The Seduction Of Claudia (8 page)

"Oh, no you don't! I like to cook, but you won't keep me chained to the stove! I need a night out just as much as the next girl," she protested teasingly.

"I can think of far better things to chain you to," he said, wiggling his eyebrows lecherously. "Although, the idea of making you cook things while you're wearing a tiny, ruffled apron, a pair of those sexy heels you wear and nothing else is pretty intriguing..."

"I'll just bet it is," she said mock-seductively, "Maybe you'd like to watch me wield a feather-duster while I'm wearing nothing but the ruffled apron, too?"

"Now you're speakin' my language, baby! I've always been a sucker for a 'Claudia' maid..."

"Pig!" Claudia said, groaning at the pun and slapping him playfully on the arm. "Now, eat your flan while I get the coffee."

He let her get off his lap this time and found himself sitting there with a goofy smile on his face. They had been having a great time together the past few weeks. There had been a few tense moments here and there, but overall they did well together. He had thought that she would do a runner after that weekend in the Berkshires. He'd wanted her so badly that night, but had also wanted to show her that there was more between them than just sex. The drive to the cabin and dinner had gone exactly according to plan. They'd talked and laughed and felt really comfortable with one another. But he'd made a mistake in thinking that he'd be able to keep his hands off of her when they'd gone into the hot tub naked. He'd tried to change course in midstream by calling a halt to their lovemaking. That, he acknowledged in hindsight, had been a big mistake. He knew that she'd been confused, possibly even hurt, by his actions, or rather, the lack thereof. He could kick himself for giving her a reason to believe that her commitment and trust issues were well founded as they related to him. She was so skittish that he felt off-balance and was constantly second-guessing himself and re-evaluating the best approach to making her realize that a love relationship could be easy if she'd let it.

Claudia came in from the kitchen balancing the little cups and saucers of espresso.

"OK, dig in."

They ate dessert, chatting idly throughout, sometimes teasing and feeding one another even though they were eating identical desserts. As they finished, the phone rang. Claudia grabbed the cordless extension from the kitchen.

"Hello?" The expression on her face darkened and then she said, "Oh, Maman, comment ca va?"

Andrew collected the dessert plates, cups and saucers from the table and took them to the kitchen. As he loaded the dishwasher, Claudia paced back and forth from the living room to the dining room, listening to the steady stream of talk coming through the phone. Her exasperation with what her mother was saying was evident, because as she paced, she sighed, shook her head, rolled her eyes and made gesticulations with her hands. As many times as she tried to interrupt, she couldn't get a word in edgewise. Finally, her mother wound down and Claudia said,

"D'accord, Maman," she paused and listened.

"Oui... Oui, Maman..." another pause.

"Oui, d'accord. A bientôt," she pushed the 'off' button on the phone with a savage jab of her thumb and screamed through gritted teeth.

"Trouble?" Andrew asked from the doorway of the kitchen. He was drying the dishes he had hand washed while she was on the phone.

"Nope, no trouble at all, unless you consider the fact that my mother is trying to ruin my life trouble!"

"What's going on?"

"Arrrgggh!" came another little scream through her gritted teeth. "She's divorcing her husband. And guess who she's coming to visit for an indefinite time while she does it?"

"Ummm... You?"

"Got it in one. I don't know what makes her think I want her here. We won't get along. We never have and I'll just go crazy because she's so... so... so impossible! I thought I'd be free of her once she got married and lived back on the island..."

"Come on, she can't be that bad," Andrew said placatingly. "I mean, she raised you and you turned out great."

"You have no idea exactly how bad she can be..." Claudia said bleakly as she slumped down on the sofa.

"What's so wrong with her?"

"Do you have a few free years? Because it'll take at least that long to tell that story!"

Andrew had never seen her so upset. It must be something important, he decided, so he said, "I have time. Let me pour us a brandy and you can tell me."

He didn't know that much about her mother, only what he'd picked up from context clues and from the way Claudia didn't talk about her. He'd met Claudia's cousin when she'd visited from Paris, but never met any other members of her family. He'd had dinner with the two cousins one evening on her last visit. He'd left the room briefly and had overheard them saying something very uncomplimentary about Claudia's mother as they spoke in a mixture of Claudia and Creole. Claudia must have forgotten that he spoke a little of her language, certainly enough to understand what they'd been talking about so heatedly. When he came back into the room, they began speaking in English and had resumed the conversation they'd been having before he left. He'd wanted to know more, but had missed the opportunity to ask her about it. He wouldn't let the opportunity slip through his fingers this time.

While Andrew poured the drinks, Claudia considered how much she'd tell him about her mother. No matter how much time went by, she still felt ashamed and embarrassed about anything that had to do with her mother. Claudia knew, intellectually at least, that she and her mother were separate from one another and that what her mother did, then or now, had nothing to do with her. She had grown up and forged her own set of beliefs and values. Still, though, whenever she and her mother were together, she felt all of those old feelings well up and they both slid back into their old roles. Icy disdain on Claudia's side; malicious teasing on her mother's.

She had never offered Andrew details about her upbringing; he knew only the basics. Andrew felt comfortable talking about his parents and brother and often did. He always spoke of them with affection, even when he was having a difference of opinion with one of them. Juxtaposed with his upbringing, hers would seem even more sordid.What will he think of me if I tell him everything? she thought. He might think that I'm just like her and I couldn't bear that...

Andrew came back with their brandy and handed her a snifter. Without a thought, Claudia tossed hers back in one gulp.

"What are you doing?" Andrew asked, alarm edging his voice.

"Whoops," she answered, holding her glass up to the light as though she couldn't figure out why it was suddenly empty. "Umm, trying to muster up some Irish courage?"

"That won't work for you, you're not Irish, remember?" he said wryly. "Take it easy. Knowing you, you'll be passed out before you can tell me about this 'mother situation'."

"Can I have another if I promise to sip it slowly this time?" Claudia appealed, buying time before she had to tell him the good, the bad and the ugly details of her life.

"OK. But only a little. And only if you sip it."

While he was pouring, Claudia fidgeted on the couch, straightening and re-straightening throw pillows. Stacking and re-stacking magazines on the coffee table. When Andrew came back, she was fiddling with a painting on the wall.

"Does this look crooked to you? Because to me, it looks like the left side is much lower..."

"Nope. Looks fine to me," Andrew said matter-of-factly.

"I don't know," Claudia hedged, "maybe I'd better go find a level and measure it just to be sure."

"Claudia Beaumont, you're stalling."

"No, I'm not!" she said too quickly, "I mean, look, it really is crooked..."

Andrew took a step back and looked at the painting closely, then walked up to it and nudged it about a millimeter up on the left side.

"There," he said, brushing his hands together, "it's perfect. Now sit down and talk."

"Are you sure you really want to hear this? Because it's pretty boring..."

"It can't be that boring if whatever 'it' is has you acting so weird."

"I'm not acting weird! I can't believe you would say that, Andrew. How dare you?! And after I cooked you that nice meal!"

"Oh, believe me, you're acting very weird. So weird, that now you're trying to pick a fight," he said calmly.

Caught. Heaving a deep sigh of defeat, Claudia flopped back into the sofa cushions and closed her eyes. After a few seconds she sat up again and made a big production out of taking the tiniest of tiny sips of her brandy, then looked at Andrew as if to say, "See, only a sip!" He rolled his eyes at her and she sighed again.

"OK, you asked for it. My mother is what my kids at school would call a 'MILF'. Do you know what a MILF is?"

"Mother I'd Like to Fuck," he supplied dryly.

"Where'd you learn that? Oh, never mind... Yeah, so she was, is, a MILF. She dresses like a tramp. Not cheaply mind you, but even the most expensive clothes, things that would look classy and elegant on someone else, look slutty on my mother because she buys everything a size too small and has even short skirts hemmed so they're even shorter. She always wore tight business suits with short skirts, low-cut blouses and indecently high heels for work. Hooker make-up. Even her hair's slutty, tousled all the time like she just rolled out of a man's bed. Let's not even get started on her leisure wear..." she trailed off with a snort.

"So, this is about the way she dresses?" Andrew asked, confused.

"No. Well, partly. You see, my mother didn't just dress the part. She was the real deal. I can't even count the number of lovers she had over the years, let alone name any of them. Well, one name I do know -- my father. And let me tell you, the fact that I know his name is a miracle, because if I know my mother, he wasn't the only man she was screwing when I was conceived." She paused to take a fortifying sip of brandy and looked at Andrew to gauge his reaction to what she'd said so far. He was listening intently, his face relaxed, as was the rest of his body. So far, so good, she thought.

"She had men in and out of our house for as long as I can remember. I was always getting to know a new 'uncle', who would pretend to like me. Children see straight through phonies, did you know that? Anyway, Maman used me shamelessly whenever she had a man over. She'd dress me up and trot me out as if I were a show pony and tell me to speak my flawless Claudia and play my flute. Those were the only times she took any interest in my music... She would play the role of proud mother."

Laughing ruefully, she said, "Do you know that I'm an expert mixologist? I knew how to mix drinks by the time I was ten!"

At Andrew's look of disbelief, she said, "Oh, yeah, it's true. I was quite the little bartender. That was one of my 'talents'. Maman thought it was so cute to have me serve her and her lovers their drinks and hors d'oeuvres on a little tray."

"That's unbelievable," Andrew said. Claudia's mouth tightened and Andrew could have sworn that he physically felt her withdrawing from him. He hurried on, "No, honey, I don't mean that I don't believe you, just that I can't believe a mother would shamelessly use her child that way..."

Claudia gave an indelicate snort. "Yeah, me either. But it was what it was -- and that's only the beginning. I practically raised myself. Maman didn't have time for me. I was on my own as far as personal care was concerned; I learned to cook basic things -- I practically lived on mac-and-cheese, I learned how to run the washer and dryer and stuff like that. Got myself up and dressed for school without any help. I could count on one hand, with fingers left over, the number of my recitals she attended. She always had something - no make that someone better to do. I quickly became OK with her not being around, because I'd begun to notice that she wasn't like the other moms and it was a mortifying realization."

She stopped talking again and stared into space. "I wanted what the other kids had so badly. I always felt like an outsider, especially on days at school when other moms volunteered in class or baked stuff for their kids' birthdays. I never once, in all my school history, brought in cupcakes to share with the class... Stupid thing to care about, huh?" she looked at Andrew sadly, then went on. "The older I got, though, the less I wanted her to be involved in my life. Boys had noticed her and they talked about her, about how she looked and what she wore and what they'd like to do to and with her. Some of them even asked me out, expecting that I'd be like her. Boy, were they disappointed..."

She paused, took another sip of brandy. "Once they realized I wasn't like her, they pretty much left me alone. I studied and practiced and counted the days and weeks until I could get out of that house for good. Just before my sixteenth birthday, something happened and, if I had had any doubts about her, they were dispelled that night. I found out exactly what my mother was."

Claudia set her brandy snifter on the table and went to the fireplace. She poked at the orangey-red logs glowing on the grate and added another, positioning the logs so that they would flame up again. Standing up, she gazed into the fire, watching as it came back to life. She continued to stare at the flames as she began talking again.

"One of her men came to the house one night. Maman wasn't home; I assume she was on a 'date' with someone else. Anyway, even though I told him Maman wasn't home, the guy just walked into the house like he owned it and ordered me to fix him a drink. I asked him to leave; I was uncomfortable with him being there without Maman and he was already pretty drunk. He refused to go so I made him his drink. I left him sitting in the living room and went back to my room and shut the door. Huh," she said, expressionlessly, "that was a big mistake."

"I was lying across the bed, studying, when he barged into my room without knocking. He stood in the doorway, swaying back and forth, looking drunk and disheveled with his night-beard, blood-shot eyes and rumpled three-piece suit."

Andrew's eyes closed, as if by doing so he could ward off what he anticipated she was about to tell him next. He could picture the scene so vividly, could imagine what she, as a young girl, must have felt at being cornered in her bedroom by her mother's drunken lover.