Make Me Bad: Private Lessons (10 page)

“How are you?” she asks conversationally. Her hair is pulled
back in a ponytail today, and for some reason she seems younger. Her cheeks are
flushed and she’s wearing dark pants and a deep orange v-neck shirt.

“Well, thanks.” I close the door behind us. “How are you?”

She seems to relax once we’re no longer being watched.

“I missed you,” she says in a small voice, looking at the
ground.

And I’ve missed her. I’ve missed how she smells, how she
looks, and how she makes me feel younger just by being in her presence.

“Did you have to explain anything to Cleo?” I ask.

She gives me a small smile. “No, I lucked out. I beat her
home by about ten minutes.”

“Good.”

I pull out my guitar, and Madison gives me a quizzical look
but follows suit. As much as I’ve missed her, I don’t want to let on to my
feelings. I know I’m coming across as cold, but this is her private lesson, and
right now it’s my job to make sure I’m teaching her.

We start the lesson, and Madison works with me, listening to
my suggestions and following my advice. About halfway through, she sets her
guitar down and frowns at me.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“You’re being weird.” she says bluntly.

“Am I?”

“Yes. Did I do something?”

I sigh, putting my guitar down. “No, Madison, you didn’t do
anything. And yes, I have missed you. It’s just that...I’m not good for you.”

“How about you let me be the judge of that?”

“But you don’t know what’s best for you...You’re too young.”

“Too young? I wasn’t too young to screw the other night, was
I?”

I cringe at her words, but she has a point. “No. You
weren’t.” I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my pants. “I’m really
wrestling with this.”

She stands up, and comes to me, moving between my legs and
placing her hands on my shoulders.

“Why?” She gazes at me innocently, but I can feel her
intention is anything but.

“Madison,” I say sternly, “back away. Anyone could walk by
and see us through the window.”

“So?” She leans down, and grazes her hand across my crotch.

I jump up as if I’ve been burned. “Damn it! That’s enough!”

Hurt crosses her face, but it’s quickly replaced by anger.

“Yes.” she agrees. She stalks over to her guitar and puts it
away before gathering her bag. “I think that will be enough for today.”

“I’m the teacher.” I growl, “I think I’ll make that
decision.”

“Well, I just made it for you.” she snaps, before stomping
out of the room.

I stare after her in shock.

Did she really just do that?

“How fucking immature.” I mutter, angrily gathering my
things. I can’t believe that she just left in the middle of her damn lesson
after coming on to me. Did she not recall anything we discussed over the
weekend? How our involvement could threaten both of our careers? And honestly,
it would be worse for her than me! Not only has her career barely started, but
she comes from a famous background.

This is exactly why I shouldn’t be getting involved with
someone so young.

I fume as I exit campus, and all the way home on the Metro.
I stop at a small shop on the way home to grab a few things; still angry by the
time I reach my apartment.

I’m practically at my door before I notice Madison sitting
on the floor in my hallway. It looks like she’s been crying.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, standing. “That was childish. I
shouldn’t have acted that way.”

I feel my anger melt seeing her vulnerable and teary.

“It’s okay. I’m sure this isn’t easy for you either.”

She shakes her head. “But we were at school. I knew better.
I shouldn’t have acted that way and I shouldn’t have been so insecure. I know
that we have to be completely professional in public.”

I nod.

Damn. She looks so beautiful standing here outside my
apartment.

“Why did you come here?” I ask, my voice husky.

“To apologize.”

“Nothing else?”

“No. I swear.”

And I believe her. Which makes me want her more. I grab my keys,
jam them in the lock to unlock the door, and then I grab her and push her
inside as I kiss her.

She yelps with surprise. I kick my guitar inside, and Madison
quickly catches on, kissing me back as I kick the door closed.

I push her up against the back of the door, knotting my
hands in her hair, and rubbing my knee up against her sex.

“Luc.” she moans.

I love hearing her need for me and I take her against the
door, hard and rough, to which she responds vigorously.

We fuck for about fifteen minutes. After we're both spent, I
put her down, we walk over to sit at my kitchen table and I pour us two glasses
of water.

“I should go.” she says awkwardly, “That really wasn’t why I
came here. I really did come to apologize.”

“Didn’t you like it?” I tease.

“I loved it,” she whispers, “but I don’t want to come across
as manipulative.”

I laugh out loud. “Trust me, I know manipulative women, and
you are certainly not one of them.”

“Well, I could be.” she says defensively.

I laugh again. “Tell me. What are you telling your parents
you’re doing while in Paris?” I’m not quite ready for her to leave yet so I
figure I will keep her talking.

She looks down at the floor. “Well, I’ve kind of been
avoiding talking to them.”

This makes me smile. “Really? And why is that?”

She rolls her eyes and motions to my apartment. “How do I
explain this?”

“Good point. Were they happy you came to Paris?”

“They came around. They weren’t too crazy about the idea
initially. I didn’t grow up as one of those rich kids who didn’t have any
supervision. I was always with my parents. Going to college was pretty much my
first time being away from them.”

I whistle softly. “I bet you went crazy.”

“Actually, I didn’t. I don’t know. It never really appealed
to me. I had already done a lot of things with my parents, traveled to a lot of
places. I had been to New York dozens of times.” She shrugs.

“Well, they must have done something right.” I offer.

She nods, pensive. “Yes, they did. And they never pushed me
into country music. They always let me pursue my own interests. I’ve always
been more into jazz and classical types of music. I mean, I like country music,
don’t get me wrong, but how could I ever do that and
not
be compared to
my parents? No one wants to live like that.”

I agree – no one would want to live like that. It’s like
those kids who try to break into showbiz and their parents are massive stars.
Everyone assumes they only get cast because of who their parents are and
they’re always known as so-and-so’s son or daughter.

“Didn’t we already establish that I’m a good girl?” she
asks. “There’s not much to tell about my parents. They are who they are and
they’re great people. I couldn’t have asked for better ones.” She chews the
inside of her lip. “What about your parents?”

Well, that’s what I get for asking about her past. Naturally,
she wants to learn about mine.

“Not much to tell really. My dad left when I was just a kid.
Which was fine, because he wasn’t much of a dad anyway. My mom was gorgeous,
and a ballerina. I think that was the initial appeal for him and then he felt
somewhat responsible after knocking her up.” I glance over at Madison, who
quickly masks her face into one of neutrality.

“So,” I continue, “it was just me and my mom, living out in
San Diego, and occasionally coming back to France to visit. My mom was French.”
I add. “She worked a lot so I could continue my guitar lessons and study, and
then she got ill and passed away when I was twenty.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching over and taking my hand and
it feels so strange to be comforted. Even in our earlier stages, I can’t
remember Vera ever comforting me. She was never one for sympathy.

My initial reaction is to pull away, but it feels good to
have her hold my hand, and for a brief, crazy second, I can
see
myself
with her. I can picture Madison and I together, despite our age difference, her
youthful vibrancy offsetting my darker, cynical side. She would be good for me.
I know she would be.

And it’s all so crystal clear, all so perfect, that it
actually takes my breath away. Suddenly,

I ache for Madison Evans to be with me. Maybe everything
will be all right as long as she's a part of my life.

“Well, I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to
my boring life story.” I say, withdrawing my hand and changing the subject, running
from the feelings bubbling up inside me.

“Oh, right.” she says, recoiling quickly.

I feel guilty. I can tell that I just hurt her feelings.

“I don’t want to keep you.” She blushes. “I’m sorry that I
even bothered you. I really was coming over just to apologize. Not for—you
know, the other stuff.”

You mean the raw sex up against my front door?
I
think to myself.

“Of course.” I say.

“Maybe I’ll hear from you later in the week?” she asks.

“Sure.”

She nods hesitantly. “Okay. Well, again, sorry that I ruined
today’s lesson. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine, really. Don't give it a second thought.”

I open the door and she slips out into the hallway. I watch
her disappear down the steps and then I close the door after her.

I can’t help moving to the window to watch for her figure to
appear on the street. A minute later I see her, and I slip behind my curtain
when I see her glance back up at my window. A few seconds later, she looks away
and makes her way down the street.

I stand at the window long after she’s gone, wondering why I
feel so strongly about her this early on. I can’t remember ever feeling this
strongly for a woman before. And honestly, I could never have a real future
with Madison. She's forbidden in every respect. Ideally, I should be with
someone like Juliette: someone my age, with a connection to my past, who has
come out okay on the other side of divorce.

But have
I
really come out okay on the other side? And
aside from the fact that Juliette lives in France and I live in New York,
Juliette has children, and I don’t know if I could ever be with someone who has
children. I can’t relate to kids. I’m awkward and unsure around them.

I shake my head; no, definitely not someone with kids. What does
it matter anyway? Since when do I want to be tied down to a woman in the first
place? I don’t want or need to be tied down to anyone. My own company and my
guitar are enough.

I walk home along the Seine, angry
with myself for behaving so childishly. Here I am, trying to have a love affair
with an older man and acting like a baby. I’m so embarrassed for how I acted on
campus, and
then
to just show up at Luc’s apartment...could I be more
desperate?

To be fair, Luc didn’t seem too
upset finding me in his hallway. I
honestly
didn’t anticipate what
happened next. How did I know that Luc was going to start kissing me and push
me up against the inside of the door? And of course, I couldn’t stop it,
because I always want Luc. And I know this is way more than some silly crush. I
think about him non-stop, I
crave
Luc. I’ve never been addicted to
anything, but I imagine that this is how it feels. It's as if I need Luc the
way I need air.

“God, I’m such an idiot,” I mumble
to myself, realizing that I’ve now crossed over into a new kind of crazy: muttering
to myself out on the streets. What I really need is to hear a voice of reason.
I need comfort. And I don’t want to be around Cleo right now.

I pull my phone out and dial the
number that I’ve known by heart since I was a little girl.