Tristan Trilogy- Story 3

CHAPTER 21

Tristan had signed on to teach two classes per day for four days a week for two weeks. Each class was intensive and lasted three hours. When the university had announced that Tristan Mallory would be teaching, the response had been surprisingly strong and almost two hundred potential students had to be turned away. Her classes would be limited to fifteen students who had applied for admission from as far away as Washington state. Within days of the announcement, Julliard had called and wanted her to teach classes in New York. She wanted to test the waters in Florida first. She had only told Kevin that she might ‘do a little teaching’ while he was away.

The recital she had agreed to do was a benefit and would be held at the Orlando Symphony. She hadn’t realized that the benefit had sold out and that tickets had gone for as much as $500.00. The two thousand seat theater should generate as much as half a million dollars that would be used for a variety of things including music scholarships. Twenty percent of the revenue would be siphoned off to the Orlando Ballet Company. She had no idea. She hadn’t played in months and whenever Mason had mentioned her playing again or even recording, he had done so casually. Tristan thought he was massaging her ego. She didn’t know that he had a box full of letters from fans and classical afficianados who wanted to know when she would tour again. He usually answered this kind of mail on her behalf. As far as Tristan knew, she was no more than a footnote in the world of classical musicians.

Tristan had received one letter that Mason had pulled from the others. He would have given it to Tristan personally but he couldn’t be sure of her reaction to it and so he held onto it, waiting for the opportunity to show it to Kevin. He didn’t want Tristan upset, especially considering her condition. The letter had contained a photograph - a portrait of Rebekah Sebastian Mallory - Tristan’s mother. The letter had been mailed from Paris and signed by Etienne Fouchee, a renowned French cellist, a fan of Tristan’s and, Mason had guessed, Rebekah Mallory’s lover.

****************

Amanda loved the tabloids. Even if things were printed about her or about AJ, she loved them. She even loved them when they made her mad or upset. She hadn't been too happy about the blind item which appeared in the Intruder a year ago - the one that accused the girlfriend of the tattooed member of a popular singing group of ‘swinging both ways’. That was bullshit. Amanda had always been discreet and besides, she had only ‘experimented’ three or four times. Despite AJ’s reputation for being ‘the wild one’, they had both adopted the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ approach regarding their relationship and, so far, things had been fine.

The only time Amanda didn’t love the tabloids was when the material they printed truly damaged or hurt the people she cared about. That had been a relatively rare occurance until last year when the guns had been aimed at Tristan. AJ had hinted that he thought they had been fired deliberately but never elaborated on his theory. After Kevin and Tristan’s marriage was announced, the tabloids hit them again. These attacks were expected but Tristan never could understand the motives behind them. She was still so naïve in some ways. As Amanda picked up the latest copy of ‘Reputations’ from an English language newstand, she groaned aloud. On the split cover were two photographs. One was of Kevin in the Bahamas. He was sunbathing and a thong-clad brunette was about to dump a small pail of water on him. How fuckin’ cute…. The other was of Tristan and Jerald at a café. It looked like he was holding her hand. Tristan was smiling at him. Amanda remembered that day. Tristan had worn a white linen dress and sunglasses. Her hair, already lightened from the sun, had hung long and loose. She had looked great. Amanda remembered it because Holly had seemed a little pissed when she found out that Tristan and Jerald had gone into town together and Amanda hadn’t understood why Holly gave a shit. Hmmm…. The large type caption on the cover read: THIS IS MARRIAGE? Amanda gave the vendor some money and stuck the magazine in her bag. Her mind was racing. Why does this shit happen when they’re separated? I wonder if Tristan knows about it? She and Kevin have talked or written every day…

She smiled when she remembered the morning after they had arrived in Sweden. Everyone was up and at the breakfast table when Kevin came rushing down the stairs. They were all still worn out from the time changes and too much clubbing the night before but Kevin was pretty animated - for Kevin. He was trying so hard to be nonchalant but he looked like he was about to bust open. Finally AJ, who was seated the closet to where Kevin was standing, had grown impatient with Kevin’s ‘I’ve Got A Secret’ dance.

“God dammit, Train. What’s with you?” he had scowled. “Has Perleman finally been sent to federal prison or something?

“Look!”

Kevin brought his hand from behind his back and handed AJ a half dozen sheets of paper. AJ had turned the pages and twisted his head staring at the printouts.

“What the hell is it?” He had frowned. “Looks like some kind of sea creature or something….”

“It’s a picture of my babies!”

Kevin had grinned and nodded to the group. He had reminded Amanda of a kid who had just brought home straight A’s on his report card. Kevin was quite pleased with himself.

AJ looked alarmed. “What the hell’s the matter with them? They’re all head!”

Kevin had grabbed the pages from AJ, irritated.

“There’s nothing wrong with them, you dumb shit! That’s the way they’re supposed to look!”

“Let me see, Kevin!” Holly had shouted from the far end of the table.

Kevin had glared at AJ as he carried his precious printouts to the other side of the room. He had leaned over Holly’s shoulder, happily pointing out fingers and toes.

“Great…” Brian muttered under his breath. “Like he doesn’t carry around enough pictures already…”

“Don’t you think they have kinda big heads, Holly?” AJ teased.

“Fuck you, Bone!” Kevin shouted, completely unamused.

Holly reached back to pat Kevin’s arm. “No… They’re perfect..” she smiled. “I think I see a little goatee on this one..”

Kevin had reared back and given AJ a self-satisfied ‘See? Told ‘ya!’ look. Amanda had halfway thought that Kevin might stick his tongue out at AJ. He was happy and they had all been glad, especially after the confusion of the day before. Now this damn magazine…. Kevin didn’t say all that much, but he didn’t brush these things off quite as easily as he tried to make people think. She would show it AJ.

****************

The agency could hardly believe their good luck. The woman they had hired to take care of the villa had suddenly quit that morning and it looked like they already had a perfect replacement and she was an American!

Martina Tipton not only had letters of recommendation but also a Swedish work permit. To top it off, she was a certified masseuse. She had only recently arrived in Sweden with her brother for a short trip. They had both decided that they adored the country and wanted to spend more time here but they were short of funds and would have to secure employment. Miss Tipton was computer literate, well read, bright and quite attractive. Housekeeping would not be a problem for her, she explained, claiming that she had done similar work to earn money for college tuition. Martina pulled all of her identification and credit cards out of her wallet for the agency director to examine. She left her press credentials conveniently hidden.

“This job will probably only last for a few weeks. Is that a problem?”

Martina flashed her wide smile. “No, that’s perfect. We’ll probably be leaving by then, anyway.” She smoothed her skirt and crossed her legs demurely. “Will I be wearing a uniform?” she asked innocently.

“We will provide those for you.” Ms. Ekberg nodded as she handed Martina’s cards and papers back to her. “I must impress upon you that this job will require complete discretion. These guests will be in Sweden for a short time but they are celebrities and are entitled to their privacy. We have assured them that they will have it. If we hear of the slightest deviation from this policy, you will be fired immediately - no questions asked, no defenses acknowledged. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

Martina nodded her head vigorously. It was an effort to keep her sarcastic retorts to herself, but she had a game to play and she aimed to play it well. She had always done well playing poker and had honed her bluff to new heights of deviousness. It had come in handy on many occasions such as this.

“Who will I be working for and exactly what will my duties be?”

Suspicions would have been raised if she hadn’t shown some curiosity about her new position. She had to be careful not to be too nosy, though. She required the trust of Ms. Ekberg. That would be the first step in acquiring the trust of the group.

“You will be required to keep the house in order, for the most part. You will also be responsible for laundry and shopping duties. I have a list of items that you must be sure are plentiful at all times. Our guests will also have personal requests for food and other items that you will get for them. Accounts have been arranged at various business establishments so you may bring the items back to the house on credit. Payment for these items will be arranged through their business manager. You are to be ‘on call’ at all times to assist anyone staying at the villa, including guests of the residents. Here is a list of all of those staying there. As you can see, it’s a rather large group. I hope you can handle these duties.” the agency director remarked solemnly. “You will be required to do anything that they ask of you, short of sexual favors. If any unusual requests are made that cause you discomfort, call me immediately but I don’t think that will be a problem.”

Martina looked over the list carefully and managed to suppress her excitement. It looked like the entire crew would be under one roof with one glaring exception. Shit... No Tristan Mallory....

“Um, who are these people?” Martina asked. “Are they executives or something?”

It was imperative that she show no personal interest in or knowledge of the group. If any hidden agenda was suspected, she knew she would be out of there.

“They are a singing group here to record.” Ms Ekberg explained. “Do you know of the Backstreet Boys?”

Martina had to tread softly.

“I think so...” she said quietly as she rubbed her chin and did her best to look puzzled. “They have a video, I think... Didn’t they sing some song called - oh let me see - ‘Drive Me Crazy’ or something?”

“I don’t really know.” Ms. Ekberg was shuffling papers on her desk.

Martina took this as her sign to leave but she had one more important item to clear up.

“Ms. Ekberg, I hate to ask you this. You’ve been so kind already but you said that I would be staying in the servants quarters located in the main house, is that right?

Ms. Ekberg looked up from her desk hoping that she wasn’t about to have a problem.

“Yes, that’s right. It’s separated from the living area of the house and the other bedrooms but it’s quite nice. It’s a small flat, really. Why?”

“This is so embarrassing..” Martina glanced away for a moment and even managed to make her face turn a little pink. “...but, as I told you, we’re short on funds...”

“Are you asking for an advance?” the director frowned.

“No! Nothing like that!” Martina cried. “It’s my brother... could he stay with me if he promises to stay out of the way? He won’t be any trouble, honest.”

Ms. Ekberg considered for a moment. The young woman looked slightly bewildered and a little frightened.

“I suppose that would be alright. But if I hear one complaint - if I even hear one question about him being there, he’s out. He would do well to make himself useful while he’s there but he needn’t expect any compensation.”

“Oh, thank you ma’am!” Martina gurgled. “You won’t be sorry - I promise!” You tight assed old bat...

“I didn’t think I’d be sorry about hiring Miss Swenson, either.” Ms Ekberg snorted. “And she left with no notice!”

Martina excused herself and left the agency office, smiling. Miss Swenson may have quit without notice but she left with over five thousand American dollars in her pocket - far more than she would have earned as a glorified housekeeper for the Backstreet Boys. Charlie would be pleased. They would both have an inside track to the goings on of the group and their girlfriends.

‘Reputations’ had been very generous with their expense account but they had been sure that their investment would pay off. Martina was glad to get the assignment and she thought that she and Charlie Mancuso would work well together. Like Charlie, she had no grudge against the group. She was just looking for a large stepping stone to future fame. Martina had always fancied herself as a future Louella Parsons. She was a little concerned over the fact that Tristan Mallory wasn’t there, but that may be good, too. Maybe while the wife was away, the hubby would play - and vice versa. When they returned stateside, they could check her out more thoroughly. In the meantime, Raymond Whay could assign someone to keep tabs on Tristan. Martina guessed that Mr. Whay’s mild obsession with the Richardson’s had to do with the fact that they had been so lucky for him last year.

Now it was time to meet Charlie with the good news and start to work.

**************

Kevin tried not to be too paranoid but he couldn’t help but notice that the intense conversation between Jack, Amanda and AJ seemed to screech to an abrupt halt as soon as he entered the room. The magazine that Jack was holding in his hands was quickly rolled into a tube and they all stared at Kevin for a moment before breaking into spontaneous greetings.

“Hey, Kev! Did you meet the housekeeper?” AJ asked as if she was Leona Helmsley herself. “Guess what? She does massages, too - the realkind! Damn, I love a massage…”

Kevin ignored AJ’s announcement. “What ‘ya got there, Jack?” he asked casually.

“What?” Jack smiled as his hands fell to his side.

“Oh, that’s mine..” Amanda gushed. “It’s a fashion mag - you know - American..”

“I see..” Kevin nodded. “And Jack’s checking out the proper skirt length for the fall season?”

“Naw, Kev..” AJ laughed. “That’s your department, isn’t it?” AJ skipped over to Kevin and grabbed his arm in an attempt to lead him out of the room and away from the potential fracas. “Let’s go get us a beer! I wanted to talk to you about..”

“Hold it, J.” Kevin looked back at Jack. “What’s going on? Has something happened?”

Jack sighed and tapped the magazine against his thigh. He may as well get this over with. Chances are that Tristan may have already seen the rag and Kevin would know about it soon enough, anyway. He held the tube out for Kevin to take.

“Amanda picked this up today.”

Kevin reached out and took the magazine from Jack’s extended hand and then he unrolled it carefully, fully aware that his reactions were being gauged by the trio. The first thing he saw was the name of the publication. ‘Reputations’… Kevin felt his stomach knot as his eyes moved over the cover. He remembered the bikini-clad woman on the beach. She had practically straddled him every chance she got. He felt a little guilty as he recalled her attentions towards him. He hadn’t encouraged her but he had enjoyed her flattery. He had no doubt that she would have done anything, anywhere, anytime but the one he had wanted so badly was in Mexico. With my big brother… Kevin’s eyes shifted across the page. He fought to remain expressionless but the picture pissed him off. Is he holding her goddamn hand? No… This rag slants everything… He opened the pages nonchalantly, perused the table of contents and slowly flipped to the article that was referred to on the cover.

There they were - ‘Reputations’ infamous photos. The first pages of the article contained pictures taken in the Bahamas. He only glanced at the pictures that focused on the other guys and concentrated on the ones in which he was the subject. That damn woman! Kevin couldn’t even remember her name but she was pictured with him in three out the five shots. Then he found the pictures of him and the guys at an island strip club. Kevin groaned silently. They were all having such a good time watching the gyrations on the stage. Black rectangles had been added to the photographs to cover the strippers’ breasts and backsides. There seemed to be more candids of him than the other guys. Well, at least I’m not leaning forward with a fifty dollar bill in my mouth like Brian… It was cold comfort. Tristan was going to see this, that was a fact, and she would expect some comment from him. Kevin turned the page and suddenly forgot about Tristan’s reaction - he was too busy dealing with his own. Tristan and Jerald peppered the pages. Jerald helping her choose a bathing suit, Jerald and Tris dancing…. It was a fast dance but they were having too damn much fun. There were a couple of shots of them on the beach. Kevin stared for several seconds at the shot of his brother seemingly hypnotized by the curves of his wife’s ass. It did not go unnoticed by him that Jerald’s tongue had left his mouth.

Kevin didn’t bother to read the text. He handed the magazine back to Jack and, ignoring the expectant looks on the faces in front of him, turned and went silently up to his room. I’m calm… calm… I’m okay… He gently closed the door to his room and walked over to the mirror that hung over a double dresser. His face looked blank - empty - totally devoid of emotion. See? I’m fine… Kevin absently scanned the objects scattered across the chest, unaware that he was chewing on his tongue. A water glass sat on the surface near the pictures of his family that he had leaned against a stack of CD’s and Kevin watched his hand reach out for the glass as if he had no control over its movement. Think I’ll call my wife… He picked up the tumbler and hurled it against the plaster wall on the other side of his bed, watching as it shattered into a thousand tiny fragments with a satisfying crash. Then reaching for his cell he began to dial Orlando. The phone rang several times before it was finally answered.

“Hello, Richardson residence. Jerald speaking…”

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