The Seduction Of Claudia (5 page)

He was fully dressed by then. He flipped open his wallet, selected a wad of bills, crumpled them in his fist and tossed them between her mother's legs where they were splayed on the bed. Her mother stared down at them, stunned.

"What the hell is this for?"

"Payment for services rendered. Thanks for the farewell fuck, Marcheline, it was good, as always. Don't try to contact me," he said dismissively and walked toward the door.

Claudia knew she didn't have time to make it back to her room, so she ducked into the bathroom and hid behind the shower curtain to avoid being seen.

Marcheline had gotten angry then. She hurled accusations and invective at him as she chased him down the hall. She screamed and cursed at him in a mix of Claudia, Creole and English. When they reached the front door, he turned and said in a well-modulated tone,

"This is exactly why I won't stay, Marcheline. You're out of control -- much too unpredictable... You knew I was married when we started this affair, but you couldn't be discreet, could you?" he asked, then went on without giving her mother a chance to respond. His face twisted with sarcasm as he said, "Nooo, you just had to call my house, didn't you? It was of the utmost importance that you speak with me in the middle of the night, wasn't it?"

Marcheline cowered in front of him, visibly recoiling from the words as though she were being physically assaulted.

He continued his diatribe, his voice still low. He spoke in an intense growl that, coupled with the harsh twist of his mouth and the hardness of the expression in his eyes, made him a greatly menacing presence.

"And when my wife answered the phone, you didn't just hang up like a normal person would have. You had to talk to her, didn't you? You had the gall to ask her if you could speak to me! What woman calls a man in the middle of the night and asks his wife if she can speak to him?! Are you out of your mind to do something like that? You almost cost me my marriage and that I won't have! I'd never lose my wife for someone like you!" he said through clenched teeth.

Marcheline was sobbing now, tears streaking her face. Claudia came out of the shower and stood in the shadow of the bathroom door, watching wide-eyed as her mother dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the man's legs, begging him.

"Please... Don't! How can you say these things after all we've been to each other?"

"Marcheline, you've never been anything to me but a hot, wet pussy! A ready and willing piece of ass who'd do things in bed that my wife wouldn't! Women like you are a dime a dozen." he sneered.

"Please, don't say those things -- I know you can't mean them! I love you, chér... Don't leave me! I'll never call you at home again, I swear. I won't call your office, either. I promise! Please give me another chance!" she begged brokenly. "I can't live without you!"

"No, Marcheline. It won't happen. And stop groveling, it's excessive and it disgusts me," he said tonelessly. He kicked his legs free of her grasp, knocking her to the floor in the process and was gone.

Marcheline lay curled naked on the floor of the foyer for a long time, her grief coming in bursts that alternated between pitiable whimpers and gut wrenching sobs. Eventually, she got up and stumbled naked and unseeing into the kitchen and came out with a bottle of earthy Martinican rum. She sat on the big red velvet couch in the living room, taking long gulps of the rum directly from the bottle and crying. She smoked cigarettes one after the other as she talked to herself and drank, gradually working her way up to a state of fury. She began pacing back and forth in the living room, uncaring about her nakedness. Blind rage was upon her and she began throwing and breaking things. Ashtrays, vases and the small tokens of affection she'd received from her lovers over the years smashed into a thousand tiny pieces on the varnished wood floors and plaster walls.

Looking wild and untamed, she castigated her departed lover for his numerous faults. Claudia watched her mother from the hallway, flinching every time something else was broken. Eventually, Marcheline wore herself down and passed out, sprawled naked on the couch in a drunken stupor. Claudia had covered her with a blanket, then crept carefully around the mess on the floor to the refuge of her own bed.

The next day, Marcheline subsided into silence. She lingered in a despondent, nearly catatonic, state that lasted for a couple of days. She didn't say a word and wouldn't have dressed or eaten had Claudia not coaxed her into doing both. Marcheline simply sat and stared into space. And at night, she prowled the house. Claudia had woken during the night and found her roaming, ghostlike, tracing and retracing her steps. She had guided Marcheline back to bed and stayed with her the rest of the night. Though she felt frightened and confused, Claudia had kept up appearances. She cared for herself and Marcheline for the three days of her mother's depression, going to school each day, but rushing directly home afterwards.

Claudia came home from school on the fourth full day since the breakup to find that Marcheline had returned to a semblance of herself. She was nicely dressed, her hair was coiffed to perfection and she wore the makeup she customarily wore. She behaved somewhat normally, yet her eyes shone with a manic brilliance. Her brittle smiles and shrill, forced laughter gave lie to the normalcy she had hoped to project. In a newfound quest for domesticity, she had prepared some of Claudia's favorite Martinican dishes and cleaned the house. She feigned interest in Claudia's activities and acted as though the past few days hadn't happened. With watchful eyes, Claudia observed her mother's manner and thought it better not to mention what had happened with the man. Marcheline's mask had eventually cracked and she had vehemently promised Claudia that she would do better next time to find a Papa for Claudia who loved them both enough to stay with them forever.

That wasn't the only time Marcheline succumbed to depression. Each time a man left, he had seemed to take a little piece of her mother with him. As she had aged, there had been fewer men of the type she preferred. The wealthy, well-bred types no longer saw the exotic in Marcheline; they rather saw an aging immigrant woman, whose thick Claudia accent and broken English had ceased to be charming. She still held allure for some men, but they were men she felt were beneath her. She had gone back to Martinique several years ago with her pride in tatters and had married the man she would have married if she hadn't met Claudia's father. Marcheline said she was happy, but Claudia knew that she had been desperate for the attentions of a man -- any man. She suspected that her mother didn't have respect, or even liking, for the man she'd married. When Claudia had last visited her mother and stepfather on the island, Marcheline had glittered and glowed brilliantly when people were around to observe it. Indeed, friends and family proclaimed the newlyweds to be proof that true love would always triumph, no matter what people tried to do to change destiny. In unguarded moments, however, Marcheline looked old and tired, weighed down by grief and defeat.

Claudia was well aware that she carried wounds from her childhood; she even understood their genesis. But damned if she could suppress the fear she felt at the thought that she might make herself vulnerable to the kind of dependency and loss her mother had repeatedly endured. She monitored herself carefully, taking care that she quashed all behaviors that were in any way reminiscent of her mother. With careful, logical planning, she ensured that there would be no unwelcome surprises and that she'd depend only on herself for her money and happiness. With a bitter twist of her mouth, Claudia reflected that in spite of her independence, she felt as if something were missing. I have tons of friends, she thought, I own my apartment. I have a career doing what I love. Why aren't I happy? Surely being a part of a couple isn't the only way a woman can feel fulfilled? In the end, even though I've chosen a completely different life for myself, will I wind up as unhappy as Maman is? she wondered.

Shaking her head, Claudia dismissed the thought. She would not end up like her mother! She would apologize to Andrew like the grownup she was. It wouldn't be hard to do because Andrew had never shown any tendency toward cruelty or viciousness. He would accept her apology gracefully, she knew, then allow the evening to move on as though nothing had happened. She didn't know what would happen in this new arrangement of theirs. She didn't even know what his motivations were. Did he just want companionship as he'd said last night? Or was he looking for something more? If that was the case, she didn't think herself capable of giving Andrew what he wanted, didn't think that she could escape the wreckage of her upbringing. He deserved someone who could love as easily as he did. She admired him for the emotional security he had that allowed him to connect with people so freely and totally. He was a whole person, whereas she felt as though pieces of her were missing. Maybe Andrew's beliefs about love and commitment were right after all. Maybe I'd feel more fulfilled if I could believe in love, she thought.

Claudia checked her watch and was alarmed to see that she only had about half an hour before Andrew arrived. She pulled the stopper out of the tub and stepped out of the water she had only just noticed had gone unpleasantly lukewarm. She patted herself dry, then smoothed on lotion that was the same exotic fragrance as the bath oil she'd used. She flossed and brushed her teeth, then checked out her reflection in the mirror. She eschewed the use of make-up as usual, but applied lipstick, then blotted most of it off, leaving her lips looking only lightly berry-stained. She took the chopsticks out of her hair and shook it out. She'd wear it down just the way Andrew liked it. Satisfied with her appearance, she picked up the cut-glass atomizer of perfume she'd gotten as a gift from her cousin in Paris. It too, was the same scent as the bath oil and lotion, carrying undertones of musk and spice that were what she imagined a sultan's harem smelled like. Earthy and womanly. She dabbed the perfume in a few strategic places on her body and rushed into her bedroom to get dressed.

She was putting her socks on when the buzzer sounded. She skidded down the hall in her socks and buzzed Andrew in, saying, "Come on up, the door's open."

She rushed into her bedroom and put on black boots that were in the style of biker boots, but with urbane sleekness. She was rummaging through her jewelry box when she heard her apartment door close. "I'm back here, Andrew!" she called distractedly. "I'll be done in just a minute. Do you want someth-..." Her voice trailed off when she realized Andrew stood in her bedroom doorway.

"Oh. Hi." She hadn't expected to feel flustered when she saw him again, but she did. She felt a blush rise up her neck.

"Hi, yourself. How was your day, Legs?" Andrew asked with a smile. He looked fantastic, as usual, even though he was dressed as casually as she was. He wore jeans, an expensive looking navy blue sweater and boots. She shouldn't have been surprised because he looked stunning in everything he wore. She also knew that that fact had nothing at all to do with the clothes themselves.

"It was good. I made it through every single audition tape! I deserve a night out," Claudia replied, "What about you, what'd you do today?"

"I spent the day in my darkroom developing some more photos from Eritrea. There were some I held back from Time; I guess I just wanted to keep them to myself. Here," he said pausing, "let me help you with that clasp."

Claudia has chosen a suite of chunky sterling silver jewelry to wear tonight. She'd already put on the dangly earrings and bracelet, but was having trouble with the necklace.

"Thanks," she said, lifting her hair and turning around so her back was to him.

Andrew made quick work of the clasp and then embraced her from behind, nuzzling the nape of her neck.

"You smell great."

"Thank you. It's the new limited edition Serge Lutens. My cousin Marie-Josée sent it to me from Paris. You remember her, don't you? She always seems to choose just what I'd pick for myself," Claudia mused, realizing she was chattering a bit to cover her nervousness. He turned her around and kissed her lips lightly, then tapped a finger on the tip of her nose.

"Great taste must run in the family. You ready to go?"

"Yup. Where are we going, by the way?"

"My place."

"We're having dinner at your place?" she asked, nonplussed. "I guess I better bring the Pepto Bismal if you're cooking!"

"Ha, very funny. Why don't you grab some clothes and stuff for tomorrow?"

"Umm... There's really no need, is there? Even if it gets late, I can still come home. You only live a few blocks away, Andrew."

"I think you should bring a change of clothes and some toiletries," Andrew said with finality. "Get your stuff."

Seeing that he wouldn't take no for an answer, Claudia quickly gathered the toiletries she needed and selected clothes for the next day. When she reached for pajamas, Andrew stopped her.

"I don't think you'll be needing those."

Claudia's mouth opened in protest, but then she snapped it shut and closed the drawer. He was probably right anyway, she thought as she folded her things neatly into a black leather shoulder bag.

"OK. I guess I'm ready then."

"Good. Let's go," he said, picking up the bag and going down the hall to the front door.

Andrew set the bag on the floor and helped Claudia into her coat. Taking the key from her, he locked the door while she put on her gloves and scarf. They headed down the stairs and out into the street together. Claudia was surprised to see Andrew's car double-parked in front of her building.

"You drove here?! We could've walked. You'd better hope you didn't lose your parking space!" Claudia teased him, "If you did, we'll probably wind up walking farther from the new parking space than if we had walked from here to there."

"We'll see," Andrew replied cagily, helping her into the car and tossing her duffel on the backseat. He slid behind the wheel of his silver Audi and pulled into traffic. They reached the corner and turned the opposite direction than they would have gone had they been going back to Andrew's apartment.