Bella (standard:other, 2826 words)
Author: Annemarie St. John	Added: Jan 19 2001	Views/Reads: 4270/2370	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A small turning point in the life of a Beverly Hills socialite.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

up the picnic basket. "A baguette from the La Brea bakery, Chevré with 
sun-dried tomatoes and olive oil, salmon mousse paté, pomegranates, and 
Ridge Howell Mountain Zinfandel." She laid each item on the table as if 
for his inspection and approval. 

He looked at the food laid out on the table. "A loaf of bread, etcetera,
etcetera. And thou? Art thou on the menu as well, Mrs. Perdu?" he 
asked, picking up a pomegranate. 

She moved close to him, lifting her head up to look directly into his
eyes. "You remember how you told me about sitting at the edge of the 
cliff and watching the sun go down? I thought we could go there and do 
the photographs. We could have a picnic." Her heart felt as if it were 
in her throat, trying to choke off her own words even as she spoke 
them. In her eyes, pain mixed with pleading. "We could have a nice day 
together." 

Paul held the wine bottle and studied the label. Then he picked up the
cheese and sniffed it. He gave the baguette a gentle squeeze, then took 
her hand and said, "Sure, baby. For you, anything." 

She pulled her hand away and played nervously with the pendant. 

"It sounded so nice, I ... " her sentence trailed off, uncompleted. She
didn't quite know how to finish. 

"Sure," he said. "It's a great location. It's a private estate of a
friend of mine. He's out of town now, but he lets me use the location 
for shoots." 

He put his thumbs together and flattened out his fingers, making three
sides of a square with his hands, and framed Bella within the space, 
seeing how the light fell on her face and on her long slender neck. Her 
face had the look of exquisitely sculptured porcelain. He admired her 
soft, almond eyes, full sensual lips, high cheek bones, and smooth 
skin. He thought her breasts were almost too perfect. He guessed her to 
be about ten years older than he was. An image formed in Paul's mind: 
she was a waif dressed in jewels and junk. 

"You're beautiful," he said. 

The smallest tinge of color came to her cheeks and she looked away. Then
she went to him and kissed him lightly on the mouth and quickly began 
to repack the basket. While Bella repacked the basket, Paul loaded a 
camera bag with film, lenses, and two camera bodies. He slung the bag 
over his shoulder, then picked up the picnic basket and a blanket. He 
put his arm around Bella. This time she didn't resist, and even put her 
arm around him, briefly. Then with a nervous laugh she said "Well, lets 
do it." 

"Did you bring some clothes to change into?" he asked. 

"Yes," she said, "but they're in my car. I parked down the block. We can
pick them up on the way." 

They left the apartment and went down the stairs to the parking space
behind the building, to his green 1964 Austin Healey 3000. Paul put the 
top down and set the bag and the basket in the back seat, then opened 
the passenger door for Bella and helped her in. 

The Healey roared to life and they pulled away from the apartment. Paul
stopped at Bella's Mercedes and waited while she retrieved a clothes 
bag from her car. Then he turned the Healey into the flow of traffic on 
Pacific Coast Highway and headed north, toward Pacific Palisades, 
toward his friend's house on the cliff, and the private beachfront that 
was part of the property. 

As Paul had promised, the location was very private. It was an estate
situated near the edge of a cliff that dropped down to a small secluded 
cove with a sandy beach. The coastline was virtually impassible at 
either end of the cove. A short distance from the house, at the cliff 
edge, was a wooded grove with a clearing that afforded an unrestricted 
view of the ocean but was concealed from the house. They walked past 
the house, directly to the grove at the cliff. 

Bella stood at the edge of the cliff and looked out at the clear blue
water. The salt air from the ocean mixed with the fragrance of the 
trees and flowers. "Its like a tropical island," she said. "Its 
lovely." She set the basket down by a tree. 

Paul had already begun photographing Bella. "I'm glad you like the
location," he said, clicking the shutter of the Hasselblad. "Look 
around. Get comfortable." Click. " Try to get into a 'native' frame of 
mind. Imagine this is a tropical island, your own private island. 
Imagine that you're a wealthy, successful fashion model, and I am doing 
a cover story on you and your island." Click. "Let's have some fun with 
this." Click. Click. 

"All right," she said. "Let's do have some fun with this. I'm ready. I
like it." Click. "Yes. I'll be the Island Queen - a mysterious native, 
a ravaging beauty. And you will photograph me for posterity. Your 
photographs will be shown the world over in all the finest galleries 
and salons." Click click. She laughed brightly at the image she was 
painting for herself. Then quietly, to herself, she murmured "Make me 
believable, Paul." 

The mixed fragrances, clear air, and exotic imaginings began to work on
Bella. Paul sensed the change in her, and the professional in him 
responded. 

"Very good, Bella," he called out encouraging her, urging her to stretch
a little more, lose herself in the imagery, work for the camera. 
"Great. Terrific." Click, click, click. 

"Lets take some time for a costume change while I load another roll of
film. How about the bikini and the broad-brimmed hat. Try some new 
jewelry as well." 

Bella took refuge behind a tree to change her clothes. "No peeking," she
laughed. 

"I promise," he replied, grinning. 

When she stepped back into the clearing, Bella was wearing a black and
gold string bikini with a white lace cover-up open down the front. She 
struck an exaggerated fashion pose while Paul regarded her for a very 
long moment. 

"Well," he said at last. "Why don't we go down to the beach and continue
there." 

The path down to the beach was steep and rocky. Although it was easy
enough for Paul, Bella had some trouble along the way. Paul had to help 
her several times, holding her hand as she stepped over a large rock, 
and catching her once when she nearly fell. She cried out in surprise 
as her footing started to give way. Her cry echoed off the rocky cliff 
walls and mixed with the crashing of waves on the shore. 

They reached the sand near the base of a large rock outcropping at the
shady end of the cove. Paul spread the blanket out under the rock 
overhang and set his camera bag down. Bella came up behind Paul and 
wrapped her arms around his waist. 

"You know, Paul" she said, "the first time I saw you I was frightened
half to death. It was at the gallery. I had just come into the room and 
I saw you talking to someone. Your back was turned to me, but for some 
reason I was very frightened of you. I went outside and paced for a 
while until I had enough nerve to come back in." 

"I really envy you," she continued. "You're an artist. Maybe something
of a rebel. You're sensitive. You live a romantic, free life." 

He turned to face her and began to massage her shoulders. "You're very
tense. Relax." 

"From the very first, I was so attracted to you -- sexually," she said.
"You know, I shouldn't be here." 

He stroked her hair back where it had fallen into her face, and kissed
her fully and deeply on the mouth. 

"Oh Paul," she pressed tightly against him. "I want you so desperately."


Bella unbuttoned Paul's shirt and stroked his chest and back. Then she
removed her top and pressed herself against him. They dropped down onto 
the blanket wriggling out of their clothes, clinging passionately to 
each other, probing, touching, kissing, and Bella opened herself 
completely to Paul. The ocean waves rolled toward the beach, rose, 
crested, and broke on the sand, wave after wave in seemingly endless 
succession. A wing of pelicans glided high overhead, circled, and 
settled into the gentle swells beyond the breakers. 

Paul rose quietly from the blanket, completely nude, while Bella lay
motionless on her back, exhausted and satisfied. She held herself 
closely with her arms crossed over her chest and her left leg pulled up 
and across her right leg. Her eyes were closed and her face held a 
dreamy, peaceful, faraway expression. Paul picked up his camera and 
circled around Bella, photographing her from every possible angle. He 
photographed the details of her face, her body, her feet, her hands. He 
made landscapes of her white body against the dark rocks, and against 
the foamy blue waves of the Pacific. Bella never moved or changed 
expression. Then he put his camera away and laid down beside her. 

It was late in the afternoon by the time they climbed up the trail to
the cliff's edge. Bella was bright and bouncy, laughing, and teasing 
Paul as they walked. 

"We had better pack up," Paul said. "It's getting late." 

Bella went to collect her things and Paul began to pack up the camera
equipment. In a patch of sunlight, a bright glimmer caught his eye. He 
reached down and picked up Bella's diamond pendant. He could see her 
movement behind the trees and bushes as she dressed. He slipped the 
pendant into his pocket. 

"Oh, I feel wonderful," she called out to him. "You are wonderful. This
has been an absolutely glorious day." 

The waves crashing against the rocks sounded very far away. The sun
dipped a little lower in the sky, and the air began to cool. Soon it 
would be dark. By the time they returned to Bella's car the sun had set 
completely. Paul helped load her things into the Mercedes. 

"Oh, look," she said pointing to the picnic basket, "we never ate any of
the food. You keep it, Paul." She hugged him tightly, holding on for a 
long time. When she let go, all the joy within her seemed to have 
evaporated. The worried look was back in her eyes. She laid her head on 
his chest. "Oh, Paul," she said. "I can't go back there. I want to stay 
here with you." 

Paul laughed curtly. "Whoa," he said, "for a moment you sounded serious.
You are joking, of course. You have a husband, a family, a life. You 
can't stay with me." 

She backed away from him and stiffened. "Yes, I know. You are right. Of
course you are right. I was being silly." She got into her car and 
rolled down the window. "Goodbye, Paul," she said. She started the car 
and drove away. 

Bella pulled the Mercedes into the garage of her version of the mansions
in the neighborhood. The garage door closed, automatically, behind her. 
As she entered the house, she heard her baby sitter, Cindy, calling 
from upstairs. 

"Is that you, Mrs. Perdu? I'm upstairs. The boys are getting their
bath." 

Bella slowly climbed the stairs. Cindy greeted her at the top landing. 

"How is your cousin feeling?" Cindy asked. "Better, I hope." 

"Much better, now, Cindy. Thank you. Were the children any trouble?" 

"Not at all. They're in the bath now." 

"All right, then, I'll take over from here." 

"Thank you, Mrs. Perdu. By the way, Mr. Perdu called to say he would be
home late again tonight." Bella nodded and, as was her habit, reached 
for the diamond pendant. Her face turned pale as an image of Paul, 
bending over, picking something up, flashed through her mind. She 
pulled some money from her purse, more than was customary for an 
afternoon of baby sitting. "This is for you" she said, pushing the 
bills into Cindy's hand. "You can go now." 

Cindy let herself out, and Bella went into the bathroom where her two
boys were playing in the tub with their boats. 

"I just sank you with my torpedo boat!" cried Chris. 

"No you didn't!" answered Dale defiantly. "My boat turned too fast for
you!" 

"You're sunk, Dale." 

"I'm not either." 

"You are so. You don't play fair. Anyway, your boat can't move that
fast." 

"Oh stop it!" Bella screamed. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" She sobbed
deeply, trembling with every breath and shaking from head to foot. 
Chris and Dale were silent. 

"What's wrong, Mommy?" Dale asked, finally. 

"Nothing, baby, nothing at all," she said, while the tears rolled down
her cheeks. 


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