by Vega, W. H.
“Oh. Well, he’s been MIA all week, so who knows if he’ll show. If he does come, I hope he doesn’t have his head up his ass.”
I laugh, but I know she’s right.
We take the Metro to the Opera house and then walk towards the restaurant. Somehow Ava managed to reserve a table on short notice, and she waves at us from the back of the restaurant.
“Hey!” she chirps, as we make our way to the table.
Grace is sitting there too, already sipping some wine. “Hope you don’t mind, we ordered the first bottle.”
“We don’t mind at all. ” I say.
Cleo pours us each two small glasses. More of our group traipses in, including Philippe, who Cleo has really taken to apparently. I learned that he’s a French university student living in the city. Leave it to Cleo to truly immerse herself in the culture.
Once we assume everyone has arrived—except Luc, of course—we order our food. Being students, we spend more on alcohol than our entrees, and most of us just order small plates of pasta, or appetizers. The waiter doesn’t seem surprised.
I’m deep in conversation with Grace about plans after graduation, when I feel a hand on the small of my back. Startled, I jump and turn around to see the culprit. Luc is standing behind me, his face an unreadable mask except for his smoldering eyes.
“Madison.” he says softly.
“Well, hello stranger!” Cleo says loudly, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Nice of you to make an appearance.”
Luc gives her a friendly smile. “Well, you can thank Madison for inviting me.”
“Of course! You’re always welcome.” Cleo says.
Grace and Ava both nod.
Luc slides in next to me, the only vacant spot at the table.
I’m suddenly hyper aware of my body and his. He smells of Calvin Klein aftershave, and I have the strong desire to bury my face in the nook of his smooth neck and inhale deeply. I could live there for hours.
“You smell delicious.” Luc whispers to me, his mouth just inches from my ear.
A tingle of excitement rushes up my spine.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you.” I whisper back.
He gives me a strange look.
Conversations carry on around us, yet neither Luc nor I take part in them. We’re both silent, and anyone who looks at us would just assume we're listening to the other people at the table. But I know that neither Luc nor I are listening to anything being said.
The air is charged around us, the sexual tension between us is thick and my heart is beating so hard that I think I might faint. All I can think about is Luc’s body, so close to mine, and the uncontrollable desire emanating from my own body. I have to physically restrain myself from reaching out and touching him. I literally have to clench my hands together to keep myself from rubbing along his thigh.
Out of the blue Ava begins to talk to me and I take on the welcome distraction, chatting about the holidays in Nashville. I can feel Luc's intensity as he listens to me talk about home. Luc knows next to nothing about me, and I wonder if he even has any idea who my parents are.
I'm always nervous telling people about my parents. It’s not that I'm ashamed of my parents; I love them very much and I'm fiercely proud of them. But everyone reacts differently to celebrity and some view me differently after they realize I am the daughter of two of the biggest stars in the country music industry. I'd rather keep people in the dark. I like it that way. It makes me feel more relatable.
Even after twenty-plus years, my parents are still incredibly successful and putting out albums every year. They don’t do it for the money; they do it because they absolutely love making music and can't imagine ever stopping.
“So what do your parents do?” Ava asks inevitably.
“Oh, you know,” I say, waving my hand dismissively, “they’re into music.”
“Ohh. So that’s where you get it from.”
“Yep.”
“What kind of music?”
“Country.”
“Cool. Do they sing or write, produce?” She's being polite but I know where this is headed.
“Both, actually.”
Luc is definitely listening intently. I can feel his entire body focused on me.
“Sweet! They must do pretty well if that’s their main career. Would I know them?”
I give her a small smile. “Probably.”
Ava’s quiet, clearly waiting for their names.
“Paige Lawson. Blake Evans.” I hold my breath and wait. Sometimes people aren't into country music at all and really don’t know who my parents are, or they recognize the name but don’t really know much else.
Ava and Luc react at the same time—Ava’s reaction is loud and dramatic, but it’s Luc’s reaction that steals my focus.
Ava slams her hands down on the table, “Holy shit! No way!” she yells.
Luc’s entire body freezes, and I can practically feel the shock and surprise cascading through him. I feel his hand on my thigh and he clutches at the long sweater I’m wearing. Instinctively, I cover his hand with mine, feeling the tension in his tendons and the large ridges of his knuckles.
“Your parents are Paige Lawson and Blake Evans? I can’t believe I never put your last name together and figured it out before. They are freaking legends, Maddie! How did I not know this?”
I open my mouth to respond, but I don't quite remember what she just asked...I’m too keenly aware of Luc gripping my shirt, and his hand touching mine.
“Yes.” Luc speaks up, his voice stiff. “Do tell us how none of us knew this intriguing tidbit about you.”
“I knew!” Cleo pipes up. “I’ve known for years. Maddie doesn’t make a big deal out of it though. She obviously doesn’t want to be lumped in with her parents or live in their shadow.” She pauses. “I don’t blame her,” she adds.
Cleo is such a good friend, and at that moment I want to reach out and hug and kiss her. Instead, I flash her the most grateful smile I can muster and she smiles back at me before turning back to her conversation with Philippe.
“I’m impressed.” Grace says. “That’s some serious lineage. What was it like growing up?”
I sigh. “It was pretty normal for me. I don’t really have many good stories. My parents made sure I had a relatively normal upbringing.”
Ava raises her eyebrows in disbelief.
“Obviously we had a nice house and I never wanted for anything.” I say exasperatedly. “But I lived in Nashville year round, stayed at the same schools, kept the same friends. My parents never took me out on the road, unless it was summer vacation. They didn’t give me everything I wanted, made me get a job in high school. It was...normal.”
“Madison, can I speak to you outside?” Luc asks suddenly.
Ava gives us both a strange look.
“I just thought about something regarding next week’s lesson. It will only take a minute.” He looks back at the rest of the table. “No need to bore everyone else with the details.”
I nod, mutely and get up to follow him outside.
Somehow, I know that this isn't about my lesson at all.
“What the hell?” he says angrily, once we’re outside.
“Excuse me?”
“You failed to mention that your parents are two country music stars!”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I say sarcastically. “I didn’t realize that was something I should wear on my forehead.”
“You should have told me,” he says, his eyes flashing.
Now, I’m annoyed. “Again, so sorry. When did you want me to tell you? When you were pushing me up against the bathroom wall and ripping my nylons the other night?”
That shuts him up, and he looks at me, gutted.
“I’m sorry about that,” he says quietly.
“No, I’m sorry. That was out of line.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me into the dark alley alongside of the restaurant. I’m not too sure what he’s doing, but then he
pushes me hard up against the bricks and I moan reflexively as he presses his body against mine.
“Why can’t I stay away from you?” he says, as he kisses me hungrily. I meet his kiss with equal passion, grabbing at his ass as he presses his hips hard against me.
“Don’t stay away.” I beg, wanting him closer. Wanting more of him.
“You’re more trouble than I ever bargained for.”
“We’re in Paris.” I pant, “Let’s be reckless.”
Luc lets out a laugh. “Your twenties are all about being reckless...I’m too old for reckless Madison.”
I’m not coy by nature, but I push him away, and bat my eyelashes at him. “Be reckless,” I plead, doing my best to look seductive. “Be reckless with me.” I grab him by his shirttails and pull him back to me.
He moans helplessly, kissing me again as his hands travel under my sweater and move across the warm skin of my stomach.
“I’m too old for you,” he argues.
“No.”
“You should be with someone your own age.”
“No.”
I boldly reach between his legs, feeling his erection in his jeans. “I want you.” I say bravely.
I’m not sure what happened to the old Maddie Evans, but she sure as hell isn’t in Paris.
Chapter Seven
Luc
I head back to my flat in the city, feeling strangely excited, though deep down apprehension fills my gut. After Madison and I had engaged in a hot make out session up against the side of the restaurant, we went back inside and acted like nothing had happened.
I know I need to stay away from Madison, especially considering who her parents are. But, in my sick and twisted brain, Madison’s parents are just another obstacle in the way of my sexual conquest. Although, I've technically already conquered Madison, they have added a little danger to her appeal.
I'm a sick fuck.
No surprise there.
Speaking of sick, I need to remember to take my meds in the morning forgetting to take them earlier today, only contributed to the dark cloud that's been hanging over me for most of the day.
I actually wasn’t planning on going to the restaurant, and I should've held to that. While I do enjoy the company of students and I don’t really know anyone else in Paris, I also enjoy my time alone, wandering the city and popping into galleries and museums. Of course, I have my classes to teach, but my workload is light and it allows lots of time to explore the city.
And lots of time to explore Madison.
After sitting and brooding in my flat all day, I'd decided on a whim to go out to dinner with the girls. I was sick of being alone with my thoughts, dwelling one the one-line email from Vera I received this morning telling me that her Uncle Leon had passed away and she was grateful I saw him.
I don’t know why her email disturbed me so much but it did. Perhaps it's the fact that Vera contacted me at all. Did she absolutely need to write that email? Did I need to know exactly when her Uncle Leon died? I knew he was dying –was it necessary for me to know exactly when?
I had thought the email all day, stewing in my thoughts and thinking of Leon. Was I supposed to respond to the cold bitch and tell her I'm sorry for her loss? I'm sorry that a kind and decent man has left this world, but am I actually sorry for the grief that Vera's supposedly feeling? Fuck off.
Just before going to meet Madison and her friends for dinner, I sent Vera a quick response – I’m sorry to hear that he’s no longer with us.
I wasn’t a total prick for ignoring her email, but I also wasn’t telling her that I was sorry for her loss. Fuck her. And I made no mention of wanting to know when the services were. The last thing I need is to attend a depressing service sitting next to Vera. Screw that.
I let myself into my flat and think about Madison’s cell phone number, now saved in my phone under her full name, Madison. Madison sounded much more grown up. Having sex with Madison seems less taboo than having sex with Maddie. Maddie sounds like a little girl who lives on a quaint little street and rides her bike and up down the sidewalk—no thanks.
I'll see Madison again in a few days for our next lesson...unless I decide to call or text her before then. The entire weekend looms before me, and I can’t help but let my imagination run wild as I think of Madison's curvy young body lying naked between my sheets. That would certainly brighten up my weekend and better my mood.
I flip on the light and look around my sparse apartment. It’s nothing fancy, and it was quite affordable with the travel stipend I received. I toss my jacket over the back of a kitchen chair and pace back and forth. I’m too keyed up to go to bed now. I think about having a glass of wine, but I drank plenty at the restaurant. I walk over to one of my living room windows, where if I crane my neck just so, I can see the Eiffel Tower. The tower shimmers with its golden light show, it must be midnight, and I briefly debate going back out to the street and walking to the tower.
I nix the idea, and instead pull out my guitar. Working on a new song does the trick, and soon I feel calm and relaxed and ready to fall asleep.
* * *
Saturday rolls around and I take my time waking up. I lay lazily in bed, scrolling through my phone and appreciating the luxury of having nothing to do today. I finally rise; take a shower and head out to the streets to find some breakfast. My kitchen is still bare and I should probably buy groceries instead of eating out for every meal.
Instead, I slip into a patisserie and order a black coffee and baguette. I linger over my coffee, not caring that I’m wasting time. I find a small grocery on the way home and pick up a few items to keep in the kitchen.
I try not to dwell on Madison, but once I’m back in my apartment, I make an impulsive decision to call her.
“Hello?”
Just the sound of her voice gives me a thrill. I know I should hang up now before it's too late.
“It’s Luc.” I finally manage.
“Yes, I know.” I hear a door close and I wonder if she’s gone somewhere private to speak to me.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Umm, fine. You?”
“I want to see you. Do you have plans?”
“Now? You want to see me now?”
“Now. Later. Whenever.” No need to beat around the bush.
She hesitates. “I’m supposed to go out with Cleo and Philippe today.” she explains, “It would be weird if I broke plans all the sudden.” She pauses again, and I can almost picture her biting her lip as she thinks. “What if I came over later?”
“That’s fine. You have my cell number.”
“Okay. I’ll text you. It'll probably be around six or so.”
“That works.” I'll take what I can get and the thought of being with Madison again is almost more than I can handle.
I hang up with her and find myself pacing again. I need to find some new hobbies while I'm in Paris or I’m going to lose my mind. I can’t spend all my energy focusing on a ridiculous romance with one of my students. And I can only compose music for so much time.
I leave my apartment, and head back out into the city, looking for something, anything, to do. I find my way to Montmartre and make my way up the hill to the Sacre Coeur. I don’t actually want to walk through the church, but there’s an amazing view from the top of the steps, and I like watching all the people and the artisans trying to hock their crappy paintings.
Today amidst the artists, there is also an awful musician, playing bad covers of the Beatles. Not surprisingly, people seem to love the music, and I sit on a ledge to watch the comical reactions of passersby. Maybe this can be my new hobby – watching the tourists in Paris.
I guess technically I’m a tourist too, though I pretend not to be. My mother was French, and though I was born in the States, we spent much of my childhood in France and I grew up learning to speak both English and French. My father was a deadbeat and I’ll never understand why my mother moved to the states for him, or why she stayed with him for so long. I
think she did it to give me a better life, but I believe I would have been perfectly happy if we'd just stayed in France.
My father finally saved us both a lot of heartache and left when I was seven years old, but by then, my mother didn’t want to uproot me and take me back to France and we stayed in San Diego, living among a small community of artists. My mother worked various odd jobs to support us and afford my music lessons.
My attention shifts from to the mediocre guitar player and I look around at all the people wondering if any of them could be my family.
Doubtful.
My family wouldn’t be wasting their time with tourist attractions.
I know I probably have a lot of family left in France but I don’t remember who any of them are.
Becoming annoyed by the musicians awful chord strumming, I stand up and stretch my stiff legs. I've been sitting longer than I realized. I make my way back down the steps and wind my way along the steep, cobblestone streets, enjoying the history. I pass the famous windmill of the Moulin Rouge, as well as a number of sex shops. There are also plenty of gift shops, filled with gaudy knick-knacks and bad chocolates.
It’s beginning to get chilly, and I’ve had enough excitement for one day. I hurry back home, my mind focused on Madison’s visit. I shouldn’t be as excited as I am, but I keep picturing having her all to myself for hours at a time, and the thought is intoxicating.
I get home and jump in the shower, and when I get out, I see that Madison has sent a text.
Can be there a little after six. What is your address?
It’s just after five now, so I text her my address and straighten up my apartment. I don’t really intend on us spending a lot of time eating, but I feel better knowing that I have groceries in the house.
Sure enough, there’s a knock at the door just after six. I take my time answering the door, and when I pull it open, Madison is standing there breathless, as if she ran all the way up the steps.
“Hi.” I say huskily, holding the door open for her.
“Hi.” she says shyly, tentatively stepping into my apartment.
“It’s not much.” I find myself saying, unsure as to why I’m explaining my rented apartment to her. I guess now that I know Madison’s background, I feel like I’m at a little bit of a disadvantage. She may be worldlier than I had expected, though I do remember her saying her parents had raised her to be pretty down-to-Earth.