Peter, Prue Ch. 03

"Yes," she said sarcastically. "And she really is a trustful source. You see, Peter, I can imagine you still love Prue. She's a spoilt, confused child, but she never betrayed you on purpose. Julia, on the other hand, is a monster."

She paused, for dramatic reasons he supposed.

"From what you told me about her and what Alec here tells us, she has it all thought out, including the pregnancy. She's a gold digger and has been ever since Prue offered her to share a flat."

"You see, Peter," she went on, "we dug into her past and we find trailer camps. We also find a mother turning tricks, an endless stream of johns and an absent father. Julia was a clever girl; her teachers did everything to get her into college. There was a small scholarship; too small to make ends meet. So when Prue came into her life, Julia had already picked up her mother's trade to survive. We found out she hardly paid any rent and still doesn't."

"Of course she doesn't," Peter said. "They are best friends."

Forbes paused, looking away; then returning her gaze.

"Julia is a whore, Peter," she said. When he once more protested, she waved it away. "Maybe not on street corners, maybe not on call, but mentally she is and always has been. It is how she thinks the world works. She has no idea about loyalty or friendship. I bet she thinks helping people with no material reward is stupid. I'm sure she ridicules Prue behind her back. She might even hate her for her wealth and privileges - and Prue's silly love for you."

Peter had no idea what to say.

The lawyer's words opened a world for him that was utterly cold and indifferent. He recalled the times he'd seen Julia and Prue together, the easy friendship, the fun they seemed to have.

"I can't believe it," he whispered.

Forbes had stopped smiling long ago. It almost softened her face.

"I know you can't," she said. "People like you and Prue have no clue. She walked like a child into a tiger's cage, supposing she'd found a lost kitten."

She picked up the pot and poured fresh coffee before going on.

"Julia's affair with Gascoyne must have started almost from the day Prue introduced her to him. At first it was only once a month, maybe, and very secret, but after Prue moved to Peter's apartment, Jules began to work on the old man. I guess she succeeded. And now she wants it all."

"So we are just lateral damage?" Peter asked.

Forbes smiled her iron smile.

"I'd say you are, Peter," she said. "But Prue is a real target. Julia knows your wife doesn't really want the divorce. That's where this little photo gallery of debauchery comes in. Through old Andy and the new 'evidence' she got the lawyers to crank up the show, make it public and stretch it out. I guess her brothers will be targets too, soon. Manipulating a drug addict and a playboy shouldn't be too difficult for her. But I guess Gascoyne's wife will be a harder nut to crack for our little ambitious upstart."

Peter stared out of the window. They were at the 11^th floor; the view was great, but he didn't see it.

"I get sick of this," he said. "I can't believe Julia is like this; I fucking went to bed with her."

There was a long and painful silence. Then Forbes cleared her throat, sorting through her papers.

"Your case," she said, reminding Peter why he was really there.

Peter dwelt at a distant place. He tried to focus his eyes.

"Yes, of course," he said.

Forbes sat straighter. It made her starched blouse rustle.

"I guess," she began, "we could work on exposing Julia Connors' machinations and blackmail Gascoyne. But I'm afraid that for faster success the key lies with Prue. She has the power to stop it all at once."

"But will she? Will she even listen?"

Forbes shrugged.

"Don't ask me, you never tried, did you? Besides, I'm biased. Prue is the only one standing between a quick solution and a long dragged-out procedure in and out of court that would earn me a lot of money and make you bankrupt. I win either way, so you decide."

She showed her toothy grin again. It must be the woman's sense of humor. The P.I. seemed to know her well, as he grinned the same wolfish grin - with less attractive teeth, however.

"I'll call her," Peter said.

***

"You're after his money," Prue said, back at the Carlton lounge. She rose from her chair again.

Julia looked up at her, slowly shaking her head left and right.

"What do you know about money," she said. It wasn't a question. "You were born into it; it's all around you. In fact you don't even notice it anymore."

As she talked, Julia got to her tall heels too, towering over Prue.

"I had to fight for it, you spoilt bitch," she went on.

"No," Prue said, finally seeing quite a different Julia. "No, you never fought for it. You grab it and you steal it. You used me, just like you're using daddy now. You are a leech."

The slap resounded through the lounge.

A red blotch blossomed on Prue's cheek. For only a second she stood speechless. Then she threw the content of her glass into Julia's face, turned on her heels and walked out.

Julia watched her leave through blurry, stinging eyes.

A jumble of thoughts went through her head. She'd shown her hand and even dumb Prue had seen it. She'd gloated just for the thrill of it. Damn, so stupid. Julia dried her face with a napkin. Then she picked up her purse and walked to the restrooms, to check her blouse and make up - and to think. What could the girl do? Make it up with Peter? That would be fine; she'd had her fun with them.

But what about daddy?

After cleaning up, Julia returned to the lounge. Her phone rang. She fished it from her purse.

"Daddy!" she said.

"Julia," Gascoyne growled. "Where are you?"

"At the Carlton with Prue," she said. "Getting her out of the house for a girls' night, you know - gossip, dancing, fun."

There was a short silence.

"Is she with you now?"

Julia hesitated.

"Yes," she lied, not really knowing why. "She's to the toilets. You want to talk to her?"

"No need," Gascoyne said. "She just phoned me."

A cold finger touched Julia's spine.

"Ah, I see."

"She cried. I could hardly understand her."

Typical, Julia thought.

"Oh?" she asked. "Okay, I'll run to the toilets and see."

"No need, Julia," Gascoyne said again. She didn't like the sound of his voice. "She said she's on her way to Peter."

"Why would she do that?"

"You tell me," Gascoyne said.

"Daddy?" Julia asked, but he'd hung up on her.

***

"Peter?"

"Prue?"

"I've been such a fool."

"That makes two of us."

Silence.

"Prue?"

"Yes?"

"We should talk."

"Yes. Oh yes, Peter, we should. I'm so sorry."

"I should be the one feeling sorry."

"No, Peter. I've been the fool."

"Where are you now?"

"On my way home."

"Which home?"

"Ours."

"I'll be there."

***

Peter walked in.

Prue was already there, still wearing her sexy club gear.

"Oh, Pete!" she exclaimed and ran to him.

They embraced. He felt her familiar sweet body against his through the flimsy fabric of her dress. They kissed; it lasted minutes, only to be repeated after they let go. Then he studied her face. His finger traced the light bruise on her cheek.

"Jules," she said. "She slapped me."

"She did?"

"Yes. I called her a leech."

He studied her eyes.

"You know."

She nodded.

"She was behind it all. She manipulated us."

"I feel ashamed," Peter said. "To fall so easily for her game. I should never have accused you."

She ran a finger over his cheek.

"We were both so stupid," she said, giggling nervously.

She felt his warm hand on her exposed back. She moved closer into his embrace. His other hand was on her ass cheek now, moving the slippery fabric over her skin.

"Oh God, Pete," she whispered. "How I missed this."

They kissed again, their hands wandering everywhere - their bodies arching into each other. His fingers plucked at her dress, a hand slid into her cleavage. Her hands wriggled between their bodies to find his belt.

Their kiss never stopped.

***

They lie on the bed, sweat gleaming on their exposed bodies.

Prue's fingers played with the short curls of his pubes, pulling at them. She sighed. He smiled. His arm was under her neck; he pulled her closer. She shivered against him.

"Are you cold?"

"No," she said with another sigh. "Never again."

"How silly of us to believe her."

Prue's finger touched his lips to close them.

"Shhh," she said.

Silence returned to the bedroom.

Peter heard her slow breathing. He felt the pulse of her heart in the crook of his arm. Her body warmth radiated into his skin. Was this it? Was it this easy? Shame touched him yet again when he thought how quickly they had separated, believing each and every rumor - ignoring their love.

It felt good to be in her embrace again.

It felt natural. How could he have been fooled so thoroughly? There obviously was a crack in their once perfect love. Did that mean it could open again any moment?

"Are you asleep, Prue?" he asked.

He heard a little, murmuring 'no.'

"I don't think I ever really believed the messages," he said.

She stiffened in his embrace.

"I did," she answered.

The silence suddenly felt heavy.

"I guess I did too," he then admitted.

Prue crawled tighter against him.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I never stopped," he said.

***

Julia called Gascoyne a dozen times that evening.

She left long and passionate voice mail messages. He never responded. She knew she had to talk to him and repair whatever damage she'd done. She cursed herself for gloating over Prue. She'd let her need to humiliate the girl get in the way. Maybe she should never have meddled with their silly marriage at all.

Damn.

She listened to the tiny beeps worming into her ear as she waited for him to pick up - not really expecting he would anymore.

Then he did.

"Stop calling me, Julia," he said. But he didn't disconnect.

"Andy, sweet Andy," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

She knew exactly which voice to use, what words to pick.

"I guess I blew it," she went on when he didn't answer. "But I had no choice. I had to protect you."

"Protect me?" he said, and she knew she had his attention.

"Can't do this over the phone, honey," she said, whispering again. "Where can we talk? Please come to my apartment."

"This better be something," he muttered.

She knew it would be.

***

Andy Gascoyne didn't scare easily.

That's why he never believed in bodyguards and other forms of protection that were so popular with the rich and powerful. He'd always believed that personal freedom was the real wealth a person could have.

What's the use of being rich when all it buys you is a golden cage?

So it was just Andy Gascoyne who drove up to his mistress's apartment in his vintage Jaguar - another of his quaint tics. No armored limos for him, no chauffeurs, no overprized and overweight Silver Shadows.

When he rang the bell, Julia was at her Victoria's Secret's best.

Even the winged angels of their annual show would have a hard time topping her. The room was filled with candlelight, and it made the transparent fabric of her negligée shimmer like golden mist. Her hair cascaded over her bare shoulders; her make up was perfect, and her tits larger than ever.

Julia Connors was ready.

"Honey!" she breathed as she ran to him on her heeled slippers, chest dancing, arms open for an embrace. He raised a hand, and she knew things would be harder than she thought.

"I came to hear you talk," he said, using his business voice. It dwelt halfway between unemotional and bullying.

He looks tired, she thought - brittle. Disappointed?

"Please sit down, Daddy," she said, leading him to the leather couch. "Let me make you a drink."

He sat down, but he didn't want a drink. She pouted. Then she cranked up the wattage of her smile and sat down next to him, her legs under her, her hands searching for his.

"You hit Prue," he said. "Why?"

The nimble fingers of Julia's mind ran past virtual rows and rows of little levers that indicated just as many dangerous subjects - subjects that would indicate that he knew. It only took her a fraction of a second to decide he didn't know anything disastrous, not really.

Otherwise he would not have asked her why she slapped the little bitch, would he?

Giving her best imitation of a guilty little lap dog, she looked at him and murmured an answer she knew he wouldn't hear.

"Speak up!" he said. It was exactly what Julia wanted - making him use his bully-voice so he would feel at ease, and she could play the scared rabbit.

"Sorry," she said with a small stutter, using the moment to crawl closer to him. "I said: I couldn't help it. She was so mean to you, Daddy."

He slid back, raising his eyebrows.

"Mean? My Prue mean to me? Nonsense!"

More bullying, more alibi for Julia to play the shrinking, scared little submissive she knew he liked her to be.

"Sorry," she repeated, shrugging to make her breasts do funny things inside their lace cradle.

His gaze wandered, if only for a moment, but it was enough to send a thrill up her chest. She lowered her eyes and forced a blush to her cheeks. Her fingers touched his upper leg.

"She made fun of you because of my p-pregnancy."

The quiver in her voice made her sound close to crying. Another thrill touched her heart when his big hand covered hers.

"I'm sure you misunderstood her, baby."

His voice lost its metal, turning soft. And he used his sweetest endearment. Julia breathed with a shiver, letting her head sink to his shoulder. Counting seconds, she felt his hand starting to caress her shoulder.

She allowed a sob to break through.

"I... I can't help it... I am so... so...," she stammered into his shoulder. "I am so damn emotional ever since I know about our little Andy inside me..."

The hand on her shoulder tightened. She crept deeper into his jacket.

"I felt insulted... I... I felt she insulted you, us... what we have. I think she's jealous, having lost Peter and all."

It was a gamble, but then this whole thing was one big gamble, wasn't it? She rose, showing him her blotched, wet face. Her eyes were as big and moist as she could make them.

"Then she said she would tell Florence about us, and about me being pregnant... and the divorce. Everything."

He chuckled.

It made his body and the couch move. Then he lowered his face to kiss the wetness from her cheeks.

"Why did you have to fuck Peter Hawkins?" he then asked, all the softness gone.

Damn.

"Prue showed me the pictures, you know," he went on, pushing her away from him.

Julia's brain raced.

She'd always considered herself superior to all these emotional, spoilt creatures surrounding her at college and later on. She was a street-wise alley cat, always keeping her eyes on the prize, never tricked by feelings - fighting for a better life.

And now look.

Spite, it had been silly spite and stupid jealousy. The race had been run, goddammit, and she'd already won. And still she had to fuck the stupid man and show it to Prue. For thrills, to gloat, and to make the bitch's life even more miserable. Then, to seal the deal, she had to rub the baby in.

What did she think?

"Well?" Gascoyne asked, rising from the couch.

She looked up to him, and to her surprise hot tears ran down her cheeks. The surprise wasn't the tears, but the fact that they were real. When had she truly cried the last time? An image of her mother slapping her and kicking her out of the trailer came to mind, what, twenty years ago?

She slid off the couch and on her knees, sobbing.

"Don't start telling me now that you were drunk. That he raped you or whatever," Gascoyne said, his voice sounding distant. "I saw the pictures."

When all is lost, all that remains is honesty.

"I am young," she said, her words punctuated with sobs. "I needed it."

***

It was night and Peter had stayed. So had Prue.

It was their first night together after, well, weeks. Looking back it seemed even longer. Peter felt Prue's naked skin touch the length of his back and legs. It was how they'd always slept, before...

He cranked his neck to see the ceiling.

All the fleeing shadows were there, from the streetlights and the passing traffic, the moonlight maybe, stippled with the dark little ghosts of tree leaves. He remembered how they'd looked like demons during his sleepless nights. All over now, he thought. All gone.

Prue moaned in her dreams.

They'd finally talked, telling every detail of the painful farce they'd been part of. Damn scheming Julia. Why couldn't she just have been happy with angling the old fool from the muddy waters? Having his child and getting his fortune... why this attack on Prue and him? How resentful can you get? And why? Prue had given her everything, hadn't she? The apartment almost for free, all the furniture, a chance to finish college.

He wondered about Julia's background - the trailer home, the absent father, the whoring mother to make ends meet... Maybe she couldn't help it. Maybe she was already lost when she went to high school.

He tried to imagine growing up like that.

It was hard to imagine. He hadn't been from rich folks either, but so many things had been normal - like having loving parents, money to play sports, choose a study, have a car, however old, get your ambitions taken seriously, go to festivals and concerts, having fun...

Another moan from Prue interrupted his line of thought.

What was he doing? Was he trying to understand Julia, the conniving bitch that spread lies to ruin their lives? Who drugged and boozed up her best friend; then sending pictures of her being helplessly fucked - raped, really?

He groaned, slipping out of Prue's embrace, and the warmth of the bed.

The floor was cold to his bare feet. He plodded over to the bathroom. Standing over the porcelain receptacle, he sent a hissing stream down. He wondered why he wasn't a lot madder at Julia. She'd fooled him into betraying his wife, hadn't she? Sending pictures to hurt her.

The pictures entered his mind - animated by his memory and imagination.

Pictures of Julia sucking his cock; her fat red lips sliding up and down; her eyes never leaving his; her tongue doing tricks he never knew existed. Pictures of Julia as she was riding him. He watches her big tits swaying from below - the huge swollen nipples standing out.

Returning from his memories, he looked down on his penis.

It had stopped passing water. The skin was still red from the two times he'd made love to Prue. The cock looked swollen too, being half-erect. He touched its exposed head with his thumb, watching it jump. Still very sensitive, he thought.

Julia had praised his girth, he remembered.

It had fit her mouth better than it did Prue's. Prue didn't like blowing his cock - only when she wanted to please him, really. Julia had swallowed its total length, to his astonishment. She hadn't even gagged.

His cock rose from his fist.

Its head shone with an angry purple, pushing out a clear, slimy drop of liquid. His hand started a slow, unconscious pumping. New images entered his mind. Feelings too, of how Julia's tongue played with the head, swirling around its rim. How she had licked his balls, his anus.