by Fiona Zedde
Rémi grinned. “Right.” She wondered when the guy would put Nuria out of her misery and just fuck her already.
“Morning, Nuria.” Derrick greeted the pretty Dominican woman with a polite smile that did nothing to disguise his attraction to her.
“Hey, there,” she greeted him in her sex kitten purr.
“Hey, Derrick.”
“What’s going on?”
“Good to see you.”
The other three women were at their politest. But when Claudia walked up behind Derrick, the warmth became more genuine. Her smile bathed Rémi in affection before she looked at the other women at the table.
“Good morning, girls.”
“Why don’t you sit with us, Mrs. Nichols?” Phil suggested, smiling at Claudia.
The older woman smiled then looked at her son. “I’d love to if Derrick doesn’t mind.”
She and Derrick sat between Nuria and Phil, giving Rémi a chance to watch her during the entire meal. She watched and remembered. Last night had been a test to see if Claudia could feel for her anything that Rémi felt. The desire. The respect. The yearning. The older woman felt all that. But would she let Rémi touch her?
“We were just talking about Dez,” she said.
Claudia looked at her. “What about?”
Rémi pursed her lips and smiled, but Sage answered the question for her.
“The usual. We’re happy for her, and we wonder how long this thing with Victoria will last.”
While they talked, Rémi signaled the waitress, and she promptly came over with two more menus and silverware for the additions to their party. After getting the new drink and food orders, the girl dashed back to the kitchen.
“I think chances for the longevity of that relationship are good,” Claudia said.
“Why?” Nuria asked.
“Because they’re so different,” Claudia answered between glances at the menu. “They provide each other with things that the other lacks.”
“I could agree with that,” Derrick said. “Dez is a little slutty. A lot lazy. And Tori is the complete opposite.”
“Slutty?” Rémi looked at her best friend’s brother. “Why do you say that? You don’t like sex?”
“It’s not that I don’t like sex, but I do believe that my sister has gone to hell with the joke. To say that she likes sex is an understatement.”
Nuria jumped in. “Sex is a natural expression of the exuberance of life, of one’s desire to be a part of other people. You don’t agree with that?”
Derrick seemed startled by the question. “Of course I agree with that, but I think there are other ways to go about celebrating the ‘natural exuberance of life.’ ”
“True.” Nuria’s look was impish and sly. “But what’s more fun?”
Rémi thought of all the ways that she and Claudia were different. Too many to count. Her eyes flickered up and tangled in the other woman’s. Rémi hoped that everyone at the table was caught up in the discussion to notice how she wasn’t able to keep her eyes off this woman. She almost sighed with relief when the waitress came back with Derrick and Claudia’s food, distracting her too-intense gaze. Rémi picked up her fork and refocused on her plate.
Chapter 9
The students streamed out the classroom door and past Rémi. She waited until the stream slowed to a trickle of one or two eager-looking freshman girls before poking her head in. The knobs of Claudia’s spine pressing against a black turtleneck dress as she bent over her desk greeted Rémi’s gaze. And below the wide black belt encircling her tiny waist lay the slight curve of her bottom, thighs elongating to legs, tiny ankles, and high-heeled shoes, three inches of sexy that made Rémi’s mouth go dry. Claudia straightened. The contrast of her white hair with the black dress was perfect.
“Hi, Rémi.” She smiled, looking pleased, Rémi noted with relief, instead of stalked.
“We didn’t get to talk very much at brunch a few days ago, so I came by on the off chance that you could have lunch with me.”
Claudia raised an eyebrow, looked pointedly at her watch.
Rémi walked farther into the classroom. “I know it’s after four. A late lunch.”
The other woman smiled. “That actually sounds wonderful,” she said, shouldering her thin briefcase and bringing an armload of books against her chest. “But I already have plans.”
Rémi’s footsteps faltered. Oh.
“Derrick is taking me out to dinner in an hour or so.” She bumped Rémi’s arm. “But you can buy me a smoothie to tide me over until then. I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast.” She inclined her head toward the door. “Come on. There’s a place by the quad that has some healthy blends.” Then, as if remembering Rémi’s fondness for rich foods, she laughed. “And some not so healthy ones, too.”
Rémi bought their smoothies and Claudia led her to a long field of grass sheltered occasionally by trees hung with threads of Spanish moss that waved timidly in the late afternoon breeze. Despite the chill in the air, a dozen or so students were spread out under the trees and in the full glare of the sun.
Claudia found an unoccupied tree for them and sighed as she sat down between two massive roots shooting from the foot of the banyan tree, leaning back into its embrace.
“This is perfect,” she said, plucking off her shoes. Her toes stretched and wriggled in the bed of grass.
Rémi sat down. She silently passed Claudia her drink, aware of the nervousness trapping whatever words she had behind her teeth. Clearing her throat, she moved her tongue over dry lips.
“I like your hair,” Rémi finally said. She put the bright green straw to her mouth and sucked the creamy pineapple and coconut mixture into her mouth.
“Really? Thank you. I was initially worried that the white might make me look old.” Claudia made a face. “But I already had all those gray hairs at the front anyway. I felt it was the more noble route to take rather than dying the whole thing black.”
She pried the plastic cover from her smoothie cup and placed it beside her in the grass. With a plastic spoon, she dug into the pink mound of pureed ice and fruit.
“It’s very”—the word “sexy” hovered on her tongue, but she tucked it away for later—“elegant.”
“Elegant,” Claudia echoed. “It’s a much better word than ‘geriatric, ’ that’s for sure.” She chuckled and spooned some of the smoothie into her mouth.
“Never that,” Rémi shook her head, suddenly tongue-tied.
She wanted to say so much. Brilliant things that would make Claudia fall instantly and madly in love with her. Witty things to make her laugh. But all Rémi could do was watch the other woman slyly from beneath her lashes, take in the gorgeous symmetry of the face and figure held in the loose embrace of the banyan tree.
“You know,” Claudia murmured, breaking the silence, “seeing you outside my office today reminded me of old times. When you were one of my students.” She smiled. “You used to bring me the biggest apples.”
Rémi groaned, laughing. “And mangoes, and oranges, and cherries.” Then she said it. “I had the biggest crush on you back then.”
“I know. It was hard to miss.”
She froze inside her skin.
Claudia stopped with the spoon pressed to her bottom lip. “I thought it was sweet. You helped me to feel good about myself when everything else in my life seemed bent on doing the opposite.”
“As long as you didn’t feel a need to get a restraining order.” Rémi tilted her head, quirked the side of her mouth. “Although I’m not sure that would have stopped me.”
“Youthful passions are very strong,” Claudia agreed.
“And the not so youthful ones as well.”
Claudia held her cup in her lap, balanced in her upturned palm. “Rémi. I’m old enough to be your mother.”
“But you’re not my mother. I already have one. She’s in Maine. Mothering has nothing to do with what I feel for you.”
Claudia looked at her. “It’s not tha
t I’m not flattered by your attention, Rémi, I am. But you have to know that this won’t go anywhere. It can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well for heaven’s sake.” She laughed as if was the most obvious thing. “Just open your eyes.”
“Yes,” Rémi said. “Open your eyes. Look.”
She lay back on her elbows in the grass and crossed her booted feet, willing Claudia to really see her. She knew that she looked good in faded jeans and the thin, man-tailored shirt lightly covering her breasts and the flat plane of her belly. The rays of the sun, filtered through the swaying leaves of the overhanging tree, made the shirt almost transparent, showing clearly that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“I’m not asking for your hand in marriage.” She grinned. “At least not yet. But I would like the chance to court you and show you that I can make you happy if you give me the chance to.”
Claudia’s lashes flickered as she stared at Rémi, the smoothie still held in her palm. Melting.
She never said yes. She never said no. They’d walked on the tightrope of possibility until Derrick’s phone call came and his silver Lexus eased into the parking lot near where they sat. But Claudia’s eyes had taken quick sips of Rémi, as if she couldn’t help herself, while they talked about other things. Rémi felt those eyes, felt them touch her mouth, her skin, her breasts through the thin shirt. Her blood raced, but she tried to show no sign of it. She would wait, Rémi decided, and see.
Chapter 10
Days later, Rémi still hadn’t heard from Claudia, but she hoped. She understood that falling into a relationship with her daughter’s much younger and female best friend wasn’t an idle thing for Claudia to do. Still, she wished the older woman would hurry up already so they could get to the fun stuff. She grinned, imagining exactly what “fun stuff” they could get into together.
With her motorcycle helmet and gloves gripped in one hand, Rémi got off the elevator in the lobby of her building and turned right past the front desk to go to the mailboxes.
“Ms. Bouchard.” The concierge caught her attention the same moment that she registered the softer, less familiar voice.
“Rémi.”
She turned around and her eyes collided with an identical pair. Rémi stopped.
“This young lady says she’s here to see you. I wasn’t sure about—”
“That’s okay, Clive. I know her.”
It was impossible that Clive didn’t realize that they were related, the girl looked so much like Rémi it was disconcerting. Still, she appreciated his vigilance in not just letting anyone into her place.
“Thanks,” she said to the concierge.
The girl in the chair stood up. Rémi knew that she was nineteen. That they shared parents and a last name, but that was all.
Her sister looked every inch a Bouchard. Olive skin, wavy hair a wild explosion around her face and shoulders, and a mouth that even at rest seemed on the edge of a smile.
She was Rémi’s femme equivalent, and though the thought should have made her smile, it didn’t. She’d gotten so used to being without a family that Yvette’s presence was ... disturbing.
“I’ve been waiting all morning for you,” Yvette said.
The last time she’d seen her sister was almost eight months ago, when her mother had summoned her home for a strange sort of reunion that Rémi had to ditch earlier than planned. It had been disconcerting to be with family she hadn’t seen in so long. Especially her sister Yvette, whom she remembered as a gap-toothed five-year-old before Rémi had seen her briefly during their father’s funeral nearly two years ago.
“You should have told me you were coming,” Rémi said.
“I did. I left a message on your phone a week ago to let you know. Didn’t you get it?”
Apparently not. Rémi stared at her sister, her face carefully blank. “I’ll be right back.”
Keys in hand, she walked slowly to the bank of mailboxes. She wrestled the wide stack of letters, catalogues, and bills out of the metal enclosure. Did their mother know that Yvette was here? Stupid question. Rémi locked the box and went back out to the lobby.
“Come on.”
The girl picked up her rolling suitcase and backpack then followed Rémi into the elevator. On the fifth floor, the doors opened and they walked down the hall to her unit, still without speaking. Rémi had left the stereo on this morning. Had left it repeating the new Damian Marley album that she’d recently become obsessed with. A few motions of her fingers over the control panel built into the wall by the door and the reggae was replaced by Yo-Yo Ma’s soothing rendition of Bach’s Cello Suite # 2. She put her helmet and gloves on the low shelf below the control panel and sighed.
“Does Mama know that you’re here?” she asked.
Yvette pulled her luggage into the living room and parked it near the couch. “No.”
“Of course not.” Fuck.
Rémi didn’t have a relationship with her mother, to say the least. When Rémi was fourteen, her mother ran away from Maine and her father with her and Yvette. The three of them had thrived in Miami after being under the thumb of the tyrannical but financially generous Auguste Bouchard. But after a year of fresh air, unconditional hugs, and life in the sun, Auguste managed to seduce his wife back to Boothbay Harbor. At fourteen, Rémi decided she was old enough to stay in Florida by herself while Kelia Walker-Bouchard and Yvette went back to their gilded prison.
During her stay in Florida, her mother had made sure that Rémi had everything she needed by way of money and occasional supervision from her sister, Jackie, who lived in North Miami Beach. She even bought Rémi the condo where she lived. Kelia never understood why Rémi couldn’t go back to live in Auguste’s house, or worse, why she felt the need to come out to him when she knew how conservative, republican, and homophobic he was. Not at all the typical Frenchman that he seemed to most who knew him. She suspected that her father never knew that Kelia was still funneling money to her, even after she turned eighteen. Even now.
“You can put your things in the spare bedroom at the far end of the hall,” Rémi told her sister, pointing beyond the kitchen, “but tomorrow you have to leave.”
“I don’t want to go. It’s not my fault you didn’t check your messages. If you want I can call Mama and tell her that I’m here with you, but I’m not leaving.”
“Why?”
“I need someplace to be that’s not home or school.”
“Did you drop out of school to come here?”
“I’m taking a break. I already told them I won’t be back until summer semester.”
“And how long were you planning on staying here?”
Yvette crossed her arms over her chest. And smiled. “As long as you let me.”
“Right.”
Rémi picked up the phone and punched in her mother’s number. Although she’d only used it once in the past fourteen years, she’d already had it memorized. When a little boy answered the phone, she flinched. She’d forgotten. Not long after Kelia had gotten back to Maine, Auguste had gotten her pregnant. The boy’s name was René.
“Bon nuit.” She automatically slipped into French at the boy’s greeting. “Pouvoir je parle avec votre mère?” May I speak with your mother?
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Mathilde.” For some reason, Rémi gave her middle name.
“Yvette is here,” she said without preamble when Kelia answered the phone. “She says she won’t leave. I’d like you to come and get her.”
Her mother’s silence was telling. She didn’t want to get her child. Rémi was hit by a sense of déjà vu. Kelia chose to leave her in Miami and go back to her pig of a husband.
“She doesn’t want to be here,” her mother said. “Please let her stay with you. I don’t think we can do anything for her here.”
Rémi almost slammed down the phone, but instead murmured a polite, “Of course,” and quietly hung up.
Clenching her jaw, she sat on the couch to pull
off her boots and socks. The thin, long-sleeved shirt followed, leaving her in a white tank top and faded jeans.
“I know she doesn’t want me in Maine right now.” Yvette emerged quietly from the spare bedroom around the corner. “I’m asking questions she doesn’t want to deal with.”
“Like what?”
“Like why she left you by yourself and came back to Daddy when you were obviously too young to be here by yourself.” Yvette shook her hair back, probably an unconscious habit, sending the thick waves moving around her face and shoulders.
Rémi sighed. It was a question that she’d asked for years, silently, but had never gotten the answer to.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“No, I ate at one of the restaurants earlier.” When Rémi had been having brunch with her friends at Novlette’s.
Rémi sighed again and scraped fingers through her short curls. What did she do to deserve this?
Yvette sat beside her on the couch, propped her chin on her fist to stare at Rémi. “I saw the billboard on my way from the airport. Do they pay you for that?”
“Of course.”
“Is that the kind of watch that you wear?”
“No, but they gave me one for free. I hocked it for a motorcycle.”
The girl smiled weakly.
A part of Rémi wanted to just leave the girl to her own devices, let her find her own entertainment in the condo. There was enough to do, enough books to read. The Jacuzzi worked, and the pool downstairs was sparkling and clean. But Yvette had all that in Maine and more. Well, maybe not the sunshine, but that was only a matter of a few months.
“Come on. Let’s go up to the roof.”
Rémi grabbed a beer from the fridge and a soda for Yvette; then they went outside to the balcony and up the white-railed stairs leading to the rooftop balcony with its expansive view of the city. She gripped the railing as she stepped up on the roof, the white concrete surface instantly warm under her bare feet.
The sun was brilliantly white, stripping away any darkness from Rémi’s own corner of the roof. Partitioned on one side by tall white planters and the thick, decorative shrubbery that grew out of them, the Jacuzzi took up fully a third of the rooftop space. It flashed blue under the bright afternoon sun from its raised dais, the four white steps that Rémi often joked led to wickedness and vice. The thing was built for five, but it had held eight comfortably enough.
