Peter, Prue Ch. 04

At times their evenings ended in bed together, and the sex was great. But soon they started playing at different games, seducing innocent girlfriends and awkward boyfriends, loving wives and cheating husbands, leaving a nonchalant wake of broken hearts and disillusion - laughing at the debris and having a great time.

It contrasted very nicely with the tedious routine of her studies, and the bland turn her life took after meeting Prue. Of course she kept the girl in blissful ignorance about her second life.

She and Kuric started challenging each other to take ever-bigger risks. They invited danger, putting each other in reckless situations - pushing their game closer and closer to the abyss.

'Dangerous Liaisons,' Julia thought, chuckling.

Then she remembered the day she had to bail him out.

He'd just made head of a new department and was unaware that he'd seduced and fucked the young wife of a colleague. He'd 'helped' her on her way with a tiny pill, and she proved allergic to an ingredient.

At the hospital they stated she'd been drugged and soon the husband found out she'd been with Kuric, his boss. Being a rather timid man, he didn't resort to violence; he just went to the police and informed HR.

The legal department started earning their money, finding experts to cast doubt on the hospital's findings. It also had been quite easy to bribe Julia in providing an alibi, although she cruelly kept postponing her disposition.

She remembered that the money she got for it paid for a new bathroom and redecorating her apartment.

After all the dust settled, she made him see very clearly how he owed her big time.

To avoid any more scandal, the company shipped Kuric to a branch in Britain, only to return half a year ago.

From the moment Prue told her that a Victor Kuric had returned from Europe to become her boss, Julia knew she would collect his debt. She'd seen him in town a couple of times, often too busy seducing young girls and older wives to see her.

But on the evening of her return to sobriety, Julia'd gone looking for him at a bar she knew he frequented after work. As she'd walked in with all her guns blazing, he recognized her immediately.

"Oh God!" he'd cried out with pathetic irony, grabbing for his heart. "Juli Cool! The one and only Queen of the fucking Night."

Julia chuckled as she reminded herself that while being abroad he hadn't even once taken the trouble of dropping her a line or keeping in contact. He hadn't even invited her to his wedding. Too ashamed of confronting his fine new in-laws with the tramp in his closet, she thought.

She'd had to see the pictures in the glossies.

His milky-skinned wife gave him twin boys before they came back to the States. Seeing him feeding drinks to barely legal girls at the bar convinced her that marriage or even fatherhood hadn't slowed him down one bit.

"Victor Fucking Kuric," she sang with her sweetest voice. "Interrupted at his favorite game."

They'd kissed and retired to a distant booth with a bottle of wine, him dumping the girls without an afterthought. They shared memories, falling back into their flirty and strictly superficial tone of voice.

Victor had no idea Prue knew Julia. She might have told him about her, but Julia doubted if he would have made the connection, being his good old self absorbed, assholed self.

It took Kuric only minutes to start bragging about a 'new project' as he called it: this 'little chick that worked for him, married of course and daughter of money. "Naïve," he said, "and quite the catch. Pretty little thing."

Basking in the egotistic certainties of the self-proclaimed alpha man he'd obviously gone to work the moment he sensed the recent changes in Prue's marriage - the widening cracks in her armor.

Marveling at the man's predictability, Julia started feeding his ego, while refilling his glass without pause. She was stunned how easy it was to usher the man onto a path that already had proven almost fatal for him in the past.

He really must believe he was invulnerable.

They ended up in a room at the Carlton, but he was so drunk that fucking was out of the question. She didn't mind.

Now sitting at the Orangerie, watching the entrance, Julia felt the heat of her anger simmering in the pit of her stomach. She wondered whom she hated more, Gascoyne who dumped her expecting his child or his spoilt, greedy daughter. She also noted that she didn't care what would happen to Victor Fucking Kuric or his sham of a marriage.

To be very sure, she'd once more met Victor yesterday over drinks at the lounge of the Carlton, subtly milking him for the latest news in his quest of 'his new little housewife,' as he put it.

So here she was, waiting, sipping coffee.

***

Last night Peter had crashed at his old place, after drinking and eating with a few of his colleagues, one of them female. He'd danced with her and through a haze of alcohol he remembered a long and steaming kiss.

He hadn't phoned Prue. Prue hadn't phoned him. It caused a sense of guilt lingering at the back of his head, covered by muffling excuses. It was like a dung heap buzzing with flies. Still he fought every weak lurch of it to get front stage and bother him.

He loved Prue - he kept telling himself he still loved her.

But why did he have to keep telling himself that? And why did he fight his guilt - why not phone her? And, finally, why did he get up in the middle of the night to masturbate to the images of him and Julia?

When he went up in the elevator next morning, he met the girl he'd kissed the night before, and he knew work had stopped being the innocent and uncomplicated haven it used to be. He'd messed that up too, he thought as his eyes traveled down her tight body, her firm dancer's legs and up again to her face. She smiled.

"Hi, Peter," she said.

He wrecked his mind to find her name.

"That was fun, last night," she added.

He mumbled an agreement.

***

Prue's heart raced like a little bird's.

Damn, she wasn't a teenage girl anymore, was she? Not a wide-eyed innocent. She was a woman, an experienced, adult woman who'd had her choice of men. Who'd proved she could wrap them around her little finger. A married woman, a...

Her brain came to a halt.

She shook her head to get rid of that last thought. But then again, why should she? She hadn't seen Pete for two day and a night; no phone calls either, no explanations, no excuses.

As far as she knew, she was on her own.

Holding on to Victor Kuric's arm she walked up the steps to the Orangerie in her new heels, savoring the thrill and the glamour of it all. Inside it wasn't busy yet. The high, beautiful room had tall windows and a vaulted glass ceiling. Plants were everywhere and so was the twitter of birds.

She inhaled an overwhelmingly sweet scent of blooming oranges.

The maître d' walked up to them, asking for their reservation. The woman smiled at Victor; then she led them to the back where an intimate table waited, shielded by tall plants on three sides. As they sat down Victor ordered a bottle of champagne. Prue objected weakly, but the woman had already left.

"You look gorgeous," Victor said.

Sitting down, their eyes were almost level. They were also very close. The impact of his steely gray gaze made her look down and blush. He chuckled. She cursed inwardly.

Then the woman returned, pouring the bubbly wine.

"To us," he said.

Us?

The champagne was sweet, but strong. Prue knew she shouldn't drink fast, and stop after this one glass. She really should be careful. She really should.

But then again, why?

Picking up the menu, if only to get her eyes away from his, she felt his hand on hers.

"Please allow me to order for us," he said.

Prue looked up. He smiled.

"Oh," she said. "But I'll just have a simple salad."

His smile changed into the comical expression of a begging puppy. It made her giggle.

"Salad it will be, madame," he said, taking away the menu. "But first let me order us some oysters. I bet you love oysters."

The word shocked Prue.

Of course there had been oysters in her life - at the posh Gascoyne dinner tables and when they traveled. But the first time she'd really and consciously tasted one was on her first vacation with Peter; somewhere in Europe, maybe Brussels.

The place had been gorgeous - art deco, lots of glass and decorated, shining tiles. It was a perfect little lunch place after crossing the old city's length and breadth. She remembered a drizzly rain outside; it hadn't mattered. Nothing had mattered in those days, just she and him and all the things they did together.

They'd fed each other the raw, salty, slithering creatures at the cute high table, drinking white wine, Loire wine, she remembered. Sancerre. It had just been a standing lunch - nothing much really, but everything.

Prue pushed back her chair and rose.

"Sorry, Victor," she said. "This is a mistake. I can't do this. I'm very sorry."

"Pruts, honey!"

The voice came from behind her.

Prue turned her head. Julia stood there, all in tight white. The jersey dress was painted on her tits and thighs. It made her blond hair look even blonder; her red lips were a stoplight.

"Jules," Prue said.

"Such a coincidence," Julia exclaimed. "Didn't know you ever visit this place; and with such gorgeous company."

She smiled, looking pointedly at Victor Kuric, who had risen too.

Confronted with the overwhelmingly self-assured and beautiful woman who fucked her husband - on a moment of utter confusion concerning her own loyalty, caused her brain to short-circuit.

All she could do was stare.

"Care to introduce us, honey?" Julia asked, turning to Prue, smiling and pressing her white Prada purse against her ample chest.

"Eh, of course," Prue stammered, returning from her black out. "Please, this is Victor Kuric, my boss. And Vic, this is Julia Connors, my ehm... friend."

Julia chuckled, leaning her head sideways.

"Boss eh?" she said, smiling.

She raised her right hand and extended it to Victor, red nails blazing on slender fingers. He hesitated to take it. Then he reached out.

"Enchanté," he said, taking her fingertips between his. "Prue has a beautiful ehm... friend."

His eyes sparkled as he repeated the slight pause Prue had used.

"But I must be disrupting an important, ehm... business meeting," Julia said.

"Not at all," Vic assured her. "Prue was just leaving, weren't you, Prue?"

Victor's eyes didn't smile, nor did his face. Prue knew she'd offended him. Of course she had; she'd acted like a silly child. He just wanted to be suave and treat her on oysters, so what?

She tried to smile, fighting back angry tears.

"No, I'm not," she said, sitting down again. "I'm so sorry, Vic, I..."

Victor's face beamed as he looked from Prue to Julia. Then he shrugged.

"Women," he said.

Julia chuckled. She bent down, whispering into Prue's ear.

"You naughty little slut," she said. "Go get him, but don't forget to tell me all about it."

Prue raised a hand in a weak half-protest. Julia had already disappeared behind a flowering tree.

***

His phone rang. Pete picked it up, noticing the caller.

"Stop pestering me, Jules."

"Don't be like this, Pete," Julia said. "You know I'm on your side."

He guffawed.

"You on my side?" he asked. "Just give me a second to imagine."

He paused.

"Imagine what, honey?" Julia asked.

"Sssssh," he said. "I'm trying to imagine what would happen to me if you were against me."

Julia sighed.

"Don't be sarcastic with me, Pete. It doesn't suit you. And I don't deserve it."

"You deserve every damn word," Pete said, raising his voice. "You're a conniving bitch."

"If that's what you think..," Julia answered, leaving the line unfinished.

Peter wasn't stupid. He knew she was trying to lead him on, playing the offended friend and touching the buttons of his curiosity. What was she up to? She'd been the one behind it all, hadn't she? She'd always been around - all these weeks of his slow decent into misery. Always calling, advising - understanding.

A friend? A lying, manipulating force at least, probably more.

"You were always there, Jules," he said. "Always pushing me, massaging me, advising me and making me doubt Prue, feeding me drinks, seducing me to fuck you and betray my wife."

He thought he heard a muffled snicker.

"Your truly loyal, loving wife," Julia then said, emphasizing the word.

"You know what I mean," he muttered.

"No, Pete," she said, lacing her voice with just a pinch of indignation. "I don't know what you mean at all. I gave you heartfelt advice when you didn't know what to do. I reported what your wife was up to, like a good friend should. And I gave you comfort when the bitch betrayed you."

Peter shook his head to neutralize the impact of her reasoning.

"Julia," he said. "I believe you were behind this whole thing, pushing us apart with your deliberately confusing messages and actions."

He allowed a pause she didn't fill, so he went on:

"Well, I got news for you, Jules: it didn't work. We are together again, Prue and I."

"Together? Really?"

Julia's voice was soft and sympathetic.

"When were you at home with her lately, Pete? Not to mention: in bed?"

A hot cloud sank over his head, tainted with anger.

"That's none of your business!" he yelled into the phone. "Leave us alone!"

The pause that followed was long and filled with soft breathing. Then Julia's voice re-emerged, even smaller than before.

"Is this how you repay a friend?" she asked.

He heard the disappointment. It sounded real and that confused him. Was he selling her short? She was no doubt a gossip and a gold digger, profiting from Prue and seducing her father. She was not a nice person. But could he prove that she really ever hurt him consciously? He couldn't even prove she was behind the messages and what followed. All Kathryn Forbes had was deduction and psychology, wasn't it? He tried to sort out his memories, the things that had happened and the role Julia played.

"What makes you think we are friends, all of a sudden?" he asked. "When did you start being a friend? We never were friends before, were we?"

The pause was even longer this time.

"I'm sorry," Julia then said, sounding lost. "My mistake."

Goddammit, Pete thought. How did she do this? Just finding these words and this hurt tone to make him feel like a heel? Was she playing him again? Or did she mean it?

"I," he hastened to say, "I didn't mean it that way. I do appreciate your sympathy. It just..."

"I know," Julia said, cutting in. "I always liked you, Pete, wanting you for a friend. But you were so... so into this being married to Prue that I thought it wise to keep my distance. Maybe I should have kept it this way, but seeing the bitch treat you like she does..."

Pete missed the present tense she used.

"Okay, Jules, sorry for all that," he said. "What was it you phoned me for?"

***

"So she's your best friend, Julia?" Victor Kuric asked when they were alone again. "Beautiful woman."

Prue shrugged, sighing inwardly. Julia's damn beauty had once more eclipsed hers, like a glittering rain cloud. Why did she have to show up right now?

"I guess she is," she muttered.

Then the waitress interrupted them.

"Did you make your choice?" she asked.

Victor looked over at Prue.

"Oysters?" he asked. "Or will you run again?"

His smile was meant to take the edge off his question.

Prue closed her eyes. There were flashes of Julia in tight white jersey, and of Julia and Pete naked, kissing, fondling, fucking. They disgusted her and enraged her; they also nudged her on.

She shrugged and smiled.

"Oysters it is," she said. "And ehm...," looking into the menu. "A Salade Niçoise."

Just her way to save face.

The waitress jotted it down. Then she took the wine bottle from its bucket and refilled their glasses.

Victor picked up his flute to toast.

"To a fascinating woman," he said.

They drank. Prue wondered if he meant her.

"About the project," she said.

He put down his glass. She felt his warm hand on her wrist.

"Today," he said, focusing his eyes on hers. "Today I have only one project - you."

A hot flash rose from her chest, meeting the ever-increasing buzz in her head. What was wrong with her? This was all so - corny, and yet. She retracted her hand, watching the sparkle of her wedding ring appear from under his fingers. She tried to formulate a protest. But his voice cut into her jumbled thoughts.

"Prue, sweet Prue," he said, leaning in even closer. "You have no idea of your impact on poor me."

She shook her head, eyes wide. Did he really say that?

"You see," he went on, "I recall each and every second of the magical moment we met for the first time, remember? It was in the old paneled conference room."

Prue drowned helplessly in the shoreless oceans of his eyes.

She knew they hadn't met in that conference room, the first time, but it seemed not to matter. Why should she use her sober mind? It only hurt her. Why not prefer the sweet romance of a little white lie? So of course they'd met there, and of course all the details his mellow voice recounted were true. Yes, she'd worn the red dress that stopped halfway her thighs. Of course her hair had been up to show her graceful neck and sparkling ear bells - yes, graceful, sparkling. Her lips had been moist back then, her skin immaculate and her eyes the mirrors of a deep, sensitive soul.

Of course.

What he told her she would have dismissed as schmaltzy and randy, ridiculous even, coming from about any man she knew. But coming from him right now, his hand on hers, his eyes steady, she drank it up, nodding, and responding to his squeezing.

Prue needed what she heard; so she heard what she needed.

She needed attention, any attention. Pete had left her, hadn't he? Jules betrayed her with him, and even her Daddy had traded her in for her best friend - best fucking friend; fucking best friend.

Why should she hang on to a sober mind if it only tortured her?

"I fell for you back then, Prue," the voice went on. "Hard. And all it took you was an amazing minute."

His lips touched her fingertips.

"Oh, Vic," she said. "I never knew."

The oysters arrived.

***

When Peter walked in, they were kissing.

Prue had moved to Vic's side of the table and now his hand was on the hot skin of her inner thigh - his tongue on its way down into her throat. Her blouse hung open, showing the lace of her bra.

They didn't see him, of course.

"Kuric," Peter said, pushing the word past his tightening throat. "Victor Kuric - I should have fucking known."

Victor Kuric looked up from Prue's mouth, leaving a gleaming strand of saliva on her chin.

Prue swallowed, eyes wide.

"Pete," she said, blinking.

Was that it, Peter thought, a stupid exchange of names? How fucking mindless. He looked down on the table, seeing the empty oyster shells. More than the kissing, more even than the grabbing and the open blouse, the sight of the oyster shells pushed him over the edge.

Reaching forward he clawed at Kuric's shirt, ripping a button off as he pulled him up. Kuric's hand blocked Pete's fist on its way to his face. The table moved on screeching legs; glasses shattered noisily on the floor. The metal bucket fell, spreading ice cubes.

A chair toppled.

Then Kuric had Peter against an iron pillar, a hand around his throat, noses almost touching.