Make Me Bad: Private Lessons (18 page)

“Sounds perfect. Glad you guys got
in safely.”

“Okay, sweetie. We’ll talk to you
soon.”

“Alright. Tell Daddy I said ‘Hi’.”

“I will!”

I hang up, and get dressed, looking
forward to the time with my parents. Cleo doesn’t come home this time, and
today I head out towards the Metro alone, desperately willing my boring French
History class to pass quickly.

Cleo is already in class, and
grinning like the cat that ate the mouse.

“What’s with you?” I ask, taking in
her appearance. Her hair is still wet from a shower, and twisted on top of her
head, and she’s dressed in the same pants from yesterday, but she’s wearing a
man’s button down shirt, which she has smartly belted to make it look
fashionable.

“Oh, nothing,” she says happily.

“Nice shirt,” I smirk.

She laughs and soon, it’s time for
our class to begin. The hour drags by, but our professor finally dismisses us,
and I grab my bag.

“So what do you want to do? Want to
grab a sandwich? Or go mill about the city?” Cleo asks as she lazily rises.

“I can’t. My parents got in this
morning.”

“Ohhh, right. I completely forgot
about that. Well, hopefully I’ll see them so I can properly thank them for
putting us up in our apartment.”

“I’m sure they’ll be by sometime to
see it.”

“Okay. So, I guess I’ll just head
home. Where are your parents staying?”

“The Ritz. I’m heading over that
way now.”

We part ways and I promise to be in
touch with her later and to let her know when my parents will be stopping by.

I hurry out of class, catching the
Metro and making my way towards the Ritz. I walk into the opulent lobby and
pull out my phone to look at the text my mother sent. She gave me their room
number, and I make my way to the elevator bank. My parents haven’t taken a
penthouse, but they are on one of the top floors, comprised of only a handful
of suites.

I knock on the door and my mom
throws it open.

“Maddie!” she cries, pulling me in
for a hug.

“Hi Mom,” I choke out, as she hugs
me tightly. She smells familiar and comforting, and I hug her back.

“Let me look at you,” she says,
pulling away and smiling. “You seem more sophisticated,” she laughs, “Paris
suits you.”

“I’m exactly the same,” I argue, as
she leads me inside, but I can’t help wonder if my mom is picking up on the effect
my relationship with Luc is having on me. It seems like something only a mother
would notice.

My mom ushers me inside, and I take
in their beautiful suite.

“Wow.”

She grins. “I know! It’s nice,
isn’t it?”

“Maddie!”

I turn around to see my dad,
looking handsome as ever, and he gives me a bear hug. “It is so good to see
you, girl,” he says.

“You too, Daddy. Thank you for
visiting.”

He laughs. “Your mother was only
more than happy to have a reason to come spend a long weekend in Paris. She
should be thanking
you.
”

We all laugh and make ourselves
comfortable on the luxurious couches that make up their sitting room, which, of
course, has an incredible view of the city.

“So, tell us what you’ve been up
to!” my mother exclaims, “We want to hear all about it.” She still looks as
young and beautiful as ever, brushing her blonde hair out of her face. She’s
cut it short, and no longer has the long, flowing waves that went down her back
when I was a little girl. Her hair is cut in a longer bob, which frames her
pretty features.

She’s dressed in jeans with a pale
pink sweater and still looks as fit and trim as ever. My mom has always had
that effortless kind of beauty.

My dad rubs my mother’s back as I
tell them about Paris, and our recent trip to Versailles. I don’t talk too
much, and I only gloss over my lessons with Luc, but my mother picks up on the
name right away.

“Luc Pascal? Isn’t he some famous
guitar player or something? I feel like I’ve come across his name when doing
research for you.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty famous in the
guitar world,” I say nonchalantly. My mother is extremely perceptive, and I
don’t want to give anything away.

“Well, you will have to tell us
more about him, then,” she insists, “but first, let’s go out and find some
lunch. I’m starving!”

My parents don’t have to worry too
much about being recognized in Paris. Pop stars are much more famous over here
than country stars, but they both slip on sunglasses anyway. We find a small
restaurant not too far from the hotel and we settle into a cozy table in the
back.

As my parents fill me in on my
grandparents, all of whom are doing well, I tell them a bit more about my
classes and some of the projects we’ve been working on. We map out our next few
days, and my parents decide to come have breakfast at the apartment tomorrow so
they can see it and say hi to Cleo. My mom and I vow to shop until we drop
afterwards, and my dad is more than happy being on his own for the day.

As we wrap up lunch, I realize how
much I’ve relied on my parents over the years for stability and comfort. I
don’t think Luc ever had that, and that saddens me. I find my thoughts drifting
towards Luc again and again. I pull my focus back to my parents. How am I ever
going to hide this relationship from them?

My dark mood comes back Friday
after Maddie and I have parted ways, and I hate that I feel this way. I’m
taking my medicine, just as I should, but I still can’t run far from the dark
clouds following me.

Part of this is annoyance with
myself. Maddie is so open and loving and understanding, but she has no idea about
the paralyzing nature of my illness. She is so eager, and bright-eyed with that
I-can-conquer-the-world mentality.

Damn her.

I think of her as I dress for my
class, and while I’m on campus. I know she has a class somewhere on campus
today too, but I can’t quite remember. Even after our argument, we managed to
have amazing sex. I wouldn’t quite call it makeup sex, because we weren’t
fighting per-say, but it was emotional. I could feel how freely she was giving
herself, and I had no idea how I should feel about it. I know she wanted me to
meet her parents on Sunday, under the pretense of me being just another teacher,
but I wasn’t even sure I was up for that. For some reason, I believed, it would
make the situation feel more real, and make me feel even older than I already
felt when I was with her.

And yet, as old as I sometimes felt
around her being around Maddie energized me. I could actually picture myself
with Maddie, which scared the shit out of me. And of course, I always came back
to the same conclusion – it wasn’t fair of me to burden Maddie with my bi-polar
disorder. She deserved better than that. Someone as happy and go-lucky as she
was did not deserve to be brought down by my depressions.

My thoughts shifted to my visit
with Juliette the following day. I felt like I was walking on eggshells with
Juliette, especially having no idea what surprises she had in store. She
clearly had not given up on me, but I was hoping that her kids would create the
perfect buffer for her advances. Although knowing Juliette, she would find a
way around that.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny,
and I imagine Maddie happily spending the day with her parents. She sent me a
quick text the night before saying that she and her mother were going to spend
most of the day shopping together.

I can just picture how lovely
little Maddie’s southern life must have been growing up. She had been a child
of privilege, growing up in a true Southern family. Having the added perk--or
burden, depending how you looked at it, of having two country superstars as
parents.

 I’m sure she wanted for nothing,
and was taught good values and morals. She had two parents who loved her, and
probably grandparents that weren’t far away. I envied that. I always envied
those kids when I was little. I don’t remember much of my father, except that
he was a bum and he never took much interest in me. I was just The Accident
that turned all the fun he was having with my mother into something real and I
think he always held that against me.

Once he was gone, my mother and I
were all we had. I remember my mother working more jobs than I could count. Sometimes,
she would be gone when I got up for school in the morning, and I would have to
get myself ready and out the door. I would eat dry cereal or slather peanut
butter on stale bread before heading out to school.

If she was home in the morning to
get me off to school, then she was absent when I got home, and I would have to
let myself in with the key I wore around my neck. I would come into the empty
house, make myself a snack and do my homework before watching TV. And if she
wasn’t going to be home in time, my mother would leave an easy dinner for me in
the fridge.

That was our life – my mother
working and me spending time alone as she supported us. As I got older, it got
easier, and my mother always made sure that she could support my music. She
knew that I was talented, and she didn’t want me to suffer the same fate she
had – she wanted better for me.

Thinking about my mother is making
me feel worse. I push my thoughts of her back to the furthest corner of my
mind, which is where they are normally kept. I head out onto the streets, and
duck into a small chocolate shop. I purchase two chocolate ballerinas for
Juliette’s girls, purposefully not buying anything for Juliette. Instead, I go
next door and buy a baguette to take to Juliette’s. Bread is much less romantic
than chocolate.

I head towards the Metro and get
on, then make two more switches before I’m on a train that heads out to the
countryside where Juliette lives. The journey takes less than hour, and soon
I’m getting off the train and making my way towards her house.

Montargis is lovely, just as
Juliette promised, and I can’t recall if I’ve ever been here before. It’s less
than a mile walk to her house, and it’s a nice day so I appreciate the fresh
air and exercise. I come upon her small cul-de-sac and I easily find her
quaint, charming house. It has a small stream running below a tiny bridge to
her front steps and it’s very French, which suits Juliette well.

“Jean-Luc!” she exclaims, yanking
the door open before I can even reach for the knocker.

“Bonjour, Juliette,” I say, giving
her the perfunctory two kisses on each cheek.

“I’m so happy that you are here to
visit. My girls are so thrilled to meet you!”

Hmm. I’m not sure why they are so
excited to meet me. I’m nothing more than a boring adult.

“Oh? I’m happy to hear that,” I say
awkwardly, handing Juliette the baguette.

“Thank you,” she says taking the
bread, looking somewhat disappointed with my gift.

Good.

“Come in, come in!” She rearranges
her features and ushers me inside. Her home is decorated beautifully, just as I
had expected. There are warm colors, sophisticated patterns and lush
furnishings. Beautiful artwork covers much of the walls, and in the back of the
house lies a bright, window-lined room, filled with every girly toy one could
imagine. There is a pink play kitchen, a flower-trimmed vanity, purple and
white bookcases, and piles upon piles of frilly dress up clothes and loved baby
dolls.

“Playroom?” I ask.

Juliette laughs. “How could you
tell?” She swipes a loose piece of hair away from her face. “I have two little
princesses.”

Right on cue, two adorable little girls
appear at the foot of the steps.

“Mama, is this Jean-Luc?” the
youngest pipes up, her blonde hair braided in two plaits down her back.

“Yes, sweetie, it is.”

“Hello,” she smiles. “I’m Monique.”

“Hi Monique, nice to meet you.”

“I’m Sophia,” the other girl chimes
in. She has reddish-blonde hair, and it hangs long down her back with a flower
headband holding it back. Both girls are dressed in pretty dresses.

“Girls, why don’t you go play so
Mama and Jean-Luc can talk?” Juliette smiles sweetly at her girls and grins at
me.

Uh-oh.

“Oh wait!” I say quickly, “I have
something for them.”

Juliette raises her eyebrows. “How
nice!”

The girls hop excitedly from foot
to foot and I produce the two chocolate ballerinas.

“Chocolate!” Monique squeals,
clapping her hands together and happily taking the chocolate.

“Thank you,” Sophia says happily.
“Can we eat it now, Mama? Please? Please?”

Juliette gives them a rueful grin
and shakes her head. “You know the rules. Not until after lunch. Go place them
in the kitchen and I promise you can have them as soon as you’ve finished your
lunches.”

The girls moan and groan, but
reluctantly place their chocolates on the table before they go into the
playroom and start playing.