“You wish,” Lucas says between bites. He looks like a hamster with food stuffed on both sides of his mouth. He hasn’t closed the fridge’s door but walks away to the coffee pot. I’ll never understand why people leave the fridge open. Can’t stand it, and decide to go close it before he returns to clog his arteries. One quick move and the door is closed, but I don’t move fast enough. When I turn to walk away, Lucas hovers over me. My eyes level with his lower chest. The fridge feels cold against my back. I look up at him and swallow hard. The man is just overpowering and insanely sexy.
He smirks. “Can’t stay away from me?”
“You’re wasting energy.” At least my voice doesn’t tremor.
Lucas’s left hand comes up as if to touch my face, but instead it rests above my head on the fridge. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t. I’m just thoughtful of other people’s property.”
“Perfect Jane. How many Nobel Prizes have you received so far?”
“You’re such a conceited jerk. How can you stand yourself?” I lift my chin and prop my palms on his chest, forcing him to move off me. The more I struggle the more he laughs, a devilish and loud laugh.
What’s there to laugh about is beyond me, but eventually he steps aside. Rushing to my room, I lock myself in.
I fret, texting Bernard to come get me. I call and it goes straight to his voicemail. I search for nearby hotels, but realize I’ve no idea where we are. I can only hope for a miracle, for my peace of mind, which, thanks to Lucas, I’ve lost. I don’t understand his game and can’t figure him out, but one thing’s for sure: he and I can’t be under the same roof.
Lucas bangs on my door. “Jane, we need to go. Viv’s waiting for you.”
I take a deep breath and unlock the door. With both hands stretched above his head, he holds onto the doorframe. At least he’s dressed now, but nevertheless terribly handsome.
“We need to go?” I grab my coat and purse and walk behind him.
“I’m your chauffeur.”
“And why is that? Neither Madame V nor Bernard mentioned anything about you being part of the deal. Why don’t you stay at her house, anyway?”
He stops at the front door but, not paying attention, I bump into him.
With scrunched brows he looks at me as if I’ve grown another head. “Why would I stay in her house? I always stay here. Come and go when I want, do as I please. The intruder in this house is you,” he pokes a finger at me, “not me.”
“I apologize for troubling you,” I poke a finger back at him, peppering my words with mockery, “but I was told I’d be staying in a hotel, be with Madame V when she needs me, and the rest of the time ‘come and go as I please.’ Not put up with you.”
Ella and Zoé come in, breathing hard.
“Lucas, we made a snowman!” Ella grabs Lucas’s hand and goes out again. There’s a five minutes oohing and aahing around the snowman and Lucas acts as if he has no care in the world when he brings a pot and broom to finish the snowman. I thought we were in a hurry. With a theatrical last gesture he wraps his own white scarf around the snowman’s neck, high-fives both Ella and Zoé and tells them we’re leaving.
I say goodbye to my daughter, dreading the drive with Lucas. We drive in silence for a while until we are at the gates.
I look at him and bite my lip. “Can we go back?”
“Did you forget something?”
“I want Ella with us.”
He glances at me, arches an eyebrow and says, “Are you afraid of me, is that it?”
“No. I just want her with me. I’m not comfortable leaving her behind.”
Lucas sighs. “You’re the boss.” He flips a U-turn and doesn’t speak until we are back at the house. I get out of the car and rush to the girls, who are building a smaller snowman.
“Ella, you wanna come see BieBie?”
Ella rolls a snowball and, without looking at me, says, “Can I just stay here with Zoé? We’re habing so much fun. Please, Mommy, please?”
I look over at Lucas who waits in the car. He points at his watch and mouths, “Come on.”
If I had more time I’d try to convince Ella, but that could lead to being late, and I don’t want to upset Madame V.
I hardly strap my seatbelt on when Lucas says, “I could’ve told you she’d rather stay home.”
“Let me guess. You know that because you were named ‘Parent of the Year,’ is that it?”
Lucas shrugs. “I was once a kid. If I had to pick between going with my parents and staying home to play, I always picked the latter. It’s a no-brainer.”
His phone rings. “Raven, what’s up?” He listens for a few seconds. “Not really. I’m in France.” Again a short pause and when he talks again there’s irritation growing in his voice. “We had this conversation before. I thought we came to the same conclusion.”
I tune him out and pray he’ll talk the entire drive to the location where Madame V is waiting for me. This way I won’t have to make small talk. The phone conversation ends by the time we leave the estate. We turn onto a two-lane country road, guarded left and right by trees, snow adorning their leafless branches. I guess we’re heading into town.
“What’s the address here?” I pull my iPhone out ready to search the internet.
“Why?”
“Because I want to find a hotel nearby.”
“Why?
I exhale a deep breath. “I want to book a room.”
“Why?”
Finishing the champagne by himself must’ve affected his brain; it stalls today. “Because staying under the same roof with you is not—” I almost say “safe”, but this would give him satisfaction to know he gets to me. Instead I say, “It’s not polite.”
“Why?”
Convinced he says that to annoy me, I look at him. Seeing only his profile, it’s hard to read his face. He stares at the road, one hand relaxed over the steering wheel, the other bent on the console.
“Why?” I echo his question.
“Yeah, why? It’s not like you haven’t lived with other men after your husband. You date and all, don’t you?”
“It’s not other men, it’s only one man and that was my husband. And we didn’t live together until we married.” Beats me why I give him details about my life. Now I’m even more annoyed, not only with him but with myself as well. How does this man manage to get the worst out of me?
He looks at me for longer than just a glance, and it makes me so nervous he’s not paying attention to the icy road that I grab the wheel.
“You serious?” He grimaces.
“Why would I lie? Besides that’s not the point. The point is—”
“Jane, you’re telling me you’ve only been with one man?”
“I’m not telling you anything, except pay attention to the road.” I meet his eyes, growing more nervous by the second and imagining it’s only a matter of time until he wraps the car around a tree. “The road, please?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been raised by nuns.”
“What? No! How did you come up with this idea?”
He shrugs, snorting slightly. “No one in this century waits until marriage to live with a guy. I mean, I never met a woman your age and no—”
“What is that supposed to mean? My age?”
“Hold your horses, Jane.” Lucas puts a hand up. “I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant is people don’t need to marry to live together. In fact everyone I know lives with their partners long before they make it to the altar. How are you supposed to know if you’re compatible if you don’t live under the same roof? The good and bad, the ugly and all, especially the ugly. We live in a much more relaxed society now, not constrained by some piece of paper that won’t keep someone from leaving you anyway. Whoever doesn’t like it, they’re free to up and go. There’s another opportunity around every corner.”
Lucas steps on the gas and keeps the car at a steady speed. His words mask a bitterness I don’t recall ever hearing in his v
oice. I wonder if he speaks from personal experience or just general knowledge. Since I don’t know much about him—except how much he annoys me—it’s hard for me to decide if I need to be sympathetic.
“It’s not the piece of paper that keeps you with your partner, nor living under the same roof before making it official,” I say, my tone somewhat calmer. “It’s the love, the friendship, trust, loyalty, the goals and dreams you share, even the ugly as you call it, how both partners deal with it. Challenge each other, support and root for each other. A marriage is not a piece of paper, but what you share with your spouse. And like everything else, it’s a constant work in progress. If people up and go, they weren’t in it for the right reason. The grass is as green as one makes it.”
Soon we enter the freeway. Twenty kilometers to Paris reads the first sign we come upon.
“You live in a fairytale.” At least he doesn’t snort, but his voice sounds accusatory.
“It wasn’t a fairytale. It was real. I lived it, experienced it. I had it all.”
“You’re only one lucky case. Look around you. There’s no such thing as forever.”
“I’ll forever love Evan. Just because he’s no longer alive doesn’t mean my love for him will die. You’re just bitter you haven’t found your forever.”
“You say that now, until you meet someone else. Then you’ll love the new guy.”
“That’s not true!” My voice increases a few octaves. “I’ll never be with another man. There’s one man, one woman, and one true love for each person. That’s it. There’s no second chance or better opportunities around the corner. You lose what you have, you’re done.”
Lucas’s glance holds skepticism, but I’m not intimidated. We can argue until dawn.
“I don’t know who’s more bitter.”
“I’m not bitter. It’s what I believe in, what I know about myself and my heart. I’m realistic, not bitter.” My cheeks burn although I’m not sure if it’s because of the blasting hot air or the conversation getting heated by the minute.
“What about your physical needs?” Lucas presses.
“What about them?”
“Based on what you’ve said so far, you won’t be with anyone else because you already had your true love. That’s not human nature. Humans need sex.”
“Oh please. You only say that because you’re a man. That’s all you guys think about, but there’s more to a relationship than sex.”
“Rigid and frigid. That’s a bad combination.” As if his words aren’t hurtful enough, Lucas waves a dismissive hand.
“That’s plain and gratuitously mean.” If my anger were a ball ricocheting off the windshield, hitting him over the head, that would really make my day. “Don’t pretend you know who I am. You don’t know me. We haven’t even been properly introduced, ever.”
“Yes, we were, at the conference.”
“No, we weren’t. You came over like the arrogant bully you are and insulted me. There was no, ‘Hi, my name is blah blah blah,’ but rather”—I try my best to imitate his voice, “‘Does it hurt? Your head, does it hurt when you roll your eyes?’”
Lucas bursts into wholehearted laughter. “Oh come on, that was funny, don’t you think?”
“Funny? That was rude, not funny. You think that every single woman dies for your attention and can’t wait to spread her legs. If someone doesn’t drool over you then you freak out. You can’t accept that the cheap and cheesy broken record you use isn’t working on everyone.”
“It’s not everyone. Only on you,” he pokes a finger at my shoulder.
Lucas swerves onto an exit, but I’ve been so absorbed in our disagreement I forgot to pay attention to my surroundings. Wanted to take it all in, look for similarities between France’s landscape and ours. A lost and wasted opportunity thanks to Lucas.
“You’re just playing hard to get,” he stops at a red light.
Traffic appears as busy as California. Tall buildings line the crowded boulevards and people hurry in all directions, shivering in heavy, colorful winter coats. Vehicles honk, pedestrians jump out of nowhere, crossing in between cars. Somewhere in the distance I can make out the Eiffel Tower, but it’s misty and too far away.
We traverse the city and I wish to see more. I’ll just have to wait for when Madame V doesn’t need me and I have Ella to stroll down the boulevards, maybe grab a famous French pastry and a cup of coffee. Hunger nags at me.
“Jane.”
Lucas’s voice reminds me he’s still here. There’s no magician nearby to make him disappear. Sigh.
“What?”
“You didn’t hear me.”
“Sure I did.”
“What did I ask you?”
“That I play hard to get. Which is not a question, in case you went to school and missed out on using proper punctuation.”
“I was right,” he shakes his head. “I did ask you a question, but you were either daydreaming or ignoring me. Which is it?”
“The latter.” Saying this alone gives me some pleasure after all the drilling and grilling he put me through since leaving the house.
“So you do play hard to get? Oh, and that is a question.”
“Oh, please. Get over yourself.” I also roll my eyes when he glances at me. My insides warm up knowing I manage to annoy him once again based on his frown.
We stop on a very narrow street. Short buildings guard the one-way cobblestoned street, and every other store is another bistro. Amidst all the closed doors there’s a pastry and coffee aroma lingering in the air, so inciting, so inviting, I’m painfully hungry.
I’m impressed with the architecture of these old buildings, but I know nothing about styles and what historical period they belong to. I like the mortar lion heads and the ornaments around wide windows, the curbed metal balconies, so tiny two people couldn’t fit on them. Colorful drapes decorate large store windows, covering only the bottom half of the glass while the upper half is either engraved with the store’s name or drawings of steamy cups of coffee.
We enter an old building with circular, stone stairs separated in the middle by the oldest elevator I’ve ever seen. Its accordion-type doors are made out of darkened iron, letting its occupants see the building’s structure in between floors.
The elevator stops on the last floor. It’s an open and wide space, half of it set as cubicles, half of it as closed-in offices divided by walls of glass.
I know which office belongs to Madame V long before we enter the room, judging by the glamorous interior. Pictures of her as a young model cover the white back wall, a black, metal, half-moon shaped desk and a few zebra-striped leather chairs add sophistication. She’s on a red love seat with a black satin eye-mask on, resting while a petite Asian woman massages her legs.
I expect Bernard to be by her side, but instead there’s Yves, the second in command assistant after Bernard. I rarely interact with him. Skinny and wearing loose dark gray tunics, he reminds me of a monk. He sees us through the glass wall and mouths, “Migraine.”
“Viv, love, what happened?” Lucas’s voice sounds worried once we enter the office.
She lifts the mask and extends her hand, which he takes between his and kisses. He sits next to her, still holding her hand and massaging it tenderly.
“Ah, mon amour,” Madame V sighs. “I can’t do this for much longer. I should retire and enjoy my life on a sunny island. Why do I take on so much?” She sees me, waves, and strokes a palm over the front of her burgundy cashmere pullover. “Jane, dear, do it fast. I told the producer he could airbrush me as much as he wants. Everything else, Je m’en fou.”
For Madame V to ask me to be fast it must be a bad migraine. It’s the first time ever she wants me to hurry. We move into a large room around the corner. People install a green screen, lights and cameras. While I do her makeup routine, Madame V chats with Lucas.
I need to somehow catch Yves’ attention. I must talk to him about my moving out of the guesthouse. Yves ignores me, talking on one p
hone and texting on another. I force a cough, but the only one glancing at me is Lucas. He’s the last I want attention from. I wonder where Bernard is. Haven’t seen or heard from him since my arrival. Maybe he’s on vacation, although he never takes one. Hopefully he’s not sick.
Lucas helps Madame V get up. She leans on him, taking small steps. By the pale and pained facial expression it looks as if the migraine drained her soul. Migraines suck. When I get one I’m out cold for days.
“Jane, I hope you enjoy your time here. Lucas will take you and Ella to visit my niece tomorrow. She lives nearby and has two daughters about the same age as Ella. See you soon.”
“Thank you, Madame V. Feel better. Try warm coke and pretzels. It helps.”
She walks by me and pats my face. “A bullet to my brain. That would really help.”
Pulling at Yves’ sleeve doesn’t get him to stop what he’s doing and talk to me. In fact I’m left alone while Lucas leaves the room and Yves follows Madame V. The producer has her sit on a love-chair in front of a green sheet. In between putting away makeup, lotions and utensils, I make numerous attempts to talk to Yves. The more he ignores me the more my irritation grows.
My stomach rumbles. It’s past three o’clock in the afternoon and the interview is over. Lucas hasn’t returned. I’m not with my daughter. I’m not working nor am I visiting Paris. Why do people assume their time is more precious than others’?
Chapter 12
I call Zoé and talk first with her, then with Ella, who tells me she painted her dolls’ nails after Zoé painted hers. The girls seem to be having fun, but I’m still nervous about leaving my daughter with a stranger for so long.
“We are fine, Jane, don’t worry,” Zoé says. “Take your time.”
I’d fly there if I could, but I’m still stuck with Lucas who left me waiting for forty-five minutes after Madame V left. I’ve no idea where he went or what he did—not that I care, but I find it extremely rude.
Me Tarzan, You Jane Page 8