by Robin Roseau
“Filthy,” I said. “I’m after her for her money.” Dolores and Solange both chuckled.
“Liar,” Solange replied.
“Is Aubree male or female?” Dolores asked.
“Female.”
“Damn,” she said, and I chuckled. “Maybe I should put that tee shirt on and take it seriously. Will I like her?”
“I’m not sure she’s any more gay than you are, Dolores.”
“Aubree?” Solange asked quietly, and I nodded. “She’s flexible. Dolores?” And I shook my head.
“Are you okay with this, Dolores?” I asked.
“With hosting dinner? Sure. It won’t be fancy.”
“That’s not what I’m asking about.”
She was still for a minute. “Oohhh,” she said. “Oh. Sidney, I’m ecstatic about it. Just because I’m not ready to start dating doesn’t mean I don’t want you to. I’m not going to lose my best friend, though, am I?”
“No,” I said. “Definitely not.”
“Well then,” she said. “This is great. But when I’m ready to see guys, maybe she’ll introduce me to some of her rich friends. I wouldn’t mind being kept.”
I laughed. “Deal.”
“So, going to tell me her name?”
“I suppose, if you must know,” I replied, sounding put out. “Solange.”
“Ooh,” she said. “Is she French?”
“How did you know that?”
“It’s a French name,” she said. “So I just wondered.”
“Yes, she’s French, but you can’t tell from talking to her. She said something about vocal coaches.”
“Excellent,” Dolores said. “You found yourself a filthy-rich, French lawyer. I’m so excited for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling. “We’ll see you tonight.”
“Enjoy your day. Will you be walking funny when you get here?”
“Dolores!” I said. “Maybe. I’m teaching her to ride a bike. She’s going to teach me how to water ski.”
“I’ll have the Ibuprofen handy. Ta ta!” And she disconnected.
Solange was smiling. “I’m going to like her, aren’t I?”
“I think so. She’s a client turned a friend.” I set the phone down then walked over to the bed, crawling across Solange to take my place beside her again. I told her a little about Dolores.
We teased each other for a while, then by mutual consent, we climbed back out of bed. I wandered around, finding my clothes from last night.
“What should I wear?” Solange asked.
“Do you have a sports bra?” I asked her. “I’ll loan you everything else. Bicycle clothing is stretchy, so I think what I have should fit you.”
She dressed in athletic clothing. With me in my dress, we were quite mismatched, but that was fine. She took my hand and led me from her bedroom, but when I tried to head to the front door, she tugged me to the side.
“Where are we going?”
“Garage.”
“My car is out front.”
“Someone would have put it away last night,” she said. “It’s in the garage.”
So I let her pull me in that direction. Sure enough, my car was in her garage, my keys in a key lockbox very similar to my own. I didn’t know what to expect when we stepped into the garage. I wondered if I’d see a row of old cars.
There were several cars, but it wasn’t as ostentatious as it could be. My drove a three-series BMW, and it was probably the least expensive car in the garage, but not embarrassingly so.
“Which one do you normally drive?” I asked.
“The Benz,” she said, pointing. “If I’m being driven, there’s a custom Bentley at the end.”
“What about the others?”
“The staff use them.” Solange pressed a switch near the door, and the garage door for the nearest stall began to lift. A minute later, we were on the road.
* * * *
I pulled into my driveway. “Nice house,” Solange said. “Nice neighborhood.”
“Oh please,” I said. “This coming from the woman who lives in a replica of her ancestral family mansion?”
Solange didn’t say anything. I parked in the garage and led her into the house, entering via the kitchen. She reached out and grabbed my arm, turning me to face her.
“Are you going to let that get between us?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My home. My money. Are you going to let that get between us? If so, tell me now. I won’t have it, Sidney.”
I tried to pull away, embarrassed, but she didn’t release my arm. Her grip didn’t hurt, but it was unyielding.
“I let you win about the wine at dinner, Sidney,” she said. “This one is as important to me. Are you going to let it get between us?”
“Let go.”
She released me immediately, but this time I didn’t turn away. I looked up into her face. She looked, well, not angry, but perhaps frustrated.
“Are you?” she asked. “If so, I can call for a ride and get picked up at the corner.”
At that, I turned away. I walked to the sink and stared out the window into my back yard.
“I require an answer, Sidney.”
“Before I began having business success,” I said, “I would have known you were out of my league. Even when we met, I thought you were out of my league, but I thought, ‘We’re both business owners. We’re not that common a breed. We’ll have things to talk about, and we’ll probably understand each other better than others might.’ But you have an entire law firm, and you’re expensive and successful besides. I only have me, and while I’m doing very well for what I am, I’m still not in your league.”
“That’s all bullshit,” she said.
“No, it’s not,” I said. “And that was before I realized you were filthy rich with a house ten times the size of mine.”
“So, yes, you’re going to let it get between us.”
I turned to face her.
“You come to my home and say, ‘Nice house’.”
“Well, it is,” she said. “I love modern architecture. Do you do the landscaping yourself or hire someone?”
“I have a lawn service for the day to day care, because I never know when business will pull me away. But I do the spring planting, the weeding, that sort of thing. I hired a couple of guys to dig the beds, and do the initial planting, but it was my plan.”
“It’s lovely,” she said.
I raised an eyebrow. I’d seen her garden.
“Sidney, this is a good kitchen, and from what you said, you know how to use it. Yes? If I want to entertain, my staff does everything. That’s certainly not better than what you do, and it might be worse. When you cook, you are doing it out of love. I told you that sharing food is sacred to me.” She waved at the kitchen. “What you do here is sacred to me as well.”
I stared at her. “I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“You agree we don’t know each other that well?”
“Yes, but I love getting to know someone. Don’t you?”
“We don’t know each other that well, so I don’t know what your real character is. I know how you’ve presented yourself so far, but we don’t have the years and years of familiarity for me to know if what I’ve seen is real. Do you agree?”
“I see,” she said, and I decided she knew where I was going. “You’re afraid I think I’m slumming.”
“Yes, not to the point of accusing you, but yes.”
“Is that the basis of the rest of this insecurity?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you have to decide whether or not you are going to trust me. You have to decide whether you are going to trust your instincts. Do your instincts suggest to you I am dishonest?”
“No, but I’m a computer geek. You’re the great judge of character.”
“So you don’t trust your instincts?”
“No.”
“Are you holding my profession
against me?”
I thought about it. “No. I know you told a bunch of jokes about dishonest lawyers, but I don’t see you that way. I see you as someone who protects her clients.”
She smiled for just a moment. “Thank you,” she said gently. “I’m pleased you recognize that.”
I turned away. “Solange, I grew up in the foster system. And you live in a replica of your ancestral home. What am I doing? What are you doing?”
She didn’t say anything, but I felt her approach from behind me and set her hands on my shoulders. This time I didn’t shrug her off.
“I’m not impressed by wealth,” she said. “I’m impressed by intellect. I’m impressed by honesty. I’m impressed by the woman who was upset that she had to deliver bad news to a client, because she knew how disappointed the client would be. I am impressed by the woman who has Ed Frank’s unconditional trust. I see a woman I want to spend time with, who I would be proud to show to my friends.”
She used her hands on my shoulders to turn me to face her.
“I see a woman who has things to teach me, and who will let me teach her things. I see a woman who is entirely comfortable in an expensive restaurant but is just as comfortable in her own kitchen.”
“Solange, all your trust fund friends are going to take one look at me and know I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.”
“First, that’s bullshit, and second, I don’t have trust fund friends. That’s probably why I don’t ever entertain. I have employees, a few of which are also friends.”
“Like Aubree?”
“Yes, like Aubree. Aubree grew up dirt poor, far poorer than you did, and if there’s anyone on this planet I confide in, it’s her. She has money now, because I helped her get started, but she earned every penny. And I have nothing but respect and love for her over it. I see you the same way. You earned your place in the world. You are exactly the type of woman I would want in my life.”
She let that sink in.
“Now, are you going to let this get between us?”
I studied her face. “No. I don’t promise I won’t scoff at the differences from time to time, but I’m not going to let it get between us.”
“Good.” She bent her head and brushed my lips briefly, and then we hugged, holding each other for a while. “We’re moving awfully fast.”
“We’re both decisive people,” she said. “We see something we want. Personally, I think it’s defeatist to act as if I’m not sure. I’m sure, and I refuse to pretend otherwise.”
I pushed away. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, as long as we can put this little thing behind us.”
“I’m not sure it’s that little,” I said. “I’ll never forget my roots.”
“And that preys on you?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Well, for the record, I’m sorry that your childhood was difficult, that you grew up in the foster system, and especially for the reason why. But I’m proud of what you’ve made of yourself. All right?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry for being a poop.”
She smiled. “You promised me biking. I think you need to change.”
“So do you,” I said. “Come on.”
I gave her a mini tour on the way to my bedroom, which really meant she saw everything except the basement. I dug out biking shorts and jersies for both of us then spent a few minutes in my bathroom, pulling my hair into a ponytail.
She looked really, really good in biking clothes, and I was especially amused that she was wearing my clothing. She caught me smirking at her.
“What?”
“I’m feeling possessive, seeing you in my clothes.”
She smiled. “I like them. I wonder what else I can wear.”
I pulled her downstairs. “We’ll get a bite to eat first.”
“Nothing heavy,” she replied.
“You need enough for some energy,” I explained. I began pulling things out of the refrigerator. “How do you like your eggs?”
“However you do,” she said. “May I help?”
I plunked the jug of apple cider onto the center island. “Glasses are there.” I pointed. “Plates beside them. I like my eggs over hard or scrambled.”
“Either is fine.”
I started the sausage patties in one pan then cracked the eggs. While they were cooking, I popped some toast into the toaster and got out the jam. A few minutes later, we each had our plates and ate casually in the kitchen.
“Is this okay?” I asked. “Should we move to the dining room?”
“This is great, Sidney,” Solange said. “It’s the shared food that is important to me, not the setting.”
We finished the simple meal. I quickly handled the cleanup then turned to her.
“Nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Come on.” I gestured with my head back to the garage, hitting the opener as we stepped out. I had my road bike down in the spare stall, but the rest were hanging from the rafters. I struggled with the ladder, but then Solange stepped over to help, and together, we got it into place below the bikes.
“Why do you have so many?”
“This is my road bike,” I said, pointing. “It’s what I ride the most in the summer. That’s a mountain bike,” I said, pointing. “I use it when the trails are unpaved or early in the spring, when the streets are still filled with the junk from winter. That one is a winter bike. I got it a few years ago, but I’ve barely used it.”
“You bike in the winter?”
“Well, I had intended to. It turns out, I’m a wimp, and I hibernate in the winter.”
She laughed.
“That one is my old road bike,” I said.
“An old road bike and a newer road bike? What’s the difference?”
“Mostly? Weight. And the quality of the shifters.”
“Today, you’re going to learn to ride this one though.” I pointed. “It’s my granny bike.”
“I’m going to ride a granny bike?”
I smiled. “It’s only a three speed, and it’s easy and comfortable to ride. Once you can make it reliably around the block a few times, if you want, we can pull down my old road bike, and you can ride it for a longer ride if you want. There’s a great bike trail.”
“Let’s see how I do,” she said.
I adjusted the ladder then climbed up. I pulled the bike off the hooks and would have awkwardly descended the ladder with it, but Solange was waiting and took it from me. She handled it readily, making it a lot easier. “Thanks,” I said. I left the ladder where it was; we’d need it again later.
I dug out bike helmets for both of us. I put hers on her, feeling a little like a mother as I adjusted the fit.
“Do I have to wear this?” she asked.
“Yes. Welsh Law.”
She laughed.
I took the bike from her and rolled it out onto the driveway. Solange followed me. I climbed on and rode down the driveway and onto the street. I made sure everything was working properly, testing the brakes, and when I rode back up, I made sure it was in first gear. Solange watched me the entire time.
“All right,” I said. “Once you get this, you’ll wonder why it was hard. Basically, the way you balance on a bike is that you steer the bike underneath you. For instance, if you are about to tip to the right, you turn to the right and the bike moves back underneath you so you don’t fall. It all happens quite automatically, and you won’t have to think about it.”
“Sure,” she said. “Skiing is like that, too. You said something about clips.”
“This bike doesn’t have those. I’ll show you on my road bike later. Okay, I’m going to show you something.” I got back on the bike and then I tried to ride very slowly. “Do you see how much I have to work to keep my balance?” I turned around and then slowed down more and more until finally I would have tipped over if I hadn’t put a foot out.
“Sure.”
“Faster is easier,” I explained. I got back off the bike and set
it on its kickstand. I flipped out the lever that locks the seat in place and lowered it the entire way, then locked it that way.
“Get on and see if you can touch both feet easily on the ground while seated.” I kicked up the kickstand again, and she took the bike from me.
She was actually pretty graceful about it. She’d been watching me. The seat was very low, and she could easily reach the ground.
“If I’m taller than you, why did you lower the seat?” she asked.
“I’ll explain in a minute. Hang on.”
I ran into the garage and returned with my little toolkit for working on my bikes. I pulled out the wrench and then tried to release one of the pedals. It was stuck, and I wasn’t sure what to do.
“What are you doing?”
“Removing the pedals,” I said. “I’ll explain that, too, if I can just… get… this… loose. Damn it.”
“Maybe let me try,” Solange said. She knelt down next to me, so I gave her the wrench and showed her which direction to turn it. She struggled for a moment, then, with a small metallic screeching sound, she got it loose. I finished the process, then she went to the other side.
“This one unscrews in the opposite direction,” I said. A minute later, both pedals were off. She handed everything to me, and I set it all in the tool box and set it aside.
“All right,” I said. “Normally you would pedal, but I want to get you used to balancing a moving bike. I want you to get on and Fred Flintstone it.”
“You want me to what?”
“You know, like on the Flintstones.”
She cocked her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I stared at her. “Um. I know you grew up in France, but surely you watched the Flintstones when you were a kid.” She shook her head. “What? Was France still in the middle ages when you were a kid?”
She looked at me sharply, then laughed. “I suppose it was. I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
So I explained about the Flintstones and their car. “The car didn’t have a motor. It had two cylindrical rocks for the front and back, and Fred ran his feet along the ground to go or to stop. Here, I’ll show you what I mean.” I got on the bike, then I moved down the driveway, pushing against the ground with my feet. It was a quiet street, and cars were uncommon. I did a circle in the street then came back up, still pedaling against the ground.