The Frenchman's Slow Seduction

by Flora Lanoux

  At the mention of Mike, my stomach tenses up. “Gosh no. Mike really likes you, Myra. If he wanted you to have these things, you should keep them. I’d love for you to enjoy them.”

  “Well, if you’re sure. Is everything alright between you two? He hasn’t gone and done something stupid has he?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She gives me a hesitant look. “Rachel, can I tell you something about men?”

  Up until now, I’d never thought of Myra as ever having had a man. “Of course.”

  “I was married to a man who sometimes didn’t treat me so good. There would be cycles of good times and bad times. When times were bad, he found fault in everything I did and stayed out until all hours. One day, during a particularly bad phase, a very good friend of mine came to see me with what she called serious news. As gently as she could, she told me that Jack, my husband, was seeing other women on the side and had been for years. I think she felt afraid of how I’d react because she stood on the other side of the room when she told me. But there was no need for her to feel afraid because all I felt was relief. It drove me mad not knowing what caused Jack’s wretched mood swings. Suddenly, everything made sense. When Jack started a fight, it meant he had a new girlfriend and needed a reason to get out of the house to see her. When things were good, there was no girlfriend. What brought this all back to me, Rachel, was Mike coming over with the flowers and wine. When a bad phase was finished, which happened after Jack had ended things with a mistress, he always brought me flowers and wine.”

  Why do I feel so surprised when older women tell me about their love lives? Having always been frank with Myra, I say, “Mike’s not seeing another woman. Things are just a bit strained, that’s all. I’m not sure he’s got room for me in his life.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she says, “Well, that man doesn’t know what he’s missing. Don’t you worry, Rachel. Things’ll work out for the best.” Then, seeing how tired I am, she says, “Go home to bed, honey. You look exhausted.”

  As soon as I get to my apartment, I phone Mike. It’ll be too awkward at work tomorrow if I don’t. Right away, he picks up.

  “I missed you tonight,” he says. “My bad luck.”

  “I decided to go to Michelle’s. Look Mike, I need to talk to you -- about us.”

  “Please, not over the phone. Can we do it at the clinic tomorrow? I can get in an hour early.”

  “Alright,” I say, disappointed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Push. Pull. That’s the relationship that’s developed between Mike and me. Magnets that line up north-north, north-south, south-south, the pushes and pulls getting stronger. One minute, forcibly attracted to each other; then, with a sudden change in some unknown force, wildly thrown apart. Caught at sea in a windstorm, I don’t know anymore which direction I’m pointing in.

  Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings. When I open the door, I try to smile, but can’t. Neither can Mike. He puts his arms around me.

  “Mike, please don’t. I won’t be able to talk to you if you do that.”

  “I couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” he says. “I don’t think I’d have gotten through the night. Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me what’s on your mind?”

  I take him to the kitchen table so that we can sit across from one another. Then I tell him everything.

  “Maybe we should stop seeing each other outside of work,” I say. “I don’t want to change you, Mike. But I can’t go on like this.” North-North.

  He reaches for my hands. “Rachel, there’s nothing you’ve said that I haven’t thought of myself at one time or another. You don’t deserve what I’ve put you through, and I’m sorry for that. I’m very, very sorry. You’re right. I’ve gotten far too complacent with the people in my life. When there was just me, it never occurred to me to demand respect for myself. I felt so bad about the divorce that I let the kids get away with everything, and now that they’re older they still run roughshod all over me. I want to change what’s going on. I want to change it for me, and I want to change it for you. Please give me another chance. I don’t want us to stop seeing each other.” A few seconds go by. “You’re my life.”

  I stand up. “Make me fly, Mike.” North-South.

  Chapter 5

  Having decided to work on our relationship, Mike and I spend the weekend at my place, mostly in bed due to the gray skies and thundering rain. The sultry humid atmosphere is almost mystical.

  Sunday night, as Mike and I climb into bed, lightning bolts light up the sky, while cracks of thunder vibrate the room. “Feels like the beginning of time,” Mike says, pressing his warm, hungry lips over mine. With our hands, mouths, and bodies, we join in the chaos.

  My night is one long dream interrupted by sleep: I’m in an animal anatomy lab, but there are no cadavers, no formaldehyde fumes, just plastic replicas, atlases, and computers illustrating 3D anatomy and surgeries, and live animals roaming around. It takes me all night to see and feel everything. Suddenly, I feel Mike kissing and caressing me. But it’s not a dream; he’s really next to me in bed. Seeing I’m awake, he lifts himself over me, and we make love.

  When Mike gets ready to go to work, I decide to go as well even though I have the morning off. There’s a lot of work to do on the visual aids for the conference.

  At the clinic, as everyone bustles around, I sit down at my desk and turn on my laptop. Thoughts of my dream prompt an email.

  Dear Jean Paul:

  Thanks for the info. As regards anatomy being the last pure science, I agree. It’s the only science I can think of where you can touch, feel, and see what you’re studying and know something for certain. PS: I’m attaching a photo of last year’s fall foliage. Rachel

  At nine thirty, after doing an hour of work on the conference materials, I leave for my visit with Verna.

  It’s a relief walking into Northcliff. I spot Verna near the entrance, chatting with some residents. Dressed in a metallic gray pant suit, she looks ready for an executive meeting. Seeing me, she waves.

  “Hello, Rachel,” she says, walking up to me with a bright smile. “I’ve got a treat planned for you.” She looks as excited as a schoolgirl. “But first I’d like to talk to you.” She takes me by the arm and leads me outdoors. “We’ll sit on one of the benches out front.”

  The weather is almost tropical.

  When we’re both seated, Verna says, “Rachel. I’ve been thinking about you ever since our first meeting. I don’t know why, but I feel worried for you.”

  I find her concern touching. “There’s no need to worry about me, Verna. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  Giving me a dark look, she says, “Don’t you dare be flippant with me, Rachel. I don’t enjoy being treated like a silly old lady. I’ve got more years behind me than I care to let on, and I’m worried about you. Just tell me you’ll be extra careful in the next few weeks.”

  Feeling lower than a snake’s belly, I say, “I’m sorry, Verna. I’m glad you care; and yes, I’ll be extra careful.”

  She nods. “Pay attention to what’s going on around you. You said the first day we met that you felt something wasn’t right.”

  “I think I was more worried about my love life.”

  “Well, maybe so, but be careful. I wish I could wipe that cloud of confusion from around you.”

  “I’m working on that.”

  A rainbow suddenly appears in the sky, and I flash back to something my mom said: “Rainbows light up the sky to remind you just how beautiful life can be.”

  Verna takes my hand. “There’s only one piece of advice about love I can offer,” she says. “Before you marry a man, you have to see what he’s like when he’s angry.”

  She has my full attention.

  “You have to get him really good and mad about something. Make sure it’s something silly, and it’s far better if you’re in the wrong. Then see how he reacts. If he throws a tantrum, rants and raves, starts throwing his ego around, puts yo
u down or tries to dominate or bully you, dump him. But if he looks terribly sad and distressed, and if he’s more concerned about you than who’s right or wrong, you’ve got a keeper. You’re looking for someone with nobility, someone who’d rather cut off his own arm than be mean to you. You don’t want a man with anger problems because your life will be a living hell.

  “I didn’t test my man,” she says, “and I lived through forty years of hell. What a temper he had. I’m Catholic, and Catholics didn’t get divorced in my day. He whacked me and the kids around so much that I ran out of reasons for going to the hospital. After forty years, I left him.”

  Amazed, I say, “How did you find the strength to do it?”

  “I didn’t think I had it in me. Then one day, when I was sitting in the sun in the middle of the living room, I heard a voice say, ‘His anger doesn’t have anything to do with you, Verna. It has everything to do with him.’ A wave of relief passed through me. That one moment changed my life. I suddenly realized that it didn’t matter what color lipstick I wore, what clothes I had on, or whether the house was clean or not, if he wanted to be a bastard, he was going to be a bastard. That’s when I knew I had it in me to leave him.” She looks at me. “Don’t ever let a man be mean to you, Rachel.”

  For a few moments, we bask in the heat of the sun. Then Verna gets to her feet. Smiling, she says, “Now, after all that serious stuff, I have a nice surprise for you.” She looks fit to burst. “It’s all set up. Elizabeth Gretcham is waiting to read your tarot cards. Everyone’s waiting. I hope you don’t mind an audience. She always draws an audience.”

  When I get to my feet, Verna links arms with me. Indoors, she leads me down a long corridor and into a lounge, where several residents are already settled in chairs.

  Sitting at a centrally placed card table is a short plump woman with white hair swept high on her head in a bun. Dressed in a black floral dress and a red shawl, she is a majestic figure. Slightly hunched, it takes her a moment to look up. When she does, I see rouged cheeks, orange lipstick, and crystal blue eyes.

  She looks at Verna. “So, this is the bonnie lass you’ve told us about,” she says, with a beautiful Scottish brogue.

  “Yes,” Verna says. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce Rachel.”

  The residents all call out a greeting, nod, or wave.

  Verna squeezes my hand. “Rachel, this is Liz. She’s going to read your tarot cards.”

  Liz smiles. “Won’t you join me, Rachel?”

  Sitting across from her, I smell roses.

  Verna dims the room’s lights and sits with the other residents.

  Taking my hands, Elizabeth says, “Life’s a journey, Rachel, not an exam and certainly not a race. You can relax here.”

  The tension in my shoulders melts away. Liz’s voice is intoxicating.

  “I’ll ask you to call me Liz. How do you feel, Rachel?”

  “Tired, Liz.”

  “That’s alright. You can rest here.”

  Why do I feel weepy?

  “We’ll immerse you gently, no baptisms by fire here,” Liz says. She hands me her deck of tarot cards. “Shuffle the cards, Rachel, and as you shuffle think of a question that you’d like answered. Then place the deck on the table. Using your left hand, the hand of your heart, cut the cards towards you into three piles.”

  When I’m done, Liz restacks the cards, swiftly removes every seventh card, and places them on the table in the shape of a wheel. At one point, she tells me I’m the Queen of Cups. Repeat passages are made through the deck until there are twenty-eight vividly illustrated cards lying before us, all depicting some human drama. Liz scoops up the cards and deals them out into seven piles of four cards.

  Turning over the first four cards, she says, “These cards represent what will happen soonest, within the first three weeks after the reading.” She takes a moment to study them. “Hmmm, I told the cards no serious business, but they’ve chosen to indulge themselves a bit. You haven’t fully realized your intuitive and spiritual powers, Rachel. The High Priestess will guide you on your path to spiritual development. She does this in your dreams. If you open up to your own thoughts and feelings, something great can happen. I see a very loving relationship as a possibility in the near future. There’s a bit of sand in the ointment, however. Someone you know is actively practicing deceit and thievery. This same person desires to be hurtful. You should be wary.”

  I’m paying particular attention to what Liz is saying because of the strange things happening at the clinic.

  Liz picks up the next pile of four cards. “The second hand deals with the three to six week period after your reading. I see here that this hand has to do with your question, Rachel. You’re going on a trip, a flight I think, several hundred miles away. You’ve asked about love. Your soul mate, the King of Cups, will be in this place you are traveling to. You are not in tune with yourself enough to notice what presents itself to you. The Hermit is there to guide you on your way and illuminate your path. You must learn to be in tune with yourself; then all will be revealed. Otherwise you are blind.”

  Well, she certainly hit a bull’s eye with that one. My trip to Texas is in three and a half weeks. My question was, “Have I found the love of my life?” Mike is coming on the trip with me, so he could be the King of Cups. It’s true that I don’t feel in tune with myself. Coming from a family with two alcoholic parents, I had to work hard to put myself through university. I haven’t had much time to think about life; and lately, I’ve been thinking about taking life more slowly.

  The next four hands make mention of a party, more spiritual enlightenment, and a burdensome painful struggle that comes to an end.

  After revealing the last four cards, Liz looks at me and says, “You’ll achieve emotional completion, Rachel. Your ideals will become your reality with the help of a lover you’ve chosen. Listen to your heart and you’ll find a place of pure contentment where you can abandon all your fears. A friend, a dark-haired woman who is full of positive energy and who is wise about the ways of the world, keeps a watchful eye over you. And Rachel,” she says, smiling, “the Empress, goddess of fertility, beckons.” The last card to be read is the Fool. With an intent look, Liz says, “You’re nobody’s fool, Rachel. Remember that.”

  Suddenly, the lights come back on, and we are thrust back into reality.

  Smiling, I get to my feet. “Thanks, Liz. That was a lot of fun.”

  Slowly, she stands up and takes my hands. “You’re capable of great things, Rachel, if you develop your spiritual powers. Come visit me any time you like, dear. We’ll stir up a little mischief.”

  As Liz leaves to mingle with the others, Verna walks up to me. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

  “Very,” I tell her. “But I don’t know about that goddess of fertility stuff.”

  Verna laughs. “We’ll see. She’s known for being very accurate.”

  “Can you tell me about Liz?”

  “Well, she’s a strong believer in angels. She says there were many times when she was helped by angels while midwifing and nursing in Scotland. The stories she tells are riveting. She’s absolutely mad about Robert Burns and recites his poetry for us on entertainment days.” She gives me a thoughtful look. “On Thursday when you come, we’ll be having an entertainment afternoon.”

  Since it’s time for me to leave, Verna walks with me to the lobby. We make plans to continue meeting on Monday mornings at ten and Thursday afternoons at four.

  When I get back to the clinic after lunch, Lucy, bright and chipper as ever, hands me the work roster. It’s my turn for morning surgery, which consists of a castration, a spay, and two teeth cleanings: a slow morning.

  As I’m in my office, Mike comes in, looking excited. He’s holding a carefully folded newspaper.

  “You’ve got to read this,” he says, pointing to a section of the newspaper. “It’s an article about aging parents and how they feel about their relationship with their adult children.”

 
Apparently, a Mrs Henderly has had enough of her two offspring, who are in their sixties and still behaving like children. “They come over unexpectedly, acting as if I don’t have a life of my own, and expect me to drop everything and tend to their every need. I’m eighty-five and they still want me to run around and feed them. When I had children I was naïve. I thought they’d grow up and we could become friends. Instead, we still have this parent-child relationship which I find stifling.”

  I look at Mike. “Hit home, did it?”

  “Too right. I’m going to invite Gordon and Vanessa over tonight and I’m going to show them this article. I want them to change how they see me.”

  I put down the paper. “It may not turn out the way you like,” I tell him. “They’ve had you as their own personal slave for years; they’re bound to kick when you try to remove your services.”

  His expression changes from one of euphoria to one that is more pensive, which I find more heartening.

  “Yeah, I know. But I’m going to give it one heck of a try.”

  I throw my arms around him and give him a big smacking kiss. “Power to you.”

  Later that night, as I’m getting ready for bed, Mike shows up at my apartment. I take him to the sofa in the living room.

  “So, how’d it go?” I ask.

  “Well, Vanessa and Gordon both went quiet when I showed them the article. They weren’t having any of that friendship stuff. They said they already had friends, and that we’d a certain relationship all our lives and they wanted it to stay that way. I told them I wasn’t happy with things the way they were, and that I didn’t think it was healthy for them either. I told them I wanted to be their friend and that I would support them in their endeavors. I said that the family bond and memories we had would make me different from their other friends.”