La Bonne

by Michèle de Lully

  She blushed and unhooked them, but her outfit didn’t have any pockets.

  “Here, hold on to them for me,” she said. “In fact, why don’t you wear them?”

  It was a measure of how fast our closeness had grown that I let her hook the jewels through my ears. Nothing from Amanda could be impure. But the weight of them drove home a more prosaic concern.

  “Amanda—I can’t.” These things cost more than I made in, well, ever. What if I lost one?

  “Don’t worry, they’re insured,” she said, as if she had read my mind.

  Relieved and excited, I hugged her. At that moment I wanted to kiss her, the public be damned. But I didn’t, and she did not kiss me. Instead we hugged. For a heartbeat longer than was strictly appropriate between friends.

  “Good luck,” I told her. And with a winning smile, she was gone. I tried not to finger my ears.

  She wouldn’t actually be in the first round, so I had some time to kill. I went in search of the restroom, for the obvious reason, and also with a little hope there would be a mirror there. I suppose I should have paid more attention, but I was somewhat distracted, thinking about how good life was turning out for me. So when the hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around, the cynical black spot in my soul was not that surprised.

  Until I saw who it was.

  “Renaud! What are you doing here?” The last time I had seen him he was being ejected from the courtroom by angry bailiffs. To be honest, that was the last time I wanted to see him.

  “Did you miss me?” he leered. I could smell the beer on his breath, even though it was still early in the morning. What had I ever seen in this beefy, long-haired lout?

  “I went to jail.” A lame answer, considering the obvious fact that I was not in jail now.

  “Serves you right, tramp, for trying to cheat on me. But now you can make it all up. Now’s your chance to set it right with me.”

  It’s true I’d been without a man for months now, and that I had once enjoyed Renaud’s attentions, but at this moment I found his touch revolting—especially after just basking in Amanda’s purity. I wasn’t particularly opposed to sneaking off and making out in some empty building. The idea was actually kind of interesting. I just wasn’t interested in Renaud anymore, in any way, shape, or form.

  He compared very, very badly to my prince and princess. Or even to the police detective I had originally tried to trade him for. He must have seen disapproval in my eyes, because his leer turned nasty.

  “Not that, you stupid bint. I didn’t come out here for a bang.”

  “Then what?” I demanded, relieved and just a little miffed. He’d never turned one down before.

  “I’m working. Such as it is. Came out here to see what I could pick off the snobs. And then you walk into my hands…”

  It was then that I remembered the earrings. Instinctively I put my hands to my ears, and he laughed at me.

  “I saw her give them to you. I saw the way you hugged her. You think she’s your friend, but you lose those pretties and you’ll see what she really thinks of you.”

  “No, Renaud. I’m not giving them to you.” I tried to make my voice strong, but his words cut me like a knife.

  “Give? Of course not. I’m stealing them. You get mugged, what’s a girl to do? Run crying back to your rich little bitch. And when they throw you out, I’ll even give you a cut of the take. If you ask nicely enough.”

  “I’m not going to do it.”

  His face darkened. “You want me to knock you around a little? A black eye will make your story look much more real. If that’s the way you want it, that’s fine by me.”

  He pulled out the knife I knew he always carried. I trembled, but I did not dare run or scream. Renaud wasn’t very smart. If I panicked him, made him act without thinking, I was sure he was capable of the most terrible idiocy.

  “I’ll even cut you a little. A favor, for old time’s sake.” He laughed, in a dark, twisted way. I think he was just saying it to scare me.

  But I had resolved to make a new life, and I wasn’t going to let Renaud come in and wreck it all. I owed myself more than that.

  “No. I’ll give them your name.”

  “Why?” he cried, outraged. “Just say it was any bloke. Pretend you don’t know me, and we both can score!”

  “No, Renaud.”

  He raised his fist high. I think he had forgotten he had the knife in his hand. I was more scared at that moment—of his stupidity rather than his anger—than I had ever been. But I thought of my shining golden princess coaxing a reluctant horse through a terrifying jump, and stood my ground. For perhaps the first time in my life.

  “You’re not going to kill me. So no matter how bad you beat me, I’ll give them your name, and you’ll go to jail. Hard time, Renaud. These people know the prosecutors, the judges. I have friends now. You’ll do hard time.”

  I saw the emotions flash across his simple-minded face. Fear of the law, anger at being denied, hunger for the wealth that hung from my ears…and something else. Something in him was puzzled by my defiance. Even in the terror of the moment, I saw that shadowed respect, and felt the distant glory of it.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he finally said. I could hear the defeat in his voice.

  “Nothing, from my point of view,” said a cultured and firm voice. I recognized it instantly and my heart fluttered. How could it not? A damsel in distress being rescued by a prince. If her heart did not flutter, she might as well be dead.

  Renaud whirled to glare at Petros, stunned at how close he had gotten before either of us had noticed. The knife was still in Renaud’s hand, but Petros looked at it contemptuously.

  “I think you should leave,” Petros suggested.

  “For god’s sake,” I said. “Just go away, Renaud. Leave me alone. And I’ll leave you alone.” I didn’t want revenge, or even justice. I wanted my past to stay in the past.

  “You can have her,” Renaud snorted. “I did, and it wasn’t worth the effort.”

  Petros did not respond. He just watched Renaud. In that silence, Renaud swaggered off. He probably thought he looked cool and victorious, but he just looked like an unhappy bully to me.

  “Are you all right?” Petros asked me.

  “Yes,” I said, although I was still shaking. “How did you find us?”

  “I came to watch Amanda, but instead I found myself watching you. I saw him watching, too. So when he followed you, I followed him.”

  This was the longest speech Petros had ever directed at me, and I luxuriated in his accent. Until I figured out what his words meant.

  “You watched the whole thing?”

  Petros gave me significant look. “I did.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you do something earlier?”

  He shrugged, eloquent and sensuous at the same time. “For the same reason you did not. It seemed wise not to startle him, at least while you had everything under control.”

  Infuriating man! I didn’t want logic, I wanted abject apologies and comforting hugs.

  He stepped in close and put his arms gently around me.

  “Are you sure you are all right?” he asked again.

  “I am now,” I said, before I realized quite what the words coming out of my mouth were.

  “You displayed uncommon valor. And unreasonable. He might have hurt you. Amanda could have easily replaced those baubles, but I do not think she values you so lightly.”

  Leaning into his hard body, shamelessly feigning complete weakness just so I could melt against him, I wanted to cry out, who cares what Amanda wants? Do you want me?

  But I didn’t.

  “It wasn’t about the earrings. It was about…choices. It was about escaping the past.” I didn’t expect him to understand. After all, how many men actually listen?

  But Petros skipped a track ahead of me. “Is that why you don’t want me to go after him?”

  I hadn’t realized, until this moment, that I didn’t.

/>   “No, please don’t. He won’t bother me again. And he has enough trouble in his life. I realize now I can’t help him, but I don’t want to add to his problems.”

  I began to recognize just how dubious it looked. My thug of an ex-boyfriend had met up with me in a secluded area while I was holding a fortune in someone else’s jewelry.

  I waited for the lecture. Petros, after all, was from the moneyed class. Why would he let a thug go, just to respect the wishes of a servant?

  “I suppose you don’t want me to tell Amanda, either,” he said.

  I felt tears coming on. What if she was suspicious? I could never bear that look of mistrust in her eyes. Not even a flicker.

  But when I looked up, there was no doubt in Petros’s face. Only a world-weary look of sympathy.

  “She might not understand,” he said, echoing my thoughts, and that was that.

  It was clear that he did—even more, I think, than I. I had not expected this. I had categorized Petros the first time I had seen him, and now I had to face the fact that I had been wrong. I did not actually have a handle on who this enigmatic prince really was.

  But for now, I cried in his arms, pretending that he was just a simple hero and I just a simple girl.

  Then we went to watch the real princess.

  —

  On the way home, I pondered a mystery. How could Petros have seen something to trust in me, yet missed the glory of Amanda in her element? She had taken first place, but congratulated the runner-up as graciously as a queen at the Olympics. Yet Petros kissed her as tamely as before, an older brother indulging his kid sister.

  I struggled half-heartedly with the problem, and only succeeded in forgetting about it until that night in her room, when she turned to me suddenly and said, “Let’s practice.”

  She was wearing a sea-green nightgown of lace and silk that cost more than all the clothes I owned and left less to the imagination than anything I had ever worn. Her hair hung in golden curls over her shoulders, and her bright blue eyes had an imperious hunger that made me quiver.

  To distract myself, I rebuked her. “Greedy, aren’t we?”

  She was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. If you don’t want to—”

  “No, of course I do. I want to see the look on Petros’s face next time, when you knock his socks off.”

  She laughed and so did I. Because it was true—I wanted her to rock Petros’s world. At least I would be there secondhand.

  She leaned into me, expectant but unsure. With more authority in my voice than I felt, I instructed her.

  “Draw your head back just a little when he first starts to kiss you. This will make him come in closer, and then you can get more of a kiss before he pulls away.” This was one of my best tricks and I was giving it away.

  “Like this?” she asked, and I bent over to kiss her. She did it perfectly, pulling back just enough and then trapping me in a moment where our lips locked. When I felt her mouth open, I broke away, embarrassed.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Nobody had ever asked me that before, just for breaking off a kiss.

  “Yes,” I lied. “This is just a little strange for me.”

  “It’s strange for me, too,” she said, “but I’m glad you’re the one who is teaching me.”

  “Trust me, Amanda, there are lots of boys who would be glad to do it.”

  “I know,” she said, her delicate face so grave and thoughtful it made my chest ache. “But I know I can trust you.”

  How I had longed to say that to the people I had kissed. How untrue it would have been, how true it was now.

  We kissed again, and this time I did not pull away. At least not until I felt her body pushing into mine.

  “Could you put your hand on my hair, like last time? I really liked that,” she said, without a trace of self-consciousness.

  So I complied. Wrapping my hand in those soft curls, I pulled her head back and forced my mouth onto hers. She yielded completely, her body unresisting and open, and I was seized again by that desire to plunder and despoil this innocent perfection. I kissed her savagely, too wrapped up in my own pleasure to notice how her arms crept up around me, until I felt something hard poking into my breast.

  Leaning back, breathing heavily, I saw that her nipples were stiff and erect. She sighed in pleasure, and I realized that mine were just as aroused. When she opened her eyes, I gave in to the moment and kissed her again.

  For perhaps an hour we sat there, hugging and kissing, making small talk and giggling, like lovers. Or at least like the lovers I read about in books, I had never had a man be so intimate so long without sex. Or even with it.

  At last, my head swimming, I declared it was time for bed. Amanda did not complain, but simply asked, “Can we practice again tomorrow night?”

  “Of course,” I said, unable to say anything else in that tender moment. Then I went to my own bedroom and shut the door.

  Placing a hand between my legs, I discovered I was soaking wet. As I brought myself quickly and easily to climax, visions of her and of Petros flickered through my mind, often indistinguishable.

  —

  Over the next few nights, we conducted regular sessions. Amanda was a quick learner, and I began to realize that we had passed what she could learn from practicing. I continued to indulge, because it was my job to indulge her, or so I told myself. I would not admit just how much I enjoyed it, how flattering it was that she found my company and my touch so desirable, or how exhilarating it was that this golden goddess would so gladly stoop to obey me.

  But obedience was the problem, I realized. Amanda did what I asked, but not more, because she did not know there was more. It was like the thunder without the lightning. Amanda’s kisses needed desire, hunger, a promise of things to come.

  “I think you’re ready to move to the next step,” I told her one night.

  “The next step?” she asked, wide-eyed. More than ready, I thought.

  “You know there are, um, other things that Petros will do, right?”

  “Yes,” she blushed, “at least, I assumed there were.”

  So she didn’t know.

  “Here’s the thing, Amanda. It’s not going to work for you, unless you are ready.” I remembered my first time. Then I remembered much later, when I finally discovered why everybody thought it was so much fun.

  “Petros won’t hurt me,” she said. “I know that much.”

  “That’s not what I mean. There’s more to it than what he does.”

  “Like what?” She was truly innocent.

  “Like what happens to you. Like being carried away on an ocean wave. Like being enveloped in a lake of glorious fire.”

  Now I had her attention.

  “But to get there, Amanda, you have to help him. He can’t take you there alone.”

  “Show me,” she begged, “show me how to help him.”

  “Have you ever, you know…touched…yourself?”

  Her eyebrows arched, and I knew the answer was no. Now I was tongue-tied and feeling foolish. How was I going to explain this to her?

  “Touched myself where? What do you mean? Could you show me?” she asked shyly, and I almost died from shame.

  “No, of course not!” She flinched and I realized how harsh my words sounded. “I’m sorry, Amanda. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just, you know, something you do in private.”

  “Then how will I learn?” she almost wailed.

  “Bathtub,” I said, relieved to finally have an idea. The bathtub was perfect—a place where you were naked, relaxed, and with a rough yet soft washcloth close at hand. “When you take a bath, I’ll show you.”

  “Let’s do it now,” she suggested. “I feel like a bath anyway.” We’d been kissing for half an hour by now, and I felt like I could use a cold shower too.

  I went to draw the water, turning on the silver taps in her huge marble private bath. She stepped out of the white silk slip of a nightgown
she had been wearing and walked into the bathroom with me.

  There was a brief embarrassed moment over her nakedness. Then it was past, and we were comfortable together, two close friends with nothing between us.

  I watched her step demurely into that clear water, her breasts full, her nipples standing up like they always did during our practice sessions. The gentle rise between her thighs called to me, and that dark hunger to possess welled up inside me like a black fountain. Now clear-headed and unrestrained, I helped her down into the warm water.

  Taking a cloth, I began to wash her back. “Just relax,” I told her, bizarrely confident. “Just let yourself go, and don’t worry about anything.” The words seemed strangely familiar, but of course they did—they were the sort of words men had said to me.

  Stroking her gently, I washed her arms and legs. I could see her melting. “Close your eyes,” I whispered, and began to wipe the cloth over her perfect breasts. She breathed in heavily, and that affected me so much that I squeezed my hand, firmly grasping her breast, the nipple pressing through the cloth to my hand.

  She did not pull away, but sat there with her eyes closed, willing to submit to whatever I chose to do to her.

  “Relax,” I commanded, and slowly moved the cloth south, letting it trickle against her skin the entire way. When I reached that perfect, feathery strip of gold, I let the cloth pile up on it, one fold at a time, and then I pressed down with my hand and rubbed.

  Her eyes opened now, and I smiled at her with that hungry look I had seen so many times before on the faces of the men who had touched me like that. “Just let it happen,” I told her, and kept rubbing tenderly.

  When she began to arch her hips into my hand, my sensibilities got the better of me. “Now you,” I told her, and replaced my hand with hers. “Do that yourself.”

  “Will you watch me?” she asked, so innocently I could not say no.

  “Of course,” I said, and sitting there at the edge of the vast marble tub, I did. The sight could not have failed to move anyone. She was a beautiful and pure creature discovering the ultimate pleasure. It was like watching an angel learn to fly.

  When she finally climaxed, thrashing in the tub, gasping for air, I almost joined her. My breath ran deep now, and I knew without checking that I was as wet as I had ever been.