To My Senses The Nicci Beauvoir Series Book 1 (21 page)

I picked up my glass of
wine. “Why did you swirl the glass around?”

“
I was looking to see if
the wine had legs,” he explained. “Legs are when the wine sticks to
the side of the glass. Whether a wine has legs or not gives you a
good indication of the kind of wine it will be. Here, you try
it.”

I swirled my glass about
and saw the remnants of wine hanging on the glass. “I see it,” I
exuberantly cried. I had always wanted to be sophisticated about
wine.

“
Now, take a sip into your
mouth, purse your lips, and draw some air across your tongue over
the wine. This allows the vapors of the wine to permeate your nose
and taste buds. Some wines taste woody, or oaky, as it’s called.
Some wines are fruity and others have more of a tannic or acidic
flavor.”

I did as he demonstrated and he followed
suit. We must have looked pretty silly.

“
There are a wide variety
of wines. Every country produces a distinctive character in there
wine. Personally, I think French wine is the best with some good
Italian wines running a close second.”

“
Teach me about wine,” I
begged.

He laughed. “It took me
years to learn this stuff!”

“
Just the basics. That’s
all.”

David went into a detailed
description of wine. He talked about the different kinds of wines,
and how to choose between them. He also gave me some tips on how to
impress waiters at snooty restaurants.

The appetizers came and
David tried to explain what I was eating. The way he described it,
I thought the food would be terrible, but I was surprised to find I
enjoyed it.

“
This is long overdue,” he
proclaimed, munching on something called a pakora. “I should have
followed the proper protocol for dating and taken you out on a
formal date from the very beginning.”

“
I don’t mind. The other
way was more fun. Anyway, if you had asked me out on a formal date
I would probably have turned you down.”

He frowned at me.
“Why?”

“
I don’t know. So many of
the men—boys really—I have dated bored me to death with formalities
and protocols. They just wanted to speed through dinner to get to
the part where they got to rip off my dress.”

“
What kind of men did you
date?” he chuckled.

“
Not men. Hormonally
challenged children. Men have learned from experience that patience
is part of seduction. Boys just think patience is a word in the
dictionary.”

David laughed even louder.
“Where did you learn to make such a comparison between men and
boys?”

“
From you. They’ve all been
boys compared to you.”

He reached across the table
and grasped my hand. “I could still turn into a…what was it?
Hormonally challenged child, especially when we’re
alone.”

“
I’m counting on it.” I
winked at him.

Dinner came amid a flurry
of activity from the waiters. Dishes had to be set on fire and rice
was served with everything. The food was very spicy, and I needed
to chase away the burning in my throat with the wine every time I
tasted something new. I made a wide array of faces with every new
dish I tried, which made David roar with amusement. The waiters
kept filling my wine glass, until David took the glass
away.

“
You better drink water
instead of the wine,” he advised, setting the water goblet in front
of me. “You’re going to get drunk before I get you
home.”

“
Why, what did you have in
mind?” I asked, emboldened by the wine.

David just
smiled.

***

We left the restaurant
after a few hours, filled to the brim with the exotic foods of the
east. David’s cologne had given way to the powerful aroma of curry.
Fortunately, I had sobered up a little since dinner, but I was
still flushed with the warmth of the alcohol, as we walked down the
street.

David led me down the alley
next to St. Louis Cathedral where I had first seen him painting. In
the shadows of the old church, he pulled me close to him and kissed
me. I felt a rush of excitement radiate throughout my
body.

“
You know what I thought
that first day when I saw you at the lawn party?” he whispered in
my ear.

“
I was the sexiest creature
you had ever seen,” I giggled.

“
Close. I thought you
looked so out of place among all those society women. I remember
thinking, now there’s an odd duck. She doesn’t belong here, at
all.”

“
Funny. I thought the same
thing about you when I saw you on Sammy’s arm.” I paused and looked
up into his shining eyes. “So if that is the case, where do we
belong, Mr. Alexander?”

“
With each other, Ms.
Beauvoir.”

***

Over the following weeks,
David dominated my nights. School, as well as the incessant phone
calls and e-mails from Hattie about the wedding, filled my days. As
soon as I was home from class, I would change my clothes and dash
over to David’s. I didn’t see much of my father during that time,
and when I did see him, he would just shake his head and
smile.

The nights with David
weren’t all fun. We worked a great deal, too. I spent most of my
time contorted into some exotic pose he had dreamed up, as he
worked away on a canvas. We usually didn’t stop until I grew stiff
or until the sun came up. I didn’t complain, though. I enjoyed
watching him paint.

David was so impassioned
with his work. It was as if he were on fire when he painted. He
would sometimes paint into the early hours of the morning, quitting
out of exhaustion, rather than lack of inspiration. In fact, David
never seemed to run out of his creative energies. The more he
painted, the more consumed he became.

His fervor also carried
over into our affair. As a lover, David was unlike any man I had
ever known. He was ravenous in his lovemaking. It was as if the
long hours of painting only seemed to fuel his desire for me. He
was also a generous, yet unpredictable lover. Just when I thought I
had come to know the routine of his touch, he would surprise me
with some new and exciting way of pleasing me. I, on the other
hand, felt incompetent as a lover, and worried that I might become
boring and predictable to him.

“
Do you…I mean, do I please
you when we…you know?” I asked one evening. I was wrapped in a
green blanket, lying on the hardwood floor as he painted away
behind his easel.

“
When we ‘you know’?” He
edged around his easel. “You mean when we make love? Yes, you
please me very much. Why do you ask?”

I felt myself blushing. “I
was just curious. I mean you’re so experienced and I’m…well, I
didn’t come into this relationship with such an extensive
education.”

He laughed, as he cleaned
off his brushes with a rag. He came over and sat down on the floor
next to me.

“
I wouldn’t say I had an
extensive education, either. I’ve just had more sex than you,
that’s all. It does not mean I’m more educated.” He turned his head
to the side and cocked one eyebrow. “Nicci, you can sleep with a
thousand women, but unless you care about somebody, it will never
mean anything. So in some ways, I guess I came into this
relationship equal to you. I have never cared for any woman the way
I care for you. Making love to someone you have deep feelings for
is like… opening your eyes to the sun for the first time. You can
never go back to the darkness.”

My eyes went wide. “You’ve
had sex with a thousand women?”

“
No! It was just an
expression. I would be gray and withered, if that were the
case.”

I cuddled up next to him.
“Do you miss your old life?”

His brow furrowed, and a
hint of hesitation flashed across his gray eyes. “No,” he stated
emphatically.

“
What else will you do? I
mean, you haven’t sold any paintings yet, and you do have to pay
the rent.”

“
I’ll manage.”

I looked at him, waiting
for something else. He just sat there smiling at me, saying
nothing. He seemed to enjoy the curiosity his silence stimulated in
me.

Finally, I said, “I just
thought you would have tried to sell some of these by now.” I waved
around the studio at the growing number of Jennys. The paintings
littered the floor and covered the walls.

“
Yes, they are starting to
collect.” He massaged my shoulders. I cringed with pain. “Am I
working you too hard? You’re very tight.”

I tried to relax beneath
his strong hands. “No, it’s not you. It’s Hattie and Colleen. They
are driving me insane with their wedding plans.”

“
I am sure everything will
get back to normal after the wedding. All of this activity leaves
you very little time for yourself.”

“
With school, the wedding,
in addition to all of the painting we have been doing, I haven’t
had time for anything. I haven’t opened my journal in over month,”
I lamented. “Not that I’m complaining,” I added, reaching up to pat
his hand on my shoulder.

“
I don’t like the sound of
that.” He eased around in front of me. “You must always write,
Nicci. Never stop, no matter what. I know writing must be for you,
what painting is to me. If I go too long without putting a brush to
canvas, I lose my senses.” The muscles tightened in his lower jaw
and there was a hint of real concern in his eyes. “I know I sound
like a mother hen, but I want to see you writing. You could bring
your journals over here and write while I paint. It would ease my
mind to know you are keeping those creative thoughts
alive.”

“
I’m not as good a writer
as you are a painter. My scribbling would never set the world on
fire.” I shrugged. “My future is in nursing, not
writing.”

“
You never know. One day
your stories and my paintings may sit side by side. The portrait of
the great writer as seen through the eyes of her lover, the
artist.”

“
Maybe I’ll just write
about our time together and the creation of these paintings. So the
world will know what all of this has meant to us, long after we are
gone.”

He gently caressed my
cheek. “I would love nothing more than to be remembered for
eternity with you.”

Chapter 12

It was the middle of
October and I was to host Colleen’s shower. Hattie had printed
bright pink and silver invitations, with lots of bows and bells. I
should have seen this as an omen of things to come.

I had spent nearly every
day, either on the phone with Hattie, or on the computer, replying
to her numerous e-mails. She continually kept updating the
arrangements for the shower and adding to the guest list. For every
person I suggested we invite, Hattie added six more. By the time
the guest list was finished, we had enough women to open a Broadway
show.

The day of the shower, the
ladies gathered in the tearoom of the Windsor Court Hotel. Everyone
was adorned in flowery print dresses and decorative hats. Everyone,
that is, except Colleen. She was in another disastrous creation of
her own design. It was tea length, intertwined with an array of
pink and silver taffeta ribbons that highlighted her growing bosom
and expanding waistline.

I was standing in front of
the buffet table, trying to decide if I wanted the cucumber or the
banana finger sandwiches, when Hattie came over and pulled me to
her side.

“
Nicci, I would like you to
meet Mrs. Ginny Fagles. She has done some charity work with me at
Children’s Hospital, and her son is a doctor.” Hattie made sure to
emphasize the word doctor.

Ginny Fagles was a short,
round-faced woman, with small blue eyes, and very bushy red hair.
She was wearing a bright blue and yellow dress that accentuated her
plump figure.

“
How do you do, Mrs.
Fagles?” I shook the woman’s stubby hand.

Mrs. Fagles blue eyes
widened, as she exclaimed to my aunt, “Oh, she is lovely, Hattie. I
know she is just the sort of girl my Michael would love to meet.”
She turned to me and I noticed she had a piece of spinach stuck in
her teeth. “You must meet my boy. He’s a doctor with his own office
and receptionist. He’s a psychiatrist. Does very well. You would
like him, being a nurse and all. I’m sure you two would have plenty
to talk about.”

“
I’m sure we would.” I
tried to smile. “If you would excuse me, Mrs. Fagles. I need to
find our bride-to-be so we can start the festivities.” I nodded to
my aunt and quickly walked away.

Colleen was parked in front
of the desert table, piling red velvet petit fours on to her
already overloaded plate. I dragged her away from the sweets and
deposited her in a chair decorated with pink and silver streamers.
It was time to begin the tedious opening of presents. The portion
of the shower where everyone was supposed to ooh and aah over the
variety of gifts the bride received. I had considered buying
Colleen a breast pump, but changed my mind and settled for a
blender.

I sat silently and watched
the endless parade of presents being ripped open and displayed to
the group. Hattie had placed me on the right of Colleen, and to my
surprise, Sammy was seated on my left. The entire arrangement made
it difficult for me to avoid speaking to Sammy, as I had for most
of the party. My father had warned me not to say anything to her
and to act like it was business as usual. We smiled at each other
from time to time, but never struck up a conversation until the
very end of Colleen’s present opening.