The Last Gamble

This chapter further develops the story between Portia and Lawrence. Read chapter 1 to get a better picture of the story so far. As always, do vote and comment at the end.

I could barely wait for the weekend, when I could meet Portia again, but the next week seemed to drag on unreasonably. Memories of our first meeting kept me in a happy daze for the week, right until some bad news considerably soured it. I had worked hard to secure a deal with some Chinese investors. In the current economy, it was a godsend to the firm and I had worked like never before with the single-minded goal of getting those foreign dollars.

The bad news came in the form of my colleague Carl, who had been under the cosh as of late for underperforming. He needed something to shore up his reputation, by hook or crook, and unfortunately for me, he chose crook. Only when the section head praised Carl for his work on the collaboration with Zhou & Chang, the biggest investor group in Beijing did I understand how my week was soured: he had clearly copied my incomplete report and investment proposal and just changed my name to his own. To say, I was shattered would be an understatement. I saw a smug, self- important bastard being paraded by my superiors off the back of my hard work. Well, at least there was Portia to look forward to.

I somehow made it to Saturday without beating Carl to a pulp, and then met with Portia at my apartment. We had plans to make for the next day, our first official date, but first, something that took greater precedence over making plans. Portia barely made it a few steps through my door when I pounced on her and swept her off her feet. She had that radiant smile and those crystal blue eyes shimmered with her inherent vivaciousness as I gently carried her to my bed.

This time there was no music, no disco lights as we just collapsed onto the soft velvet of my bedcover. She laughed in her own joyful way as our clothes went flying over the furniture. I bent over her and kissed her mouth. Her lips parted immediately, and she returned the kiss. My fingertips stroked her shoulders, her neck and her ears. She moved underneath me. I wanted to take a long time to kiss her, to explore her mouth and savour the intimacy, but there were other parts of her body calling to me. Sensing her extreme arousal, I gently moved my mouth down from her lips to her neck. Portia's soft moans showed me my efforts there were appreciated. Then, I reached her breasts.

Without much hesitation, I took the left nipple between my lips as I squeezed her right breast. They were soft and full and just the right size. My mouth then moved to her other nipple as I assaulted the sensitive region with gusto. This elicited a low, throaty moan from her as I continued my sensual ministrations on her breasts. I couldn't wait any longer, it was time for me to move even lower.

I slipped down the bed, between her thighs and kissed her belly. My tongue flicked in and out of her navel. My head went lower. I gently kissed her bald pussy, my lips pulling at the soft folds of her skin. She was paralysed by shock as my tongue began to probe in the crevices and then part her lips with my fingers, thrusting deep inside her. Finally my relentless tongue found a tiny, sensitive place, so sensitive that my touch was almost painful at first. She forgot her shock as she was overwhelmed by the most piercing sensation she had ever experienced. Unable to restrain herself, she moved her hips up and down, faster and faster, rubbing her slippery flesh over my mouth, chin, nose and forehead, totally absorbed in her own pleasure. It built and built, feeding on itself, until she felt utterly possessed by joy and opened her mouth to scream.

The scream resonated throughout the room as I finally raised my drenched face from her. She just lay there for some time, with a content look on her face. I went to wash up while she got dressed. I returned to find her dressed up and holding my clothes in one hand. I slipped on a Harvard tee and moved over to her side.

We just sat there, staring at each other, too overwhelmed to speak. Finally she asked me, "Speechless?"

I just nodded in silent agreement.

"Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot.", she said as her piercing gaze fixed on me.

I smiled at her," DH Lawrence. Nice taste in literature. I was named after him, by the way."

She tilted her head to one side and surveyed me intently for some time. What was going on behind those beautiful blue eyes, I wondered?. Portia seemed to snap back to reality and asked about our plans for the next day. We decided that I would make dinner arrangements and she would make reservations for entertainment afterwards.

She asked me," So where are we eating tomorrow, handsome?"

I gave my best sly smirk and nonchalantly said," Le Bernardin, 6 'o' clock."

Her eyebrows rose a few centimetres." Le Bernardin? THE Le Bernardin? Eric Ripert's Le Bernardin? That place is reserved a year in advance."

I smiled inwardly. Eric Ripert was a true culinary genius, probably the best in NY. He was the head chef and owner of Le Bernardin, an acutely high end restaurant. The Saudi royalty ate here when they were in town. The price range meant they had a very selective clientele- senators, heads of state, movie stars, industrialists and the like. Even then the waiting list was for a full year most of the time. My father had hosted several important high profile meetings here with his closest associates and wealthiest clients. Thus, I was on their list of people to be given higher priority. I still had to personally visit Eric to confirm my spot, since it was on such short notice. As it turned out, Portia was impressed.

I went over and poured a couple of glasses of Chateau Petrus- 1949 vintage. This had cost me a tidy sum at an auction at Sotheby's the previous month and I never thought I would be opening it any time soon. But, then again, I never thought that I would meet someone like Portia.

I continued beaming with pride as I asked her about the entertainment schedule for our date.

"I thought we would go to the Royal Shakespeare Company's rendition of Macbeth on Broadway." She said with the air of telling me we were going for a drive-in movie.

Now it was my turn to be flummoxed. "That show was sold out within minutes of the dates being released. How did you......." My voice trailed off as she gently brushed me aside.

"There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio........"

".........than are dreamt of in your philosophy", I groaned as I completed the quote from Hamlet that demonstrated her knowledge of Shakespeare, . She had obviously used some exotic connections of her own to procure those tickets. Given the rave reviews the company had garnered worldwide, I would have given my arm to see it. Moreover, Macbeth was my favourite work from the Bard. My Broadway contact, well connected as he is, could not get me those tickets. How on Earth she got them within the week was beyond me. I was still reeling from this news when she spoke again.

"Afterwards, I have passes to go the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I hear they are having their 'Master's Retrospective' event tomorrow" she said in a similarly nonchalant tone and watched my reaction with an amused expression on her face.

I dropped my glass of wine. To say that I was stunned would be putting it way too mildly. I was shocked to my core. I made a few unintelligible sounds attempting to form words in my mouth. After a minute of incoherent muttering, I finally regained my composure enough to say," You have WHAT!!!"

The Master's Retrospective was the Holy Grail of the worldwide art scene. The event was frightfully exclusive- invite only. Only the best of the best of modern artists and art critics were invited. Getting an invite without being in the two prior categories was beyond impossible, and yet I was going to see it on Sunday. This year the theme would be a personal favourite of mine- 19th century impressionists. You only had to look at the Degas and the Manet in my hallway and the Renoirs and Pissaros in my father's estate in the country to know that this love runs in the family.

We decided to have dinner at Le Cirque before we parted for the night. I wanted to pick her up for dinner, but she insisted on meeting me there at 6 sharp.

The next day, I was dressed in my best suit and had put copious amounts of gel in my hair and cologne on my body. I was actually nervous about a date for the first time in my life. I had a few dates in college. All of them were spoilt daughters of rich politicians and other associates of my father. After graduating, I had categorically told my family not to set me up on any more of those dates.

Finally, my Reventon revved up beside Le Bernardin at 5:50 sharp. I gave my keys to the valet and went inside. After a brief exchange over the phone with Eric, I was ushered to my seat. It was at the opposite end of the main dining hall from the door. I watched as several high powered meetings and negotiations were going on all around me. There was the constant clicking and chatter of cell phones as senators and congressmen spoke to their campaign financiers and aides. High level mergers and acquisitions were flying thick and fast. Any insider will tell you that the meal sets the tone for what goes on in the boardroom. I reeked of cologne, as I sat down and patiently waited for ten minutes.

I looked down into my plate envisioning how the next few hours were going to pass, when all of a sudden, the noise vanished. Instantly. Then I heard audible gasps from the nearby tables. I looked up and then time stopped.

At the dining hall entrance stood Portia Langham, looking more fabulous than anything anyone present had ever seen. She wore a pale green dress which revealed just enough but did not cross the line into revealing. She was radiant like the afternoon sun and could probably light up this whole place with her electric smile. Every other patron, waiter, usher stopped in freeze frame to stare. She spotted me and smiled in my direction. My mouth went dry. As she gracefully walked towards my table, all eyes were fixed on her. People cut short their calls and just followed her movements across the room. I stood up and just stood in awe of her spectacular beauty. She sat down and everybody there stole a final quick glance of her before resuming their own meals.

"Quite the attention grabber, right", she said, trying to make some humour.

"I'll say, you brought this room to a standstill for a few minutes"

"So shall we start, I'm starving. I had to attend the most boring board meeting in human history just half an hour ago."

I laughed a bit and then asked Stan, my favourite waiter to take our orders.

"I'll take Kobe Beef seared two ways, chicken coq au vin and American caviar with a drizzling of olive oil and red wine flambé", I said, rattling out my usual order.

Even without looking at the menu, Portia ordered," Caviar with hearts of palm, lobster thermidor and saltimbocca. Thank you". They were the three most expensive things on the menu.

"So tell me", she started,"what was it like growing up as the son of Charles Everett."

"Well to say the truth, I saw him more often in the Forbes Magazine than in real life. I was born late in his life, when he was 42. He was already well established in the oil and shipping industry by then. Those two have remained his forte but he has branched out since, as you are aware."

'Branched out' is a simple phrase to describe what had happened since. By my tenth birthday, Charles Everett had ruthlessly expanded his business empire to financial services, news media, aerospace, minerals and so much more. Of course, all I got on my tenth birthday from him was a postcard and a signature to a billion dollar trust fund that would mature when I turned 18. I sometimes wish, he had not been as successful and had made more time for his family. My siblings and I always felt we had to prove that we were worthy of his lineage. We did so, but there was always that paternal void which remained empty.

"My sisters have done well for themselves. My eldest sister Katherine is involved in cutting edge medical research. The Republicans may have put budget caps on stem cell research funds, but she emptied her entire billion dollar trust fund into her research. Additionally, she gets massive grants from international bodies and private contributions as well. Claire has been very successful in her career as a venture capitalist. She is the rock star of Silicon Valley and has the knack of identifying start-ups with potential and investing money in them. She has a significant stake in several of the most successful websites now and is constantly looking out for more. My elder brother Howard is a tenured law professor in Harvard."

Portia listened to me patiently and then put a comforting arm on my shoulder," I am sure your father wanted to be there for you, he just didn't find the time."

"Well he should have, that's what fathers do"

"Have you spoken to him lately?"

"The reclusive multi-billionaire Charles Everett? No. Maybe you can go tell him that in his private island off the coast of Newfoundland. He hasn't made any contact with his family in the last decade. Every year, my siblings, their families and my mother make it a point to spend Thanksgiving together." I said, adding, "As a reminder what it should have been like growing up. A board of trustees handles the daily operations of the conglomerate; they have a conference call with the overseas brokers and daddy dearest every day. They have seen him more often than me."

She didn't say anything, just kept looking at me, a hint of sadness in her expression. Then she whipped out her smart phone and spoke to someone for a minute or so. Our food arrived and we started. I asked her about her childhood and she seemed somehow reluctant to divulge any details.

Not wanting the press the issue further, we tucked into our food. The dishes were the closest thing to ambrosia. At the end of our feast, she insisted I get into her car. She had a stretched limousine for her personal use. I called up my chauffeur and had him drive my car back to the garage. Her limo was spacious and well laid out. We set off for our next stop.

"Aren't we supposed to go the other way to get to Broadway?", I asked quizzically. She brushed off my question.

"Change of plans. We are going to visit your father. It's time you got over your issues"

"No way. You have gone insane. I am getting off here. Driver, stop!!"

She then leaned over me and said in a firm, authoritative tone," No you are not. It is time you shed this burden. This bitterness has harmed you enough."

There was something in that tone which silenced me.

"Besides, I have already made flight plans, and called in my pilot on his day off; so don't you dare try anything."

At least the mystery behind her phone call during dinner was solved.

"You made flight plans to Miquelon over the phone?"

"I just asked for it, there are people out there who know I will rip their guts out and feed it to them if it didn't happen after that."

I laughed at her little bit of humour, but she just looked at me curiously.

"I am not joking."

So we made the rest of the trip in awkward silence. She had rented a hangar and runway just outside La Guardia. Her car drove through the hangar side entrance. Her private jet, a Concorde, was inside. I couldn't believe what I was seeing; I stared at it so hard that my eyes hurt . There were only 20 of these planes in the world. After being retired in 2003, they were bought by private collectors and aviation museums. Her flight steward saluted us aboard the flight. The inside had been refurnished to resemble something from Star Wars. The cockpit was now completely digital. The passenger region was furnished in a classy, yet understated way.

There were beautiful violet satin curtains on the old window spaces. The interior was converted to a large sofa like region. There were some pillows as well. The lights were intentionally dimmed to create an eerie ambience. Portia opened a rosewood cabinet by the bedside and fished out a bottle of wine.

"I guess I made you drop your drink last night, so take this."

Chateau Petrus-1949. My favoured drink.

"I had someone get that from my wine cellar on the flight before we reached. Try not to spill this", she said, and winked at me.

The flight was short;. This was one of the fastest aircrafts ever made after all. Soon, I could see my father's private airstrip. We had reached our destination.

I tried to form words in my mind as to what I was going to say when I saw him. He had sent a car to receive us. One of his many.

I saw the familiar gates that opened into his palatial estate. It was a clear night, and the moon bathed the whole landscape in beautiful pale hues. We crossed the meadows and streams until we finally saw his mansion in the distance. It looked imposing as ever, on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, like a massive stone giant hunched over, pondering a suicidal leap into the icy waters below.

The winding path to his doorstep seemed to end way too soon. I stepped out of the car, still not entirely sure what I was going to say. Portia by my side, I stepped into the villa. The high ceilings and magnificent grandeur of the place dwarfed anything New York had to offer. His butler escorted us up to his private chamber.

Charles Everett was not what I expected him to be. I expected to see the haughty billionaire I was forced to call 'sir' growing up. Instead, I saw a very old man. Though 65, he looked much older, his face was a mass of wrinkles and creases. Decades of worry and stress had taken their toll and left him a shell of a man. He supported himself on an ivory and gold encrusted cane. His gown was edged with the finest ermine and yet he seemed decrepit and broken.

"Lawrence, it has been too long," he said in a hoarse voice.

In that instant I realized that I did not know what I was going to say. I stood motionless and speechless. A tempest of emotions and thoughts whirled around in my head, but I just could not find the words. Ten years had created a chasm between us; one that I was not sure could be bridged. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to my side just in time hear three words "Let it go".

"It's been too long,

sir

", I said deliberately accentuating the 'sir'.

I sensed a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but something inside me snapped and I just let loose. A decade worth of pent up anger and frustration was simmering at the surface so far, and now it boiled over. In an explosive inferno of rage, I told him how he had abandoned his family for his ambition. After a while, I was unaware of what I was saying. All those empty birthdays, Thanksgivings, 4th of Julys came back to me at once; a multitude of times when he should have been there for me came to mind as I just kept speaking.

I don't know how long I stayed there but finally the words ceased. I felt lighter than I had in years. He kept looking at me silently. Finally, he said," I know. I have told myself that every day."

This caught me off guard. He went on," By the time I realized my true priorities, it was too late. My family had drifted too far apart to ever be whole again. I tried to forget about them by drowning myself in my work, but the regret stayed with me like a cancer. I watched from afar as you and your siblings grew up and accomplished things. Great, wonderful things. I wished I could be a part of that but I did not have the courage to face any of you anymore."

This was unexpected. The man who makes cardinals and prime ministers shake in fear did not have the courage to face his family. He continued," I never had the chance to tell you how proud I am to be your father. I never had the chance to say this to any of my children. I also never had the chance to say how truly sorry I am for not being there for you all. Could you tell the rest of them that?"