Mk Lukman: Prologue, Part 2 (Piercing Eyes)

June 3, 2009 - PRLog -- PIERCING EYES (A Novel of Romance, Suspense & Drama)
Hardcover-edition: $29.95 (USA); $35.65 (Canada); $59.90 (Barbados)
Dimensions: 6-1/2" w x 9-1/2" h x 1-3/4" d. ISBN: 978-0-9602660-2-9. Library of Congress Control Number: 2009902296. Page-length: 675 pp.

Prologue, Part 2:

Cooke's interviewing-segment, of the BBC World News programme, was winding down.  And far from “PJ’s” mind, at least for the moment, were the 'shifting-tides' and 'margin-calls' of the recently depressed—though not altogether rejuvenated—American economy of which he was an essential, corporate component. But looming over his shoulders was the nightmarish threat of an unimaginably lengthy imprisonment of up to some sixty years, plus huge fines, in a federal penitentiary for his four-count-indictment.

The service of subpoenas was imminent. His legal fees could potentially run into the millions. For “PJ”, who was somewhat wealthy in his own right, money was no real object! And if, as it were, he should suffer a bit of financial infidelity, well … he could always rely on the depth of his wife’s pocket book! On official papers, he was no longer an ordinary citizen; but a “person of grave interest”. Anguished and tormented, “PJ” retreated even farther into his private sanctuary where he felt the energy of his late mother, Valerie, encapsulating him. For him, it was a spiritual thing! Her energy tended to surround him at such critical moments. And, in other situations, she was there, too! Besides, “PJ’s” gut-wrenching stress continued to monstrously overwhelm him; leaving him no choice but to languidly succumb to his burgeoning paranoia. It was palpably crushing—at times!

“A brewed conspiracy, designed to assassinate [his] character ….” Wrote Tamara Worthington: a full-time economics and business-columnist of Time magazine.

Tamara’s integrity, even as a journalist, was unquestionably sound. Committed to the importance of true and unembellished accounts—quite unlike that of many of her colleagues—she wanted to discover all that she could about ‘this mesmerisingly charismatic man’ in order to truly understand what made him tick. She sought the use of some of her most powerful, inside Washington-based contacts—that enabled her, with as much facility as possible—to limitlessly delve into “PJ’s” background: his friends, relatives, lovers, colleagues, and even enemies. It was not enough that he was equally loved and maligned in the media. And for those who really knew Tamara, it was just the beginning! Her quest for the truth would take her—on an emotionally intriguing journey—to a myriad of exotic places that he had mostly frequented: Tokyo, Paris, London, Milan, Berlin, Frankfurt, Bridgetown, Toronto; just to name a few!

What Tamara tirelessly discovered was heart-rending to some, but a bit of a laugh to others; due partly to “PJ’s” own, sort of, blind—eyes-wide-shut—naïveté! Not necessarily what he was accused of but—what was truly known of him, by many of his intimately close friends that, despite his good-heartedness, he had always had—a long history of womanising, erotomania, and infidelity. The kinds of things that got him in hot water—in the first place!  A married man, no doubt! Yet, a player who wooed many a woman—before and during his five-year marriage to Beverley—including Antoinette Geneviève: a thirty-five year old, Parisian diplomat with a sistah-like butt, to boot. And who was, as it were, a virgin!

“PJ” had been there, many a day; leaving in the wake of an emotionally gratifying eroticism—albeit her first-ever, sensuous encounter—an unpredictably dangerous, obsessive lover in Antoinette; deceived by none other than “PJ”, himself: her first-love; and, indeed, the first man to have touched her deeply; kissing, fondling, and caressing her, whilst consummating their novel love. And, in the process, causing her to ‘indescribably’ experience—for the first time in her earthly life—mind-blowing, crazed-driven, orgasmic rhythms; coursing through her slender, five-foot, seven-inch frame. Her body and soul were, thus, set ablaze with unquestionable passion.

Antoinette—arguably secure in her self-imposed cocoon where almost no one could emotionally complicate her life with their bullshit—was generally reticent and shy; unless pushed by their craziness. She had always sworn that she would never get involved with a married man; much less a mama’s boy!

“They are too weak and complicated for me.” Antoinette once said in passing—in the course of some small-talk—with close friends; mostly women.

“Yeah, that’s true!” Intoned another; “there’s something about their character that they, all, seem to lack. I know … first-hand.”

“Who are you specifically taking about—mama’s boys, or married men … which?” Implored Hayden Reynolds; a close, male friend.

“Mama’s boys, of course!” Antoinette replied.

“But they usually aren’t much different, anyway, from the married men who delight in cheating on their wives.” Said Rana—a Sudanese diplomat, and close friend of Antoinette.

“And they usually aren’t emotionally strong, self-reliant pack-leaders; either!” Informed Antoinette; obviously with some bias, and a bit of her own dry humour.

“Word!” Said a young woman; nodding in agreement.

“Pack-leaders? My gawwd!” Protested Hayden; “you make it sound like we’re, all, dogs. And we aren’t! Not that some of us don’t deserve such scorn; but, certainly, we’re—”

“Like hell you are! All of you: a bunch o’ damn dogs!” Antoinette mordantly blurted out with a faint smile.

“My darling, if I didn’t know you well enough,” countered Hayden; “I’d readily assume that you were extremely bitter … hateful almost … towards all men.”

Antoinette’s sentiments formed an interesting amalgam of callous, ambivalent attitudes that she had frequently expressed about most, if not all, men. And, for many years, she tenaciously held on to such views. It would seemingly take a miracle to redeem her … if she were able to move on without emotional constraints. For those who knew her well, it was sort of a wait-and-see-game. But, even, all that would soon change when she met and fell—head-over-heels—in love, with “PJ”; perhaps unconsciously motivated by the mesmerisingly profound effect that he had had on women—everywhere!  'Whatever he’s got'—Antoinette’s eyes seemed to musingly convey; perhaps subconsciously—'I want some too!'

“Girl-friend, you should see the look in your eyes; almost verging on thirstiness!” Facetiously remarked Rana in a whispering tone of voice—on the occasion of the black tie-gala, in Louis XV salon, at the Ritz Hotel in Paris—when “PJ” was introduced as an honoured guest; representing the Wall Street-headquartered Alimnosam Financial Group, LLC.

“What look, yuh talking ’bout?”  Antoinette asked—feigning apathy—with a subtle smile.

“Girl, don’t play yuh-self! It’s all there … for all to see.” Said Rana; sounding as if she were born and bred in one of the five boroughs of New York City.

“Oh, please!” Retorted Antoinette; hardly able to erase the blushing-effect on her face.

“PJ’s” charisma was infectiously far-reaching; like that of a rock-star. Even Tamara—emotionally caught up in all the hoopla, generated by international media, and the like—had a bit of a struggle, maintaining her objectivity. But she knew that once she was wholly committed to something, nothing could stand in the way of her achieving it!

Tamara’s background-investigation, for her Time magazine-article, took several months to reach near-completion; but she needed to take just one more step in order to finalise the process: an audience with the man, himself—the Alimnosam star-trader-economist—Colin (“PJ” ) Walcott! He was quite anxious to tell his side of the story; but, on advice of counsel, he graciously declined; albeit with a tinge of regret. That much, in respect of such an audience, was not in the cards for Tamara. At least, not yet! What Tamara discovered was, in point of fact, interesting; albeit somewhat expected.