All Black Ch. 04

This is a continuation of my retelling of a popular series of books and movies, not omitting its gloriously inconsequential helicopter crash. (My goodness. So coy.) This will be the final non-erotic chapter....

I believe the opening paragraphs will enable any readers who might be joining us for the first time to catch up quickly. The final section is rather heavy, but I hope the ideas are worth their weight in literary gold, I trust some readers will take pleasure in tying them to the plot and fucking the hell out of them, and I believe it does in fact all hold together.

As always, I greatly appreciate comments and suggestions. Enjoy!

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

Dramatis Personae

Angela "Angie" White — our heroine, virginal in every way, a freshman at St. George the Fundamentalist Catholic College, which proudly considers itself the most conservative college in North America

Shiva Black — our hero, a billionaire famous for his good looks

Shawna — one of Shiva's drivers

Anastasia "Ana" Christescu — Angie's roommate, recently the runner-up for Miss Romania

Adrian Fox — President of St. George the Fundamentalist Catholic College

Geneva — his wife

James Clifford — Angie's "introduction to theology" professor

Audrey — his wife

Father Papadopoulos — a philosophy professor and Greek Orthodox priest

Sister Emery — a nun and chemical engineering professor

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

Chapter Four: The Inquisition

Angie's days leading up to her first date with Shiva are a time of wildly mixed and rapidly fluctuating feelings — as anyone who remembers the first time they fell in love will understand.

On the one hand, she aches every day with the knowledge that he is thousands of miles away on his round-the-world business trip, his attention (she knows) too often taken up with the details of deal-making and macroeconomics and all the other concerns he must attend to when he should (in her heart's opinion) be focused exclusively on her at all waking hours and ideally also in his dreams, his eyes too often presented with the tempting beauties (painfully exaggerated by her fearful and jealous imagination) of Los Angeles, Tokyo, Singapore, Dubai, and Paris. She counts the days and hours until she will see him again, all of them excruciatingly long.

On the other hand, those cold spells, heart-wrenching while they last, are but clouds in the sunny sky of the knowledge that the one and only Shiva Black, the greatest and most wonderful man she or any other girl could ever hope to meet, "likes" her.

True, he hasn't said "love" yet, but he has said "like" repeatedly and with a weighty tone that promises deep significance... surely it's only a matter of time....

He has praised her beauty many times — and his eyes, sometimes looking deeply into hers, sometimes roaming up and down her body, have confirmed his attraction, and she has felt it even more thrillingly when his hands touched her — but she has already learned to be wary of such praise; everyone says she's exceptionally beautiful and they don't all respect her. Shiva, however, also appreciates her intelligence and her independence of mind. His intellect dazzles her, and yet he respects and values her opinions.

(Nor are his inconceivable wealth or his sheer good looks ever altogether out of her mind. What would it be like to live in a home like his, overlooking Central Park, surrounded by luxurious furniture and tableware, with staff to serve meals and clean? Nothing to do but sit in his beautiful library and read his beautiful books?)

She spends many happy hours recalling every detail of their first kiss: the confidence of his approach, the way his breath stopped as he pulled her close, his intoxicating scent, the moment his eyes closed so he could focus on the sensuality of their lips meeting, his gentleness, the hardness of his body against hers, the desire latent in his touch, the affection in his eyes afterwards.

She longs even more to feel his arms around her again, to rest her head on the muscles of his chest, to feel his hands on her waist, on her neck, his lips on hers....

(She even dares, sometimes, to wonder what making love to him would feel like, to imagine her body naked to his gaze and touch, to imagine his body, even his erection.... Of course sometimes she worries that she might not please him, that she might not be pretty enough for him, or that she might not know what to do; but she vows to do whatever she can to please him, to satisfy him, to win his gratitude and affection; her chest tightens and pulse races imagining him wanting to satisfy her... it seems almost too much to hope for....)

To take her mind away from such anxious thoughts, she reads the book he gave her with a gratitude and a joy no less intense than if he had written it for her. She brews and drinks the tea he gave her, wondering at the breadth and depth of his knowledge of the world, the mysteries to which he can initiate her.

She catches herself daydreaming about the possibilities of their future life together: holidays in London and Paris and Rome, dancing in the balls of Vienna and Venice, sailing the Riviera, exploring the ruins of ancient Greece and Egypt, carnival in Rio and Chinese New Year in Beijing....

These fantastic visions are greatly augmented when, a week before her big date with Shiva, one of his personal assistants takes her shopping in the city, spending tens of thousands of dollars — Angie loses track — on a dress, shoes, a bag, even jewelry!

In addition to the sheer materialistic delight of all this, she understands that he is spending that money on her not only to be nice, but because their date will be their public debut as a couple. Her appearance and behavior will reflect on him. Though he has little at stake in this event, he will be watching her, evaluating her performance, her suitability as a partner in high-leverage social situations.

She finds herself living her own romantic fantasy novel. The Catholic schoolgirl, hitherto innocent and sheltered, setting out on a quest to snare the hero and conquer the world.

He texts her several times every day, letting her know what he has been doing since the last text, asking what she has been doing, sympathizing with the feelings she expresses, affirming his belief that she can do well on her finals, and, best of all, expressing his constant need to see her and touch her again.

Every time her phone jingles to alert her that someone has sent a message, her heart cries out in elation that he has thought of her — but should the message turn out to have come from anyone else, she falls into a grief that can only be assuaged by a thorough review of the texts that he has in fact sent her, with minute consideration of the meanings potentially implicit in them and a careful examination of the photos lest she miss some hidden message in them.

One text in particular commands her constant attention, for it concludes with a pink heart emoji, certainly the most delightful little assembly of pixels that ever shone forth from the screen of a cell phone.

It is video chatting, however, that offers the sweetest respite from the misery of being physically apart from him. He calls her every morning and every evening. Sometimes he's only able to talk for a few minutes, but they have a few multiple-hour conversations.

Specifically, on one call that she'll remember as long as she lives, she asked what made him decide to marry, and he gave her a touching, thoughtful account of his discovery that the life of a philandering playboy was in reality a lonely one: he eventually realized that a multitude of superficial relationships would not make him as happy as a single, deep one.

But, she asked, why wouldn't he just marry one of the women he'd been seeing?

He has continued to see some of them, he tells her, but so far he hasn't found that any of them are what he is looking for in a wife.

Well, then, she asked him, what is he looking for in a wife?

Of course both of them realized that implicitly her question was whether she might be the answer.

To her surprise, he had a specific list of six requirements written down, which he sent to her as a document:

First, he and she must be deeply in love with each other.

Second, he and she must enjoy each other's company, especially but not only sexually.

Third, she must understand and be supportive of his work, including his long and irregular hours and travel.

Fourth, she must be able to thrive in the social roles she will find herself in as the wife of such a wealthy and famous man, representing him well at all times.

Fifth, he must be able to trust her discretion.

Sixth, she must be eager to have children with him.

"I don't know you very well yet, he concluded with stunning directness, "but so far I have every reason to believe you fit this description perfectly. What do you think?"

"I...," she stuttered, her heart pounding with both elation and trepidation, "I guess I... I mean, I hope so."

"Me too," he smiled. "But what are you looking for in a husband?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I've never been looking for a husband before."

"I hope you will put some thought into it. I'd love to hear what you come up with."

"I will," she promised. "But I like your list."

"I anticipate dating my future wife for at least two years prior to proposing to her," he clarified.

So what does she want in a husband?

She tries to think about it, and of course she has some ideas — someone kind, reliable, intelligent, successful, confident... — but ultimately the only answer that really commands her heart's assent is that what she wants in a husband is Shiva Black himself.

She wishes she could remember his exact words. Had he said, "So far you are exactly what I'm looking for?" Is that what he had said? Or did he say, "so far I think you are perfect for me?"

Yet their video chats lack both the physical excitement of each other's presence and the intellectual excitement of their private conversations.

On one of them, specifically, she'd asked him about a passage she'd read in Jude the Obscure, the book he'd given her:

"Remember that the best and greatest among mankind are those who do themselves no worldly good. Every successful man is more or less a selfish man."

In the card he'd given her, he'd quoted from Jude's response to that idea: "Its verses will stand fast when all the rest that you call religion has passed away!"

The whole thing puzzles and worries her. The philosophy expressed in the passage seems diametrically opposed to Shiva's ideas, and — far more troubling, far more confusing — in this scene of the novel Jude and his true love Sue are parting forever!

She'd asked Shiva if he agreed with Sue's claim that "Every successful man is more or less a selfish man," and he'd replied only with a delighted, smirking chuckle and a promise to talk about it with her when he sees her in person.

Afterwards he'd texted her a still more puzzling and in fact rather troubling message: "I am not comfortable discussing some topics over the internet in case anyone can monitor our communication."

Monitor their communication? Was he just paranoid or is that how billionaires have to think?

She knows she can't ask him that directly, so she asks something else, hoping for a hint:

"What topics?"

"I promise to talk to you about it when I see you in person. I'm so glad you are enjoying the book."

Did that really mean he was comfortable discussing details of his private life but not the ideas in Jude the Obscure?

She remembered that he'd made her turn off the recording device when he told her about his pursuit of wealth and power. Perhaps he wants his ambition to be a secret from the world.

But he is the founder and CEO of a massive financial firm. He put his name on a skyscraper in Manhattan. Does he really think people don't know he's ambitious?

She turns it all over and over again in her mind, and, rereading his list of requirements for a wife, she reaches a tentative solution:

Perhaps he is simply testing her discretion on a matter of no importance before he trusts her with anything significant.

So she decides not to ask him about it again until she sees him in person, just in case.

Instead she responds to his text with a flirtatious message:

"Does that mean if a girl sends you nude pics she might get famous? Asking for a friend."

"Tell her it's worth a try," he winks back. Before she can reply he sends another text: "Multiple tries." And then another: "Lots and lots of tries."

"She wants you to send some first," Angie replies.

"Give her my regrets that I'm unable to comply with her request."

"She already has some, practically."

"ORLY?"

She sends him the raciest photo she can find from the 2013 Celebrity PM "World's Sexiest Man" article about him, one where is entire oiled-up body is covered by only a tiny little European-style swimsuit, and even that shows an extremely suggestive pattern of lumps....

"Looks like she owes me a similar pic," he responds.

"We'll have to discuss these things in person," she texts, using his wink emoji.

Meanwhile, she makes her best effort to complete her final assignments and to study for her exams with all this going on in her mind and heart, but she knows that her work does not fairly reflect her ability for at no moment awake or asleep can she concentrate on anything except the exhilarating thought that Shiva Black might love her.

Her grades will suffer. She's starting college off on the wrong foot.

And she does not give a gosh darn.

Because Shiva Black might love her.

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

Finals period at St. George's lasts two weeks, and her date with Shiva falls on the Saturday right in the middle of them.

He lands back in the city that morning and in the afternoon he flies up to her college in (as he put it) one of his helicopters. One of his drivers picks her up in one of his Rolls-Royces to take her to greet him at the helipad.

She has put on the brand new outfit he bought her — a little blue dress, ankle-strap heels, a cute black clutch, and an understated but elegant ensemble of pearl and silver jewelry — but underneath it all she secretly wears a naughty little bustier that she bought herself!

She chats with the driver, a woman named Shawna and not much older than herself, on the way, with the driver looking at her in the rear-view mirror.

"He'll like that little dress," Shawna tells her. "I know his type."

"His type?"

"Skinny little things like you," she tells Angie. "He dates a lot of models."

"Oh," Angie sighs, disappointed.

"No, no, honey, don't worry. Like I said, he'll like you, especially in that dress. I know his type."

"But I'm not a model."

"No, but he also dates a lot of women who aren't models, as long as they're pretty, like you."

"A lot of models and a lot of women who aren't models."

Shawna looks at her with compassion.

"With a man like Mister Black, everything is upside-down. Usually a man goes out trying to seduce women, and the women have to figure out whether they trust him. With Mister Black, the women try to seduce him, and he has to figure out whether he trusts them. But this isn't your first time meeting him, right?"

"It's my third."

"Third? And he's been calling you?"

"Yes."

"Girl, you've made it a lot further than most women. He must really like you."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"Don't worry, honey. I knew as soon as I saw you in that little blue dress, he's really going to like you."

They are stopped at a security checkpoint before they get to the helipad. Shawna rolls down the window to talk to a guard.

"Sorry, there'll be a delay," he says. "There was a crash so they've got a lot to clean up."

"A crash?"

"A big one. A Sikorsky S-92. Pilot was drunk, I hear."

"Oh, god," Shawna gasps. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. S-92."

"Oh god. Oh god. Were there any survivors?"

"No," the guard says, looking closely at her.

"Oh, god," Shawna closes her eyes and leans back against the seat.

"What?" Angie demands. "What is it?"

"Oh, honey," Shawna leans back with her eyes closed. "That was Mister Black's helicopter."

"What?" Angie cries. "What?"

"No, no, no," the guard waves his hand to dismiss their worries. "You mean Shiva Black?"

"Yeah."

"No, wasn't him," the guard waves his hand again.

"Are you sure?" Shawna almost barks at him. "He flies in S-92s."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I can't tell you who — that's against the rules — but I can tell you it wasn't Mister Black."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"You want me to check for you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Just a moment."

The guard walks away to speak through a handheld radio while Shawna prays:

"Oh, dear Jesus, let it not be him. Dear god, please."

Angie silently joins her prayer, crossing herself.

The guard returns a moment later.

"Nope. Wasn't him. Black's still in the air. He'll land as soon as we get things cleaned up for him."

"Oh, thank God," Shawna and Angie agree.

"Sorry to scare you," the guard tells them. "Other people will be grieving tonight, but you don't have to."

"Oh, thank God," Shawna repeats.

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

Eventually they let Shawna drive them in, along with several other black Rolls-Royces, making Angie wonder which other important people might be traveling with him or arriving on their own helicopters.

Then she watches through the tinted windows of the car as seven men hop out of his helicopter. She cannot immediately tell which of them is Shiva; he apparently travels with an entourage of bodyguards as tall, muscular, well-dressed and dark as he is.

They split up and most of them get into the other cars, and she realizes that she is traveling in a convoy, as from among the body doubles she sees the man himself heading toward the car she's in.

As he approaches, Shawna flips on the privacy screen and gets out to open the door for him.

"Hey, sexy!" he laughs, leaping into the car. "I've missed you!"

He reaches for her and she moves toward him, finding herself suddenly on his lap, his arms around her, one of his large hands on her waist, the other gently on the back of her head, his lips on hers — the new "happiest moment of her life."

"My god, you are even more beautiful than I remembered."

"Did you have a good trip?"

"No," he scowls. "I got good work done but I missed you the whole time."

"You did not," she demurs coquettishly, but he pulls her in for another kiss.

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

The event begins with a dinner in St. Thomas More Hall, during which several people speak. She sits next to Shiva at the long table on the dais in the front of the room; on her right is the dean of the college, who treats her with deference even after he finds out she's a freshman.

Students — including some that she recognizes — in tuxedos serve them while President Fox talks about how proud the St. George community is of its new museum and how much it will benefit the scholars, thanking a few people including "Mister Black" for their help creating it. Then an archbishop tells them how important it is for young Catholic intellectuals to study Medieval European history. Finally, a professor gives a long speech about the medieval inquisition, emphasizing the ways it has been misrepresented by later critics.

Angie listens politely but spends most of her attention aware of the eyes on her since she's sitting next to Shiva, trying not to do anything embarrassing. She eats very carefully and smiles at anyone she catches looking at her.