Make Me Bad: Private Lessons (6 page)

“Ohh. So that’s where you get it from.”

“Yep.”

“What kind of music?”

“Country.”

“Cool. Do they sing or write, produce?” She's being polite
but I know where this is headed.

“Both, actually.”

Luc is definitely listening intently. I can feel his entire
body focused on me.

“Sweet! They must do pretty well if that’s their main
career. Would I know them?”

I give her a small smile. “Probably.”

Ava’s quiet, clearly waiting for their names.

“Paige Lawson. Blake Evans.” I hold my breath and wait.
Sometimes people aren't into country music at all and really don’t know who my
parents are, or they recognize the name but don’t really know much else.

Ava and Luc react at the same time—Ava’s reaction is loud
and dramatic, but it’s Luc’s reaction that steals my focus.

Ava slams her hands down on the table, “Holy shit! No way!”
she yells.

Luc’s entire body freezes, and I can practically feel the
shock and surprise cascading through him. I feel his hand on my thigh and he clutches
at the long sweater I’m wearing. Instinctively, I cover his hand with mine,
feeling the tension in his tendons and the large ridges of his knuckles.

“Your parents are Paige Lawson and Blake Evans? I can’t
believe I never put your last name together and figured it out before. They are
freaking legends, Maddie! How did I not know this?”

I open my mouth to respond, but I don't quite remember what
she just asked...I’m too keenly aware of Luc gripping my shirt, and his hand
touching mine.

“Yes.” Luc speaks up, his voice stiff. “Do tell us how none
of us knew this intriguing tidbit about you.”

“I knew!” Cleo pipes up. “I’ve known for years. Maddie doesn’t
make a big deal out of it though. She obviously doesn’t want to be lumped in
with her parents or live in their shadow.” She pauses. “I don’t blame her,” she
adds.

Cleo is such a good friend, and at that moment I want to
reach out and hug and kiss her. Instead, I flash her the most grateful smile I
can muster and she smiles back at me before turning back to her conversation
with Philippe.

“I’m impressed.” Grace says. “That’s some serious lineage.
What was it like growing up?”

I sigh. “It was pretty normal for me. I don’t really have many
good stories. My parents made sure I had a relatively normal upbringing.”

Ava raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Obviously we had a nice house and I never wanted for
anything.” I say exasperatedly. “But I lived in Nashville year round, stayed at
the same schools, kept the same friends. My parents never took me out on the
road, unless it was summer vacation. They didn’t give me everything I wanted,
made me get a job in high school. It was...normal.”

“Madison, can I speak to you outside?” Luc asks suddenly.

Ava gives us both a strange look.

“I just thought about something regarding next week’s
lesson. It will only take a minute.” He looks back at the rest of the table.
“No need to bore everyone else with the details.”

I nod, mutely and get up to follow him outside.

Somehow, I know that this isn't about my lesson at all.

“What the hell?” he says angrily, once we’re outside.

“Excuse me?”

“You failed to mention that your parents are two country
music stars!”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I say sarcastically. “I didn’t realize that
was something I should wear on my forehead.”

“You should have told me,” he says, his eyes flashing.

Now, I’m annoyed. “Again, so sorry. When did you want me to
tell you? When you were pushing me up against the bathroom wall and ripping my
nylons the other night?”

That shuts him up, and he looks at me, gutted.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says quietly.

“No, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me into the dark alley alongside
of the restaurant. I’m not too sure what he’s doing, but then he pushes me hard
up against the bricks and I moan reflexively as he presses his body against mine.

“Why can’t I stay away from you?” he says, as he kisses me
hungrily. I meet his kiss with equal passion, grabbing at his ass as he presses
his hips hard against me.

“Don’t stay away.” I beg, wanting him closer. Wanting more
of him.

“You’re more trouble than I ever bargained for.”

“We’re in Paris.” I pant, “Let’s be reckless.”

Luc lets out a laugh. “Your twenties are all about being
reckless...I’m too old for reckless Madison.”

I’m not coy by nature, but I push him away, and bat my
eyelashes at him. “Be reckless,” I plead, doing my best to look seductive. “Be
reckless with me.” I grab him by his shirttails and pull him back to me.

He moans helplessly, kissing me again as his hands travel
under my sweater and move across the warm skin of my stomach.

“I’m too old for you,” he argues.

“No.”

“You should be with someone your own age.”

“No.”

I boldly reach between his legs, feeling his erection in his
jeans. “I want
you
.” I say bravely.

I’m not sure what happened to the old Maddie Evans, but she
sure as hell isn’t in Paris.

I head back to my flat in the city, feeling strangely
excited, though deep down apprehension fills my gut. After Madison and I had
engaged in a hot make out session up against the side of the restaurant, we
went back inside and acted like nothing had happened.

I know I need to stay away from Madison, especially
considering who her parents are. But, in my sick and twisted brain, Madison’s
parents are just another obstacle in the way of my sexual conquest. Although, I've
technically already conquered Madison, they have added a little danger to her
appeal.

I'm a sick fuck.

No surprise there.

Speaking of sick, I need to remember to take my meds in the
morning forgetting to take them earlier today, only contributed to the dark
cloud that's been hanging over me for most of the day.

I actually wasn’t planning on going to the restaurant, and I
should've held to that. While I do enjoy the company of students and I don’t really
know anyone else in Paris, I also enjoy my time alone, wandering the city and
popping into galleries and museums. Of course, I have my classes to teach, but
my workload is light and it allows lots of time to explore the city.

And lots of time to explore Madison.

After sitting and brooding in my flat all day, I'd decided
on a whim to go out to dinner with the girls. I was sick of being alone with my
thoughts, dwelling one the one-line email from Vera I received this morning
telling me that her Uncle Leon had passed away and she was grateful I saw him.

I don’t know why her email disturbed me so much but it did.
Perhaps it's the fact that Vera contacted me at all. Did she absolutely need to
write that email? Did I need to know exactly when her Uncle Leon died? I knew
he was dying –was it necessary for me to know exactly when?

I had thought the email all day, stewing in my thoughts and
thinking of Leon. Was I supposed to respond to the cold bitch and tell her I'm
sorry for her loss? I'm sorry that a kind and decent man has left this world,
but am I actually sorry for the grief that Vera's supposedly feeling? Fuck off.

Just before going to meet Madison and her friends for dinner,
I sent Vera a quick response –
I’m sorry to hear that he’s no longer with
us.

I wasn’t a total prick for ignoring her email, but I also
wasn’t telling her that I was sorry for her loss. Fuck her. And I made no
mention of wanting to know when the services were. The last thing I need is to
attend a depressing service sitting next to Vera. Screw that.

I let myself into my flat and think about Madison’s cell
phone number, now saved in my phone under her full name,
Madison.
Madison sounded much more grown up. Having sex with
Madison
seems less
taboo than having sex with
Maddie.
Maddie sounds like a little girl who
lives on a quaint little street and rides her bike and up down the sidewalk—no
thanks.

I'll see Madison again in a few days for our next lesson...unless
I decide to call or text her before then. The entire weekend looms before me,
and I can’t help but let my imagination run wild as I think of Madison's curvy
young body lying naked between my sheets. That would certainly brighten up my
weekend and better my mood.

I flip on the light and look around my sparse apartment.
It’s nothing fancy, and it was quite affordable with the travel stipend I
received. I toss my jacket over the back of a kitchen chair and pace back and
forth. I’m too keyed up to go to bed now. I think about having a glass of wine,
but I drank plenty at the restaurant. I walk over to one of my living room
windows, where if I crane my neck just so, I can see the Eiffel Tower. The
tower shimmers with its golden light show, it must be midnight, and I briefly
debate going back out to the street and walking to the tower.

I nix the idea, and instead pull out my guitar. Working on a
new song does the trick, and soon I feel calm and relaxed and ready to fall
asleep.

* * *

Saturday rolls around and I take my time waking up. I lay
lazily in bed, scrolling through my phone and appreciating the luxury of having
nothing to do today. I finally rise; take a shower and head out to the streets
to find some breakfast. My kitchen is still bare and I should probably buy
groceries instead of eating out for every meal.

Instead, I slip into a patisserie and order a black coffee
and baguette. I linger over my coffee, not caring that I’m wasting time. I find
a small grocery on the way home and pick up a few items to keep in the kitchen.

I try not to dwell on Madison, but once I’m back in my
apartment, I make an impulsive decision to call her.

“Hello?”

Just the sound of her voice gives me a thrill. I know I should
hang up now before it's too late.

“It’s Luc.” I finally manage.

“Yes, I know.” I hear a door close and I wonder if she’s
gone somewhere private to speak to me.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Umm, fine. You?”

“I want to see you. Do you have plans?”

“Now? You want to see me now?”

“Now. Later. Whenever.” No need to beat around the bush.

She hesitates. “I’m supposed to go out with Cleo and Philippe
today.” she explains, “It would be weird if I broke plans all the sudden.” She
pauses again, and I can almost picture her biting her lip as she thinks. “What
if I came over later?”

“That’s fine. You have my cell number.”

“Okay. I’ll text you. It'll probably be around six or so.”

“That works.” I'll take what I can get and the thought of
being with Madison again is almost more than I can handle.

I hang up with her and find myself pacing again. I need to
find some new hobbies while I'm in Paris or I’m going to lose my mind. I can’t
spend all my energy focusing on a ridiculous romance with one of my students.
And I can only compose music for so much time.

I leave my apartment, and head back out into the city,
looking for something, anything, to do. I find my way to Montmartre and make my
way up the hill to the Sacre Coeur. I don’t actually want to walk through the
church, but there’s an amazing view from the top of the steps, and I like
watching all the people and the artisans trying to hock their crappy paintings.

Today amidst the artists, there is also an awful musician,
playing bad covers of the Beatles. Not surprisingly, people seem to love the
music, and I sit on a ledge to watch the comical reactions of passersby. Maybe
this can be my new hobby – watching the tourists in Paris.

I guess technically I’m a tourist too, though I pretend not
to be. My mother was French, and though I was born in the States, we spent much
of my childhood in France and I grew up learning to speak both English and
French. My father was a deadbeat and I’ll never understand why my mother moved
to the states for him, or why she stayed with him for so long. I think she did
it to give me a better life, but I believe I would have been perfectly happy if
we'd just stayed in France.

My father finally saved us both a lot of heartache and left
when I was seven years old, but by then, my mother didn’t want to uproot me and
take me back to France and we stayed in San Diego, living among a small
community of artists. My mother worked various odd jobs to support us and
afford my music lessons.

My attention shifts from to the mediocre guitar player and I
look around at all the people wondering if any of them could be my family.

Doubtful.

My family wouldn’t be wasting their time with tourist
attractions.

I know I probably have a lot of family left in France but I
don’t remember who any of them are.