Madam Mom

by Lynda Rees

  Kelle laughed loudly. “You had an orgasm. Didn’t you?”

  “Um hum.”

  “Well then, you did yourself a favor. You sure you won’t see your delectable hunk again?” Disappointment registered in her voice.

  “Lordy, no. He’s long gone and I’m here on a mission. I don’t have time for a man even if I wanted one. I can’t trust my instincts with guys. After the shit with Simon, I’m taking a break from the opposite sex.”

  “It’s well and good, but don’t go for long. You don’t want to build a wall too thick to penetrate. You’re too young to give up on love. There’s a guy out there for you, Tisha. I know it. At least you got laid. It’s a step in the right direction.”

  “I knew you’d understand. It’s shocking to me I had the nerve. I haven’t done anything nearly as crazy since I lived in Paris.”

  “You mean the painter?”

  “Yeah, posing nude felt wonderful and intoxicating. Damned artistic, Piere Luis had a sexual appreciation for my body I’d never experienced. I’ve never felt as free.”

  “Did your mom know?”

  “No, unusual for me, I never confided in her. I didn’t keep things from Mom before or since. Exquisitely proper, she would’ve been appalled I allowed him to capture my nudity on canvas and never would’ve approved.”

  Tisha laughed. “We McClain women had the best time. Mom and Gran visited me while interned at the Louvre. We didn’t realize Cap d’Agde was a nude beach. We decided to spend the day sun bathing. I should have known and warned them, but I wasn’t much of a beach girl. Condoned nudity common in many parts of Europe, most Denmark and Norway beaches are clothing optional.”

  “An awkward experience.”

  “Definitely. We had a good laugh.” She chuckled out loud. “You should have seen Mom’s face and heard Gran’s bawdy laughter. They casually brushed it off as fun. If I’d been with friends instead of family, I would’ve indulged in topless sun-bathing, but not with Mom.”

  “Knowing your mother, it would never do. She didn’t. Did she?” Kelle laughed heartily.

  “Imagine proper, elegant Mom participating in nudity. I wore a bikini with a see-through, gauze cover-up and a straw hat. Gran wore her long-skirted, floral one-piece with a long-sleeved, over-blouse and visor. Mom’s stunning, red one-piece plunged low in back, trimmed in a black ribbon. Perfectly groomed hair protected by a matching, oversized hat and enormous designer sunglasses, she paraded like she couldn’t see the crowd of stark-naked bodies. She was a class act.”

  “She certainly was. Roberta had an admirable passion and talent for discovering young artists, cultivating and bringing them to the world.” The most efficient and organized person Tisha knew, Kelle excelled at keeping the gallery out of trouble, in order, and on time. Her way with customers contributed substantially to sales, the only person besides Mom with as good an eye for talented, aspiring artists.

  “Yes, she inspired my interest in the industry. We loved traveling and art. Last summer we skied the Alps in Gstaad, Switzerland, staying at the Grand Hotel Bellevue at the base of Mt. Titlis. Riding the gondola up the majestic mountain, we enjoyed breathtaking scenery and divine snow. We ate Fondu Chinoise a’Discretion by candle light and full moon at the famous Panorama Restaurant and visited crowded Petit Chalet enjoying the art complex immensely. I’ll treasure time with her.”

  “Did you always plan to run a gallery?”

  “No, I dreaded telling Mom my career plans. During my junior year at Boston University, I had no intention of returning to Kentucky after graduation. Moms dreamed I’d join in managing the art gallery on Main Street near the Aaronoff Theatre in Cincinnati. Mom hoped I’d one day take it over, along with Dad’s antique store in Newport. It had been Dad’s pride and his business headquarters. It’s nice, but not where I wanted to be.”

  “He died there?”

  “Yes, gunned down on the sidewalk in a drive-by shooting. Mom inherited the store, and she never closed the doors, though I doubt it’s profitable.” Asher McClain went by Snake. Tisha didn’t know where the nickname stemmed from. “Uncle Vinnie Russo manages the store for Mom.”

  “Vinnie? Didn’t realize you had an uncle.”

  “He’s always been part of my life. Vinnie, Mom and Dad were friends in business together since their youth. He’s sort of family. The gallery and antique store are minutes from Mom’s home. She wanted me to work there and continue living with her, or buy my own home near there. Mom hoped to keep her close.”

  “Ah, every mother’s dream.”

  “It wasn’t mine. I knew it would upset Mom. Finally, I she visited me at Boston University and I confessed. We met at her suite in the luxurious, historic Taj hotel. They have a fabulous spa, and it’s within walking distance of the Boston Opera House. She sensed something going on with me, but she patiently waited for me to get around to it. Sipping cocktails overlooking Boston Common and Public Garden, I broke her heart. She listened without comment smiling, expecting it to be a guy thing. I didn’t talk about my love life, but she knew I had one. She hoped I wasn’t pregnant or worse. Whatever, she prepared to accept and deal with it together. I didn’t want to run the Cincinnati gallery. I wanted to live in New York. The city teems with electricity, and I find it exhilarating. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. I needed to be there.”

  “Was she shocked?”

  “Not really. Extraordinarily calm and collected, she asked what I wanted to do for a living. I decided to work in art and enjoyed the atmosphere of a small gallery, loving the thrill of discovering new and talented artist. I can’t imagine doing anything outside the field. Maybe I could get a job at a gallery or museum. I’d been exploring options and applying for jobs. I met with my counselor who had ideas and promised to help me find a suitable position. She mentioned internships available providing tremendous experience. Recruiting for internships started next semester, and I wanted to discuss it before exploring further. Mom realized selfishness of her dream, and likely I’d spread my wings and explore the world. Touring New York to shop during my senior-year of high school, I loved the city. She didn’t blame me. A magnificent place to live and work, New York has a lot to offer.”

  “A wise woman.”

  “Wiser than me—I never had to ask for help. She offered, suggesting looking for a suitable property for a gallery of my own.”

  “Hon, you must’ve felt like you won the lottery.”

  “Actually, I believe I did—the mom lottery, anyway. She explained she’d put funds aside for a new real estate investment. Instead of buying locally in Northern Kentucky, she would use it to purchase property in New York. Beyond my wildest dreams—at best, I’d hoped she wouldn’t get angry. It never occurred she’d support me a bold fashion. I should’ve known better. Always devoted, backing me in any situation, why would she fail me then?”

  “You’re her daughter, just the three of you.”

  “Yeah. She willingly established my own gallery—more than I’d considered. I dreamed of owning one, but it would’ve taken at least ten-to-fifteen years. I wasn’t sure I could do it, but she was positive.” Tisha wiped tears starting to fall.

  “You’re a lucky woman.”

  “Yes. It’s where you came in, Kelle. You and your experience have been a Godsend.”

  “Thank you, Tisha. You’re an incredible boss. We have a good thing going together. Who would want better than Broadway in SoHo? An asset to the lovely neighborhood, the storefront’s showcase windows spanned the front of the building. The coffee shop next door and book store on the other side, the neighborhood bar catering to the artsy crowd across the street, and the comedy club next door, plus other quaint businesses inhabiting this block—deli, drug store, and auction house—make this classic brownstone the ideal location. It’s even near the SoHo Grand and your favorite restaurant, Naked Lunch.”

  “Yeah, I’m thrilled with the building, and the extremely successful business. Once I approved the real estate, Mom renovated i
t enlisting my ideas and approval of plans before execution. She emailed and called me frequently consulting on design work. Everything I hoped for, a dream-come-true; the second floor provides spacious staging area. I’m much more at home in my third-floor converted loft than in Kentucky.”

  “Why? You grew up there. It was your home.” Kelle sounded confused.

  “A misfit, awkward, and shunned kid, my strange appearance never came together correctly. Like a moose, I looked awkward and gawky limbed. People watched my every move, waiting to see how I’d screw up—not good enough. In New York I am my own person, strong, independent with a successful business. It’s definitely home.”

  “I love your adorable, comfy loft.”

  “Me too. Sunlight streams throughout the space. I decided not to install walls. Instead, I separated living areas in creative ways taking advantage of light. The open kitchen’s granite topped cabinets separated by the bar. The bedroom defined by a large area-rug beneath the bed, hanging from cables attached to the high ceiling, separated for privacy by strategic placement of furniture, a couple of artistic silk screens, and massive paintings suspended by invisible wires. The circled glass-block wall of the bathroom allows natural rays to shine into it but blocks the view for privacy. Different areas illuminated by giant hanging contemporary fixtures appeared works of art instead of simple lighting.”

  “It’s lovely and a tribute to your artistic brilliance.”

  “Thanks, Kelle. I love the cozy, modern-eclectic space. It suits me perfectly.”

  “Did Roberta know about the nude portrait hanging over the bed?” Kelle laughed.

  “Hell no. Mom would never understand and never saw it. I like it though. Don’t you?”

  “It’s well done.”

  “Mom understood my dreams. She told me to make them a reality. I’m grateful for her grace and generosity. She knew me well. Living in Paris sounded exciting with interesting, enlightening work. The amazing city provided a year of exploration and experimentation. I tried new things–wines, food, men broadening my horizons. I became a woman while in Paris where I learned confidence and strength. My schedule varied exposing me to every aspect of the museum. I worked hard doing drudgery and mundane work and led important projects for the institution. I did whatever they asked without hesitation or complaint, thrilled for the opportunity to soak in atmosphere, ask questions, study and work diligently. They welcomed my ideas and suggestions and even implemented some.”

  “Obviously, Tisha, all was not work.”

  “No. If I wasn’t working, I wandered museum halls exploring its magic. I adored everything about the place and could never get enough of the atmosphere. I spent hours staring at the Mona Lisa. It’s the masterpiece of the Louvre. I studied technique and paint choice. I explored Dominique’s workshop and found his cave of treasures and memories fascinating. I adored Walid Raad’s contemporary art collection and Charles De Maigny’s sculptures from the French Renaissance. The museum is heaven on earth. I acquired valuable knowledge of the art field helping me grow to a seasoned adult, preparing to return to New York as a gallery owner and art dealer.”

  “Let’s get to the extra-curricular activities.”

  “Paris wasn’t all work. My tiny, one-room efficiency, flat located near the river Seine on the Left Bank split the city. I exhausted tourist attractions, visiting Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower countless times. My friends and I discussed weighty matters at street cafes, enjoyed naughty nightclubs dancing and drinking, and explored the city’s avenues and back streets where the tip of the Eiffel Tower spire or the dome of Notre Dame would pop into view at any time above buildings. I developed fluent French and conversed easily in their language the enchanting summer. I met Jacques Louis, a struggling young artist, in the winter. You know, Kelle, it’s true, as Cole Porter put it, It sizzles when it drizzles.” Inseparable, he made me laugh and believe I was attractive and sexy. It’s true about nineteen-year-old men at peak sexual performance. My insatiable, voracious lover gave me immense satisfaction.” They giggled.

  “Now you’re talking my language.” Kelle clicked her tongue.

  “I explored every aspect of my sexuality with Jacques Louis Giancola. Very French and extremely flighty, not the kind of man I wanted for a long-term, life partner, he provided what I needed at the moment. I adored him and everything he offered, but never took him seriously. A fleeting love affair—I accepted it as such. It never dawned it could continue after my Parisian stint. Mom feared I’d fall in love and stay. I had no intentions of such a thing. My affair destined as a fling from the start. Jacques Louis and I enjoyed each other, but he’d replace me without concern or regret the minute I moved on. It was okay, exactly what I wanted, nothing more. A starving artist, he barely kept a roof over his head. He didn’t care. Our tryst proved nothing more than a facet of his lifestyle. I didn’t mind. I saw it clearly and wasn’t ready for serious love.”

  “Ooo, la, la, the modern woman.”

  “Before Gran’s accident she traveled. Mom and Gran visited and stayed at the grand Hotel Saint Christophe on Rue Lacepede within walking distance of Arenes de Lutece, Grande Galerie de l’Evolution, and Jardin des Plantes, and not too far from the Pantheon. Evenings the three of us enjoyed sinfully delicious meals. We saw a play, visited the ballet and opera. We saw a show at bawdy cabaret Moulin Rouge. Gran loved the flamboyant dancers and the old posters of them by Toulouse Latrec. We frequented Mom’s favorite bar, Le Piano Vache, lounging on ancient couches soaking up the ambiance of 1970s and 1980’s era posters. A bit Goth for Mom, she knew I’d enjoy the rock bands and effortless atmosphere. Much less formal Le Piano Vache was an underground favorite of Parisian students. I’d been there many times with friends. Jacques Louis joined us for wine and music at the bar. He charmed the pants off Gran. Less impressed, Mom acted gracious but standoffish. Over dinner at their hotel the next evening she asked about him, concerned we were serious. I told her she had nothing to worry about. Only serious about his art, I couldn’t love a man who chose work over me. She called him cute but not husband material—something I knew well. I explained he was a child at heart, one of those men who will never grow up, the perfect mix of artist mentality and French man. In the culture the business allows for eccentrics of his sort. I had too much to accomplish before getting serious about a man. She feared me becoming pregnant with a frivolous French man’s child. Gran listened without a word then suddenly floored us saying, “Being tied up in his bed wouldn’t be bad. I picture fuzzy pink handcuffs or something of the nature.” She giggled mischievously. Mom and I died laughing. Mom scolded her, and she went on. “Just saying, the guy looks like he has talents. I hope you’re sampling them, Dear.” I turned pink and figured Mom would croak.”

  “Your grandmother is a riot. She’s an ornery old gal.”

  “Yep, and I love her dearly. I didn’t answer. She asked point blank. “So you’re having sex with the French stud. Right? He’s a prime piece of tail.” She laughed louder. I turned a funny shade of purple and stared at Gran with my mouth open, unsure what to say.”

  “What did your Mom do?”

  “She said, “You’re a grown woman. It’s natural you’re interested in the young man. He’s certainly charming and a looker.” Then Gran grinned again. “He’s hard to resist. It’s like showing candy to a baby and not giving it some.” Gran gave me an evil wink. I told them both to shut the hell up. I wouldn’t get into my sex life with them.”

  “So?”

  “Are you kidding? Gran was on a roll. She said, “If I was fifty years younger the young thing could get ahold of me.” Gladly, she wasn’t because I’d never compete with her for a man. I laughed all the way to my flat, and I’m certain Gran had sex dreams.”

  “No doubt.”

  Would Gran be shocked to learn she posed nude for Jacques Louis? He painted two nudes of her, gave one to her and kept one for himself. She treasured the painting and kept it to remind her of a blissful time with Jacques Louis Giancola
and her life in Paris, a time of innocence, freedom and guiltless exploration—a wonderful time in her life.

  “No more trips with Mom. It’s over. She’s gone. My mind keeps playing her voice in my head. My ears will never hear it again.”

  “I’m sorry, Tisha. I wish I could do more.”

  “You’re doing what you can—taking care of the business and being my friend. It’s enough. Thanks for checking in, Kelle. I’ll let you know once we make funeral arrangements.”

  “Okay. Try to get some sleep.” Tisha lounged on the bed thinking.

  Tisha afforded luxurious Sundays, the one day to do whatever she wanted. She slept late, ate a leisurely breakfast reading the New York Times. Then she called Mom for their weekly chat. Roberta tucked Tisha in as a child with a goodnight kiss and her signature sign off. “Sweet dreams, my darling, dream of rainbows, hearts, kisses and me. You’re always my special girl. Love you.”

  She bristled about being an adult. Tisha loved hearing it. She never would again.

  Napping failed so, she took a bubble bath using a luxurious scent Mom gave her last Christmas. The bath soothed her fractured nerves. Dressed, she joined Gran for a quiet dinner then called it an early night, wiped out. The worst was coming.

  CHAPTER 5

  Gran rose early as usual, perfectly groomed and dressed reading the paper. Tisha joined her in the dining room. The bouquet of bacon and sweet rolls filled the house. Hunger surprised her.

  Tisha’s long, brunette hair pulled into a ponytail at the top of her crown with a wisp twisted around the band. Wearing oversized onyx earrings rimmed in white pearls, a matching pendant on a thick gold chain hung between her breasts. One was expected properly ready to face the day, appearing at the McClain table.

  Gran smiled approval. “You look splendid, my dear. I love winter white wool. The lovely pants suit with black bows looks like Chanel® and enhances your slim figure. You make your mom and me proud.” She patted the table. “Sit. Eat. You need your strength. We have a big day ahead.”