Missy Loves René

by Judy Fischer

  “I don’t think he needs to know about this, Missy. He had already been exposed to such treatment by those who took advantage of him and who took away his own innocence. You would only hurt him and remind him of his own pain. I know it will take time for you to overcome the guilt and the deception you feel now, but you will. Go write your book. Think of everything but this. You are still young and when René and you are ready to commit yourselves, your experience will be wonderful. I promise. I sound like Oliver, don’t I?” she giggled.

  “You are both wonderful, gentle and wise souls.”

  I left on those last words back to continue the writing and to follow Irma’s advice: to concentrate on anything that would eventually make me forget about Russell’s existence.

  Birthright

  In 12 days, my manuscript was near completion and as I was winding my way through the last chapter, which was always the most difficult to write, a familiar sound yanked me out of the fiction and into my own reality. The tractor-trailer was edging its way into the driveway and its engine, as loud as it was, gave me a rush of relief. I had not seen René for so long his face was becoming a faded image in my mind and I yearned to see it again, to refresh and imprint it into my heart. I dashed out, not realizing seeing me would be a bigger surprise for him.

  “René, René!” I shouted, hoping that seeing me would be as pleasant as seeing him was for me.

  “Missy, what has happened? How did you end up here?”

  He grabbed me, pulled me so close that any more, closer would have hurt. We kissed, a long and a passionate kiss, and when we finished, we received a standing ovation from Fred, Irma and Larry, who gave a wolf’s whistle, as well. Hand in hand, arm in arm, we all went to the main house to share stories and to rekindle our relationships. We all treasured them, despite the absences that life had wedged in-between our times together.

  “Missy, when did you get here? You didn’t tell me you were even thinking of coming. I tried calling you a thousand times in the last two weeks, but you never answered the phone. Now I know why.”

  “I just got an urge to visit with Irma and Fred. It was an impulse that drove me here,” I confessed.

  “But I’m glad I did, because, believe it or not, I am one chapter away from completing my second book, and I must say, I think it’s pretty decent.”

  We sat outside on the deck, with our afternoon coffees and snacks, shielded well from the heat of the sun by the shadow the house had cast. We chatted to the person who sat beside us. To my left was Larry and to my right was René.

  I directed most of my thoughts toward René but occasionally had words with Larry too. They both described their recent trip, giving every detail about the job, their antics in and out of bars and finally their return to René’s hometown of Montreal.

  It seemed that the province of Quebec had kept every detail of the untimely deaths of René’s parents and giving both their names had produced the birth certificate he needed to officially be a person with an identity. He was still far from being legally accepted but it was the biggest step he could have taken.

  “Missy,” he stood up in front of me, “I’d like to introduce myself to you. My name is René Michel Fortin,” he proudly said to me. “Now that I know who I am, I would like to get to know you better, if you will let me.”

  He had caught me thoroughly off guard with his simple solution to our lack of intimacy. Not owning a birth name had interfered in his ability to commit to a true relationship. Who knew? Life, at that moment, made absolutely no sense to me but it did give me the inspiration to write the final chapter of The Guest House. I had struggled with a way to conclude the resolution part of my fiction and with all that had transpired, I knew exactly what had to be written to bring the novel to its finale.

  “René Michel Fortin, what a beautiful name. I would be honoured to get to know you,” I replied, and I truly hoped, with those words, I offered him the consent to love me, as I loved himwith body, heart and soul.

  This time, he sat beside me, between Larry and me, squeezing in tightly to secure his spot, the closest he could get. Since I had nobody on my right, he had tenaciously guaranteed to get all my attention. He reached his arm below the table and placed his right hand onto my left thigh, squeezing it ever so gently. Immediate goose-bumps. That, intentional or inadvertent act, sent a definite message, one that I had been waiting for a long time. To me, he was making his claim on me, giving me his intentional sign to possess me in the most intimate manner.

  The gesture was so tender that in response, I put my hand on top of his, to accept his offer of affection. Irma had gone into the kitchen and then reappeared with a tray of tuna sandwiches we all devoured in seconds. There was a bucket of iced beer beside us, which became depleted by early evening, when finally, I rose from my seat and excused myself.

  “It was a wonderful day, but I must return to my barracks, The Guest House is waiting for me.”

  “I think I will join you if you don’t mind, I’m bushed,” René stood up right behind me.

  “Good night, you two,” Larry chimed in as he sent a suggestive wink in René’s direction, which René missed, but I did not. The beer had already rendered Larry into a randy version of himself, to sleep it off was for him the only remedy.

  There was already a sharp breeze coming in from the ocean and the overhead sky was turning from a light grey to an angrier and darker shade of the same colour.

  The weather vanes on top of the three houses were wildly spinning in a clockwise direction, which usually indicated that the approaching storm would most definitely make contact with the ground beneath our feet. The northern air stream always indicated that ugly certainty.

  Before René and I took leave of our friends, we decided to help Irma move all the items prone for flight; the tableware, dishes, bottles, tablecloths, we brought to the kitchen. The storm formed out of nowhere. We were already seeing dried brush carried down the beach by potent gusts of wind. Then, the power suddenly went out, but because it was still light, we had time to completely dismantle the patio set and secure it down for protection. Larry disappeared into his room, the beer had taken its nasty toll.

  Lovers

  The cottage lights went off, along with all the other residential and commercial buildings serviced by the electrical power grid of the lower Chesapeake Bay area. When that happened, which was more common than not, many hours passed before there was any hope of regaining electricity. There was no use in complaining, getting nervous or angry, only patience, optimism and plenty of candles were the wise choices. We had plenty of candles in each room, of each house, Irma had invested a small fortune in accumulating a wide assortment of those necessary torches which had lighted up her own way throughout her life living by the sea. It was not the best condition for writing a book; however, it was the perfect one for romance.

  While there was a glimmer of daylight, we staged the house with the candles. I fetched a bottle of forgotten Pinot Noir and René scattered plush blankets on the couch. We had done that whole process in the past but there was a different mood in our cottage this stormy night.

  We could see the flickering of the lit candles up at the main house from their windows facing ours. Everything was peaceful, except for the storm raging around us. All three houses were built to withstand small tropical storms as well as major hurricanes. Once all the candles were lit, we moved the couch closer to the windows which reached from floor to ceiling. Those huge windows had always given the perfect panoramic view of the sea and its surroundings.

  The tall beach grass lining the crest of the sand dunes was swaying haphazardly in all directions, dancing in a frenzy to the howling music of the northern winds. The sky was a mess of wrathful clouds. It had ripped open and allowed torrents of rain to stream into the agitated sea. It was the most amazing entertainment René and I had found in those extraordinary times when we first arrived in Virginia, almost one year ago.

  The storm outside increased in strength, but
for René and me, our own tempest had just begun. As we sat side by side, we looked into each other’s eyes and saw something we had not dared to see until then. There it was, the same feeling I had felt from the moment I first fought to look into his eyes, the feeling I first had when I washed his broken body and tried to soothe his fragile soul. He had never felt worthy enough with his lack of identity and lack of self-respect to love me as a man, not until then.

  With as much intensity as the storm raged outside, René held me in his arms, kissed my lips, my neck, my shoulders. There was a relentless drive within both of us to possess each other both in body and soul. His lean, firm body lay next to mine on the couch, and I started to remove all my clothing and his, the inhibitions had long vanished, there were no more restrictions between us, physical or emotional.

  He relished every inch of my body and I adored every part of his. I found the fulfilment I had longed for as René kept whispering softly “I love you” into my ears. There was no stopping, we continued our love-making way into the night, finding more special ways to give each other the carnal pleasures we had discovered.

  All the past disappointments, the lonely nights, the incident with Russell were permanently flushed from my mind, my only focus remained on the tremendous outpour of love from René. It was what I had been born for, it was the reason and my purpose in life, to love the broken boy whom I had found one cold autumn night, so long ago.

  The significance and the importance of the physical culmination of our love lay far beyond the pleasures that were inherent in the sex act. For me, it was the exclamation at the end of a sentence, not a period, not a comma and, certainly, not a question mark.

  I had always known that men and women can be friends only if eventually they allow themselves to become lovers too. Waiting for René to fuse our friendship through intimacy had taken me years of patience. Laying in his arms, on the night of the worst storm we had ever experienced, made all my past insecurities fade away. Even if our relationship had stopped there and could go no further, there was still a wonderful sense of confirmation. We had gone the distance. Together.

  I knew also that loving René would always give me lonely times. Having a lover whose job took him to far off places for indefinite periods of time was not the ideal way to sustain a relationship, but I was willing to take that road with himwherever it took us for as long as possible.

  “You know, René, I have loved you for so long I can’t see my life without you in it,” I said to him while cuddling close to him on the couch.

  “We were meant to be together, Missy. You must have always felt I have also loved you, no?” he asked.

  “Yes, but love comes in many forms, René, I have always known you loved me like a sister, maybe even as a friend, but I have always loved you as a lover.”

  “I’m so sorry, Missy, for having kept you waiting all this time.”

  “It was worth the wait; besides, there was a lot of growing up to do, in between, too.”

  “What now, Missy? I will feel terrible every time when I’ll have to leave you. Larry and I must attend to our work. It will force us to be apart for days and weeks at a time. How do you feel about that?”

  “I have my work too. Sometimes, I write for hours, days and even weeks, and I cannot be disturbed. I’ll schedule my writing when you are away, and when we are together, I’ll devote my life to you.” I kissed him again.

  “We’ll make it work, Missy, I know we can.” He kissed me again.

  “After you leave, I will return to Montreal, I need to see my parents and try to regain their trust and love. I will not stay too long. I must continue my writing. If my new book sells, I may have to go on the road again like last time. By the way, I am changing publishing companies, so I don’t know yet what the new one will expect from me.”

  “Why? I thought you liked the one you’ve had till now.”

  “It’s a long story, René. Let’s just say my agent was an asshole and instead of just changing agents, I need to make a complete change. He works with the publishing company, so they sort of go hand in hand. If I cut him off, I must cut the other one off as well.”

  “I see,” René looked puzzled, but he did not insist on any further and more detailed answers. He dismissed it readily.

  The storm subsided, the lights came back on and we fell asleep on the couch, cuddled together under the soft cashmere blanket René had put there for us. The previous night’s rainstorm had caused some serious alterations to the landscape by the sea and it also transformed my status with René. We were young, free and in love.

  The Heart

  Fred, Larry and René went around the property the next morning, collecting all the debris the storm had deposited randomly around the grounds near the houses, on the porches and on the immediate beach in front of the estate. Fred checked for any damages but other than multiple puddles of water throughout and a few broken tree branches, the property had escaped the wrath of the storm. Following our usual breakfast ritual, Larry announced his travel plans.

  “René and I will be leaving tomorrow morning. We must head toward Richmond to pick up our next load and then we are off to Mississippi.”

  “When will you return to Florida?” Fred asked.

  “I think we should be back home by the end of May, unless another contract comes our way. We will keep in touch. Missy, I hear you will be doing some travelling of your own?”

  “Yes, I have to complete my writing first but then, I will go to Montreal and spend some time there with my folks,” I glanced at René with a coy but warm signal, so noticeable, that Irma and Larry gave each other a quizzical expression, however, Irma soon caught on while leaving Fred behind, clueless.

  “OK. The two of you are hiding something. Out with it,” Larry demanded to know.

  “What? I didn’t say anything,” René replied with an expression of a young boy who had stolen the cookie from the cookie jar.

  “Nobody looks that happy unless…” Larry winked at me.

  I had to laugh at their inquisition but did not volunteer any response that would continue to give them more reasons to fuel their curiosity.

  “I would love to return here, Irma, if you let me, following my visit with my parents. I would rather not go to Florida until the boys have returned,” I purposely changed the topic of the conversation.

  “I would love that. The summer is the best time to be here in Virginia.”

  Having been introduced the night before to the closest, most physical bond between René and me, I was not looking forward to the long separation coming up. All I had wanted to do was to crawl into every bed from here to eternity with him and adore and ravage his body. Those stirrings, those yearnings and the lust of the past had morphed into the ravenous and insatiable beast within me. How I was going to pacify it, only time would tell.

  “I think, René, we should go back to the cottage now, to pack,” I finally and impatiently nudged him with the sexiest look I could give without the others noticing.

  “Yes. By all means, go,” Larry responded and gave the loudest wolf howl I have ever heard, as we turned our backs to leave. Everyone laughed, including me and René.

  I had a feeling Larry and René had discussed our relationship during their many hours of driving down the endless highways of the American eastern coast. After all, I had begged Larry to help René readjust to a more normal way of life. He had promised me he would. Maybe I was now reaping the benefits of his wisdom and hours of instruction. I must give credit where it was due Larry was a good teacher.

  We took advantage of the time we still had before the following day’s departure. I put the thought of René leaving out of my mind and devoted all my energy trying to show him what he had missed in the last two years and what he will be missing subsequently.

  There was something driving me to make up for all the lost time, because I was certainly trying my best to catch up.

  It wasn’t until the wee hours of the next morning when, ultim
ately, I found the time to help him pack. Luckily, he wasn’t back long enough to have unpacked; besides, of late, we didn’t need any clothes.

  At exactly five o’clock, the unavoidable signal arrived. It was Larry’s knock on our door. I was growing to hate the sound of knocking. In spite of it, I gave René a kiss I hoped would make him hurry back to me. Then I opened the door.

  I did not want to flaunt my passion in front of Larry, even though he was probably the one who I should have thanked in person. I was sure the rantings of two men in a truck on the road from morning till night were not without sexual innuendos.

  “Loverboy, get your ass in the truck. Now,” Larry said half-jokingly.

  René had a firm hold on my waist and was having a difficult time letting go.

  “It’s OK. Go have a successful trip,” I said, moving away from him. It wasn’t easy for me, but this was something I had signed up for and holding him back would have been a paradox.

  I was not dressed, so I waved from inside and then closed my door. I went back to bed to cuddle with the blanket with René’s smell trapped subtly in it.

  I needed to finish my book.

  It was next to impossible for me to wrap myself around the plot I had started and left unattended for two days. Everywhere I looked, I saw René. He was in the shower, he was on the porch, he was walking on the beach. Most of all, he was lying in my head.

  I dressed and ran to the beach, where I began a long jog taking the path south. North was still taboo. The sun was just peeking through the eastern sky, barely lighting my way. The exercise did me well, the sweat pouring down my back was rewarding and exhilarating too. By the time I reached the one-mile limit, I was exhausted and sat down on the cool sand and stopped thinking. I placed my mind in neutral, forcing the thoughts of René to stay in today’s rhythm. Then, without good reason, I thought of Russell. It was only for one split second, but it was long enough to snap me back to reality and my resolve to write returned. It was the adrenalin then, controlling my run back to the cottage, where I was finally ready to resume my work.