Darcy pulled Renee into a tight hug and kissed her cheek. “Go forth and heal thyself. I expect to see a new woman in Paris.”
Chapter Three
At eight a.m. the following morning, Renee sat facing Dr. Olivia Cummings, the therapist who had kicked her out of therapy ten years ago after almost a year of listening to her moan about Darcy while rejecting any attempt to delve into her issues. Dr. Cummings had said come back when you’re ready to change. At the time Renee had been angry and frustrated because she thought she was ready.
Now sitting across from the blondish, sixtyish woman, Renee knew Olivia had been right to kick her out of therapy and knew she’d made the right choice to come back. She was definitely ready to change.
Olivia sat in her therapist chair, legs up on the hassock, drinking her tea. She looked relaxed but Renee knew she was taking in her posture, her clothing, the movement of her fingers, her expression, everything and anything to get a reading on her. “It’s nice to see you again, Renee. What brings you back?”
Renee ran her hand through her hair but conscious that Olivia would recognize that as nervousness, dropped her hand into her lap. Suddenly she had nothing to say. This was ridiculous. She’d gone over this in her mind a thousand times since she’d made the appointment last week.
Olivia smiled. “I checked my notes and I was surprised to see that it’s been more than ten years since our last session. Does this visit mean you’re ready to give up Darcy? Or have you already done that and are here about something totally different.”
The warmth in Olivia’s voice bolstered her confidence. She took a deep breath. “I’m ready to give up Darcy.”
Olivia nodded. “It’s been how many years?”
“Twenty or twenty-two, depending on whether you mark it from when I declared at eighteen that Darcy and I needed to have an open relationship or when I was twenty and she fell in love with Tori and walked away from me permanently.”
“So why now?”
“I’m not sure. For almost a year I’ve felt like something was missing from my life. I’ve lost interest in dating and casual sex.” She took a deep breath. “And Darcy got married last weekend. At the wedding, I admitted my feelings for Darcy to Tori, another ex of Darcy’s, and Tori suggested I might be using Darcy to avoid making a commitment to anyone else. I also acknowledged my feelings to Darcy and she encouraged me to move on. Yesterday, for the first time, Darcy and I spent a couple of hours talking about what happened between us.”
Olivia put her tea down on the table next to her. “Do you feel you’ve been using Darcy to avoid commitment?”
Renee sighed. “Maybe. I’ve dated a lot of women and never committed to anyone since. So it’s plausible. I’m hoping you can help me with that.”
Olivia made a note. “I’m flattered you chose to come back to me, despite the way we parted. But it’s been a long time so we’ll need to start from the beginning again.”
Renee had hoped to skip some of that old stuff, but she was determined to do whatever it took. “I’m very serious. And I’d like to be free of Darcy by mid-December, which gives us a little over nine weeks.”
Olivia laughed. “You hang on for twenty plus years and now you expect to work through it in nine weeks?”
Renee blushed. “I’m ready, Olivia. I’ll see you five times a week if that’s what I need to do. But I want to be well on the way when I meet up with Darcy, Andrea, and the Inner Circle on New Year’s Eve in Paris.”
“And the Inner Circle is?”
“Originally close college friends but expanded to include others over the years. We’re each other’s chosen family.”
Olivia picked up her calendar and flipped the pages, nodding. “I can accommodate you three times a week, most weeks, and I’ll try to squeeze in more sessions toward the end if we need extra time. If you’d like to start now, tell me about yourself.”
It was stupid to think any therapist would remember details after ten years so moaning about it would just slow her down. In her management consulting work Renee always asked clients to start at the beginning. But where does her beginning begin? Her mind raced, tossing out and discarding opening statements. Focus Renee, this isn’t a deposition. The beginning is where you decide it begins. “My African-American mom met and fell in love with my French dad while she was backpacking through Europe the summer after she graduated from college. They married and she moved to France to be with him. I was born and grew up in Paris, the youngest of five children. I have a sister who’s eighteen years older than me, and three brothers—sixteen, fourteen, and twelve years older. All well planned and spaced. Though my mom denies it, I’ve always believed I was an accident. The photograph considered the official family portrait was taken years before I was born. As a child the picture made me feel like an outsider looking in on the happy family. It made me sad.
“My dad, Alain, is a famous sculptor and painter, and my mom, Natalie, a not-so-famous musician, composer, and author. We spent most summers and some years in Italy while my dad taught painting and sculpture and my mom taught music. I went to private schools in Paris and Italy, and I’m fluent in English, French, and Italian.” Renee hesitated. “Is this what you want?”
Olivia lifted her cup as if saluting. “Go on.”
“I was tall, skinny, and geeky with very long hair. In school we had to wear uniforms with skirts and I always felt awkward and ugly. As I got older my few friends suddenly focused on boys and I had absolutely no interest in talking to them, talking about them, or dating them. I didn’t understand it then but I knew I was different from everyone. I buried myself in my studies and became more and more isolated until even my few childhood friends dropped away. My mom thought I was depressed and needed a change of scene, so when I was considering colleges, she suggested I go to her alma mater in the US and make a fresh start. I liked that idea. I applied and was accepted.
“My life changed for the better about a month after I graduated from high school. My mom and I were shopping for college clothes and we saw a woman dressed in a man’s suit, button-down shirt, and a necktie. She even seemed to be wearing men’s shoes. She was beautiful and sexy. I was enthralled. My mom noticed my goggle-eyed stare and figured it out. At lunch later, she asked whether I thought I might like to dress like that woman. I denied it and she let it go. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman and a week later I admitted that I did want to dress like her, like a boy. Her only question was whether I wanted to start now or wait until I was at college.
“I didn’t even have to think about it. I wanted the clothing immediately. I said I wanted to have it in enough time so I could get used to wearing it in the house. The next day we went to a tailor who took my measurements and suggested styles, fabric, and colors. I had a number of fittings but it wasn’t until a couple of weeks later, when the first two suits, shirts, and ties were delivered that I was actually able to see myself dressed the way that woman was dressed. The clothing fit beautifully and I felt sexy and self-assured and more comfortable than I’d ever felt in skirts and dresses. The whistles and compliments from my brothers and sister made me blush but boosted my confidence. I felt comfortable and attractive for the first time in my life, and within a few days, I ventured out into the streets.
“The week before we were supposed to fly to New York, my mom and I went for haircuts. I surprised her and the hairdresser by pulling out a picture of a very short boy-style cut. After confirming I wanted that style, my mom nodded to the hairdresser. The hairdresser tied my long, wavy hair close to my neck then easily clipped it off, leaving me feeling light-headed from the sudden loss. As she styled the remaining hair, the hairdresser asked whether I wanted to donate the sixteen inches of hair to a place that made wigs for cancer victims. I was so anxious she had to repeat the question twice. Finally, she stepped back, made a few quick snips, and spun the chair so I was facing the mirror. I stared in wonder at the stranger looking back at me. It was the appreciative sounds from my mom, the
hairdresser, and the other workers and customers in the shop that made me realize I wasn’t the only one who thought I looked beautiful. I was ecstatic.”
“Your mother sounds very supportive,” Olivia said.
“She is. And so is my dad. She told me that they had been pretty sure I was a lesbian, that it was obvious I wasn’t comfortable in dresses, but they felt it needed to come from me rather than them.”
“We need to stop in a couple of minutes but how do you think feeling like an afterthought, like an outsider in your family, affected the way you are in the world?”
Renee stared out the window, gathering her thoughts. “I’m not sure. I know my parents love me. I think it’s just because I was born so many years after my sister and brothers. And that damned family picture.”
Olivia nodded. “So you feel rejected by your family.”
“I wouldn’t say…well maybe I do. They all have each other and sometimes I feel like I don’t belong.”
“Do your sister and brothers love you?”
Renee shrugged. “They’ve always been there, always been part of my life, but there’s not the same closeness as with my parents.”
“Do you think the distance is put there by them? Or by you?”
Renee thought about her visits. “It’s hard to know. I only go to Paris for four or five days a few times a year, and when I’m there I try to spend time with my nieces and nephews so they know who I am. My sister and brothers invite me over but I’m generally focused on their kids and my parents. Maybe it’s just a time thing. This year I’ll see them when I’m in Paris for a couple of weeks over Christmas and New Years.”
Olivia stared into her cup as if looking for the next question. “Because we have so little time, Renee, I’m going to be more active in your sessions than I usually am. When you are with your siblings, pay attention to how you relate to them and make an effort to connect. Also, have you ever asked to have a new family photograph taken?”
“You mean one with me in it?” Duh. Of course that’s what she meant. What an idiot. Why hadn’t she ever thought of it? “No, I haven’t.”
Olivia stood. “We’re out of time now, but we can explore that next time if you want. I’ll see you Wednesday, same time.”
Chapter Four
Maya whistled softly when Renee arrived Tuesday night to escort her to the Metropolitan Gala. “My, my, you look stunning, Renee. Midnight blue is your color, though I do like your black tux and your gray tux and… Well, I love that you have so many tuxedos in so many colors.”
“Merci, madame.” Renee bowed. “And you look fabulous, as well. Green is definitely one of your colors and that gown brings out all your best features.”
“Gallant as always.” Maya smoothed her gown.
Renee helped Maya into her cape and followed her out of the apartment. The luxury car she’d hired for the evening was idling at the curb. Renee waved the driver off and eased Maya into the backseat before going to the other side and sliding in next to her.
The Metropolitan Museum was a brief ride across Central Park but Renee always preferred having a car waiting rather than having to fight for a cab at the end of the evening. Besides, the luxury car was much easier to get in and out of in formal clothing.
A few minutes later, the car turned onto Fifth Avenue and idled a few minutes as taxis and limos in front of them stopped briefly to dispatch elegantly dressed socialites, celebrities, business giants, and models. The museum was lit for the event and seemed to glow in the early dark of October, casting a warm light over the crowd of spectators. As Renee help Maya out of the car, they heard some in the group nearby wonder who they were amongst all the luminaries attending this prestigious event.
Maya took Renee’s arm. “Let’s give them something to think about, Renee.” She moved closer and looked up at Renee with adoring eyes. The click of cell phones and the flash of cameras accompanied them and the other attendees up the sweeping staircase.
At the entrance, they walked past a row of ushers and the roped-off area where the press was confined, displayed their invitations and meandered from the Great Hall to the Egyptian collection. Heads turned as they entered the room already filled with hundreds of men and some women in tuxedos and women in elaborate gowns juggling flutes of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Before Renee got her bearings, before she adjusted to the background classical music and the low roar of conversations, Maya was swept away by a woman who must have been waiting to pounce. Maya threw Renee a kiss as she was led away. Renee smiled. Maya was short, full-bodied, and attractive, not beautiful, but her voice, both speaking and singing, was deep and rich like warm chocolate and soothed like sultry nights of sex. Fold in her high energy, good humor, and fine intelligence and she was unstoppable. Women were drawn to her like bees to nectar.
Like Maya, Renee had no trouble attracting women, but now that the meeting and seduction game, the casual hookups, no longer interested her, she wasn’t sure what she expected of tonight—or why she hadn’t given her ticket away.
As Maya faded into the crowd, Renee wandered in the opposite direction, past the reflecting pool, past the Egyptian statues, past the Temple of Dendur, to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. She gazed out into the semidarkness of the park for a few minutes then turned back to the room. The lavender and blue lighting cast romantic shadows on small groups of people standing or sitting on the ledge of the reflecting pool. Her eyes skimmed the hundreds of people who appeared deep in conversation. Was she the only one feeling lost and lonely? She turned back to the windows. She’d experienced these exact feelings when Darcy told her she was in love with Tori, when she and Gina decided to be friends not lovers, when she was dumped at Stanford, and less than two weeks ago at the wedding. What was she doing here? At the time she’d bought the tickets to the gala, she’d already lost interest in dating and casual sex, but she was still hoping if she put herself out there, she’d meet someone who captivated her and fired up her libido.
But while she was dressing earlier this evening, it occurred to her that dancing and laughing with so many desirable women at the wedding hadn’t done a thing for her libido. The truth was, she’d been putting herself out there since the end of the first semester of her freshman year in college and she was still single. She laughed at herself. Even though she wasn’t remotely interested in going home with a woman, she’d come here tonight. Wasn’t the definition of insanity doing the exact same thing over and over again and expecting a different result? She fingered her bow tie. Maybe she was insane. She took a deep breath. The five thousand dollars she’d paid for the two tickets were a business expense, so she’d do the honorable thing, chat up some business contacts and then go home and curl up with her book. That was another perplexing thing. Why was she suddenly addicted to the lesbian romances she’d always poked fun at? Was it the satisfying happily ever after? Damn. She needed a drink. Avoiding eye contact, she moved back through the room and found a bar with no line. Keeping her back to the crowd, she ordered.
As the bartender poured her glass of sauvignon blanc, Renee planned her circuit around the room. No more than an hour and out. Suddenly slender arms wrapped around her waist from behind, lovely long-fingered hands clasped her abdomen, breasts pressed to her back, and a familiar fragrance filled the air around her. She recognized the perfume but strained to remember who wore it.
“Renee Rousseau, as handsome and sexy as ever, I see.”
Renee shivered at the whisper in her ear. No question about that sultry voice with the high-class English accent. It had reverberated in her head for years and still had the power to touch her in places usually inaccessible. The woman tightened her arms and breathed in Renee’s ear. “I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever know.”
The warm breath traveled through her like liquid fire. How many years had it been? Sixteen? Seventeen? And she could still do that. Renee swiveled and locked onto impertinent green eyes sparkling in a lovely face framed by a cascade of luxuriou
s, wavy blond hair. She leaned back, needing to see more of the only woman, other than Darcy, who’d lingered in her heart and mind and senses after their affair had ended. The elegant black gown clung to her still lovely figure and displayed just enough cleavage to get the imagination going. Renee needed no help imagining sex with this woman. Her body definitely remembered. “Constance Martindale. Long time no see.”
“That’s Lady Constance Martindale to you, bub.”
“Ouch. Still angry after all these years?”
“I don’t take being dumped lightly.” Constance dropped her arms and stepped back as the bartender put a glass of wine on the bar behind Renee. She tilted her head toward the drink. “Your wine is ready.”
Forget the wine. She wanted Constance close to her again. But instead of pulling her back into an embrace, Renee turned, picked up her wine and faced Constance again. “Odd. I seem to remember you dumping me.”
“That was a preemptive strike, Renee. I’d seen you with enough women to know what was coming.” She met Renee’s eyes and smiled, taking the sting out of the words.
That preemptive strike had hurt Renee more than she’d ever admitted. She’d responded by consciously pushing any thoughts of Constance and their relationship away. But she’d never totally excised Constance from her mind, and, based on the throbbing she was experiencing, not from her body either. It was true she was poised to hurt Constance back then, like she’d hurt so many others, but she never got the chance. She owed her the truth now. “I wasn’t ready for commitment. But if I had been—”
“And now? Are you ready for commitment, Renee?”
She drank some wine to give herself a few seconds to respond. “Let’s say, I’m more ready than I was when we were at Stanford and I’m working on it. Actively.”
Ready for Love Page 4