by Jamie Conner
Megan chuckled. "Is naked karaoke really a thing?" she asked suspiciously.
"Sadly, yes," Angie said with a laugh. "But my point is that you should just pick something that you'd never imagine yourself doing and go for it. Be spontaneous for once!"
"I'm spontaneous!" Megan protested with a pout.
"Ha! Since when?" Angie asked not even trying to hide her sarcasm.
Megan tried, but she couldn't actually think of an example to support her theory.
"You could just go out on a date," Angie said as she scraped the bottom of her already empty yogurt cup.
Megan just rolled her eyes.
"I'd rather try naked karaoke," she said flatly.
Dating — and therefore relationships — had never been something Megan had gotten the hang of. She wasn't a club person and on-line dating was out of the question and she didn't really know where else to go to meet women. In her mind, she'd always imagined the perfect encounter happening without effort as she went about her day focused on her writing career.
The fantasy version of that scenario usually involved her standing in front of a crowd — in some dimly lit but quaint bookstore — reading excerpts from her latest novel. After dazzling her audience during the post-reading Q & A, a gorgeous woman — with a passion for historical fiction — would come up to her to ask a follow-up question to some brilliant point Megan made during her talk. They'd chat until it was time for the bookstore to close and then go get a cappuccino and some dessert at a neighborhood cafe so they could finish their conversation. They'd spend the next several months attending lectures, visiting museums and dining in unpretentious but unique restaurants until one day they'd both realize they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Of course, the whole storyline was contingent on Megan actually publishing a book.
"Hey. Hey!" Angie said loudly trying to get Megan's attention.
"What? I'm sorry, did you say something?"
"If you're over there having that bookstore fantasy again I'm leaving!"
"No, I wasn't."
Angie gave her a glare that said she knew better.
"Well, I was but I know there's a fatal flaw in my plan."
"Yeah, like it's a plan! That's not how relationships happen."
"I was referring more to the parts about me not having a novel to read at the bookstore and therefore…"
Angie held up her hand for Megan to stop.
"I get it. But wouldn't it just be easier to try skydiving?"
***
Brandi shuttered as the icy water rained down on her body. This definitely wasn't the fantasy she'd imagined when she selected the oversized shower/sauna — equipped with multiple body jets — for her newly redecorated Parisian condo, but the cold shower was a necessary evil after staying out late on a weeknight.
After a ten hour day, drinks with the girls had turned into dinner with the girls and then club hopping until 2 am. It wasn't behavior she participated in very often these days.
Of course, it had been the norm when she'd first come to Paris as a foreign exchanged student during her junior year in college. Brandi had fallen in love with Paris that semester — the fashion, the food, the culture — so much so that she applied for a permanent transfer to the University of Paris and never went back home.
It wasn't like there was anyone to miss her in New York anyway. Her father had just married her third step-mother — seemingly oblivious to the fact that each successive bride was getting closer to his own daughter's age — and Brandi didn't have any other close family to speak of. But in Paris, Brandi found true community and the freedom to explore who she really was.
She'd been questioning her sexuality since high school, but she knew in spite of the fact that her father's conservative views didn't prohibit him from marrying women decades his junior, they did make accepting his daughter being gay very unlikely. As a result, Brandi had ignored her rising sexual questions, stuffing the unexplored urges down into the same walled off space where she kept the memories of her mother. It wasn't until she'd met her now best friend Renee during her senior year at the Sorbonne that everything changed.
Renee had known she was gay since she was twelve — and her single mother had always been supportive of her daughter's identity. As a result, there was a lot she learned while hanging out with Renee. Back then Renee and Brandi would go to class, then hit a poetry reading or some a-vanguard performance art show, then head straight for the gay clubs. It wasn't unusual for Brandi to wake up the next morning with a hot chick in her bed. She was careful about who she hooked up with, but she didn't allow caution to limit her exploration. It was an exhilarating introduction to France and to her own sexuality.
Brandi pretty much kept up the same schedule after she graduated simply replacing going to class with going to work — plus now she had the disposable income to do more than just hang out at clubs. She'd done a few Olivia Travel cruises, joined a weekend soccer club and became active with an LGBTQ community service organization all the while balancing ever increasing responsibilities at work.
The only problem she encountered in her flourishing social life was avoiding the women who wanted to settle down in a committed relationship. Brandi was just too focused on her career to settle down right now. All of that could wait for a few more years after all she wasn't even thirty yet.
Brandi stepped out of the frozen torture chamber and reached for a towel. Before she wrapped it around her body she glanced at her naked reflection in the mirror. At least her body didn't show any evidence of her strenuous work/play schedule she thought as she wiped the cold droplets from her tanned frame.
Brandi stepped into her walk-in closet and shuffled through several dozen suits hanging in color and seasonally appropriate sections. Her hand landed on a chocolate brown Elie Tahari suit she'd bought two months ago, but hadn't worn yet. "You will be perfect," she said out loud to the garment. She was pulling a creme colored sleeveless silk blouse from the appropriate section of the closet when she heard her cell phone buzz in the bedroom.
A text message? It wasn't even 7 am and her day had already started. It was probably her boss checking to see if she had the report ready for the senior staff meeting this morning. As if she was ever unprepared.
She scurried out of the closet, tossed her clothes on the bed and snatched her cell phone off the nightstand. Surprisingly it wasn't a business related message at all.
It was great seeing you last night. I hope to see MORE of you soon. ~G.
The written text was followed by three grinning devil emojis.
Genevieve's less than subtle hint put a smile on Brandi's face and sent a warm surge through her body. Genevieve had been pretty persistent about wanting Brandi to come over to her place as they were leaving the club last night, but somehow Brandi managed to pass on the offer. Genevieve was always good for an evening of no strings attached fun, but Brandi rarely found weeknight hook ups worth it these days. As it was she was totally sleep deprived. She couldn't imagine how awful she'd feel if she'd said yes to a sleepless night with Genevieve.
Great seeing you too!! Wink emoji.
Brandi had known Genevieve for at least two years, but neither of them had ever considered making things serious. It was nice to have someone she could hook up with when she chose to without feeling any obligation to say yes every time. Brandi had a few friends like that, but Genevieve was by far the hottest.
Brandi twisted her lip as she glanced at the clock. 6:28 am. There was still time for a little text assisted stress relief before she had to leave for the office.
She tapped another message to Genevieve.
What MORE of me would you like to see? Kissy face emoji.
Brandi let her towel drop to the floor. She crawled back into bed and reached into her nightstand drawer for one of her favorite battery operated toys while she waited for Genevieve's reply.
***
"As you can see from the end of the quarter report…"
Brandi li
stened as she flipped pages on her iPad following along with the presentation being delivered by one of the team analysts. The room was quiet except for the analyst's whiny voice. So quiet that the sound of Brandi's cell phone vibrating against the conference room table reverberated around the room. She quickly snatched her phone off the table and muffled it in her lap.
If you ever get tired of real estate, you'd have a great career in erotic literature!
The text message was followed by several flame emojis and a one with a big cheesy grin.
Brandi smiled and shifted in her chair as memories of her morning sext-capade with Genevieve reheated certain parts of her body. She replied with a kissing red lips emoji before turning her phone to silent and placing it upside down on the table.
"It may take some special incentivizing to get the property owners to sell," a different analyst was talking now. "But it looks like Cote d' Azur may still have some parcels of land that could accommodate a development of this size."
Brandi looked at the blueprint being projected on the front screen and the wheels in her brain started to turn. Cote d'Azur, better known outside of France as the French Riviera, had been a hot spot for tourist development for decades. When Brandi first moved to France, Cote d' Azur was one of her favorite get-a-way destinations. She'd spent quite a few weekends there lounging on the beach by day and club hopping by night — rarely with the same woman more than once.
She smiled thinking about some of the fun she'd had there.
Even though most of the coast was already covered with luxury villas, spas, and hotels, Rousseau was interested in building more. If Brandi could identify some perspective locations it would look good on her annual review and be one more step toward the management promotion she had her eye on.
In the midst of her thoughts, something on the other side of the table grabbed Brandi's attention. She looked up and Victor Moreau's sullen eyes were focused directly on her as if he was trying to read her thoughts. The corner of his mouth was turned upward in the half smile, half snarl that characterized the contentious nature of he and Brandi's relationship.
Victor had been hired at Rousseau Development just two months before Brandi, but because she already had a year-long internship under her belt most of the staff both knew and liked her. This pissed Victor off from day one and he'd been determined to trip Brandi up as she climbed up the career ladder. He never missed an opportunity to point out something Brandi had missed in a report — preferably when a senior manager was in the room — or mansplain some aspect of their job. But Brandi wasn't intimidated by him.
Victor was smart, but he was lazy. Always looking for a short cut he never hesitated to let someone else do the heavy lifting while he cruised along manipulating everyone in his path. In spite of the company's clear non-fraternization policy there were rumors that he'd dated several women in positions below his on the org chart hierarchy — secretaries, paralegals, mailroom attendants — anyone who had too much to risk to rat him out when he ended the relationship after getting whatever information they had that he found useful. Lately, Brandi heard he was dating one of the new contractors in the IT department.
What a jerk.
When it came to finding property in Cote d' Azur, Victor was Brandi's only real competition within the department and she had a good idea how to get a head start on him.
"Hey Quentin, Do you have a minute?" Brandi asked her supervisor after the meeting.
"Sure, Brandi. Come on to my office. What's up?" he asked as he took his seat behind the large wooden desk.
"Well, I know this is kind of last minute, but I'm thinking about using some of my vacation days next week and I wanted to make sure you didn't have anything you were expecting me to be working on."
Quentin scratched his chin. "No, I pretty much cleared our project calendar after we finished the Thompson report last week. I'm actually planning to take a long weekend next week myself. Mandatory vacation with the wife," he said with a half-hearted smile. "As long as you're back in the office a week from Monday we should be fine."
Brandi thanked Quentin and immediately went back to her office and opened her personal email. She typed the name Renee in the search bar and waited for the computer to pull up the right message.
When she clicked the link digital balloons filled her computer screen followed by the words…
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Sophia Elize Renault and Renee Camille Broussard. June 15th at the Peret Winery, St. Amelia, Cote d' Azur, France.
Chapter 2
Megan peered wide-eyed out the car window and watched the French Riviera roll by. It was like looking at a backdrop for a romantic movie. The blue water of the Mediterranean, the white rocky beaches, she had to keep reminding herself to breathe.
I have never done anything this crazy in my entire life!
Megan had landed in Paris less than 24 hours ago without telling a soul — not even Angie — about her plans. Of course, Angie would have been supportive of the trip — it was practically her idea — but Megan had taken this leap of faith without telling a soul. It was just too crazy to speak her plans out loud — getting on a plane to France just to visit the place where her favorite author died —it was spontaneous and nuts!
She'd only called Angie after she'd landed in Paris and checked into her hotel for the night.
"Oh My God! Is that the Eiffel Tower behind you?" Angie shouted via FaceTime.
Megan tapped her iPad screen to flip the camera image toward her again and grinned at her friend.
"Welcome to Gay Paree!"
"When? W-w-what?" Angie stuttered. "Why are you in Paris?"
"I decided you were right. Doig something spontaneous was just what I needed."
Angie's huge grin filled the screen. "Good for you!" she said with a laugh. Angie's image filled the screen as she leaned closer to the camera. "While you're there see if you can manage to get laid."
Megan rolled her eyes. Buying a plane ticket three days after the school year ended was crazy enough. Now she was supposed to pick up a strange woman in a foreign country. Going skydiving was probably more likely to happen, but Megan couldn't deny that there was something intriguing about the thought of an overseas romance.
"Earth to Megan."
Angie was waving her hand at the screen.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"I said if you're not going to have sex at least promise to send back some pretty pictures."
"That I can do!" she agreed. But now that she was actually staring at the Mediterranean for the first time she was too excited to ruin the experience by pulling out her cell phone.
"St. Amelia!" An exuberant, heavily French-accented voice announced.
Megan pulled her eyes away from the deep blue ocean to meet the equally blue eyes of the elderly Uber driver watching her in the car's rearview mirror.
"St. Amelia," he repeated again and nodded his head to the right. "We'll be there in less than twenty minutes."
Megan scooted over to the other side of the car to get a better view. What she saw was even more mesmerizing than the ocean. On the other side of a dense green valley, a village made of stone buildings with red tiled roofs sat perched on top of a plateau. It looked like a crown on top of the head of an ancient monarch.
"St. Amelia," she whispered.
A bell tower jutted up from the center of the village like a mystic stone watchman. Megan remembered reading about that tower in one of the guide books she'd bought at the airport. It was part of St. Amelia's Cathedral, built in the 14th century. The bell in the tower still rang hourly to announce the time and was inscribed with French words that Megan couldn't recall exactly, but she whispered the English translation.
"St. Amelia. The place where the hours invite us to dream."
When they arrived at the village the driver pulled the car into one of a short row of parking spaces just outside what must have been the village square.
There was a large water fountain in the
middle of the square and surrounding it were vendors stationed under colorful tents selling everything from bread, fruit, and cheese to local craft items.
"You'll have to walk from here, Madame. The city streets are too small for cars to enter. Your hotel isn't far though. Just up that path to the right."
The driver pointed to a narrow dim street leading off the main square. Megan's heart fluttered for a moment as she stepped out of the car. She wondered if it was safe to venture down that road alone. She'd heard about tourists being easy marks for pickpockets and other thieves. But before she could articulate her concern the driver had already pulled her suitcase from the trunk, placed her carry-on bag at her feet and jumped in his car no doubt rushing to get back to the airport to catch another fare.
Megan lifted her computer bag to one shoulder, her carry-on to the other, picked up her suitcase and began to make her way across the square. Vendors called out in French as she passed.
"Pain Frais! Tomates! Fromage!"
Several clusters of people who must have been tourists were milling around looking at the items for sale. Many of them were wearing identical t-shirts that read France or Bust! They must be part of a tour group, Megan thought as she maneuvered through the crowd with her bags.
Megan made it down the street without incident and pulled open the large wooden door to La Maison d' Amelie. It was only after she'd stepped into the air-conditioned lobby that she noticed her shirt sticking to her body in sweaty patches. She felt a little disheveled, but none of that lessened the excitement she was feeling at having actually reached her destination.
To her surprise, there was quite a bit of activity in the small lobby. A dozen or so patrons, mostly women, were milling about chatting with each other in French and Megan could hear more voices spilling through the doors of the attached hotel restaurant.
There was only one clerk at the front desk and she too seemed a bit flustered by all the activity in the room. Her head was lowered and her lips were twisted at an awkward angle as she squinted intently at the computer screen in front of her. There was only one patron at the counter, but judging from the woman's body language she'd been standing there for a while.
