Missy Loves René

by Judy Fischer

  My reunion with the Anderson, after the weeks in Montreal, was as it had always been: warm and tender. On the drive home, I told Irma about my successful reunion with my parents and about my father’s ill health. I unveiled to her my recently devised plans to purchase a home for them in Florida.

  “The good weather would perhaps contribute to a longer and healthier life for them. What do you think, Irma?”

  “Yes, it would. I think it’s a great plan. What else did you do, Missy?”

  “I revisited my hometown, I went back to all our special spots. I went back to where I first met René.”

  I went on and on about having been reintroduced to the city where I had grown up and to the places where René and I had initially met and became close. Describing what I discovered in the subway halls was especially difficult. I told her it was as emotional, if not more, than the surprise gift René had left for me on my dresser the morning when he drove away with Larry.

  Poor Irma couldn’t get a word in, my rantings monopolized the conversation all the way to the estate. Only when she finally drove the Rover through the gate and up to the main parking area did I stop talking. I had to. My silence came as a result of what my eyes saw. The red tractor-trailer was snuggly parked in-between the Beetle and my old car. I stared at Irma, almost angry she didn’t warn me.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t get one word in, child, you never even stopped to take a breath.”

  I didn’t wait for her to continue; I was about to jump out of the car and run up to the main house to find my man, when Irma’s hand on my arm stopped me.

  “Hold on, not so fast, Missy. René doesn’t know you are here. It is a surprise for him too.”

  It was midday. I ran up the steps of the back porch.

  Larry knew everything and when I showed up, without even putting his beer down, he pointed toward the beach. I stood by the railing, searching both directions, for the curly headed fellow I was desperate to find.

  Far to the south, I finally saw him. The curly blond head was attached to the tanned body of the young man whose heart had captured mine.

  “René, René,” I shouted as I ran down the steps and onto the sandy shore aiming to catch up with him.

  His head turned when he heard my voice and he turned to run toward me. Fred, Irma and Larry stood on the porch, staring at our two figures, trying not to miss out on the loving reunion of their adopted children.

  And, yes, it was a wonderful reunion. He grabbed me and almost threw me into the air. I kissed his neck and kissed his bare chest. He touched my hair, he pulled me closer and to avoid scrutiny, we stopped and turned around to walk back to the house.

  We enjoyed a twilight dinner by candlelight that evening out on the porch where there was an unusual calmness in the air. The early summer breeze had all but quit that night, giving us an early indication of the heat bounding our way, for the next two months, at least.

  Montréal, holding many of our old memories, was not even mentioned.

  Renovations

  Before the day was over, after all the chores for the day were completed, we were ready to retire to our nest.

  René and I went to the kitchen first and, with Irma’s guidance, threw a bottle of peanut butter, some bread, a few apples, a banana and cutlery into a bag. We were giggling in anticipation of the strange announcement we were about to make. Fred and Larry were outside, chatting about some politician who had made the news for having done some outlandish travesty against the American way of life.

  I was pushing René toward the two men. I had delegated him to be the one to deliver the news.

  “Gentlemen, Missy and I will be renovating the guest cottage and we will be unable to join you for any activities tomorrow. Please do not try to contact us, we will be indisposed. We don’t want to be rude, but our work is most important. Pointing a finger at Larry, René called him out before Larry could blurt out some innuendo or worse, a dirty remark. Larry, please keep your dirty thoughts to yourself,” René told him, without even cracking a smile or batting an eye.

  The message was so unexpected that before the laughter erupted, there was an odd silence.

  I could almost see their minds trying to unravel the message, word by word and insinuation by insinuation, finding whatever alternate message was perhaps hidden behind the peculiar announcement. Then, Fred spoke first.

  “Can I help with the renovations?” he asked.

  Those last words Fred had uttered made Larry roll onto the floor, holding his sides, in laughter.

  “Yes, Fred, go and help René, I’m sure he needs your help,” he said when he could speak again. Larry had deciphered the coded message way before poor Fred did.

  Irma looked at Fred and tried to animate a signal to him explaining our intentions. I could see her frustration in conveying it as it had nothing to do with hammers and nails. When he finally understood the intended euphemism, he winked at Larry and smiled at us. Despite Irma’s efforts, a lingering of confusion was still written boldly on Fred’s aging face.

  “Go ahead, renovate at your will,” he added angrily as an after-thought.

  We took our staples and bid them all good night and slipped out of their presence before they could continue Larry’s teasing.

  It was another beautiful pre-summer night, the temperature hit an all-time high for that time of year. Both René and I got an urge to take a walk by the sea, for me, it was mainly to cool off and unwind from having travelled most of the day. We took our swimsuits and a couple of towels and left the cottage, sneaking down by the side of the main house, trying to avoid being seen. By then, Larry had gone in to watch some television and Fred and Irma had retired for the night, for, when we glanced back at the house, all the lights were turned off and only the light from the television was visible.

  As we walked along the shore, I took René’s hand, but he preferred to put his arm around my waist instead. He pulled me closer and I stopped and turned to face him.

  “René, I have to thank you in person for your precious gift. I was so touched by your loving gesture. If I could have, I would have run after you. Then, when I was in Montreal, I happened to discover something you probably have long forgotten about.”

  “No, how is that even possible, Missy? You found my heart?” he looked so surprised and somewhat embarrassed.

  “Yes, totally by chance. Why did you never tell me how you felt back then? I wondered for so long if there would ever be a real connection between us. You should have told me.”

  “Well, thank goodness you did not have to wait forever. I was a lost soul back then, Missy. I had no right to love you. I was ashamed and I never thought my life would ever be worthy of your love.”

  “But you did know or felt that I loved you, no?”

  “All I knew back then, Missy, was that you were a very kind person, who wanted to help me. I was hurting badly, suffering from my loss and from my worthlessness. Thank God you pulled me out of the bottomless pit I had fallen into. It was only after I started to work with Larry that I figured out how I loved you. I wanted to be fair to you, I wanted to love you, like you loved me. I didn’t want only to feel gratitude, I wanted to feel romance, lust and the kind of love you wanted from me. Thank you, Missy, for having had the patience to wait for me.”

  He pulled me closer and we kissed under the light of the moon hovering right above our heads. We continued our walk, in silence, both of us deeply immersed in our own private thoughts.

  After we walked off the fatigue and allowed the warm breeze to cool our bodies, we returned to the cottage and started the renovations we had planned.

  We made love all night and the passion kept us prisoners of our own bodies and souls. Something took over our minds; we just couldn’t get enough of each other. I needed him to possess me and I needed him to be part of me. The craving I had for him was one I could not satisfy. No matter how many times we reached the point of ecstasy, I wanted more. Luckily, R
ené was a young, virile and healthy man. Satisfying me became his only mission. We were starved for love. For too long, we had waited and now the table was set, indulgence was expected.

  We fell asleep for a few minutes now and then, long enough to regain some energy, only to have it wasted again and again. There was no place in that cottage where René and I did not use to engage in our quest to satiate our hunger for carnal gratification.

  The peanut butter sustained our natural need for food. However, by the end of the following day, we started to regain our appetites for some of Irma’s delicious meals.

  Before we went up to the main house, we hid any and every evidence of the destruction the cottage had sustained through our overactive imaginations.

  Loving René came naturally, there was and had never been any inhibitions between us. I was never shy with him. I had always trusted him and the love we had for each other. He was, and had always been, my only lover.

  Yes, I did use Michael as my toy, and I was used as a toy by Russell. As long as I lived, I would always have some guilt for my part in both. I had since promised I would never use a person as an insignificant object for my own pleasure or to be used by someone in the same manner.

  Loving René became as important to me as breathing. Sharing him with life was something I had to accept, however. The profession he had chosen was going to come between us and no matter how much I wanted him to be with me for every second of my life, the reality of living in our driven society did not sanction that.

  If I had to live my life being apart from him from time to time, so be it; however, when he was with me, he was all mine.

  We went back to reality, back to the main house, where the table was set for five.

  “Welcome back, you two,” Fred yelled out louder than necessary. His hearing had lost some of its acuteness and talking loudly made him hear his own words better. We had, by then, got used to it.

  “Let’s eat,” added Larry, who ignored our arrival, intentionally or not.

  “Thank you for waiting for us,” I said politely and with a blushing face. It would have been inappropriate for any one of them to bring attention to René’s and my absence. So, no one did.

  Chores

  The next few days were devoted to preparing the cottages for the summer renters and before Larry and René decided to leave, they helped Fred and Irma with those jobs, requiring brawn rather than brain. We all did our share to help.

  Though I had no specific plans for the summer, there were still many business affairs I had to attend to.

  When I was in Richmond, I requested a list of female agents from the publisher and that list had arrived at Irma’s since. I had to choose one from the long list and make an appointment to meet her. The real estate agent from Florida called while René and I were ‘renovating’ and had asked to meet with me as soon as possible.

  I had to sell or scrap my old car, I had to do some banking and my head was spinning from all the responsibilities that suddenly I had to deal with.

  Of course, having to part with René again was one thing I could never be prepared for, no matter how many times it happened. There was no evading it either. A crazy thought came and took over my mind. I had this vision in my head, that the day when I say goodbye to him next, would be the last time I would ever see him. It was a haunting feeling I got every time we parted. The thought of ever losing him was inconceivable.

  I had attached my body and soul to his with an everlasting love and if ever I lost him, my life would make no more sense. That was my fear every night when I fell asleep beside him.

  On June 21st, 1980, Larry and René bade farewell to us and drove down the highway toward Florida. I promised to join them as soon as my business with my publisher was finished. The real estate agent gave me a tentative date in early July. She was very excited when I spoke with her on the phone, because she claimed to have found the ideal house for me and my parents.

  Making my parents happy took on a life of its own for a very good reason: I received a letter of sympathy from my parents a few days after I arrived at the Anderson Estate, giving me the bad news. My Nana had become very frail and she passed away alone in her cottage by the lake. I mourned her death and then celebrated her exciting and rewarding life. But, most of all, I missed her. The thought that my parents’ fate could ever be similar was a thought too hurtful to bare.

  Driving Nana’s old car reminded me of her; her memory gave me an overwhelming peace of mind. The junk yard was ready to pay a sum for the car; instead, I gave it to them for free. Nana would have approved, I’m sure.

  From Hampton, I took a bus to Richmond, and after endless hours of interviews, I found the perfect person to represent my interests. My new literary agent.

  She was a woman in her early 40s, a mother and a wife, who had only a few clients. I liked her from the minute I met her, and I hired her on the spot. I gave her all the information I had recently received from the company and gave her the power to act on my behalf. We set up all the financial components of my life as an author, the royalty rewards, the up-front payments and her own fee for her services. She insisted I draw up a will and we did that together at a notary’s office. There was a substantial amount of money in my account and as it was invested, it kept multiplying.

  Money was never my motive for writing, it was always because I had something to say or some inspiration to share. My childhood experiences with stories perhaps also motivated my ambitions. Actually, love was my main driving force. Not necessarily the love I had for René, but more, the love I had for life and people.

  When I finished in Richmond, I returned by bus to Hampton, where I arranged to meet Fred and Irma. They were already waiting there when my bus pulled in. Together we did some shopping and picked up last-minute items necessary to fulfil their obligations to the renters who were scheduled to arrive soon.

  Back at the house, I prepared myself for the long drive down to Hollywood. I had to vacate the cottage and let some strangers into my love nest. The image I created with my overactive imagination wasn’t one that thrilled me. Moving up to the main house, to take over Larry’s space, was also awkward, but necessary if I was to return during the summer to write and to help Irma with the summer occupants.

  Before leaving, I helped to prepare a few meals to freeze, to make some orders on the phone and to keep Irma company while Fred did outdoor chores. Those people who were coming to take over the cottages for the summer had not requested full board. They were going to go out to eat, thus looking after their own meals. That alone eliminated significant work for the Andersons.

  I stayed for a few more days but only because I was desperate in putting off the drive. Nine hundred fifty miles to Florida was a very long drive for one person.

  Fred had given the Beetle his expert care and he had even asked a mechanic friend of his to come over to make a service call. It appeared the only thing it had needed was some oil and, of course, some gas.

  The real estate agent from Hollywood called again to remind me of our imminent appointment, so the time had come again for me to make my exit from Virginia and to say goodbye again to my two favourite friends.

  “I’ll be back soon, Irma, it appears I can only write here,” I told her as I drove off.

  “Hurry back. This is the place for reunions, inspirations and love,” she added.

  Doom

  It took a while to get onto the I-95 South. I had to concentrate in order to follow the signs west first, following a stretch of rural road leading away from the ocean. There were a few homes along the way; however, I paid no attention to them. There were no other cars around. For the first time in a long time, I felt alone and scared. No matter how mature I thought I was, I was still only 18, going on 19. However, I did feel much older. My short life was already very full.

  When I finally reached the main highway, I was relieved but, by then, bored and restless. To entertain and to distract myself, I turned on the radio, but someone had placed a casset
te into the media player. As the music started, I knew immediately René had made another surprise donation to my life. All the songs he compiled and their lyrics had some meaning to our lives together. He must have spent hours choosing those he thought would make me think of him. Little did he know that every one of my thoughts revolved around him.

  There was one song, Walk Away René, a song written a while ago, a song by ‘The Left Bank’. I listened to it, over and over, and the words brought to me tears, many tears while I tried to make sense of the hidden meaning behind the lyrics. René must have understood in a way I could not.

  At the end of the recorded playlist, he also left a voice recorded message for me.

  “Enjoy the melodies, enjoy the lyrics, but think of only me.”

  I loved the sound of his voice, it had always sounded so warm and inviting.

  Needless to say, the drive down to Florida turned out be more pleasant than I anticipated. Having René’s spirit with me was all I had ever needed.

  This trip, unlike the last one I made in the opposite direction, I did without haste. Even though I had an appointment to meet, I tried to stay alert and, thus, stopped several times to eat and even rest. The solo road trip reminded me of the first one René and I had taken together in the fall of 1979. Many things had changed from those hectic days when we ran away together.

  We finally found the peace we were looking for, the love we deserved and the friends whom we have embraced.

  With balance and harmony in my heart, I drove till I reached my destination, knowing that all was good with the world.

  I called Maria from the last pit stop I took and she had the house ready for me upon my arrival. She had turned on the air conditioner and had even prepared a quick dish for my dinner meal. It appeared that the boys had not arrived, which was odd, because they had left much earlier than I. There was no message from them on the answering machine; however, many messages from Russell had clogged up the system. I didn’t bother with listening to them, I erased them all on mass. Just hearing his voice brought a bad taste to my mouth. I called the agent then and told her I would meet her later that evening.