by Mickey Brent
He is my husband. His odors are my odors, and mine are his. Married couples are supposed to share odors and love each other anyway.
Hélène took another whiff and wrinkled her nose.
At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be, non?
In the dimly lit bedroom, she could just make out the broad outline of Marc’s shoulders.
Okay. I’m still not convinced. Let’s take it a bit further.
Lifting her index finger, she traced the nape of Marc’s neck until she located the object of her former obsession—a smooth, sexy, rebellious curl.
This just might work.
As she touched the magic curl, she became a teenager again, obsessed with the puppy love of her past. For a full, glorious minute, she forgot she was a grown, married woman, desperately hoping to comprehend—more accurately, hoping to reject—something that had become so real and evident in her new life, it hurt too much to even imagine the consequences.
*****
The next morning, Hélène shivered while standing in the shallow end of the pool. After such a sleepless night, her body felt fragile as the coolness of the water penetrated her skin. Her thoughts, too, were muddled; throughout the lesson, she pursed her lips to force them away.
As an additional measure, she kept a safe distance from her instructor. Hopefully, she’ll just think I have my period.
After a painful, soggy hour, Hélène removed her goggles and squinted at the clock.
Enfin, it’s over. I can’t wait to get out of here.
Wading past Sylvie, she began to climb out of the pool.
Until her teacher grasped her shoulder.
“Attends. We’re not done yet. I want you to swim a bit longer.” Sylvie’s voice was husky. “Just one more lap, okay? I’d like to check your style again.”
Hélène turned toward Sylvie. “You push me really hard, you know.”
As soon as she said this, goose bumps erupted on her arms. This is déjà-vu. She hardly heard the raspy reply: “But you like to be pushed, non?”
When Sylvie flashed her a coy smile, Hélène cringed. Before her instructor could notice her flushed face, Hélène dove into the water and started swimming the crawl. She could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she kicked fiercely. Her powerful strokes propelled her body over the surface, like a water bug. While she tore through the pool, her imagination soared:
Last night was a dream. But this is real. Do I really like it when she pushes me? That’s a scary thought. What would Marc think? Anyway, who cares what he thinks? I certainly don’t. Not anymore. I admire her. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. Non, je…
When she reached the shallow end, she struck a fleshy blob in the water. Standing, she saw the Greek goddess’s outstretched hand. She was laughing.
“Incroyable! I said one lap, not five!”
“Guess I got a bit carried away.”
Sylvie waved her timer in front of her pupil’s nose. “You sure did. Super. Congratulations, Hélène. You just passed the final test,” she gushed, extending her hand.
Hélène gave her a puzzled look.
Without waiting, Sylvie pulled her into her arms and planted a kiss on each cheek.
What’s going on? wondered Hélène, stiffening.
Sylvie’s eyes were glistening. “I’m so proud of you, Hélène. You’re amazing. You’ve only been coming here for a month, and you already swim like a pro.”
“Let’s not exaggerate.” Hélène pulled away. “But thanks for the compliment.”
“You deserve it,” said Sylvie, hopping out of the water.
Hélène watched in awe as her instructor’s strong legs stalked over to the bench, leaving a moist trail in their wake. Wrapping her magnificent body in a bath towel, she lowered herself to the pool’s edge. With her toes dangling in the water, she tapped the space next to her.
“Come over here for a sec.”
Hélène’s knees quivered underwater. Deep down, she knew Sylvie had something in store for her—something she never, ever would have imagined.
Enveloped in a towel covering as much flesh as possible, Hélène managed a few awkward tiptoes toward the poolside. She tried to settle—more elegantly than elephantly—next to the stunning Greek presence. She held her breath as she dipped her pale toes into the chilly water.
After a pause, Sylvie spoke. “I’ve really enjoyed teaching you, Hélène.”
“I’m enjoying our lessons too,” responded Hélène, staring at the other end of the pool.
“Actually, Friday will be our last lesson together.”
The words didn’t sink in right away. Hélène turned brusquely toward her. “What did you say?”
Sylvie spoke gently, which further emphasized her Greek accent. “Friday will be our last lesson. Now that you—”
Hélène gasped. “Quoi? Our last lesson? What do you mean? I thought—”
“You’re a perfect swimmer now, Hélène. You just proved it.” She patted Hélène’s knee. “You don’t need my help anymore.”
“But that’s only the crawl!” stammered Hélène, ignoring the tingle rising up her thigh. “There’s still the breaststroke, the backstroke, and that other one. The…” she stammered. “The…the…”
“Butterfly.”
Hélène’s throat went dry. “Oui, the butterfly,” she croaked.
A hint of confusion flashed over Sylvie’s face. She opened her mouth, but Hélène beat her to it.
“I’ve still got tons to learn, and I want you to teach me all the strokes!” she insisted, grabbing Sylvie’s muscular arm. She realized her face was turning scarlet, but she didn’t care.
“I didn’t expect this at all.” Sylvie shook her head. “The director told me you had a budget.”
“Non! I need those other strokes. We have to do them all. I want to swim like you, Sylvie. So you have to keep teaching me.” I want to be like you, Sylvie, said a little voice in Hélène’s head, right before an onslaught of emotions hit her, like knives slicing through her heart. She lowered her flustered face. Despite the blood racing through her veins, she saw her toes were turning blue. So what? Go ahead, turn blue. And drop off, for all I care, she ordered them, suppressing her urge to kick at the water like a mad dog.
The wet women shifted uncomfortably as they sat beside each other on the cold cement. For a few painfully silent seconds, the timer dangling from Sylvie’s neck ticked so loudly, Hélène was tempted to rip it off her neck.
Do something! Say something! her mind pleaded.
But Sylvie simply stared at the other side of the pool.
At last, she turned to Hélène. “I don’t know what to say. If I’d only known.” She swallowed slowly. “I hate to say this, but I just accepted another job on the other side of Brussels. I start next Monday.”
“Quoi?” Hélène looked stunned, as if someone had just smacked her skull. “You mean you won’t be teaching here anymore? Ever again?”
*****
Sylvie brushed a wet strand of hair out of Hélène’s eyes. She felt a pinch in her heart when she looked at those sad blue eyes, which were as moist as her student’s hair. Averting her gaze, she confirmed, “I’m sorry, Hélène. Our lessons are over.”
Choking back tears, Hélène jumped up and—trailing her towel behind her in nearsighted confusion—scrambled away like an injured bee.
“Attention!” Sylvie yelled. But her warning came too late.
“Aaaiiee!” Hélène cursed as her face smacked into the Poolside Rules sign. Without stopping, she ran around the sign—vibrating with a “Doooiiing…Doooiiing”—and vanished from Sylvie’s view.
“Rule number one: no running,” whispered Sylvie as her moist, dark eyes followed a trail of chaotic footprints into the locker room.
*****
There was that old pain again—raw, incessant. Like when she fell down and skinned her knee as a kid. Hélène wished she could just weep away the agonizing sensations taking over her body. But you can’t.
You’re an adult now, she told herself, peering at her throbbing nose in the mirror. Hope it doesn’t swell. Why do I have to be so darn nearsighted?
She threw her glasses onto the counter. They slammed against the wall.
More destructive thoughts invaded Hélène’s mind as she sat on her locker room stool, struggling to dry her tangles.
I can’t stand even being here, she realized, avoiding her blurry image in the mirror. Je déteste…
The hair dryer was so loud, she didn’t hear the water stop running in the shower. Nor did she hear the soft rubber sounds of thongs pattering across the tile floor.
A figure approached her from behind. Startled, Hélène reached for her glasses.
Sure enough, Sylvie stood behind her with a towel loosely wrapped around her slim figure. The white terry cloth brought out the silkiness of her dark skin. Hélène shivered.
She really is a Greek goddess. Elégante…sensuelle.
She shivered even more when Sylvie placed her hot fingers on her shoulders.
Hélène shut off the hair dryer.
The two women gazed at each other in the misty mirror. Neither said a word.
Hélène felt a twitch in her spine. She shifted her weight to smother it—anything to distract her mind from the mounting tension in the steamy locker room.
At last, Sylvie broke the silence. “I feel so bad leaving you like this. I had no idea you wanted more, Hélène.”
You had no idea I wanted more? Hélène felt a lump rising in her throat. Well, neither did I. Or did I? “I learned more than swimming with you. I caught your enthusiasm for…” Hélène’s throat choked; before she could stop herself, she uttered: “Life.”
Sylvie chuckled. “Don’t be silly.”
Hélène replied gravely, “Non, really. You taught me to try to be the best I could be. And accept who I am.”
Sylvie squeezed her student’s shoulder. “You deserve it.”
Hélène knew she was blushing, especially with Sylvie’s fingers digging into her flesh. She forced herself to continue. “I’ve always considered what people would think before I did something. I was hardly living—until now.”
Sylvie shook her gently by the shoulders. “You did it yourself. I just showed you the way.”
The corners of Hélène’s mouth rose as Sylvie lightly rocked her.
“It really means a lot to me,” whispered Hélène, gripping the counter in case her enthusiasm—and Sylvie’s lingering touch—propelled her off her stool. She resisted the temptation to drop her head, to conceal the heat invading her cheeks.
Sylvie smiled broadly. “Ca alors. I wish all my students were as appreciative as you.”
“You’re a great teacher.” Hélène gulped back the lump rising in her throat. “I really wish I could continue. I’d like to learn the other strokes.”
“I wish you could too, but that’s impossible.” Sylvie gave her shoulders one last squeeze. Raking her fingers through her dark, glistening hair, she whispered, “I’m so sorry,” flinging little droplets into the air.
Me too, believe me. Hélène shuddered as the cool drops soaked through her blouse. At least I get a souvenir from the pool.
*****
Hélène was about to turn her hair dryer back on when Sylvie’s eyes lit up. “Attends, I’ve got an idea!”
“Quoi?” asked Hélène, trying to conceal her emotions.
“The pool opens at eight on Saturday mornings, so why don’t we ask if I can reserve a lane for us before all the kids show up?”
Hélène burst out, “That’s a great idea!” Her eyes met Sylvie’s. I knew this would work out. She resisted the temptation to lick her lips. The energy between us is too strong for something stupid like a scheduling problem to…
Then Hélène’s face fell.
Sylvie leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”
Hélène sighed heavily. “I forgot. Marc and I go to the market on Saturday mornings.”
“So go later.”
“I can’t. He likes to go early, to beat the crowds.”
Sylvie crossed her muscular arms. “So let him beat the crowds by himself. He’s a big boy.”
Hélène considered the idea. Then she frowned. “Non. He’d rip my arm off if I didn’t come along.”
Sylvie’s smile melted. “He would?” she asked gravely, staring into Hélène’s deep blue eyes.
Their bodies were so close, Hélène could feel her teacher’s breath on her face. Her heart fluttered. “Mais non! Don’t be silly,” she stammered, leaning back.
“You never know. I saw how he…” Sylvie paused. “Anyway, we’d be done by nine. He could come pick you up on the way.”
“Wait. Marc…Here?” Hélène shuddered at the thought of him at the pool: staring at them in the water, peeking into the locker room, waiting impatiently for her to shower. What a nightmare! But she desperately wanted to continue their lessons.
She took a deep breath. “Can I think about it?”
Sylvie swept her fingers through her hair, dousing Hélène with more souvenirs from the pool. “Of course. Just tell me tomorrow.”
Hélène exhaled with relief. “Merci, Sylvie.” Impulsively, she touched her teacher’s arm and—for the very first time in her life—winked at a woman.
Chapter Fifteen
Hélène was still practicing her winking technique as she parked her bike in front of the office. In the ladies’ room, she wiped the sweat off her face, and—like an excited racehorse—began pacing in front of the stalls. Hot air left her nostrils at the beat of her thumping heart.
Ducking under the metallic doors, she scanned for signs of shoes.
“Super!” she exclaimed, righting herself. “Nobody’s here.”
Despite her matted helmet hair and sweaty clothes, she felt fabulous.
She approached the mirror to inspect the healthy glow radiating from her face. It beamed back at her. She winked. It winked back. She leaned forward. The face approached hers.
Clear eyes, turquoise like the sea…
She wiggled her body, relishing how free it roamed under her sports clothes, enjoying the pleasure of Lycra flirting with her moist skin. She felt the power of her thigh muscles as she gyrated her hips.
“You’ve been working out for nearly two hours, with no complaints. And it’s not even nine in the morning.” She gave herself a seductive wink before disappearing into a stall. “You’ve come a long way, bébé!”
Hélène’s confidence soon faded, however. After two painful hours at the computer, she went straight to the kitchen and fixed herself a double espresso to relieve her throbbing head.
I shouldn’t do this, but… she thought as she loaded her mug with milk and six spoonfuls of sugar. Then she cocked her head and drained the mug. And before the caffeine reached her system, she slugged back another double.
Just then, Cecile entered the kitchen. Her dainty nose sniffed the coffee smell in the air. She squinted her eyes at Hélène. “Aren’t you supposed to be avoiding caffeine?”
“It’s just so hard to be good all the time, Ceci.” Hélène chuckled nervously. Her ears began to tingle, which always happened when she felt guilty. “I’m sick of watching what I eat all the time. People take vacations, so why can’t our bodies take vacations too?”
Cecile’s lips broke into a grin. “Tout à fait. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, ma puce.” She clinked her mug with Hélène’s. “Stop being such a goody-goody and do something outrageous. I dare you.”
Cecile gave her a wink and sauntered out of the kitchen.
Hélène was still smirking at Cecile’s remark as she poked her head into the fridge. Way in the back, she unearthed an old package of cookies. Ignoring the expiration date, she gobbled down—like a farm hog—the entire package of sweet, crunchy cookies.
Powdery crumbs tumbled from her lips onto her blouse, but Hélène didn’t care; she was on a roll. Pulling a half gallon of chocolate milk from the fridge, she guzzled the syrupy
stuff directly from the carton. With chocolate bubbles dribbling from the corners of her mouth, she crumpled the empty container and, like a pro basketball star, launched it over her shoulder.
“Ouais, deux points!” she exclaimed when it ricocheted into the trash.
Hélène reentered her office giddy and out of breath. Ignoring bits of soggy chocolate tumbling from her mouth, she plopped in her chair and, with a judicious tongue swipe, licked the last bit of evidence off her lips.
“Merveilleux!” she declared, winking at her plants—innocent accomplices in her hedonistic crime. But shortly afterward, she felt the disastrous effects of her gluttony: translating with one hand while rubbing her stomach with the other, mind buzzing, stomach bursting.
Losing control in the kitchen was not such a brilliant idea after all.
Stuffing the Santorini painting into her bag, Hélène forced herself to breathe steadily as she inched her way down the hall. Playing hooky was outrageous, wasn’t it? She’d never even taken a sick day before. As she tiptoed past her boss’s office, she vowed to make Ceci proud.
*****
Hélène felt instantly lighter as soon as she left the office. The cool air filled her lungs with freshness as tufts of hair blew around her face, caressing her softly in the breeze. Despite this temporary relief from pain, she couldn’t wait to get home and collapse. However, as soon as she pedaled down a familiar street lined with shops, she saw her optometrist standing in his window. She squeezed hard on the brakes, just in time to see him hold up a pair of glasses.
Hélène forgot all about her stomach pains and entered the shop. A few minutes later, she was beaming as she biked away. Her stylish new glasses accentuated her features, and with much thinner lenses, she felt lighter and more carefree.
She pedaled to a red light. Hmm, what should I do now? A devilish look swept across her face. When it turned green, she made a sharp right toward the pool.
