The Chauffeuse

"Well, I have been a public figure for rather a long time now, I suppose."

"Yes, and you have so many side interests too, don't you?"

"Pardon me?"

Dr. Barrie smiled and softly added, "All work and no play... there needs to be some relief, doesn't there, Bill? It seems so important. I do so understand, you know."

Sir William Rice stared at the large, plain, brown envelope now lying on the table between their plates.

"You bastard."

"She's so lovely, isn't she? I think it's the cap. Is it the cap for you, Bill?"

"You fucking bastard."

"I understand. They're really a wonderful set of photos though. Don't you want to take a look?"

Sir William resisted the urge to glance around the deck as he picked up the envelope, lifted the flap and slowly slid twenty or so 6" x 8" color prints into his trembling hand. Dr. Barrie munched happily on his bacon, watching Sir William slowly sliding one photo after another from the top of the stack to the bottom. He leaned over and enthusiastically waved a fork in the general direction of the photos.

"That one's great! I think it's my favorite. Looks like you're in mid-thrust there. Wonderful expression. I like how you're holding her tits, too. I could get that one blown up for you, if you'd like. So hard to choose though. They're all very clear, don't you think? Excellent quality."

"How much?"

"Oh gosh, I don't know, really. I guess it depends on how big and how many. A few 8" x 10"s wouldn't cost much. Or, Hey! This is an idea; why not go for poster size? Tell me what you want, and I'll get it done. My treat."

"How much for the negatives, you stupid lowlife?"

Dr. Barrie's tone went from congenial to biting in a heartbeat. "'Lowlife'? 'Stupid'? Well now, let me see...you're the 'public figure' caught sneaking a poke with a girl half your age in the back of a limo on a lover's lane. So what does that make you? Hmm?"

Sir William knew when to shut up.

"There is no charge, Bill, because the negatives are not available. Not to you, pal: not until hell freezes over, or the Marbles go home. It's up to you which comes first."

"That's what you want??"

"That's what I want. And one other thing."

"Oh, here we go. How much?"

"And you called me stupid!" Oliver sighed. "I want you to understand Samantha had no idea what was coming."

Sir William stared incredulously at Dr. Barrie then threw his head back and laughed. He seemed genuinely relieved.

"Okay; you got it, Oliver. I understand. But, my dear fellow, there's no way I'm going to believe Samantha wasn't in on it. The mask was just a little too coincidental, I'm afraid. I might be stupid, but I'm not naïve. Noble attempt on your part, though. I liked it."

"Well, I want you to be nice to her."

"I'll deliver on the Select Committee, okay? I think I can do that: I don't know about being nice. Now, if you don't mind, I need to make a phone call. Oh, and I'll take these with me. See you later."

Dr. Barrie chewed his toast and watched thoughtfully as Sir William headed towards the lobby.

*******

They were almost at the hotel when the car phone rang.

"Samantha Kane."

"You fucking bitch."

She didn't know what to say. There was nothing she could say. The moment she'd been dreading had all too obviously arrived.

"You stupid little tart. What made you do it? Speak to me! I deserve some fucking explanation, you bitch! YOU FUCKING SET ME UP!"

"Bill, I'm sorry..."

"He's got me by the balls! Literally!"

"I know..."

"Why? In heaven's name, why did you do it?"

"He was going to go to my Mum with a surveillance report, Bill! He had a report about us. I couldn't do that to my Mum! I'm sorry, Bill; I really am. But I didn't have a choice!"

There was a pause, and then a heavy sigh.

"Samantha, you stupid little cow. There *was* no report."

"There was, Bill! I saw him download it on his laptop."

"Where? Where did you see that?"

"In his hotel room."

Another pause.

"You were in his hotel room?"

"Oh God, Bill, nothing happened."

"Yeah. Right. How long has this been going on? Oh, never mind; it doesn't matter anymore. You set me up good though, the pair of you. Gotta admire that. But I'm not falling for the report, Sam. That's bullshit."

"Bill, I swear, it's true! I saw him download it, and he knew all about what we were doing."

"He might have picked up some gossip. But there was still no report."

"I don't understand why you won't believe me!"

"Because, you little moron, if there had been a report he wouldn't have needed photos, would he? Bye-bye, you stupid little slut. Have a nice life."

The Rolls stood still while the traffic in front pulled away, the traffic behind started honking, and the pretty blond chauffeuse inside beat the living daylights out of the steering wheel with her cap.

*******

"I really do appreciate you taking the time to listen to all this..."

"No, no, it's okay!" Odessa patted the younger woman's arm reassuringly, and poured herself another cup of tea.

"You tell me everything, darling. I'm grateful too. It's been years since I told anyone what happened to me. Nobody knows how I got here. Nobody."

"Um, I'm not holding you up or anything, am I? No, ah, appointments?"

"No, darling, that's okay. No worries. If anyone comes, you just stay here in the kitchen. It never takes more than a half hour. More tea?"

"Yes, please. So, do you think we could help each other?"

"I think we could. Really, sweetheart... do you think he'll survive?"

Samantha giggled. "If he does, it'll be a freaking miracle."

Odessa smiled. "There now, you're laughing. That's good."

But then Samantha's face grew serious. "The only thing that bothers me is he'll die happy."

Odessa shook her head as she poured. "But, darling... I know this man. Believe me; you won't be thinking that tomorrow. Me, I just want to get him out of my hair. I'm glad you came by. Maybe now I can put it all behind me."

"You and me both. I feel sorry for Alcander, too, though. He got hurt as well."

Odessa sighed. "This is true. I shouldn't have been so mean to him. It's just that I've tried so hard to forget, and then he just walks into my life and thinks he can take over. I overreacted, maybe. Was he okay when you dropped him off?"

"I didn't go inside with him, just parked outside the hotel and called Oliver from the car. Oliver said he'd meet him in the lobby. I think he was alright. He was calm, and fairly focused. He was in better shape than I was, actually. He seems nice, Odessa."

"He is. He's just crazy; a crazy Greek."

"Better that than an evil Texan."

"Oliver, evil? I wondered about that. But I don't really think so. You think he's the Devil, Samantha?"

"No, but I think he's a close cousin."

"Well then, you and me will be avenging angels on Monday, yes?"

"You betcha."

*******

"Alcander!"

"I am wet, Oliver, and I have an appointment with my Maker. I am going in a limo, you know. But I am resolved to redeem my soul before then. That is why I am here."

"Um, well... It's true, you are rather wet; and I too will have to answer for some things when my time is up, I suppose. I'm not quite sure how I'm getting there, though; I haven't worked that out yet."

Alcander nodded, sympathetically. "It's a problem, I know."

"Erm... But in any case, I want you to know, Alcander, I am profoundly sorry for the pain I have caused you. And I have some dry clothes for you. Would you like to come up to my room?"

"You got me clothes?"

"Yes, Alcander. I would do anything to make you comfortable; I want you to know that."

"I never thought of you as caring about anything, Oliver. It was very kind of you to buy me clothes."

"I've not been as caring as I should be, especially towards old friends. I want to change that. I do care, Alcander. I care about you and I care about Odessa as well."

"Did you buy her clothes too?"

"Ah, no. Just you. Perhaps later. Um, you really need to get changed and the meeting starts in fifteen minutes. Are you up for this? Maybe we could talk more over lunch?"

"Yes, yes! I promised I would help. But you make it much easier than I thought. Let's go, Oliver. We have much to do."

Alcander Pagonis and Oliver Barrie made a good team; throughout the discussions, both men shored up the Greek's argument for the long-term loan of the Marbles, and in so doing rediscovered their common bond. They talked knowledgably and succinctly about the new Acropolis museum, its security and environmental controls. The British Museum trustees listened dubiously but with a fairly open-minded attitude when they expounded the worldview of the Greek people, how the Greek Government would not be shamed or forced into reneging on the return of the Marbles at the end of the loan.

Alcander spoke eloquently and quietly about the Acropolis Museum's proximity to the Parthenon, how the building is regarded as the heritage of the free world, and the much needed context the site would lend.

The trustees argued it was the very fact that the Marbles belonged to the entire democratic world that made it imperative they stayed in one of the world's most famous and most visited museums. Then Oliver addressed the entire meeting in soft and reasonable tones:

"Gentlemen, what I hear you saying is that the Marbles, no matter how they were acquired, legally or not, do not belong to any one nation but to all democratic nations. As free men and women sitting here today, we are all the true inheritors of these wonderful works of art, of the ideals they point us to. And I hear the Greek side saying they agree with that. It seems we are in fundamental agreement. And there is possibly more need today than ever before for this. What it logically suggests is that the Marbles should be shared across the world. It's up to the British Parliament to change the law now, so that we can enact this generous and peaceful resolve."

"And now, I propose we break for lunch. All in favor? Goody!"

"It feels good to be working with you again, Oliver. It is going well, I think."

Oliver nodded enthusiastically over his Chicken Amelia: pieces of chicken lightly sautéed with proscuitto di Parma, sage, and provolone cheese, tossed in a Marsala wine sauce over linguini.

"But what about you, Alcander? How can we resolve your situation with Odessa? You want her back, right?"

"That's what I want more than anything, except death. And she will not have me. So, now that you and I are at peace, I can die. Except, I must confess, I am not looking forward to it quite as much as before."

"Alcander, I don't think you are ready to give up. Let me help you. If I'm what's standing in the way with Odessa, maybe I should talk to her, see if I can help put it all to rest for her. Then perhaps she'd let you take her back to Greece. Wouldn't that be great? Could you give me some time to do that, before you, um, head off in the limo?"

"Oh! You are kind, but I don't know if that is even worth trying. Let's not. It is over, I'm afraid."

Oliver stared sadly, trying to think of something to say. Before he could, Alcander blurted a confession:

Oliver, I wasn't going to come here today or attend the Select Committee hearing. I didn't care. I was going to take the first flight back as soon as I had Odessa packed to go. But now, I want to do this. I want us to get the deal done on the Marbles, dear friend. What else do you need to do?"

"Well, I've got this crew I need to see in Oxford on Monday. They're a bunch of self-important academics, really. They have great historical and philosophical perspective n' all, but they're really no use in front of the decision makers. Terrible wafflers. But they think they need to be involved, so I've got to meet with them, make them feel essential. Otherwise, they're going to run amuck; start their own letter writing campaign, cloud the issue. I can't have that. You could come with me to Oxford; present the Greek's perspective, help keep them in line. You want to do that?"

"Yes! But what time do you leave? I have a meeting at the Greek Consulate at 9:00. I really can't get out of it."

"Damn! I'll be on the road at 8:30. Could you meet me there? How are you getting around, do you have a car?"

"It's been taxi, so far. But I'll call my hotel and ask them to get me one. No problem, my friend. Eat! We'll get addresses and phone numbers and things later, and we'll meet in Oxford the day after tomorrow."

"God, it's so good to have you here, Alcander. Thank you, I don't deserve it."

"It's in a good cause, my friend. And it feels good for me, too."

"Maybe I could talk to Odessa tomorrow, what do you think? You shouldn't give up, you know."

"Maybe you're right. But I don't really think she'll listen. In any case, I think tomorrow is maybe too early. She was very upset today. You know Odessa; it takes days for her to calm down."

"Well, that's alright. Tuesday's my last day. I'm at the British Museum in the morning, but then I'm free all afternoon. I'll try and catch her then."

Alcander beamed at Oliver's bright, shining face and then frowned.

"What do I tell the angel, Oliver? Now that we're friends again, I think she'll be expecting me to go before Tuesday."

"You leave that to me. I know how to get in touch with her."

"You do?"

"Yup. You're going to be around for a while yet, sunshine!"

"Okay!"

*******

The next day Samantha's bedside phone woke her up, and when she looked at the clock she wasn't happy about it. "Sammie? It's Oliver. How are you? Is it too early to call?"

"It's Sunday. Sunday morning. I'm still in bed. Do you need to go somewhere?"

"No, no. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks."

"You sure?"

"Yup."

"Well, good. Um, we still on for Oxford tomorrow?"

"Absolutely. I'll pick you up at 8:30 sharp. We should be there around 10:00. Is that still okay?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, that's perfect. Um, you were right about Alcander, he's been great. We're getting along very well: like old times, really, and he's not talking about meeting his Maker anymore."

"Well, that's good."

"Yeah! And I'm gonna see Odessa on Tuesday, try to straighten things out with her. Do you think you could drive me over to Brewer Street around one-ish? I know this isn't official business or anything, but I'm trying to help Alcander get her back."

"You are?!"

She sprang upright.

"Yeah, it seems like the least I could do. But if you'd rather not, I could get a taxi to Soho."

"Oh! Um, no... I'll drive you, um, Sir."

"Ah-hah. Well, okay then. Thanks. You take care. Um, enjoy your day, okay? See you soon. 'Bye!"

She threw her hands up in exasperation and frowned at the ceiling. Somehow tomorrow's plan didn't seem so right. Maybe he cared, after all. But when she thought about what he'd put her through... and Odessa... and Alcander... No, it would take a little bit more than charm to get him out of this one. But then, if they went through with it, it might screw up Odessa and Alcander's chances of ever getting together. That is, if he was really going to try. But then, could she trust him? Couldanybody trust him?

"AAAAAARGH! I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

Samantha punched a pillow, threw it across her bedroom, grabbed another one and pulled it over her head. She wished she'd never met Dr. Oliver Barrie. But it was too late now.

*******

"Before we start, I want to tell you I think you've been very brave through all this." No. No, that wasn't it.

"I'd like to offer you a truce, Miss Kane..." No. That wasn't what he wanted to say.

Oliver Barrie stared at his reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror. He was meeting his chauffeuse in thirty minutes, they had a long drive ahead of them, and he was nervous. Why the fuck was he nervous?

"Snap the fuck out of it!" he told himself. Ah! He beamed. That was exactly what he wanted to say!

"You idiot, you can't tell her that! What's the matter with you, anyway?" He knew the answer, but he didn't want to say.

He still didn't have it worked out when he skipped into the limo as she held the passenger door open for him. The best he could come up with was a lighthearted, "Good morning!" Which she answered with a cool, "Good morning, Sir," back.

He buckled himself in, and gave her reflection in the rearview mirror a goofy, bashful smile.

"Ready when you are, Captain Kirk!" he chirped.

"Thank you, Sir."

He sighed. "Sammie, would you please, please drop the 'Sir'? I really don't feel comfortable with it. Could you call me Oliver? Please?"

He was so pleading, so in her control. That always made her feel good. "I'll consider it. Oliver."

His shoulders dropped a mile. "Thanks, love. Would you like to listen to some music? Something soothing? Can I tell you a story? Does the glass thingy come down? I could massage your shoulders while you drive, if you like? Hmm?"

"Whatever music you would prefer, and my shoulders are fine, thanks. Alright, Oliver. Off we go."

They headed for the M40 motorway via Grosvenor Gardens, which lead them to Grosvenor Place, the long avenue running alongside Hyde Park to the famous Speakers' Corner. To Oliver's surprise, they pulled over there. And he was quite shocked when a broad bosomed and rather provocatively dressed woman opened the nearside passenger door and clambered in beside him.

"Wow!" was all he could manage. The Rolls eased back into traffic, and they continued in a general westerly direction towards the M25 ring road that ran around the outskirts of Greater London.

As the high-end shops of Knightsbridge gave way to the local supermarkets, stationers, and betting shops of Holland Park, Shepherd's Bush, and Chiswick, a slow dawning of recognition came over Oliver.

"Odessa?"

The woman said nothing. She sat dignified, upright and prim beside him, and kept her eyes forward as he looked her over. Her thick mane of red-brown hair fell in waves to just below her shoulders, framing her strong face and sweeping her green eyes. She still had the sensuously curved mouth, long nose and high cheekbones that had so captivated him years before. Her body was mature now, but she was in good shape. She wore a chiffon, leopard-print blouse with three-quarter length sleeves that ended in the lightest ruffles, and a plunging V-neckline that fell so steeply it made Oliver dizzy just looking at it. Underneath were the unmistakable contours of an open tip bra. In the limo's cool air conditioning, they were showing darkly and pushing out full and high.

"Odessa. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see you like this... I mean, again. I mean, um, what a surprise! Erm, how have you been?"

She leaned back into the seat and slowly crossed her long, muscular thighs, still ignoring him. Her short, soft, black skirt stretched snug. It was fringed with three inches of swinging black beads. Oliver's mouth dropped open and hung there as Odessa started to play with the beads, smoothing a palm over them, rolling them, slowly caressing herself. Occasionally she bent forward and smoothed a black thigh-high stocking, all the way from her stiletto sandals to the band at the top. When she did, he could see all the way down into her blouse. The bra's open cups were red mesh. Suddenly, it was his favorite material and definitely his favorite color.

Then she moved over to the opposite seat, and sat for a moment with her legs open while she looked out the window. She gave him a good, long look at her flimsy, red, open crotch panties, with the obvious result; he was getting rather uncomfortable, and had a growing need to do something about the twitching in his pants.

A dozen questions were running though his head: he wondered if he should ask Samantha to put up the privacy divider, wondered how she'd react, wondered if he wassupposed to be doing what he wanted to do and, if so, how much cash did he have on him... but then he remembered Alcander.