by Vega, W. H.
I shudder at the thought.
Vera would have made a terrible mother, and I’m fairly certain, I would have made a terrible father as well.
Chapter Eleven
Luc
Tuesday soon rolls around and I find myself teaching music composition, with Madison sitting in the second row. She listens attentively and whenever I look in her direction she smiles brightly at me. Cleo is slightly less interested, and I can’t help wondering what, if anything, Madison has said about us.
The class ends and Madison says goodbye to Cleo. When it’s just the two of us left, we make our way across the hall to the smaller classroom where we hold her private lesson.
“How are you?” she asks conversationally. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail today, and for some reason she seems younger. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s wearing dark pants and a deep orange v-neck shirt.
“Well, thanks.” I close the door behind us. “How are you?”
She seems to relax once we’re no longer being watched.
“I missed you,” she says in a small voice, looking at the ground.
And I’ve missed her. I’ve missed how she smells, how she looks, and how she makes me feel younger just by being in her presence.
“Did you have to explain anything to Cleo?” I ask.
She gives me a small smile. “No, I lucked out. I beat her home by about ten minutes.”
“Good.”
I pull out my guitar, and Madison gives me a quizzical look but follows suit. As much as I’ve missed her, I don’t want to let on to my feelings. I know I’m coming across as cold, but this is her private lesson, and right now it’s my job to make sure I’m teaching her.
We start the lesson, and Madison works with me, listening to my suggestions and following my advice. About halfway through, she sets her guitar down and frowns at me.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“You’re being weird.” she says bluntly.
“Am I?”
“Yes. Did I do something?”
I sigh, putting my guitar down. “No, Madison, you didn’t do anything. And yes, I have missed you. It’s just that...I’m not good for you.”
“How about you let me be the judge of that?”
“But you don’t know what’s best for you...You’re too young.”
“Too young? I wasn’t too young to screw the other night, was I?”
I cringe at her words, but she has a point. “No. You weren’t.” I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my pants. “I’m really wrestling with this.”
She stands up, and comes to me, moving between my legs and placing her hands on my shoulders.
“Why?” She gazes at me innocently, but I can feel her intention is anything but.
“Madison,” I say sternly, “back away. Anyone could walk by and see us through the window.”
“So?” She leans down, and grazes her hand across my crotch.
I jump up as if I’ve been burned. “Damn it! That’s enough!”
Hurt crosses her face, but it’s quickly replaced by anger.
“Yes.” she agrees. She stalks over to her guitar and puts it away before gathering her bag. “I think that will be enough for today.”
“I’m the teacher.” I growl, “I think I’ll make that decision.”
“Well, I just made it for you.” she snaps, before stomping out of the room.
I stare after her in shock.
Did she really just do that?
“How fucking immature.” I mutter, angrily gathering my things. I can’t believe that she just left in the middle of her damn lesson after coming on to me. Did she not recall anything we discussed over the weekend? How our involvement could threaten both of our careers? And honestly, it would be worse for her than me! Not only has her career barely started, but she comes from a famous background.
This is exactly why I shouldn’t be getting involved with someone so young.
I fume as I exit campus, and all the way home on the Metro. I stop at a small shop on the way home to grab a few things; still angry by the time I reach my apartment.
I’m practically at my door before I notice Madison sitting on the floor in my hallway. It looks like she’s been crying.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, standing. “That was childish. I shouldn’t have acted that way.”
I feel my anger melt seeing her vulnerable and teary.
“It’s okay. I’m sure this isn’t easy for you either.”
She shakes her head. “But we were at school. I knew better. I shouldn’t have acted that way and I shouldn’t have been so insecure. I know that we have to be completely professional in public.”
I nod.
Damn. She looks so beautiful standing here outside my apartment.
“Why did you come here?” I ask, my voice husky.
“To apologize.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. I swear.”
And I believe her. Which makes me want her more. I grab my keys, jam them in the lock to unlock the door, and then I grab her and push her inside as I kiss her.
She yelps with surprise. I kick my guitar inside, and Madison quickly catches on, kissing me back as I kick the door closed.
I push her up against the back of the door, knotting my hands in her hair, and rubbing my knee up against her sex.
“Luc.” she moans.
I love hearing her need for me and I take her against the door, hard and rough, to which she responds vigorously.
Chapter Twelve
Luc
We fuck for about fifteen minutes. After we're both spent, I put her down, we walk over to sit at my kitchen table and I pour us two glasses of water.
“I should go.” she says awkwardly, “That really wasn’t why I came here. I really did come to apologize.”
“Didn’t you like it?” I tease.
“I loved it,” she whispers, “but I don’t want to come across as manipulative.”
I laugh out loud. “Trust me, I know manipulative women, and you are certainly not one of them.”
“Well, I could be.” she says defensively.
I laugh again. “Tell me. What are you telling your parents you’re doing while in Paris?” I’m not quite ready for her to leave yet so I figure I will keep her talking.
She looks down at the floor. “Well, I’ve kind of been avoiding talking to them.”
This makes me smile. “Really? And why is that?”
She rolls her eyes and motions to my apartment. “How do I explain this?”
“Good point. Were they happy you came to Paris?”
“They came around. They weren’t too crazy about the idea initially. I didn’t grow up as one of those rich kids who didn’t have any supervision. I was always with my parents. Going to college was pretty much my first time being away from them.”
I whistle softly. “I bet you went crazy.”
“Actually, I didn’t. I don’t know. It never really appealed to me. I had already done a lot of things with my parents, traveled to a lot of places. I had been to New York dozens of times.” She shrugs.
“Well, they must have done something right.” I offer.
She nods, pensive. “Yes, they did. And they never pushed me into country music. They always let me pursue my own interests. I’ve always been more into jazz and classical types of music. I mean, I like country music, don’t get me wrong, but how could I ever do that and not be compared to my parents? No one wants to live like that.”
I agree – no one would want to live like that. It’s like those kids who try to break into showbiz and their parents are massive stars. Everyone assumes they only get cast because of who their parents are and they’re always known as so-and-so’s son or daughter.
“Didn’t we already establish that I’m a good girl?” she asks. “There’s not much to tell about my parents. They are who they are and they’re great people. I couldn’t have asked for better ones.” She chews the inside of her lip. “Wha
t about your parents?”
Well, that’s what I get for asking about her past. Naturally, she wants to learn about mine.
“Not much to tell really. My dad left when I was just a kid. Which was fine, because he wasn’t much of a dad anyway. My mom was gorgeous, and a ballerina. I think that was the initial appeal for him and then he felt somewhat responsible after knocking her up.” I glance over at Madison, who quickly masks her face into one of neutrality.
“So,” I continue, “it was just me and my mom, living out in San Diego, and occasionally coming back to France to visit. My mom was French.” I add. “She worked a lot so I could continue my guitar lessons and study, and then she got ill and passed away when I was twenty.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” she says, reaching over and taking my hand and it feels so strange to be comforted. Even in our earlier stages, I can’t remember Vera ever comforting me. She was never one for sympathy.
My initial reaction is to pull away, but it feels good to have her hold my hand, and for a brief, crazy second, I can see myself with her. I can picture Madison and I together, despite our age difference, her youthful vibrancy offsetting my darker, cynical side. She would be good for me. I know she would be.
And it’s all so crystal clear, all so perfect, that it actually takes my breath away. Suddenly,
I ache for Madison Evans to be with me. Maybe everything will be all right as long as she's a part of my life.
“Well, I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to my boring life story.” I say, withdrawing my hand and changing the subject, running from the feelings bubbling up inside me.
“Oh, right.” she says, recoiling quickly.
I feel guilty. I can tell that I just hurt her feelings.
“I don’t want to keep you.” She blushes. “I’m sorry that I even bothered you. I really was coming over just to apologize. Not for—you know, the other stuff.”
You mean the raw sex up against my front door? I think to myself.
“Of course.” I say.
“Maybe I’ll hear from you later in the week?” she asks.
“Sure.”
She nods hesitantly. “Okay. Well, again, sorry that I ruined today’s lesson. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s fine, really. Don't give it a second thought.”
I open the door and she slips out into the hallway. I watch her disappear down the steps and then I close the door after her.
I can’t help moving to the window to watch for her figure to appear on the street. A minute later I see her, and I slip behind my curtain when I see her glance back up at my window. A few seconds later, she looks away and makes her way down the street.
I stand at the window long after she’s gone, wondering why I feel so strongly about her this early on. I can’t remember ever feeling this strongly for a woman before. And honestly, I could never have a real future with Madison. She's forbidden in every respect. Ideally, I should be with someone like Juliette: someone my age, with a connection to my past, who has come out okay on the other side of divorce.
But have I really come out okay on the other side? And aside from the fact that Juliette lives in France and I live in New York, Juliette has children, and I don’t know if I could ever be with someone who has children. I can’t relate to kids. I’m awkward and unsure around them.
I shake my head; no, definitely not someone with kids. What does it matter anyway? Since when do I want to be tied down to a woman in the first place? I don’t want or need to be tied down to anyone. My own company and my guitar are enough.
Chapter Thirteen
Madison
I walk home along the Seine, angry with myself for behaving so childishly. Here I am, trying to have a love affair with an older man and acting like a baby. I’m so embarrassed for how I acted on campus, and then to just show up at Luc’s apartment...could I be more desperate?
To be fair, Luc didn’t seem too upset finding me in his hallway. I honestly didn’t anticipate what happened next. How did I know that Luc was going to start kissing me and push me up against the inside of the door? And of course, I couldn’t stop it, because I always want Luc. And I know this is way more than some silly crush. I think about him non-stop, I crave Luc. I’ve never been addicted to anything, but I imagine that this is how it feels. It's as if I need Luc the way I need air.
“God, I’m such an idiot,” I mumble to myself, realizing that I’ve now crossed over into a new kind of crazy: muttering to myself out on the streets. What I really need is to hear a voice of reason. I need comfort. And I don’t want to be around Cleo right now.
I pull my phone out and dial the number that I’ve known by heart since I was a little girl.
She answers on the first ring.
“Mom!”
“Hi honey. Is everything okay?”
Right. It’s probably around eleven at night.
“No!” I begin to cry, “I’m a mess over here and I just really needed to hear your voice.”
“Oh, Maddie! What’s wrong? I thought you were loving Paris?”
“I do love Paris.” I wail, ducking into a park and finding a private bench, “It’s just that--’’ I trail off. How do I explain to my mother about Luc and how I’m in way over my head? “It’s a guy, Mom.” I sigh.
“Ahh,” she says, knowingly.
Oh, if she only knew.
“What seems to be the trouble, honey? Did you just meet him? You’ve only been there for two weeks.”
My mind moves quickly. “I sort of knew him before, but we’ve gotten closer since we’ve been here.”
“So, he’s part of the study abroad program?”
“Yes.” Technically, Luc is.
“I just can’t figure him out, Mom, and I keep messing up.”
“I doubt you’re messing up. You have a lot going on. You’re in a different city, living somewhere else, studying new things and working on your music. I’m sure you’re just a little overwhelmed.” She pauses and I can tell she’s hesitating.
“What?”
“Well,” she starts, “maybe you don’t have time for a guy right now. I imagine you’re really busy and you should focus on your studies anyway.”
“I’m actually not that busy. Our class load is really light which allows us lots of time to explore the city. Which I am doing,” I say quickly, “but I really like this guy and he’s so hard to read.”
“That’s how all guys are, honey. They're all very hard to read, it's in their genes.”
“Was Daddy hard to read?” I ask stubbornly. I don’t know why I'm bothering to compare Luc to my father.
“That’s different,” she explains.
I know that my father wasn’t hard to read. He and my mother dated when they were kids and reconnected as adults. It was fate.
“But,” she continues, “There were times when I didn’t understand what was going on and thought I was reading too much into things.”
“But were you really reading too much into things?”
She sighs. “No...My hunches were always right.”
“That’s the thing about this guy, Mom. I think am reading into things too much and I don’t want to come off as some needy, desperate girl.”
“Maybe back away a bit. Let him come to you. I know that sounds easier said than done, but don’t make it easy for him. Play the game a bit. Though, I don’t really know much about how to play the game.” She laughs. My mom is right. She really has no experience when it comes to men. It was always only my dad for her.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I admit, not yet feeling great, but feeling a little better.
“Have you thought any more about us coming out to visit?” she asks, changing the subject. “I know we talked about you possibly coming home for Thanksgiving, but we would still love to come see you.”
Now that my mom mentions a visit, it sounds wonderful.
“I don’t think I’m going to come home for Thanksgiving, but I woul
d love for you to visit!”
“All right, let me look over the calendar and we can work something out. Maybe we can come out in two or three weeks, around your halfway point.”
“That would be really great, Mom. I’d love to see you and Daddy.”
“Okay, Sweetie. I’ll look over dates and I’ll get back in touch with you.’’
“All right. Love you, Mom. Thanks for the talk.”
“Anytime. Love you too, Maddie.”
The possibility of my parents visiting lifts my spirits and I head home. Cleo is back in our apartment when I walk in.
“You were gone for a while.” She says, glancing at her watch with raised eyebrows.
“Yeah, I walked around for a bit and then I talked to my mom.”
“Oh. How is she?”
“Good. I think my parents are going to come out to visit in a few weeks.”
“That's nice, but I feel like I’ve hardly seen you lately. When do I get to visit you?” she mock whines.
“You’ve been wrapped up with Philippe!” I laugh.
Cleo frowns, pulling at her wavy hair. “I know. I’m sorry about that. I don’t know why I bother spending so much time with him.” She pouts. “It won’t matter when we head back to New York in December.”
I flop on the couch and make a swooning sound. “But it’s a Paris romance.”
Cleo comes over and sits next to me. “And what about you? Don’t you want a Paris romance?”
I shrug. “If it happens, it happens.”
Cleo fixes me with a hard stare and I get the feeling that she suspects something.
“I’m hungry.” I say quickly. “Want to go out to dinner? Just us? Now that you’ve admitted you’ve been up Philippe’s ass.”
She laughs. “Sure! That sounds fun.”
Chapter Fourteen
Madison
The week passes and I don’t hear from Luc. I think about texting him, but I remember what my mother said, and I hold off, thinking that there may be something to the whole idea of keeping my distance.