Suddenly, her worst fears surfaced. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?” When he didn’t answer her, she pressed again. “Who is she, Etienne? I deserve to know.”
Now, he reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. “You are absurd,” he said. “There is no one else, but I—I…”
Through the air, she pitched the closest throw pillow in her reach and belted him in the head. The heavy fabric thumped as it struck. “Oh, bullshit. You look like the cat who ate the fucking canary. At least have the balls to tell me.”
“Janny, there is no one else but you in my life!” he shouted as he cowered from the next pillow toss. “I love you. I treasure you. But I…I just think…”
“What do you think?” she demanded.
“I think we’re just fine.”
“Just fine? That’s all we are to each other—after five years? You think we’re just dandy, living out of suitcases?” she shouted so loudly that she was certain that the tourists on the top of the Eiffel Tower heard her. “Yeah, we’re fine. And you think about that while you go on vacation. Come back. And we can fuck again. Maybe.”
“Janny, I care about you more than that.”
“Obviously not, if you can’t commit to a little more than a few quick nights here and there. I feel like we’re starring in some kind of bad sitcom,” she lamented. “Maybe that’s all we’ve ever been to each other. A comedy. The silly American farm girl, trying to keep up with her suave French lover. It’s a mid-life crisis, isn’t it? ISN’T IT?
Etienne remained fearful that she’d throw another pillow at him. Although she was submissive, she had four brothers, and she knew how to pack a punch. “Janny, calm down. I told you—you are my midlife crisis!”
“Fuck this!” Feet stomping, she headed for the window seat, plunked down and stared out into the dark night. She really didn’t think there was someone else. Etienne was too honest, and Xavier would have heard a rumor through the Parisian societal grapevine. However, she had to dig a little deeper. “What’s the real problem here?”
His silence signified so much more than an absence of communication. In fact, he had the words on the tip of his tongue—he was just too afraid to admit to his own logic.
When at last he spoke, his voice was soft, almost childlike. This was a side of Etienne that he never revealed to January before.
“What’s the real problem?” he repeated. “I’m afraid. I’m terrified that we’ll get so serious, and that I’ll lose you just like I did with Alice. And that would kill me.”
“You don’t think five years is serious?” Turning sharply to face him, she dropped her jaw in awe of his answer. Obviously, he had no intention to even try to acquiesce to her needs. “So, you’ve chosen to just exist like this? You know, I’m not getting any younger. I can’t keep living in limbo.”
Now, Etienne stood up and crossed the room. “What? You’re saying that after all these years, you want a baby?”
In an effort to remain open and honest in this conversation, she had to reveal the truth to him—and to herself. “Well, you could have your vasectomy reversed.”
He tried to hold her, but she shrugged him away. “Janny, you’re wonderful with the girls. Why are you suddenly trying to make changes to everything we’ve had?”
“I don’t want to change it, Etienne,” she insisted. “I want to make it better. I want to wake up in the morning and feel like we’ve grown as a couple—not that we’ve been standing in stagnant water for the last year.”
“You’re not exactly around all the time either, you know.”
Excuses couldn’t even come close to mending her broken heart. “Neither are you, and that’s what I’m trying to get at here,” she said. “We could spend a little more time together in a defined place we call home. We’d both be making a sacrifice for the good of our lives together.”
“And lose the magic in our relationship?” he charged. “Just like I did with Alice? It’s no longer fantasy when we’re living on top of each other, nagging to load the dishwasher or to run to the grocery store because you forgot to pick up milk. Add a child to that mix, and we’ll find ourselves in the same place Alice, and I ended up—in divorce court, dragging two little girls into our ugly arguments. Is that what you want?”
“You don’t trust that we might be able to manage our daily lives together?”
“Janny, that’s just not practical right now with my music and—”
Before he could even finish his sentence, she did exactly what she promised herself she wouldn’t do. She began to scream like a raging maniac, and she didn’t give a rat’s fucking ass if the neighbors heard her. “Get the fuck out. Right now.”
“Oh, Janny, come on…”
“My name’s not Janny. Or chérie. It’s January Louise Gallimore, and don’t you forget it, you big French douchebag!”
“Alright, that’s it,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “You want me gone, I will go.”
“You’ve already been gone for a year. What’s the fucking difference?”
“Excuse me?” Etienne said. “Did I hear you correctly? Is my English failing me?”
“It’s been failing you for a long time,” she spat. “Now get the fuck out and send someone to pick up your shit in the morning.” She already had plans to leave everything in the courtyard—unpacked.
“You don’t mean this,” he insisted. “And you’re going to regret this.”
As the front door slammed, she began to tremble while the tears dripped down her face. Only to herself could January admit that she wasn’t ready to see him go—and that she thought she still loved that big French douchebag.
PART TWO:
Training Nigel
Chapter Nine
Overnight, her anger replaced her sadness, and the dawn of the new day brought with it a flood of frantic texts from Etienne. He was sick over their argument, he told her. However, he offered her no resolutions.
Etienne lost January, and he hated to lose.
For once, though, she enjoyed the thought of being the Dominant partner. She’d made the decision, and she had chosen to end things—at least for now. Perhaps some time away might change his mind about a few facets of their relationship. January, though, wasn’t about to lie to herself again. Her terms had to stand; otherwise, he’d never get her back.
Since she hadn’t really slept, she got up at six and made a pot of coffee with the intention of drinking every single drop. As a coping mechanism, she chose to engross herself in the small details of life, beginning with the mounds of clothes Etienne had left in her closet. She heaped every shirt and pair of jeans beneath the stairs in the lobby, and then called the locksmith to refit her door. Luckily, he arrived promptly to change out her deadbolt with two new sets of keys—one for herself, and one for Xavier.
However, when she sat down on the couch with her mug and took a sip, she never felt so alone in her life.
The aftermath of a breakup never seemed quite so painful before. Then again, she never loved anyone like she loved Etienne. Before him, she’d parted with men in anger or frustration, but this time, things were so very different.
When the doorbell rang, sending her heart into a racing rhythm, she froze. Etienne couldn’t possibly be standing on her welcome mat. He had to give her a day or two to calm down. At least he didn’t have the new key to let himself in.
With a raucous growl, she pulled her robe tighter around herself and slipped across the floor in her bare feet. Shoulders back and head held high, January was damned if she’d let him disrupt her day. Perhaps he wanted to see her, but she didn’t have to answer.
One look through the peephole, though, made her realize that she’d been mistaken.
Hooking his thumbs through the belt loops on his see-through lavender lace shorts, Xavier posed before her. “Oh, Lucy, I am home…”
Somehow, his thick French accent just heightened the hilarity of January’s life. Muted from the surprise of his visit and shock of his outfit, sh
e just smirked and shook her head.
“Is that his shit in the hallway?” Xavier nearly choked on his own laughter. “I guess you mean business.”
January clung to the familiarity Xavier brought to her life as she hugged him tightly. “Oh, I am so glad it’s you, Xav!” And then she took a step back to look at him.
“You like?” Xavier winked and giggled, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “They are very popular in Australia…”
“Oh, I’m sure they are…” Suddenly, she noticed the true tragedy of his fashion statement and closed her eyes. “Please, get the fuck away from me.”
“What?” Xavier propped his hands on his hips just for added drama. “You hate my outfit!”
“You’ve got a fucking banana hammock on under there,” she shouted with a wave of her finger in the general direction of his crotch. “You don’t wear those to the beach—let alone out in public!”
“Excusez-moi…” Xavier took a step back to fan himself with his hand as if he couldn’t take the heat. “Do you own your own house of haute-couture?”
“Even Coco Chanel had her bad days, I am sure.” January blinked her eyes again. “Get the hell in here before someone sees you—or worse yet, recognizes you!”
“For a fashion icon, you know nothing about style,” he grumbled as January pulled him through the foyer. “I made you a winner on the red carpet.”
Swiping the latest copy of Vogue Paris from the coffee table, she rushed to cover his fly with the magazine. “I do rely on you to maintain my image…”
“You rely on me for a lot of things, Janvier,” he said, his smile fading. “And that’s why I’m here this morning.”
She shook her head and shrugged. For once, she couldn’t look her own best friend in the eyes. “I’m alright, Xav.”
Folding his hands over her shoulders, he gave her a shake. “You know I think he’s a big French douchebag, too,” Xavier began, “but I know that you are sad right now. Five years is a long time.”
“Well, he’ll either come around—or he won’t. And I’ll move on. I might be sad, but I don’t have any regrets.”
“It has been a long time coming.” In fact, Xavier anticipated having this conversation much earlier that year. “But I know you have thought about it. And I know you’re confident in your decision. That is what I admire most about you, ma belle. You always have confidence.”
As she returned his affectionate squeeze to his shoulders, January finally looked into his eyes. “Know what I admire about you?” she asked softly. “You always loved me for me—not for that pinup on the red carpet, not for my status, not for this perceived notion of the person I might be. You just loved me and respected me for the woman I am, quirks and all.”
“And I always will, Janvier,” he said as his palm slammed against her ass. “Now, get moving. Start packing. We have places to go.”
“Oh, that felt good!” For a moment, she lost herself in the thrill of the sting, even if it was just at the hand of her gay best friend. A crack was a crack, and she knew she wouldn’t be getting her share any time soon. “But…wait! What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean by packing?”
“I have just canceled all my meetings for the week. You and I are going on a road trip!”
“Oh, come on, Xav.” She retrieved the coffee mug she’d abandoned to answer the door. Caffeine would fuel her morning. “What do you mean by road trip?”
“I found us a little chateau in Provence. Do not worry, I got us a room with two double beds. We’ll take the train and then pick up our rental car.”
In Xavier’s mind, everything was so simple, and he’d already planned the trip. However, January couldn’t just drop everything and leave Paris.
“Wait, wait, wait…what?” She craned her neck in confusion. “I have to leave for Los Angeles in a couple of weeks. And what the hell would I do with Lenny while we’re gone?”
“You have two full weeks. I’m only asking for one. And I can have my assistant—”
January covered his mouth before he had the chance to answer. “Leave my baby with some assistant? Are you fucking crazy? Shit, yes, you are—you’re my best friend, after all…but…I won’t leave her. She’s been without me for long enough as it is.”
“You cannot let a rabbit keep you home,” he challenged. “I think you just want to stay to see if the douche calls.”
“I can take phone calls from anywhere in the world, thanks to modern technology.” Seconds passed while she pondered her own truth. “I just…I don’t…”
“You don’t want to miss him as he knocks on the door, begging for forgiveness while you sit on the couch and wallow,” Xavier cut her off.
As his words settled into her mind, she considered the scenario of a morose Etienne, crawling back to her apartment…only to find his clothes in the hallway and the locks changed.
Raising a brow, she looked at Xavier with a mischievous glimmer in her big blue-gray eyes. “You booked the room already?”
“Online. About two seconds after you texted me to tell me that the brooding boy was gone from your life.” His words came in rapid succession like a child who just tore through his Christmas presents and couldn’t wait to discuss them. He thumbed through his phone and found the confirmation just to prove it to her. “I’ve been planning this for a while now.”
She held her open hand in the air, waiting for the placement of his phone. “Let me see the reservation,” she demanded. “And let me inspect these…accommodations.”
Xavier bounced around, dancing up a storm. When he stopped suddenly, he handed over his phone. “I mean…be my guest…”
Hours seemed to pass as January studied every single word and clicked on the website to examine the photos.
“Wait…what are you doing?” Xavier panicked. “Janvier, who are you calling…?”
However, before he had the chance to grab the phone, her call had been answered.
“Ah, oui, uh…bon matin,” she improvised. “Parlez-vous anglais, Monsieur?”
“Good morning, and yes, I speak English.” The crisp accent that greeted her on the other line didn’t surprise her. Wealthy Brits were known for buying up property in Provence to live out their retirement years. January just hadn’t expected someone so young to answer the phone. “How can I help you?”
“Well…we have a reservation for tonight—for the week—and I wanted to know if you allow pets.”
“Yes, we do. We charge a hundred-euro pet fee per night.”
“She’s worth every penny,” January told him. “Wait til you see her.”
“Uh, small pets, under twenty-five pounds.”
“Oh, she’s only twelve pounds.”
“Dogs must remain on a leash at all times outside your room and on the property, and cats must have a litter—”
“What about a bunny rabbit?” she rushed to ask.
“A bunny rabbit?” he repeated. January almost thought she heard a giggle in his voice. “Well, I suppose that’s fine, so long as you’ve got a proper cage for him during maid service…”
“She,” January corrected him. “Lenny is a she. See, I thought she was a boy, and then took her to the vet…and oops! I made a mistake. But I’ll make sure she has her cage.”
“Well, we look forward to seeing you later today, Miss…?”
“Mrs. Ranard,” she lied to him. Xavier’s last name was a common one, and she didn’t want to draw any advance attention by using her own name. Meanwhile, Xavier fell back on the couch in laughter, kicking his legs in the air and giving her yet another show with his lavender lace shorts.
“We look forward to hosting you, Mrs. Ranard. And safe travels.”
“Thank you, Mister…?”
“Nigel…um, Nigel Hereford-Smyth. At your service, Mrs. Ranard.”
“Nah, that’s not how I play but thank you. See you tonight.”
As he rolled around from one cushion to another, Xavier tried to catch his breath. “What…the fuck…wa
s that?”
“Lenny can go!” she clapped with excitement. “Now, let me pack…while you go home and pack and change clothes.”
“I am not changing my clothes,” he insisted and followed her into the bedroom. “But I do have to pack. I honestly thought you might take more convincing.”
“Actually, I think it’s the best idea I’ve heard all year,” she said as she tossed her riding jodhpurs into her suitcase. She’d worn then in her last movie, and she loved them so much that she took them home with her when they finished shooting. Occasionally, she stole her costumes. After all, she never knew when she might find herself back on the farm and itching to ride again. “I don’t sit and brood about things like…like my former…douchebag does.”
“What the fuck are you doing now? Why are you packing those?”
“Horseback riding,” she explained. “The online listing said they have horses.”
“Mon Dieu! You don’t ride horses. You just look at them. And pet them. At arm’s length…”
“Not where I come from, city boy.”
Xavier winced at the thought. In truth, he was afraid of horses. They were big, mean creatures that haunted him in his dreams as a child. And they snarled.
“Guess you’ve never engaged in a little horseplay?” January winked.
“With stuff like this?” He had opened her toy drawer and found one of her leather harnesses for scening. However, Xavier was more concerned with the vibrators that he began to toss at random into her traveling toy trunk. “Did the douchebag make you his little pony?”
With a smile and a sigh, January glanced at the framed photo of Etienne that sat on her nightstand. She promptly grabbed it and tossed it into the open drawer. “Oh, I can find someone else to teach me all about dressage.” Then she took a step back and crossed her arms. “Now what the fuck are you doing?”
“Packing your necessities. You will thank me, Janvier.”
“Put that shit back,” she demanded.
“What are you going to do when it’s just you, alone in the room, and no one is there to satisfy your case of the hornies? It’s not like Mr. Big can help you…” Mr. Big was Xavier’s self-chosen name for his penis and a nod to his favorite television show.
SMITTEN (Paris Après Minuit) Page 12
