The Paris Secrets trilogy: includes: Window, Screen, and Skin (51 page)

The damned holidays were yet weeks away!  She was playing with me.  And her lawyer was allowing it.  And my lawyer—

"
Merde
!"

I slammed the foil against the back of the sofa.  It didn't cut, the aluminum blade was not honed and the tip was covered with a plastic cap to prevent injury.  I wished I had a practice dummy.  I'd rip off the plastic cap and stab that bastard again, and again, and...

"Fuck it."  I tossed the foil to the floor and it clattered up against the wall.

Running fingers through my hair, I gripped and pulled at my temples.  A glance out the window spied the darkened windows of the building across the street.  I'd left Hollie without saying goodbye, without eating.  And I'd been rude to her on the phone.

But if I'd spoken to her any longer I would have sworn and probably called my ex-wife a bitch out loud.  Hollie did not deserve my anger directed toward her.  It was best I showered and prepared for the fencing class.  I wasn't going to climb out of this twist of anger any time soon.

My wife was making everything so difficult. 

I hated calling her wife, or even thinking the label.  Bitch was a crude term that only emerged with my anger.  I felt guilty for using it.  But that guilt felt good, and it provided catharsis when I needed to vent vocally.

The mobile rang, and I dashed to it, glad to find the glass screen was not cracked from the fall.  It was a text message from my student.  He was cancelling because of a family emergency.

Just as well.  I pushed the
off
button and connected the mobile to the recharge dock in the kitchen.  I'd make it up to Hollie tomorrow.  And hope she didn't hold it against me like a certain woman was expert at doing.

"Bitch," I muttered yet again.  Couldn't help it.   

I marched down the hallway, ripping off my shirt and tossing it to the floor.  I hit the shower with a yell, a cathartic release of voice.  And I punctuated that sound with a pound of my fists against the slick tile wall.  Bowing my head under the shower stream, I closed my eyes and shook my head.

I had never thought to become a part of my own cautionary tale.

Chapter
Nine

At noon, I Skyped Hollie but she was brisk with me.  She'd taken a last-minute shift at the map shop and wouldn't be home until late because after work she planned to meet a girlfriend at Angelina.

I was disappointed I wouldn't see her today, but maybe I deserved the shut out after last night.  That whole woman scorned thing was working a number in my life right now.  But I didn't suspect Hollie's engagement was anything but normal life, not premeditated to avoid me.

Maybe?

I hurried through the afternoon class and got my students set up with reading homework for tomorrow, and then dismissed them an hour early.  There were five in the online class, two from Ireland, and three from here in France.  They worked for various companies.  None was qualified to actually teach virtual machines after this course.  I did keep my eye open for possible employees during the classes.

After work, I set out to pick up a single man's dinner.  At the wine shop, I selected a particularly dry Zin.  I'd worry about finding the right food to match with it as I walked.  I strolled the Quai de Conti in the 6th arrondissement, parallel to the Seine and paused before an elite home decor shop that sold furniture from centuries past, and imported knickknacks to take home and set in a corner where they would collect dust.

The featured piece of furniture in the window caught my eye.  It was gray velvet and tufted, the color similar to the chaise in Hollie's living room.  And it was huge and round.

"She would love that."

She certainly hadn't the room for it at her place.

"But I do."

I strolled inside and purchased the piece.  And since the driver was in, they would deliver it today.  I couldn't wait to see Hollie's reaction.

***

The crowd at Angelina made the line stretch down the sidewalk, and our wait near twenty minutes.  Even though the weather was chilly Melanie and I didn't mind.  We were bundled with scarves and gloves, and standing close to the building we didn't catch the blustery December wind.

"Where are you spending Christmas?" I asked as we neared the door, eager to finally breach the threshold and stand inside.  Though I guesstimated we still had another five minute wait once inside.  "Let me guess.  Last year it was Greece.  The year before, some sandy beach in Morocco.  So this year I'm thinking skiing in the Alps?"

"
Cherie
, I hate skiing.  I don't like the danger, you know," Melanie said with a flit of her hand that said 'yes, I am a snob and pretty, so suck it' but without any snideness.  She was a tall, gorgeous redhead who could attract a man from across the ocean with but a flutter of lash.  And she collected lovers the way I collected books.  "Burkhardt and I are traveling to Dubai.  He promises to buy me whatever catches my eye."

"Which could be diamonds, furs, watches, or a sportscar."

"All of the above!"

We laughed and the doorman signaled that we should enter the building.  Melanie swept off her leopard print silk scarf with élan and unbuttoned her coat; shaking her hair over a shoulder with a practiced tilt of head only a model could manage.

"What about you, Hollie?  Will you still be sleeping in your sexy Frenchman's bed by Christmas?"

"I hope so," I said without thinking.

Her raised eyebrow only made me jealous of how perfectly tweezed it was, and that I would never manage such a gorgeous arch.

"I know what you're thinking," I felt the need to say.  "We've been involved since September.  Why such a long relationship?"

"Exactly, my dear.  You don't want him to think you actually want this thing to get...cozy."  She mocked a shiver.

The line moved up quickly, and the hostess gestured we follow her through the elegant but crowded dining room toward the back where we were seated at the wall before an old gilt mirror that reflected Melanie's perfect hair and my wind-blown tangle.  I avoided preening and shuffled off my coat before sitting.  I already knew what I was ordering, and it wasn't going to be savory or healthy by any means, even if it was suppertime.

One should never waste a trip to Angelina by ordering off the dinner menu.

The waiter handed us menus and told us he'd return.  Melanie thanked him in perfect French. 

Which reminded me.  Jean-Louis had asked me to take a French class.  I suppose I should look into that.  Next year.  I mean, I didn't want to push it.  Learning a new language was quite the endeavor.  I had to work up to it slowly, be really sure I was in for the experience.  And that I wanted to do it for me, not just for him.

Because cozy sounded good to me.

I leaned across the small table and asked Melanie, "What if I'm up for cozy?"

"Oh,
cherie
, no."

"Why not?  He's adorable.  He loves me.  I think I could love him."

"Love doesn't have to last forever.  In fact, a few weeks are just right.  You can love him like crazy and fuck him as crazily.  But you have many years ahead of you, Hollie.  And he is married."

She stated it as a finality, and should I be so stupid as to ignore that pertinent detail then woe be unto me.

"You told me the wife is stringing him along with the divorce?"

"Yes."  I sighed.  "You know, I initially felt like I was the other woman, but the more I think about it, I'm beginning to feel that she is the other woman."

"Interesting." 

But she wasn't all that interested.  I could tell that from her dismissive tone and her insistent need to make eye contact with the waiter.

He responded quickly, and Melanie touched my wrist before I could order.  "I'll do it, she said.  Then she proceeded to order us hot chocolates (to-die-for; trust me) and macarons for me (she knew me well) and a fruit tart for her (her excuse to eating healthy because there was fruit nestled in the custard and sugary glaze).

"Hollie, I think you are in danger," Melanie said after the waiter had flitted away.  "Are you emotionally involved with this man?"

"Yes." 

Simple as that.  It had been over two months.  Hard not to see the man almost daily—even if some times were only through a window or via a computer screen—without becoming emotionally involved. 

"I see."  She rapped her glossy red fingernails on the edge of the white linen tablecloth.  "Then I wish you well," she said airily.  "He is a handsome man.  Educated.  Successful.  I just hope he doesn't break your heart."

"Heartbreak is a two-person enterprise," I suggested.  "I don't believe it can ever completely be one person's fault.  I am willingly investing my time in him.  I have to expect he will do the same.  And should his heart change about me then I'll face that when it happens.  Not like I haven't been dumped before.  And I have dumped a few guys in my lifetime, as well."

"Don't call it dumping, cherie.  It is merely moving onward.  Packing up one's necessities and leaving the heavy baggage behind.  One must always walk swiftly away from the past.  And flip it the bird when doing so."  Her wink relaxed my apprehensions.  "So does that mean you and your Frenchman have Christmas plans?"

I wiggled on my seat to think about it.  The holiday was only a few weeks away. 

"We haven't discussed anything yet.  His mother is a world traveler.  His father lives in Marseille.  I'm not sure if he spends holidays with his family.  I'll probably send my dad a card.  You know we're not close."

"Family is tedious," Melanie stated.  "But be thankful you still have some.  And don't ever let the ties between you and your father grow too thin."

"I won't." 

I knew Melanie and her parents were estranged because of money.  They were rich and they wouldn't give any to their daughter because they wanted her to move home to New York and start a family while Melanie was content to travel the world and collect oodles of lovers.  Stupid reason to deny a child financial support.  But Melanie didn't need it.  She could take care of herself nicely (thank you, sugar daddies).

Now that I thought of it, what would I get Jean-Louis for Christmas?  I'd never been big on holidays and exchanging gifts.  Okay, that's not entirely true.  I loved getting presents.  It was the buying presents for others that drove me batty.  I was thankful most people liked getting gift cards.  Made gift giving less stressful.

And in that moment the perfect gift did come to mind.  Oh!  I'd have to make a trip to Shakespeare and Company, the famous ex-pat-founded bookstore that sat across the Seine from Nôtre Dame.  If my gift idea were to be found, that store might have it.

The treats arrived and I poured a serving of hot chocolate into my white porcelain cup emblazoned with the Angelina logo.  It was thicker than my grandma's gravy.  And oh, it was delicious topped with the Chantilly cream served on the side in porcelain demi-cups.  I bit into a macaron and took a moment to praise the heavens for chocolate. 

"Uh, huh," Melanie said from across the table.  She held her own thankful vigil.  "Here's to chocolate.  And love," she offered, putting forth her cup to clank against mine.

Surprised at the toast, I matched hers and offered, "And to hot sex."

"Hallelujah.  But not with the assistance of those silly blue pills."

"Blue pills?"  I paused mid-bite of another macaron.  "You mean to get it up?"

Melanie nodded.  "My last lover was a bit older.  We were in Berlin a few weeks ago.  He took good care of himself and had a great physique, but when we were between the sheets and I was primed and ready..."  She leaned forward over the table, lowering her voice, "He excused himself to take a pill.  Said he needed it!"

"Wow.  Way to kill the moment."

"Right?  As if I wasn't enough for him. So he returns to bed with a big grin on his face and says it'll take a bit to get him hard.  Meanwhile, I've come down and want to roll over and go to sleep."

"Men.  They think sex isn't sex unless they get off.  They can't imagine having sex and letting the woman have pleasure.  No hard-on?  No fun."

"Exactly!  And do you know that thing stayed hard for over two hours?  Hollie, I can only fake it for so long.  Needless to say, I haven't seen him since."

I rolled my eyes.  I couldn't imagine being in such a situation.  Buzzkill, for sure.  "I'm so glad Jean-Louis has evolved."

"Really?  He doesn't need to come every time?" Melanie asked with great doubt in her tone.  She ladled another cloud of Chantilly cream into her hot chocolate.

"Nope.  In fact, sometimes it's all about me."

"Well then, I will not continue to berate you for your tediously lengthy relationship,
cherie
.  Sounds like he's a keeper after all.  But if he ever brings out the blue pills..."  She sighed and tilted back a healthy swallow.

"I'll tell him Melanie would like to have a word or two with him."

"Yes, do that, please.  We must stop the insanity, one man at a time."