The Frenchman's Slow Seduction (16 page)

She’s killing me.

I smile at Jean Paul.
“I’ll just see Lou Ann to her truck.”

When we’re out of ear
shot, I take Lou Ann by the arm. “You are so incredibly bad,” I
tell her.

She chuckles. “I
haven’t had that much fun in ages.” At her truck, she hugs me. “Joe
and I will wait to hear from you, Rachel. We’re over the moon that
you’ve come for a visit, and you know we’d do just about anything
to have you work with us.”

“Thanks, Lou Ann. It’s
great seeing you both again.”

When I walk back to
Jean Paul, he says, “Is it true, Rachel? Are you thinking of moving
to Texas?”

Lou Ann is one of those
people who no one knows whether to take seriously.

“I’m thinking about
it,” I tell him.

He shakes his head.
“Sometimes the world seems very incredible.” Smiling, he says, “I
would like to take you to a place about an hour away for a short
hike. Would that be okay with you?”

“Sure. Just give me a minute to get my hiking boots
from my room.”

When I return, Jean
Paul takes my hand and leads me to his car in the parking lot. With
the sudden intimacy of the car, we both fall silent. Jean Paul
doesn’t tell me where we’re going, and I don’t ask. A few minutes
into the drive, he tells me stories about his childhood in
France.

“What was your
childhood like?” he asks.

“Would you mind
terribly if I didn’t have a past?”

“Just a present and a
future then.”

“Yeah.”

“No, it would not
bother me at all.”

For the rest of the
trip, we talk about trivial things that only seem interesting on
long car drives. Shortly after three thirty, we reach Lake
Somerville State Park, and I’m amazed by the beauty of the
area.

“Lake Somerville is a
birdwatcher’s dream,” Jean Paul says.

And he’s not kidding.
As we walk up to the lake, we see pelicans and vast numbers of
ducks.

“Let’s go for a hike,”
Jean Paul says.

Walking past some
flats, we see a pair of red-shouldered hawks. As they take off,
they drive the ducks crazy. Walking ahead of me, Jean Paul leads me
to some high ground. Soon, we’re standing on the north side of a
rock ridge.

Turning to me, Jean
Paul says, “We must leave the trail now, so that I can show you a
place I like very much.”

With so many large
rocks to climb over, it’s a bit tough going, but I love the rough
terrain. After a few minutes, we come across an amazing outgrowth
of Spanish moss hanging from trees. The whole area looks like a
scene from a fairy tale.

“This whole ridge faces
north,” Jean Paul says. “Since it doesn’t get a lot of sunlight,
the moss grows freely.”

After a few quiet
moments, he leads me to the west-facing slope of the ridge until
we’re surrounded by nothing but big loose rocks. Smiling, he says,
“These rocks are one of most unique features of this park.”

About fifty feet away
from us, we see a group of six men. Waving, they make their way
towards us. In heavily accented English, they tell us that they are
German naturalists on vacation. Eager to spend time with Americans,
they invite us to dine with them at a nearby Mexican restaurant,
which they swear makes the best margaritas and fried avocados. We
gladly accept. Their good-natured banter puts me in mind of Bryan
and his workmates. As we drive out of the park, Jean Paul points to
an eagle flying overhead. “Nature in all her potency,” he says.

Over dinner, our German
friends regale us with tales of foreign escapades: “Remember the
fried termites we ate in Nigeria?” “The only thing I remember is
that madman who jumped on the hood of the car. I tell you, I damned
near shit myself.” After a two hour meal, amid protests, we leave
for home. Walking out of the restaurant, we hear their carefree
voices and unrestrained laughter.

On the drive back to
College Station along the flat straight highway, the setting sun
falls below the horizon, causing flames and swirls of vivid orange
to light up the sky.

“You are very quiet,
Rachel,” Jean Paul says. “Are you okay?”

“Just a little
tired.”

“Too many changes too
quickly.”

“Yeah, maybe that’s
it.”

At the hotel, Jean Paul
walks me to my room. Hugging me, he says, “I’m afraid to hold you
too tightly, Rachel, for fear of crushing your wings.”

He asks me to phone him
in the morning when I wake up.

Chapter 21

Waking up the following
morning, I feel anxious and phone Lou Ann to see if she wants to do
something. She’s ecstatic to have me come over and spend the day
with her, and offers to pick me up at ten. A few minutes before
ten, I call Jean Paul.

“Hello, Rachel,” Jean
Paul says. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log.”

“Is that good?”

“Very good.”

“Then I’m glad.”

“Lou Ann should be here
any minute to pick me up. We’re going to spend the day
together.”

“Oh. Will you be gone
all day?”

“I’m not sure.”

Silence.

“I can call you when I
get back,” I tell him.

“I would like
that.”

Putting down the
receiver, I’m overcome by a familiar feeling: that of being free
and happy, but also strangely let down.

Lou Ann and I spend the
day visiting her relatives, who are as crazy as she is. In the
early afternoon, as we’re standing in a room full of people at her
aunt’s house, Chase, her eighteen-year-old nephew, offers to marry
me so that I can become part of his large extended family.

“Don’t listen to him,
Rachel,” Lou Ann says, “it’s the hormones talking,” and everyone
laughs.

After dinner at Lou
Ann’s place, she takes me on a tour of the attached apartment. When
we’re done, she says, “Rachel, why don’t you sit down with me on
the sofa. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Relaxing into the sofa,
she says, “It’s pretty obvious something’s got you down. Are you
still doing that crazy dance you do when a nice guy starts to show
you affection? You want to be with him one minute; then you want to
run away the next.”

I open my mouth to say
something but nothing comes out. Lou Ann has known me for ten
years, but I hadn’t known she was paying such close attention.

“You don’t have to be
an Einstein to see what’s going on, Rach. Your father beat you,
your mother, and your sisters, and you’re afraid to let any man
close in case he does the same thing. Don’t you think it’s time you
broke that pattern of behavior?” She gives me a direct look. “Why
don’t you talk to Jean Paul about your past and your fears? Give
him a chance to help you through it.”

I shake my head. “I
don’t want to Lou Ann. I don’t ever want to think or talk about
it.”

“Then don’t talk
directly about it. Just allude to it.”

And just like that, I
feel like laughing.

“Lou-Ann, how do you allude to being beaten?”

She shrugs. “You could
say, ‘Jean Paul, I’ve had a hard life, and I’m afraid to get close
to someone too quickly.’ Then let him take it from there.”

“I think I’d rather run
away.”

She reaches for my
hand. “Rach, you deserve better. And if I remember correctly, the
more you like a guy, the more you want to run away. How badly do
you want to run this time?”

“I’d be willing to take
a shuttle to Mars right about now.”

“Wow, you must really
like this guy. Come on, Rachel. Talk to him. You can do it.”

Lou Ann has always been
a go-getter.

“Thanks for the vote of
confidence,” I tell her. “I might just give it a try.”

“Good. Just remember,
I’ll be here cheering you on.”

On the way back to the
hotel, I tell Lou Ann about the decision I’ve made. “I’ve thought
about your offer, Lou. How about I volunteer with you guys for a
month, and then we’ll see how it goes from there?”

“Jeepers, Rach, that
doesn’t seem very fair.”

“Believe me, it feels
more than fair to me.”

“Alright. If that’s the
way you’d like to play it. When would you like to start?”

“How about moving in
tomorrow and starting work on Tuesday?”

“Wow, Rach, that would
be great. I could pick you up at your hotel tomorrow around one
thirty. Then we’ll get you all moved in.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Outside the hotel, as
I’m getting out of the truck, Lou Ann reaches for my arm.

“Do you trust him,
Rachel?”

“Pardon?”

“Have you looked into
Jean Paul’s eyes? Do you trust him?”

There aren’t any
thoughts running through my head, only the awareness of impulses
clicking away in my brain, like the noises you hear from those
giant horoscope machines after you’ve deposited your coins.
Suddenly, out of some secret place, a slip of paper emerges. “Yeah,
I trust him.”

“Me too.”

Back in my room, I look
at the clock. It’s only seven thirty. I phone Jean Paul. He picks
up on the second ring.

“I was hoping you would
call,” he says.

“Can I see you
tonight?” I ask.

“Of course. I can be
there in ten minutes.”

Waiting outside the
hotel, sitting on a large rock, I find myself thinking about an
English professor who taught me Greek mythology. He believed that
all of life’s dramas were caused by gods, goddesses, muses, and the
like, as they hovered above us in the ether. Having shot their
arrows, I wonder what plans they have for Jean Paul and me.

“Hello, Rachel,” Jean
Paul says, startling me.

Looking up, I say,
“Jean Paul, can we go to your place? I’d like to talk to you about
something.”

In his usual gentle
manner, he drives us to a very tall building. After parking the
car, he opens my door, takes my hand, and leads me to an elevator.
I don’t pay attention to which button is pressed, but it’s a long
ride upward. Walking into his apartment, I walk into a Renaissance
painting: there are Botticelli-like murals painted on the walls.
Taking my hand, Jean Paul leads me to one of the sofas.

Stalling, I tell him
about my plans to move into Lou Ann and Joe’s apartment. He makes
the appropriate responses but waits for me to tell him what’s
really on my mind. During the silence that follows, I have to fight
the rising urge to run away. Then I think of Verna’s words:
“Sometimes in life, you have to walk to the precipice, feel the
fear, and then jump over. With wild abandon, jump over.”

Looking at Jean Paul, I
say, “My father beat me up badly when I was growing up, and it’s
made me afraid to get close to anybody. That’s why I was afraid to
see you today. That’s why I feel like running away, even now.”

Giving me a tender
look, he says, “I will never hit you, Rachel. I will not touch you
if you do not want me to. Will you tell me about your past?”

I shake my head. “It’s
too awful. I don’t want to feel pathetic, and I don’t want you to
feel sorry for me. I just want to be normal and pretend it didn’t
happen.”

“Rachel, you run away
from those things that remind you of the pain, but you cannot
outrun the pain you feel inside. It would be better to work through
it and put it behind you.” He briefly touches my arm. “Let me share
your burden, and together we will find a way to get through
it.”

And I do. I tell him
about my abusive father and my alcoholic mother, about the
beatings, the bruises, the pain, and the scars, how I felt, what I
saw, what I heard.

Shaken, he says, “A man
who beats a woman or a child is a coward. You did not deserve that,
Rachel. No one deserves that.”

Searching his face, I
say, “Do you think people can love each other forever? I mean, do
you think that a person might stop loving someone else because of
something they’ve done?”

“It depends on the
people, but I would not want to go through this life without
believing that people can love each other forever. If someone does
something they are not proud of, there is always forgiveness. I had
a favorite story when I was young that my grandmother often read to
me. May I tell it to you?”

“Of course.”

“The story was called
Felix, you are no longer small.
It was about some cats who
lived in a country field, where they had to go to work and go to
school. As a kitten, Felix was very small and many of the field
animals terrorized him as he walked to school. The funny thing was,
even though Felix grew very big, very much bigger than the other
cats, and even though the field animals no longer terrorized him,
he stayed very frightened of everyone. He never made friends and
would walk very far to avoid seeing any of the other animals. It
was only when his mother found a large piece of a mirror and asked
him to look at himself that he realized he was no longer small, and
that no one could hurt him. That was the day he stopped being
afraid.

“Rachel, you will never
be in a position where someone can hurt you like that again, so you
don’t need to be afraid anymore.”

And for the first time,
I cry; I cry for who I was, and for what I almost became.

By the time Jean Paul
drives me back to the hotel, it’s after one o’clock. Standing
outside my hotel room, he asks me to meet him at his workplace for
lunch the next day. As he kisses my cheek, he says, “It takes many
angels to make up for one devil.”

Chapter 22

Late Monday morning, I
walk from my hotel to the university and wait for Jean Paul in the
forecourt of the building where he works. At noon, he comes out of
the building.

“Hello, Rachel,” he
says, playfully putting an arm around me. “Let’s go for a
walk.”

Things are different
between us now; easier.

After strolling through
the campus grounds, we stop for sandwiches at a cafeteria and then
make our way to Jean Paul’s workplace, where familiar chemical
smells trigger memories of my university days. Jean Paul gives me a
tour of his department, introduces me to colleagues, and then takes
me to his office, which is very homey, with comfy chairs and lots
of photos and paintings on the walls. Seeing a stack of emails
clipped to the side of his computer monitor, I recognize them as
mine.