Written By Christine Wichman c. May 4, 2014
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Hannah stood at the end of the bed, running her hands through her long straight hair. She could see Ben watching her from behind as she glanced back at him in the mirror.
He was sketching her with quick long strokes, a sprawl of colorful pencils spilled across the plain white sheets. First he used the black, then the silver, red, and shades of brown.
“That smile…” she teased. “You look like a crazed Artist.”
“What can I say? There is no great genius without a mixture of madness.”
“Genius? You think it will be that good?” her eyebrow raised.
“With you as my muse, how can I go wrong?”
He tilted the large sketchbook slightly to the left and continued with the shading. Working from bed had become his latest obsession. He found that the lines flowed organically first thing in the morning and when he drew like this, there were never flaws or mistakes. Straightening the sketchbook, he held it up and admired his work.
“Done.”
“Can I see it?” Hannah threw herself back on the bed beside him, perching on one elbow. He held it up proudly and watched her face as both eyebrows raised and an approving smile peeled across her face.
“Genius.” She truly was amazed.
He leaned over to kiss her forehead and whispered. “It’s all about the muse.”
Hannah then took possession of the sketchbook and tossed it to the side, “Can we move these pencils please, I don’t want anything in my bed, but you.”
Ben immediately took the hint, clearing the pencils with a quick flick of the sheet. Hannah giggled and climbed under the sheet next to him.
“When do you have to be on set?” He was wondering how much time they had.
“They want me in make up by ten. Seth is flying in from Milan, so he couldn’t do an early shoot.”
“Lucky for us…” Ben pulled her in close, and eyed the bedside clock. “It’s only eight. We’re good.”
“So good.” she teased.
“I think this is a record, 24 hours together in the same city. Do you think we’ll ever get two days in a row?”
“Anything is possible,” she was still smiling.
“Well I’m glad you see things that way. I can’t remember…”
“When you thought ANYTHING was possible?” she finished his sentence. For an Artist, Ben was the most pragmatic, cynical, and somewhat pessimistic man she’d ever met.
“No,” he corrected her, “I can’t remember the last time we had more than a two day stretch, that’s all, and I’m starting to need more Muse time. Should I call your agent and book you for a week? Or maybe a month?”
“Hmmm well, what kind of an assignment would it be? Hopefully a beach shoot or some exotic locale. I’m craving some sun. This New York winter is starting to get to me.”
She turned to gaze at the grey sky looming outside their penthouse window. “Damn, it’s starting to snow again.”
“Perfect day to stay in bed.” Ben had to rub it in.
“I hate you.” Hannah hit him with her pillow.
A distorted Rihanna ringtone cut into the moment, and Hannah turned to answer her phone.
“Hello?……Mmhmm, yes, …uh, fine. Great……Okay then. Thanks Steve.”
“Well, guess I’m free after all. Seth missed his flight, so the shoot’s postponed.”
“Best news ever,” Ben smiled, and leaned in for a kiss.
The Stones, “Brown Sugar ” begins in the background. Hannah pulls away, “Your phone, honey.”
“I’m ignoring it.” Ben continues to kiss her.
“What if it’s your Mom again?”
Ben’s Mom had just fallen and broken her hip a week ago, she was recovering in a New Jersey sub acute rehab. Suddenly everything was a state of emergency with her.
“Okay, okay…” Ben picked up the phone.
“Hello. Oh… hey, Johan. What’s up?……uh huh..okay….What? Since last night?….any damage? …Oh, man…..right now? Uhh, yeah sure. I’ll be right there.”
“Your Mom again?” Hannah seemed somewhat concerned.
“No, no…it was the gallery. They’ve got leaks in the main showroom, and some of my work got soaked.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry, do you know which pieces?”
“My Red Madonna and Psyche II, for sure, the rest I have to inspect myself. The show opens this weekend, so I’m going to have to go down there and take care of this, before they make shit worse.”
Ben threw off the covers and headed for the shower, “Sorry Hon, a pretty sad twist of fate.”
Hannah rolled over and snuggled into Ben’s warm spot. “It is indeed,” she said out loud, while silently thinking, Ahhh…the perfect day to stay in bed.
WHITE SHEETS
Hannah
Ben arrived just as Johan and his assistant were removing the ten by ten foot canvas of “Psyche II” from the wall, large brown stains showed damage to the back of the canvas, yet had not quite soaked through to the front, as far as he could tell.
“Ben.” Johan called as he gently set the piece down against the inside wall, which was dry. “We are so sorry about this. We had no idea the roof was in such bad shape.”
Ben looked over at his work, a grim expression on his face, it killed him to see such perfection marred. He noticed a darkening in the colors now, as he moved up close, proving the piece was ruined.
“Well I guess once you’ve seen the first Ode to Psyche, you’ve seen them all. I’ll just count these last eight months of my life, as a total loss.” Ben was beyond shock and denial, and entering the second stage of grief.
Johan rushed over to the “Red Madonna” already leaning up against the inside wall. “I think this one is actually okay.”
He pointed to the frame, “The thickness and shape of the wood kept the water from the canvas, see?”
Ben stepped in closer, and touched the paint, it was moist and bubbling a bit beneath the surface.
“Ruined,” he muttered. “I know it was an act of God, Johan, but it still hurts.”
Johan’s face was pale, he knew this was a disaster for both Ben and the Gallery. Ben stepped down into the annex where his first works were on display. A large set of three adjacent metallic paintings were perfectly lit, spot lighting a blue Gibson guitar, a red Fender Stratocaster, and finally a white Les Paul, each with music notes painted across them in a scroll that joined each painting as one.
“Glad to see my 3 Chord Blues Triptych is safe.”
The Brown Sugar ringtone began to blast from his coat pocket.
“Hello?…..Antoine! Merci d’appeler en arriere tellement rapidement. Anglais? D’accord. Oui. Yes, I’m here now. It doesn’t look good…we may be on. Let me call you back in 15.”
He pressed end, and looked up at Johan who was nervously standing behind him.
“So what’s the delay time here Johan? Give it to me straight.”
“Well the landlord says two to three weeks of repairs, but if we need a new roof and skylight it might take a month to replace the glass, it’s 18th century.”
“That’s no good for me Johan, the critics have been waiting on this show, it’s my big come back…and I’ve had another offer you know.”
“Antoine? He’s offering “Maison Rouge”? Well that’s the Marais, you know I can’t compete with that man. I’ll send you a release from your contract.”
Johan shook Ben’s hand and watched him head for the door.
Ben turned and said. “My guys will be here tomorrow to pack it up, don’t touch anything else ok?”
Stepping on to the slushy pavement, Ben pulled his pea coat around him tight, there was still a light snow falling as he walked into the icy wind.
Distraught and excited all at once, deep down he knew this may be a blessing in disguise. Ben’s thoughts were all over the place as he headed to the local coffee shop to grab an Americano and warm up, while he figured out his next move.
Hannah was purring like a kitten, or rather snoring like a puma, after taking full advantage of her extra hours in bed. Strangely that song entered her dream….”Stay…I want you to stay…” Groggily she reached for the phone and answered it, in a husky sleep voice.
“Hello.”
“Sorry Hon, I know you were trying to sleep, but I have some pretty big news. First you have to promise me you will be open minded and not get mad,” there was an underlying prankster tone to his voice.
Hannah slowly sat upright in bed, and spoke clearly into the phone. “What. Did. YOU do?”
“I made good on my threat. I called Steve and cancelled all of your bookings for the next month. We leave for Paris tonight and we are taking up residence in the place you’ve always wanted to live…The Marais district, Third Arrondissement, Baby.”
Hannah was speechless she wanted to kill him and kiss him at the same time. Her silence worried him.
“Hon? You still there?”
“Well I guess a few Revlon ads can live without me, but we’ll be back in time for Pre-production on Baz’s project right? I’m not giving up my movie, not even for Paris.”
“Hannah, if you spend a month with me in Paris, you can do whatever you want come May.”
“Hmmm, well April in Paris does sound perfect, and I think New York is looking pretty bleak, so…hey is that coffee you are drinking without me?” Hannah heard the slurp of a first sip.
“Just a drop, baby…I’m walking in right now…”
“You better be carrying my half caff cappuccino in the other hand,” she was brutal.
Ben laughed, and she heard him on the otherside of the bedroom door. He walked in proudly offering up her perfect cup of morning ambrosia and sighed, “It’s right here baby… right here.”
He came over to the side of the bed to hand it to her, and she thanked him with a kiss that lasted ’til noon.
Hannah and Ben’s private jet was met by a chauffered black Mercedes which whisked them through the rain soaked streets of Paris straight to the Maison Rouge for a meeting with Antoine and a tour of the space where Ben’s exhibition would now take place.
Ben extended his hand to help Hannah out of the car and onto the pavement, before the Maison Rouge.
She looked up to take it all in, a block of non descript Paris stone buildings with a shock of red neon letters and a doorway into the world of architect Jean-Yves Clement and designer Jean-Michel Alberola.
Once inside, each room was more magnificent than the next, each square foot a blank canvas in and of itself, primed for the Artist to create his own landscape which would highlight the gems of his latest endeavor.
Hannah could see on Ben’s face that he already had the wheels turning on how he was going to incorporate this venue as the heart of his greatest show to date.
Antoine stepped up behind them and greeted each with a familiar cheek kiss and warm welcome to Paris.
“You must be exhausted after such a late flight, I will be brief and to the point Mes Amis. My House is your House. We are extremely pleased to bring an Artist of your caliber to our humble home. Each exhibit is seasonal and flows in a three month capacity. Our current Artiste, Leisa, has sold every last piece of her Le Danse series for no less than one million euros each. Leaving our space completely clear and ready for you.”
“Well not completely cleared,” just then a beautiful dark haired woman holding a feisty chihuahua came sauntering up to them. “Bonjour,” she nodded to Ben and Hannah, while air kissing Antoine.
“She left you a gift, to remember her by,” Leisa waved them over to the main wall in the Vestabule, where a large fresh canvas hung revealing an amazing line and curve ballerina in red and black.
All three were stunned by it’s beauty. “I wish I had seen the entire exhibit, your work is so captivating.” Ben gushed.
“Why Thank you, I must say I know very well who you are, and consider you quite an inspiration.”
Hannah beamed toward Ben proudly and possessively.
“What’s your little dog’s name?” Hannah redirected the mutual admiration to something more benign.
Leisa lifted the little fellow up for a kiss and said, “This is Skipper, I found him lost on a yacht outside Marseille….owners must have abandoned him. I’ve had him three years now, we are inseparable.”
Hannah shook his tiny paw, “Hello Skipper.”
The dog growled and snipped trying to take a nip out of Hannah’s finger.
“My apologies, he is not fond of strangers.” Leisa then bid a dramatic farewell as Antoine congratulated her on such a successful show. Turning back to Ben and Hannah he continued,
“So what do you think? Are we on, as you say Ben? Will this be the venue for your tremendous comeback?”
“I have a very good feeling about this place Antoine. I can already picture my new and improved “Red Madonna” welcoming guests in your Vestubule space.
“C’est bon!” Antoine clapped his hands together and led Ben into his office. “We shall just cover some details and I will have you on your way.”
“Hon, do you want to explore the bakery and grab yourself a coffee?” Ben was giving Hannah an out from the boring business side of things.
Hannah willingly obliged, and headed for the beautiful Rose Bakery inside La Maison Rouge. After ordering a regular cappuccino to wake up, and a gorgeous pain au chocolat, she perched herself at one of the gold and white wrought iron tables and admired the old newspapers framed on the wall. One boasted a headline from the 1903 debut of La Tour de France, while another advertised Le Moulin Rouge’s grand opening. She surmised a theme of “First’s” as the rest of the newspaper headlines held the same claims.
“Sucre Madame?” a young girl in an apron added a bowl of demerara lumps to the table.
“Merci.” Hannah smiled, taking a few cubes for her coffee.
Staring out the window at the glistening wet pavement and fashionable parade of umbrellas, she could hardly believe she was here. Paris for a month, it was a dream come true. She adored this city. It was like a naughty mistress beckoning the overworked and ritually mundane to come and indulge in simple pleasures and frivolous decadence. She could not remember the last time she and Ben had a chance like this. Their relationship over the last year seemed to be nothing but a string of fleeting one night stands. For the first time they would have quality time at a relaxed pace, in the most beautiful and sinfully romantic place on earth.
She took a long heavenly sip of her coffee and sighed.
Maison Rouge
La Tour Eiffel
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Cracks of light were filtering in through the silk drapes that hung across the large french window. Beyond it, the Marais at sunrise, a succession of rooftops and mixed architecture, each century layering on top of the next, creating a mosaic of flesh tones against a pink hued dawn.
Hannah stretched her arm across the expanse of white sheets and ruffled the duvet. Ben was absent yet again. Where she expected to find his lithe muscled shoulder, there was only empty space.
Their first week in Paris was meant to be one long tryst of tangled sheets and Paris Sunrises. Yet, had turned into a succession of all nighters in the studio for Ben. He abandoned the entire theme of the show he planned for New York and reinvented a brand new Paris show on a whim, striking many pieces from the final line up and creating a fury of new Art, all due for a grand reception and opening on April the first. The exhibition was now titled, “Fools In Love.”
Hannah was taking the entire week to recover from her jet lag, feeling queasy as she adjusted her early New York call times to late night vampire walks with Ben through the empty neon lit streets of the Latin Quarter and Montmarte. By the time he was done with work, they were taking meals near Midnight or 1 am. Ben rushing back to finish come dawn. The work was consuming him here, as Hannah’s work had been consuming her in New York. Their roles were suddenly switched, instead of balanced, and Hannah was not liking it one bit.
She threw off the duvet and walked to the window stark naked, violently pulling the drapes to the side she unlatched the window and stepped onto the balcony and screamed out her frustrations…”Fuck you Ben!!!!”
“Fuck Paris!” “Fuck Love!”
With a devious grin she turned and walked back into the apartment, taking a deep long breath she sighed, “Ahh, I feel so much better now.”
She then took a quick look in the mirror, and noticed her normally sculpted and toned body protruding a tiny bit in the belly area. “Damn bread and cheese…I better take a run in the Tuileries today.”
Grabbing one of Ben’s white shirts she dressed herself for the kitchen, made a pot of tea, and ate a bowl of yogurt with fresh strawberries from the covered market she planned to revisit today in rue de Bretagne.
“Mmm delicious,” she could not deny everything made in Paris tasted sweeter, creamier, and richer.
Suddenly her new ringtone went off…it was Ben Harper’s “Paris Sunrise #7”
“Allo,” she answered in a French accent, knowing it was Ben.
“Hey Honey…I have a Surprise…” his voice was manic.
“Oh no is this Crazy Ben again? Don’t tell me, we are going to Rome for breakfast with the Pope.”
“Hey quit calling me crazy will you, I’m an Artist we are allowed…I think it was Hunter S. Thompson that said, ‘‘Crazy’ is a term of art; ‘Insane’ is a term of law. Remember that, and you will save yourself a lot of trouble…”
Hannah laughed, “Okay okay…I will remember that.” she then hushed her tone and whispered, “I love your kind of crazy tho, hope you know that.”
“Good, then you are going to love today! It’s finished!! All ready to go and I want you to be the first to see everything!”
“Seriously, you made the deadline?”
“Yes and I can’t wait for you to see what this crazy week has produced!” his excitement was contagious.
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were slightly past tipsy…”
“All natural Baby, I’m on a creative high.”
“Give me an hour and I will meet you at Maison Rouge.”
“I love YOU.” he hung up.
A new energy surged through Hannah, she was anxious to see what Ben’s latest madness had actually created, and truth be told, she also wanted proof of his where-abouts these last seven days. Her old struggle with infidelity was always looming just beneath the surface. In fact just thinking about Ben with another woman made her physically ill. An illness she seemed to manifest just then, as she had to run to the toilet and vomit.
Wiping her mouth, she sat stunned on the white marble floor. “What the hell? I can’t be sick. It must be the strawberries, maybe they aren’t organic…or no..I bet it was that rancid granola bar I ate last night from the snack machine on the Metro platform. Yeah, that has to be it…”
Within the hour she pulled herself together and dressed to the nines. The weather was sunny enough yet mild, so she put on her favorite Pink Burberry coat from the 2014 collection and paired it with some chic white Jimmy Choo sandals, she had just purchased Tuesday on the Champs Elysees. They were beautiful, yet functional and in lieu of her run today she planned to walk over to the Gallery and bypass the metro or car service.
Walking the cobblestones was tricky but worth it, she loved the smells on the street of fresh baked patisserie croissants and dark roast wafting from the brasseries and bistros. The only smell she didn’t like was the heavy diesel fumes of passing delivery trucks and noisy motorbikes. In fact the fumes were causing another rush of queasiness to her fragile state.
Holding her belly, and stopping at a flower stall for a breath of fresh blooms, Hannah caught sight of Ben walking up ahead of her, toward the Maison Rouge. She raised her arm to wave and call after him, but just then, she saw that woman Leisa, the artist, step out of the gallery and greet him with a kiss, a lip kiss…not a cheek kiss.
Her stomach lurched and it took all she had to compose herself and move forward toward both of them. By the time she reached Ben, Leisa had disappeared.
She could not help herself, the first words out of her mouth were, “Why was Leisa here? I thought I was going to be the first to see everything?”
“Leisa?” Ben was seriously taken aback. “Hon, she was here to see Antoine, not me. I had no idea she would be here, and I’m sorry if she stole a sneak peek…but you are the only one whose opinion matters to me, YOU will be the first viewer that counts for anything.”
He swooped her up in a loving hug, putting to rest all of her fears and insecurities.
Then kissed her on the forehead, and took her hand to lead her in, “Well, shall we…”
Leading her through the red neon framed doors into the world he hoped would now belong to both of them…
The first painting to greet her in the Vestibule, was the now larger than life Red Madonna canvas depicting a beautiful mixed media Rose, which concealed within it the slight portrait of a woman with child. Above it was a title and statement artistically scripted that read:
The Red Madonna is she who rises in your heart and lights your creative fire…
On the side wall was the sketch Ben drew of Hannah their last morning in New York, it was now framed out in a modern steel contraption and had one word painted directly on the wall beside it. Muse
This was only the entry to the exhibit and already Hannah was tearing up and in need of a tissue.
The Red Madonna
The Red Madonna header
*******
It was mid-April, Ben’s show was being written up as the return of the Messiah, as far as the Art world was concerned. Not since the late 90’s when Ben was an up and coming twenty something had they seen such a rebirth of emotion in a simple line. Or so, one critic phrased it.
Hannah was extremely proud of her man, yet still feeling the blahs. Not wanting to dampen Ben’s spirits, she secretly made an appointment with a local Doctor, to see what was causing her malaise.
Dressing herself in the dark, she heard Ben turn over in bed and groan himself awake, “Hannah?”
He was reaching for her, in the empty spot. He rubbed his eyes open and looked to the dark figure in the corner of the room.
“Shh, go back to sleep,” she whispered.
“Where are you going, it’s still dark out?”
“I didn’t want to tell you, but I took a modeling job,”she lied. “It’s just for today. I promise I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
Still groggy, and extremely exhausted from the excitement of the last few weeks, Ben obliged her willingly and drifted back to sleep.
Hannah put on a loose fitting maxi skirt and short leather jacket, it was the only outfit that seemed to fit, she then slipped into a pair of Kate Spade flats and walked the short distance to the Doctors office.
The building was typical Parisian, she had to enter a code on the panel beside the large ornate receiving door and then wait to be buzzed in to the courtyard, where she entered another door leading to a large spiral staircase which would take her up to the third floor office of Doctor Marchant.
The reception room was the former living room of a chic apartment and the exam rooms were all former bedrooms. There was only one other woman in the waiting area and she was holding a small, very well behaved child on her lap.
Hannah announced herself to a Nurse and was told to come through. She had explained on the phone that she spoke only a little French and they assured her that would not be a problem for Doctor Marchant.
“Bonjour Madame,” a voice came down the hall to greet her. “I am Doctor Helene Marchant. Very pleased to meet you.”
The woman was beautiful, thin, and young, yet had the handshake of a middle aged man, quite firm and excessively forceful.
She led Hannah into her office, another chic well furnished room with huge windows and streams of morning light just coming in.
“So tell me, Madame Jones how are you feeling today? The same, a little better, a little worse?”
“I am feeling the same, nothing much has changed since we talked,” Hannah informed her.
“Well I must ask you immediately, have you taken a Pregnancy test?”
“A what?” Hannah was shocked, she had every possible illness running through her mind, yet this one, never made the list. In fact she had been hooked on a feeling it was cancer, a curable cancer, but cancer all the same.
“Pregnancy Test,” the Doctor repeated.
“Pregnancy Test?” Hannah echoed, still in shock. “But I’m 44 years old. I’ve never been pregnant in my life. I don’t think it’s possible.”
The Doctor laughed and reached into her bottom drawer, pulling out a wrapped pregnancy stick.
She handed it to Hannah. “Well we shall just see then, ey? The toilet is down the hall and to the left.”
It had been three hours since Hannah left Doctor Marchant’s office, she was aimlessly roaming the cafes and shops of Paris, killing time before dinner, and going over and over again in her head just exactly what she would tell Ben.
This was certainly not just a little fire to put out…but a conflagration, a catastrophe, a life changer. In a daze Hannah was almost hit by two passing cyclists and decided she better sit down to focus, she found herself in the Jardins du Trocadéro, and placed herself on a bench opposite the best view of the Eiffel Tower. She took a deep breath and let it all sink in.
“I’m pregnant. I’m a 44 year old, extremely successful, overworked, well known model, soon to turn actress, and I’M PREGNANT!!! The baby will NOT likely be written into my role in Baz’s film. I’m playing a hooker for godsake. Baz will have to recast it. Shit. Shit. Shit.” Hannah put her head in her hands and started to cry.
The fountains went off around her in sync to her tears, as she cried, and cried.
Jardins du Trocadero
Ben slept past noon, deciding to spend a rare lazy day in the apartment, on his own. He made coffee, his way instead of Hannah’s, with two extra scoops of dark roast, then he prepared a manly breakfast of eggs with yolks and heaps of bacon all sandwiched between two thick pieces of brioche toast and not one fruit or vegetable on the plate. He then placed the whole thing on a tray and took it back to bed with him while he read the latest reviews of his show. Somewhere close to two o’clock his phone rang and he picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Hey Ben, it’s Leisa.”
“Oh shit, Leisa, is that thing today?”
“No, no it’s cool, I got us in for Friday, I went ahead with plan B, hope that’s ok?”
“Yeah, that will work. Hannah’s on a shoot and still has no clue.”
“Good. I’m having so much fun, I don’t ever want it to end…Oh hey, did you see the cover of The Paris Art Journal? I picked you up a copy. Can I bring it by?”
“You’re so sweet, that would be great. I’m meeting Hannah for dinner later, so come on over. I’m dying here.”
Within the hour there was a solid knock on the door. Ben hadn’t showered and grabbed a grey t-shirt to throw on over his jeans, even while disheveled he looked distinguished somehow, a scruff of a beard and a bit of grey at the temples, his warm brown eyes exuding mischief.
He barely opened the door and Leisa came bounding in with a double cheek kiss and her bright cheerful smile.
“Get a load of the headline,” she waved the magazine in his face. “The Golden boy does it again!”
Ben caught sight of his image on the cover of the Paris Art Journal and grabbed the magazine from Leisa’s hand, continuing to read it himself…
“From his Golden Age of Music debut to this month’s Paris coup, Ben Golden has all of us, Fools in Love!”
He flipped through to find the full article, and saw a three page fold out glossy centerfold of his “3 Chord Blues Triptych” as well as more pieces from his first show, the afore mentioned “Golden Age of Music” which featured stylized guitars each eluding to a piece of Rock and Roll history. Flipping ahead he found the sketch of Hannah and his “Lover’s Paradise” piece, with captions reading. “Fools in Love, takes us on a journey so intimate and so moving one cannot, but hope there is a true fairytale ending for the man behind the brush…”
Ben was suddenly blushing as he read, and Leisa giggled.
“Oh if they only knew,” she smiled.”I feel so honored to be a part of your Fairytale Ben.”
“Well you have been a great help, that is for sure. When Antoine told me you were a diamond aficionado and had the best connections in Paris, I knew it was a sign,” he laughed.
“A sign to make an honest woman of that gorgeous Muse of yours.” Leisa gushed, as she pulled a fanciful business card from her large Louis Vuitton purse. “You need to meet me here 10 am, on Friday.”
Ben took the card, “Place Vendôme?”
“Yes, Bäumer quietly accepts custom commissions. A workshop has been designed over the boutique, where clients can come in to personally choose stones with a gemologist and then we will meet with Bäumer to work out a design. However, just entering the workshop, is an earned privilege. You need to order first, It’s like a club. Fortunately I’m a regular customer,” she lifted the hefty dangling diamond skull piece that hung around her dainty neck.
“Wow, I have a feeling this is going to cost me a few paintings,” Ben lamented, as he walked Leisa out the door.
“Oh please, the way things are going, YOU could afford the Hope Diamond, sweetie!” she air kissed him good bye and then disappeared down the long hall.
Ben shook his head and laughed as he closed and locked the door. He had to admit things were going pretty well for a change, so well, he was inclined to call his Mother, not out of guilt but out of pride. She would be thrilled to hear he’d made the cover of her favorite magazine and he was pretty sure it was not on hand in her current residence, The Birchwood Home for acute rehabilitation.
After reception put him through to a nurse, he waited as they tracked down Esther Golden, she wasn’t in the breakfast room, or the beauty salon, so she was most likely in the lounge playing cards with the other confined elders.
Finally, “Helllooo?” squeaked a sweet voice.
“Mom?”
“Benji, is this Benji?”
“Yeah Mom, it’s me. How are you doing?”
“Oh not so good…”
“Your hip bothering you?”
“No, no my hip’s great, it’s my mind. I think I’m going bonkers. I can’t remember a damn thing. You are catching me on a good day. Well, at least my Nurse says it’s a good day. So I’ll just go with it.”
Ben laughed. “Mom, I’m sure you’re fine. You’ve always been a little nuts.”
“That’s true. So what’s doing with you Kiddo? How’s Paris? You’re still in Paris right?”
“Yes, my show goes until the end of June. Did you get the photos I sent?”
“Oh sure, real nice. I saw that Bridge with all the bike locks, why so many locks and no bikes?”
“Ha, Mom those locks are for Lovers, they call it Love Lock Bridge, you buy a lock and write your names and the date on the lock, then you make a wish and throw the key in the river. It’s a tradition around here…”
“All those keys rotting in the river, doesn’t sound good for the environment.” Esther went on and on for a good five to ten minutes with her spiel on saving the environment. For a woman of eighty-five, she still had a passion for conservation.
“So Mom I have some big news?”
“OH MY GOD, YOU ARE HAVING A BABY!!!” Esther’s sweet voice went shrill with excitement.
“No, no, calm down Mom…we are not having a baby.”
“Well I’ve given up on the marriage thing with you, so naturally I just went to the next best thing.”
“Well, don’t give up hope yet…”
“YOUR GETTING MARRIED???? OH MY GOD….”
“Mom, mom listen, I am planning on asking Hannah, but it’s not even on her radar, so take it easy there, I don’t want you having a heart attack on me. The news is about my show. I made the cover of the Paris Art Journal. I’ll send you a copy for your scrapbook.”
“The Art Journal, oh that’s nice,” the disappointment in her voice was obvious.
“I thought you’d be excited for me Mom.”
“Oh I am, I am…but a Baby…now that would be something. Don’t forget honey, you are the last of the Goldens, would be nice to carry on the name. What is there in a name? It is merely an empty basket, until you put something into it…”
“What? That doesn’t even make sense Mom. Maybe you are crazy.” Ben smiled, “Listen Mom, I’ve got to hang up now. I’m sending you some nice things along with the magazine okay?”
“Paris things?”
“Yes, Paris things…and I will be seeing you in July, okay Mom? You take care of yourself.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. Marcy and Sandy have been coming round. I’m okay.”
“I love you Mom.”
“I love you too Benji.”
No sooner had Ben hung up, his phone buzzed and he saw it was his beautiful Hannah….
“Hey Hon, Will you still call me Baby when I’m old and crazy?”
“What?” Hannah’s voice was thin, he could tell she had been crying.
“I was just joking around Hon. Are you okay? You sound upset.”
Hannah’s voice broke…”I’m not working. There was never a job…I went to see a doctor. I will tell you everything, but not on the phone. Can you come meet me now? I’m at Cafe de Flore.”
Ben looked at his watch. It was almost four. “I will be right there, give me ten minutes.”
“Okay, Thanks,” she hung up.
Cafe de Flore
Love Locks
Hannah pulled a compact from her small purse and used the mirror to assess the damage. Mascara smudges and red eyes, “lovely”, she thought. “Pull it together girl, he’ll be here any minute,” she knew she had to stop focusing on the matter at hand and let go of all the fears running through her mind these past few hours. She tried to repeat her late mother’s motto for comfort, “Happiness has more to do with where you are heading than where you are,” she could finally relate to that phrase now, which baffled her all those years ago. She also remembered her mother always saying, “Tomorrow is another day…”
“Excuse me Ms. Jones?” It was an american voice, not her lovely french waiter, Guillaume, who was due back with her third cappuccino. Hannah quickly replaced her dark glasses and looked up to the stranger.
“Yes?” she tried to muster her best fake smile.
“Sorry to bother you during your meal, but could I get a photo with you? My girlfriend will never believe I spotted her favorite model out and about in Paris,” the young man had a hipster moustache and was wearing a pair of trendy suspenders.
“Sure, sure.” Hannah situated herself to pose for the selfie with the polite fan, and then bid him “Have a great day.”
He was off down the street, with a huge grin, busily sending the photo to his girlfriend. Guillaume then returned and graciously presented her third coffee as if it were her first.
She took a sip and looked up just catching sight of Ben coming down the road, he looked determined and worried as he hurried along. She sat up straight, and took a deep breath, ready to receive him.
Suddenly from out of nowhere a florist truck came speeding up onto the sidewalk, avoiding a cyclist that darted in front of him. Hannah watched in horror as a man was sent flying into the middle of the busy street. Screeches, horns, and screams all clashed into a sound she would not soon forget, her own scream joined the din, when she didn’t see Ben approaching anymore…for just one second the truck had obstructed her vision of him. She tore away from her chair and ran towards the lifeless body in the street, a crowd was surrounding the poor man, and her heart was in her throat… she prayed and prayed it would not be Ben. She pushed her way through the mass of imposing people, to find Ben there….bent over the body and administering CPR. She then recognized the boy, the one she had just posed with, he was lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. She began to cry hysterically, relief and grief mixing in the worst way.
The police armed their way in and took over for Ben. “Merci Monseiur, nous le manipulera maintenant.”
Ben had blood on his hands and all down his white shirt-sleeves, he backed away slowly and hovered as the police announced the boy was dead. “
“Il est mort envoient pour le coroner.”
Hannah rushed in and hugged Ben for dear life. They said nothing for the duration, as people were pushed back and told to leave, she and Ben remained talking to the police, relaying what they knew, in a state of shock. The entire episode played like an out of body experience.
Hannah saw the boys’ body removed and knew the police had identified him.
“What was his name?” she whispered to the younger officer.
“Emil Avery, he was from Californie,” his accent was thick, but somber. “, C’est si tragique…he only had a half life.”
Hannah and Ben nodded their farewell and moved slowly down the street arm in arm, back toward the apartment.
When they reached their pristine all white apartment. Ben whispered, “We better take a shower.” They both had Emil’s blood all over them.
Silently they removed their soiled clothes and put them in the hamper. Ben ran the water until it was the right temperature, and took Hannah’s hand guiding her into the white marble haven beside him. The water ran over them until they were clean. Tears, blood, and all the sins of the day gone down the drain forever.
“Hannah,” Ben whispered, “I want to marry you.”
Hannah looked into Bens eyes with new tears, then smiled, “Well that’s good, because we’re having a baby…”
Now Ben was crying.
“And if it’s a boy….I want to call him Emil.”
“Okay,” Ben laughed through his tears, “Sounds good to me…”
Hannah
Ben
“Emil, Avery!! Where are you?” Hannah called up the flight of modern stairs, searching for her five year old twins.
“We’re in your bedroom,” answered Avery in her tiny lispy voice.
“Is your brother with you?”
“Yes I’m here too.” Emil’s voice was equally lispy and adorable.
“What are you two doing up there?” Hannah was always finding them in her things and suspected more of the same.
“We’re looking at your Pwetty Wedding Book Mommy.” Avery had the large white album in her lap and was just about to turn the first page.
“Avery is telling me the stowy Mom.” Emil scooted closer to see the photos.
“OKay,” Hannah laughed, “But we have to get ready soon, Daddy is taking us to Nobu for Grandma Esther’s Birthday dinner.”
Upstairs Avery cleared her little throat and began to tell Mommy and Daddy’s fairytale.
“Once upon a time Mommy and Daddy lived in Paris.” Avery pointed to the Eiffel tower shot of her parents in their wedding day clothes.
Hannah did not want to miss the story from Avery’s point of view...so she tip-toed up the stairs and hid just behind the door to listen in.
“Look there is a pitchur of Mom’s rollercoaster wing!” Emil pointed to the twist of diamonds that Baumer and Ben designed for Hannah.
“Mommy says it was a twisty ring to show how A touch of Darkness always leads to the light.” Avery continued.
“And we are the light, right?” Emil remembered that part of the story best.
“Yes and YOU were the surprise…” giggled Avery.
“NO YOU were a surpwise…I’m two minutes older than you, so I was NOT the surpwise.” Emil was getting angry with his sister.
Hannah decided to interupt. “Hey you two, no fighting. I will tell you the true story,” she took up the big Wedding Album and headed for the white King size bed, “Come on, my little stinkers…” she patted the bed.
The three of them snuggled in all comfy and Hannah began to turn the pages and tell the enchanting story of how the Golden family came into existence.
“Once upon a time Mommy and Daddy lived in Paris, and Daddy wanted to surprise Mommy with a ring, so Aunty Leisa and Uncle Antoine took Daddy to see the Wizard of Diamonds and he created this ring,” she held up her twisty band of sparkles and gold. “A rollercoaster ring to show the ups and downs and the ins and outs of two lives that were touched by darkness and then brought into the light. Since Daddy did not surprise Mommy with a proposal, he surprised her with a wedding. On June 21st, he told Mommy they were going to a fancy dinner party at their friend, Lenny Kravitz’ house. It turned out to be an intimate and beautiful wedding ceremony, with John Legend at the Piano playing Daddy’s song for Mommy! Mommy came down the stairs with a pretty bouquet of White Camelias and that was when Daddy gave Mommy the ring. The wedding lasted past Midnight and in the Morning Mommy and Daddy went to the Eiffel Tower in their wedding clothes and took this Sunrise picture!
“So pwetty…ooh.” Avery loved that photo the best.
“Why weren’t we born in Paris?” Emil was curious.
“Daddy decided I could pick anywhere in the whole world to live after we got married, and I always wanted to live in a sunny place by the ocean, so we came here, to California, in August, and both of you were born just before Christmas. The best presents ever! And yes, Avery was a surprise, but a happy surprise! I’m the luckiest Mom in the whole wide world to have two stinkers instead of one!!” Hannah grabbed them both and kissed them into a giggle fit.
Just then Ben walked in and shouted…”Hey what’s going on in here? Why is everyone having FUN without ME?”
He then pounced on the bed and began to hug and kiss his beautiful little family.
Hannah took it all in, then she whispered to Ben, “Promise me we’ll stay this way…”
“What way?” asked Ben.
“Happy,” smiled Hannah.
Love Knot Ring!
The End.
Sleeping Queen Publications 