Me Tarzan, You Jane

by Camelia Miron Skiba

  Lucas faces me and shakes his head. “You’re an idiot, you know?”

  “I’m the idiot?”

  “Yeah, for taking off like that,” he points at me. “You’ll catch pneumonia.”

  “That should be the least of your worries.” I fight the urge to hit him again. “How could you leave without a note or even bothering to wake me up?”

  He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I really am . . . I didn’t think about it. I figured you were tired and Ella was bored after the nanny left.” The green in his eyes contrasts with the redness in his lips, as if he drank a cup of blood.

  “The nanny was here?”

  “She came at seven-thirty and when I returned around noon I let her go.”

  “Noon? How long have I slept?” There’s no clock around and I’ve no sense of time.

  Lucas looks at his platinum Tissot then pushes a hand through his damp, wavy hair. “It’s two forty-seven.”

  “What?” Because I don’t believe him, I lift his wrist and see it for myself. He’s right.

  “Oh my God, I slept for sixteen hours?”

  “Different time zone.” He removes his gray sweater, straightening the V-neck white shirt he wears underneath it. I flinch as he pulls his sweater off. “Don’t worry,” he chuckles. “I’m not taking a shower with you. It’s getting hot in here.”

  Suddenly I’m hot, too. A glance in the mirror mortifies me. My hair is a total mess, skin glistening with sweat. Evan’s frayed undershirt and boxers cling to my body, my boots’ zippers undone. My nipples show through the fabric and instinctively I cross my arms over my chest.

  Lucas snorts. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen plenty.” He walks away and without looking back says, “Hurry up. Ella said she’s hungry.”

  Part of me wants to never come out of the shower. Just stay under the jets and prune myself through the drain. But I have to, for Ella. Somehow I need to pull myself together and go make amends with my daughter. And maybe with Lucas. Maybe, although I don’t know what I’d say to him after what happened. He probably thinks I’m a basket case, too much of a slob to wear normal pajamas, and too lazy to care for my own daughter.

  Dressed in jeans and a lavender pullover I spend a few minutes applying a bit of makeup. The lip gloss alone makes me feel better with its green apple smell. Haven’t dried my hair, only tousled it and pushed it behind my ears.

  I enter the kitchen to find Ella at the table eating cereal with milk. I should’ve known she’d con Lucas into giving her cereal in the middle of the afternoon. If she could, she’d live on ice cream and cereal. Three cereal boxes line up on the table in front of her and she stares at the boxes, holding a spoon as if it’s a shovel.

  “I gotta take this,” Lucas says as he passes by, answering the phone at the same time. “Hey, beautiful. Yes, I’m ready . . .” He disappears down the hallway.

  Ella sees me. In the chair next to her is a doll almost as big as she is. “Look what I got, Mommy. Did you know that Santa left presents for me under that tree, too? Lucas said I’m allowed to open one a day or if I’m really good, maybe two.” First she lifts one finger, then two.

  “It’s mister Lucas, not Lucas.”

  “He doesn’t like mister. He said it makes him feel old. I call him only Lucas now.” She lifts the bowl and drinks the rest of the milk, which is not white anymore, but rather a muddy color. A trail of it stains not only her yellow daisies shirt, but also her jeans. “Oopsie.” She giggles lifting her shirt.

  Not sure how many helpings she’s had, but her belly looks like she swallowed a watermelon. We both laugh.

  Lucas returns. He’s ready to leave, dressed in a black leather jacket and dark jeans, a white scarf around his neck.

  “Whoa, what happened?” He points at Ella who still holds her shirt half up. “Did you get the piggy award or something?”

  She laughs even harder, throwing her head backward and lifting her shirt even higher. I pick her up and cover her belly. “Someone needs a shower.”

  He taps Ella’s nose two times, then looks at me. “I won’t be back for dinner. There’s food in the fridge. Viv needs you tomorrow at noon. Bye, Ella Rae. Be good.”

  “Bye, Lucas,” she quips.

  A cold breeze envelopes me after Lucas closes the door. Soon I hear a garage door opening and the engine roaring. Sadness overtakes me, but I’ve no idea why. I’m cold and yet the wood burns thick in the fireplace. With Ella in my arms I walk to the door and lock it.

  “Mommy?”

  Ella’s voice pulls me back.

  “Can I get a bubble bath?” Blue eyes blink curly, dark blond lashes. Dried chocolate circles her tiny mouth.

  “Not only a bubble bath. Piggy Ella needs a scrubbing.”

  She laughs in my arms as I walk to the bathroom. A hefty amount of soap and the tub is covered with thick bubbles. Ella jumps up and down and squirms in delight, clapping her hands.

  “Can I hab my dolls?”

  “Sure. Don’t get in until I’m back.”

  Three dolls, a girl and a mommy are too much even for an extra large tub. Water to the rim, bubbles fly in the air and the place looks as if the Great Flood just rushed by. I actually fall in, sitting on the tub’s edge and leaning over to fish Snow White from under the water.

  We have a great time until the water starts cooling off. I wrap Ella in a towel. She puts up a fight but not really; I guess tiredness catches up with her. She’s so tired she keeps her eyes closed while she brushes her teeth.

  “You wanna sleep with me tonight?”

  “Mm hmm. And my dolls, too.”

  I carry her to my bed and bring the dolls as well. She snuggles in my arms, both hands crossed under her cheek as I pull the covers over her. Tiny blond curls frame her flushed face.

  “’Night, ’night, Mommy.”

  “’Night, ’night, my angel. I love you. Sorry for today. I was really scared I lost you.”

  “It’s okay, Mommy, Lucas took care of me. I like the sled.”

  Closing her eyes, she smiles.

  And I cry.

  I almost lost my mind today thinking she was gone. I wouldn’t want to live on without her, can’t imagine the world without my little girl. She’s all I have left from Evan, the only palpable proof our love existed. Memories fade and no matter how much I try to hold onto them they slither away like water through my fingers.

  While Ella sleeps I check emails. I write Mom about our first day in Paris, omitting any word about Lucas. It’s about 10 P.M. when I’m done unpacking and Ella wakes up.

  “I’m hungry.” She rubs her eyes and I carry her to the kitchen. It’s still a mess but I’ll clean it after feeding her.

  “How about an omelet?”

  She yawns and shakes her head, leaning it on her folded arm on the table. “Cereal.”

  I could try to convince her to eat something else but the longer it takes to feed her, the crankier she’ll become. In the end I give in because it’s late and easier. I pour milk and cereal in a bowl. “Tomorrow you have to eat something else, okay?”

  She nods and eats, yawning in between slurps. When she’s ready she only lifts her arms toward me to pick her up. Back in the bedroom she cradles her dolls closer and closes her eyes. “Lub you, Mommy.”

  I can’t resist and snuggle next to her. I should get up and clean the mess we made, but I’m tired. Maybe I’ll snooze for a few minutes. My stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours. Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do: a quick snooze, then eat and clean.

  It’s the first time ever my power nap turns into hours of blissful sleep, Ella warm next to me. I’m starving but that’s not why I wake up, but rather a scratch-knock at the window. For a second I’m convinced it’s only a dream. Another knock and Lucas’s voice wakes me completely. Lifting the drapes I see him outside my window.

  “The door. Open the door.” His voice sounds muffled.

  By the time I unlock the door I’m wide-awa
ke, my heart drumming in my ears. A sharp pain shoots down my neck and into my right shoulder.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you don’t have a key.”

  Lucas stomps the snow off his shoes on the outdoor rug, walks by me and closes the door. Two wrinkles line between his black eyebrows and, by the red ears and nose I assume he’s been outside for quite a while.

  “We are on a closed-in estate with security cameras at the gates. Who did you think would come, Peter Pan?”

  I think of thousand reasons why normal people keep their doors locked, but it’d only aggravate him. I settle for, “No, just afraid Ella might wander away. She does that at times.”

  I follow him into the living room where the fire is dead, except for glowing cinders that he pokes at. With a few logs and crumpled newspapers he revives the fire. The antique clock on the mantel shows 1:20 A.M.

  I hide a yawn, but can’t hide my stomach’s rumble. Loud and lengthy.

  Lucas glances at me with tired eyes. “Hungry?”

  I nod and, rubbing my neck, I walk to the kitchen. The table is still a mess with the cereal, the dirty bowls, and dried milk Ella spilled in the chair. I feel guilty for messing up the place, a state of the art kitchen with espresso brown wood cabinetry, white Carrara marble countertops, and stainless steel appliances. I clean before I allow myself to sit down and eat.

  My mouth waters as I prepare myself a sandwich with Swiss cheese, pickles and a dash of pepper on a sourdough baguette. Lucas returns from the pantry with a bottle of red wine and grimaces. He’s dressed in a white, skintight long sleeve shirt and jeans.

  “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  I almost spit my food, but forcing myself not to, I cough.

  He pats my back. “Have you tried smaller bites?”

  I’m finally able to talk. “What kind of question is that?”

  He uncorks the wine. “About being pregnant or smaller bites?”

  “Very funny.” I take another bite of my sandwich, rubbing my neck with my other hand.

  He brings me a glass of wine. “You did it again.”

  “What?”

  “Rolled your eyes.”

  “Did not.” Not even my headshake is convincing.

  “Did too.”

  “Thanks for the wine, but I only drink white.”

  “Pretentious, too.” Lucas brings two bottles, a Chardonnay and a champagne. The label on it reads Perrier-Jouet Belle Epoque 1996. “Shall we?”

  “Are you crazy? Put that back! Madame V will kill both of us for drinking it. I’m okay with the Chardonnay.”

  Lucas’s silvery laugh fills the air. “There are at least twenty more champagne bottles in there,” he motions toward the pantry. “But you’re right. She’ll kill you for eating that and drinking this magic potion.” Without any warning he takes my plate and dumps it in the trashcan. “You’re in France, Jane, not in a barn. Watch this.”

  For the next minutes Lucas takes over the kitchen like a pro. On one platter he garnishes cheese with white grapes, another one with prosciutto, rillettes and foie gras. And finally, a third platter with sliced baguette, croissants, and a cube of butter.

  “Voilà.”

  “Wow.” My answer sounds dumb but it’s the best my mouth is able to form.

  Lucas brings the food to the table then sits to my right pulling closer a stainless steel ice bucket with the champagne. A strand of black, wavy hair falls over his forehead and I almost reach to push it away. A strange impulse.

  I try the cheese. My favorite is the brie-type cheese the color of freshly churned butter and a soft mushroomy flavor with hints of chives and almonds.

  “Try this.” He places prosciutto on a slice of baguette and feeds it to me.

  I’m aware of his fingers around the baguette, and when I bite into it, I touch his thumb with my lips. The slice of prosciutto is too long and when he removes his hand I’m left with half of it in my mouth, half hanging out.

  “Now I know where Ella gets it from. Piggy is as piggy does. Oink, oink.”

  I choke from laughing. When I tilt my head backward, the pain in my neck increases even more as if something electrocutes me.

  “Are you hurting?”

  I rub my neck with both hands. “Fell asleep in the wrong position.”

  Lucas reaches for the champagne. Although I know what’s coming, the cork flies across the room and I jump out of my skin. He fills two flutes, handing me one. “Cheers.”

  I lift mine. “Cheers.”

  Everything I’ve sampled so far teases my taste buds. Aromas incite, smells lure, and textures arrest. But nothing compares with the champagne’s taste. There’s definitely chardonnay with a stream of bubbles left on the glass, a nutty, coffee-cashew aroma, not too floral, more like caramel notes, crisp and yet soft on the palate. If there were such a thing as an orgasm caused by taste, I just had mine.

  Lucas eyes me, leaning back in his chair. I pretend not to observe his inquisitive green stare shadowed by thick black lashes, but I run quickly out of crumbs to pick off my plate.

  “What?” I finally hold his stare.

  “You make interesting noises when you eat.”

  “I do not.”

  A sheepish smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “Yes, you do. Like being pleasured or something.” He gets up, grabs his flute and the ice bucket. “Do you have a swimsuit?”

  “A swimsuit? What do I need a swimsuit for? It’s freezing outside.”

  “Who says we’re going outside?”

  I’m rooted in my chair, not understanding what he wants from me.

  Lucas switches the ice bucket under his armpit, the flute in the same hand and takes hold of my wrist. “Come on, we don’t have the whole night.”

  I follow him, assuring myself I won’t swim with him, if that’s what he has in mind. It takes more than a platter of delicatessen and expensive champagne to get me to do that. I’m getting more annoyed by the second that he thinks I’m that type of a woman, and yet I follow him, curious to see where he takes me more than anything else.

  About midway down the hall he enters a room. It’s not a bedroom but rather a mini library. At the back of it there’s another door that opens up onto a large glassed-in patio. The full moon outside shines light into it, revealing lots of exotic plants. In the middle of the patio a round, six-person Jacuzzi bubbles and steams up the place.

  Lucas opens a tall cabinet to the left of the Jacuzzi and steps aside. “There’re swimsuits in here. Brand-new and all sizes. Bathroom’s to the right.”

  Ten, fifteen years from now I know I’d look back at this memory and think of what could’ve happened. Lucas Oliver, the famous model, and me under the moonlight. A year from now I’ll be at the writers’ conference in Phoenix facing more drooling women, who would kill for this opportunity.

  And yet I can’t take the chance. I can’t pretend I’m not attracted to him and risk giving into temptation. Because that’s exactly what Lucas is, a forbidden temptation.

  “You’ve confused me for one of those bimbos you’re used to. Don’t know what gave you the idea—”

  “Hold on.” He waves a hand cutting me off. “Do you think I’m hitting on you?”

  His blunt question takes me by surprise. “It’s obvious, don’t you think?”

  “You have a really bad impression of me.” The rasp in his voice sends chills down my spine. I can’t see his eyes very clearly, but I feel their scorching intensity. “Not everyone has a hidden agenda, Jane.”

  Chapter 11

  After thirty minute of jets pounding at my body from all angles, two painkillers and a dreamless night, my neck feels much better. I’m up and ready before Zoé, the nanny, shows up. She’s petite with round brown eyes and a mass of well-conditioned straight black hair tied up in a messy bun.

  “I’m in my last year in college,” she tells me while she unwraps a green and white shawl from around her neck. “Aunt Vivienne introduced me to babysitting for celebrities a few years ago.
It pays well,” she ends with a smile.

  I go for a run behind the house into the fir woods, its crisp smell invigorating. I run for thirty minutes one way and still haven’t found the property’s walls. Afraid I’ll get lost I make my way back, following my own tracks left in the snow. At the door there’s a box with still warm croissants and bread rolls.

  Ella talks to Zoé as if she’s known her forever. The more I watch the two of them together, the more I talk myself into accepting that I’ll be gone for a few hours, leaving my daughter behind. I haven’t heard back from Bernard, but I expect someone to pick me up. Don’t know if the makeup session is at Madame V’s house or somewhere in town, but I’m eager to get out and explore. Ella too, asking Zoé to go outside.

  Heavy footsteps behind me warn Lucas is awake. My heart pounds when I glance at him. Barefooted, he strolls in wearing only dark jeans low on his toned hips, zipped but not buttoned, partially revealing black, David Beckham underwear. Water glistens in his messy hair, still damp from the shower. A red sweater lands on the countertop in front of the fridge, which he leaves open while he finishes one bottle of water. He goes for a second bottle, his bare, muscle-ripped chest camera perfect.

  “Enjoying what you see?” Lucas leans against the fridge, muscles shifting on his abdomen and arms. He’s not smiling, but rather defiant looking.

  “I hate to bring it to your attention, but there’s a girl in this house, and I’d appreciate if you wore clothes at all times. Thank you.” As to confirm my words Ella’s laughter penetrates through the window.

  “And I hate to bring it to your attention, but last night I wasn’t hitting on you. You’re not my type.” His freshly shaved jaw twitches, and it’s the last I see before he turns his back on me, pulling things out of the fridge. From jam to cheese and sausages, cold cuts and fruits, the countertop turns into a display of colors and aromas. Next he spreads butter on a croissant and finishes it in two, quick bites. He hasn’t touched anything he took out of the fridge, gorging himself on croissants and butter, all the while cocking an eyebrow.

  I’m tempted to say “sour grapes” but it’s probably not a good idea. He’s pissed off and I like to believe my refusal to fall in his arms is the reason why. I go for, “Thanks for clarifying that for me. I was worried you were in for a heartbreak.”