Missy Loves René

by Judy Fischer

  “Melissa, stay invisible.” I followed that advice religiously. I, personally, had nothing to fear. I was not the one whom the police needed for an investigation, I was not the one whom thugs were out to eliminate, I was not the one who had no legitimate legal papers but the person sitting beside me in the passenger seat, my precious cargo, did.

  René seemed to be oblivious to my anxieties, he had just resigned himself to the situation and was showing signs of total compliance. I didn’t hold it against him; on the contrary, it started to excite me in many ways. His nonchalant attitude reminded me of my Nana. His boyish charm on the other hand was sexually exhilarating. I think it was that, I honestly didn’t know. Yet, it felt right.

  René was starting to arouse some strange feelings in me, feelings I had never experienced. I don’t know if I could call it a sexual stirring, but it was some form of that beast. We had never been in such proximity before and for such an extended period of time. The pheromones he was emitting did resemble a form of those released chemicals that had probably triggered my initial attraction to him. I don’t think he was aware of what he was doing. Of course, it seemed one-sided at the time. I must admit, though, I liked the feeling of him sitting next to me; seeing his infectious smile from time to time, hearing his sensual voice speaking with me and enjoying his unusual sense of humour. As we drove further south, René started to evolve into the kind of person who would have charmed me off my feet had he been like that a year ago. That desperate, dispassionate and broken young man, who I first met, was finally coming out of his shell. We drove into the State of Virginia by the following morning and I was blinded by my fatigue. The sudden change from darkness to dusk, at the break of day, brought such weight onto my eyes, keeping them opened was next to impossible. I pulled into the first motel having a vacancy sign turned on. I went into the office alone. I asked for one single room with two twin beds. When I was told that all the rooms had a double bed, I didn’t even hesitate, I took it. It wasn’t as if René and I had not lain on the same bed side by side for months, talking and getting to know each other. Furthermore, it was always in the dark, with candles glowing and nothing had ever happened romantically between us. We were that close for over a year and we had never felt anything but respect for each other.

  Having left our old selves behind, feeling the ultimate freedom of the open roads and perhaps having grown up a little more with each mile, made me see him through different eyes. I even imagined him looking at me like a man looks at a woman, with lust in his eyes. When he touched me, when our eyes met, I wanted to feel something and to see something which had not been there before.

  We checked in as Mr. and Mrs. Martin just because we didn’t want to go through a whole slew of explanations. “Keep it simple” was another suggestion from my well-travelled friends. The front manager didn’t even look up from his newspaper as I registered filling out the required questionnaire. He couldn’t care less. He handed me a key to a room, he told me was around the corner from the office. I paid with the credit card the bank in Montreal had helped me to set up. I had deposited a substantial amount of money into that account; I intended to use it for the trip south. The less cash I had in my pocket, the better.

  I was barely able to get back into the car to drive it to the assigned room, the fatigue had drained every bit of energy from me. René grabbed the suitcases from the trunk of the car while I opened the front door.

  The place had seen better days, but it was still a hundred times better than the flat René called home for so long. I found my way to the shower and quickly undressed and using the complimentary shower gel and shampoo, washed way the 15 hours of road behind us by then. I was also very hungry, but sleeping was the only thing on my mind.

  “I will go out to find us some food,” René told me as I was about to pass out on the bed.

  “Yes, there’s some money in my purse. Help yourself.”

  “No, it’s okay, I have some of my own, it’s my treat,” he said, proudly.

  My eyes started to shut when I heard the door close and a sudden thought came to interfere with the needed sleep. I had not allowed René to feel like an equal participant in our relationship. I had not only taken over the driver’s seat, but I was treating him like a child, like a person who couldn’t look after himself. All the months when I had to make decisions on my own, had stirred the mother instinct in me: taking over control of his life. If I had any hope he would one day look at me and see the woman who needed him as a man, I had to change my own behaviour. With that in mind, I fell into a profound sleep, only permitting me to open my eyes ten hours later.

  It was still dark outside when my eyes laboured to open. There were rays of red, green and blue light streaming in through the holes in the brown curtain, covering the windows. The neon lights glimmering from the motel sign was flashing to attract tourists but was very intrusive for those who had already chosen it to sleep. René was next to me on the bed, sleeping soundly without noise or movement. His clothes were on the chair next to the bed and the only garment he chose to cover his body was his briefs. White Fruit of the Looms I had picked out myself. Bright white cotton briefs, way too small. It left me with no surprises. I stared.

  His lean and naked body lay motionless next to mine. I wanted to touch him, to feel his maleness in my hands. The temptation was so great I was scared to breathe. I lay there glaring at him, wondering how our future together would play out. As if he heard my silent and naughty thoughts, he turned his body to face me and spontaneously I kissed his face and moved in closer to him. I just lost control, I couldn’t resist. I longed to feel his skin next to mine. I loved his presence in my life and I loved the way he needed me. I fell back into another dream, a beautiful dream of a man loving a woman with all the trimmings, looming as a result.

  With the arrival of early dawn, a dim sunlight peered through the white clouds that formed during the night and as its brightness touched our eyelids, our tired eyes opened. We stared at each other and smiled when we realized where we were. The warm Virginian air had also managed to seep into the room through the cracks from under the door and it felt so refreshingly tropical that it made us jump out of bed to open the door. Bushes of red hibiscus were guarding the property around the motel and with the hot sun shining on them, they sent a sweet scent to tickle our nostrils. The moist humid air, too, carried that fragrance everywhere. It was as if we had arrived in paradise.

  Somehow, the sun shone in a different way in the south; its rays wrapped themselves around our bodies, giving them an immediate bronzed hue. As René stood outside having his first cigarette of our trip, I quickly showered and packed up the few things we had used from the suitcases. I slipped into a light-blue summer dress and put my long blonde hair up into a ponytail. I was about to pick out a shirt for him to wear but I stopped and decided not to. From that moment on, I would let him be in control of his own life. Mommy me let the apron strings go.

  Hospitality

  For the year and some we knew each other, there was always just René and me. We had no circle of friends, no common acquaintances, for heaven’s sake, he never met anyone I had known in my entire life and I never met anyone he knew either. Everything that happened to us, except those external forces invading our quiet existence, was because of my choices. I met him because I wanted to, I offered him help because I wanted to, we fled the country because that is what I wanted to do. I needed finally to be free of the responsibility and to give him the reins. I had to let him make some of the decisions to empower him as a vital member of our partnership.

  “Should we eat something?” I asked him.

  “Let’s have some coffee and a bite to eat,” he looked at me with an understanding expression. He sensed the relinquishment of power and he accepted the challenge with grace and humility. He straightened his body, the boyish look transformed into a look of maturity and pride. For the first time, he appeared in front of me as a man not an impoverished and homeless boy.

  Th
e motel had no restaurant of its own; however, across the road, there was a small diner with a revolving door in constant motion. People were flocking in through it. We got in line behind two truck drivers. Immediately upon entering, a smiling waitress showed us to a table by the window. There were four chairs, so we sat opposite each other, leaving the other two chairs, beside us, empty. She took our orders in haste and left us; she had to attend to the other clients who were pouring in after us and just as hungry it seemed. There were no more places to sit. Without me noticing, a man and his wife were standing next to us and I heard the man politely requesting the two seats at our table.

  “Please, sit down,” I said, looking up to the man towering above me.

  “I’m Fred Anderson and this is my lady, Irma. Are you from around here?” he asked in a very heavy southern accent I could barely understand.

  “No, we are from the north,” René replied and then introduced us to our new friends.

  “Really, how interesting is that, Irma?”

  “We’ve never been north, I have never seen snow myself,” Irma confessed. She was a plump woman with curly black hair and a beautiful southern tan that looked flawless. Fred looked much older with deep wrinkles on his face, but he possessed a smile and laugh so inviting. Looking and listening to him was a sheer delight.

  “We are heading to the deep south,” I volunteered the information to keep the conversation going.

  “Anywhere in particular?” Fred asked.

  “Somewhere in the Florida Keys,” René answered.

  “Virginia is also a beautiful place, you know. Are you in a hurry?” Irma asked.

  “We have all the time in the world,” I confessed.

  “Why don’t the two of you do us the honour of joining us at our humble home for some southern hospitality?” Fred asked in a kind and genuine manner.

  “Do you live around here?” I asked.

  “Yes, we do live quite close. Not far from here, down the coast by the sea, it’s a beautiful spot, you’ll see, if you accept our invitation.”

  “So why do you come here to eat?” René asked.

  “You see, René, we’ve made it a date, once a week to have our breakfast here at George’s. I try to let my woman have the occasional day off. Today, I treat her to breakfast. She can relax. Every other day she caters to me. It’s the decent thing for me to do. We also like to patronize our local businesses. I’m retired now but I know what it is to work hard,” Fred beamed with pride.

  “Fred, enough. Let these youngsters enjoy their day, no need to brag.”

  Our orders arrived, and we spent the rest of the breakfast time eating and listening to Fred and Irma talk about Virginia and all its beauty. In one hour we got the best introduction to Virginia Beach possible.

  When we all finished our meals, Fred insisted on picking up the tab and to show our appreciation, we accepted their very kind invite to join them at their home. I left a generous tip for the waitress who was partially responsible for putting the couple with us at our table.

  We followed them closely, by car, to their property by the sea. The sight made our jaws drop as we drove through the front gates of their vast estate. Humble it was not. Their part of the coast was very widespread yet the house itself was of an average size. There were two smaller guest houses on either side of the main house. They looked like the summer cottages I had seen in the Laurentian Mountains north of Montreal, not far Nana Drake’s modest home.

  The beach was not visible from the house; there were tall reeds, sand grass and wild brush lining and separating the shore between the two. In the far distance, René and I could see the dark blue and emerald waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

  As we drove up closer to the house, I looked at René and didn’t know what he was thinking, but I couldn’t help feeling as if I had died and gone to heaven. I had always loved seeing photographs of beach front properties. I had seen many of those in the travel magazines I thumbed through with my Nana. Being this close to something I had only dreamed about, made me say,

  “Pinch me, René, I think I’m still dreaming.”

  We got out of the car and stood still, we didn’t move until they beckoned us to join them.

  “Let’s take a tour, I want you to see what we’ve been looking at for most of our lives.” Fred led the way and we followed behind. Bragging was just not enough to do justice to the place. It was not surprising that Fred took such pride in the beauty of nature’s unlimited wonders. If there had been a song written, a symphony orchestrated, a painting etched, it still wouldn’t have been enough to give nature the praise it deserved.

  “I want to live and die here,” I whispered into René’s ears.

  As Fred continued leading us through his wonderland, I had an urge to sit down somewhere close to this amazing array of natural beauty and write. I had never felt such sensations before in my life, yet there it was. Suddenly, out of the blue, my life’s ambition was staring me in the face. It was as clear as the blue of the ocean. I made my decision: I was going to become a writer and I would write in settings such as this. Inspirations were to be found here without searching.

  “So, let’s find Irma, I’m sure she has some goodies for us,” Fred insisted and pulled our focus into a different direction.

  We strolled back toward the house, René took my hand and squeezed it several times during our tour to indicate his own reactions. He must have been in shock. I was.

  I was able to feel from the intensity of those squeezes how much he enjoyed the sights being presented to us.

  “Fred, before René and I leave today, would you permit us to walk on your beach for a while? I can’t seem to tear myself away from it,” I asked. No, I begged him.

  “First of all, Missy, the beach is for everyone, I just happen to have a house close to it. You and René are free to walk along the shores as long as you need to.”

  “We can’t thank you enough, sir,” René added.

  Sure enough, Irma had set the dining room table with wine glasses and a Red Bordeaux from France, some cheeses, crackers and honey. The inside of their home was as glamorous as I imagined while I staring at it from the beach.

  The kitchen, we were told, was recently renovated and the spaciousness was overwhelming. We sat, drank and ate for hours; our conversation flowed as did the wine. Before long, the day had turned to night and we had to say goodbye.

  “Now, just one minute, you guys, drinking and driving are not recommended in these parts. I suggest the two of you put yourselves into one of our guest houses and stay a while longer.”

  “Are you sure? We don’t want to impose on your hospitality.”

  “Nonsense. We insist.”

  Fred showed us to the guest house that was the closer of the two and the one which happened to be the closest to the coast as well. He switched on the fuses located in a box just outside on the west wall and while I went inside, René and Fred retrieved our two suitcases.

  In my opinion, the guest house was more like a mansion than a cottage. It had one humungous master bedroom with two queen-sized beds and a bathroom with a floor-to-ceiling shower stall. The main room had a fireplace with a gas heater and a window facing the ocean. The windows reached from floor to the ceiling, as well as having a skylight on top, covering most of it. All the stars were visible through that opening and the effect, well, it can’t even be described. I looked up moments before the lights were turned on and all I saw was million sparkling dots above my head.

  “I hope you like it and do make yourselves comfortable. If you still feel up to it, go ahead, go for your walk along the beach. It will definitely put you into a very romantic mood. I often take Irma for long walks,” he started to laugh and winked at René at the same moment.

  “Goodnight, Fred, and thank you so much,” we both said.

  “Sleep well, we’ll see you at breakfast.” Then he left.

  René walked all over the house, looking in disbelief at the size of it. He touched every piece of fur
niture, he sat in the couch to test it out and then he went to the fireplace and pushed a button. Amazingly, it started the flow of bluish-coloured flames in front of us. Without another word, he went back into the hallway and returned with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses.

  “Fred gave this to me to share with you tonight.”

  “That was kind, thoughtful and presumptuous of him, do you think we should drink more?” I asked.

  “We could have one more glass, let’s toast to our good fortune.”

  “Let’s, René. You pour, I’ll be right back,” I left to change and to put our bags into the bedroom.

  When I came back, the lights were out, the wine was poured, and René was standing in front of the massive window, looking out toward the sea. His profile, lighted only by the flames from the fire and by the light of the moon, made me crave for his caress. I walked over, picking up the glasses of wine, and as I passed his to him, our hands touched and an ache in my heart wanted to reach for him and pull him closer to me.

  “Will you walk with me?” I asked him instead of dwelling on my foolish impulses.

  “Yes, Missy, let’s go.”

  We took our wine with us and walked along the walkway, a narrow strip of sandy ground, lined on both sides by some sort of low vegetation. The moonlight lit our way, but we had difficulty seeing too far in front of us. We kept walking closer to the shore, guided only by the rhythmic sound of the tide coming in and going out. We tried to get as close to the surf as we could. We saw the top of the waves; a shimmering glow as the white caps came crashing in toward us. However, by the time our feet met the tide, it only touched our toes with a gentle wash. I loved the feeling of the cool water touching my feet and René did as well. It was his first time, as was mine.

  We stood there for a few minutes and finished drinking the wine. Then we placed the glasses delicately on the sand and took off all our clothes and ran naked into the warm waters, not caring if anybody saw us.