Make Me Bad: Private Lessons (23 page)

“What? It’s not like you two were
going to hold hands and stroll through Trafalgar Square!”

“I know! But still! We would have
had our little moments.”

“Suck it up, Maddie!” she says,
annoyed.

“You’re right! Screw him! And you
know what? If anyone shouldn’t go – it should be him! It’s not like he has to
be our tour guide or something!”

Cleo grins. “Exactly!”

“Hell! I can show us around London
if I need to! It’s an easy city to get around!”

“That’s right! Tell him to go to
hell!”

I jump up. “Maybe I will!”

Cleo giggles. “Maddie, sit down,”
she whispers, “People are staring.”

“Oh. Right.” I sit back down.

“I’m not saying to not tell him to
go to hell, but maybe not right now.”

I nod. We change the subject and
spend the rest of the afternoon talking about our holiday plans. Cleo’s family
lives outside of Philadelphia, so she will take the train home for our winter
break. She still isn’t sure whether she wants to stay on in the city after
graduation, or move back to Philly.

We finally wind ourselves back
home, walking past famous landmarks and just enjoying the city. It’s hard to
believe in a few weeks time we won’t be living here anymore. I’ve started to
grow accustomed to the beautiful buildings and architecture of Paris.

We make it back to our apartment,
and we both go off and do our own thing. Cleo disappears into her room, and I
pull out my laptop and lay across the floor. After responding to some emails,
and looking at some photos, I pull up one of my favorite composition programs.
It’s not the same as composing with my guitar in hand, but it’s fun to
manipulate other instruments and build on top of melodies for an immediate
result. I get lost in creating a new piece, and when I look up, Cleo is
standing over me, smiling and shaking her head.

“What?” I ask, defensively. My neck
is incredibly stiff from not moving.

“I’m seriously jealous. How the
hell do you do that? Did you just start that piece after we got back?”

I nod sheepishly.

Cleo sighs. “If only we could all
be as talented as you.”

It’s then that I notice that Cleo
is dressed up in a mini-dress and heels.

“Philippe?” I tease.

She laughs. “Yes. I only have a few
more weeks to continue our Paris love affair, so I better get on it!”

I laugh. “Will you be coming home
tonight, or can I lock the deadbolt?”

She gives me a sly smile. “Lock the
deadbolt.” She sashays over to her purse. “I won’t be home.”

“You crazy kids have fun,” I tease.

Cleo’s face turns serious and she
walks back towards me. “Are you going to be okay? I know you have had a crappy
few days. I can stay home if you want me to.”

“No, don’t be silly! Go out and
have fun! Honestly, all this emotional turmoil and back and forth nonsense has
exhausted me. I’ll probably go to bed early.”

Cleo nods, still looking unsure.

“Really, Cleo! Go! I know you would
stay if I needed you too, but I promise, I’m fine. Go have fun. Tell Philippe I
said hello.”

She goes back to her bag and picks
it up. “If you need anything, text me. I can come home.”

“I know. Have fun!”

She blows me a kiss and then heads
out the door.

I sigh and stretch, suddenly tired
of the piece I’m working on. I drag myself into the kitchen and make a
sandwich. I look at my phone, almost willing Luc to call or text me. I don’t
know what I would want him to say. We seem to have said everything, and I know
he’s right in a practical kind of way. It doesn’t mean that I like it, but I’m
going to accept it.

I finish eating, and decide to
treat myself to a glass of red wine. I’ve had more wine in Paris than I think
I’ve had in my entire life. I take a sip, and manage to spill half the glass
down my shirt.

“Crap!” I yelp. I quickly take the
shirt off and hurry to the sink, running the shirt under cold water. How the
hell did I do that? I head into our teeny laundry closet, pull out the stain
remover, drench the spot on my shirt, and leave it over the washer to set
before I wash it.

At the same time, I hear a knock on
the door.

Seriously?

Not thinking, I go to the door and
pull it open.

There stands Luc and his eyes bulge
out of his head as he sees me in my pants and bustier style bra.

“Oh my god!” I gasp, quickly
covering myself up. How did I forget that I was only half dressed? And not only
that, but that this morning I had put on my trashiest bra in the vain hope that
Luc and I may have reconciled after class.

A myriad of emotions cross Luc’s
face: pleasure, surprise, lust, and then finally, embarrassment.

“I’m – I’m sorry!” he stutters, and
starts to back away. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“What?”

“You must have company.”

He starts down the hallway.

Wait. What?

Oh my god! He thinks there is
another man in my house!

“Luc! No! No, no, no! I don’t have
company! My god! I spilled wine on my shirt right before you knocked and I was
running back and forth between the laundry room trying to get the stain out!”

Luc stops and gives me a puzzled
look. “Wine?”

“Yes!” I say with exasperation.
“Would you like to come in? I just need to get a shirt.” I don’t know why I’m
covering up in front of Luc when he’s already seen every inch of me.

“Sure,” he says slowly, coming back
towards the door. My mind doesn’t even have time to process that he is here or try
and figure out what he wants because I’m so focused on getting dressed.

He follows me inside and I hurry
down the hall to my bedroom. “Just have a seat,” I call as I duck into my room.
“What the hell?” I mutter to myself, as I throw open my chest of drawers. I’m
happy that Luc is here, even though I just came to terms with Luc ending
things. Was this was going to set me off on another emotional bender? What more
could he have to say to me? I grab a light blue boat neck shirt and throw it
over me and hurry out into the living room.

Luc isn’t on the couch and when I
look up, I see him standing at the balcony doors, looking out at the Eiffel
Tower, currently lit up with blue lights. At the top of every hour, an amazing
light show begins and lasts for fifteen minutes. I glance at my watch and see
that it’s five minutes until seven – almost time for the light show.

“There’s a light show in five
minutes,” I say quietly.

He nods. “They’ve started that for
the holiday season.”

I stay quiet because I don’t know
what else to say. Then I can’t help what I say next. “I had been planning on
telling you to go to hell.”

He turns around to look at me, a
small smile playing on his lips. “Oh?”

Why does he look amused? That
actually pisses me off.

“Yes,” I say indignantly. “Actually,
right after class I was set to march over to your apartment to tell you, but
Cleo stopped me.”

“Ah.” His brows furrow. “That was
wise of Cleo.”

I cock my head to one side. He’s in
a weird mood. “Yes, well she thought I should keep my distance.”

He sighs, and stares down at his
hands. “It’s probably best that you didn’t stop by after class.” He pauses as
if struggling with the words. “I had a visitor.”

The way he says
visitor
sends a surge of jealousy through my system. He hasn’t even said who visited
him, but I can tell that I’m not going to like his answer.

I grit my teeth. “Who? Juliette? Is
that what you’ve come here to tell me?” I can’t help all my insecurities from
rising up like bile in my throat. “You’ve moved on that quickly? You and
Juliette are now a couple?”

“No! No,” he says quickly, moving
towards me. He reaches out like he’s going to touch me, but then he pulls back.

He looks up at me. “Vera.”

Vera? Who is Vera? Should I know
that name?

He must notice my confusion, so he
explains further. “My ex-wife.”

“Oh.”

I sink down on the couch. His
ex-wife came to visit him. Has he come to tell me that he and his ex are back
together? To give me another reason why we wouldn’t work out? One that makes
more sense?

I bite my lip. I can’t argue with
that kind of reason. If he doesn’t want to be with me because he doesn’t want
to hurt my career, well, that’s one thing. But if he doesn’t want to be with
me, because he
wants
someone else, well, I can’t argue with that.

He says nothing, so I speak up.
“Oh, well I see. That changes things, I guess.”

“But I haven’t explained anything.
I haven’t told you why.”

“It’s fine, Luc. You don’t need to.
If you two are back together, I don’t need to hear the details. I understand.”

“Christ, Maddie! Hear me out before
jumping to some fucked up conclusion!”

What? I look up at him. They aren’t
back together?

“My ex-wife is an awful person.
I’ll spare you the details, but trust me on that. She is in town on family
business regarding the death of her uncle. She actually had the nerve to ask me
for a place to sleep. It had nothing to do with us getting back together.”

This story was getting stranger and
stranger.

“I obviously told her she couldn’t
sleep at my apartment. The point is, that seeing her and talking to her –’’ he
stops speaking as if he can’t get the words right. “Her showing up in Paris and
being here – it was so wrong. Everything was so wrong. Just being around her
reminded me of how
different
you are, and I suddenly thought to myself –
what the hell am I doing
?”

I wait patiently; still unsure of
where he is going with this.

“I came here to tell you that I
screwed up. I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want to be without you. I
don’t know how, and I’m not going to worry about that just yet, but I want to
be with you. We’ll take it day by day. Right now we are in Paris. We don’t have
to worry about New York. We don’t have to worry about the spring. We don’t have
to worry about graduation. Let’s take it one day at a time. One day, here in
Paris, right now, this moment.”

And then he can’t say anymore
because I’ve thrown myself into his arms.

I didn’t really stop to consider
what I was doing as I made my way to Maddie’s apartment. But then again, I
didn’t need to do any more thinking. I was tired of running from the one thing
I wanted, tired of feeling like a screwed up loser, and tired of trying to seek
pleasure in my own self-inflected misery.

Seeing Vera at my apartment just
triggered something within me. I thought of the miserable years that I spent
with her and the way that she brought me down. I already was already prone towards
depression, and Vera only intensified those weaknesses in me. She made all of
my darkness darker, all of my sadness sadder.

Maddie had the opposite effect.

She made my darkness…lighter.

She made my sadness…happier.

Maddie was the one bright spot in
my life right now. In spite of her age, she brought out a better side of me;
one that I hadn’t known existed. I never wanted to go back to the place I was in
with Vera, but it seemed that was exactly where I was heading. So, I wasn’t
going to think too much on the future. I wasn’t going to worry about three
months from now, or six months from now, or next year. Hadn’t I already learned
life could change in an instant? Was I was going to walk away from some of the
only true happiness I have ever known because of fear? Worrying over things yet
to come?

Hell no.

So, I left my sad little apartment
and headed straight to Maddie. When she opened the door half-naked, I felt like
I was too late. She had already found someone else. And when she told me she
had spilled wine, I wanted to laugh like a giddy schoolboy. I should have known
better – Maddie wasn’t the kind of girl to go running into someone else’s arms
a few hours later.

After everything had been sorted
out, Maddie and I spent most of the night
not
talking and taking part in
some far better activities. Three days later, I’m still sitting here thinking
about how damn hot it was.

I have to force myself to stop
thinking about Maddie, so I can actually finish grading papers and get to bed.
We have our trip to London in the morning, and even though Maddie and I can’t
be open with our relationship, it will still be special just to be around her
and share in her infectious joy.

Saturday morning arrives, the sun is
still not completely up in the sky, and it’s chilly. It’s nearing the end of
November, and Paris is slowly turning into a winter town. Soon, some of the
parks will close, and it won’t be long before the Eiffel Tower will routinely
stop visitors from going to the top due to ice or freezing rain.