Gastien: From Dream to Destiny: A Caddy Rowland Historical Family Saga/Drama (The Gastien Series Book 2)

by Caddy Rowland

  “I could not refuse. She had been calling me for several days and finally I could no longer fight it. Oh, damn it, I KNEW I would fail with Sophie, and with Tristan Michel, too! I just can’t be counted on for anything but my art!” Gastien was sobbing now, and toweling off. “How will I explain? Oh mon Dieu, what do I say to a ten-year-old about not knowing where I am for three days?”

  Cassie shook her head. “I simply don’t know, Gastien. I am so sorry this happened. I wish I could make it better, but I can’t.”

  “Oh, Cassie, see if you can find a cabriolet around, would you, please?”

  Cassie did find one. Gastien left with his hair wet and stuck under his beret. At least it was a warm day. As they arrived, he paid the man and asked him to wait for about a half hour before leaving.

  “I might need you right away,” he said bleakly.

  VI

  Walking up to the door, he took a deep breath, and then knocked. Odette came to the door. She looked at him like she was looking at a dog that had rolled in shit.

  Stepping aside to let him in, she called sarcastically, “Sophie. Your ‘husband’ is here.”

  Without looking at him again, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the hallway.

  Sophie entered the hall, looking soberly at Gastien. Neither said a word. Finally, Sophie broke the silence.

  “Well?”

  “Sophie, I am sorry. Please! I am just sick about this. I…well, I went into one of my painting trances when the two of you left. When I came out, I slept for hours. I fully thought it was Friday when I woke up. I was in the tub, bathing and eating when I found out it was Saturday. Cassie, who had brought me my food, told me. I did not even eat, I was too upset! Cassie shaved me, because my hands are shaking from not eating…I am just sick about it… and I came as quickly as I could…”

  Tears ran down his face. He stood looking at her, trying to get himself under control.

  Sophie said nothing. She just continued to look at him.

  Gastien beseeched her, “Sophie, please. I could not ignore the call to the color any longer. You know how it is for me. I can only put it off so long…”

  He hung his head and tried to brush the tears away.

  Sophie replied coldly, “You have no idea how many tears have been shed in this house today, Gastien. No idea at all.”

  Then she called, “Tristan Michel? Your father is here.”

  “I don’t want to see him! Ever!” Tristan Michel cried from his bedroom.

  Gastien felt like his heart was bleeding. “Tristan Michel? I am so very, very sorry. Please, Son! Let me explain.”

  “I hate you! You promised, father! You promised we would be together! I really believed you wanted to be with me, and you didn’t. I told everyone at school that we were spending the day together!” He came out to the hall. “Do you know how much I am teased because I have a father who won’t even let me or my mother live with him? Do you have any idea the mean things other kids say to me?” Tristan Michel was sobbing now. “DO YOU?”

  Gastien felt sick. “Non! I had no idea that you were being teased. I don’t know what to say, I – “

  “Don’t say anything, because you won’t mean it anyway! They are right! You are a selfish connard! All you are interested in is painting, and your stupid artist amis, and getting drunk or high! Oh, and women! I used to not understand what the older kids meant by that, but now I do, don’t I! Because I didn’t know that you’re stupid shutters were supposed to let me know that you would rather be doing something dirty with a woman than talking to me!”

  “Tristan Michel, don’t use that kind of language,” Gastien said. “It is not language for a ten-year-old.”

  “Don’t scold me! You don’t have any right to scold me because you are never around to teach me right or wrong! You are useless as a father! Go away, go back and get drunk with your amis, or eat some of that stupid hashish and die for all I care! Do anything you wish, because you always do! Just leave me alone!”

  Tristan Michel turned and ran back to his room. Gastien started toward him, but Sophie put out a hand to stop him.

  “Leave him be for now, Gastien. He is very hurt and very angry. As am I.“

  “Sophie, he is my son; I want to make this right!” Gastien objected.

  “If you want to make things right, you have a whole lot of work to do. It won’t begin tonight.”

  “I am sorry, Sophie.”

  “I know you are. Just…please leave Gastien. Come back tomorrow for the family dinner. Please get here by ten tomorrow morning at the latest. We must try to fix this, at least a little bit, before the others arrive.”

  “I did not know he was being teased because of me.”

  “What did you expect? Really, it is as much my fault as yours. We have asked him to live a life that no one else has to live. I should have thought of the repercussions for our son when I agreed to all of this. Neither of us thought past ourselves.” She sighed. “Please go. Let’s start over tomorrow.”

  Gastien leaned down to kiss her, but she stopped him.

  “I don’t feel very forgiving right now, Gastien. I will forgive you and Je t’aime, but I am also very hurt and angry. Please don’t expect tenderness from me right now.”

  Gastien blushed. “As you wish.”

  “Up to now, Gastien, it has always been as YOU wish. But this I will tell you. In regard to my son, it will now be as I wish! If you ever, EVER hurt my son like this again, you will never get another chance to spend time with him. Do you understand me?”

  “YOUR son? He is OUR son, Sophie!”

  “You have lost that privilege, Gastien. He is MY son until you prove your worth as a father. Now get out. Go eat, get high, get laid; whatever is it you have to do to make yourself feel better. But I suggest that you be on time, be sober, and be dressed how a child would like his father to be dressed when you arrive here tomorrow. This isn’t all about what makes you happy, Gastien. Not anymore.”

  Sophie turned and left the room.

  Gastien wiped his eyes, turned, and walked out.

  The cabriolet was pulling away.

  “Wait! Hold on, I need a ride back to Montmartre!” he yelled, but the driver did not appear to notice.

  “Foutre, foutre, FOUTRE!” yelled Gastien as he headed down the street. Could things get any worse?

  Just then someone opened their door and yelled, “Quiet down out there and watch your language! Just because this is Pigalle does not mean we want our children exposed to the filthy mouths of visiting revelers!”

  Revelers? The last thing I am doing is reveling, thought Gastien. He must think I am in from the city to visit the vices of Pigalle.

  “I am sorry, please excuse me!” he offered to the man.

  The man simply slammed the door without acknowledgment.

  Gastien sighed. He was now so upset he wanted to punch someone. His stomach hurt like hell from all of the booze the past few days and no food, he shook from hunger, his head ached, his hair was still quite wet – and he had a good mile to walk uphill!

  Where in the hell were cabriolets when you really needed them?

  VII

  When Gastien finally got back to his neighborhood he was calmed down enough to know that he needed to eat. Alice was not around again lately, so perhaps Mic would be free to join him. Alice seemed to be gone more often than she was around, forcing Gastien to wonder why they even bothered. It seemed they got together long enough to make another child; then ended up apart again. They were now expecting their fourth.

  Mic was just coming outside as Gastien came up the walk. He saw Mic look inside to see if he was home.

  “Hey, Mic, here I am,” he called.

  Mic grinned, coming toward him.

  “Good to see you. Have you eaten yet?” asked Mic

  “Non, I am starving! I have not eaten since Wednesday morning.

  “I saw you were involved in one of your painting frenzies the past couple of days, ami. Did you
get anything decent painted?”

  “Well, I doubt most people would think so. I will show you later and you can decide. Right now I need to eat. I could also use some hash. Do you have any on you?”

  Mic produced some hash, which they shared while walking to a nearby café. Soon Gastien was much calmer. As they ate, Gastien told him what had happened. He also told him what Tristan Michel had said about being teased.

  Mic shook his head. “I am sorry to hear that, but not surprised. You know how people are, Gaz. People talk. Their children hear them talking. Believe me, children can’t wait to share that with others at school; especially the children of the person being talked about. They can be quite heartless.”

  “Well, still, I hate to see my son hurt because of me. That really makes me sad.”

  Mic looked hard at him a few moments.

  Then he asked, “That may be, but are you capable of doing anything about it? I don’t imagine you are going to rush over there and move the two on them in with you. You knew from the start that things would be difficult.”

  “Well, merci for the sympathy!“ Gastien laughed uneasily.

  “I feel badly for all of you involved, Gastien. Hell, I understand it as well as anyone can. I am an artist, too. I could allow a family to live with me, since I don’t paint in a studio most of the time. Even so, I still can’t make a relationship work! Believe me, I get it. What I am trying to say is, we can sit and feel bad for each other all night and day; however, that does not change anything. You want this life, so you have to toughen up about the consequences. You can’t control other people’s mouths.”

  Gastien snorted and took a drink of his coffee. “Don’t I know that! It is just that it is no longer Sophie and I that have to toughen up. It is a little boy. That troubles me.”

  “Then talk to him about it. Maybe you can help him toughen up.”

  “Right now he is not talking to me.”

  “Well, he was angry, and rightfully so.”

  Gastien took offense and opened his mouth to speak. Mic held up a hand.

  “Hold on, Gastien! I am not saying that I don’t understand the pull of your paints. I do! But I also understand how an outsider does not get that; how a little boy wants the attention of his father and was set up for disappointment this time around. You did not intentionally do it. Give him the night. He saw that you came there tonight, and no doubt he saw your tears. Just let him calm down.”

  Gastien looked mournful. “Sophie is angry, too. She would not even kiss me goodbye.”

  “Well, she is the mother! Don’t you know how fiercely mothers protect their young? Look at what yours did when you left. She packed the whole evening’s dinner for you in a basket, taking a beating for it and the money she gave you!”

  Gastien nodded. “Oui. I had forgotten that.”

  “In my opinion, you are lucky that you did not get attacked by her. She was protecting her child! I would not take her warning lightly, Gastien. If you want a relationship with that boy, you had better make damn sure you do the things you promise to do.”

  “Oui.” Gastien looked chagrined. “I really stink as a father. I knew I would.”

  Mic laughed. “Well, you are not going to win any awards so far. Still, Sophie picked you. She loves you very much. So does your son. That is why he is so hurt and angry.”

  “Oui. And I love them. It is just…I don’t know. I guess I can’t love right. I love the best I know how.”

  “I know you do, ami. Just don’t give up. We can all use improvement in our dealings with people we love. You are not alone.”

  “Maybe, but I stink worse than others in that regard.”

  “Oh come on! There are many worse than you. Remember your father?”

  Gastien burst out laughing. “OUI!”

  “There you go. Point made.”

  Gastien sobered. “Mic, I wanted to spend time with my son. Why do you think this happened?”

  “Probably because you did not think about possible problems if you answered that siren call to paint. You are very focused on your drive to paint, Gastien. It seems you don’t consider other things. That is what makes you a great artist. It is also what makes you not so great of a father. You can’t be perfect. Just do better next time.”

  “If I get a next time!”

  “You will. Tristan Michel desperately wants your attention.”

  They finished their meal in companionable silence. As they paid their bill, Gastien came up with an idea.

  “Let’s walk over to the bookstore. Perhaps there is a book that Tristan Michel would like that I can read to him.”

  “Does he like being read to?”

  “Sophie reads to him a lot. Maybe we will take turns reading out loud.”

  “That is a start. What kind of books does he like?’

  Gastien thought for a few minutes.

  “I have no idea. See what I mean? I stink as a father!”

  “Ask the bookstore owner what new books he has for boys his age. That way you can make sure you don’t get him one he already has.”

  “I know! I will get Treasure Island. Sophie and I were talking about it awhile back. We decided that once he was about eleven he would be old enough for it. I know he will like that.”

  “Then Treasure Island it will be.”

  Gastien and Mic walked over to the store. Along with Treasure Island, Gastien also found a book of love poems for Sophie and a couple of the new crime mysteries for himself; although he laughingly mentioned to Mic that he did not know why he should start reading mysteries, when normal life seemed to be a big enough mystery for him to figure out.

  Walking back, Gastien asked Mic if he had ever owned any French postcards when he was a teenager. Mic laughed as he remembered.

  “Oui! I thought heaven had come to earth the first time I looked at those pictures. I was sure each woman wanted me personally!”

  Gastien laughed with him. “I remember when I was sixteen and bought a set of two dozen. I thought the same. I could just hear each of them begging for Gastien Beauchamp!”

  “Well, you still imagine that with women. Some things don’t change much.”

  Gastien laughed again, and put his arm around Mic.

  “Non, I no longer imagine. Most of them do want me. At least in that regard, I do excel. You don’t seem to keep yours buttoned up for too long of a period, either!”

  “Absolutely not! Exercise is very important for it, otherwise it may get flabby,” Mic joked. Gastien chuckled.

  “What books did you buy?” asked Gastien.

  “I got a couple biographies. One about Julius Caesar and one about Christopher Columbus.” Mic liked biographies a lot. He spent many evenings immersed in one biography or another.

  “I will trade with you after we finish our books. Those sound good, too.”

  “Just don’t sneak any of your old French postcards in yours. I don’t want to touch any of those after what they probably went through with you!”

  Gastien laughed and shoved Mic. “Like you only looked and did not play with it! Anyway, I left my postcards for my brother Paul when I left home. I am sure by now they are saturated, going through the family like they probably did.”

  “Ewwww. I would hate being youngest.”

  “Life on the farm is not easy. I am sure even the youngest was glad to get them! I would have looked at them even if they were still wet, when I was sixteen.”

  Mic thought a minute. “Oui, you are right. I would have too. Sixteen is a rough time. You are always wondering and wanting.”

  “And the rest of your life, you are always wanting!” cried Gastien and they both laughed some more.

  “Do you want to go out dancing tonight at Moulin Rouge?” asked Gastien. “Maybe we can get lucky and find a few lovely women to move about some on our laps. I could use some relief after four days.”

  “Don’t you think you should make it an early night, so that you are not late tomorrow? And, if I remember right, you and Soph
ie seem to find time for a quickie on Sundays. Perhaps you should wait. Tell her how badly you have wanted her since Tuesday.”

  Gastien sighed. “You are probably right. If I go to Moulin Rouge, I will be talked into staying for one more; and then one more…I will be less then straight in the morning. Damn. I could use the relief, even if it would only be with a woman moving around outside of my trousers.”

  “We could find a couple women and bring them home to each of our studios I guess…but I really think you should wait. Let Sophie be the one to ease you this time. She knows you well, and she will know if you have waited a while.”

  “Oui, you are right. You are absolutely right, Mic. Merci.” Getting to their studios, Gastien turned to go in. “I suppose you will go out and seek pleasure of the flesh, along with pleasure of the vin rouge tonight, while I sit like a priest with my books.”

  “Non. If you want company, I will join you; we can play some cards. I went out last night and the two nights before that.” Mic smiled at Gastien. “I could use a night of normalcy. Well, at least as normal as it can be when spent with someone as messed up as you!”

  “Come on in. I can always use someone to beat in cards.”

  “You have a vivid imagination. I seem to remember you did not win a game last time.”

  “That is because I felt sorry for you. I knew if you did not win for once you would probably not play anymore.”

  “I am going up to get some vin. A couple glasses of vin won’t hurt us, it is the water of France.”

  “And I will make popcorn. I think I even may have some butter in the icebox.” Seeing Mic’s face, he continued, “Don’t look so shocked! I do sometimes have a little food around.”

  “If you make popcorn with butter on it, I may even let you win a game.”

  “Wow! Is it the popcorn or the butter that makes you lose your head?”

  “Both! I love popcorn with butter.”

  “Hmmm, I could always rub some butter on my – “

  “You fils de pute!” Mic laughed

  “Well, since you are so concerned with me being with other women, I just thought you might help me out.”