PIERCING EYES (a compellingly romantic, suspenseful, poignant novel) comprises 35 chapters, a preface, preamble, prologue, and an epilogue. Copyright 2009 by MK Lukman. All Rights Reserved! Hardcover-edition:
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NESTLED IN THE QUIET ENCLAVE OF HIGHGATES IN MOORESTOWN, NEW JERSEY—overlooking ponds, streams and man-made lakes—was the thirty-room, three-storeyed, eclectically styled Euro-Mediterranean home of Colin (“PJ”) Walcott; his wife: Beverley; and Ahmed Faraji—their adorably precocious, five-year old son; deemed the 'apple' of his parents’ eyes.
Their property, courted by thick forest-like trees, provided all the privacy that Beverley had long desired. It was a magnificent, tranquil custom-built estate—elegantly surrounded by ten acres of pristine preservation-
Besides, a pair of impressively large, two-panelled, darkly stained, glazed mahogany doors—complemented by bevelled glass-inserts—
Their spacious two-and-a-half storeyed foyer—with its dramatically inlaid onyx marble-tiled floor, wide arches and, arguably, unprecedented luxuries—opened onto breathtaking views of a dually curved grand-staircase, which was intimately connected to an overlooking balcony; leading farther up to parts of the second and third floors.
Their master-bedroom, which held many secrets, was not far off; just a stone’s throw away from the grand entrance; and, interestingly, “PJ’s” recollection of some of the most sensually exciting moments, imaginable! Its ambience was, simply, majestic; but not nearly as majestic as the moonlight magic, which had often encapsulated him and Beverley—far beyond their imagination.
There he was!—'the player, the lover, the father, husband, friend, and occasional companion of Beverley and Ahmed'—in a place where he'd always gone to reflect: the 'core' of his being! A spiritual haven—seemingly untouched by debauchery, greed, power, infidelity, lust, even erotomania!—that was mostly, if not originally, amenable to vibrations of love, and happiness. And where, also, he curiously wondered about the type of future that fate might have in store for him, and his young family. Albeit without the typically mundane struggles that had commonly plagued the less fortunate; even his former life in the Vanbergen Housing Projects of Canarsie: that little known urban district in Brooklyn, New York!
"PJ" was now on the threshold of fulfilling his fondest hopes and dreams of success; the start, no doubt, of what would become the hallmark of everything that he'd boldly envisaged: love, happiness, family, stability, and prosperity. Even the exorbitantly long-term, enviable perks that came with the likes of his initial instalment to the post of vice-president of Alimnosam’s esteemed Commodity Futures Trading Division—and, soon afterwards, its senior vice-president—
A career in the financial sector of Wall Street—and a stunning woman of comparable status, in his life, to complement it—was a dream of a lifetime. From the very moment that his eyes met those of 'the mysterious woman' one early spring afternoon when she was painstakingly parking her two-door, midnight-blue, 1996 Bentley Azure on Central Park West (CPW)—somewhat adjacent to a group of magnificently luxurious, high-rise condominiums;
"She's gonna be a piece o' work, ma'an." he mused. "Gotta make sure muh game's tight!"
No doubt, "PJ's" licentious thoughts continued to be unrestrained. Caught between a rock-and-a-hard-
"That’s muh soul-mate! Uh kin feel it … deep down … inside hay"! he thought aloud; evidently stroking his ego, and pointing to his solar plexus as if he were assured such a destiny.
Once he set his mind to wooing her, there was no room for pessimism or even second-thoughts. It was not normally his nature, anyway, to surrender to the will of negative thinking. But, interestingly, that all-too-familiar 'je ne sais quoi' kicked in, once again, as it did before; inducing him to do what any other heterosexually normal man would've done under the same circumstances:
His undying quest to woo her was not going to be an easy one. The path that he'd chosen—or, rather, fate had seemingly chosen for him—was challengingly marred with incredible obstacles.
'Two academically compatible people, falling in love—albeit from diametrically opposite ends of the socio-cultural landscape—what could possibly be wrong with such a picture?' One might ask.
He—an Afro-American of Jamaican parentage, was born, reared, and formally educated in Brooklyn’s Vanbergen district-schools, and—a resident of the Vanbergen Housing Projects! And she—a terribly sophisticated, young, wealthy, British-born, maternal descendant, and sort of retiring socialite, of British aristocracy was—the paternal great, great grand-daughter of Sheikh Mahmoud Alshaikh: an oil and real-estate magnate of Dubai, United Arab Emirates. How intriguing such a 'corral' must be!
The chase was on, and “PJ” was in hot pursuit! The only thing standing between him and, clearly, the object of his affection was his fortitude or a lack thereof. Not even his prevailing will—gratifyingly once used to calm his tempestuous angst during a 'certain' privately poignant moment—could quell the seemingly arrhythmical beats of his emotionally overwrought, thumping heart.
