by Fifi Flowers
Chapter Eighteen
Avril
My turn, I was a bit relieved that I didn’t have to jump right in. Maybe talking about myself and my shortcomings was easier while walking—no eye contact, no face to face. I loved that he was holding my hand; he made me feel secure. Things felt different. He was different than he had ever been with me. The kisses.
Yes! Finally kissed by the love of my life! The last thing I wanted to do was tell him that I was unloved, unwanted. I would’ve rather that he’d shown me to his secret room, kissed me more—taken me off to bed. Proved that I was more to him than nothing.
I guessed that since he had opened himself up to me about his family, I had to do the same. The problem was, I only knew half of my history. Out in the world, somewhere, was a man that had contributed to my existence on the planet. Of course, I could only tell him what I knew.
Our journey along the street, down to the underground train and riding to a destination unknown, freed my mind from dread. I think it was good for both of us. I heard his breathing change, his grip loosen, and his shoulders relax. The grimace I saw when I last looked into his handsome face had been replaced by a smile once we stepped onto the speeding train. And, to my surprise and delight, a few chaste kisses found my lips.
Miles away from Pigalle, we emerged from the subway somewhere close to the Pont Neuf. I was terrible with the numbering of arrondissements. I could figure out how to get around Paris, but please never ask me which area I am in, at any given time, because it would be by pure luck if I got it correct.
We must’ve walked for a good hour, passing the galleries that we had seen on our chapel tour outing. I was thrilled when he pulled me inside the one that I longed to visit. The ODE Gallery was still presenting a special collection of Lily LaSalle photographs and paintings. He confessed to me that she was one of his favorite artists. He filled me in on her background, told me how she specialized in photographing couples being intimate, then painted them. The one in the window, that had originally captured my attention, was of a famous male model Evan Duke and his then girlfriend. The two are friends of the American artist and were gracious enough to loan the painting for the opening of the new Paris gallery. Olivia, one of the owners, told us that little tidbit as we browsed. Emile suggested, rather loudly, that we should have Lily capture us on canvas. I was giddy at the thought. When we walked out, we were handed a business card to contact the artist. Would we ever pose for her?
Making our way to the Seine, we strolled along, looking at a few of the bouquinistes stalls (booksellers of used and antiquarian books), that Emile frequented often. One never knew when you would score a find! I knew that firsthand, as I was always looking, too. A plus in our relationship… if we were to have a relationship.
Finally arriving at the bistro he intended to patronize for our lunch, we grabbed a small table outside. One simply cannot sit inside if it’s a glorious, sunny day, and it was. Sitting in rattan chairs, side by side, we had a picturesque view of the Notre Dame Cathedral being captured by many tourists’ cameras. As we gazed off, taking in the scene, I blurted out, “I was abandoned by my mother at birth. I never saw her in person until I visited her death bed.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied quickly. That was probably not the most uplifting thing to start out a conversation with, but I figured I might as well get to the heart of my life. The reason behind my insecurities, perhaps.
“That probably sounded harsh, abrupt. It wasn’t that bad. My grandparents, her parents, raised me. I have no idea who my father is. Rumor is, he owned an auction house in Boston and my mother worked for him. I believed that my eye color came from him. I know it doesn’t run on the maternal side of my family. Chloe, my sister, said she had run into a man in Boston once, at the Frog Pond, and he had the same color eyes. She wondered if he could be a relative. She pointed out that lavender eyes weren’t common.”
“Your sister? Older or younger? Abandoned, as you put it, as well?”
“No. Actually, we haven’t known each other for very long. I found out about her when she contacted my grandmother—our grandmother. I’m not used to sharing her.” I paused to take a breath and his hand covered mine.
“Take your time, Avril. Let me order us some wine. Don’t rush. You don’t have to tell me anything that you don’t want to, anything that will cause you pain.”
After the wine was poured and a few sips went down my throat, I thanked him and began again. “My sister called to tell Gran that her daughter was dying. Somewhere in all of her mother’s things she found out that she had family outside of Boston. At my Gran’s request, I flew with her to the East coast, and her daughter died within a few days. Whether it was true or not, my Gran believed that she waited for her to arrive and to tell her that she was forgiven. She did die within hours of my Gran telling her, ‘I forgive you. I love you. Go in peace.’ It, at least, gave my Gran some closure.”
“It has to be hard to watch your child die, whether you’re close or not. I imagine that you’d always hope that you’d go first.”
“My Gran said the same thing. You know this part will probably sound terrible. You might think that I’m cold. Watching my mother die was truly like watching a stranger die; I felt nothing. I stood by to support them. I didn’t want to hurt my Gran or Chloe. They loved her, but I did not.” I bit my bottom lip, looking at his reaction. There was none. He wasn’t judging me. At least, he didn’t seem like he was. I feared I could be wrong until he consoled me with his words.
“Those are perfectly normal feelings. They had a connection with her. You can’t be expected to feel the same. There’s nothing wrong with what you just said.” He rubbed my arm. God! He made me feel so good.
“It hadn’t all been a sad story; I gained a sister. Over the last year, I learned that my sister and I were not so different. While she lived with our mother, Claudette, she was emotionally detached. Chloe was basically cared for by nannies. Her mother had told her continually over the years that she never wanted children. She had agreed to one, as long as she could have her tubes tied at the same time she gave birth. Chloe’s father was a very wealthy, older man who wanted a trophy wife and an heir—part of their marriage deal.”
“Marriage of convenience, sounds like.”
“Exactly. I knew from my Gran that she was always going after rich men—usually married ones. Gold digger Claudette, that’s what Chloe and I call her, in joking. Sometimes laughter helps when you’ve realized how screwed up your mother was.”
“It’s nice that you have a sister to commiserate and laugh with.”
“I know it killed my Gran what she did to us, but she told us that Claudette was always independent. She hated affection. She was a cold and uncaring person. As soon as she could, she left home. My Gran said she always wondered what she and my grandfather had done wrong. I told her that she was a wonderful parent to me. I was sure she was the same to her daughter. Claudette was just a bad egg.”
“You turned out to be a good person.”
“Thank you, but Chloe and I have agreed that our mother fucked us up good. I always wanted attention and she always wanted discipline. She did things to get in trouble, being punished was her way of getting her parents to acknowledge her. It was the only time the nannies weren’t in charge of her. Her parents were quick to ground her, take things away, spank her, when she was little…” I hesitated. “Not to give too much away about her personal life, but she craves discipline in the bedroom.”
“I promise never to mention my knowledge of her sexual appetite when I meet her.” He nudged me and laughed. Would he ever meet her?
“You already know I’m fucked up sexually…”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong about you sexually.” His voice was serious.
“I like the idea of being watched—look at me! Look at me!”
He shook his head. “Everyone has their own thing.”
“But, I’ve always wanted attention. To be seen. And, I’m not jus
t talking about sexual fantasies. I was never afraid to get up and speak in front of the classroom or the school auditorium. I was always a good student, the teacher’s pet in many of my classes. Consequently, I was not well liked by fellow students, I didn’t have many friends—books were often a substitute.”
“I understand turning to books. I wasn’t an extrovert. I loved the solitude. Diving into a book was an adventure. I could be someone else—escape into the characters. I can also understand the loss of a mother. Mine left me; she wasn’t interested in having a son.”
“What’s wrong with some parents? I always thought, when I was a little girl, that when I grew up, I was going to have kids, and be the best mother ever. I’m going to be attentive, involved, love them, and make sure they know they are loved. Don’t get me wrong, my grandparents were great, but they were older when I was born. I’m sure I was the last thing they truly wanted. I know they loved me, but they never pretended they were my parents. I always knew I had a mother out there somewhere. My Gran said she was just too immature and selfish. She always knew where Claudette went, but nothing more. She said she once saw a photo of a society woman and knew it was her daughter, but refused to read the article.”
“Did you ever ask to meet her? Ask where she was?”
“No, but to find out that after she had me, she practically turned around and got pregnant with my sister was painful. Why Chloe? Why did she keep her? Then to learn, like I said earlier, Chloe’s life wasn’t all rosy, either, added to the pain. I guess I had it better. I had grandparents who wanted me even if they weren’t sure what to do with me. Starting all over in your fifties with a baby…? Maybe if you were first time parents it would be different, but having already raised one since you were mid-twenties? Very different.” I laughed. “My grandfather said I was either going to kill him or keep him young. They really were great to me.”
“Grandparents are great. I miss my grandfather every day.”
Amazing. We had quite a bit in common. That went better than I expected. We spent the rest of our lunch swapping childhood stories (pleasant ones). We took our time enjoying a prix fixe meal, drinking wine, and people watching. Skipping dessert at the bistro, we walked to a pâtisserie and then to a chocolatier. With wrapped up boxes, filled with sweets, we headed back to the bookshop, snuggled up in a taxi. “Oh, you’re giving me attention!” I giggled as his hand got a little touchy feely between my legs. The driver kept looking in his rearview mirror, obviously angled to possibly see a bit of boob groping going on with his fares, but downtown action wouldn’t be as easy to view.
Dropped outside of the bookstore, we arrived right in time for the afternoon wine and cheese hour. Giving Nique a hand, we put out the treats we had purchased. Seated at the counter on bar stools, as we chatted for a bit, a nice looking couple walked up. Émile introduced me to them. They ran the Behind Closed Doors addition to the store. Robere and Sienna met while working together. According to her, their love blossomed on one of their many buying trips. He said it was love at first sight and knew that they would be married within the year. He was correct. “Nice to meet you, Avril,” they both said after informing their boss that they were done for the day and would be back the following evening for a private affair.
Yes! That meant that we had the room all to ourselves! Waiting patiently, the time finally arrived when we excused ourselves for the night and slipped out the backdoor to the infamous hallway. I was so excited.
Once he unlocked the doors, we stepped inside, and he locked them behind us. Standing in the darkened space, I heard a click then saw a gorgeous, completely crystal chandelier twinkle. Think Phantom of the Opera on a smaller scale. Its spectacularness caused me to exclaim, “Ooh la la.” With another click, glass display cases lit up with colorful gadgets resting on pale beige boxes and pillows like expensive jewelry. A last click and several recessed ceiling lights illuminated the entire large room. The walls were a dark mahogany with an occasion antiqued mirror, similar to the room across the hall. Amidst the cases, were three plush dark-green sofas. It was unlike any adult toy shop I had ever seen. If the items on display were sparkly jewels, I’d swear I was in a Tiffany store.
I was rooted. I was amazed. I didn’t move as Émile continued on. I’m not sure I took a breath until he returned with a glass of champagne. “Like what you see?” his voice was low and sexy, and a chill ran down my spine.
There were no packaged goods. Everything was in a case. Personal attention was given to customers. Each product could be touched. Tested as to its weight, and power. Robere and Sienna, according to Émile, were very knowledgeable and happy to answer any questions. Once selections were made, the sealed packages were removed from lower drawers. An accountant handled the purchases and placed the items in a discreet dark-green BCD shopping bag with tissue paper concealing the customer’s toys. A very high-end, covert operation. Shoppers were welcomed in through the back door, if they so desired, or they could come through the bookshop. Either way, it was always by appointment only.
“Thank you,” I said, tipping my glass of bubbly toward my host, then gazed around the room before I began to mill about, looking at all the wares. You name it, they had it. There were things I was afraid to ask what they did. Chloe would have been jumping up and down at the sights around the room. I could just see her dancing for joy.
“Tell me if there is anything you would like to see up close. Any item, you would like to own, it’s yours. I have a shopping bag for you.” His beautiful smile was filled with naughtiness, his dark eyes gleamed.
My body quivered as I strolled from one case to the next. I felt like a kid let loose in a candy store. I guess I could’ve said toy store, but everything looked so delicious, appealing—sure to whet my appetite and satisfy my hunger. I was looking forward to having my attentive salesperson demonstrate my selections.
Just as he said, a bag filled with a few fun gizmos were presented to me as we closed up and locked the room. Émile carrying the goods, guided me toward the back of the building. To one side, a door to stairs, on the opposite side, an elevator. Inserting a code inside of a panel that opened with another code, the doors opened. “After you.” He gestured with his hand. I stepped inside. So formal. So polite. It all changed once we entered an open foyer on the top floor of his building.
The bag was quickly forgotten on the floor as I was pulled abruptly into his broad chest by two strong arms. I moaned loudly as his mouth sought mine in a frenzied manner. He devoured my lips like I was his last meal. Before I knew it, clothes were discarded, and I was being led down a hallway. Please be his bedroom! Not that it truly mattered if we were in a bed, but I knew it meant something different to him. And for me, it would tell me that I was more than nothing. He had said it, but I needed proof. I knew even being in his private residence was a major step. Then I saw… Then I felt it… My body reclined across his bedcovers—they were the best feeling in the world.
In his embrace, face-to-face, we kissed and connected in the most intimate fashion. Looking into his eyes with such intensity, while he slipped inside of me, nearly had me in tears. He was slow, less forceful than all of our other times together. He was loving; his hands skimmed my body as he moved. The colliding of his hard body with my soft one over and over, led to one amazing, quaking, earth-shattering mutual orgasm. Not only did it make my naughty bits feel fantastic, but my heart actually hurt, a good hurt—the best hurt ever, if that made sense. Did love ever make sense?
I wasn’t certain how much I could take. However, I was certain that I never wanted anyone else. I wanted Émile to be my last. Then it hit me, he hadn’t said he wanted me to stay before, during, or after each time he took my body to new heights in his bed. The other reality knocked me in the head; my time in Paris was up.
Finally—a kiss, a bed—a departure should not have been the next step. Sadly, I said words I wished weren’t true, “I leave for the states tomorrow.” I bit my lip, casting my eyes down. “I can’t come back for
, at least, three months.”
He laughed. Not the reaction I expected. I looked up at him mystified… miffed. “Funny, I leave for the US tomorrow, too. Hmm. For a three month stay. What a coincidence,” he added. My eyes widened. Then, I wanted to punch him for teasing me. “I believe we have seats right together, as well,” his voice full of mirth. I was confused. “Nique volunteered to book your flight, correct?”
“Yes.”
He smiled slyly at my answer. “We will be traveling together. We will be staying together—forever. I love you, Avril. I will love you in this life and any others that may follow. I plan to marry you. Be your husband. Be the father of your children. Be your everything. All that you need.”
“I love you, too,” I replied with tears streaming down my face, realizing that I was getting the fairytale ending that I believed only happened in books.
Epilogue
Three Years Later…
Something I did not confess to Avril—every time we were intimate in public, I took every precaution to assure that we would not be seen. Even all of the times that I have taken her to perform at the Belle Époque (we have returned a few times; I have to keep her happy, keep her fantasies alive). But, I can’t bear the thought of anyone seeing my pet naked. I wanted her all to myself. It was hard enough sharing her on our three month trip with her family and mine.
I finally saw my mother after twenty-three years and met her new family. I was shocked by how much my half-sisters looked like my mother—clones. Her husband was very nice. We all watched the twins graduate from the same college and attended their celebratory lunch. I presented each of them with a first edition book written by each of their favorite authors. Though my mother left the bookstore behind, she taught my sisters to appreciate reading the classics. One of them even graduated with an English degree. The other one was a drama major, emphasis on theatre. I enjoyed the few days that we spent with them before moving on to meet Avril’s family, her Gran and her sister Chloe in Chicago.