. Gamal looked at her and went down on one knee to adjust the back of her skirt. He then stood back, looking faintly pleased, and opened the door.

Just before she stepped out into the hall a sudden feeling of insecurity came over her. Was she being foolish about Alexis? Was this all just a wonderful erotic escapade to make her comfortable and happy so she would
come and work for him? Insidiously, Ava and her mother flashed into mind — their disapproval of her life-style and their pleasure at her aloneness. She knew that she was being foolishly negative because of her guilt feelings. Oh, how stupid!

Isabel disliked parties. Large groups of people always made her feel even more isolated, which was why she rarely went to such affairs. Poor Gamal felt concerned when he saw her standing there, staring out into the hall.

“Please, miss, come. Sir Alexis, he waits you.” Gamal said “please” and “come” in a normal voice, but when he said, “he waits you,” it was almost in a soft whisper.

She smiled at the servant, and he led her towards the main staircase. She looked over the balcony down into the main hall. To her horror it was filled with men in black tie, women in magnificent evening dress and jewels, and dozens upon dozens of servants in white, shiny cotton galabias with olive-green sashes, wearing white turbans. They were tall, impressive-looking Nubians and carried silver trays filled with crystal glasses of champagne.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly and started down the stairs. Halfway down she was able to pick out Alexis standing close to the drawing room doors, which were open to reveal yet more people. He was standing and talking to half a dozen guests, and on his right was Hamida. She was all smiles and it came to Isabel that she definitely was acting as his hostess.

Everyone who came in greeted Alexis and kissed Hamida. Isabel kept going down the stairs, trying not to be jealous, and then saw Alexis look up at her. He excused himself from the group and, saying something to Hamida, went to greet her.

He looked handsome and happy as he welcomed her by kissing her hand and saying, “You are ravishing, and I certainly hope they will stay down, darling.” She went pink in the face and he began to laugh.

As Isabel realized how much he enjoyed teasing her, Alexis led her by the elbow into the crowd of people and began the endless introductions.

Hamida came forward and addressed her warmly, pecking a kiss on Isabel’s cheek. A few words were exchanged and Hamida left them to greet other guests. Alexis told Isabel to stay more or less near him for a while, because the president would arrive within the next
five minutes. The prime minister was already standing with them. Then Michael, the archaeologist she had previously met, joined them and introduced her to a very handsome, quiet, scholarly-looking man called Mahmud Wassif.

It was obvious that Alexis and Mahmud liked and respected one another very much. Alexis said, “Isabel, I hope you two will have a chance to talk. Mahmud is one of Egypt’s most respected writers. I am flattered that he came this evening. Usually he declines all large social functions. I am afraid I see too little of him. He is almost as pure and inaccessible as a monk.”

Ah, Isabel thought, a kindred spirit. Mahmud kissed her hand and said a few words, but before they could get into conversation a large group of plainclothesmen streamed in through the front door, followed by the president and his wife.

Alexis presented Isabel to him and the First Lady. She found them both extremely pleasant and most unpretentious. There was a great deal of warmth and charm about them. After talking only a few minutes with the president, she realized he was a far more vital human being than she had imagined.

It was a dazzling party, filled with fascinating, sometimes handsome men, with a twinkle in their eyes. Isabel was taken up by one man only to be passed to another. There were diplomats, writers, painters, museum people, doctors, lawyers and even a Nubian chieftain. The women sparkled like their jewels and gossiped like fishwives as they powdered their noses in between bouts of coy flirting.

Isabel even had a chance to talk to Anthony, who was having a wonderful time chatting up the rich ladies. He was very complimentary about her and whispered in her ear, “Is he a good fuck, Isabel?”

When she gave him a look of annoyance, he said, “Listen, Isabel, he is one terrific man. The more I see him and talk to him, the more I like him. You deserve something good. I only hope he fucks you as well as I did.”

Before she had a chance to answer, she was swept away by yet another person. Later she looked back towards Anthony and caught him cruising a beautiful young Arab boy of eighteen or so. During the evening she would see them together and she knew that soon they would be lovers.

The party continued. Anoushka finally appeared with her husband: a tiny, quiet man, obviously besotted by his wife. She thought Isabel’s dress admirable. When she saw the back, she said, “Youssef, come, come look at this,” and lifted a corner of the back of the blouse. “Oh, please, Isabel, would you be angry if I had one?”

“No,” Isabel said, laughing. “I would not be angry at all. Just call Yves St. Laurent.”

Twenty tables had been set up with flowers and candles, the place settings exquisite with silver and crystal goblets. A sumptuous buffet was laid in the dining room. Everyone helped themselves and sat where and with whom they liked. It was Michael who claimed Isabel for dinner and escorted her to the buffet. They sat at the same table as Mahmud Wassif, Anoushka and her husband, Youssef, Anthony and his young Arab, and half a dozen other people whom Isabel had not yet met.

There was a great deal of laughter as their wine glasses were constantly topped up by the four Nubians serving the table. At one point Anoushka said, “Mahmud, you must take Isabel up to the roof garden; in a few minutes the
son et lumière
will begin. She can see the Pyramids lit up and maybe, Isabel, you will be clever enough to get him to recite some of his work while you watch.”

He agreed that it was a good idea and borrowed a shawl from one of the ladies at the table so that Isabel would not be cold.

The small elevator took them to the roof garden, which was lit up by old Arab tent lanterns. Chairs, sofas, chaises and hammocks, all covered in old kilims, were scattered about, and there were trees ten and fifteen feet high. The space was broken now and again with screens of mushrabiya.

There were twenty or so people scattered about in small groups. Mahmud took her to a quiet corner and said, “Those foolish people, this is the best view.”

From where they stood, they saw only a few lights from the city and these soon petered out into the dark desert. Then, not too far off in the distance, there was a bright, strong light. The Pyramids of Giza appeared, illuminated.

Mahmud told her about it. The lights changed to a hot red and then they went off, only lighting up one of the Pyramids. It was a spectacular show designed by the French, and if you were in the audience, you would hear
told their history. Intermittently there was dramatic music. Mahmud argued that it was better from this vantage point.

Isabel leaned on the railings with her elbows and watched it. Mahmud stood behind her telling her their history in almost rhyming poetry. His voice was beautiful and hypnotic.

In that position her blouse fell open and forward, exposing her bare back. Mahmud bent over her body, touching her behind; he draped the shawl over her shoulders. She was about to thank him as she felt his hands under the shawl move over her back and around to her breasts. “Mahmud, please,” she said, straightening up.