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Ambergris begins as indigestion, when the beak of a squid or the hard internal shell of a cuttlefish irritates the stomach lining of a sperm whale.
Charles Harcourt, Prince d'Harcourt
On the Nature and Uses of Ambergris
Charles had an extraordinary fondness for beautiful women. A fixation, some might even say.
Whichever, if he analyzed this predilection (and despite efforts not to. little bolts of understanding had struck him from time to time in recent years), it probably had to do with his horror of being thought ugly: To parade a beautiful woman on his arm seemed to say he had to be pleasing to the eye himself; how else could a goddess descended from Olympus stand to be near him? Whatever the reasons, his attraction to fabulous-looking females was legendary—along with his inordinate success with them, a success that was both his curse and his glory.
Most everyone at home suspected, for instance. that Pia was his mistress. This connection to her gave Charles a kind of glow up and down the Cote d'Azur, where cavorting with sought-after beauties was considered a mark of taste, adventurousness. and reflected on one's own irresistibility. On the other hand, Pia was not a very considerate woman.
For instance, when she called that evening, he mentioned he was having his dinner and asked ever so politely if he could call her back in half an hour. Her response was to tell him she hoped he choked on his food and fell over dead onto the table, after which she hung up on him. He stood there in the antechamber off the drawing room of his suite, clutching the phone by its throat in one hand, its staticky earpiece in the other. After a moment, he sighed and dutifully called her back If she were this upset, he reasoned…
The next little run of conversation, however, didn't go much better. Pia began it substantively with, "What I am saying is, I am allowed to be married and you are not."
Charles set his fork down onto his appointment book, then sat down into the desk chair. He said, "Pia, you may as well get used to it: I'm going to marry her. There are too many motivating reasons for me to do otherwise."
"Well, I won't be your piece on the side."
"Why not? I've been your piece on the side for more than two years."
"It's not the same thing and you know it."
He laughed. "No, I don't. It is the same."
"No, no, no, it isn't," Pia argued. "Men who scheme to have two women are horrible cads or worse."
He laughed again. "Worse?"
She had no reply.
He asked. "And what are women called who scheme to have two men?"
She harrumphed in response, then the line clicked dead again.
He rang her back after she had had a few minutes to calm herself. Quite reasonably, he thought, he asked. "Why aren't you at dinner with everyone else? How are you feeling?"
"Terrible," she said. "I threw up my lunch. I'm so nauseated I can't stand. I hate this ship."
He paused, then braved an indelicate question. "When were your last menses?"
"I'm bloody in them. I have cramps too."
"Ah. Well, that's good. I mean, I'm sorry." He navigated awkwardly. "That you have cramps, that is.
Can I get you anything?"
"Yes. Louise Vandermeer's head, if you wouldn't mind."
He scowled down into the black transmitter, instantly annoyed. "I think she's using it. Use yours: Stop bludgeoning me with this, Pia. Stop your pouting and tantruming."
The phone line disconnected again.
Charles went back to the dining room, tried to eat, but ended up wandering aimlessly through the suite, uncertain what he was doing, disturbed though unsure just what disturbed him. The telephone rang again.
This time he didn't answer it. It rang more than a dozen times, stopped, then began ringing again. When he went over to it finally, he noticed a black pearl lying against the spine of his appointment book. He had collected this after his meeting with Louise, after she had looked for him far and wide (when she should have looked near—he had been standing in the shadows of the open
Ambergris begins as indigestion, when the beak of a squid or the hard internal shell of a cuttlefish irritates the stomach lining of a sperm whale.
Charles Harcourt, Prince d'Harcourt
On the Nature and Uses of Ambergris
Charles had an extraordinary fondness for beautiful women. A fixation, some might even say.
Whichever, if he analyzed this predilection (and despite efforts not to. little bolts of understanding had struck him from time to time in recent years), it probably had to do with his horror of being thought ugly: To parade a beautiful woman on his arm seemed to say he had to be pleasing to the eye himself; how else could a goddess descended from Olympus stand to be near him? Whatever the reasons, his attraction to fabulous-looking females was legendary—along with his inordinate success with them, a success that was both his curse and his glory.
Most everyone at home suspected, for instance. that Pia was his mistress. This connection to her gave Charles a kind of glow up and down the Cote d'Azur, where cavorting with sought-after beauties was considered a mark of taste, adventurousness. and reflected on one's own irresistibility. On the other hand, Pia was not a very considerate woman.
For instance, when she called that evening, he mentioned he was having his dinner and asked ever so politely if he could call her back in half an hour. Her response was to tell him she hoped he choked on his food and fell over dead onto the table, after which she hung up on him. He stood there in the antechamber off the drawing room of his suite, clutching the phone by its throat in one hand, its staticky earpiece in the other. After a moment, he sighed and dutifully called her back If she were this upset, he reasoned…
The next little run of conversation, however, didn't go much better. Pia began it substantively with, "What I am saying is, I am allowed to be married and you are not."
Charles set his fork down onto his appointment book, then sat down into the desk chair. He said, "Pia, you may as well get used to it: I'm going to marry her. There are too many motivating reasons for me to do otherwise."
"Well, I won't be your piece on the side."
"Why not? I've been your piece on the side for more than two years."
"It's not the same thing and you know it."
He laughed. "No, I don't. It is the same."
"No, no, no, it isn't," Pia argued. "Men who scheme to have two women are horrible cads or worse."
He laughed again. "Worse?"
She had no reply.
He asked. "And what are women called who scheme to have two men?"
She harrumphed in response, then the line clicked dead again.
He rang her back after she had had a few minutes to calm herself. Quite reasonably, he thought, he asked. "Why aren't you at dinner with everyone else? How are you feeling?"
"Terrible," she said. "I threw up my lunch. I'm so nauseated I can't stand. I hate this ship."
He paused, then braved an indelicate question. "When were your last menses?"
"I'm bloody in them. I have cramps too."
"Ah. Well, that's good. I mean, I'm sorry." He navigated awkwardly. "That you have cramps, that is.
Can I get you anything?"
"Yes. Louise Vandermeer's head, if you wouldn't mind."
He scowled down into the black transmitter, instantly annoyed. "I think she's using it. Use yours: Stop bludgeoning me with this, Pia. Stop your pouting and tantruming."
The phone line disconnected again.
Charles went back to the dining room, tried to eat, but ended up wandering aimlessly through the suite, uncertain what he was doing, disturbed though unsure just what disturbed him. The telephone rang again.
This time he didn't answer it. It rang more than a dozen times, stopped, then began ringing again. When he went over to it finally, he noticed a black pearl lying against the spine of his appointment book. He had collected this after his meeting with Louise, after she had looked for him far and wide (when she should have looked near—he had been standing in the shadows of the open
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