Maybe she would need those vibrators after all.
“Alright, let’s get serious here. If we’re going to Provence, I want to leave as soon as possible.” January barely moved her mouth as she added, “Before I decide to stay home.”
# # #
Even though she’d dressed in her best little black dress with a matching silk scarf covering her head, January was delighted that Xavier thought ahead and purchased an entire first-class car for their train trip. She didn’t want the press to get wind of her travels without Etienne, but even more, she didn’t want to be seen next to Xavier in those shorts.
They could have made the trip by car, but the TGV high-speed train could shuttle them to Avignon in a matter of three hours. She’d always preferred train travel in France because she could go anywhere in half the time.
After she’d settled Lenny in her carrier on the seat beside her, January sat down and pulled her Chanel shades from her face. Now, she had to decide what music would best suit her mood. Songs like Eric Carmen’s “All By Myself” and Dionne Warwick’s “I’ll Never Love This Way Again” came to mind. She went with the latter, plugged her ears and stared at her reflection in the window to watch the tears fall down her face.
Vivid images of their long walks, late-night dinners and sexual escapades rushed through her mind. At that moment, she wondered if she’d ever find the same sense of comfort as she did when Etienne’s arms closed around her. She could still feel him and smell him. She still fucking wanted him. She craved his kisses and his cock. She couldn’t even look at Lenny without the memories surfacing.
Now, she just had to figure out if she still loved him.
“Oh, Janvier…” Xavier flopped down in the seat across from her and pulled her earbuds away. “I knew this would happen, but—”
“But he was even with me when I found Lenny,” she wailed in between hiccups and dug into her purse for a tissue. “Okay, so he told me she probably had rabies and to leave her there—but Etienne was there. He’s been there…for almost everything.”
“Almost everything,” he repeated and shook his head. “You are just doing this all wrong, Janvier.”
“I just broke up with the man I thought was the love of my life, and you’re telling me I’m not allowed to grieve?” She stopped to blow her nose so loudly that he plugged his ears. “Five fucking years, and now he’s gone…like a fucking rabbit in the park…”
“First off, you look like Jacqueline Bouvier right now.” Jackie Kennedy was one of Xavier’s personal style icons, but he refused to call her by anything but her French maiden name. “Right after a funeral.”
“How dare you?”
“Ah, stop!” he slapped her hand playfully. “We are traveling to the land of our forefather. Consider this a religious pilgrimage.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Avignon. Provence. Ancestral home of the late, great Marquis de Sade, who suffered and paid for our filthy and delicious sexual sins,” he babbled. “You need to look the part.”
“I’m in mourning!” she snapped. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh, Janvier,” he sighed. “Do not worry. Xavier is here to fix you.”
In a matter of seconds, he scavenged through her accessories bag and brightened her up with a colorful scarf and belt before he went digging for a pair of sandals to match. “There. That’s a start.” Sitting back to survey his work, Xavier seemed pleased with himself. “Now…that music! You do not listen to Dionne. You listen to Train.”
“Train? But I want to cry…”
“No, no, no, ma belle, you do not cry—you laugh at the asshole of a man you left for something better. Train is on every one of my break-up playlists.”
Xavier was a man who did indeed have the need to develop multiple lists of songs that lamented his severed relationships. Every other week, there was someone new in his love life. January lost count long ago.
“So, we start with Train…” After he found “50 Ways to Say Goodbye,” Xavier turned the volume up. “Now, what do you think of when you hear this song?”
As the tune played on, every line resonated with her. “Why the hell didn’t I think to leave him on Yom Kippur? Damn, I’ve lost my touch.”
“He would have too much time to reflect then,” Xavier said. “Come on, January. Let’s not fantasize about how you left him. That’s over. How did he die?”
Xavier was so much better with foiled relationships than she’d ever be. “Oh, I don’t know…” Her face soured. She wasn’t in the mood to be funny. “He fell into the Bermuda Triangle.”
Xavier shook his head adamantly. “No. You can do better.”
Now, she snarled. “Alright…he got chewed up by Bigfoot and spit out all over the French Alps.”
Eyes narrowing, he folded his arms across his chest. “Still not good enough.”
Sometimes, Xavier didn’t give up, but she knew what he was doing. This silly game was a diversion from her sadness. “He…he tripped on his own foot…and he fell…he fell on to a hot stove.”
“Oh, here we go,” Xavier said as he leaned back in his seat to hear her story of Etienne’s demise. “I knew you had it in you.”
“It was one of those electric burners—you know, so that it would leave a scar of concentric circles on his pretty face.”
“Pretty old face.”
She waved him off. “Wait, I’m not done,” she told him. “After the shock of the burn settled in, it was so intense that he got up, only to faint and fall on the other cheek.”
“Ah, matching burns. I taught you well,” Xavier said with his pride in her diligence swelling. “You might make me horny with this story. Keep going.”
When Xavier’s anger surfaced, he could be vicious, and they both knew he loathed the way Etienne had treated January over the years. “Well, by the time someone found him and called an ambulance, he was barely hanging on. But he was still aware of his pain—just too delirious to realize they hadn’t closed the ambulance door all the way…”
“Yes! Yes!” he cheered her on as he bounced rather lasciviously in his seat. “Make me come…”
“You filthy whore, Xavier!” Giggling, she cracked her knuckles. “Well, of course, the door opened, and the gurney rolled down an embankment…and tumbled through the glass roof of a factory and finally—finally—he fell into a vat of acid.”
“Oh, just fuck me…”
Satisfied with herself, she sat back to relax. “Give me a few days. Etienne just died in a horrific accident.”
Throughout most of the trip, she remained lighthearted, until the train began to speed through the familiar fields of lavender.
Provence was truly one of the most romantic places she’d ever visited. The flowers, the wine, the history all figured into the ambience, setting the scene for some sultry evenings. For the first time, she’d be traveling there without Etienne.
“What am I gonna do?” She turned to Xavier, her eyes imploring him desperately for an answer. “What do I say to people? We were the It-Couple of Paris.”
“Conjure your inner-Train, baby.” In a move of assurance, Xavier rubbed her back. “And remember—he fell into a vat of acid.”
January had no more words, but she knew she had to find her own way to say goodbye to Etienne.
Somehow, in some way, she had to muster the old Gallimore strength and make the most of every minute they spent in Provence…for no other reason than for the sake of Train.
Chapter Ten
Lush vines sprawled up the stone façade of the well-kept property where they would be making their temporary home. Xavier commandeered the flashy cherry red Mercedes-Benz convertible they’d rented, and January grabbed his arm as they pulled up to the front door.
“I thought you said it was a chateau,” she said. “This isn’t a castle.”
“Oh, Janvier…” Xavier sighed. “We’re French. If we built it in the city, it’s a palace. If we put it in the countryside, it’s a chateau.
And I did not realize we were so…far away from the city…”
“Well, it’s a manor house to me—not a chateau.” To January, a farmhouse was a farmhouse, regardless of size or splendor. She refused to call it anything but a manor. “Now, come on! Breathe in that fresh country air. I feel like I’m going home!”
“You left there. You hated it,” he reminded her.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t reminisce about it once in a while.” She hopped out of the car just as a distinguished older gentleman opened the carved wooden door.
Standing there in his navy checkered shirt, white linen trousers and a pair of Birkenstocks, the man regarded January suspiciously. The epitome of her stereotype of British nobility, he was coiffed and seemingly unapproachable. His thick white hair didn’t move, and neither did his icy gaze.
That certainly wasn’t the young man with whom she’d spoken on the phone that morning. However, she had to wonder if he recognized her from her films.
“Hello, there,” January approached him with her hand extended. “I’m January, and I believe we’re your guests for a few days.”
“Oh, and mind my manners!” Xavier rushed from the car and raced to her side. “Xavier Ranard.”
“Welcome to our humble home, and we hope you enjoy your stay.” Blue eyes narrowing, his gaze traveled up and down Xavier’s now infamous lavender shorts. “We do have a dress code for dinner.”
“Lawrence, did I hear a car? Have our guests arrived?” Around the side of the house stepped a tall blonde woman dressed in her gardening gear with her floral gloved hands filled with pruning tools. Two Labradors—one black and one chocolate—followed at her sides. “Mr. and Mrs. Ranard?”
“January.”
“Xavier.”
Already, January hoped they’d see more of the mistress of the manor rather than the master. However, she didn’t have much time to think about their hosts, as the two dogs rushed to her side with their tails wagging.
“Clarissa and Lawrence Hereford-Smyth.” The woman took off her gloves to shake hands. January confirmed her earlier suspicions that the Hereford-Smyths had indeed retired to the south of France and renovated an old rambling estate. However, she still hadn’t solved the mystery of the voice on the phone. “And our wee ones—the chocolate Lab is Dickens, and the black Lab is Molly.”
While January fussed over her new four-legged friends, Xavier doled out the charm to their proprietors. “Enchantée, Madame,” he said and placed a kiss on Clarissa’s hand.
“You’ll be here for dinner tonight?” Clarissa asked.
Looking to Xavier, January nodded. “We will…”
“We might like some…recommendations…for maybe some bars…”
“For entertainment…” January interrupted with a pat to Xavier’s arm. She didn’t want this couple to think they were wild party animals. “Looking for some entertainment in town.”
“My son is probably the best person to ask,” Clarissa said and then turned to Lawrence. “Where is Nigel, by the way?”
Now, January had figured them out. Nigel answered her call.
“Oh, who knows?” Clarissa’s nudge prompted Lawrence to smile through his scowl. “I don’t know where he is at the moment, but I’ll be sure to find him and ask if he has any…recommendations.”
“Would you like to see your room?” Clarissa asked. “And may we get you some help with your luggage?”
In truth, they’d brought so many trunks and suitcases that there was no way this couple could manage. “No, we can get it.”
“Nonsense. Lawrence…”
In a flash, Lawrence cupped his mouth and called out around the corner of the house. Two young men appeared, and he directed them in basic French to the car.
“Um, I can carry my rabbit,” January suggested.
Lawrence took a step forward. “Rabbit?”
“Oh, I called this morning. Your son—Nigel, I believe—said it was fine,” she stumbled over her words, wondering now if they’d have a problem with Lenny. “He reiterated the pet charge and policy. And Lenny’s a very good girl.”
“Oh, I love animals, as you can see!” Clarissa peered into the backseat. The top was still down on the car, and she had a perfect view of Lenny. “We have several horses. And chickens for fresh eggs for breakfast. But you’ve been traveling. Let’s get you settled in your room.”
Somehow, all the bags and Lenny made it up to the second floor with Molly and Dickens in tow. Already, January was afraid to move. Every room exhibited the couple’s collection of fine antiques. The scent of fresh flowers, likely picked straight from the garden, drifted throughout the home.
All the while, Molly and Dickens sniffed out the rabbit carrier.
“Oh, thank goodness…” Xavier sighed as they finally reached their room.
“You have a private bath. Breakfast is included and served every morning before ten,” Clarissa told them.
“And shall we bill the card we have on file with your reservation?” Lawrence asked.
“Oh, you can split it on my card…” January opened her messy bag to retrieve her wallet.
“She’s…fine…” Xavier gave January a gentle shove. “We can split the difference later. Use mine, please.”
All the while, Clarissa seemed oblivious, but then she winked at Xavier. “Don’t worry, darling. And I love your shorts.”
“Oh, these old lace things?” Eyes bulging, Xavier stared at January. “Why, thank you, you charming woman.”
Dragging and pushing their luggage, January and Xavier shoved every last piece into the room with help from the two young fellows summoned by Lawrence. “Thank you. And we’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
“You don’t have any food allergies, do you?” Lawrence asked. “Nothing where medical attention might be necessary—or a lawsuit?”
Admittedly, January preferred gluten-free when she did eat. However, this was their vacation. “No allergies.”
“We’ll see you this evening,” Clarissa said. “And I’ll make sure we have enough carrots for little Lenny there.”
January gave a handsome tip to each of the young men who carried their bags, and they hurried down the steps to return to their yard work. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”
The second the bedroom door closed, though, the Hereford-Smyths were taken aback by the loud utterance of the word “FUCK!”
“I’m telling you, Clarissa, we spent a lot of money on this place.” Lawrence never took his eyes away from the closed door. “If they mess it up, we’re charging their card for all fees incurred.”
“Oh, Lawrence, they’re our guests. This is why we did this—to meet new people from all over the world.” The dogs suddenly both placed their playful paws on the door. “Oh, darlings, please get down. You cannot see the bunny rabbit.”
“We did this so that you could have a holiday home to redecorate,” he corrected his wife. “That girl, though—she looks familiar.”
“She’s a woman, Lawrence.”
“Any female who’s almost half my age is a girl to me,” he insisted. “I just hope he dresses appropriately for dinner. We do have other guests.”
“Now, now, stop picking,” Clarissa warned him. “Besides, I rather liked those shorts…”
# # #
“FUCK!”
“Will you shush?” January covered Xavier’s mouth with her hand.
“One bed?”
“Oh, come on! It’ll be like a slumber party.”
The room was bright and airy—all white with silver accents and an antique wrought iron bed that filled nearly one wall. One blue and yellow quilt, stitched in traditional French welcome colors, hung from a rack near the dresser. While the open windows allowed the country air to filter into the room, Xavier closed them immediately.
“Aw, come on!” January shouted.
“I smell horse shit.”
“You do not,” she insisted. “You wanna smell horse shit, come to my parents’ farm in August.”
“Uh, that would be you.”
“How am I going to sleep tonight? I cannot share a bed with you, Janvier. You snore.”
“Well, you talk incessantly in your sleep,” she told him as she began to unpack. “Sort of like when you’re awake.”
“Hey…” With his flair for melodrama, Xavier threw himself across the bed to lounge. “Maybe I won’t sleep here tonight.”
Xavier had a nose for sniffing out the closest gay club, even in the most rural areas. He’d proven that to her when he paid a visit to her parents’ home in Kansas. They drove for miles, but he found a gay bar.
“Ah, I’ll have the bed all to myself. That will be delightful.”
“Don’t you want to go to the club with me?” he asked with his sadness rising.
“Maybe,” she said and snuggled Lenny close. “I’ll see after dinner. I might surprise you and eat tonight.”
“That’s about as likely as my spending the night here.”
“You’re right, mon ami.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re quite right.”
# # #
Xavier managed to talk January out of wearing a mourning ensemble to dinner. For the occasion, she chose a fifties-style halter dress in navy blue with white polka dots from Xavier’s previous summer collection. She’d worn that dress several times already, but never with Etienne—which is why she chose it for the evening. It was time to make new memories, even if her date was just her best friend.
Clarissa and Lawrence had already joined two other couples on the patio at the back of the property that seemed to roll on forever with thick carpets of green grass and centuries-old trees.
Finally, January began to relax for the first time since she’d returned to France. Clarissa greeted her with a steaming plate of mini-quiches for an appetizer and a glass of Chardonnay. This night already seemed far too lovely, and January didn’t want to get used to it. Soon, she’d have to head back to film her next romantic comedy. Sometimes, she thought she should write a screenplay of her own damn life. However, she’d need a happy ending to do that, and at the moment, she didn’t see one in her future.
SMITTEN (Paris Après Minuit) Page 13