The Penthouse Treasure - James Gerard (self help books to read .TXT) 📗

Charisse. “You came home early from Paris! I didn’t think that was possible.”

 

“I didn’t go there on vacation Cheryl; I was doing my job.”

 

“I know, but Paris! Did you get to do anything fun at all?”

 

Charisse tried to make something up on the spot about something, anything she could have done in Paris outside of picking up the umbrella but not a single thing came to mind. Cheryl’s fixed gaze signaled that she was waiting for some spicy details, but there were none.   “Look Cheryl, I’m tired. All I want to do is give him his umbrella then get some sleep. So again, where is he?”

 

“I told you I don’t know. He took off shortly after you and didn’t say where he was going.”

 

“He hasn’t been home for the past couple of days?”

 

“No.”

 

“Could he be visiting someone for Christmas?”

 

“Connelly? I doubt it. He never has been into the holidays as far as I know.”

 

Charisse whispered, “But satisfying his lusts has never been a problem has it.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

Charisse looked into Cheryl’s eyes and stated, “Oh please, you of all people should know how he is just a womanizer who only seeks pleasure from woman.”

 

Cheryl laughed. “Connelly! Are you kidding?”

 

“Why are you laughing?”

 

“If you only knew what a ridiculous statement that is. I mean as long I have tried to seduce him he simply would not bite; not once.” Cheryl struck a sexy pose and said, “Look at me. For I’m still tall, have gorgeous blonde hair with piercing eyes and sultry lips that can turn any young man’s head. And let me tell you honey back in the day I was an absolute knockout and through all those years Connelly was never interested.”  

 

“Yeah, whatever Cheryl, but do you expect me to believe that!” snorted Charisse. “Over the years the tabloids have always reported what a sleaze he is. And besides, my best friend and my Aunt Anna have told me lots about him—Connelly is a sleaze.”

 

“You’re Aunt Anna?”

 

Charisse knew she had slipped. Her friend had said that Cheryl had been a model back when her father was just starting and there was a chance she may have known about the marriage but such knowledge remained unclear.  She looked Cheryl straight into the eyes confidently stated, “Yeah, my Aunt.”

 

“Well look, I could care less what your Aunt Anna believes. And honestly, whatever has been written, whatever has been said by anyone are at worst lies, and at best some propaganda that kept his name at the top.”

 

Charisse felt the stress over her true identity fall away believing that Cheryl had no clue as to who Aunt Anna was. She then inched up in the chair and asked, “But how do you know that? How can you be sure of the type of man he is?”

 

“Because of what he did for me,” Cheryl softly said. She sunk into a chair with tears rolling down the cheeks and said, “There was a time in my life when too much…well too much of the good life had a grip on me. Then one night…one night something happened, something really bad and I just needed a place to escape and for some reason I came here. Why here? I don’t know. Connelly was just a photographer that I had worked with but I suppose…no I know for some reason I could trust him. And sure enough without even asking me why I needed a place to go to he provided this place, this penthouse suite where no one could get to me. So, that’s how can I be sure that he is nothing like what he is portrayed to be.”

 

“That’s because he is too crafty Cheryl. Don’t you get it, he’d never do it here, never do it with a friend. No, he is way too smart for that. I noticed all the unaccounted time his last assistant noted in the computer. How do you explain that?”

 

“Oh you are so wrong Brandy.” She sprung up and stepped towards the sliding glass door of the balcony and looked at the cityscape below. “Someone hurt him really bad.”

 

“Him? Someone hurt him? You have to be kidding?”

 

“Know this Brandy, it just wasn’t me that tried so hard to seduce him, it was every model and every woman related to the fashion industry and every other woman period. But he just never went for any of us.” Cheryl turned from the glass door and sat down next to Charisse. “I think at one time he was so deeply in love and that woman hurt him bad, simply broke his heart, and broke his heart so bad that he’s…he’s still deeply in love with her.”

 

Charisse turned her head away as tears began to flow. “You’re wrong.”

 

“No, no Brandy. Trust me, why does he wear that wedding band—it’s no trick to keep women away. And also Connelly and I have had a lot of talks in the past and one thing he always avoids talking about is any relationship he has ever had. I mean he has revealed to me every embarrassing, insignificant, mundane events of his life but the one thing about himself he has never talked about are relationships. I tell you he was hurt and was hurt bad.”

 

Charisse thought about the possibility which made the tears stream out faster. The voice of her mother time and time again with her fits of rage screaming out hatred for him echoed in the mind, and not only that voice, but the voice of Aunt Anna from time to time speaking nothing but terrible things about him also shouted out in the thoughts. Worse, the fact that the evil being never made one attempt to visit, to phone, to send even a lousy letter only proved that Connelly O’Brien was the worst father, the worst most rotten man that ever lived.

 

“Whatever,” Charisse scoffed. She wiped away the tears and said as she walked towards the door to her apartment, “Believe what you want to believe. I’m going to bed.”

The Thief's Valued Treasure

 Charisse yawned and stretched after awakening from a long sleep. Wondering if Connelly had returned from wherever he had taken off to, she put on a robe and walked into his apartment. “Mr. O’Brien! Cheryl!” She remained motionless and waited for a response then even louder shouted out their names but still no response.

 

With Connelly still away and Cheryl surprisingly absent Charisse realized this was the best opportunity to get into the treasure room.   She stood quietly in the hallway and wondered how hard could it be to break through the double doors securing Connelly’s treasures. Hands probed the doors looking for a weak spot, slapped, pounded, and tested to see if they would even budge a little but the doors proved unmovable. Even with a running start and a shoulder rammed into the doors they still would not break open. Resolved not to be beaten by the barrier she took hold of one of the knobs and applied as much pressure she could muscle up yet the lock would not give.

 

“What’s in there?” More than likely, she concluded, the treasure consisted of valuable prints and negatives of photographs going decades back and they were just on the other side of the doors. To keep them so heavily secured she estimated that such memorabilia was worth millions…tens of millions…hundreds of millions to collectors who regarded such timeless images as artwork.

 

With images of thievery from a variety of movies she had seen a credit card was quickly produced and squeezed into the door jam. After a few sawing motions the door remained lock.

 

“Ah, a hairpin.”

 

Coming back quickly the pin was inserted into the keyhole, twisted and turned in every which direction and the tumbler would not move.

 

Charisse jumped at the sound of a closing door. She whirled around and looked down the hallway then tiptoed her way to the door of her apartment.

 

“Brandy,” a voice called.

 

The voice was as first familiar then identified. “Yes Mr. O’Brien.”

 

“Are you back so soon?”

 

“I am,” she shouted. “The umbrella is on the sofa.”

 

“Good. I hope it was no trouble picking it up.”

 

With an impulse to shout out what she really thought running through the mind, Charisse took a deep breath and calmly stated, “It must be a special umbrella.”

 

“Yes it is,” Connelly responded from the hallway.   “It is very old and holds very fond memories.”

 

Charisse stepped up to Connelly and stated, “Really? Looks like an ordinary umbrella.”

 

“Oh,” whispered Connelly, “between you and me it has some pretty special magical qualities.”

 

“Like that movie…you know the one where the lady flew with an umbrella and talked to it?”

 

“Much more than that; it protects those under its cover.”

 

Charisse saw the funny smile on Connelly’s face and blurted out, “Oh, a joke. Ha ha. Really, why did you send me all the way to Paris just for that?”

 

“Come with me and I’ll tell you.”

 

Suspicion ran through her mind as she followed Connelly into the living room. After sitting down, Charisse wondered if he were about to tell her a tale or captivate her with flattery sentiments in order to carry out his filthy desires. She watched intently as he walked into the kitchen, where based upon the clanking of glass, two glasses, he undoubtedly was mixing cocktails that would impair her senses and judgments. But if his intentions were to seduce her, she knew he would pay an extra price for such a vile act.

 

Charisse was sure that it was made clear right from the beginning that he were not to even think of her as just yet another woman to conquer. It was just as her best friend said, “He receives such sick delight in working through the women.”

 

She looked at him coming back into the living room with a cocktail in each hand. Something about how he put down the drinks on a coffee table and leaned back into a chair that irritated her to no end.

 

Connelly pointed at one of the glasses, “Would you like a lemonade?”

 

“No thank you. Now, the story of the umbrella.”

 

Connelly took a sip of lemonade and sighed. “You see Brandy I don’t possess much. What I have I hold on dearly—even a plain, ordinary umbrella.”

 

“It seems to me you have much Mr. O’Brien. For instance, that treasure of yours behind the locked doors.”

 

“The treasure Brandy, as I have told you, is incomplete. Until the one final piece is in that room I consider it worthless.”

 

“Now,” responded Charisse, “what piece would that be?”

 

Connelly laughed. “You’ll find out for yourself someday. And when that time comes the secret of my treasure will be revealed.”

 

“You expect me to believe that?” responded Charisse.

 

“Believe, don’t believe, it doesn’t matter. I will let you know that the treasure will be my retirement.”

 

“Okay, where does the umbrella fit in?”

 

“I told you, it is something that means a lot to me. One day you will find out.”

 

“Well,” sighed Charisse, “if you don’t need me I think I’ll get some more sleep.”