The First Love

by Erinne Bates

  Always, F.

  P.S. I hung your painting on my wall and I study your brush strokes. I have decided it is so absurd that I have found perfection even in its absurdity. I love every flaw.

  I read the letter several times, tracing my finger over the lines of her handwriting. I went downstairs to make a sandwich where Juliette was chopping vegetables as usual and Sofie was reading her poems aloud to her. Although she read in French, it sounded romantic and bleeding and Sofie’s voice strained with passion as she read.

  “I don’t know what you are saying but it sounds beautiful,” I said, stealing a freshly cut carrot. Juliette kept her eyes on the movement of her knife and smiled with her arched eyebrows as she split open a large Capsicum.

  “It says…em… the sails of the ship whipped violently in the wind, causing the lines to tear open the palms of her hands. Blood spilled from her palms onto the deck while the forestay loosed and gashed her unprotected neck – a blow to surely win the battle—of Sea, and Lady, and Fettle Vessel. As the salted waves pounded relentlessly there was more than one brattle – of thunderous bellows of wood giving way, and skin ripping—the vessel fought the sea to kill its Mistress while the sea undulated and writhed to swallow it whole first. The Mistress, no novice to such contests, used the salt to harden her wounds and let the mast hurl itself into the sea, a tradeoff for her life she would spare on her own…” Sofie looked up at me and I stared back at her waiting for more to come.

  “That’s the end?” I asked as Sofie nodded. “Wow, what an intense burst of violence and triumph - I think. She lives, right?”

  “Yes, of course. You Americans always require a happy ending.”

  “I get it now why you are so intrigued by those slasher movies.”

  “You see? You see how violence and blood goes with life?”

  “I guess there were no flowers on that ship.“

  “No, not one,” she said with a knowing grin. “But tell me how did it make you feel?”

  “Intense. Chaotic for a second then relief. I like how she used the very things that were meant to destroy her to her advantage. ”

  Sofie studied my face then said to Juliette, “She gets it. It stays.”

  “So tell me, Calli, how is your novel coming along? When will we get to hear some of your work?” Juliette asked, sweeping the freshly sliced pepper off to the side, then grabbed a deep pot from a hanging rack over her head.

  “I think it’s working itself out,” I said, knowing she really wanted to ask about the letter I received from Fenne. I finished making my sandwich before bringing it up. “I got a letter from Fenne. She said she misses you both. She is doing well and is enjoying her work.”

  “I miss her too,” Sofie said, “I don’t have anyone to annoy. Is anyone else coming for that room, Juliette?” My heart skipped for a second, thinking of someone else occupying Fenne’s room.

  “Not yet,” she replied, scooping the delicious colors of freshly chopped vegetables into the deep pot and adding broth and herbs. I was never a fan of vegetables, but every day Juliette made a soup from what she grew in her garden that was so delicious I craved it daily. I refilled her glass of wine and sat with Sofie at the table.

  “She kept my painting,” I said.

  “And your other friend?”

  “I don’t know what to say about her,” I said, pouring water for myself from the pitcher on the table.

  “She seems to know a lot about you,” Juliette said.

  “We’ve known each other since we were pretty young,” I said, “She can usually tell me what I am thinking before I even realize I am supposed to have a thought about it.”

  “It’s nice to have such … friends?” Juliette looked up at me as she said the last word. I nodded. She set the pot on the stove and took her glass of wine onto her porch. Sofie retreated to her room to write, so I joined Juliette.

  “So many hearts within a short time,” she said, pinching dead leaves from the flowers that were blooming nearby. I sat at the table and watched her.

  “Mm. Justine was always that one person that I’d drop everything for, no matter where I was or who I was with.”

  “Sounds like more than a friend.”

  “It’s such a long story. I’ve carried her around in my heart for so long I don’t know how to live without her.”

  “I hope all of this gives you plenty to write about.” Juliette joined me at the table, wiping the dirt and leaf bits on her pant legs which were already stained with paint.

  “It does, you have no idea.”

  “May I offer you a tip? I don’t wish to be in your affairs, but as one woman to another.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “This is your time. Spend it in love or spend it in tears. In the end, you are still going to wake up one day back in your own bed with only memories of this place. What memories do you want?”

  Chapter 26

  In the days that followed my fever to write continued. I had only a month left before I would return home and I was resolved to have most of my story complete before then, maybe even all of it. I couldn’t stand to be away from its pages for very long, and when I was I felt anxious and eager to re-engage with my characters and the world I had created for them. I even dreamt about their world.

  Justine came to visit me twice in the afternoons. We ended up staying in my room and fucking both times. She hadn’t been the one to initiate sex, but I was so wound up each time I saw her I begged her to help me release the energy that had been building up for too long. I spent the night with her in the room she and her husband owned at the hotel once more, and two other times we rendezvoused at different hotels between Paris and Versailles. Neither of us spoke of our feelings when we weren’t being intimate, but it was impossible not to when our bodies came together the way they did. I came to accept what we had become: Really great sex. We agreed that’s all there’d be, and I surprised myself by being okay with that. It was easier without expectations, and in the end, it was fun.

  One evening Sofie brought the house phone to my room. It was after nine o’clock and I had just taken a break from my writing. I knew it had to be Justine, though I wasn’t expecting to hear from her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked me. It sounded as though her mouth was too close to the receiver. I could hear voices and music in the background.

  “Nothing. Writing. Where are you?”

  “Oh, just at a little party with Gordon, thinking of you.”

  She sounded intoxicated. Hearing her say her husband’s name surprised me, as she had not said it since the day she introduced us at the Paris market. It was not like her to contact me while she was with him, which made me wonder how much she had been drinking, and why.

  “Are you ok?”

  “Of course, darling. I really – I just wanted to hear your voice,” she said in a lowered tone. The noise in the background grew faint, and I suspected she stepped away from everyone.

  The whole conversation had me off guard. “Are you having a good time?” I asked.

  “Mm, I don’t know. Not like I would be if I was with you,” she said in her coy tone.

  “Shouldn’t you get back to the party?” I asked, ignoring her comment.

  “Can you meet me?”

  “But—you’re with your husband. What’s going on?”

  “I know, god…” she laughed, “I know I am here with him. I told him about us.”

  “Why would you do that?” I could feel my pulse rate double.

  “It was a long time ago,” Justine slurred into the phone, “but I think the gossip whore let one slip at my expense.”

  “Oh no. Oh god, I am so sorry,” I said, wondering if perhaps she and her husband had had a disagreement over it.

  “I told you then not to be,” Justine responded more sternly, “but I’m now stuck at this dinner party and all I want to do is lie in your arms, and you are leaving in a week—”

  “Ten days,” I corrected.

  �
�Well then?”

  I sighed. I was exhausted. “Where are you?”

  I took a taxi forty minutes from my location to an address she gave me, where the dinner party was held. It was an impressively large colonial type home with very expensive cars, lining the street. I got out of the taxi to approach the home when the front door opened and a well-dressed man met me on the lawn. I immediately recognized Gordon. I could tell by his posture he was waiting for me.

  “Justine called,” I stated as I approached him. “She asked me to—”

  “Yes, well, she’s changed her mind,” he said in an even tone. I wasn’t prepared for a confrontation. I stood squared off to him as he was to me and assessed my new situation. I didn’t feel like his demeanor was threatening, but I had not expected to have to answer to him.

  “I’d like to hear it from Justine,” I said finally. I wasn’t about to simply turn around and go back home.

  “You’re hearing it from me,” he said.

  “I’ve known Justine for twenty years and never once has she ever called me, asking me to come and get her, so I’m going to need to hear it from her or I’m not leaving.”

  “You’ve been fucking around with my wife for the past twenty years, you mean, and now that I know about it, I will ask you to stay as far away from her as possible.” I watched a variance of emotions twitch across his face as he spoke. I recognized each of them, giving me the strangest sensation that he and I belonged to the same coterie. The taxi driver gave his horn a blast and shouted something in my direction. Gordon’s eyes narrowed as he looked over my shoulder. I saw that they were glistening and in that moment I felt compassion for him. Maybe even a little pity.

  “Look,” I said in a softer tone, “I don’t expect you to understand. It’s not just some thing. It goes way back—”

  “I don’t care what your story is. It’s not happening with my wife.” There was a sternness in his voice and it struck a nerve in me. I clenched my teeth.

  “Tell me where she is.”

  Gordon took a step forward and for a split second, I was positive I would see his fist raise up. He covered his mouth with his hand and squeezed his eyes shut, bending over slightly. I thought at first he was going to be sick, but then I realized he was trying to gather himself. Without a word, he stumbled past me toward the waiting cab.

  “She’s in the car,” he said after he had passed, thumbing back to their black Cheyenne parked just a few feet from me in the driveway. “I’m taking her home,” Gordon called to me, “Please don’t ever contact her again.”

  I watched as Gordon took out his wallet and paid the driver for my fare, then I approached the passenger side of Justine’s car. The tinted glass window came down as I neared. Tears were streaming down her face.

  “You ok?” I asked tenderly.

  “Not really.”

  “Just say the word and I’ll get you out of here.”

  Her eyes closed as a tiny smile formed beneath her tears. “It is taking all that I have not to.”

  I reached inside to wipe a tear from her cheek. Justine held my hand to her face. “If you don’t hear from me…” Her mouth stopped moving as her eyes locked into mine. She could not finish her sentence. I looked away from her and nodded, accepting what she could not say.

  It was over.

  “You were always with me,” I said, swallowing back my tears. It was the one thing I needed her to know the most.

  “I know. I always knew.”

  I looked over to see Gordon standing at the edge of the street curb smoking a cigarette and nodded so he’d know we were done.

  “He seems like a good guy,” I said, taking a step back, but Justine squeezed my hand and kept me from moving away.

  “You were my first love,” she said, “please don’t ever forget me.”

  “I will never forget you,” I promised, softly smirking at the inconceivable notion that I would. Or that I ever could. Then she kissed me and I tasted her lips, salted by her tears, for the last time. Justine mouthed the words, “I love you” as I stepped back. Gordon did not make eye contact with me as I passed him on my way back to the impatient cab driver.

  For the first ten minutes of the ride back home I listened to the driver express his resentment for having to wait so long. I didn’t understand one word, but I knew. I melted into his back seat and looked out of the window at the passing street lights. Although tears continued to roll down my cheeks by their own will, I felt an unexpected sensation of quiet calmness inside of me. I rolled down the window to let the night air dry my face. When the driver looked at me from his rearview mirror, he abruptly stopped talking. He may have felt he was the cause of my tears, but I was only focused on how my life had suddenly changed. On that evening, whatever it was that bound me to Justine for all of those years had been unloosed. In the back seat of that cab, my soul sobbed, but my mind was at peace. God, how I had loved her.

  Chapter 27

  Every emotion that rose from the evening between Justine, her husband, and myself, turned into key scenes in my story. I barely tore myself from its pages as my days at Juliette’s Chambre d’hotes numbered down to three. In the last week, I despised each sunrise as it brought me closer to my departure. I thought about the different ways I could spend my final three days in France.

  Before the morning gave way to the afternoon, I boarded a train for Amsterdam.

  It took four hours to arrive by train. With only a map in hand, I made my way through the streets until I was standing in front of the Rijksmuseum with a pounding heart and a desperate need to pee. Tossing inhibitions aside, I rushed inside the museum and approached the nearest desk.

  “Les toilettes?” I urgently asked in French to the man behind the desk, who immediately responded also in French while pointing over my shoulder. “Oh, sorry, I don’t speak French – where are the restrooms?” I asked, this time in English.

  “Right over there,” he said, with the same motion as before.

  A few moments later I returned, more relaxed. “Excuse me, I am looking for someone who works here. An intern.”

  “His name?” he asked opening a notebook with laminated pages.

  “Her name is Fenne Kestel,” I replied. After finger scrolling through a couple of pages, he made a phone call then told me to wait. A cold sweat came over me as I felt both excited and nervous. I didn’t know which way to face – towards the man behind the desk, or towards the entrance, or the elevators? I stood in each direction, but none of them felt natural to me.

  “Calli,” Fenne said, tapping me from behind. I turned to face a welcoming smile. Taking me by the hand, she led me to a break room where we embraced each other for a very long time. “What are you doing here?” she asked into my shoulder.

  “It’s time for me to go,” I said, wiping my running nose on one sleeve and my wet eyes on the other. Fenne grabbed a paper towel from the counter and handed it to me. Her smile faded somewhat.

  “How long do you have?”

  “I have three days including this one. I’m sorry, I probably should have tried to call you first, I just got on the train and—”

  She took my hand, “Can you stay?” It occurred to me I had neither packed any clothes nor made a time schedule for myself. I had one mission and that was to get to Amsterdam.

  “Yes, but I left in such a hurry I didn’t bring anything with me,” I confessed.

  “Fine. I’m going to be done in twenty minutes. Why don’t you look around and I will meet you in the front. Or would you like to rest here?”

  “No, I’ll walk around. I have been sitting long enough,” I said.

  Fenne walked me back to the front desk, “When I woke up this morning, I had no idea it was going to be the happiest day since I came here,” she said.

  For ten minutes I roamed the gift shop. I purchased a key chain with the name of the museum on it. For the other ten minutes, I stood near the front desk, and people watched, while the man behind the desk watched me. Finally, Fenne’
s hand took mine and led me from the museum to the crowded sidewalk not far from the entrance, where she turned and kissed me as though no one else in the world was around us.

  “I have to make two stops on the way home,” she said, continuing to hold my hand when we started walking again.

  “I am going wherever you are going.”

  We did not let go of each other’s fingers as we walked along the bustling sidewalk. I was so happy I had made the decision to visit her. I felt alive with excitement, yet I was relaxed inside. Being with Fenne was as natural as it had always been. As we passed the many stores, I noticed a common sign, “There sure are a lot of coffeeshops,” I said after seeing the fifth one on a single block.

  “Those aren’t like the coffee shops that you are thinking about.”

  “Well I don’t see why they aren’t, it says right there on the door,” I said pointing at yet another one.

  “There are coffeeshops, and there are coffee shops with actual coffee,” Fenne explained.

  Suddenly the light went off inside, “Oh my god, I’m such an idiot. Are they the…uh…what are they called? The hash bars?” I asked trying to look inside as we whizzed by them.

  “Hash bars?” Fenne repeated.

  “You know what I am talking about! You know… where they give you pot brownies?”

  “Pot brownies?” Fenne struggled to keep a straight face.

  “Please can we go to one? Are we going to one? We are going to one,” I said, finally cutting my eyes at her.

  “Americans…” she teased, rolling her eyes.

  We walked for four more blocks until the bustling of people slowed and we reached a small family-owned deli where Fenne bought bread, sausage, and freshly cut tulips. Just around the corner from the deli, we entered a building where we climbed steep stairs. I assumed they led to her apartment.