Scorpio's
Kiss by M.C. Domovitch
Published
on January 29th 2016
Genres:
Romance, Women's Fiction
SYNOPSIS
Scorpio's Kiss is set in New York and Paris amid the
glamorous and competitive worlds of art and real estate, Scorpio's Kiss takes
the reader from the late 1940s to the 1970s through the tumultuous lives of its
heroes. There is Alex Ivanov, the son of a Russian immigrant and part-time
prostitute. He yearns to escape his sordid life and achieve fame and fortune.
His dreams of becoming a world-class builder are met with countless obstacles,
yet he perseveres in the hope of someday receiving the recognition he craves.
Half a world away, Brigitte Dartois is an abused teenager who runs into the
arms of a benefactor with an agenda all his own. When she finds out that her
boss has an ulterior motive, she flees again, determined to earn her living
through her art. This career brings her fame, but also the unwanted attention
of her early abuser. M C Domovitch's debut novels are compelling tales filled
with finely etched characters and a superb understanding of the power of
ambition. Scorpio's Kiss promises to resonate with all who once had a dream.
(This was originally published as Scorpio Rising and The
Sting of the Scorpio.)
ABOUT THE
AUTHOR
Monique was born in the small town of Hearst Ontario, the oldest
of ten children. “You can’t imagine the pressure,” she says,laughing. “Anything
I did wrong—and I did plenty—was sure to lead my siblings into a life of sin. I
therefore accept the blame for any wrongdoings by all member of my family.”
When she was twenty years old she moved to Montreal, where she
became a successful model, winning the prestigious Modeling Association of
American Contest and continuing on to an international career. During this
time, she worked with many top photographers and graced many designer runways.
“Modeling was a wonderful career,” she says. “I met so many interesting and
talented people. I travelled all over the world. After ten years of facing
cameras and audiences, I became very comfortable with the public. I had no idea
at the time, just how much this ability would serve me later in life.”
When Monique retired from modeling, she founded Beauties Modeling Agency in Montreal. Through her tutelage, many Canadian models gained international renown. “I wanted to accept my age rather than try desperately to look young for an unforgiving camera. That was the main reason I retired from modeling when I was still young.”
When Monique retired from modeling, she founded Beauties Modeling Agency in Montreal. Through her tutelage, many Canadian models gained international renown. “I wanted to accept my age rather than try desperately to look young for an unforgiving camera. That was the main reason I retired from modeling when I was still young.”
Later, she became a financial adviser and planner, and soon found
herself hosting her own national television show about personal finance. After
four years on the air, the series ended and Monique soon retired from her
financial career, remarried and embarked on her new career in writing. Her
success was almost instant. She was singed on by an agent within months of
finishing her first novel and soon signed two contracts for a total of six
books. She is now hard at work on her ninth, due out in winter of 2015.
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EXCERPT
1948
Alexander Ivanov lived at
the end of the world. To the twelve-year-old, that was exactly what Brooklyn
was; the end of the world. Maybe because the one time he had been to the city,
what he called Manhattan, it had taken forever on the subway.
Alex hated living
in Brooklyn, and never more so than when his mother talked about her youth in
Leningrad with tears running down her face. She would revert to Russian, which
he didn’t understand, but the passion in her eyes spoke more volubly of the
beauty of her old country than words could convey.
Every day on his way back from school, weighed down by the load of newspapers, he passed the same dusty old stores, their signs barely legible from the peeling paint; the same ratty tenement buildings in which people suffocated in the summer and shivered in the winter; the same old women in their ritual wigs and shapeless dresses, vacant and blank expressions of hopelessness etched on their faces. Hopeless, that was how he sometimes felt; and then he would remember Manhattan and feel better. If there was one thing Alex wished for, it was to live in Manhattan. He yearned for Manhattan the way his mother pined for her old country.
Alex walked along Main
Street, where pickles marinated in barrels, salamis swung from hooks, and
sausages dried in their cotton bags. He was oblivious to the sights and smells
around him. One by one, he took the papers from his bag, and with a quick,
experienced motion, he threw them. His aim was almost perfect.
Tomorrow was collection day.
He would stop at each house along his route and wait while his clients went to
get their money. After making change, he would thank each one of them politely
even though most never bothered to leave him a tip. His work would take him
more than twice as long as on normal delivery days. Still, he looked forward to
it. Collection day was when he could go home, count out his profits and decide
how much of the money he could save. This week, if all went well, he might
reach the fifty-dollar mark in his bank account. Fifty dollars! It was a fortune.
He reached into his bag,
pulled out the last newspaper and aimed it with unerring precision at the
Kodesky’s front porch. At that moment the door swung open and old man Kodesky
stepped out. The paper flew through the air like a projectile and landed with a
thud in the startled man’s well-padded stomach.
“Hey, you no-good little
piece of shit!” He waved his fist. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Alex did not hear a word. He was a million miles away, dreaming of the day he
would escape the hell of living at the end of the world.
Even now, two years later,
he could still remember every detail of his trip to Manhattan. After a long
subway ride, he’d emerged in the city surrounded by skyscrapers so tall, he
could only see the top by looking up high and leaning back. People on the
street rushed about in the lightly falling snow, pushing and jostling each
other, their arms full of brightly wrapped packages. It was one week before
Christmas and there was a dizzying feeling of joy in the air. Alex had been
almost drunk from the excitement. This
must be what Leningrad was like.
Deep in his dreams of unlimited
delights, he walked home. Three blocks later, Alex climbed the stairs to the
dingy one-bedroom apartment where he and his mother lived.
Before he was born, his
mother had tried to make the apartment look warm and inviting. She hung pretty
paper on the walls and crisp curtains over the windows. The furniture was
inexpensive but attractive and functional. Whatever nesting instinct had once
inspired Marlena Ivanov’s efforts had long disappeared. For the past twelve
years she had done nothing more to improve her home. Indeed, she had not done
even the most basic of repairs. Over time, the wallpaper had become worn and
faded. The curtains lost their freshness and the once attractive furniture
became old and shabby. The sour stench of poverty clung to the apartment like
old dirt.
Alex closed the door behind
him and dropped his canvas bag on the floor. He sniffed the air and wrinkled
his nose. From the kitchen came the smell of boiled cabbage.
“Is dat you Alexander? Vere
ver you? Is nearly six o’clock and dinner is been ready for hour,” his mother’s
heavily accented voice called out from the bathroom. “I getting ready to go
out. You vill ave to eat alone.”
Through the thin door came
the sound of the toilet flushing. A moment later Marlena appeared wearing a
tight pink sweater set and a black satin skirt. Her dark hair was freshly
coifed, the marks of the bobby pins still imprinted between each wave. Her
mouth was painted crimson in the shape Joan Crawford had made popular a decade
earlier. From ten feet away the smell of vodka on her breath was overpowering.
“Will you be coming home by
yourself?” asked the boy suspiciously.
“Vat you vant me to do?” She
picked up her purse abruptly and threw in her lipstick. “You vant to eat. I not
do dis for me. A boy need food to grow big, strong. Someday you understand.” A
moment later, she was gone.
Marlena Ivanov was a bitter
woman. She made no secret of the fact that raising a boy by herself was a heavy
cross to carry, one she deeply resented. Alex sometimes thought his mother
hated him almost as much as she did his father. He had never seen his father.
He knew, only because his mother repeatedly told him, that Pavel Ivanov had
been a gambler and a womanizer. Whatever wages the man had earned, he just as
quickly spent on those two vices. The day Alex was born was the day Pavel
Ivanov decided that married life was not for him. He disappeared, leaving his
seventeen-year-old wife to deal with the struggles of working and raising a son
by herself.
After a dinner of cabbage soup,
Alex turned off the lights and climbed under his blankets. In the dark, he
could clearly see his mother’s empty bed a few feet from his own. He turned his
back to it and curled up.
Hours later, the muffled
sound of laughter woke him up. The bedroom door swung open and the light turned
on.
“Turn dat off. You vake up
boy,” his mother ordered in a shrill whisper. The light flicked off. “Das
better. I like dark.” She laughed. “Now, come to Marlena.” Clothes rustled.
From his cot, in the corner of the room, Alex guessed every gesture, every
movement. Old springs creaked. The sounds were loud, magnified by the stillness
of the night.
Alex covered his ears. By
trying hard, maybe he could keep the noises from reaching him. It was too late.
The guilty stirring in his loins had already begun. His mind swirled in a mix
of emotions too strong for him to understand. Maybe if he thought of something else.
Someday I’ll drive in from the city in a
brand new Cadillac. I’ll show them all…
The next morning, Marlena
kissed the man goodbye and turned triumphantly to Alex. “See dis?” She pulled
out a ten-dollar bill from between her breasts. “Dis can buy food for whole
week.”
Alex looked away,
embarrassed and ashamed, and returned to the picture he was drawing on the back
of his spelling book.
