by Kahn, Denise
“Monique Ravel?” Jacques said.
“Yes.” They both answered simultaneously. They stared at each other for a moment and began laughing. The tension was gone, the pressure was off, and they both sensed that this was the beginning of something special.
Jacques was immediately impressed with her singing. He laid out a plan to bring her the stardom he knew she deserved. For the next two weeks he practically worked around the clock, sleeping and eating in his office, his energy fueled by new devotion. Every day Monique brought sandwiches or a home-cooked meal. She worried at his furious pace. “Jacques, you are going to kill yourself and then I will be all alone,” she teased. “That wouldn’t be fair.”
“Non, ma petite, never.” He looked up from his desk. “And anyway, I have plenty of energy. All I need is to see you and you fill me with such strength, I feel like Hercules!”
They fell in love. They were like teenagers. They were inseparable, made for each other, and they had known it from that very first gaze.
“Look, chéri,” Monique said. “I brought some cheese, a baguette and a bottle of Bordeaux. What do you say we take a little break?”
“Yes, you’re right,” he replied with a gleam in his eye, “I’m famished.” He stood up from his desk and went to her. He took the grocery bag out of her arms, deposited it on the desk, and turned back around to embrace her. “I love you, my sweet,” he said. He took her china doll face in his hands and tilted her chin towards him. Slowly he lowered his face until his lips met hers. He kissed her deeply and passionately. Her hand came up and touched his chest as he kissed her chin and her neck, where he lingered.
“Oh, Jacques,” she moaned, “you truly are famished.”
He put his hand in her blouse, cupped her breast. His loins were bulging. He pressed his body closer to hers and slowly moved his hips back and forth. She could feel his desire and how she wanted him.
Jacques lifted her in his arms and brought her to the couch.
“Oh, my love, what a marvelous man you are. I love you so much.”
His breath caught in his throat. And then they were together, their bodies melted into one. Their need for each other was plain. They were flooded with passion. Monique gasped for breath. She felt him absorbing her inch by inch, and when the entry of his manhood filled her, she was obsessed with giving all of her, her body, her love, her soul. She belonged to him. God had created her for him. Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, the waves of their passion rising higher and deeper, pushing them forward to their ultimate fulfillment of ecstasy or, as the French call it, la petite mort. The little death.
“Now you know why we Frenchmen are known as divine lovers.” Jacques said after they had finished.
“Jacques, your ego is bigger than your...” Monique caught herself and laughed. “But your heart is bigger than your body,” she continued quickly, “and that is made of gold.”
Jacques prepared everything perfectly, to the last detail. Monique appeared on television talk shows, opened for famous singers and cut her first album. The European continent fell in love with her. Jacques pushed harder. Soon, she was to begin a tour; she would perform throughout the Mediterranean. Her launching into the international market would be in Cairo, the first venue, a concert at the foot of the Pyramids.
But Monique’s greatest love was no longer music, what had obsessed her for so many years. Her greatest love was now her man, who happened to be her agent. Jacques saw and understood this, and on the night of her last show before her upcoming tour, two years to the day that they had met, he asked her to marry him.
They were married three months later in a chapel outside of Paris. The wedding was small. Monique and Jacques invited only their closest friends. Among them was Jacques’ best friend Alejandro del Valle, their best man. He was also the consular attaché to the Spanish Embassy in Paris. Jacques and Alejandro had met at the Sorbonne.
Alejandro drove Monique to her wedding in a white Rolls Royce decorated with flowers and banners. The Rolls turned the corner into the gardens of the chapel and stopped in front of the stairs. Alejandro rushed out to open the door for the beautiful bride. She looked dazzling. Her dress was made of silk, taffeta and lace with miniature pearls sewn on the upper bodice and sleeves. The effect was breathtaking. Melina Walters had designed the dress herself and had organized every detail of the wedding with her usual finesse.
Davina’s father hurriedly went to greet Monique. He looked dashing in his gray tails and top hat. He would be giving his second daughter away. He took her hand and carefully helped her out of the car. Gently he placed her arm on his and they proceeded to the chapel.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he said.
“Thank you, Uncle William. Have I ever told you how much I love you? It’s thanks to you and Aunt Melina that I am so happy today. Thank you for everything. Through the good and sad times, you were always there for me. I will never forget that.”
William Walters’ eyes filled. He knew Monique meant every word, and he knew she must be thinking about her parents. “My dear child,” he said, “your happiness is all that counts, and I know that Brigitte and Richard are with us today. They loved you so, and were very proud of you. They wouldn’t miss this special occasion. They are up there looking down at you. Be happy. They are.”
Davina poked her father in the ribs. “Come on, you two, or Jacques is going to change his mind.”
They all entered the church. At the altar, the silver-haired William Walters presented his second daughter to Jacques. The two men looked at each other. Words were not needed; their eyes spoke for them. We both love her, my friend, the older man’s eyes said, but now it’s your turn to take care of her. I will, the younger man’s eyes replied, rest assured. They smiled, their messages clear and understood.
As they emerged from the chapel, the bride and groom were showered with flower petals, an old Greek village custom. It gave the impression of a hailing rainbow.
Before Monique got into the car with her new groom, she threw her bouquet. Davina caught it. The two women looked at each other, a smile and glow spread over their radiant faces.
Alejandro led the procession in the white Rolls Royce, followed by the other cars, to a bistro for a reception before the newlyweds escaped on their honeymoon. The descending sun now bathed the horizon with peach and amber hues.
Inside the pub, the champagne was flowing. Davina tapped her glass. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention. I would like to dedicate a song to Jacques and Monique.” Everyone applauded. Davina wondered if it was for the song she knew they would like to hear or for not giving a long teary speech. Davina was excited about singing now. She missed her music. Her life had changed so utterly since her days in Switzerland with Monique. After school in Geneva, she started translating professionally as a simultaneous interpreter. She was in demand because she was quick and reliable. Her memory for the right word never seemed to falter and she could handle the pressures of the job as well. Working under extreme pressure was essential in this line of work. Panic was the interpreter’s worst enemy. Davina knew several of her colleagues who were not able to endure the stress; they went to special clinics for ‘nerve therapies’. Davina seemed to thrive in the hectic environment of this profession. After six months in Geneva, she was transferred to the United Nations in New York City. Davina completely threw herself into her work, leaving little time for anything else, including her music.
Davina picked up the guitar she had brought and sang Sunrise, Sunset, a song from a well-known musical about a couple getting married. Davina changed the original names in the song and replaced them with the names of Jacques and Monique.
Monique had told Jacques of their singing together but he could not have imagined the effect Davina Walters had when she sang. It was not possible not to listen, he thought. He had just witnessed something astonishing, and as he looked around the room, he realized that the others had been just as hypnotized by her performance.
“
Why the hell don’t you sing?” Jacques asked Davina.
“I did!”
“No, no, I mean professionally. You are incredible.” He meant it. She had something Monique did not have. She had something that few singers have. It was a charisma certainly but it wasn’t just the voice, which was beautiful enough. And it wasn’t just the sensuality in the vocal chords. Something. There was something else he couldn’t identify. With her looks, he thought, she could take the world by storm. “I’m serious,” Jacques persisted. “You must. Such waste, you should be ashamed of yourself, Mademoiselle!”
“Jacques, you are a love,” Davina replied. “I will think about it and if I ever decide to be a singer, it will be with one condition.”
“What would that be?”
“You must be my manager.”
“But of course, I would be insulted if I weren’t.” Jacques grinned but he knew she hadn’t taken him seriously.
Davina had been stealing glimpses at Alejandro all evening. He was devastatingly handsome and the most sensuous man she had ever set eyes on. He not only exuded power and strength, but also warmth and charisma. He was the kind of man she had read about in romantic paperbacks and fantasized about. He had that Spanish aristocratic face, dark hair, a quick smile and perfectly white teeth that seemed to light up his whole face, and the most astonishing violet-blue eyes. She moaned at the thought of his lean athletic body sculptured under his shirt. Every time he brushed her arm or touched her, she felt her heart thump. What has gotten into me? She wondered. She’d had several boyfriends, but none of them had ever made her feel like this. But then, she reminded herself, she had never known such a specimen. She knew from Monique that Alejandro was a diplomat for his native country of Spain. He was the consular attaché in Paris. Alejandro reminded Davina of her own father—tall and elegant, well mannered and distinguished. She also knew from Monique that Alejandro was followed by the most beautiful and affluent of women.
“Daydreaming are we?” The familiar voice came from behind her.
“What?” she said turning around.
“Would we be dreaming about a tall Spaniard perhaps?” Monique asked.
“No. Well… Monique, you know me too well. He is rather smashing though, isn’t he?”
“Absolutely. And you’ll have plenty of time to talk to each other. You and Alejandro are taking us to the airport. Remember?”
The Rolls Royce, still adorned with flowers and banners, slowly crept away from the pub. Davina sat in front next to Alejandro, who drove. Jacques and Monique, in the back, were in their own private world. Davina worried that the hour’s drive to the airport would be an eternity. She didn’t know what to say. How was it that a man could do this to her?
“We really haven’t had a chance to meet,” Alejandro said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Yes, you’re right. It’s been a rather hectic day.”
“It was nice, don’t you think? Jacques and Monique make a marvelous couple.”
“Oh, yes.”
“And you looked just as beautiful. You are the loveliest maid of honor I have ever seen.”
Davina was sure her face was red. She was glad it was night.
“Thank you, and you look quite dashing yourself.” She regretted saying it the moment she heard her words. It sounded so, so young, so silly. She was glad to be able to get out of the car at the airport.
“You know, I really can’t understand why you are taking suitcases with you,” Alejandro joked. “I mean, you’re going to a deserted Caribbean island, and you’re on your honeymoon. Why would you need any clothes?”
Jacques mockingly punched his friend in the stomach. “You sly old fox, you just take care of yourself. And Davina of course. I’ll handle my end.”
The men laughed, but Davina turned crimson. Monique came to her rescue. “Now, don’t forget, we’re meeting in Cairo next month for the opening of my tour,” Monique reminded her.
“I remember,” Davina said.
The voice over the loudspeaker announced the departure of their flight.
“That’s us,” Jacques said.
They bade each other farewell and Jacques and Monique headed toward their terminal. Alejandro and Davina watched them until they disappeared. Alejandro took Davina’s arm and put it through his. As they walked to the waiting Rolls Royce, she felt as if an electric current was flowing from his body into hers.
“I know a splendid little restaurant,” Alejandro said. “How about it, are you hungry? Would you join me for dinner?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am hungry.” Especially for you, she thought. “That sounds wonderful.”
Alejandro carefully guided the white Rolls through the streets of Paris to the Hotel Crillon by the Place de la Concorde.
“This, my dear lady, is the place where they have the best food in town.”
“But it’s a hotel.”
“Yes, that’s true, but don’t worry about it—just concentrate on the food—it really is exquisite.”
“Alright,” she said, trying not to think that there were rooms, with beds, just above where they were standing.
“May I order for both of us?” he asked once they were seated.
“Yes, that’s fine, thank you,” she said politely.
Alejandro carefully analyzed the extraordinary face in front of him. She was stunning. He explored her, as much as he dared, inch by inch. He marveled at the amber-blond hair loosely cascading over her shoulders. Her skin seemed to glisten with the warm glow given off by the candle on the table. He gazed into her big dark aqua eyes and her full sensuous lips that quivered slightly as she mustered a polite smile. She was not aware that her natural powers of beauty had intoxicated this invincible man.
They soon became more at ease with each other and talked about their childhoods, talking more as two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. It was as if they had always known one another.
Alejandro could not concentrate on the food. He didn’t seem to taste it. He was sure it was delicious, having eaten at this restaurant many times before, but tonight the food seemed completely bland. He could not stop looking at Davina. His eyes followed her every movement, the way she ate, the way her lips touched the bouchées as she delicately put them into her mouth. She was a refined lady in every way. And her singing! She had moved everyone in the wedding party to tears. The soft feminine timber of her voice and the richness of it had penetrated into his heart. He wanted to touch every inch of her body, to show her how much she meant to him. A thrill ran through him. He did not want the evening to ever end.
“How was dinner?” he asked.
“Delicious. You’re right, the food here is superb.” She really did not know. She did not seem to taste the food.
“I’m glad. Would you like a drink? A Cognac perhaps?”
“An old one?”
“Only the best!”
“I would love one.”
“I know a place that has a bottle of the best aged Cognac France has ever produced.”
“You know all the hideouts, don’t you,” she said laughing.
“I try.”
“So, where is this wonderful Cognac?”
“It is the only place in town that serves it in such a manner, but I will only take you there if you really want to go.” He paused, watching her face. “It is very close by, in this same building as a matter of fact.”
At the hotel elevator, Alejandro gently put his hands on her arms. Davina felt liquid fire running through her veins. “It is only a few floors up.”
“A room?” she asked.
He nodded. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman,” he added quickly.
“I believe you.”
“Let’s go then,” he said softly.
The trip to the top floor seemed like an eternity. They didn’t say a word, both lost in their own thoughts and desires. Finally, the elevator came to a halt and the door opened. Alejandro gently put his hand in the small of her back and guided he
r down the corridor to his room. He quickly inserted the key and opened the door.
“Please make yourself comfortable while I get the Cognac.”
“Thank you,” Davina said going toward the window at the far end of the suite. “The view is magnificent.” The Eiffel tower in the distance seemed to acknowledge her presence, the Place de la Concorde and the Champs Elysées were bustling with life, and Davina had never felt more alive.
“Yes, it’s wonderful. It is the city of lights, the city of lovers,” he said, pouring the Cognac into the glasses. “Here you are,” he said handing her a glass. “May I propose a toast?”
“Please do...”
“To us, to... good friends.”
“Yes, to good friends.”
They put the crystal to their lips and delicately sipped as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Alejandro slowly moved toward her and stopped just a few inches from her body. “It feels like we are perhaps a little more than friends,” he said.
“I think...yes.”
Alejandro put his glass on the table next to him, took hers and placed it next to his, and took her hands. He could read her desire.
“You are very beautiful, querida, dearest one,” he murmured. Davina shivered and involuntarily reached out for him. Alejandro tightened his grip on her arms and pulled her to him swiftly but gently. They clung to each other a few moments, just enough to feel the urge of the other’s need and their hearts racing. Alejandro released her just enough so that he could see her face. He caressed her lips with a finger. Davina held her breath as her lips parted with his touch and then their mouths met. He ventured deeper in her mouth. He tasted the Cognac. He possessed it, as he wanted to possess her entire body.
He ran his hands through her silky hair and she reached up to touch his face. They held each other tightly and their mouths met once again, this time with greater urgency. Davina thought her legs would no longer hold her. He unbuttoned her blouse and cupped her breast. He felt her nipple harden under his experienced fingers and Davina moaned in pleasure. He dipped a finger into the glass of Cognac and brought it to her lips, tracing them as if he were painting a great canvas. She responded eagerly, licking her lips and his finger. He again dipped his finger into the Cognac, and this time, he outlined one of her nipples with it. He licked the moisture from her breast. Davina’s moans grew more insistent. Alejandro picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
