CHAPTER TWO

“When are you coming back to your senses Remie and coming home?” Her mother asked, in her familiar voice, so loud and clear that Remie could hear her before she raised the phone to her ear.

“Hello to you too, Mama,” Remie said. Gee, this is all I need today she thought. She’d been enjoying the evening with a glass of Merlot, and a good book before her Mother’s weekly *you’ve got to come to you senses Remie* call jarred her out of her reverie. Her mother, God love her, felt it was her duty to call her each and every week since her divorce from Scott had became final. Her purpose she had told Remie was to cheer her up. But with each call, her Mother’s requests to reconsider her decision to use the money her Aunt Alva had left her to move to Paris had become more strident. Her Mother also disapproved of her decision to take on the new job the National Opera Company had offered her because it would keep her away from them, and from Scott for at least a year. Remie’s hopes that her Mother would accept her move were now dim and for the first time she felt a mild resentment growing against her mother's insistence that she do as she bid.

“Mom, we’ve been through all this a thousand times. I took this job so I could make a new start. I love it here. You should see the Eiffel Tower from my window. It looks like a delicate piece of lace that’s been festooned with a thousand lights!” In the darkness outside her window the Eiffel Tower glimmered back at her and made her smile.  “Why don’t you and Dad...” she began hopefully.

“Scott called me yesterday Remie,” her mother said flatly. “He wants you back.”

Remie laughed. “Wants me back?”

“Yes!” She interrupted. “He said he’s willing to forgive and forget all this unpleasantness if you make the first move and tell him you’re sorry and.....”

“Tell him I’m sorry?” She protested. “Oh mother, you just don’t know…”

“Now, now. I know about his little… indiscretions.”

“Indiscretions," she sputtered! She felt a stab of resentment and an underlying note of irritation crept into her voice. “Oh, Mother, how can you say that?”

“Everyone is entitled to one mistake Remie...”

Remie snorted. “Having an affair with my best friend for two years is a hardly a little mistake! And if you think for one minute I’d ever…”

“He was a good provider Remie,” her Mother said, not missing a beat, “and he always gave you anything you wanted.”

“Oh, yes, yes he did, Mother,” she said as her voice and temper climbed. “He gave me all the right things, all the trappings that the wife of a top executive should have. He gave me everything except the one thing that really mattered,” Remie said, her voice cracking.

“Oh Remie,” her mother said, softer in tone, almost apologetic. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I know you think I’m an old busy body, meddling in your business, but I worry about you. I would never intentionally say or do anything to hurt you, but I’m scared that you could wind up alone. Alone and bitter and that’s not a future I’d wish on anybody, especially you.”

Remie’s head spun, her anger replaced by a growing weariness. She didn’t want to fight anymore. “I know, but please, can’t you just leave this alone and be happy for me? You haven’t even ask me how I like it here or if I’m nervous about my new job. It starts tomorrow morning. Oh, and the sketches and pictures of the costumes I’ll be restoring are fabulous! All 18th and 19th century styles. You know how much I loved to study that period of history. It’s so romantic, and the people of that era were so...”

“Oh Remie, my sweet, simple darling. That’s always been your problem, daydreaming about how things were instead of how they are. Wanting life to read like a storybook or a…fairytale is childish. No prince is waiting to rescue you. I don’t mean to step on your dreams dear….”

Remie sighed. “I know you don’t Mama.” And the funny thing was she did know that her Mother believed she knew what was best for her. “But, you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. I’m here, and I’m staying here. At least for a now.”

“Oh honey,” her mother said after a long pause, her tone a little gentler. “If I can’t convince you to go back to Scott, at least think about coming back to LA and getting a different job. How do you expect to meet a man when you’re stuck in a dark airless room all day buried in a bunch of musty old costumes?”

I give up Remie thought, her head beginning to ache. She’s never going to change. I could tell her about the darkest moments between Scott and me, but it would serve no purpose. To expose old wounds would only cause more pain, and there had been enough of that. She just wished she could communicate to her Mother how happy she was about this change in her life, how happy she was to be back in the real world and have a chance to do the work she loved. “Mama, I’m not interested in dating right now, please try and understand,” she said.

“Promise me you will think about what I’ve said?”

“All right, I promise. I will at least think about the things you’ve said.”

“Good! Oh, and your Dad says hello,” her Mother cut in. “And I have to go now; I’ve got to call your sister.”

Remie rolled her eyes. Lucky Susan, she thought. “Okay Mom, goodbye and tell Dad hello for me. I’ll try and call you at the end of the week. Yes, it’s late here, after eleven. Yes, I’ll take care, you too. Good-Bye.”

Remie picked up her glass of wine and walked out on the small balcony. She sipped her wine un-mindful of the chilly mist that swirled around her as she digested the latest conversation with her mother. If I'd stayed in LA, what would have happened? Would Scott have talked her into going back to him? Chill bumps prickled her skin, making her shiver. Sighing loudly, she headed straight for the bathroom. Stripping she got into the glass shower, adjusted the water until it was as hot as she could stand and just stood there, enjoying the feel of the hot water beat down on her shoulders. She imagined that the pulsing water was flushing the tension from her body, and sending it swirling down the drain. When she got out ten minutes later she grabbed one of her newly purchased towels from the warming rack and toweled off, feeling better by the moment. Humming tunelessly she wrapped her hair in another towel turban style and shrugged into the big pink terry robe, another new purchase, and tied it closed around her. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, picked up the copper teakettle and filled it with enough water to make a cup of Sleepy Time tea and set it on the stove to boil. While she waited, she finished drying her hair. The shrill whistle of the teakettle let her know the water was ready and she made herself tea and carried it to her bed. Settling down she picked up her briefcase and took out the sketches and notes of the costumes she would be working on and spread them out over the ivory colored duvet. Making notes, she sipped at the aromatic tea and forgot about the time. A couple of hours passed before she decided she’d done enough. One sketch at the foot of the bed caught her eye. It was of a French Policeman. She picked it up and smiled. It reminded her of the Javert character in Les Miserables. Since she had first read Victor Hugo’s novel she’d always found him to be the most fascinating of Hugo’s characters, and the least understood. She felt the real tragedy of the story was his inability to recognize and accept the love and kindness offered to him by Jean ValJean. His resulting suicide had hit her hard the first time she read it and cried for hours, feeling his death as keenly as if it had been a member of her family that had plummeted off the bridge that dark night. She tried to imagine how desperate a person must be to take their own life, for as difficult as the last two years of her marriage to Scott had been, she had never once considered ending her life. Goose bumps prickled the backs of her arms. Don’t go getting morbid on me now old girl, she told herself and put the drawing aside. Twenty minutes later she wearily put her work back in her briefcase, set the alarm clock for six a.m., took off her reading glasses and tossed them on the bed side table before stretching out. She lay with her hands laced together under her pillow, staring up at the dark ceiling. The nights since her breakup with Scott had always been the worst for her, the loneliest, and she welcomed the warm embrace of sleep as it claimed her. When she slept, she wasn’t alone. She had her dreams.

The man blinked his eyes, keeping the tears that pricked at his lids from falling. What if someone heard him or worse saw him in such a state. Slowly he made his way to the small wooden bridge near their home. Your home now, his mind corrected him. A frown wrinkled his handsome brow. Had she been gone a year already? The wind picked up, ruffling his thick dark hair, now shot through with silver that hung lose about his shoulders. She would have smoothed it down while chiding him gently about his unruly hair. A ghost of a smile played across his lips at this memory and he fancied he could hear her laughter when the wind blew through the trees, but of course it was just the wind.

Remie slept fitfully, dreaming of a man whose face she could not clearly see but whose pain and sadness she could feel. Strange that he should seem so familiar to her. She could see him standing on a bridge looking down into the water, his cheek wet, as if he had been crying. She saw him lean forward and her heart gave a lurch. He was going over! She started running but her legs felt as if they were stuck in sand, she opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out. “No....”

to be continued....

© 2003 Rose Carr

Contact the author:  Rosematuse@aol.com

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