Revenge of the Black Virgin (16 page)

“Very good. And tomatoes? Olive oil?”

Luc hadn’t felt like cooking for so long that
he laughed, too, at his own enthusiasm.

Jo set the table and within half an hour they
were gorging themselves.

Then it was back to bed.

* * * *

It was a week of excess. Too much sex, too
much wine and food and talking and sharing and kissing and touching
and dancing and sleeping curled together like children. It was as
if they both wanted to cram enough of being together to last them a
lifetime, Jo sometimes thought. It was the best week of her
life.

They didn’t talk about the past. They didn’t
mention a future. And, unlike their time in France, this time they
didn’t use condoms. Jo couldn’t remember discussing it, but they
must have agreed that whatever he had was hers. Whatever she had
was his. Nothing mattered but being together.

They rolled through the days always in the
perpetual present, desire never sated, often completely silent
except for expressions of pleasure. Sex was no longer about
orgasms. They, too, no longer mattered. Their love-making was an
attempt to fuse themselves into a single being. One that could
never be separated, despite time and distance. They were the first
man and the first woman, naked in their penthouse garden, oblivious
to the city humming around them.

The first time they managed to put on some
clothes and go outside, Jo found a basket of muffins outside her
door.

“They’re from Louise,” she told Luc. “How
thoughtful of her. She’s probably been imagining what it would be
like to have a French lover of her own.”

They tried to explore the city. It was fine
weather, and Vancouver looked her best. But they couldn’t bear to
be away from their private paradise.

Once they jogged around the sea wall at
Stanley Park, attracting admiring glances from the other runners.
The next day they took the little ferry across the inlet to the
Granville Market to buy more groceries and some souvenirs for Anna
and Daniel.

One night they walked downtown for dinner and
ended up doing a little bar-hopping, drinking so much champagne
they had to take a taxi home. But most nights they stayed in and
cooked together. Neither wanted to share the other with anyone,
even for a moment.

Some afternoons they went downstairs to the
lap pool in Jo’s building and swam, chasing and frolicking like
seals together, always ending up in the hot tub wrapped around each
other. That’s where they met Dimitri, another one of Jo’s
neighbors, wearing his trademark skimpy black swimsuit, a leathery
tan and too much gold.

He seemed down in the mouth when Jo
introduced him to Luc, and went upstairs almost immediately
afterwards.

“He’s been waiting me out,” she explained, in
a whisper, “hoping I’ll eventually crack out of desperation and
agree to go out with him.”

Luc kissed her giggles away, and seeing that
they had the pool room to themselves began to make love in to her
in the steaming water.

But Jo interrupted the game. She had
something serious to discuss with her lover.

“I know we’ve got only two and a half more
days together, my love, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to go into
the office tomorrow.”

“Of course. I understand,
mon Cherie,”
he said, nuzzling her cleavage. “I can amuse myself. Maybe I’ll get
a haircut,” he said as he pulled at the dark locks that were
beginning to curl down the back of his neck.

“Uh, okay. But that’s not all.”

He looked up sharply, as if anticipating bad
news.

“My boss is coming up from Seattle for a few
days. And she wants to meet you.” Jo mumbled these last words, eyes
down.

“Okay,” Luc said carefully. “Is that a
problem?”

Jo looked up quickly. “Not really, I guess.
If you’re fine with it. But I’d rather not.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Tell me why.”

Jo sighed. She looked into the sweetest,
kindest, most loving, sexiest dark blue eyes she’d ever seen and
kissed his mouth for maybe the four thousandth time. She wanted to
tell him, but was afraid it would spoil their week. “Maybe later.
Okay? Let’s go up.”

Jo was not looking forward to being reunited
with her boss/best friend when she got ready for the office the
next day. Luc sat in bed, drinking espresso and watching her dress.
She chose a set of ecru lingerie, then a semi-sheer cream silk
shirt and narrow jersey skirt in pearly grey. Her shoes were grey
suede with a medium heel, her jewelry all heavy sliver. When she
came out of her bathroom all made up and her hair styled, he let
out a low whistle.

“You look exquisite,
mon amor.
Absolutely perfect.” He sprang off the bed, and, completely naked,
pulled her body into his. She laughed at his arousal, finding it
hard to believe he was ready to go again after their morning bout
of love-making. With difficulty she fended off his strong arms,
appreciating again the beautiful corded pattern of thick veins
running under his smooth skin.

“Now remember that I’ll call you later and
let you know where to meet us after work,” she said, straightening
her shirt and reaching for a lightweight jacket. “Don’t miss me too
much.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m going to go out
and get a haircut this afternoon. Then I’ll pick up something to
cook for dinner.”

Jo hadn’t seen Brenda since they rented a van
and moved Jo’s personal belongings into her new apartment. They
still spoke on the phone, almost every day, but so far Jo had
discouraged Brenda’s repeated attempts to invite herself up for
another visit. Now, it seemed, the Vancouver office required her
physical presence.

Jo doubted the office needed Brenda to appear
in the flesh. Instead, she knew it was more likely that Brenda
needed to see her. A few days earlier, when Jo had told her about
Luc’s visit, Brenda had grown uncharacteristically quiet on her end
of the line. Then she said she was coming up. She had arrived the
night before, informing Jo that not only did she want to see her at
the office, she wanted to meet Luc as well. Jo didn’t know how to
refuse her best friend, after all she’d done for her.

They shared a slightly uncomfortable reunion
and worked through the afternoon alongside the other staff. The
Vancouver office ran smoothly, thanks to Jo’s management skills,
and Brenda didn’t really have much to do. Several times Jo caught
her friend looking at her.

Brenda said she looked fabulous, and Jo,
lying, returned the compliment. Brenda seemed less well-groomed
than usual. She’d gained weight and her hair showed the first
streaks of grey.

“So you’ve managed to find him,” Brenda said,
finally.

“Yes.” Jo didn’t want to offer up any more
information.

“And are you happy?” Brenda asked, more
softly, this time.

Jo turned to her, afraid she might cry. “I
am, Bren. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”

“And how long do you think this is going to
last?” Brenda’s voice had regained its harshness.

“I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m not going to
think about it,” Jo said. “I’m just treating each day as a
gift.”

“You’re going to get hurt. You know that,
don’t you?”

“Maybe. But it’ll have been worth it. And I
don’t want to talk about it any more. It’s too personal.”

“Well excuse me for caring,” Brenda said with
heavy sarcasm in her voice. “He’d better be worth it. That’s all I
can say.”

They got back to work, but a few minutes
later Jo reopened the subject herself. “Uh, Bren? I haven’t told
him yet that I saw him in Ronda.”

Brenda’s head swiveled around to stare at Jo.
“And you’re telling me this why?”

“So you don’t mention it to him.
Accidentally, I mean. Please don’t.”

Brenda turned back to the photos she was
ranking. Then she asked, “And I suppose he doesn’t know anything
about Danny, either?”

Jo knew she was still angry at the way she’d
dismissed Danny the moment she’d accidentally spied her lover on
the street in Ronda. “No. I haven’t mentioned being in Spain at
all.”

Brenda gave her a I-think-you’re-nuts look,
but said only, “Fine. Don’t worry. No problem.”

At four o’clock Jo called Luc and asked him
to meet her and Brenda in the lounge of the Four Seasons Hotel for
a drink.

He was punctual. Jo felt her heart ram
upwards into her throat when she saw her tall, well-dressed,
impeccably groomed, drop-dead-gorgeous French lover walk into the
room, looking so good he caused a waitress to almost tip her loaded
tray into a stand of palm trees. He politely took Brenda’s hand in
his as Jo introduced them to each other, then he pulled up a chair
and ordered another round of drinks.

Brenda, like their waitress, seemed flustered
at first. She couldn’t stop staring at him. Then, after starting on
her second gin and tonic, she began to show herself.

“You’re a big one, aren’t you?”

Jo almost choked on her drink. Luc didn’t
respond, except to raise an eyebrow.

“So. How long’re you stayin’?” Brenda almost
slurred her words.

Luc looked at her evenly. “I’m flying home
the day after tomorrow.”

Jo blanched. Now that he’d said it, the
inevitability of his departure seemed tragic. She knew what Brenda
was about to do, and she blocked her. “We’ve really been enjoying
the penthouse. Being so close to the park, and the beaches. All
those great restaurants, too.” She stole a look at Luc, who seemed
calm against her nervousness. “Tonight we’ve made reservations for
Thai food,” she lied. “For seven, so we can’t stay long.”

Brenda stared at her in silence, then said,
“I hope you’ll be inviting me to stay with you next time I’m in
town. I hate this place,” she added, waving a hand around the
beautiful room.

Then she turned to Luc and smiled what Jo
knew was her poisonous smile. “And I hope you’ll enjoy your visit
with our sweet Joanna, Lucien. It’s been very good to finally meet
you. I’ve heard so much about you. Now tell me, what exactly do
archaeologists do, these days?”

Chapter Fifteen

Jo and Luc’s last full day together was spent
quietly. That evening they planned dinner at a popular Italian
eatery on Robson Street. It would be their last night, and neither
had brought up the sensitive subject of what was going to happen
next.

Jo found herself dropping things as she tried
to pin up her thick hair. Nothing was cooperating—not her hair, nor
the pins, and the damned mirror kept tilting the wrong way.

She was scared. The ache in her belly had
started the night before, after Luc had shared some rather harsh
observations of Brenda. He was right, of course. Brenda had been
rude. Boorish, even. They couldn’t get away from her fast
enough.

But Jo felt bad for her friend. Brenda loved
her. And she still loved Brenda, but not as much as she did before
Ronda. Things between them had changed after that. Jo had
withdrawn, and Brenda mourned. But not in sad way. In a mean
way.

At the moment, though, Jo had more important
losses to consider. Luc was scheduled to leave tomorrow afternoon,
yet he hadn’t said a word about when they’d see each other
again.

Is he waiting for me? Do I need to invite him
to come back? Or should I invite myself to France?

She winced as she stabbed a hairpin into her
scalp. Then she cursed when the nozzle of her hairspray clogged.
Finally, her hair sort of up there, and her makeup as good as it
was going to get, she walked into her closet and unwrapped one of
her most elegant cocktail dresses. It was black—all sheerness and
lace insets and low-necked—and fit like it had been made for her
alone. It fell to just below the knee, but slits on the sides
showed a lot of sexy leg.

She slipped it over her best black lingerie
and stepped into a pair of shiny black stilettos. Her jewelry was
simple—crystal drop earrings and her favorite George Jensen gold
bracelet, the one her father gave her for her twenty-first
birthday, were all she needed. She checked herself over in the
full-length mirror before presenting herself.

She may have looked great, but she felt
terrible. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears, and she had to
fight to control the quaver in her voice when she walked into the
bedroom, and seeing Luc immaculate in his dark suit, blurted, “You
look beautiful.”

He really did.

His face lit up when he saw her. Then he
echoed, “
You
look beautiful.” He encircled her in his arms,
careful not to disturb her hair, and kissed her lip-sticked mouth
gently.

Jo called a cab and they went out to eat.

Being in a crowded, stuffy restaurant didn’t
do anything to help her feel better. She drank a little
Prosecco
, but when her endive salad arrived she didn’t think
she could eat it. The slippery greens were unpleasantly sour in her
mouth, and her throat threatened to close.

It’s like that first meal I shared with Luc.
In Souillac. When I was so nervous I got drunk and had to go to
bed.

She managed to wash down a few more mouthfuls
with the wine, but then she set her fork aside.

But this is completely different. It might be
our last meal.

A lump swelled in her throat, and her mouth
filled with too much saliva.

Luc didn’t seem to be enjoying his food
either. His buffalo mozzarella salad was artfully arranged on his
plate, but he was spending more time lining up the slices than he
was eating.

“What’s wrong,
mon amor?
” he asked
when Jo pushed back her chair and put her napkin up to her lips.
“Don’t you like your salad?”

“I’m sure it’s very good, but I don’t feel
well. Excuse me for a minute.” She swallowed hard, got up and
walked to the Ladies as quickly as her heels would allow.