by Gina Sorell
“So, Elsie, tell us, what did you think of the meeting?” asked Philippe.
“It was interesting. It wasn’t as weird as I thought it might be,” I said, looking at my mother.
“Well, that’s good.” He smiled and looked at my mother, who didn’t seem amused.
“I mean, I didn’t know what to expect. We haven’t talked about it too much, but I’m really glad I got a chance to come. Thank you for bringing me,” I said, looking at my mother. I heard the words come out of my mouth, and my heart started to race. I was doing it again. Hoping. Extending an invitation to my mother in the hope that she might take it. Never mind that I was running away, never mind that I’d told Arden I couldn’t stand one more day of living with my mother. If she accepted my invitation, I’d forget everything and stay. I waited for her to say something. That she’d been waiting for the right time to introduce me to the group, that she always knew I’d be a good fit, that she was glad I was at last going to be a member of this family of hers, and finally, after an uncomfortably long silence, she spoke.
“Elsie is still concerned with all things earthly; the time isn’t right,” she said to the table. “She still has so much evolving to do.”
I felt the room start to close in around me, and my heart sink. I thought I was going to cry. “I’m only sixteen.” The way I said it, I sounded like a ten-year-old.
“And yet, our real age means nothing, right?” my mother said, shrugging her shoulders.
The table got quiet, and then Danielle, who’d been silent until that point, exclaimed, “Well, in that case, everybody forget that I turned forty this year!” She laughed at her own joke and smiled at me.
“Does that mean I get to take back your birthday present?” asked Simon, holding her hand and eyeing a large amethyst ring on her finger.
“No way, a gift is a gift.” She swatted his arm playfully, and he leaned in to kiss her.
I looked at my mother and reminded myself to see her as the person she was—vain, selfish, and cold—and not as the person I wanted her to be. And I did. And just like that we were back to our respective corners of the ring. She had won this round, but I wasn’t going to be back for more.
“I remember being sixteen,” said Henri as he filled up our glasses. “It was incredible. I lost my virginity. To a woman twice my age.”
I felt my jaw drop open as I quickly did the math, wondering what thirty-two-year-old woman would want to sleep with a sixteen-year-old boy.
“But as we have all agreed, age has nothing to do with it. I mean,” said Henri, his face widening into a full-blown shit-eating grin, “she had a very, very, young soul, Papa.”
“Papa?” I asked, turning to Philippe.
“Yes, that rascal is my son.”
“And that saint is my father.”
“If anyone has evolving to do, it is Henri,” said Philippe warmly.
“And I am okay with that,” said Henri. “But I am not okay with running out of wine, and can we please get some food? Elsie is going to blow away if we wait any longer!” I laughed at his joke, flattered that he’d even noticed my body and grateful that he was trying to make me feel welcome. I liked that he was able to laugh easily and include others in that laughter; it was a skill I had never known, but admired.
Philippe ordered an abundance of food for everyone, and it was delicious. There were hot and cold salads, and vegetables in clay pots, and couscous with raisins and apricots, and stewed chickpeas with tomatoes, and eggplant turnovers, and warm bread to wipe up all the sauces. It was more food than I would normally consume in a week—at least that was something my mother and I had in common—but I was so light-headed from the wine, and I knew there’d be nothing like this on our tour, so I sampled everything, savoring the flavors as I did so. I lost track of how many bottles of wine we ordered, as there always seemed to be a fresh one on the table and my glass never got empty.
My mother, on the other hand, barely touched hers, sipping her tea instead and picking at her food. There was a lot of talking, laughing, and vying for center stage as Philippe and Henri told stories of their travels. What I learned was that Philippe and Henri lived most of the year in Paris, and that Philippe had met Simon and Danielle in England ten years ago when the young couple had gone through their initiation ceremonies, becoming full members of the group. They credited the teachings of the Seekers for showing them how to use their wealth for a greater purpose than just their own pleasure. They had donated a lot of money to the group, and there was talk of building a center in Paris where members could study or work in exchange for room and board. It sounded like some sort of ashram with a much more fashionable address, perfect for my mother. But first they needed to spread the word. Henri was taking a year off school to help his father with this task as he toured the world and lectured.
The Seekers were fairly new to North America, and it seemed that most of their members were in Europe and Africa, which explained the Moroccan connection, but what about South Africa? I wondered if that was where my mother had first met Philippe, and how long she had actually known him. She’d gotten upset when I asked, and I wondered what she was afraid of him saying. I wanted to ask, but everyone was talking over each other, and the belly dancers had started to do their show, and the wine had now officially gone to my head, which was spinning. It was too hot in the restaurant, and when I reached my hand to my forehead, it was wet. I knew I had to get some air. I carefully placed my hand on the table to steady myself and stood up. Henri got to his feet and pulled me straight as I started to lose my balance.
“Are we okay?” he asked.
“Oui, oui. We are fine, we just need to use the ladies’ room.” I turned to the table, “If you’ll excuse me.…” but nobody was listening. Danielle and Simon were kissing, and my mother and Philippe were flopped on the cushions. She was leaning on her side, and he was propped up on one elbow talking close to her, his hand on her stomach. The room felt close, and my legs were unsteady. I took a few wobbly steps and then placed my hand along the corridor wall that led to the back exit and the parking lot. The door was open, and I snuck outside and sat on one of the milk crates the dishwashers sat on during their breaks. I leaned my back against the wall and exhaled deeply. The air was warm, but it was at least ten degrees cooler than in the restaurant, and even the warm breeze was a relief against my skin. I piled my hair up on top of my head and wiped the sweat running down my neck with the back of my hand. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew I should be getting home. Arden was going to be picking me up in the morning, and I’d have to get up extra early to pack, as I didn’t think I’d be in any state to do it tonight. In spite of my mother I’d had fun, but I didn’t really belong in there with those people. They were interesting and captivating, but I had no idea what they were talking about most of the time, and I was pretty sure my birthday had just been an excuse for everyone to cut loose, and for my mother, an easy way to keep her plans and still supposedly celebrate it.
She was right: I had a lot of evolving to do, and I was going to start tomorrow by going away and not coming back.
“Mind if I join you?” Henri appeared in the doorway holding his glass of wine, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.
“I was just getting some air. It’s hot in there.”
“Hot air? Are you saying I’m full of hot air?” He laughed a little too loudly as he lit his cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled the scent of cloves.
“No. Are you?”
Henri continued smoking and kicked a milk crate hard with his foot, startling me. He positioned it opposite me and sat down. The music from the restaurant filled the silence between us for a few moments.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Full of hot air, or full of shit, as you like to say over here. But at least I admit it. Unlike some people.” While he took another long drag, he smiled at me sideways. I could tell he didn’t mean me, but I waited to see if he’d go on. He passed the cigare
tte to me, and even though I didn’t smoke, I took it, its sweet filter wet and sticky against my lips. I took a drag and immediately my head started to spin. I passed it back to him.
“You don’t believe?” I asked.
“In philosophy, sure. In gurus, not so much. But then again, people want to believe in someone, don’t they? And if someone is smart enough to give them what they want, then who am I to say that’s wrong?” The smile was suddenly gone, and he stared at me intently.
“I see.”
“Do you? He’s married, you know.” He fixed his eyes on me and waited for an answer. They were gray like his father’s, but darker.
I wondered if my mother knew. I also wondered what kind of woman Philippe would be married to. An older version of my mother, or the complete opposite? After watching him flirt all evening, it was hard to believe he was married at all. I decided not to ask and stopped talking. Henri was staring off into the distance, and I could tell his thoughts were somewhere else. I stood to go.
“It was nice to meet you. I should get going.” I’m leaving tomorrow, to go dance for the summer, and I’m never coming back, I wanted to say, realizing nobody had even asked me anything about myself all night. I had been a conversation starter and a witness to the evening’s festivities. I recognized the feeling of being a prop, once again.
I walked back inside, and this time I did use the restroom. I splashed my face and used a paper towel to dry off my neck and underarms. I looked at myself in the mirror and said aloud, “Tomorrow—your life begins tomorrow.” I walked back to the table and saw it had been cleared of all but the glasses and yet another bottle of opened wine. Simon and Danielle were wrapped in each other’s arms facing the show of belly dancers, and my mother and Philippe were kissing. It was the first time I’d ever seen her kiss someone so tenderly. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks were flushed, and her hand rested gently on his chest. From the way she spoke about him, I don’t believe she’d ever kissed Howard that way, and I wondered if that was how she’d kissed my real father. For a moment I felt sorry for her that she’d spent all those years not being able to kiss like that, and I longed to know for myself what a kiss from a lover must be like. I had never been in love, never had a kiss that I had lost myself in, oblivious to the stares of those around me.
“Are you going?” said my mother after breaking her kiss with Philippe.
“Yes. Arden’s getting me in the morning. The tour starts tomorrow.”
“Of course. Well.…”
“You should stay,” I said, although she made no move to go anywhere. “I’ll catch a cab.”
“Good luck. Let me know how it goes.”
“Sure. Uh, thanks for dinner, everyone, it was nice to meet you.” I made a little wave to Danielle and Simon, who smiled back, and turned to Philippe. “I appreciate your.…”
“I’ll walk her out and make sure she gets a taxi,” said Philippe to my mother, and led me through the restaurant and outside with his hand on the small of my back. My shirt was damp, and I tried to walk quickly so his fingers wouldn’t get wet from my sweat.
“You don’t have to wait with me, I’ll be okay,” I said once we were out on the street in front of the restaurant.
“I know you will.” He took a ringlet of my hair and tucked it behind my ear, tracing his finger down my neck and across my collarbone before tucking his hands in his pockets. I shivered at his touch. There was no one around us, and I felt myself wishing that someone would come outside.
“Aren’t you my mother’s boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re also married?”
“Depends on your definition of marriage.”
“Oh, I guess it’s complicated.” This was what my mother would often say rather than admit she was wrong.
“Only if you make it so. Otherwise it just is. Not everything needs a label.”
“Convenient.” I looked up the street for a taxi but didn’t see one. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and kept my face forward. “I can keep a secret if that’s what you’re worried about. Can you?”
I smirked and tossed my hair over my shoulder. I had a secret, and the power of it bubbled up inside me and made me feel strong. I raised my hand for the taxi that had just dropped off its fare down the street and turned to face him.
He moved in close enough to me that our shoes were touching and I could feel his belt buckle against my belly.
“Can you?” he asked again.
“Yes,” I said, barely able to breathe.
“Good. Because here’s one,” he said, and he wrapped his hand around my back, closing the space between us and putting his mouth on mine.
I was too stunned to move my mouth and kept my lips shut until he whispered, “Kiss me.” And I did.
I snuck a glance back at the restaurant, and when I saw that no one was looking, I lowered my hand and let it rest on his chest while kissing him back fully. My heart was pounding, and I told myself that I was drunk and I should stop and this was wrong and what if my mother found out, and yet I couldn’t stop. I didn’t owe her anything. He’d said to kiss him, and when he had, I knew that I had wanted to all night long; I just never believed that he would want the same thing, that he would want me and not my mother.
If the taxi hadn’t pulled up I don’t know that I would have stopped. But I was glad it did.
“Get home safely,” he said, opening the car door just as my mother appeared on the street.
I hurried in and heard him say as he closed the door, “Devedra, I thought you said it was easy to get a taxi in this town.” He swung his arm around her waist, and out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother turn to look at me, but I didn’t look back.
“Dalewood,” I said to the taxi driver, and I placed my hand on my mouth, which still felt warm from the kiss. The driver headed back into the street to do a U-turn when there was a thud on the hood of the cab. I jumped in my seat and screamed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” yelled the cab driver.
“Elsie, wait!”
It was Henri. He took his hand off the hood, came around the side where I was sitting, and got in next to me, a bottle of wine tucked in his jacket.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Drive,” he said to the driver. “Sorry, but you can’t leave me with them.”
I wondered what that must be like. Knowing your dad was cheating on your mom would be hard enough, but watching it take place must be even harder. I thought again about what Philippe had said about “labels” and couldn’t help but think that those labels—mother, father, husband, wife—were supposed to mean something. I bet they meant something to Henri’s mother, and judging by the dark look on his face, I was sure they meant something to him, too.
“Let’s take you home first. I’ll take the taxi from there,” he said as he rolled down his window and let his hand hang out, catching the wind. He was sitting far away, and he made no attempt to close the gap between us.
“Henri, are you okay?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. He just continued to stare out the window, opening and closing his hand as we drove back to the apartment in silence.
“Sixteen dollars,” said the cab driver when we arrived at Dalewood.
I reached into my purse, but Henri put his hand on my arm.
“I got it.”
“Thanks. Well, have a good night.” I started to get out. But Henri was already out, opening the door for me.
“Elsie. I want you to know I’m glad we met. You are…nothing like your mother,” he said, looking me the straight in the eye.
But I was like her in some ways, wasn’t I? I had just kissed her lover, his father, or rather he had kissed me, but I had let him and now I felt terrible. The cab was still running, but Henri hadn’t made a move to return to the car, and I hadn’t made a move to go inside. We just stared at each other, waiting.
“Do you want to come up?” The question was out of my mouth before I had
time to consider it. He nodded, gave the cab driver twenty dollars, and followed me inside.
We rode the elevator up and didn’t speak until we were in the apartment.
“This is it,” I said. I was standing still in the dark, my back to him. He put his hand around my waist and kissed my neck. I let my purse drop from my shoulder as his hands moved across my breasts and over my belly and between my legs. My body had been like a live wire all evening, and finally it had an outlet. Henri’s breathing was ragged. I could hear myself gasp, and when he slipped his hands under the waistband of my skirt and into my underwear, I gave myself over. My knees felt weak, and he held me up against him, pressing himself into me until I thought I would collapse. Then he gently lowered us both to the ground and turned me to face him.
Quickly we removed our clothes, and then he was naked against me. His skin was hot and sticky, and his hair smelled like nicotine and spices. The whole room was spinning; it was happening so fast, and I felt lost and wonderful all at the same time, and when he wrapped my legs around him, I pulled one leg back and placed my foot on his chest.
“Wait, I.…”
“Shit, of course.” He fished in his jean pockets on the floor, pulled out a condom, put it on, and before I knew it he was inside of me. I felt the carpet burn against my skin but didn’t want to say anything, so I grabbed my skirt and put it under me. He was fast and intense, and I closed my mouth around his arm to stop myself from screaming out.
When he was done he collapsed onto his side, and I listened as his breathing slowly returned to normal. It felt like ages before either of us said anything.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I lay still and moved my hand around the carpet, trying to find any piece of clothing to cover myself. I found my shirt and placed it on top of me.
“Elsie, was that your first time?”
I cringed in the dark. “Yes.”
I heard him sigh heavily. As I moved to get up, he pulled me back down and spooned me tightly toward him.
