Make Me Bad: Private Lessons (11 page)

She answers on the first ring.

“Mom!”

“Hi honey. Is everything okay?”

Right. It’s probably around eleven
at night.

“No!” I begin to cry, “I’m a mess
over here and I just really needed to hear your voice.”

“Oh, Maddie! What’s wrong? I thought
you were loving Paris?”

“I do love Paris.” I wail, ducking
into a park and finding a private bench, “It’s just that--’’ I trail off. How
do I explain to my mother about Luc and how I’m in way over my head? “It’s a
guy, Mom.” I sigh.

“Ahh,” she says, knowingly.

Oh, if she only knew.

“What seems to be the trouble,
honey? Did you just meet him? You’ve only been there for two weeks.”

My mind moves quickly. “I sort of
knew him before, but we’ve gotten closer since we’ve been here.”

“So, he’s part of the study abroad
program?”

“Yes.”
Technically,
Luc
is.

“I just can’t figure him out, Mom,
and I keep messing up.”

“I doubt you’re messing up. You
have a lot going on. You’re in a different city, living somewhere else,
studying new things and working on your music. I’m sure you’re just a little
overwhelmed.” She pauses and I can tell she’s hesitating.

“What?”

“Well,” she starts, “maybe you
don’t have time for a guy right now. I imagine you’re really busy and you
should focus on your studies anyway.”

“I’m actually not that busy. Our
class load is really light which allows us lots of time to explore the city.
Which I am doing,” I say quickly, “but I really like this guy and he’s so hard
to read.”

“That’s how all guys are, honey.
They're all very hard to read, it's in their genes.”

“Was Daddy hard to read?” I ask stubbornly.
I don’t know why I'm bothering to compare Luc to my father.

“That’s different,” she explains.

I know that my father wasn’t hard
to read. He and my mother dated when they were kids and reconnected as adults.
It was fate.

“But,” she continues, “There were
times when I didn’t understand what was going on and thought I was reading too
much into things.”

“But were you
really
reading
too much into things?”

She sighs. “No...
My
hunches were always right.”

“That’s the thing about this guy,
Mom. I think am reading into things too much and I don’t want to come off as
some needy, desperate girl.”

“Maybe back away a bit. Let him
come to you. I know that sounds easier said than done, but don’t make it easy
for him. Play the game a bit. Though, I don’t really know much about how to
play the game.” She laughs. My mom is right. She really has no experience when
it comes to men. It was always only my dad for her.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I
admit, not yet feeling great, but feeling a little better.

“Have you thought any more about us
coming out to visit?” she asks, changing the subject. “I know we talked about
you possibly coming home for Thanksgiving, but we would still love to come see
you.”

Now that my mom mentions a visit,
it sounds wonderful.

“I don’t think I’m going to come
home for Thanksgiving, but I would love for you to visit!”

“All right, let me look over the
calendar and we can work something out. Maybe we can come out in two or three
weeks, around your halfway point.”

“That would be really great, Mom.
I’d love to see you and Daddy.”

“Okay, Sweetie. I’ll look over
dates and I’ll get back in touch with you.’’

“All right. Love you, Mom. Thanks
for the talk.”

“Anytime. Love you too, Maddie.”

The possibility of my parents visiting
lifts my spirits and I head home. Cleo is back in our apartment when I walk in.

“You were gone for a while.” She
says, glancing at her watch with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, I walked around for a bit
and then I talked to my mom.”

“Oh. How is she?”

“Good. I think my parents are going
to come out to visit in a few weeks.”

“That's nice, but I feel like I’ve
hardly seen you lately. When do
I
get to visit you?” she mock whines.

“You’ve been wrapped up with Philippe!”
I laugh.

Cleo frowns, pulling at her wavy
hair. “I know. I’m sorry about that. I don’t know why I bother spending so much
time with him.” She pouts. “It won’t matter when we head back to New York in
December.”

I flop on the couch and make a
swooning sound. “But it’s a Paris romance.”

Cleo comes over and sits next to
me. “And what about you? Don’t you want a Paris romance?”

I shrug. “If it happens, it
happens.”

Cleo fixes me with a hard stare and
I get the feeling that she suspects something.

“I’m hungry.” I say quickly. “Want
to go out to dinner? Just us? Now that you’ve admitted you’ve been up
Philippe’s ass.”

She laughs. “Sure! That sounds fun.”

The week passes and I don’t hear
from Luc. I think about texting him, but I remember what my mother said, and I
hold off, thinking that there may be something to the whole idea of keeping my
distance.

Friday rolls around, I start to
feel anxious that it’s nearly the weekend and I haven’t heard from him. I don’t
think we’re in a relationship. It seems to me that what we have is strictly
physical, and I'm enjoying it...
immensely
. But I can't help thinking about
Luc and wondering what he's up to at various points of the day. A few times, I
considered dropping by his apartment, but I knew that would come across as
crazy. The thought that he might be having sex with other women crossed my mind,
and it was more than I can handle, so I pushed it away to the back of my mind.
I have no claim over Luc, but deep down I want him all to myself.

Cleo and I are split into separate
project groups during our morning history class. Cleo and her group head to the
library, while my group stays and works in the empty classroom. After a boring
hour detailing an ancient map, we finally end our session. I call Cleo but she doesn’t
pick up and I figure her group's still working.

It's close to two in the afternoon
and I'm feeling hungry. I consider going home and rummaging for something in
our flat, but it wouldn’t be as fun as finding something delicious to eat out.

I head away from campus in search
of a sandwich shop I'd visited once during our first week. I remember having an
amazing sandwich on the most delicious bread and I set out, determined to find
the place again.

I go up and down a few streets before
I begin second-guessing my sense of direction. Maybe it wasn’t as close to
campus as I remember it being. I turn down another corner and come to an abrupt
halt. Not more than ten yards in front of me, is Luc with another woman.

I can’t help but stare as the
beautiful redhead gives Luc a long, lingering hug and two cheek kisses. Luc
smiles and I realize they are speaking in French. That’s right—Luc told me that
his mother was French. He must have learned it as a child. It would explain why
he speaks French so fluently.

The woman’s manicured hand rests on
Luc’s arm. She laughs flirtatiously and leans in towards him. I wouldn’t say
that Luc is flirting back, but he’s definitely not pulling away and my heart is
breaking all the same.

I know that Luc aren’t committed,
we’ve never had an agreement of any kind, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt
to see him with another woman.

The woman, who is tall and willowy,
is dressed in stylish black pants and wearing a trendy cream pea coat. She
plays with her hair and rubs Luc’s arm again. He gives her hand an affectionate
squeeze and then they break apart.

As she turns and heads away from
me, Luc turns and faces me. It’s impossible to hide, I am standing directly in
front of him and our eyes meet immediately. I’m embarrassed, hurt and surprised
all at the same time. I wasn’t spying on Luc, but I feel like I walked in on a
private moment. My hunger disappears. Mortified, I turn around and flee. I turn
the corner and blindly hurry towards a Metro sign in the distance. I need to
get home.

“Madison! I see you! Wait!” Luc
calls out from behind me, having followed me around the corner.

I feel my eyes prick with tears,
which only makes me angrier with myself. Why do I have to cry?

“Damn it, Madison! I know you can
hear me!” he yells, and his voice is closer now. He reaches me just before I
make it to the station stairs.

“What?” I ask, “What do you want?”

“Why did you run like that? I can
explain who that woman is.” He’s looking especially handsome today in his black
leather jacket and t-shirt and I hate him for it.

“You don’t have to explain anything
to me.” I snap, letting my emotions get the best of me.

“Well, you’re right,” he says
slowly, “We haven’t had any kind of conversation, but I can imagine what that
looked like and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“What does it matter? You’re free
to fuck whomever you want.” I know I sound childish.

“I’m not fucking anyone else,” he
whispers angrily, “I know you’re upset by what you saw. I can see it on your
face. And why else would you run after seeing me?”

Busted.

“I’m sorry! I have no reason to be
upset! I’m an idiot. Let’s just forget all this ever happened.”

“No!” he says, angry still, “Let’s
not ‘just forget’ about this! Let’s talk about it!”

“I need to go home, Luc.”

“Bullshit. Why don’t you grow up
for five minutes and let me explain what you saw?”

That stops me in my tracks. He’s
right. I’m being immature again.

I take a deep breath. “You’re
right. I’m not acting like an adult. Go ahead. You can explain.”

He rolls his eyes. “Thank you. Her
name is Juliette. She’s a childhood friend who I knew a long time ago.”

I sulk. “Okay.”

He sighs. “And yes, she was
flirting with me, if you want to know.” He throws his hands up in frustration
and paces away from me. When he turns around and heads back towards me, his
face his filled with angst and his eyes are bright with annoyance.

“And you want to know what else?”
he asks not waiting for me to answer. “The entire time that she was flirting
with me, and batting her eyelashes, and telling me about her life and alluding to
the fact that we should spend more time together, the only damn thing I could
think about was you!”

I peer up at him, slightly
mollified, still unsure of where this is going.

“So, what the hell is wrong with
me?” he challenges. “There’s a beautiful woman
my age
coming on to me
and the only thing I can think about is you! How sexy and sweet
you
are!
How you aren’t jaded, and you’re not playing games! Thinking about your body,
about getting you back into my bed and spending the entire day exploring every damn
inch of
you
...”

He finally stops, his mouth twisted
in fury, and I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered, but I’m confused; he
sounds so upset about the feelings he has for me.

“So? What’s wrong with that?” I ask
in a small voice.

“What’s wrong is the fact that I
shouldn’t be thinking about you this much! You’re too young for me!”

“I think about you too,” I say
softly.

“Well, you shouldn’t!” He walks
away and then comes back. “And that isn’t as bad. You’re young and
impressionable—it’s quite normal for a student to have a crush on her teacher.”
He frowns, tugging at his hair. “It’s entirely different for a teacher to have
a crush on his student. It’s not right!”

I duck my head so he can’t see the
hurt on my face. My brain understands what he’s saying, but I’m still upset by
his words.

 “I’m sorry,” he says gently,
reaching for my arm. “I’ve hurt your feelings. I can tell. There is nothing
wrong with you. I think you’re fantastic, and that’s part of the problem. I
know I should stay away from you, but I keep coming back to you; I keep
thinking about you.”

“So, let’s do something about
that,” I say hurriedly before I can stop myself. I bite my lip. I spoke too
soon.

“Like what?” he asks wryly.

I shrug, looking down at the
ground. “Let’s see each other regularly.”

“Dating?”

“We don’t need to label it.”

He laughs. “Now
you
sound
like the older one.” He’s quiet, running his hands through his hair. “We could
consider it.”

“Consider dating?”

“Is that what you want?”

Is that what I want? I think so,
but I’m afraid to admit it. “What do you want?” I counter.

“Oh no,” he smirks, “I asked you
first.”

“Fine. If we’re being totally
honest, I don’t care what we call it, but I want to see more of you.”

“And we would be exclusive?” he
asks.