Red Hot Obsessions (112 page)

Chapter 3
Charles

SATURDAY NIGHT WAS CHARLES’S NIGHT to party. The week had been rough at the studios. He was in a touchy situation because of the war between the show’s two scriptwriters.

One of the scriptwriters was gay, and Charles had spurned his advances. The man held a grudge and wanted to get rid of Charles. He’d been coming up with a different plot that would kill off Charles’s character every single week.

The other writer was Nathalie, the funniest young woman Charles had ever met. Nathalie had taken an instant liking to Charles and was in his corner. She kept reminding the production that Charles’s contract didn’t end until the fall. She pointed out that as long as they had to pay him they might as well use him, and so far she’d prevailed.

So while her colleague was slashing his throat in a dark alley, driving him off the highway without a seatbelt, or choking him to death with a handful of peanuts, Nathalie was including Charles in more and more scenes. He had so many lines, he was having a hard time keeping up.

The issue was not the length of the script—he had a fabulous memory and could learn by rote miles and miles of text. He had done so every single day when his part had started to grow in his first American soap opera. The problem was the way he said the words. Even if his character—the American cousin—had to have an accent when he spoke French, he still had to be understandable, and Charles often wasn’t. He was getting better, but he wasn’t there yet.

The pressure was slowly building. He had to improve real fast, or his character would really be thrown down some cliff on a cloudy night.

Jean-Michel and Ariane had been taking turns making him rehearse and “E-NUN-CI-A-TE” the French words he would have otherwise slaughtered. To thank them for their hard work, Charles was taking them out for dinner and dancing. He was dead tired and wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but it would do him good to let off some steam during an evening away from his character.

So there he was, having a glass of wine in Ariane’s dining room on this lovely May evening, enjoying the breeze coming in from the wide open door and windows, when Ariane decided that, while they were waiting for Jean-Michel, they might as well work on Monday’s scenes.

Charles paced and recited his text, and Ariane corrected him while paying her bills. The woman was incredible. Did she always multi-task? The question made an image pop into his head. A vision of Ariane in bed with a man, making love and writing out a grocery list. The image was so funny, and he was so tired, that he lost it. He laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall and sit on the floor.

“What could possibly be so funny?” Ariane asked, looking up from her checkbook and smiling. “Poor baby, you’re slap-happy. Come on, breathe. You’re crimson. Do you want a glass of water? Breathe, you look like you’re about to burst.”

“What’s the matter with him?” Jean-Michel asked as he walked in. “We could hear him laughing from the street.”

“I don’t know. He was saying his line, and then he started to laugh. There’s no stopping him. Look at him! He’s contagious. He makes me want to giggle, too, and I don’t even know what’s so funny.”

“Come on, tell us! We want to laugh as well,” Jean-Michel said.

Charles caught his breath. “You know how Ariane always multi-tasks?”

Jean-Michel nodded. “She’s a woman. Women do that.”

“So I had this vision of her in bed with a man, and…” The end of his sentence was carried away by the wave of laughter washing over him.

“…checking a to-do list?” Jean-Michel asked. He let out a squeal of laughter.

Charles watched Ariane grin, start to laugh at herself, and then turn scarlet as a man’s voice by the door said, “He does have a point, you know. Your to-do lists are a bit obsessive.”

Charles looked for the source of the voice. Standing there with a very insolent smirk pasted on his face was this nice-looking guy who was vaguely familiar. Charles recognized him but had no idea who he was.

He looked at Jean-Michel for a clue, but his lover had lost it, too. He was laughing so hard, he had tears running down his face. It took a few moments before he was able to speak again. “Charles, you’re killing me. You have no idea how funny you are”—he breathed in—“to say that when Patrick is around.”

Charles had heard all there was to hear about Patrick. The single, sexy baker who raised his daughter alone and had had no known lover in the past decade. Patrick who, according to the gossip started by Madame Caroline, was Ariane’s secret lover. Well, now was as good a time as any to find out if there was any truth to what the old bat was saying.

“So Patrick, tell us. Does she prepare lists for you?” Charles asked.

“Absolutely. All the time,” Patrick said without any hesitation.

“Patrick!” Ariane was frowning.

“Just last week, you sent me three different lists for my bread baskets…”

“You know very well that’s not what Charles is talking about,” Jean-Michel said, interrupting Patrick.

“I’m a gentleman,” he said, winking at Ariane. “And a gentleman never tells.”

Thinking that maybe if they got him drinking, Patrick would tell, Charles invited him to go to dinner with them.

“Sorry, I can’t. I would love to, but I promised Martine I’d take her to the movies tonight. For once she wants to do something with her old man, so I’m not going to turn her down.”

“What about Tuesday night? There’s a free Mika concert to celebrate the passing of the new law allowing same sex marriage. Will you join us? The three of us plus a hundred thousand others are going dancing on the Place de la Bastille.”

“We are?” Ariane asked.

“We are,” Jean-Michel and Charles said together.

“That sounds like fun,” Patrick said. “Sure I’ll go with you.” Then he turned to Ariane and said, “I wanted to talk to you. But I can wait. It’s nothing urgent.”

“After my lunch with Madame Caroline tomorrow. I’ll be here all day doing my accounting. Feel free to come anytime.”

“I’ll try. Otherwise I’ll see you Tuesday night. Bye, guys.” He left, looking disappointed.

Charles and Jean-Michel waited to hear the heavy building door close before they jumped on Ariane. “So, pray tell, are you two just friends or what?”

“This is obviously classified information, and I’m not gonna tell.”

“A woman could do worse,” Charles said.

“Funny, that’s precisely what Madame Caroline said to me over lunch. Maybe you two should meet and talk it over!”

“Perish the thought,” Jean-Michel said as he closed the windows. “Ariane, you’re raging mad. If those two ever got together, it would be like a gossip nuclear explosion. We would never survive. Come on guys, let’s go out. I’m famished.”

Chapter 4
Peter

THAT SAME SATURDAY NIGHT, PETER was at his desk in his home office in New York trying to finish grading his students’ finals, but his mind kept going back to Paris and to Ariane.

During his last day in Paris, Peter had been kept very busy. He first met with Nathanael, the young French mathematician the Dean had asked him to court for her. Everyone agreed that this young man, who had just turned twenty-four, was simply amazing. Nevertheless, many members of the scientific community didn’t yet think of him as one of the top contenders for the Fields Medal to be awarded in 2014. The rule was that the prize, which is only awarded every four years, could only go to mathematicians under the age of forty. So, no matter how impressive Nathanael’s work had been, the jury could very well decide to look more favorably upon the work of older possible recipients who were running out of time.

Marsha, the Dean who had been closely following Nathanael’s work because it was in her own field, was of the opposite opinion. Hence she had invited him to come to New York for the 2013/2014 academic year as a visiting professor in the school of mathematics where Peter taught.

The meeting had gone very well. Nathanael was already sold on the idea of moving to Manhattan for a year. Peter had sealed the deal when he stressed that all the major Manhattan schools would certainly consider Nathanael if he made his interest known. But Peter’s school had the advantage in that Nathanael had not needed to ask. He was being courted by a Dean who had dedicated her entire life to the same field of research. In his school, Nathanael would be like first violin in a tiny elite orchestra instead of the third fiddle to a philharmonic.

Peter had then met with the Dean of the Paris University, which was part of their exchange network. Since neither of them had a specific agenda, it was a very relaxed meeting. They spent a nice couple of hours getting to know each other and agreed to meet again soon, especially if Peter did come back to visit Paris as he planned.

There had been just enough time to drop by Ariane’s school to say goodbye before meeting Mary at the hotel and taking a ride to Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport to go back home.

Peter could hardly believe a week had passed already since he had dropped in on Ariane on his way out of Paris. She had been in the middle of one of her Monday afternoon classes. All the attendees were young adults, and she had felt confident enough to leave her classroom unattended for a short while since she was just stepping into the adjacent room.

Peter had kissed her goodbye and left very frustrated because she had remained aloof. Nothing like the Sunday morning kiss when he had obviously knocked her socks off. Probably the presence of her students on the other side of the door. Unless she had still been recovering from the hour he had spent alone with her after the end of the weekend workshop.

For him, it had been an hour of absolute bliss. Empowered by the knowledge that she was ready to let him in, he had savored bringing out her passionate side. He had shamelessly caressed and teased her to bring her very close to the edge several times and purposely left her desperately hungry for him. He wanted her impatiently awaiting his return.

Furthermore, Ariane had to know right from the start who was going to be in command of her pleasure from then on. Peter didn’t know what she had experienced before, and he didn’t really care. The only thing that mattered was that, from then on, she would be his and his only.

He couldn’t wait to be back in Paris, but he had to stay put another ten days. He would have to go through all the graduation events and the commencement ceremony, but then he would be free to go to her. The only question was how much time he would need to stay in Paris.

He wasn’t sure how long it would take to make Ariane his the way he intended to. He was hoping he could do it in three months, and then he could come back with her to New York in time for the fall term. But what if three months were not enough to obtain her complete surrender? What if she refused to abandon her entire life and place herself entirely at his mercy by moving to New York? He was pretty sure he could buy himself more time by joining the exchange program and staying in Paris as a visiting professor for a term or two. But it was too late to get an invitation for the fall term. He had already received his schedule for that period. He would just have to hope for the best. She seemed so receptive to his touch when really he had barely started exploring her body. He would probably learn her ways and teach her his ways in a few weeks. He looked forward to doing so.

In the meantime, he had finals to grade, papers to finish, a suitcase to pack. The next day he was having lunch at his sister’s. She was going to try to do the soufflé with cheddar instead of whatever cheese Ariane had used. He was curious and wondered what the deal was between Mary and her cave man. He smiled, remembering all the nicknames Charles had found for him during the course of the weekend. Each one had been appropriate, but Cro-Magnon had been the most interesting. Peter recognized that he was probably an intellectual snob to have been surprised that a young and un-educated two-bit actor like Charles knew the name of the early Homo sapiens sapiens. Go figure where he had learned that, but it certainly was an appropriate moniker for that strange creature his sister had fallen for.

Chapter 5
Patrick

PATRICK HAD LOOKED FORWARD TO Tuesday night all week. Come to think of it, he had never been anywhere with Ariane. It would be their first date.

How strange would that be? He had made love with her for years, and he knew her body like the back of his hand. Had he possessed any artistic talent, he could have painted her from memory and drawn a pleasure map, placing special hues on her most sensitive places.

But aside from her body, he was not sure how much he truly knew about her. He knew her favorite pastries, her favorite colors, her fondness for animal prints. He also knew Ariane was a kind soul. She was devoted to Madame Caroline, the old grinch who owned half the street.

Ariane had also been so very sweet with Martine. A special bond existed between the two of them. Lately something was wrong with Martine. She was having mood swings. She either locked herself up in her room and ignored him or stuck to him like glue. That was what Patrick had come to talk to Ariane about on Saturday night. Maybe she had a clue what was going on. Possibly boy trouble. He could not believe Martine would soon be seventeen. If it was a boy issue, she would feel uncomfortable talking about it with her father.

What else did he know about Ariane? That before him there had been only one man in her life. A sadistic monster who had hurt her so badly it had taken her years to recover. Every time Patrick thought of that bastard, he cringed and felt murderous.

What a mess they had both been when they had first connected.

At the time, he’d still been carrying a torch for his wife. In hindsight he wondered why he had mourned the departure of that self-centered creature. The best thing she had ever done for him was to pack and vanish, leaving their daughter behind. Walking out on him, he could understand. Maybe he had not been attentive enough, maybe she had fallen in love with another guy or decided she liked women better, who knew. But whatever her reasons for leaving him, it was abandoning Martine that he could not fathom. What kind of woman abandons such a youn child and never looks back? A woman who deserves nothing more than to be divorced in absentia. He had waited a long time, but he had finally filed last Christmas. Now that part of his life was over. The page was turned. The divorce had become final.

Earlier that year, he had wanted to invite Ariane out to celebrate the event, but she had declined. He had not doubted for a second that she would be happy for him. The look on her face when he told her about the divorce showed him how delighted Ariane was for him that he was starting a new chapter in his life. Even though theirs had not started as a traditional affair, he knew she cared deeply for him.

However, lately, she had become distant. Whenever he dropped by, she gently turned him away. There was always an accounting deadline or some other urgent chore that couldn’t be postponed. She did it so nicely that it took a few weeks for him to register that something was off. He missed her very much, and he felt a blow when he realized that she might have decided to close her door to him for good. If that was so, he had to know why. Surely Ariane would understand his need for an answer. After all, she had seen how tormented he had been by the silent departure of his wife. Patrick thought he would be able to deal with whatever explanation she would give him, but one thing was sure: He could not be dumped again without an explanation.

And then again, maybe he was just imagining things. Maybe everything would get back to normal when she was not so busy with the extra work she’d given herself organizing her intensive weekend workshop. That night would be their first date, and he was going to make sure they had fun.

***

At 8:00 p.m., Jean-Michel, Charles, and Ariane came to pick him up at his place. Each of them wore jeans, sneakers, and a flashy rainbow-colored T-shirt with the logo of Jean-Michel’s LGBT association on it. Jean-Michel had brought one for Patrick, too.

“No pressure. You don’t have to wear it tonight if you don’t want to.”

“Of course I’ll wear it,” Patrick said, pulling off his T-shirt to switch tops.

Charles admired Patrick’s well-sculpted torso. “Wow. I had no idea bakers were built like fireman. An entire new world is opening up to me!”

Jean-Michel laughed and put his hands over his lover’s eyes. “You’re not even supposed to see him,” he said playfully. “You should only have eyes for me.”

Patrick felt a little embarrassed at being teased this way, but what the hell. He had a good body, and that was nothing to be ashamed of. But Ariane was looking the other way. What the hell was wrong with her?

They walked down the rue Saint Dominique to the taxi stand on the corner of Avenue Bosquet and Avenue Rapp to take a ride to the Marais. They picked a tiny Chinese restaurant with a few outdoor tables and sampled dumplings with Asian beer. Afterwards, at a leisurely pace, they walked the very crowded Place de la Bastille.

A sturdy temporary stage had been built on the Place by the Inter-LGBT Association to give everyone a chance to see the show. Charles decided that they would get as close as possible to the stage. He walked through the crowd like a true concert pro. They all held hands so they wouldn’t get separated. Charles led the way, clearing a path so Jean-Michel, Ariane, and Patrick could follow.

They stopped close enough to watch Mika come on stage, cheered with the crowd, and started to dance. Patrick wasn’t much of a dancer and just moved a little to the rhythm. Ariane acted a lot wilder and more carefree than usual. He smiled, amused by her shaking her hair like a possessed woman. He thought it was kind of fun until, in the middle of “Relax Take It Easy,” Ariane was sandwiched between Jean-Michel and Charles. The three of them were singing along and jumping up and down together as one. Something in Patrick snapped.

He knew the two men weren’t competition for him. They weren’t even playing in the same league. Nevertheless, he couldn’t let her dance with them so closely. He pushed Jean-Michel away and took his place. Judging by the look of surprise on Jean-Michel’s face, his grip on Jean-Michel’s arm had been a little too strong and the look on his face a little too menacing. Patrick didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was that he was the one facing Ariane and jumping up and down with her. He concentrated on Ariane’s face and tried to ignore Charles, still a jumping nuisance behind her. He’d have to think about this behavior later. He had no idea where that sudden impulse had come from.

Patrick caught Ariane by the waist and didn’t let go of her at the end of the song when the crowd was all applause and cheers. Jean-Michel and Charles shamelessly hugged and kissed in public, and it was to Patrick that a flushed, out-of-breath Ariane gave her best smile. Everything was as it should be.

At 1:00 a.m., they all decided to call it a night and walked back together to the rue Saint Dominique. Patrick said he would see Ariane safely home, so Jean-Michel and Charles went directly to Jean-Michel’s studio over the shop while Patrick and Ariane went down the street.

He walked her to the carriage door, and when he felt she was going to push him away again, he asked, “Would you mind if I came in for a moment? There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Sure,” Ariane said, looking up at Madame Caroline’s windows overlooking the courtyard. He followed her gaze. All the lights were out.

Patrick went in behind her, closed the door, and asked, “Why are you shutting me out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Please, Ariane, don’t play with me. You’ve been turning me away every single time I come to see you lately. You and I, it’s been too long. I miss you.”

“You miss me? You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she said, her voice sad.

“No, I miss you, and I don’t know what’s wrong with us.”

“Us?” she whispered. “There is no us. You made that very clear to me.”

“What are you talking about?” Patrick could not begin to imagine what she was referring to.

“I’m talking about the day you came over to let me know that your divorce was final.”

“What about that day?” He quickly replayed their conversation from that day in his head. He still had no idea what she was talking about.

“You went on and on about how, at last, you were getting on with your life. You said you were turning a new page. You were starting over. You were moving on. Oh God, you said it so many different ways that even the most dimwitted person could have read your message loud and clear.”

Stunned, Patrick looked at Ariane. Her voice was breaking as she spoke, and her eyes were so shiny. Was she about to cry? She never cried. She had totally misunderstood what he had been telling her. “Oh, Ariane, I’m so sorry.” He reached for her.

She backed away as if his touch would have been too painful to bear and gave him a brave smile.

“Don’t be. I’m happy for you. Truly I am. I also understand. I was your rebound girl. A crutch you need to leave behind now that you’re walking tall and proud again.”

“Ariane, I didn’t mean to…”

She interrupted him with a finger on his lips.

“Hush… We’re good. I was a little shaken at first, but now I’ve accepted it. I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry about me. And your timing couldn’t have been more perfect since I may even have met someone.”

“You what?” Patrick was almost yelling.

“One of the men who attended last weekend’s seminar. I thought you knew since Martine walked in on us the Sunday before last.”

“She walked in on you while you were…
here
?” Patrick asked, looking around the kitchen. He held his breath waiting for her answer. What was that feeling again? It had reared its ugly head when he looked at her dancing with the guys earlier. He thought he had drowned it the second he had pushed Jean-Michel aside, but there it was again, back with a vengeance. It was a new form of anger he had never felt before, and it was taking over his brain.

She laughed away his question. “No. Don’t be silly. You know me better than that. I wouldn’t jump in bed with a guy that I’ve only known for a couple of days. We were just kissing.”

“So you haven’t slept with him yet?” He could hear the unmistakable relief in his voice despite his attempt to keep his tone neutral.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. He’s gone back to New York. He says he’s coming back to live here a while, to be with me. We’ll see if that really happens. Anyway, Martine ran out, and she’s been avoiding me since.”

“She’s been rattled,” Patrick said. “Her mood has been a regular roller coaster.”

“That means she knows about us. She must think I’m cheating on you and she’s caught in a conflict of loyalty.” Ariane looked very concerned.

“There’s no question. She knows. Ever since she turned fifteen, I’ve done nothing to hide it from her. We weren’t doing anything wrong, and she was of an age to understand. We’ve never talked about it, but I’m pretty sure she knew even before.”

“Would you talk to her? Please?” Ariane reached out for Patrick’s arm. “I don’t want her to hate me.”

“She would never hate you. You’re the closest thing to a mother my baby ever had. She loves you.”

“And I love her. Please tell her I didn’t betray you, that you ended it first.”

“I’ll tell her that, if that’s what you wish. But that would not be true. I never meant to let you go. Never. It was all a misunderstanding.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you get it? When I told you that I was a new man, that I was finally free, I never meant that I was free from you. I meant that I was free
for
you. I didn’t want to let you go. I still don’t.”