Learning Curves 1 - French Cooking 101

by Rigal, Olivia

  ❦

  CHAPTER TEN

  Peter

  WALKING AROUND WITH HIS SISTER and her new beau had been fun for about ten seconds. George was a serious bore. At least he was when Peter was around. The man didn’t talk. He grunted or gave two or three syllable answers to all of Peter’s questions. George didn’t lack vocabulary. After all, the man was an author. He wrote endless historical sagas. As far as words were concerned, he was probably a hundred times richer than the average person. He was capable of elaborate sentences with nuance and subtlety. So Peter knew George’s behavior was deliberate. The more Peter thought about it, the more annoyed he became. George was rude. Not only did he refuse to give them a chance to get acquainted, but he made it impossible for Peter to have a private conversation with his sister.

  Peter wanted to ask her why she had decided to take a chance on such an ass. Obviously he wouldn’t have worded his question that way. Unlike George, he had some manners. He would have explained to Mary that he was not prying out of idle curiosity. He was looking for arguments to convince Ariane to open up to him. After all, his sister was not one to jump into bed with the first guy who asked. Or was she? All of a sudden, he didn’t know anymore. Since he couldn’t possibly ask her in front of the oaf, he abandoned them and went back to Ariane’s place.

  The door was locked, and the curtains were drawn. He called Ariane’s name and realized there was no light or movement inside. Maybe she had gone out as well. So he sat down on the cobblestones and decided to savor the quiet of the patio. Ariane’s building was quaint. He liked being alone. He turned on his smart phone. He had not looked at his email since he had left New York. He may as well do it while he had nothing better to do.

  One of the many things he liked about this job as a professor of mathematics was the lack of emergencies. Not that there were no rushes. Like when one of his most brilliant students thought he had found the answer to the P=NP question. Peter had spent two crazy days studying the kid’s proof before he found the error that derailed his demonstration. So much for the million-dollar prize for his pet student. That had been intense.

  Nevertheless, the only real pressure was the kind he imposed on himself. Science walked at its own pace, and Peter liked it that way. So even though he was not as rich as his peers who had picked a Wall Street career—those who had picked that career and not yet suffered a fatal coronary on the floor of the market—he was happy with his professional choices.

  Scrolling down the list of received emails, he saw the usual newsletters he subscribed to, a few emails from students, one from Nancy titled “Fall Term Tentative Schedule,” and one from Marsha, the dean of the School of Mathematics titled “While in Paris…”

  He tapped that one open to find an order, politely presented as an invitation, to attend two meetings she had taken the liberty of organizing for him: one on Monday morning and the other one Monday at lunch. Good thing she had picked the end of his trip. Otherwise he would have messed up by not checking his email.

  The dDean wanted Peter to meet a young mathematician she had invited to teach at their school for a year as a visiting Professorprofessor. The young man was a possible candidate for the next Fields Medal, and snatching him would do wonders for their prestige.

  The dean had also set up an appointment with the administration of the Paris University, which was part of their exchange network. She wanted Peter to meet him in order to get feedback on the new Paris dean she didn’t know. It was important, but she was very clear that the priority was charming the boy wonder.

  The dean was right. If one of the school’s professors, even a visiting professor, was awarded the Fields Medal, that would be great for the school. The medal was like a Nobel Prize of Mathematics, but it was only awarded every four years. The next one was coming up in 2014, just a few months away. Getting him to come along would be a great coup.

  Peter finally understood why Marsha had accepted vacation during the course of the term. That had puzzled him. He knew she liked him, but that wasn’t enough. A woman—or a man for that matter—didn’t become the dean of the school by being a pushover. So as far as Marsha and the rest of the school staff were concerned, he wasn’t on vacation; he was on a mission for the school. He grinned. If it worked out right, he would negotiate an extra vacation week from her.

  Scrolling back up, he looked at his students’ emails. Most of them had questions about their term papers. He would answer them upon his return. One was from his favorite student, who was turning in his paper early. Peter tapped it open, downloaded the paper to the smart phone, and read it on the small screen.

  ❦

  He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice when Ariane unlocked the door and stepped outside. It took him a minute to become aware of her presence. She stood by the door looking at him, her head tilted. She was obviously waking up from a nap. He saw the trace of a pillow wrinkle on a cheek.

  “Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

  “A little while. I had some reading to catch up on,” he answered, springing to his feet. As she backed into the workshop, getting ready to raise the curtains, he asked, “Had a good nap?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “You have this little crease mark on your face here.” He caressed her cheek with his fingertips.

  She didn’t move. She stood there looking at him, mouth half open as if she was going to say something and thought better of it. He stepped closer while his fingers, light as feathers, traced her jaw and then her lips.

  He drank her up with his eyes. He inhaled her smell. So sweet. He wanted her so badly it was starting to hurt. He hated the sadness—or was it resignation?—he read in her eyes. He wanted to hear her bubbly giggles, the ones that came out in joyous spurts when she laughed at Charles’s jokes. He wanted to be the string for those pearls of laughter.

  He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her curvy body into his. It was a perfect fit. He kissed her forehead. Her breathing became uneven, but she didn’t pull away. She obviously wanted him. He felt the battle going on between her body—so quick to react to his touch—and her mind—very reasonably screaming for caution.

  He decided not push further. For now. “I meant what I told you this morning. I’m not giving up.” He let go of her and stepped back, out of her personal space. He realized he had taken her by surprise. Was that a hint of regret that just appeared on her face? Good.

  Her hand shot out to rest on his arm and maintain the contact he had just severed. “I heard you this morning,” she whispered.

  Her hand went up to his face, and she touched his lips as he had touched hers. She sighed and let her arms fall by her sides. Shoulders slumped, her gaze dropped from his face to the floor. Then, as if by the switch of a button, she straightened her back, raised her shoulders, and turned around to draw the curtains.

  “No use crying over what could have been,” she said. “There’s not enough time.”

  “What if there were?” he asked as an idea shaped in his mind. “Is it just a time issue, or is something else holding you back?”

  “It’s time. There is no one else in my life.” She looked straight into his eyes again. “I don’t want to start something that is doomed for lack of time.”

  “So if I stay here for a few months, would you be willing to give us a chance?”

  “Oh oui, bien sûr. I would like that very much.”

  Her enthusiastic answer, blurted spontaneously in French first, made his heart soar. His chances with her were better than good.

  ❦

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Mary

  THE AFTERNOON CLASS HAD GONE very nicely, thought Mary, walking back to the hotel with her brother. She enjoyed the cool breeze on her legs after the heat of the kitchen. Even in her light cotton dress, she had been very warm all day. She wasn’t sure if it was the heat of the oven, the steam escaping the pots, or George’s presence.

  When they left, Ariane was putting in the refrigerator the
leftovers from the “pot au feu,” a traditional French beef stew. Ariane had explained she’d purposely gone overboard with the proportions to make sure they had plenty of leftovers to do an “hachis parmentier” on Sunday. That family-style dish was the French equivalent of shepherd’s pie. Under the blanket of mashed potatoes, the Irish minced meat was replaced by shredded boiled meat. “Pot au feu” leftovers were the best choice.

  The crème brûlée had been a real hit, especially with George and Thomas. Those two had welcomed an opportunity to play with a blowtorch. The tool was required to burn the sugar into the caramel topcoat the recipe called for. They were obviously more comfortable with that instrument than any of the others in Ariane’s kitchen. A very proud Jena had explained that Thomas was a techie and he always fixed stuff for everyone.

  Prompted by Mary’s question, George had blurted out personal information: he had worked in construction to pay his way through college. Mary was impressed, but George just shrugged as if he was embarrassed. What a strange man. He should be proud that he had made it on his own. Mary wished she could make him understand that the world was not as hostile as he saw it. But then maybe it was—to him.

  Peter had been distracted. His sister had joked about him being in absent-minded professor mode, and Peter confessed that there was some truth to it. He was a caricature of the research community.

  “The entire world is a giant puzzle, and I get so focused on the little piece I’m working on that I forget about all the rest,” Peter had explained. “It doesn’t matter what I’m concentrating on—whether it’s where I’ve last seen my keys or one of my students’ questions—the process is always the same. I cannot multi-task.”

  Confronted by Ariane’s scowl, he had promised to put his present issue on a back burner and pay attention to what he was doing. Mary wasn’t sure Ariane appreciated Peter picking the culinary image of the back burner for her benefit. Actually, that was one thing that made Mary uncomfortable around Ariane. She never knew how much of what was being said in English Ariane understood.

  What she had been able to ascertain, however, was that Peter had not paid attention to what Ariane was saying. Every single time Mary looked in her brother’s direction, he was staring at Ariane. Nevertheless, after dinner, he didn’t linger, and he left with Mary to walk back to their hotel. Mary made them take the longer route that George had shown her yesterday for Peter to get a chance to look at the scenery. As usual, he seemed totally oblivious to his surroundings.

  “I’m meeting George at his place later on,” Mary said as they walked along the river. She waited a bit, and when she realized Peter had probably not even heard her, she took his arm and whispered, “Earth to Peter, Earth to Peter, do you copy?”

  Peter’s brain came back to earth, and he laughed. “Yes. What?”

  “Anything the matter? You seem preoccupied.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m thinking about not teaching next term and spending this summer here, in Paris, instead. I’m trying to understand all the consequences of such a decision.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Mary asked, just to make sure she had the right answer.

  “Because of Ariane. But you knew that already, right?”

  “I suspected you had a major crush, but I didn’t think you would try to do anything more than make a pass at her. Wanna talk about it?”

  “Yes. I have questions for you. Why were you willing to try out something with George after knowing him for a couple of hours? Why won’t she do the same with me? I’m not judging either one of you. I’m interested in your thought process so that I can hope to change hers.”

  “You intellectual, you,” said Mary in a mocking tone. “I’m not sure it’s a deliberate or developed process. Well, at least for me it’s not. If I gave it some thought, it was a quick internal dialogue. Something like, ‘Wow he’s hot, and he wants me. Let’s go for it.’”

  “That’s it?” Peter looked so flabbergasted, Mary thought it was funny. Instead of making fun of him, she gave him more information.

  “Yes, that’s about it. But then, I’m in a different frame of mine than Ariane. I’m on vacation celebrating my birthday. Forty is a big one. You get a bit wiser, or so you’d like to think. You enjoy anything positive that life throws at you because you never know what’s going to hit you next. Ariane’s younger so she’s probably not in that frame of mind. She could also have some baggage… You know, there’re a lot of jerks around.” Mary paused to find a way to express what she felt. “I’m away from my real life for a week. George is like … an adventure, a local curiosity, an exotic treat I’m enjoying during my trip. Would I like it to become more? I’m certainly open to the idea. It’s a possibility, but I’ll be okay if it doesn’t turn into anything more than a good time in Paris. Because I’m out of my natural habitat, so to speak, I can totally enjoy the present without investing myself in possible futures.”

  “I see.”

  “When I’m home, at work, in my real life, I’m in a totally different frame of mind. If I really like a man I met at work or at a party, I exercise much more impulse control. I don’t jump into bed the first night no matter how much I want to. I think it out. At home, it has consequences. Even if it doesn’t last, it will impact my daily life.”

  “Thank you, that helps.”

  They walked in silence for a few minutes. Mary watched Peter process what she’d told him.

  “Do you realize Ariane is the first woman I’ve actually noticed and wanted since Kristina?” he finally asked.

  “Oh yes, I’m very much aware of that.”

  “So nothing’s happened yet. Well, I kissed her. Once. Just once, and in my mind, it’s already more than a holiday crush or a quick fling.”

  Knowing her brother was using her as a sounding board, Mary made a non-committal sound.

  “She pushed me away because I’m just here for a week. Assuming that is really the only obstacle, I asked myself how I could overcome it. You know the way I think, always analytical. I realized I could skip teaching the summer term. It would give us a couple of months. I asked Ariane, ‘What if there was more time?’ She said she would give us a chance.”

  “So you’re going to do it?”

  “I’m going to sleep on it and tell you more tomorrow.”

  They walked in silence for a while before Mary asked, “You don’t mind my abandoning you again tonight?”

  “Oh no, not at all. I’ll barely notice you’re gone. I’ll read papers and go to sleep. I want you to be happy, so you need to go enjoy the birthday present the city has in store for you. Go find out if it’s just a fling or the beginning of a great love story.”

  ❦

  Coming down from her room to the hotel lobby, Mary wondered about the future of her—she couldn’t think of the proper word—her “thing” with George. She scolded herself. Damn her brother and his analytical mind. She wasn’t going to overthink it. If it was only the best sex she’d ever had, so be it. She would savor that for as long as she could. If her heart got a bit shaken in the process, that was ok. She had a strong heart. It had already been tested a few times and would survive a new blow. She sat on the lobby couch for a minute. She had come down early.

  “A penny for your thoughts?” George said, sitting next to her. He was early as well.

  “Oh no, my thoughts are worth a lot more than that,” she answered with her best bedroom voice. Putting her overnight bag on his knees, she used it as a screen as she pressed her other hand on his crotch. She let it rest there for the five seconds he took to go from limp to rock solid. Was there was a world record for getting an erection? She stood and asked, “Shall we go?”

  With slightly dilated pupils, George stood and walked with Mary, holding her bag in front of him to hide the obvious bulge in his pants. She observed him from the corner of her eye while trying to look perfectly innocent. They walked to the taxi stand on the street corner.

  As George held the taxi door for her, he whispered thr
ough clenched teeth, “You have no idea what you just got yourself into.”

  Mary’s heart skipped a beat, but she just smiled sweetly. She was very good at keeping a straight face. She’d learned that the hard way in the delivery room. The more dangerous the situation, the calmer she had to appear. So actually, the challenge was fun! She waited for him to sit in the car with the bag on his knees. Then she put a hand on his thigh—very high up his leg. “You’re right, I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out. I would love for you to tell me about it here, but before you do, I suggest you check if the driver speaks English or not. We wouldn’t want to distract him and cause an accident, right?”

  ❦

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  George

  GEORGE GAVE HIS ADDRESS to the driver in his heavily accented French, and the man answered in English. He was a Tamil, and his English was accented but fluent. Probably better than George’s French. So much for telling Mary what he planned to do to her once they were home. Too bad. He would have loved to see how long she could remain impassive while he talked. Oh man, the woman was driving him nuts. She could put on a holier-than-thou look while playing with him. It was a definite turn-on. If she wanted to play games, he wouldn’t let her down.

  So while having a conversation with the taxi driver about the latest political developments in Sri Lanka and the ethnical conflicts that tore apart his country, George showed Mary he could play too. Sliding his right hand under her skirt, he tugged at her panties. She obliged by lifting her hips long enough for him to bring the panties down to her knees. She did that while looking straight ahead as if she was doing nothing more than enjoying the Paris scenery through the window of the taxi.