La Suite (3 page)

“I’d love
to.”

Gaëlle stood
and went into the bedroom. She had very few photos of Jérôme,
preferring to keep the images in her head. She dug out a close-up
of him coming off the tennis court after a match. He was sweating
and pink, and grinning.

“Here you are,”
she said. “Disappointed? He isn’t…wasn’t a pinup.”

“You took this
photo, didn’t you?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because I can
see the love in his eyes. Such beautiful grey eyes!”

Gaëlle broke
down. Gabi came to sit beside her, but Gaëlle waved her hand. “I’ll
be all right in a moment,” she said. “But you’re so right. All his
intelligence and caring and love is there in his eyes.”

They sat in
silence for a moment. Gabi looked at the photo again.

“Not a
lifeguard, agreed, but he was very fit. An attractive man.”

“I thought
so.”

“Any woman with
taste would think so,” Gabi retorted. “Just as anyone with taste
would notice how attractive you are.”

“Not at this
moment, though,” Gaëlle said. “I tell you what, give me a week for
the hairdresser and some personal care, and I’ll take you out to
lunch. You’ve made me feel more positive in a few short meetings
than anybody but my closest friends. And they must be fed up with
me by now.”

“I’m sure
they’re not, or they wouldn’t be real friends. And I’ve a better
idea. I’ll take you to lunch instead. I’ll come and collect you. I
know the best Italian places. I’m even related to some of
them.”

“Only if I can
buy the wine. Is that a deal?”

“It’s a deal,
once you tell me what excited you about me all those years
ago.”

“You don’t give
up, do you?” Gaëlle said. “Very well. As I said, I was turned on,
and you were very pretty. You were sitting in my low chair and I
was wondering what underwear you had on.”

“My
knickers?”

“Yes. I was
wondering what sort they were, what colour and so on. Don’t worry,
it didn’t happen every day! Just that once. Anyway, as you were
getting up, I saw them. Little red ones, and with thigh high
stockings, too. I never wear tights, and I know how sexy stockings
feel. Just the sight of that tipped me over the edge and I had to
pretend I’d swallowed the wrong way. What was more, I knocked the
remote onto the floor and when you picked it up, you turned it to
full blast.”

“I did? That
was a total accident.”

“The result was
the same. All I wanted to do was to writhe on the floor and moan.
I’ve never had to exercise so much self-control in my life.”

“I wish I’d
known. But I’d have had to be older to appreciate it, so maybe it’s
better I didn’t. Will you tell me some more about your sex life? If
that was a minor incident, the rest must be fascinating.”

“Not just now,
Gabi. Maybe some time in the future. But I make no promises.”

“I’ll keep
asking, don’t worry! See you next Wednesday. I’ll pick you up at
one. Just jeans and that sort of thing. Don’t dress up.”

With that final
instruction, Gabi left.

Chapter
Three

Gaëlle knew if
she didn’t want to be shamed by how she looked when she went to
lunch with Gabi, she would have to make an effort. She booked at
her usual hairdresser’s.

“I want a
massage, too,” she said.

“We have a new
girl doing massage and beauty treatments. She’s very good, and
she’s free just after your wash and cut, if you want.”

A little later,
clearing the last bits of hair clipping from her shoulders, Gaëlle
went through to the treatment rooms.

“It’s Gaëlle,
isn’t it? How lovely to see you!”

Gaëlle looked
more closely at the young woman and her heart sank. It was
Isabelle, whom she knew from another salon, and who, in the past,
had waxed her pubic hair and expressed admiration for the gold ring
through Gaëlle’s clitoris hood. Fortunately, the beautician was too
full of her new job, new boyfriend and impending holiday to pay
attention to the fuzz on Gaëlle’s lower belly and the absence of
the ring.

On the
Wednesday, as instructed, Gaëlle was wearing jeans and a top, and
waiting in front of her building for Gabi to arrive. The roar of
the motorbike explained why she had been told not to dress up.

“Nice haircut!”
Gabi shouted above the engine’s noise and waving a spare helmet
around. “Almost a pity to squash it flat! I borrowed a leather
jacket for you too,” she said, fishing it out from one of the
panniers.

“Oh, goodie,”
Gaëlle said ironically, as she climbed up behind Gabi. She felt
very exposed, perched behind Gabi’s tiny body and looking over her
head.

“Hold on tight,
here we go!” Gabi announced. She dropped the clutch and the Guzzi
tore off down the road, with Gaëlle hanging on for dear life.
Twenty minutes later they roared into the car park of a pizzeria
beside the Rhine. Gaëlle clambered off, legs trembling.

“How was that?”
Gabi asked, pulling off her helmet and shaking out her long
hair.

“In the moments
when I wasn’t terrified, it was exciting. I think I can understand
the appeal…but it still isn’t for me,” Gaëlle declared firmly, as
she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get some semblance
of style back into it. She didn’t tell Gabi that the vibration of
the motor through the inadequately padded pillion seat had given
her some interesting sensations.

“At least you
tried it. I knew you had courage,” Gabi said, giving Gaëlle’s arm a
squeeze. “Come on, let’s eat and relax.”

After the meal
they went for a stroll along the river bank. They walked along
without speaking for a time. Gabi finally broke the silence. “We
need to talk seriously, and since I can tell that you won’t, I’ll
go first,” she began. “It’s like this. I enjoy being with you,
Gaëlle. I also flatter myself that for you, my company is something
different. I think you need that, and although I’m not seeing
myself as a social worker, perhaps I’m good for you?”

“You are. I’ve
been happier these past few weeks than…for a long time. Thank you,
Gabi,” Gaëlle responded. “Your friendship is all the more valued
for being unanticipated.”

“Thank you for
the compliment. Now, the next thing.” Gabi went on, “Are you ready
to have a more active social life yet?”

“I don’t know.
I’m prepared to give it a try. What do you have in mind?”

“I belong to a
ladies-only dining group, and I’d like you to be my guest next time
round. Will you? There will only be me that you’ll know. It’s a fun
girls’ night out. We eat and drink and gossip and do silly
things.”

“Silly
things?

“Oh, you know,
challenges and forfeits, that sort of thing. Nothing serious, just
fun.”

“I’m not sure.
Am I fit for public consumption, do you think?”

“You are, or I
wouldn’t have asked. And, as I said, I know you have courage.”

“If you’re
certain I’ll be all right, then I’ll give it a go. What should I
wear?

“It can’t be
trousers, that’s one of the rules. Will you wear the green dress
that I saw? I’d like that and it would be very suitable. Oh, and
leave your mobile phone at home. They’re banned.”

Chapter
Four

“Silky black
knickers,” Gaëlle said, talking aloud as she laid out her clothes
and prepared for the dinner. She had been so used to talking
through what she would wear with Jérôme, that she did it
automatically. “I’d forgotten how lovely they feel. The black ones,
because Gabi thinks I’m sophisticated, even though she isn’t going
to see them. Thigh-high stockings. Should I wear a bra? I’ve taken
to that over the past few months, just because I never did, or only
the special one. Make an effort, Gaëlle! No, no bra.”

She put on
thigh-high stockings, which she’d bought specially. She hesitated
for a long time, then finally plucked up enough courage to try on
the green silk dress that Gabi had asked her to wear. One glance in
the mirror told her she wasn’t ready for that, not yet, or at
least, not without putting a slip on under it.

“I’m out of
practice with dresses,” she told herself, as once she would have
told Jérôme. “I hope it looks acceptable.” She examined her
reflection again in the big mirror. “Gosh, it’s short, isn’t it? It
doesn’t feel right yet, to be sexy on my own, but I know you would
have wanted me to try.”

She examined
her face in the mirror as she added the finishing touches to her
makeup. She had even decided to wear her contacts, leaving aside
the glasses she had worn for the past few months. “Do I look
presentable?” she asked her reflection. “I don’t know anymore. I
just hope Gabi doesn’t turn up to collect me on the motorbike, with
me dressed like this.”

Just then, a
horn tooted downstairs. Gabi was waiting in a little sports car
outside Gaëlle’s apartment building. She whistled as Gaëlle opened
the car door.

“That’s a
change,” she said appreciatively, “I shall enjoy watching you get
into the car in that dress!” She pouted. “It would look even nicer
without the slip under it, though.”

Gaëlle did her
best to slide elegantly into the bucket seat. “I tried it and I
felt too uncovered. I don’t look like mutton dressed as lamb, do
I?” she asked.

“You look
elegant as well as sexy. Without the glasses is an improvement,
too.”

While Gaëlle’s
hands were occupied in fastening her seat belt, Gabi casually
reached across, lifted Gaëlle’s dress and peered under it.

“I spy
thigh-highs,” she commented. “Who was it that said how sexy it
feels to wear stockings? Could it have been Gaëlle? And black
knickers, too. Very chic.”

Gaëlle was
stunned.

“Just because I
once saw your knickers doesn’t give you the right to examine mine
in public,” she protested.

“Oh yes, it
does! We’re even, now! Besides, there’s much more I intend to learn
about your sex life,” Gabi said as she roared through the busy
streets. “You’re hiding a lot, I’m sure.”

“I’d like to
live long enough for you to tell me why you think so,” Gaëlle said,
clutching the sides of her seat. “Can we slow down just a little,
to a speed which is just frightening instead of a total
nightmare?”

“Hey! I’m
Italian! We drive like this!”

“Well, so am I,
a bit further back, and I don’t!”

“You see? More
secrets. I never knew that either.”

They arrived at
a Winstub, one of the small traditional restaurants in the old
town.

“We always book
a private room,” Gabi explained as she pointed the remote to lock
the car and walked across the car park beside Gaëlle. “No
outsiders, no men, not even waiters, only waitresses, so we can be
as silly as we like.”

There was a
long table, set for ten, in the room. Gabi set down a carrier bag
that she had brought in from the car. She took out a kitchen timer
and a conductor’s baton. Gaëlle peered at the incongruous
items.

“I hope you’re
going to explain what this is all about,” she said.

“It’s my turn
to deal with the first part of the evening,” Gabi said, as she set
the timer on the table, closed her eyes and twirled the knob that
controlled the alarm.

“There,” she
said. “It has to be random. Now we’re organised. People will be
arriving from now on. The person who gets here last before the
alarm goes off is in charge for the rest of the evening. We have to
call her Madame President. Whatever she says goes. She can punish
anything that she feels like, and whoever it is, usually finds
fault with many things. Anyone who arrives after her suffers for
it.”

“It sounds like
the rugby evenings that Jérôme used to tell me about.”

“That’s where
we got the idea. My friend Nathalie is married to a rugby player.
She’ll be here in a moment, she’s always early.”

Gaëlle was soon
lost in names. Women of all ages from early twenties to
fifty-year-olds were arriving, greeting each other and being
introduced to Gaëlle, then chatting among themselves and with her.
When the alarm went off, Gaëlle jumped. Gabi went over to the most
recent arrival.

“Madame
President,” she said, bowing and handing her the baton. Madame
President was a dark-haired, well-built woman in her middle
thirties. Gaëlle recalled her name was Martine.

“Places,
girls,” Madame President called, tapping the baton against her
glass. They all went to stand behind their place card. Just then
another woman came in, looking very rushed.

“Too late,
Marie-Ange!” went up the general cry.

“What a
surprise. My first duty as Madame President is to deal with
Marie-Ange, who is late, yet again,” Martine announced. “I think an
apology is appropriate. An apology in song…to the tune of the
Marseillaise…on one leg…on a chair, if you please, Marie-Ange.”

“In these
heels?” the woman called Marie-Ange started to protest.

“Did I hear a
complaint? I hope not, or did you really want to be apologising
without underwear as well as shoeless?” Martine asked, raising an
interrogative eyebrow. Marie-Ange took off her shoes and climbed
onto her chair. She wobbled furiously as she struggled to keep her
balance, her free leg waving in the air.

“I apologise
most hum…beer…lee,” she warbled, sounding anything but humble.

“Most
inelegant. Very tuneless. Apology accepted…just.” Madame President
decided.

Marie-Ange
returned to her seat.

“Second
ruling—no watches, and complete silence when the President is
speaking,” Madame President said.

There was a
rustle as those women wearing a watch took it off and put it
away.

“Third
ruling—no tights!” Martine declared.

Nicole, the
woman who was seated on Gaëlle’s left, groaned.

“I knew it! It
just had to be Martine tonight! She always does that and I didn’t
have time to buy stockings.” She was the only one to have to stand
and, without further ceremony, hoist up her dress and pull her
tights off. The others watched, clapping rhythmically.