When everyone was done eating dessert, the women cleared the table, did dishes, and monitored the children. The hommes went outside for a smoke and a glass of after dinner vin. No one invited Gastien to join them. He was unsure if he was expected to follow or not.
Finally, he got up from the table and went outside anyway. The hommes stopped talking. The silence echoed in Gastien’s ears. There was no attempt to hide the fact that they had been talking about him.
Gastien started to get angry. All right, he thought, if you are determined not to like me that is just fine with me. I will not grovel for your acceptance.
He chuckled to himself as, just to work them up, he lit up some hash. It was legal, so they could just kiss his ass if they did not like it. Pretending not to notice that they were uncomfortable, he innocently held the hash joint out for sharing. They gaped at him like he had transformed into a monster.
“No takers?” he asked, feigning surprise. “Ah. Well, I can’t say I mind smoking the whole thing. Still, at least I am willing to share, even if you are not willing to share your after dinner vin.”
He stood smoking the hash, pretending to be unaware that they found this unacceptable. Gastien had just drawn the line. The words did not need to be said for them to be heard. You have bullied me today and it won’t work. I refuse to fit in with your ideals.
Grinding the hash out with his heel, he smiled.
“Much better! Us artist types do enjoy a little mind altering,” Gastien confided. “Can’t say I ever get the same thing from dessert vin.”
He inclined his head to them before going back inside the house.
Sophie was coming back out with Tristan Michel. Looking at Gastien, she could tell by his pupils that he was high. She smiled, shaking her head.
“Oh, my darling husband. Something tells me the games have begun already.”
He leaned down and kissed her fondly as the others entered the room. Sophie, playing along, did not end the kiss right away.
“Oops. Don’t mind us! Newlyweds you know.” She smiled sweetly. “Gastien, are you capable of holding Tristan Michel right now, or are you too high?”
“I am capable, Sophie. I know my capacity for hashish. Still, let me sit down first, just to be sure.”
Once seated, she placed Tristan Michel in his arms. Content, Gastien spent time in his own little world with his son. For once the baby did not cry. He was full and dry, and these arms were now familiar. Gastien decided that it did not matter if he was included in the conversation. He had made his stand. Now he was content to just spend time holding his child, with his wife next to him.
Sophie snuggled close, joining the family conversation, pretending everything was normal. Gastien listened halfway, just drifting. Soon he was dozing. Sophie brushed his hair from his eyes; then gently took the baby.
The others left around five when Sophie went to nurse again. No one bothered to wake Gastien in order to say goodbye.
When Sophie came back out, Gastien was awake. Odette was glaring at him with disgust.
Gastien responded casually, “Odette, I would hate your face to freeze like that. I get the message, but I don’t care. Give it a rest.”
Then he turned to Sophie. “Let’s play some cards. I owe you a good beating in cards.” He looked at Odette innocently. “Odette, want to play?”
“Non,” she replied coolly.
“Good. That means we can play our favorite two handed game,” Gastien said just as coolly.
They went in the dining room and started the game. Soon they were sparring and laughing. Gastien repeatedly got trounced.
XXI
As the months went by, Tristan Michel was baptized, the summer ended, and soon the holidays were approaching. Sophie and Gastien had settled into a routine. Sophie and Tristan Michel came on Tuesday night to stay until Thursday mornings. They took Cassie and Vic up on the offer to babysit for a few hours at a time, so that they could enjoy time alone.
Gastien now had a bassinet and changing table in his studio, along with other baby supplies. It seemed strange to smell baby talcum whenever he walked by that area. It gave him a contented, warm feeling inside.
Gastien always came to Sunday dinner at Odette’s, staying until about ten o’clock that night. The first Sunday of each month the whole family was there. On those Sundays, Gastien always made sure to wear something odd. Over time it had become apparent that he would not be accepted, no matter what he did. Knowing that, he decided to rub their noses in his so called oddness.
One summer day it was capris, which really shocked them. Another, it was his bracelets. He always wore the gold hoop in his ear when it was family day. One autumn day, he wore a long skirt that he had picked up. It was a man’s African tribal skirt, and he knew it would really get them jacked up. Personally, he thought that any man who could have sex with as many women as he had in past months could wear a skirt any time he chose. However, he wisely decided not to verbalize that thought to the family.
Sophie always looked forward to seeing what Gastien would come up with to wear for family dinner. She loved his sense of style, along with his confidence to dress any way he pleased.
This Sunday he showed up in the knee breeches that only gentry had worn until a couple of years ago, when they fell out of fashion. Gastien had found a brown pair in a used shop. He topped them with a long white tunic to his thighs, over which he hooked a belt of gold coins. With his earring and knee high boots, he looked quite like a pirate.
Sophie had always had a thing about pirates. The outfit made her quite aroused. She told him so, in very graphic language. He promised to wear it again next week when she came to stay, if she promised to “polish his gangplank”. The two of them were laughing lustily when the siblings descended. They all looked askance at Gastien and his latest fashion faux pas.
While they were sitting around after dinner, Sophie’s youngest brother, Henri, decided to call him on it. Staring in dismay at his disliked brother-in-law, he asked, “Are you going to a costume party or something tonight, Gastien?”
Everyone tried not to laugh waiting for his response.
However, Gastien was not about to let anyone in the family feel they had gotten to him. He smiled sexily.
“Well, non. Actually, I am in dress rehearsal.”
Their faces all registered shock. Actors were looked down on even more than other artists!
“Dress rehearsal? Don’t tell me you are now acting!” exclaimed Henri.
“Oh, non, I am not an actor. This is dress rehearsal for Sophi-belle. She revealed to me that she has always wanted to be ravished by a pirate. I want to make her happy, so I am planning on being a pirate when she visits next Wednesday. I wore this just to see if she thinks I have the look down.”
No one knew what to say. Polite people did not discuss these kinds of things, nor did husbands and wives act out fantasies! Sophie’s laugh tinkled as she walked over and sat on Gastien’s lap.
“I do approve, of course,” she cooed. “The look is perfect, except you need an eye patch. If you wear an eye patch, we may never come up for air!”
“SOPHIE!” reprimanded Henri.
She laughed. “Oh, Henri, calm yourself. Don’t you ever have any fun in bed?”
“Sex is not for fun! It is for procreation!” his wife stated haughtily.
“Well, if that is all it is for in your home, I am sad for you. Fortunately, with Gastien, it is a whole lot of fun. In fact, many times it is so much fun that we just can’t seem to stop!”
“The two of you are disgusting!” Henri spat.
Sophie smiled. Gastien winked at her lewdly.
“Let’s not fight,” said Sophie. “I am not going to change and neither are you, dear brother. You can say the Hail Mary for bedtime entertainment. Gastien and I prefer to choose other things. Now, let’s drop it.”
Things went along all right for about an hour or so. Then, one of Sophie’s sisters decided that it was her turn to bait Gastien.
He looked at her, surprised that she was saying something nice to him.
“Well that is nice to hear. I do love to paint.”
“Oui. It is quite a nice hobby, isn’t it? You know, I bet you are growing quite frustrated looking for a job and not finding any that suit you. Do you think you will find work soon?”
Hurt, and angry at himself that he actually cared, he tried not to show any emotion. Gastien again felt everyone trying not to laugh. I’ll be damned if I let her get the best of me, he thought.
“I hope not,” he replied, “because if I find it, I am not sure who to give it to. All of the people I care about, except Sophie, are full time artists like me. Are you looking for work by chance? If so, I will keep you in mind, should the situation arise.”
“Of course I am not looking for work! I am a wife and mother. As is Sophie!”
“I am quite aware that she is.”
“Well, then, don’t you feel the need to get a real job?
“Believe it or not, people actually pay me to paint them. That is a real job. But merci beaucoup for your concern.”
“You aren’t much of a provider, are you?” she accused.
Gastien smiled slowly. “That depends on what is being provided. Some things I provide quite well.”
He stood, and continued, “Sophie, do you want to go for a walk? Soon it will be too chilly to walk, so let’s take advantage of the weather today.”
“That would be lovely. Tristan Michel will sleep for awhile. The air in here is rather unpleasant, isn’t it?” Sophie was very disappointed and hurt by the actions of her family.
Now that they had kept on provoking him, Gastien was not through. The siblings had gone too far.
Looking suggestively at Sophie, Gastien suggested, “Maybe, if we find a shadowed area, I can show you my “piece of eight” we pirates are always talking about.”
He could hear the whole family gasp.
Sophie smiled. “Can I touch it? I have always wanted to know what they meant by that!”
“Oh, oui! You can touch it.”
He smiled at everyone. “I will say bonsoir now. I doubt you mind that you won’t be seeing me again this evening.” He paused, looking around. “Unless we hommes want to compare our pieces of eight…” He paused again. “Non? Well, then, bonsoir.”
“Why do you have to constantly offend us so, Gastien?” stormed Henri.
Gastien stopped in the doorway. Turning back around, he replied, “Why, for the same reason all of you want to offend me, I guess.” He shrugged dismissively. “Oil and water don’t mix. Any decent artist knows that.”
Gastien stepped out where Sophie was waiting, shutting the door behind him.
“He is disgusting, and so is she now,” Odette said sadly. Everyone agreed that Gastien had put some kind of spell on their Sophie and that she was being ruined. However, there was nothing they could do about it. Even though they did not like him, it would be even worse if Sophie divorced him. Divorce was really looked down upon.
At the same time, each secretly wished that they could find the same joy in life that Sophie and Gastien seemed to.
Damn that bohemian anyway!
XXII
Noël was spent again at Odette’s, while the New Year holiday was spent together in the studio. Gastien gave Sophie a beautiful bracelet that featured morning glories painted around it. She gave him a beautiful wooden box in which to hold some of his paints. A bird of paradise was carved on the top.
The verbal sword fighting between Gastien and Sophie’s family stopped during the holidays. While they still were not warm to him, they quit poking at him for the time being. It was a nice break. He did not even care that he was not really included in the conversation. Just to be left alone was a pleasure.
Their boy was now six months old and recognized Gastien. He always smiled and wiggled around when he saw his father’s face peering at him.
“You see that, Sophie?” Gastien would say proudly. “He is anxious to learn how to fence. I can tell by his body language.”
Sophie would just smile patiently and nod her head. If Gastien believed that he knew what Tristan Michel was indicating by thrusting out his legs and arms, then she was not going to say any different. Besides, perhaps he did have a mind connection with his child. He was certainly intense enough for her to believe it was possible.
Unfortunately, as intense as Gastien could be, he also had a short attention span regarding anything not having to do with art or sex. He was 25 now and more attractive than ever. Sophie still adored him, but wished he could stay more focused on his son for extended periods of time. Still, he tried. He definitely loved Tristan Michel; of that fact she was sure. She also knew Gastien was still crazy about her. That he lost interest in everyday things was something she just learned to live with. It seemed her husband was from a different world, one that only artists were aware of.
XXIII
Gastien’s paintings also continued to be as unusual as ever for the times. He had just completed Earth. It was simply a solid canvas of the dirt and gravel of a road, with some slightly larger stones sporadically appearing. To dare to paint in the dull light browns and greys of a road, not caring if the painting bored people, took a level of self belief few artists had. Somehow, he pulled it off. Looking at the painting, one could feel the softness of the dusty dirt, the hardness of the pieces of gravel. A person could almost hear the crunch it would make if their boots walked on it, the sharpness they would feel if barefoot.
The smoothness of the slightly larger stones balanced it and brought a relief to the utter bleakness of the dirt and gravel. Yet, there was no doubt that this was an unforgiving element of nature with little beauty to offer. Regardless, the eyes did not want to look away. Memories of walking down a road to meet a lover, to bear bad news, to return home all played in the back of the mind. He had succeeded in causing reaction. Therefore, the piece was a success.
Before that had come Ice. This canvas again had nothing to offer other than the frozen water of a large chunk of ice. The depths, slight colors reflecting, the shadows, and the cracks all made the painting seem to shimmer with icy coldness. The tiny rivulets of water found upon closer inspection made you want to touch it, to feel the cool wetness on your hand. Sharp pieces glittered like jeweled knifes in sunlight. Again, bleakness, unforgiving and unrepentant. And again, causing one to pause and consider if they had ever really noticed the nuances of ice before.
Gastien’s paintings all caused an emotional reaction of some type. Positive or negative, reaction was what he wished for. He understood that the true purpose of art was to make people think; he also knew that too many people either could not, or would not, think very deeply. If most people refused to think deeply while viewing art, feeling was its secondary purpose. Any reaction signified a successful creation. “Art” had made its statement, simply by causing that reaction.
There have been endless discussions and arguments over what constitutes “good” art and “bad” art. Creation does not care. It simply wants to be noticed. The only bad art is art that people walk by, not noticing at all.
XXIV
Gastien loved his wife, but he was still seeing other women when he needed to. On the nights he did not see Sophie, he was going out almost all of the time now. Mic and Alice had broken up, and it had not been pretty. The two men started going to the Moulin de la Galette most nights, along with their regular stops. Mic loved to pick up village girls, while Gastien loved to dance.
Gastien would flirt shamelessly with good looking females, and was never short of dance partners. However, except for a few rare times, he always left without a woman. When extreme need arrived, he got his sexual urges taken care of earlier in the day. He still tried to keep his rule about only using married women. The females were disappointed when he did not ask them to come home with him, but they always were eager to dance with him the next time he showed up.
He loved music and totally gave himself to it. After arriving at the dance, he and Mic would talk with amis. Gastien would drink absinthe and whiskey, or vin. He usually had eaten hash earlier, so he would be extremely high by the time he got to the dance.
As they talked, he would move to the music. Soon he would be dancing by himself, swaying to the music, improvising. He moved his hips in a very sensual, almost female way. Yet, there was nothing female about him. People did not dance like that in the nineteenth century. It was shocking, even for Montmartre.
He did not dance by himself for long. He would check out the people through half closed eyes while he moved, seemingly in his own world. Once he saw a woman he liked, he would give a small, sexy smile and tilt his chin at her. Full lips moist and slightly open, his intense brown eyes searing into her with half closed lids, he would beckon with his finger. The woman always came over. Gastien was hypnotic.
Without speaking, he would take her in his arms, and began to dance.
When he did sit, he was usually surrounded by women on each side. Sometimes he would allow one to sit on his lap.
XXV
In spite of his trying to limit sexual encounters with other women to the times when he was driven crazy by need, Gastien was no angel. Sexuality was the way he found love and acceptance. Afraid to open up to others, like all humans he still wanted to be loved. Part of the permanent damage from all of the past abuse he had suffered was his mind equating sex with love. Consciously he knew it was not even close to being the same, but unconsciously his brain insisted that the sex act was the way that others showed him he mattered.
This has never been uncommon for people who have been abused. Since Gastien had been beaten and verbally abused for almost eighteen years, it was a wonder that he did not end up an abuser himself. Instead, he abhorred violence to children and women to the point of not even being capable of disciplining his son.
Gastien: From Dream to Destiny: A Caddy Rowland Historical Family Saga/Drama (The Gastien Series Book 2) Page 25
