Cinq A’ Sept

by Mj Fields

  “Bass?”

  He stiffens. “Not now.”

  I glance at the walls and see larger pictures of a woman who looks too much like him not to be his mother. There are pictures of her and Jean smiling, of her holding a baby, him. Pictures of the three of them together that seems to end when he’s just old enough to walk. The pictures surrounding him are photos of him and his mother; Jean isn’t in them.

  There is a bed at the far end of the room, one that looks like a hospital bed camouflaged in beautiful bedding and covered in a sheer white canopy.

  Ignoring his warning, I cross the sea of disarray to kneel in front of him. “Bass.”

  “Fuck. Please, just go,” he pleads.

  “No,” I whisper then hug him.

  “Christ,” he breathes out. “What a fucking mess.”

  I lean back and hold his face in my hands, using my thumb to lift his chin so I can see his eyes, a move I learned from him, one that instantly makes me realize he really cared about what I was thinking.

  After a few moments of silence, he sighs and pushes his face into my hand. Then he takes the other and kisses it while closing his eyes.

  “When you want to talk, I’m here to listen.” Holding his hand, I sit back and cross my legs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Are you staging a sit-in?”

  The small amount of humor in his words isn’t lost. “If I must.”

  He looks down and his demeanor changes. “Fuck.” He stands up quickly, holding his hand out. “Come on; you’re bleeding. And be careful; I made a mess.”

  I glance down and see blood on my pant leg, “It’s a scratch, Bass. It’s—”

  He bends down and swoops me up. “You’re bleeding through those white pants,” he says, carrying me to the bed. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you you’re not supposed to wear white after Labor Day?”

  “All the rules change on Labor Day.”

  He sits me down, steps back, and then releases a slow, steady breath. He looks at me for a moment and inhales, filling his lungs as he leans over and raises my pant leg.

  “See? Just a scratch. And If I don’t get off this bed, I’ll bleed on it.”

  “Here’s a washcloth and antiseptic,” Alfred says as he walks into the room. He looks at Bass, and Bass nods. “Do you need me?”

  “No, but thank you. I’ll see you at eight.”

  Alfred looks flustered but nods once before leaving the room.

  “She died here in this room.”

  The story conflicts with what he previously told me about his mother. However, it’s now clear to me that is the reason for the mess, the pictures, the hurt and confusion in his eyes.

  “I thought she died on my birthday. Apparently, he came and brought her here.”

  I want to tell him I’m sorry again for the truths being unraveled, but he looks less angry about this than previously.

  He looks up at me as he wipes the blood off. Nothing more than a scratch.

  “They met at a show. She was eighteen; he was in his thirties. Apparently, it was love at first sight. He left the woman he’d been dating, and they took off. A few months later, they found out she was pregnant with me.”

  He looks up then back down.

  “We lived here. I don’t even remember this fucking place, but we lived here until I was just over a year old.”

  When he doesn’t say anything more, I ask the obvious, “What happened?”

  “His ex showed up and told him he should make sure I was his kid.” He turns his back and takes a few minutes to gather himself before saying, “The man I have hated, blamed all my misfortunes on, and vowed to ruin wasn’t even my fucking father.”

  The pain in his voice brings tears to my eyes. I stand up off the bed and wrap my arms around him from behind.

  “They tried for a few months, but I guess he couldn’t accept me. And I don’t blame him, but Jesus, this is so fucked up.”

  “Things like this happen, Bass, and you had no idea, so you can’t—”

  “His ex was Ines.”

  “Oh, Bass,” I whisper, hugging him tighter.

  “Oh, Bridge, there’s so much more—”

  “I’m here.”

  He looks up. “She’s here.”

  “Bass, talk to me.”

  “My mother took us home to the United States. Her and Jean apparently kept in contact because she sent him pictures of us. She hid her illness from him, and when he found out, he admitted he still loved her and came for her. She tried to send him away, but he made a promise to my grandmother that he would take care of us, her and I, if he was just given the opportunity to show his one true love how treasured she was … always. My grandmother sent him away. When it became difficult for her to hide it from me, she didn’t want me to remember her that way. The night before she left, she told my grandmother.”

  “I know how awful it must feel, Bass, but—”

  “For years, I hated a man. For years I did whatever I could to try to gain his attention. And when it didn’t work, I tried to hurt him. Then he gives me de la Porte?”

  He turns around, shaking his head. “My entire life has been a lie, and the man I viewed as a monster wasn’t. In fact, the man I look at every day in the mirror—”

  “No.” I shake my head back and forth. “The man before me is wonderful.”

  “I fucked his name every chance—”

  “Bastien, he allowed it. He didn’t correct it. He could have. You didn’t know who you were. But don’t you dare ruin who you’ve become. Because that’s the man I have fallen—”

  “I need to get the fuck out of here.”

  The words I spoke to him were words meant to stop him. When they don’t, I feel the loss immediately as he walks toward the door.

  I turn and watch him walk away, my heart beginning to break.

  He stops at the door and looks back at me. “Can you forgive me for—”

  “Yes,” I interrupt.

  He holds out his hand. “Come with me.”

  In the foyer, he releases my hand. “Get your shoes. I’ll be right back.”

  Looking at the Fountain of Warsaw, also known as the Water Mirror, with him, I’m a giddy girl, filled with heart-expanding emotional overload, feeling like a toddler with a Disney princess gown on. Basically, I’m in heaven. A heaven that serves café au lait.

  “It’s beautiful here.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.” He steps back and wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder as we stand quietly, overlooking the water.

  I take a sip of my coffee, “Mmm …”

  He pushes his nose into my hair and mimics me, “Mmm …”

  “Were you ever a barista?”

  “What?” He laughs.

  I smile and rest my head against his. “You have exquisite taste in coffee.”

  “I have exquisite taste in many things.” He kisses my neck. “Like you.” He chuckles. “You taste exquisite.”

  I turn to face him and look up.

  “What?” He smiles down at me.

  “Good morning.”

  His smile broadens. “Good morning.”

  He brings his lips down on mine softly, tenderly … perfectly. When he pulls back, I see a glint of amusement in his eyes.

  Now it’s my turn to ask, “What?”

  “Last night …” He bites his lip and then rakes his teeth over it. “Bridge, you were … fucking hot.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and lean into his chest.

  He wraps his hand in my hair and pulls back. Then he leans down and kisses me harder this time. With his lips against mine, he whispers, “Turn around,” as he turns us around.

  Standing in the most amazing location, Jardins du Trocadéro, across from the Eiffel Tower, on the other side of the Seine, the sun is literally rising and shining through the lower levels of the tower.

  “Oh my,” I whisper as I look up and over my shoulder at him toward the view I never took the time to enjoy when I h
ad been in Paris before. “How did I miss that when we were here?”

  He shrugs. “How did I forget this view?”

  I give him a look of question.

  “She brought me here at least three days a week. I don’t remember, but apparently, I liked it.”

  I begin to turn to face him.

  “No, Angela, I don’t want you to miss it.”

  I stand, wrapped in his arms, as we quietly watch the sun rise. When he lets go and stands beside me, he curls one hand around my waist and turns me toward him.

  “Angela, the moment I held those shoes, I knew I was no Prince Charming, but I brought them to you, hoping maybe I could be yours, just for the night. The minute I saw you on the balcony, I knew I’d climb the wall if you didn’t let me in. The minute I kissed your lips, I felt something awaken in me … and in you. The moment I was inside you, I felt like every horrible thing in my life had to be endured in order to get to where I was at that very moment. I fell in love with you immediately.”

  I reach up and link my hands behind his neck.

  “Through all that happened in the past two weeks, I tried to make it stop, begged it to go away, but it grew. And last night, today … it’s never gonna change. I love you—”

  “I love you, too.”

  His lips smile, his eyes smile, I swear I see his soul smile.

  As I push up onto my toes to kiss him, he looks up. “She loves me, too.” A second later, he’s bending down, dipping me backward, and his lips are on mine.

  The kiss isn’t passionate. How can it be when we are both smiling like fools? Fools in love.

  When he pulls me up, we are still smiling.

  “We should kiss again.” I grin. “Maybe you should take a picture. This time, I’ll know, but—”

  He crashes his lips against mine as he laughs. Then I feel him reach his arm out and know he’s taking one.

  God, I love this man.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Bass

  To say I’m happier at this very moment than I have been in my entire life is the understatement of the century.

  She loves me. I knew this. It’s not conceited, it’s not because of age, or looks, or money. It’s because there was a moment when shit wasn’t flowing like a river aimed right toward me, a moment when I had to pick fight or flight, a moment that chemically-induced feelings weren’t involved, and that moment carried me through some heartbreaking discoveries.

  Alfred is not too happy that she and I don’t agree on the will being read separately. Just like he isn’t happy that, while he was preparing for the day, I walked in on him in Jean’s office while going to grab some water from the kitchen.

  I feel sorry for him. He was emotional when I walked in, and when I saw the pictures of my mother, of me, of Jean, I lost my shit.

  Now, sitting in the same room next to Angela, I’m ready for whatever comes our—yes, our—way.

  Sitting behind a large, oak desk, Alfred hits a couple of buttons then turns the large computer monitor toward us. Jean appears on it.

  “Good morning, Ms. Petrov.”

  I look at her, and she looks confused.

  “I’ve recently changed my last will and testament to include you. There are many reasons, but the main one is that you were never given what you deserved. De la Porte wouldn’t have been the company it was without you. You were a dedicated employee for a decade, far less than some, yet you never complained when asked to go above and beyond.

  “As you know, I own seventy-one percent of the stock in the company. I’m bequeathing twenty-one percent to you.”

  “No, no, that’s—”

  Alfred pauses the video, and she stops.

  “Angela, they’re yours to do with as you please. He isn’t here to change that.”

  She looks at me. “I don’t want them.”

  “As Alfred said—”

  “I. Don’t. Want. Them.”

  I look at Alfred. “Continue please.”

  “The home you’re in will be left to my son. If he chooses to not keep it, it’s yours as well.”

  “No!” she yells at the screen.

  “I ask that you not sell it. It houses my most cherished memories. There’s a fund set up to pay the taxes on it for the next hundred or so years.

  “If my son chooses to step down as CEO, I’d like you to take over. You know the vision for the company. It’s the way I have kept the only woman I have ever loved alive.” He looks down. “And I’m sorry about that as well.” He looks up, unemotional again. “Your salary is to be doubled, and you’re to receive bonuses just like the board.”

  “They get bonuses?” I grumble.

  “Anything in the home is yours to do with as you see fit. You have a kind and caring heart. It’s what makes you indispensable to the company. I’d like you to make sure Alfred is your most trusted employee as he has been mine and the only other person aside from you that I trust. He is being bequeathed the contents of the library and the conservatory.”

  “What?” Now Alfred looks stunned.

  “Whatever he doesn’t want, again, I ask that you contact an antique dealer to set the value to either sell or donate to a worthy charity in de la Porte’s name.

  “And lastly, my son.” He leans in. “I was never worthy of the name father. He deserved much, much more than I could give. Please don’t feel the need to ruffle his feathers. He has a temper.”

  I can’t help chuckling, and she looks at me, shaking her head. Then we look back at the screen.

  He sits back and looks around the room. “But Bastien Josephs de la Porte is highly intelligent, has a keen eye, and street smarts that will work well when dealing with those who may try to take him down. He reminds me of you, Ms. Petrov. It’s a lot to ask, but look out for my son.” He leans forward and hits a button, ending the video.

  “You ready for yours, Bass?”

  I nod.

  The video begins, but it’s not him behind a desk. It’s video of my mom holding me, in this very room that is filled with shades of blue and nursery furniture. There is me in my mother’s arms, me in his arms, them laughing as I lay on a blanket, kicking and babbling. Then we are at a church where I’m being christened. Then we are in the very spot Angela and I were in this morning, and she’s pointing toward the Eiffel Tower. Then we are in front of a Christmas tree, in a plane. We are … everywhere.

  The film ends then begins again. Now they are sitting on the very same sofa Angela and I are.

  “Hello, beautiful boy.” My mom smiles at the camera, and then tears begin to spill down her very pale skin.

  “Shall we stop, love?” Jean whispers.

  I look away for a moment and see Angela’s hand over her heart. I hold the other tighter, and she squeezes back.

  I look back as Jean kisses my mother’s cheek. “Shall we stop?” he asks her again.

  She shakes her head then smiles as she wipes away her tears. “It was selfish on my part,” she begins.

  “And mine,” Jean adds.

  “But we had a beautiful birthday party, and I just didn’t think I could hide the realities of my illness from you. I wanted you to remember me as beautiful, happy, and so grateful for my time with you.

  “Jean offered to—”

  “Begged, Ella Mae. I begged then bribed your mother.”

  She smiles at him and looks up. “He did. He absolutely did, but what a blessing for you.”

  When I feel Angela’s fingers brush across my cheek, I realize I’m crying.

  I take her hand and kiss her fingers as I watch my mother and Jean.

  “I love you so much, baby Bass. So, so much.”

  “I love you, too, Mom,” I whisper.

  The video cuts off.

  “Fuck,” I whisper under my breath as I stand, needing a damn break.

  When I hear Jean speaking again, I look back and Angela is right there.

  Her lower lip quivers, and yeah, I fall deeper.

  “Come here.” I hug her w
hile he says a bunch of shit I only half pay attention to.

  “Your mother passed peacefully two weeks after she came home—I mean, here. Your grandmother had an urn with her ashes but, well, they weren’t hers. You can be upset—I understand—but hers and mine are on top of the mantel in this room.”

  I watch as he visibly tries to pull himself together, and for the first time, my fucking heart hurts for him.

  “Six months before your grandmother passed, I started de la Porte and the EL line, using the thousands of drawings I’d drawn of your mother wearing everything I imagined her wearing when I finally made it.

  “I was living very irresponsibly, and somehow, I got wound up with Ines.” He looks at the camera. “She’s toxic.” He looks down again and appears to be trying to figure it all out.

  I sigh. “The man isn’t my father, but fuck if I don’t know exactly how he’s feeling right there.”

  “I wasn’t good enough to be your father, and then, when it all came to light, I’m ashamed to say it was very difficult to see you. You look so much like her. I let you down, I let her down, I let myself down, and when you’re down, it’s never easy to find your way back up.”

  I can’t hold back the smile.

  “But you did. You persevered. And by that time, Ines had gotten her hooks in you, and then Maisie.” He smiles briefly then it falls away. “There was no one who was better for you than that woman. And when she told me, if I didn’t want to be a father, to stay the hell away, I had long forgotten how to be that for you.

  “You went to college … I was at your graduation, but I couldn’t face you.”

  Angela holds me tighter.

  “I wasn’t strong enough to face you.”

  The video turns off, and then on again.

  “Bastien, I have no reason to ask this of you, but I made a promise, one that I couldn’t keep wholly, but I am giving you this house, if you want it, and de la Porte Paris, the properties, and fifty percent of de la Porte worldwide. The other twenty-one percent I hold is being given to Angela Petrov. She knows everything that it takes to run the company. And to be completely honest, this company was the one thing in my life I did right, and it was one hundred percent inspired by your mother, God rest her soul, that I want to make sure it’s timeless.