by Dean, Olivia
He’s right, I almost forgot about the chauffeur. But I’m sure he’s more amused by the situation than concerned about his discrete employee. I’ve had enough of being rejected, I won’t try anything else tonight, I’m too humiliated.
It’s strange to come home together like this. We live under the same roof and yet despite the recent events, we’re still strangers. Even if we know each other better, he continues to speak to me in formal French…maybe it’s a game?
The elevator. Now just seeing it takes my breath away. I still feel so full of emotion. But I won’t do anything. I look at him intensely in the eyes until we get to our floor. He remains immobile, unreadable.
“Would you like to see my collection of Japanese prints?” he says, cheerfully.
That’s it! I’ve had enough, I really don’t want to talk about art. What is he trying to prove? That I want to sleep with him? Do I have to ask him, is that it? He can dream on.
“No, I’m tired. Thanks, I had a really nice time.”
“But Emma…I thought you wanted it too.”
My facial expression must have been so surprised that he felt he needed to explain.
“Come look at my collection of Japanese prints, it’s an old-fashioned expression for saying come sleep with me, it’s like ‘have a nightcap’. Sorry, I thought it would make you laugh…So Emma, what do you say, do you want to sleep with me? Maybe you’re too tired?”
Said like that, it’s much clearer to me. And rather flippant. This time, no excuses, if I walk in the door, it’s for sex. I know what’s waiting for me. But actually, I’m not sure what’s waiting for me, and that’s precisely what scares me.
I’m still thinking, but he’s already inside.
“Emma, are you coming?”
I’m in limbo. I don’t know if I should go in or what I’m going to find if I do. Is he lying nude in the middle of the living room or, worse, stretched out on his bed? What does he want from me? Does he want me to take things into my own hands? But what do you do in real life? Everything would have been much simpler if he had slowly kissed me in front of his door, like you see in movies. It seems like in that kind of situation, everything would naturally fall into place in the heat of the moment. But instead of passion, I have to deal with this confusing invitation.
“Emma!”
I enter, come what may. Phew, he’s not naked. He took off his coat and jacket. His feet are bare, he hands me a glass with a smile.
“I didn’t think you’d turn me down for a nightcap. Sorry if I rushed you. Have a seat, please.”
I sit down on the famous chaise lounge. Right on the edge, ready to escape if…if what? I don’t really know. My heart beats wildly. I take a sip of wine. His gentle warmth reassures me a little. I’m not sure what to say. I look at him, fascinated by his body, it’s like a lion’s body. He comes closer to me and gets on his knees. He lifts my dress up to mid-thigh and looks at my legs. His mouth continues depositing kisses along the border of my stockings. I quiver. In one fell swoop, he opens my legs. I suddenly remember that I’m not wearing underwear, and I want to leave.
“Sorry, I can’t, it’s a bad idea…”
“Emma, settle down, please.”
I settle down. With my knees tightly together. It’s ridiculous, I knew what to expect when I came here.
“Relax,” he murmurs while lowering the light. This near-darkness comforts me. I grip tightly onto my glass while he goes back to his diabolic kisses. His tongue comes and goes along my closed thighs while his hands slide underneath my dress looking for my breasts. I feel an incredible warmth rise inside of me. He now holds each of my breasts in his hands. He spreads his fingers and closes them to pinch their nipples. I can’t resist closing my eyes and leaning my head backwards, to better savor this pleasure.
I whimper again, despite myself. My thighs, which I thought were firmly closed, have come undone and the mouth which was keeping a respectful distance has infiltrated my intimacy. The light kisses have been replaced by more daring caresses, with precise tongue strokes so intense I have to moan. I don’t know what to do with my glass. In a moment of absent-mindedness I place it on his neck. I’m terrified. I can’t move anymore. A hand rises from nowhere and suddenly takes the glass and places it on the table. It then takes my hand and places it on his head. I’ve never experienced anything so arousing. Feeling his head move under my hand doubles my sensations. I’m no longer in control, it’s almost despite myself that I spread my legs and set a steadier rhythm with my hand. Suddenly I shudder as a new shiver runs through me. A finger has entered me, then two fingers. I invite them to continue their exploration with an eloquent sigh. I don’t know where I am anymore.
He stops with his caresses and kisses me with an open mouth. His tongue takes mine, almost violently. He’s on his knees. I unbutton his shirt feverishly. My gestures are wild and chaotic, I want to tear off his clothes. He’s soon naked. He looks at me in the eyes with an unbearable intensity. I move my hand towards his erect sex, deciding to give him the pleasure he’s given me, but he sits down next to me on the chaise lounge and takes me by the hips so that I sit on him. It feels like I’ve been waiting for this for hours. I’m not afraid anymore. It’s even more intense than it was in the elevator. I really feel as if I’m possessed, even though I’m the one guiding the rhythm. He looks me in the eyes as if he can taste my pleasure as much as his own. Our kisses are wilder, the rhythm accelerates. He gets up, holding onto me by my hips, pushes me against the wall and takes over. His hips come and go against me forcefully, almost violently. I grip onto him, my nails dig into his skin. There’s nothing else but us and this rhythm, which drives me crazy…
13. Daybreak
A breath on my neck. As light as a breeze. And a kiss behind my ear, like a feather. I don’t want to open my eyes, I don’t want to wake up. I feel too good, the library can wait a little longer…
“Emma, I can tell that you’re faking! Don’t you have to go to school today?”
I’m not dreaming! I open my eyes. Charles Delmonte is there, lying next to me. His head on his hand, he looks at me with laughing eyes. I know we are naked under these thick sheets, and everything comes back to me. The dress, the restaurant, his little game…and one unforgettable night, here, together. I return his smile. I don’t want to move, I don’t want to say anything. I don’t want to do anything that could disturb this feeling of completeness. But he’s already standing. Naked. In front of me. I envy his naturalness. The way he has of being at ease in any situation.
“Can I make you a coffee, sleeping beauty?”
“Sure.”
“I was dying to hear the sound of your voice!” he jokes, before disappearing.
I languorously stretch before taking a careful look around the room – I barely had time to do that last night. Anyway, it’s not really a ‘room’, it’s more of an attic. There’s space for a bed and not much else. But you can see that this is intentional, and by no means due to a lack of space. It’s as if he had dug a den into his immense apartment. A hideout hidden from everything. The walls are draped in a very sensual, yet very comforting red fabric. The ceiling is low. The dark grey sheets are heavy and warm, they almost feel like flannel. And there are piles of art books everywhere on the floor. All of this gives me the impression of being in the lair of a rich Cossack, who must have kidnapped me. It doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea. I notice, amused, that I’m still wearing the diamond necklace.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Cream, please.”
Quick, I need to find something before he comes back with the coffee. He may be incredibly comfortable in any situation, but I personally am not yet ready to drink coffee wearing nothing but a priceless necklace. His shirt! I know it’s a cliché, but I always thought this was incredibly sexy. It still has his woodsy smell and the scent of our lovemaking. I blush. There he is. He seems amused by my little ploy. I’m embarrassed, but I tell him how I
think his room has a Russian feel to it.
“Hey, it’s true, I never thought of it that way!”
And off he goes again! I’ll never get used to it. What’s he going to come back with this time?
He’s wearing some sort of bathrobe, or rather a coat. In any case, it’s red and very richly decorated with golden arabesques. It looks Mongolian. In his hand, a saber. Enormous. He unsheathes it all of a sudden while insulting me in some strange language. Russian? I’m almost afraid. No, actually, I really am afraid. I don’t understand anything. I’m wearing a man’s shirt and my lover is crazy. He moves closer and grazes me with the tip of his saber. I think that he’s giving me orders. My lack of response does not seem to satisfy him. He lifts his saber to cut me down with it. Oh my god! He hit me! I open my eyes. I’m not hurt. But my shirt is open. I’m naked again. Still wearing the necklace, though. But it seems that he’s softened. He puts down the weapon and comes to take my face in his hands. He murmurs something in this language, which I don’t understand.
And suddenly, he takes me by the hair and pins me down on the bed. He covers my eyes with what seems to be a silk scarf. I beg him to stop. Seriously.
“Relax, Emma, it’s a game. I’m sure you’re going to like it.” And he resumes his incomprehensible litany. I’m on my stomach, nude. At his mercy. I wait. Nothing happens. Apprehension gives way to excitement. Suddenly, I feel the blade of the sword on the inside of my ankle. I’m afraid. A little. But I’ve never been this excited. My Cossack caresses me with a sword that is probably over two centuries old. He gently moves up the inside of my leg. I shiver. He still holds onto my hair firmly, so that I can’t move. The suffragette inside of me is shocked that I could find any sort of pleasure in this. Yet…the cold blade makes me forget that this is a potentially dangerous weapon. My breath quickens.
“You’re going to drive me crazy…”
Oh my god! It’s me who’s saying this. He stops, as if frozen my something. I broke the spell. What did I do? Was it because I said something? Because I spoke to him in informal French? I keep quiet, but I get the feeling that it’s over.
In fact, he gets up and says in a distant tone:
“I have an appointment, I forgot. Sorry, Emma, I have to go.”
I feel that he’s lingering at the side of the bed, looking at me. I take off the blindfold. A glacial cold fills the room. To the point that I curl up under the sheets. He brusquely turns towards the bathroom.
I take advantage of the opportunity to jump out of bed and look for my clothes. I quickly get dressed. Okay. And now? Do I have to wait for him to get out of the bathroom? Knock and leave? Leave a note? I’m standing in front of this door, wondering about what I’m supposed to do while he’s the one who’s kicking me out. Luckily he leaves the bathroom quickly, wrapped in a towel. He passes in front of me as if I didn’t exist and starts rummaging through a chest of drawers.
“Uh, Charles? Um, I’m going…”
“Okay. Have a good day.”
14. On the couch
I leave with as much dignity as I can muster. I don’t want to look like I’ve never dealt with a romance before. Lovers? I’ve had tons. We have passionate romances with no tomorrows, and then everyone runs off to work the next morning. I’d love to be that kind of woman. Except I’m not. And now I’ve been crying in the shower now for twenty minutes, I don’t even know why. I’m upset, that’s for sure. To be kicked out so coldly, naked and blindfolded…who wouldn’t be upset?
There’s also the fact that I’ve almost forgotten all of my principles over this insensible man. You can’t call yourself a feminist and at the same time accept priceless gifts while letting yourself be pulled around by the hair like a slave, and that’s what I’ve done. I’m ashamed. I feel like an idiot. And humiliated. And I think I still like him, despite it all. His dimples, his lion’s body, his way of laughing at everything, his passion for things from other eras, his games, his hands, his mouth…Everything about him fascinates me. Even his dark side. That cloud, which suddenly darkens his eyes, it’s not a game. He’s not sadistic, I’m sure of that, he didn’t coldly kick me out this morning just to make fun of me. There’s something going on, I can sense it. But what is it?
“Maybe he’s afraid of commitment?” Manon guesses at the cafeteria.
“I didn’t ask him to move in with me…I didn’t suggest anything to him, he’s the one that started this little game with the sword…”
“Sexy.”
“You’re telling me.”
“Still, I’m confounded! You went from being a frustrated nun to a courtesan in the wink of an eye. I’m almost jealous.”
“Sure, except you’re forgetting how it ends. The minute the courtesan returns to her garret apartment to cry like a baby.”
“Sure. Which brings us to our problem.”
Hey, it’s become ‘our’ problem now…I don’t say anything, since it makes me happy that she’s interested in my personal life. I’d go crazy if I was left alone with all of these doubts. I really need a friend right now.
“Maybe he’s married?”
“My cousin would have told me. Or Elisabeth. Or I would have seen his wife.”
“Unless he’s hiding her in the attic? Or maybe she’s really, really ugly…or really, really old!”
“That’s it…”
“Or widowed? Imagine: since the tragic death of his beloved wife, the inconsolable Charles Delmonte can no longer get emotionally attached to a woman, afraid of suffering once again…
“That’s great, but it doesn’t seem likely. Besides, it’s much too romantic.”
“Romantic? You, the slave of the Cossack, think it’s too romantic?”
I laugh. Analyzing this over a plate of meat in brown sauce does me a lot more good than I would have thought it would.
“If we’re going to be non-romantic, then, we could just say that he’s boring and doesn’t know what he wants. You know, it’s a frequent neurosis among people who have everything.”
I sulk. That would really turn me off. But that’s what I had thought of him before sleeping with him. Maybe I was wrong about him. No!
“I take back what I said! The great Charles Delmonte could never be so boring. All evidence points to a secret wound! Very serious and very secret. Just like the person, naturally.”
“Now that sounds more like it!”
“Or maybe, he’s a werewolf? Or a vampire?” Mathieu adds.
When did he get here? I have no idea. In any case, he also seems to be involved in ‘our’ problem. Alright. At least he’s making me laugh.
“Or the mafia is watching him and swore to kill anyone who he gets close to? Or the Chinese triad?”
“Or he’s a dangerous psychopath being hunted by police all over the world?”
That would be the craziest explanation! They go at it full force…
“Or what if…he’s your father!”
“Shit! My father!”
With all of this going on, I actually forgot about my father. It’s today. The letter arrived yesterday, I barely read it, my mind was elsewhere. He missed me so much that he decided to come surprise me with a visit. I have two more hours to find him a hotel room, organize my things and get into the right mood. I leave my friends without delay…
I take an endless shower, as if it could help erase the latest escapades. I carefully arrange the gifts from Charles underneath the bed. I keep the necklace for now. We’ll see how things go, as to whether this really is a relationship, once my father leaves. For this short week, I go back to being Emma Maugham, the model student who I never should have stopped being. Hey, I still have some time to get back into my books while waiting for my father.
15. The return of the model student
He’s here. I can’t believe it. My father in Paris. Seeing him here, in the doorway of my garret apartment, wearing tweed as he always does, holding
his small suitcase, is really incredible. I jump into his arms. After five long minutes, he holds me at arm’s length and looks at me as if I’m some sort of rare fossil.
“Hey, that’s strange.” I feel my checks blush. Is it obvious?
“What is it?”
“Nothing, really. You look the same as you always have. I send you to France and I find my little girl exactly as she was. Unless it’s…”
“What?”
“I love you so much that I’d always see you the same way…”
I laugh, relieved. What would he think if I told him that I’m in a relationship (or am I?) with my multimillionaire and temperamental landlord?
I couldn’t have imagined a more embarrassing situation, not in a million years. We’re waiting for the elevator when Charles and Elisabeth arrive. I have trouble breathing. Luckily, Elisabeth takes charge.
“Emma! What a lovely surprise! How are you?”
Charles looks at us, suspicious. I want to stick my tongue out at him. Yeah, I know your friend! We’re pals, we even had coffee at your house while you were gone!
“Hi, Elisabeth! Elisabeth, Charles, I’d like you to meet my father, Robert Maugham.”
Charles, still glum, makes an effort to smile and goes to shake my father’s hand, apparently charmed by this encounter. Elisabeth keeps talking, to my great relief.
“Mr. Maugham, will you still be here Saturday evening?”
“Unfortunately no, my plane leaves Thursday night.”
“That’s too bad, you could have come with Emma to the opening of the Petrovska Sisters exhibit. Perhaps another time. In any case, Emma, I’ll see you there.”
“Of course, see you then!”
I wait until we’re out of sight to savor my joy. If he wanted me out of his life, it’s too late. I’m going to the gallery opening and my dad is a witness to that. The Petrovska twins really are business contacts, despite their appearance. I wonder what kind of art they make…While wrapped up in my thoughts, I almost forget about my father. He seems happy too. He walks around without a care in the world, looking around him, as curious as a child.
