With a glass of brandy in one hand and a forlorn look in his eye, he would sit on the couch and stare straight ahead of him.
In front of him was that painting of Olive. It had not diminished. The fire in her eyes was still visible. Her delicate fingers and her shapely figure. The skin that radiated health and barely touched by the sun.
She had the look of love and that love had been his, so he thought. It was, according to him only a matter of time before she became his.
That never happened. The capriciousness he once told her about came through. She had turned on him at the turn of a screw.
But what did Pierre expect? She was someone's wife and he was wrong to think he could muscle his way into her heart. For a while it seemed this would be the outcome..
The money Olive's husband had paid him to leave was enough to buy a small apartment in a run down part of Paris. For a while it was a good investment. The rental income kept coming as long as everything in the apartment was in good working order and he had the right tenants.
But the neighbourhood kept getting worse and more run down.
A robbery here a run down boiler there; soon the cost of keeping things going was more dear than what Pierre was making.
Pierre decided to sell at whatever price he could get.
The alcohol was beginning to take over everything. He could not paint without drinking or else he would have the 'shakes'.
What to do he thought? Best take time off and use the money to travel and break free from this curse of the drink.
The sale was going slower than he expected and several times he had dropped the asking price for the property. I might as well give it away if I keeping going lower!
After a three month wait, got rid of the apartment but it was another month and a half before the money was in the bank.
Pierre retraced in reverse the steps he took when he returned to Paris years earlier.
In Thailand he spent it up in the mountains and tried with all his might not to drink. He succeeded until he got to Bangkok and the other touristy party islands.
It was a bad idea and he moved on. Malaysia should be less troublesome than Thailand and so it was. He had also started to take the tablets that made him violently sick if he drank alcohol. Actually that started to make a difference.
Just the thought of taking the tablets was enough to keep him off the bottle. The battle started to turn in his favour.
He stayed in Penang for several months and decided he would paint some of the rural scenes as part of a project to capture rural life in Asia before it totally disappears.
George had spoken to his best friend and long time business colleague. At first his friend felt it a big honour that George had, off all people asked him, to father his child, if need be.
But when he told his wife. She was against it, totally.
'Its not like I am sleeping with his wife.." he had tried to explain to his wife
His wife had said just imagine he has a daughter and that daughter falls in love with our son? What madness is that?
"No it would not happen that way. We won't allow it.." he responded
" So you can also see it the future...away with you. It won't happen.." she persisted.
The real reason of her objection was Olive. From the moment she first met her, they just seemed to dislike each other. Maybe it all started when her husband joked with her and said...' oh my goodness you should see George's new wife...what a beauty.. I am sure he she should be in Hollywood not on our streets...he better keep a close eye on her' he said as he laughed.
His wife had never found it funny because as it turned out, she was as stunning as her husband had intimated. So a sense of jealousy was never too far. And Olive's composure had always been taken to me she was aloof and looked down on others.
"So, you won't do it? " George asked his friend.
"Man, you know if my wife knew I went against her wishes...I would be in deep trouble. Besides she has a point. Our children would grow up close and that could present challenges.."
George looked straight ahead and appeared to contemplate and think things over.
They sat in the smoking lounge of one of the hotels they used to enjoy coming to. It was members only and clientele tended to be mainly rich older men. George and his friend were different. They came here knowing inspite their relative youth, they could pick up valuable business intelligence and how to do things. These older men were not rich by chance, they knew how to get things done and how to do them. Why not learn from them?
Olive had been told to keep track of her ovulation cycle. Apprehensive but excited that at last she might carry a child for George. She had not been told about option two as per George's wish. Whatever, any child she carried would be George's.
But something troubled her: the dreams of Pierre giving her a child did not abate. She always woke up startled or shouting no no!
Pierre had not felt this good in years. From Malaysia he had headed over to Vietnam and by that time had decided it was not in his interests to eat meat and by degrees had become more or less vegetarian. It helped that he was in the part of the world where the cuisine was natural and tasty especially without the meat.
He drank less and less. His skin improved and the whiteness to his eyes returned. The jaundiced liver finally getting respite from the years of intoxication.
In Bali he realised he was on the limit with money. So he was more circumspect. Besides, the paintings he was doing, were not commissions but personal works, so they would not generate income for a while. Though he had sent some back home to France and given instruction to his agent to sell one or two, nothing had yet generated interest.
Two weeks flat he would be out of money...Sure he could go back to Paris - his ticket was open return valid for a year. But there was one thing he needed to do. He must get closure.
That meant seeing olive for one more time. It surprised him when he saw some women's magazines and images of olive modelling some of the latest fashions. Wow things had changed for her he thought.
When Olive turned up at the fertility clinic for the for her last IVF treatment; in the section for sperm donors, he European man walked in and was taken to a private lounge. Tall and middle aged. Slightly rough and rugged looking but handsome all the same. The receptionist in this most private and exclusive clinic, gave him a form to fill. She explained they would need to take a urine and a blood test. He could wait for an hour or come back for the next step if his tests got the all clear..
As he went into the parking lot, he saw a car he thought he recognised..'it can't be what would it be doing here and besides it's been years and certainly she is rich enough to get a new car.'
He thought nothing of it as he walked towards a set of shops.. He thought about the form. On the part which asked if he chose to remain anonymous or give the right for the potential child to search for him if they ever wanted to; he had agreed to be searched for. He had put his parents address as he knew that would not change. That house had been in the family for generations. So they would find him.
'Mr. Pierre' said the young nurse as she approached him with a smile.
' your tests are all clear and I will explain the process. Once you give us your sample we will freeze it and we would use it for more than one couple...oh no..I see you said on the form only for one...yes ok..'
Pierre did what he had to do and provided his semen sample. On leaving, he gave his bank details to the receptionist, who said his money will be in his account the next morning.
Pierre had become desparate for money. He had been told as a educated and good looking European he could 'donate' his semen to help infertile couples. Being European was a premium, as some families, where to an extent part European given the colonial past. So some families wanted to keep this going. For others, rich enough, it was a desire to better themselves by having children with paler skins as the concept of beauty was to a large part determined by the 'fairness' of the skin. The rich were now choosing how the kids would look.
Pierre was not being 'paid' this was to get over this thorny ethical issues that may arise. His 'expenses' were being covered for the time he took out to do this.
And Pierre tool it a step further by choosing not to remain anonymous should the child or parent want to know the real father. So fair is fair thought Peirre.
George comforted Olive who weeks after had learnt that the IVF procedure had been unsuccessful. She was distraught, now more than anything else she wanted to be a mother.
George was adamant that they try again.
"What if he doesn't work? What will we do George?" She cried.
' it will work. It has to work. We have tried hard enough. It must work.' he confidently stated.
In a month we will return and try again. I have spoken to the doctor and it is decided.
George already knew what he would do...
To be contacted.
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