by Vega, W. H.
Her eyes light up when I touch her and I know it’s not a good sign.
“Until then.” I say softly, and then I leave.
I try not to think about Madison as I make my way to the Metro station.
Yes, she and I have been playing a bit of cat and mouse since we arrived in Paris; some harmless flirting, some inappropriate comments that I couldn’t quite stop from leaving my mouth. Too much wine will do that sometimes.
There is something so young, vibrant, and exciting about Madison. And I am drawn to her like a moth to a beautiful flame. She's so different than what I've grown accustomed to. And it isn’t just her youth, her beauty, or slight Southern accent. It’s her open and innocent personality, her vivacity and now, her untapped genius.
And hell, she is so beautiful. That gorgeous little body and her long chestnut hair, creamy skin and big blue eyes... there have been several wars in human history fought for women like her.
She is so different from anyone I've ever been with before, so different from Vera.
Just thinking about Vera makes my blood boil. Even now, after everything, Vera her grip on me is so tight I'm trekking across Paris to see her dying Uncle Leon.
Leon is a kind man, and I don’t hold his being related to Vera against him, but I know it will be the last time I ever see the man.
I picture Vera with her short, cropped blonde hair and her strong jaw and nose. Hard edges all around, and always, always dressed in black. She is the antithesis of Madison, which is, perhaps, why I found Madison so intriguing. She embodies everything that Vera isn’t – youthfulness, beauty, innocence, and genius.
Vera and her hard edges, sharp wit and biting comments—she's not as intelligent as she thinks. What had ever attracted me to her in the first place?
It had been my arrogant, self-important attitude. Thinking I was so damn better than everybody else. And Vera thought the same thing about herself. Misery loves company, after all.
It's a hard lesson to learn, one I'm still struggling with, realizing that one is no better than everyone else, no more deserving of anything in this world. To be fair, musically I am better than most, but otherwise there is nothing that makes me intrinsically special. I realize that I'm not entitled to happiness; I have to work for it. Deep down I'm just another loser, a fuck up with an array of undiagnosed mental conditions. I hide behind the facade of musical genius so convincing that most people are too intimidated to even attempt to deal with me on a level of familiarity.
I'm working on it, I am.
But Vera has no intentions to curb her stuck-up pretentious attitude; in her fucked up head she knows she is better than everyone around her, including me. She's poisonous, and I'm fucking sick of it.
First came the withdrawal, the silence and passive aggression. Then came the fights and the resentment, and the anger. I can still see Vera sneering at me, throwing our glass plates on the kitchen floor for shock value. Of course, I'm not perfect either. I can hurl insults just as well as Vera can. But at least I attempted to keep my vows. Even though I was caught in a stranglehold of misery and loathing of the one person I vowed to love and to hold forever, I didn’t fuck anyone else.
Which is of course, is how it all finally ended.
On a particularly bad day last year I cancelled a class last minute to come home to rest. And instead of being at her art class, Vera was home in our bed, screwing some other "artist" who shared her love of black clothing and snarky one-liners. He wasn’t even embarrassed or remorseful that I'd caught him fucking my wife. Vera at least had the humanity to act ashamed. Though I’m not sure how bad she actually felt about it in the end.
And now here I am, four months after our divorce, going to visit her uncle after she’d sent me a short, yet pleading email, to visit her Uncle Leon who had always loved my music… And to whom she had accidentally let it “slip” that I would be in Paris this autumn.
Fuck.
I shake my head, trying to clear away all my thoughts of hatred towards Vera. I need to focus on Uncle Leon. A dying man's last wish is to hear me play and there's not much else I can say about that. I plan on keeping this visit short and sweet so that I can get back to my private lesson with Madison, and to, hopefully, a clear head.
The visit is actually not that painful, and Leon is grateful to see me. I talk to him quietly for a few minutes, and we slip into French, which is much easier for Leon, especially in his state. I play him his favorite, Bourree in B minor by Bach, and after an awkward good bye, one I know will be our last, I leave his room and make my way back to campus.
Chapter Four
Luc
I make it back twenty minutes early, and I go about setting up the tiny room, clearing away all the chairs except for two. With no one else around, it’s going to be difficult to not get carried away with Madison, but she’s talented and I need to figure out just how deep her talent runs. Who knows? One day she could change the world with her music.
A few minutes later Madison appears, breathless and carrying her guitar. Her hair is down now and it’s wild and curly around her face.
“Sorry!” she says, quickly coming into the room and pulling open her guitar case.
I glance at my watch and see that we're starting nearly ten minutes late; I lost track of time.
“It’s not a problem. I’m sorry we couldn’t do this earlier. I’d actually like to meet like this every Tuesday, directly after the composition class. I’m not sure if you’re getting enough independent study.”
“I’m not getting any independent study,” she laughs, pushing her sleeves up again. “I feel like all I do outside of class is eat and drink. ”
The sight of her bare arms reminds me of our bathroom tryst. Focus.
“Well, that’s about to be rectified. You’re too damn good to not be getting any independent study.” I flash her a smile. “And as far as instructors go, I’m about as good as it gets.”
Who cares if I sound cocky? It’s the damn truth.
She doesn’t seem bothered by my confident statement, and instead sits down with her guitar and stares at me expectantly.
Right. I need to actually work with her now. I'm the instructor she's the student.
“Let’s go over the piece you played for me earlier.”
I sit down across from her, and we spend the next hour going through her beautiful piece of music. She explains to me her thought process behind it. I help her with a few points and show her some different ways she can change up the chords to make the piece just a little more complex and interesting than it already is. She's already magnificent at sweep picking, which is arguably the most difficult technical guitar skill to master, and her arpeggios and progressions are flawless. I can tell Madison is an eager and open student, which shouldn’t surprise me but it makes me like her more. I’ve always hated working with little snots who think their power tabs are some fucking gift to the world.
And here, Madison’s music is a gift and she isn’t pretentious or arrogant about it at all.
The hour flies by, and I realize we need to wrap things up. The energy in the room is beginning to shift, and I’ve scooted my chair about as close as can be to Madison’s.
“I think that’s all we have time for today.” I say softly, looking down at Madison’s face.
“Yes, my shoulders are getting a little stiff,” she breathes, staring back at me.
I swallow and stand up, turning my back to her as I begin to place my guitar back in its case. After a few moments, I hear Madison get up as well. When I turn back around, her back is to me and she’s locking her guitar up in its case.
I admire her from behind, remembering what it felt like to slide my hands across her ass, and pull her hips close to mine. I have half a mind to do it again, but I’m not that foolish. I already risked my job and reputation last night when I lured her back to that bathroom. I can't risk fucking things up even more by trying to screw her on campus, let alone in a classroom.
For all I kn
ow, she could've been completely smashed last night and barely remembers what happened. Part of me wants to bring it up, but I don’t.
Madison turns back around to face me and it’s almost as if she can read my mind. I take a step towards her and then hesitate. We should leave things at last night and let it be. I’ve already screwed up enough in my life, and I don’t need to add this to my list of the mistakes.
And yet, deep down I don’t see it as a mistake.
She looks at me, searching my face for permission with those big blue eyes. I hold strong. I don't waiver.
In an instant she’s in my arms. Her mouth is moving against mine and I can’t fight it any longer. I groan, returning her kiss, needing her now more than I ever could've realized. I run my hands through her hair, kissing her hungrily, trailing kisses along her jaw line as she moans softly. I can tell she loves every moment of this as much as I do.
“I thought you’d forgotten.” she breathes between kisses, grabbing my face and gazing into my eyes.
“I couldn’t.” I admit. “I won't ever forget last night.” I finally mange to break away, worried that someone might walk into the classroom at any moment. “We can’t do this here. This is too risky.”
“I’m 21 and I can make my own decisions. Who gives a shit?” she says defensively.
“You’re still a student. My student. And Christ, you’re an undergrad. And I’m supposed to be your advisor on this trip.”
Madison smirks. “An advisor who drinks with his students.”
I shrug. “As you said, you’re all of age, and this is Paris.”
Madison bites her lip nervously, which is endearing and unintentionally sexy at the same time. “I should go. I told Cleo that I would be back in time for dinner...”
“It’s early for dinner in Paris.”
She smirks, “Well we're getting wine first.”
“Ahh.”
She picks up her guitar and bag and turns back to me. “So, will I see you before next week’s class?”
“I hope so.”
“A bunch of us are going to that new restaurant by the opera house on Friday night.”
I know exactly the restaurant she means.
“When?” I ask.
“Eight-thirty.”
“I’ll try to make it.”
Madison hesitates in the doorway and then nods. She seems to want to say more, but she doesn’t. Then she’s gone.
I can still smell her perfume in the air, and I sink into a chair and inhale deeply, willing the erection in my pants to subside. The scent is intoxicating, yet I know it’s more than the perfume itself.
I shouldn’t be pursuing this fling with her. I should be focusing on my work here in the city, and enjoying living in Paris as a single man in the prime of his life. Hadn’t I endured enough with Vera? Did I really want to get caught up in another relationship? Especially a taboo tryst that will never, could never lead anywhere?
Though, wasn’t Paris the kind of place to do such a thing? Why can’t I enjoy Madison while we're both in this incredible city? She certainly seemed to have enjoyed herself last night, and the thought of educating her sexually is arousing. I'm sure she hasn't had many partners, and I’m sure I can show her a thing or two.
The thought of getting her naked in my bed, and making her come again and again is making my dick harder. Would she be as eager of a student in bed as she seemed to be with music? Maybe she has some kinky fantasy of sleeping with her teacher—I can definitely work that to my advantage.
I let my mind run over the possibilities as I make my way back to my apartment.
Chapter Five
Madison
I'm annoyed when I get back to our flat and find that Cleo is out and about. I need to do some serious venting about Luc's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde persona.
On second thought, maybe it's a good thing Cleo isn't here. I should really just keep my mouth shut about Luc. He’s said himself that he could lose his job. I’m pretty sure sleeping with your students will make you a pariah in any educational circle, no matter what the circumstances. Paris study abroad or not.
What is it about being in Paris that makes me lose my inhibitions? Kissing Luc in the music room was incredibly sexy and if he hadn’t had half a brain to stop us, I probably would have dropped my panties for him again right there.
Oh my god. I’m turning into a slut. Does this make me a slut?
And if it does, do I really care?
Luc has an undeniable power over me...I lose control and forget every good value my parents ever instilled in me. And I would die—just die—if my parents ever found out what was going on.
I head back into my room and put my guitar down. I open my laptop, but I’m too keyed up to do anything productive, so I shut it and wander back into the kitchen. It’s after six. Cleo and I should've already been one bottle of wine deep by now.
Screw it. I can open one myself and these are desperate circumstances. I pull a bottle of chilled white out of the fridge, and pour myself a glass. I take three large sips and instantly feel better. I drain the glass and pour myself another.
I have schoolwork to do, but I’m certainly not doing it while drinking, so I pull out a glossy Paris fashion magazine and settle onto the couch, facing our balcony and panoramic views of the city. The Eiffel Tower is directly in my line of vision, and I take a moment to realize how truly lucky I am to be here. How many people can look out their window and see the Eiffel Tower in all its amazing glory? I really owe my parents for finding this apartment. I don’t even want to think about how much it cost. I need to find them some pretty amazing Christmas gifts while in Paris.
It's only the first week in October, and our semester abroad doesn't end until December fifteenth. Just like in New York, our classes go until the first week in December, and then we have a week to wrap up and take finals. I'm so excited to see the city of Paris decorated for the holidays.
My parents offered to come out and spend a long weekend in the city, but we haven’t talked about it since. It might be nice to see them for a few days, and it would be fun to go shopping with my mother. We don’t have a break for Thanksgiving since it isn’t celebrated in Paris, but we've been told that no one is going to give us a hard time if we take a long weekend to travel back to the states. I don't feel like doing all that traveling back and forth to Nashville for just a couple of days. Especially when I'll be going home for winter break a few short weeks later.
It's not a decision I need to make now, but I am leaning towards staying in Paris for Thanksgiving. Almost everyone else is staying too. All of a sudden my thoughts of vacation and travel are interrupted as Cleo breezes in the front door.
“Hey.” she calls, placing her bag down on the table. She looks at the open bottle of wine on the counter. “You started without me.”
“You were late.” I say simply.
“I didn’t know I had a curfew.”
“You don’t. I just didn’t realize that you were going out and I needed the wine STAT.”
Cleo laughs, pours herself a glass and sits next to me.
“So how was your one-on-one lesson with Professor Pascal?” she asks, her tongue wagging. Clearly, I'm not the only one who finds him sexy.
I shrug, blushing a bit. “It was good. He’s really talented. But I think he was surprised by the fact that I’m good.” I make a face. I don’t like to brag about my talent, but I'll admit it had been a little insulting Luc was so surprised when I played for him.
“You’re more than good.” Cleo points out. “You’re freaking amazing, and he’s an idiot for just realizing that now. I mean, hello, he’s like this big shot music person, he’s our advisor in Paris, and he’s just now realized how good you are?” She shakes her head. “He’s an idiot.”
“A sexy idiot.” I add.
“Oh, definitely a sexy idiot. But he’s certainly is hot and cold isn’t he? One second he’s having a great time, drinking wine with all of us and then the next, he’s this
stuck up, closed-off professor.” She says, squinting her eyes.
I know what Cleo means, but I wonder if Luc has to be that way. If he has to at least try to act like our teacher.
“I agree,” I say slowly, “but I wonder if maybe he shouldn’t be socializing with us in such a familiar way.”
“Oh please! Do you know how many teachers socialize with their students? And we’re in Paris! He would be a weirdo not to hang out with us.”
“Maybe.” I really don’t know about these things. I guess I'm naïve in so many ways. Cleo, who'd grown up outside of DC, always seemed worldlier than I was.
We shift the conversation away from Luc, which is probably best as I’m still wrestling with whether or not to tell my best friend that I’ve slept with him, and if I keep drinking at this pace, the secret's going to spill eventually. We spend the rest of the evening finishing our bottle of wine, and eat a late dinner in a cute little restaurant on our street.
Chapter Six
Madison
The rest of the week flies by and before we know it it’s Friday night—the night I invited Luc out with us. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since our private lesson, and neither has anyone else. I guess since our group is pretty much settled in the city and all of our classes have begun, Luc doesn’t feel the need to be in touch with us as much. This makes me both sad and relieved. I actually don’t even have Luc’s phone number, only his email. But since I’m taking private lessons from him, I make a mental note to get his cell phone number next time.
“So, I invited Luc tonight,” I say casually, as Cleo and I grab our purses.
“What? When?”
I try not to act like it’s a big deal. “The other day, after my lesson. I just thought it would be nice. You know, because he had a good time going out with us the other night.”