Ready for Love

by Catherine Maiorisi

  “Did your grandmother disparage you?”

  “She was great. She believed as most of her generation did, that the lighter the skin the better. On the other hand, my white skin and blue eyes troubled my paternal grandmother. Whenever we were alone she would act like she was sad for me but she would say, ‘Poor baby. Who will love you knowing your babies might be black?’”

  “And how did your parents deal with this?”

  “I was about seven when they realized what Dad’s mom was saying to me and we never visited her again.” Renee started to drift off.

  “Renee.” Hearing Olivia say her name, she looked up. “I know this is hard but try to stay focused. Did your mom and dad ever talk to you about it?”

  “Yes, they did. But the words were already engraved in my mind. I’ve heard them many times since, but until today I thought they were my thoughts, not voices from the past. I’m starting to see that being mixed race was a big factor in my life. Being rejected by both sides of my family not only made me feel unlovable but it led me to expect everyone to reject me. So even though I was the one who rejected Darcy, I felt left by her when she got involved with Tori. And even though I knew Gina loved me and we decided together to separate because we couldn’t communicate around race and class, I felt she rejected me. I didn’t know why Constance rejected me, so, based on nothing at all, I decided it was because I’m biracial.”

  “How do you feel, Renee?”

  “Drained. Exhausted. Brain dead.” She summoned a weak smile. “I guess that sums it up.”

  “We have to stop now.” Olivia stood. “Remember, you can call me if you need to talk before our next session.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Saturday morning Renee called to invite Tori and Elle to dinner at her apartment Monday night when their restaurant Buonasola would be closed. Cooking for a chef could be intimidating, but Renee had cooked enough lunches and dinners when they’d all been at Darcy’s Fire Island house to know that Tori was never critical and always enjoyed having meals prepared for her. She decided Maman’s recipe for Beef Bourguignon would allow her to cook ahead of time and the stew would taste even better when reheated. Saturday afternoon she shopped for the ingredients. Sunday she relaxed at home, cooking the stew while prepping the salad and fresh fruit for dessert, reading, listening to music, and thinking about Constance. A lot. She’d enjoyed their evening and felt close to Constance, who hadn’t even brought up Renee’s almost weeklong disappearance.

  The meal was a success. Elle insisted on helping Renee clean up after dinner while Tori, happy to be off her feet, sat and kibitzed. “Have you decided to go to Paris for New Year’s Eve?”

  Renee had been thinking about inviting Constance to come with her to Paris, but what to do with the girls stymied her. Maybe if Constance didn’t want to come to Paris with her, she’d stay in New York City. “I promised my mom and dad I’d spend two weeks in Paris over the holidays. The weeks I planned include New Year’s Eve, but, I’m not sure yet.” She placed the demitasse cups and the fruit salad on a tray. “Thanks for helping me clean up, Elle.” She poured the espresso. “Let’s sit in the living room.”

  Tori helped herself to some fruit. “You were definite about New Year’s Eve two weeks ago and now you sound unsure. What’s up?”

  Renee dropped the lemon peel into her espresso, collecting her thoughts. “How did you feel when you first realized you were no longer in love with Darcy?”

  Tori thought for a minute. “It wasn’t so much realizing that I stopped loving Darcy as it was realizing that Elle was the one I was thinking about constantly. Elle was the one I wanted to be making love with. Elle was the one I wanted by my side all the time. It took me a while to understand that as much as I still adored and admired Darcy, I wasn’t in love with her any more.”

  Renee nodded. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Constance. And not so much about Darcy.” She sipped her espresso. “Actually, other than in therapy, not at all about Darcy. But there are complications. She’s a widow with fourteen-year-old twin daughters.” Renee laughed as the eyebrows on Tori’s porcelain white face and Elle’s darker face shot up at the same instant. “Yes, while I was jumping from bed to bed with hundreds of women, Constance entered a planned marriage and had an unplanned pregnancy. I won’t go into the details. If you meet her you can wring the story out of her.”

  Tori snorted. “What do you mean if? You are obviously so into this woman that I have no doubt we will meet her, and I, for one, will definitely get the story.” She popped a grape into her mouth.

  Renee glanced at Elle. She shrugged. “Don’t look at me. You know I have absolutely no control over Tori.” She reached for a piece of pineapple.

  As usual, Tori went to the heart of the matter. “So now you have strong feelings for Constance and you think you’re not in love with Darcy?”

  “Yes. I discovered in therapy that I expect to be rejected, so I reject women before they can reject me.” Renee blushed. “It sounds stupid I know. I believed I was in love with Darcy all these years. But, as you suggested, Tori, it seems I was using Darcy to protect myself from rejection. In fact, I was in love with Constance in graduate school, but she dumped me and I was so hurt I could never admit it or let myself think about it.”

  “Wow. All these years and you never let yourself know. You must be the queen of denial.” Tori waved a hand. “But I interrupted. Please go on.”

  “Very astute, Tori. My therapist said essentially the same thing. But, back to Constance. I would like to spend New Year’s Eve with her, if possible, but she can’t just run off to Paris and leave the girls here. I’m not sure whether she already has plans or even whether she’d want to be with me on New Year’s Eve, but it’s possible I would go to Paris and then come back to the city and spend it with her. Or I could stay here for New Year’s Eve and then fly to Paris later to be with my family.”

  Tori took Renee’s hand. “I know you’re brilliant because Darcy, whom we both love dearly, could only get serious with brilliant women like you and me.”

  Elle snorted but Tori ignored her. “But you are definitely overthinking here. Millions of people manage to have relationships with teenagers in the picture. Yes, it’s more complicated, but as they say, where there’s a will, there’s a way. You have another five plus weeks to figure this out, but remember New Year’s Eve isn’t a make-or-break date. Life, and dating, will go on after January first. I suggest you try to relax and enjoy your time with Constance. Songfest is coming up. Bring her. And her daughters. Erik and Joel and their two teenaged daughters will be there. And, if you’re so inclined, feel free to invite the three of them to our Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Constance sounded anxious when Renee called to wish her luck early in the day. This was her first show in the United States and she wanted it to be a success. She was also anxious because the paintings she’d done since Nigel’s death were very different than those she’d done before and she had no idea how they’d be received. Renee tried to reassure her, but she knew from her parents that every artist, even one as successful as her dad, had pre-show nerves.

  Yet Renee was nervous as she approached the gallery. What if she didn’t like Constance’s work? Should she lie? That wouldn’t be fair to Constance. She deserved the truth. Damn, she’d hate their budding friendship to end because of art. Damn, damn, this is what happens when you let yourself care about someone. But she did care so she’d have to figure it out. She stopped short. With all their artist friends, her mom would know how to handle this situation. She checked the time. It was after midnight in Paris but her parents were night owls so she stepped into a doorway near the gallery and called. “Maman, I need help. I’m about to enter a gallery where a very close friend, a painter, is having her first American show. What do I say if I don’t like the work?”

  “Who is this artist?”

  “She’s English. Her name is Constance Martindale and I believe she’s had shows in
London.”

  “Martindale? The name is familiar.” Renee listened to her mom switch to French to speak to her dad. “As I thought, we’ve seen her work in London and we believe you’ll like it but it’s always difficult. Even if the work doesn’t speak to you, try to find something to praise. And, of course, don’t offer any criticism unless she asks for it. Most of all, be honest. A true artist will understand not everyone will love everything they do.”

  “Thank you, Maman. I have to go now, love to papa, good night.” Happy that the question of whether she would be there for New Year’s Eve hadn’t come up, and feeling more confident about dealing with Constance’s art, she straightened her tie and entered the gallery.

  It was packed. She was impressed. Constance must have a following to have a solo exhibit in such a prestigious gallery and to draw such a huge crowd. Good for her. Renee scanned the room, and not seeing Constance, politely shouldered her way to the rear where the paintings were hung. She moved along until she found what she thought was the starting point, the earliest dated painting. Constance’s earlier works expressed sadness and rage through the use of dark, aggressive colors with an occasional slash of a bright color. It was contained yet strong, with glimpses of wildness. Then after the twins were born her palette became softer, the paintings were lighter, happier. That period stopped abruptly when, judging by the date, Nigel was murdered, and a series of melancholy and darker canvases followed. The last three painting were done in the last four months and Renee was stunned by the transformation. These paintings were bold and exciting and so beautiful her breath caught. She smiled. She should have known Constance would never have shown her work if it wasn’t brilliant. Each painting in the exhibit made a statement about the life of the artist, but taken together they showed her resilience and strength. Constance’s art declared, “I survived. I am here. I am alive. I am free.”

  She couldn’t wait to discuss the work with Constance. Renee moved to a corner with a flute of champagne and scanned the room again but still no sign of Constance. She blinked. No, she wasn’t seeing double. That must be Chloe and Cara huddled together looking lost and sullen and ready to run. She flashed back to herself standing alone and gawky at so many of her dad’s openings, wishing she could disappear but forced to be pleasant to well-meaning adults who tried to engage her. At least they had each other. She was surprised to see the girls raise their phones, obviously taking pictures of the crowd, and even more surprised when they seemed to focus on her. Interesting. Had they noticed her staring?

  The twins had inherited Constance’s beauty but were too young to have acquired her grace and self-assurance. Something about their vulnerability reminded her of the young Constance she’d known at Stanford and her heart filled with a feeling she didn’t recognize. Hoping they wouldn’t resent her, she headed over to try to make them comfortable.

  But Constance hadn’t mentioned introducing her to Chloe and Cara. The girls were probably still fragile from the loss of their dad and Constance would probably want to protect them, not expose them to women who may or may not stay in their lives. Would she be angry? Maybe. But they were here in public and obviously distressed so she went with her impulse to rescue them. “Hi, you must be Chloe and Cara.”

  The girls looked at each other. “And you are?” one of them said, in Constance’s poufy English accent. “It’s not fair that you know us but we have no idea who you are,” the other twin said. “You might even be a serial killer.” The first one spoke again.

  They not only looked like Constance they sounded like her. And they both had definitely inherited her spirit. Renee laughed. “I promise I’m not a serial killer. My dad is an artist too so I had to stand around at a lot of openings like this when I was your age. Bor-ring.”

  “Tell us about it. We thought it would be more fun, didn’t we, Cara?”

  “Yes,” Cara said. “But if you’re not a serial killer, who are you?”

  The look Cara gave Renee was so like Constance, Renee almost laughed. What must it feel like to have miniature versions of you running around? “Actually, I’m an old friend of your mom’s. From her days at Stanford.”

  The girls exchanged a glance. “Ooh, so can you tell us some stories about her wild youth?”

  Renee grinned. “Maybe when I know you better. I’m Renee Rousseau. So which one of you is Chloe and which is Cara? And don’t try to trick me, please.”

  “I’m Chloe,” they said at the same time. They giggled.

  Renee laughed. “So two bodies, one person? No individuality?”

  They looked insulted. “We started out as one egg but we’re definitely two people. I’m Chloe and she is Cara.”

  “For real?” They both nodded. She studied them looking for something that would allow her to tell them apart.

  “Hey, you’re being weird.” Chloe spoke again while Cara snapped a picture of Renee. “It’s only right we get a picture for proof in case you’re evil. Why are you staring at us?”

  “Just trying to see if I can tell you apart, Chloe. It’s difficult without really knowing you, but I’ll learn.”

  “Mummy can, but no one else…except Daddy could.” The girls seemed to deflate at mention of their late father.

  Renee took one of each of their hands. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened to your dad. It sounds like he was a hero. You must miss him terribly.”

  Each of the twins put an arm around the other’s waist, as if needing to hold on when thinking about their loss. “Yeah, he was,” Chloe said, “and we do miss him. So does Mum.” She pulled her hand away to wipe her eyes. “But we shouldn’t be sad tonight, Cara.” She scanned the room. “We should be happy for Mum.” Cara nodded and wiped her tears.

  Renee followed Chloe’s gaze. Her heart did a little flip. Her daughter had located Constance in the crowd, talking with a group of people. She was glowing and her audience looked totally enchanted. No surprise there. Who wouldn’t be enchanted by Constance? “This is a big night for your mom. Her paintings are wonderful and judging by all the red dots next to them, it looks like the show is a success.”

  “She’s been painting like a madwoman.” Cara sighed. “Maybe now we can have some fun and see some of New York City besides school and home.”

  “Ah, has your evil mom kept you two locked up while she painted for the show?”

  They eyed her, not sure how to take her remark, not sure to trust her with their feelings.

  “Hey, I was kidding. I know she’s not evil. What kind of things would you like to do?”

  The twins exchanged one of those glances that probably meant they were silently checking in with each other. Apparently she’d passed some test and the two girls began to list the things they had in mind. “We’d like to go to Broadway musicals, and some off-Broadway shows too. We want to ice skate in Rockefeller Center and see the Empire State building, the High Line, the Statue of Liberty, the UN, Radio City Music Hall, Coney Island, the World Trade Center museum, the opera, the World Financial Center, Brooklyn, eat ethnic food in Queens—”

  “Whoa.” Renee held up her hand to interrupt. “I get the picture. I can help you start on your list but some things should wait for warmer weather. “You like music? Do you sing like your mom?”

  “We used to when Daddy was…before he died.”

  She thought it was Cara who answered but it didn’t matter. She’d made them sad again and for some reason it was important that they be happy. “We’d have to ask your mom’s permission but if she’s all right with it, I could do some of those things with you. We could walk on the High Line, tour the UN, and eat in Queens any time. Other things like skating in Rockefeller Center, the theater and opera require reservations and planning, so they couldn’t be done right away. And some things would be better in spring or summer.”

  “Really?” They smiled, moved closer to her, and without any discussion each of them touched one of her arms.

  Touchy, feely, just like their mother. Renee didn’t know how
she could be around three of those smiles without losing her heart. She wanted to connect with them. “You know when I was your age and forced to go to openings, I would make up stories about the people who were there.”

  Chloe brightened. “We do that too. In fact, we watched you study each of Mum’s paintings and not pay attention to all the chattering fools so we made up a story that you would ask Mums out. At first we thought you were a man, but then we decided you were too beautiful.”

  Renee flushed. She bowed slightly. “Thank you.” She considered saying something about her intention to ask their mom out but decided it wasn’t appropriate.

  “Renee Rousseau, are you seducing my daughters?” Her voice ran through Renee’s body like a lightning bolt. Maybe she’d already lost her heart. But more likely that voice was fanning the embers of lust that had been burning all these years. “Constance.” She hugged her. “Congratulations. The show is wonderful. I love the paintings. And so does everyone else, obviously. I’d love to discuss your work when you have some time.” She looked up at the clicks of a camera.

  Renee tried to step away but Constance wrapped her arm around Renee’s waist and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Renee, that means a lot coming from you. I see you’ve met Cara and Chloe.” More clicks.