The Chronicles of Valen Ch. 11
“Disclaimer: Valen, Nathyrra, The Seer, and several of the other characters are the property of Bioware. If you’ve played the game, you’ll recognize them. The rest is the invention of my twisted little imagination, including Morrighu Badb and the goddess she serves.”
* * * * *
Valen blushes furiously and storms off.
Nathyrra kneels next to the paladin and puts a bandage over the cut, “You really must be more careful around Valen. The demon in him is drawn to blood and I suspect to you as well, since you are a paladin. You bleeding would be a double temptation. While I do not think he would do anything to harm you under normal circumstances, those were not normal circumstances. I saw him give himself over to the demon when he thought you were hurt. Just as your goddess empowers you, the demon in him does the same. He hates the demon part of himself but he would do almost anything to protect you. You must pay more attention to the color of his eyes and be wary when they are red. There, that should stop the bleeding. If we can find a healer in this forsaken place, you won’t even have a scar.”
Morrighu looks at her friend, “Not many would choose to protect me, and fewer still would attempt to face down one like Valen in order to do. Once again, you have proven yourself to be my friend. If you ever choose to change goddesses a third time, I’m sure mine would welcome you, as would I. Now, I think I must go find Valen.”
Nathyrra sighs in frustration as the paladin trots off after the tiefling. Morrighu rounds the corner and finds Valen pounding his fist into the rock wall and cursing.
Morrighu stops some distance away, “If you’re through pounding on that rock, I’d like to speak with you.”
Valen looks up, his expression pained, “Are you sure you want to be this close to me?”
She runs to him and throws her arms around him, “Yes, I am absolutely positive.”
He looks down at her and tries to push her away, “I’m not safe for you to be around, Morrighu. I should go back to camp and send Imloth or one of the others to join you.”
She clings to him, “If you say that again, I shall stomp on your toes. Did you hurt me? No. You meant to kiss a place where I had been hurt. Is that some major crime? No. Frankly, the whole thing was rather…erotic, in a weird way. Stubborn man, do you not think that if you hurt me, I would stop you or do you think so little of my skills?”
Valen looks down at her, shocked, “You mean you liked it?”
She chuckles, “I wasn’t exactly complaining, now was I?”
He sighs, “You really are a marvel,” and pulls her to him. He threads one hand carefully into her hair and cups her head. The other arm sweeps up her back to support her.
He feels her relax into his embrace as she sighs contentedly while she wraps her arms around his neck. He bends forward and sweeps her lips with his.
Having nearly, at least to his mind, lost her twice in the space of five minutes is too much for him.
He looks at down at her, eyes closed and trusting in his arms, and he’s overcome with his desire for her. His mouth closes on hers, heavy and demanding.
He feels her answer with her own need of him as she moans in to the kiss. Then he feels her knees start to buckle. He leans in as she starts to buckle and gently, still locked in their kiss, bears her to the ground.
He is above her now and holds his weight carefully on his elbow but he has one knee between her legs. His other hand roams over her seeking the buckles of her armor as she arches into him instinctively. Her unbridled response to him only whets his appetite.
Her hands are not idle either; they are systematically stripping his armor away. His hand has finally found enough buckles to partially free her of her armor and he groans in frustration at her under-padding but finally finds the buckles for it and pulls it aside.
All that remains between them is her silk under things and parts of his armor. His mouth trails heat down her neck as his hand shoves her undershirt up. He cups her breast and his thumb strokes her nipple.
She moans again and his mouth follows his hand. Morrighu arches against him as if an electric current has passed though her as his tongue licks her nipple experimentally. Encouraged, he takes the whole of it into his mouth and her hands press his head into her. He suckles her a moment as she gasps with pleasure.
Then he moves to the other breast while she groans under his attentions. He takes his hands and pushes both of her breasts together and takes both of them into his mouth at once. He’s rewarded by her upward arch into his mouth and by feeling her nails bite into the back of his neck.
He sighs and moves back up to kiss her again, more insistent now and again he’s surprised at how easily she yields to him, letting him have his way with her.
He trails kisses down her neck and belly, stopping to untie her pants and push them out of the way as well. He keeps thinking that there was something she told him that was important but unable to recall it at the moment — she’s far too much of a distraction for him to do much thinking at the moment.
He moves down until he’s kissing the inside of her thighs. He looks up to find that she’s propped herself up on one elbow to watch him. She threads her hand into his hair while he nuzzles her.
He stops and kisses her again, nuzzling her ear, “Just lie back,” and he pushes her back with a kiss.
He slides his hands up her thighs; his thumbs massaging has he goes. He bends back to nuzzling her gently as she moans. His tongue flicks out and it’s like another current passes through her. He watches her muscles go tense as he pulls her into his mouth. Everything about her excites him, including her small noises of pleasure. He decides to see if she’s ready for him yet. His fingers slide into her but they don’t get far.
He feels carefully as she writhes beneath him. Shock rolls through him, sobering him instantly. She sighs and reaches for his head again. He groans in dismay at his discovery.
She pulls his head up, “Oh, why did you stop? What’s wrong?” He looks at her, laying there trembling knowing that she wants him and realizes that his restraint is pushed to the limit. Gingerly, he removes his hand, “Morrighu, we have to stop this.”
She looks at him stricken, “Why? Did I do something wrong?”
He laughs, “No….Morrighu, you have done nothing. You have been….perfect. Better than perfect, even.”
He begins dressing her again, kissing as he goes. When her silk under-pants and shirt back in place, he kisses her soundly and begins buckling her under-padding back into place.
She asks him, “Why did you stop?”
He sighs, “Because Nemhain was quite correct. What ever happened on your wedding night, you are most definitely still…ummm….intact. I would rather wait and handle things properly. I think you deserve it.”
While he’s been talking, he’s been buckling her armor back on. Done with dressing her, he begins dressing himself again.
When he’s done, he scoops her into his lap, “I want you to be clear on something. You haven’t done anything. I find you extremely attractive, now more than ever. Should you ever need proof of that,” and he places her hand on him, “you need look no further than that. I think it would be…unfair to you to start something that I might not be able to finish here. I will make you a promise, though. Once we are done with the Valsharess, if you are still willing, we will re-visit this.”
She looks at him, still puzzled, “I still don’t really understand, but I trust you.”
He smiles, “I will try to explain it, then. Never having…well, since you are…I don’t know if I can explain it properly, but I will try. The first time for a woman is…formative. It is an event she carries with her for all time. It shapes how she feels and reacts in that arena, at least somewhat, for the rest of her life. You have been cheated once. I would not see you cheated again. You are much too precious to be mishandled. There is much joy and comfort to be had between a man and woman. There can also be sorrow and pain as well. The first time can go either way. I would rather show you the joy of it.”
He kisses her tenderly and rocks her against him, “As for why I stopped, you will recall that I told you that even my restraint has limits. Had we continued, I would have ignored all good sense and taken you here. Nathyrra might come at any time. Driders might come. Sabal might return. All in all, it was not a very good idea for several reasons. Your safety is paramount, followed by your comfort. Neither of those would be served, by such actions.”
Nathyrra, frightened by their continue absence, has gathered up the packs and is seeking the pair. She comes around the corner to find Morrighu in Valen’s lap, being showered in small tender kisses as well as returning them.
She clears her throat to let the two know that she’s there, but Valen waves her off. Since it seems that nothing untoward is imminent, she wanders back around the corner to wait while they have their private moment. Valen continues to cover her with kisses until Morrighu is sighing contentedly, nestled against him.
Eventually, Valen whispers to her, “I think Nathyrra is becoming concerned and we should go find her.”
He fingers the crease in her armor, “I need to get the head of the bolt out of your shoulder, and then we should find a temple with a real healer.”
Morrighu chuckles, “It’s not in my shoulder, it’s stuck in my under-padding. I could pour a thousand blessings on Rizolvir for doing such a good job with it. The bolt has been poking me though.”
She undoes a buckle and lifts her shoulder plate, “I can’t really get a good look at it without stripping. Will you see if you can get it out?”
He looks and then flips a knife out of his belt, “Hold very still. I will see if I can pull it back out.”
He sticks the knife into the broken shaft, just as Nathyrra comes around the corner a second time. Nathyrra panics on seeing what looks like Valen stabbing at Morrighu with his knife.
She readies a spell, “Valen, move away from Morrighu now. I don’t want to fight you, but if I have to, I will.”
Before Valen can respond, Morrighu speaks, “Nathyrra, there’s nothing to fight over. I’ve got a bolt stuck in my armor and he’s trying to get it out. Come over here and help him.”
Nathyrra moves cautiously to the paladin and nearly collapses with relief, “Oh, I thought…”
Morrighu grins, “I know what you thought. Now see if you can help him get this thing out of there. It’s really quite annoying. Every time I move it pokes me.”
Valen removes it with a flick of his wrist. He looks at the head of the bolt and frowns at the green goo coating it. He shoots a glance at Nathyrra as he starts to unbuckle her under-padding to get a look at her shoulder.
He sighs, “What is it with you and poison? Nathyrra, get her pack.”
She grins at him, “I told you that, if you recall. I wonder if that’s why I’m sleepy suddenly. Have you decided what story you want to ask me about?”
He nods, “I have, but it will probably have to wait until we get back to camp. I think though, that you owe me an extra one for this. You should have had me see about it sooner.”
He has her under-padding opened up enough to see the flesh where the head of the bolt has been scraping and poking. It’s red and inflamed, but he can’t tell if it’s broken the skin or not.
Deciding to err on the side of caution, he says, “You need to take an antidote for this.”
Nathyrra laughs as Morrighu makes a face, “I hate those. They’re the worst of the lot — greasy and gooey. I’d almost rather be poisoned. Ugh!”
Valen chuckles, “You placed yourself in my care. You told me to protect you from things you might not know were dangerous. That means you have to listen to me when it comes to your safety. Drink.” And he hands her the potion.
He watches as she screws her face up, takes a deep breath, and downs the thing in a single gulp, “Bleh! Not even a piece of candy afterwards to kill the taste, either.”
He chuckles again, “Aren’t you glad I’m not your grandmother?”
She laughs, “Yes, she’d have had me take something incredibly vile just see if it worked and if she wasn’t happy, she’d make me take something else. I’d have been through at least three of her concoctions by now; just so she could make sure she got something into me that would work.”
Once again, Valen starts doing up her buckles, dressing her.
Nathyrra notes that he seems a bit too familiar with her armor, “Valen, how often have you had Morrighu in and out of her armor?”
He blushes and says gruffly, “Armor is armor, Nathyrra. It all fastens basically the same way. No special skill in that.”
Nathyrra laughs at his discomfort, “Notice I didn’t say if, I said how many times.”
His blush deepens, but it is Morrighu that responds, “Only once, and before you ask, nothing happened. I admit it was not exactly ‘nothing,’ but not what you’re thinking. He’s too much of a gentleman.”
Nathyrra cocks a brow at Valen who chooses to remain silent.
Morrighu giggles at the tiefling’s discomfort, “Funny, I seem to recall removing rather a lot of your armor but she didn’t ask me about that.”
Nathyrra rolls her eyes, “Do you have any idea why I keep trying to protect you from Valen?”
Morrighu grins, “Because you want him for your self.”
Nathyrra stands, mouth open, in shock and blushing furiously.
She stammers, “I do not….”
Valen howls with laughter to see their chaperone so neatly flummoxed.
Morrighu is holding her sides and nearly crying.
Nathyrra stomps her foot, “I’m serious. Stop laughing! Both of you, right now. Morrighu, there are…things about tieflings that you might not be aware of.”
Morrighu grins at her, “You mean the whole fertility thing. We discussed it. We’ve discussed his heritage. Was there anything else you feel he may have overlooked?”
Nathyrra stands there, looking shocked, “No, that should cover it. Does it not concern you?”
Morrighu giggles, “One of the aspects of my goddess is fertility, so I’m not particularly concerned. I’m fairly certain that I won’t conceive without her consent.”
Morrighu blushes but continues “Besides, she gave me something to wear when we’re…if we….you know.”
Valen leers comically at Nathyrra, “I’m not sure I can handle the both of you, but if you’re willing, I might be persuaded to at least try.”
Morrighu chimes in, “She’s not much of a chaperone if she joins us in our debauchery.”
Nathyrra rolls her eyes and finally relents, laughing, “You two really are too much. I can’t believe you said that.”
Morrighu looks at her, “It’s only funny because it’s so patently untrue. I’ve seen the two of you together. You remind me of my siblings with the one-upmanship between you. My oldest two brothers were the worst about it. The rest of us used to be rather amused at their antics.”
Morrighu sighs, “Enough of this. I think we should be thinking of finding that temple and seeing what goes on there.”
Valen nods in agreement. They shoulder up their packs and head back down the cliff. Morrighu signals a halt part way down.
She motions Valen to come closer, “Man-spider things over there. Those are driders, right?”
Valen nods, “What do you intend?”
She looks at him levelly, “I intend to see if I can speak to them and get them to join us. Failing that, I intend to kill them before they can eat me. Stay here, unless they attack.”
She heads down the ramp, her blades un-slung but still sheathed and her hands out in the universal gesture of peace.
The driders watch her warily as she approaches and their wizard steps forward, “What do you want, female?”
She looks at him, “I’ve never seen a drider before, and I’m curious about something. Do you eat duergar?”
The drider regards her with curiosity, “Not many ask us about our dining habits. We eat any that are not drow.”
She nods, thinking for a moment, “So you intend to make a meal of me?”
He looks her over, “You look a bit thin, but you might be tasty.”
She chuckles, “I would make a deal with you. I am only one and probably not very tasty at all. However, we will have a war soon and there will lots of duergar. If you were to fight with us, we would be willing to let you eat all the duergar you can catch.”
The drider shakes his head, “Our people have a proverb, — one in the web is worth two on the loose. Duergar definitely aren’t tasty, although we eat them anyway. You are the one in the web. I don’t often get the chance to speak to my prey.”
She looks at him, “Attacking me would be most unwise.”
The drider doesn’t answer, but he does start to cast a spell. Valen watches as Morrighu draws her blades and before he can finish his spell, both the blades have skewered him. Valen and Nathyrra pound down the path to reach her as she swings in to attack an archer.
Valen reaches her side and while the archer is distracted by Morrighu, his flail catches him in the back of the head crushing his skull. Nathyrra casts Ice Shards at remaining archer and he crumples under them.
Morrighu points, “I think that’s probably the temple.” She jogs off, looking for the entrance.
Valen takes off after her, “I told you that they were hostile.”
She nods, “I know that you did, but I wanted to give them a chance to declare their intentions before I attacked. Despite my reputation, I am not such a wanton killer as the tales would have you believe. I generally give everyone a chance to avert their fate, unless they attack me first.”
Valen rolls his eyes, “That’s not what I mean, my lady. I meant that you should be more careful and not give them a chance to attack you. I do not find you blood-thirsty at all. I find you err too far on the side of kindness. Here in the Underdark, many will mistake kindness for weakness.”
She looks at Valen, “I’ll have you know that I’ve made allies among such before. They are usually useful, at least as scouts if not in combat. You recall me telling you that the caravan journey though the desert had its complications. One of them was the stingers. They are man-scorpion things. We started off enemies but some of them ended up helping me. The Formians helped me against the drow in Undermountain. I had help from some other ant-things against Heurodis. I try to not to let my sensibilities cloud my judgment. While I personally find them to be somewhat grotesque, I am also aware that for the most part they find us equally so. I would rather not discard a potential ally because I’m squeamish about their appearance. If I judged on how things look, how far do you think you’d have gotten my much adored tiefling?”
Valen sighs, “Tactically, you are correct, my lady. However, I would not have you risk yourself so. Nathyrra is correct — if you fall, all of our hopes fall with you. From now on, if you wish to speak to such creatures, send either Nathyrra or myself. While we are not as sliver-tongued as you, we do each have our own means of persuasion that can be remarkably effective.”
She chuckles, “Valen, I don’t want them bludgeoned into joining us. I want them to come to us of their own free will. If we intimidate them or force them, how can we trust them?”
They are now standing in front of the door to the temple, waiting for Nathyrra to catch up.
Morrighu looks at her when she approaches, “Remind me when we get back to camp to have Rizolvir put Haste on something for you.”
They wait a moment while Nathyrra catches her breath and Morrighu elbows her gently, “Are you ready, pokey?”
Nathyrra blushes, “I’m not pokey. It’s just that you two are already Hasted.”
Morrighu nods, “I know, it is a situation we should remedy as soon as possible. This place does not look evil, but everything here has been backward so far - A queen who is not royal at all; A librarian who burns books; A merchant who wants to be poor; Winged ones who are happy not to use their wings. I suggest caution.”
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A movie set is a dull and boring place. Anyone who tells you different has never spent a day on one. They”re generally full of clashing egos and nervous breakdowns, long periods of delay and very little action. People read from notes, take notes, compare notes and drink gallons of weak coffee. I”m always amazed how a motion picture actually gets finished. Maybe I”ve just been standing in the wrong place.
And there”s a lot of standing around in my job. Standing, watching and listening. I gave up trying to look menacing a long time ago, I”ll leave the new boys to that. You see them on every shoot with their black suits, buzzcut hair and the inevitable Ray Ban”s, eyes always a mystery and a jaw seemingly carved from stone. Pretty good for the catwalk, but I always wondered exactly how they”d perform if the shit hit the fan. Be interesting to find out.
Not that I”d seen much action in my time as on-set security. Sure, there was always the occasional fan who tried to break ranks and get closer to their idol, but a quiet word and guidance soon put a stop to things. Nearly everyone collapses at the first sign of resistance, and the key is to be gentle but firm. The new boys always liked to beef it up a little, raise a voice or start some pushing, but I figured they were just young. I suppose I was like that at one time.
This set was no different to any other. After I”d escorted Virginie across to the main group of trailers without getting a spot of weather on her, I waited outside with the umbrella and watched the crew erect tarpaulin covered lighting rigs with about as much good humor as a man who”s been told his feet need to be amputated but someone has offered a buck for his shoes. Even with the rain a small group of spectators had gathered against the metal barriers at the end of the street, needlessly being kept in check by a brace of the black-suited goons.
The movie was called The Angel And The Devil. It was a large production and expected to be a great success as the director had a been on a string of box-office achievements in the last few years. Virginie and the hugely popular actor Vincent Cassel were the main stars, alongside the Italian actress Asia Argento. I had seen Cassel arrive as I waited outside the trailer, striding through the rain alongside his own personal protection, who I guessed was one of the other guys Detroit Jones had contacted in a panic. We nodded to each other as he passed, and I realized that for once, I”d got the best end of the deal. Cassel was probably a decent man, but no way did he have the legs of my client. I wasn”t sure if I”d seen Argento, but I wouldn”t have recognized her anyway. Her Father was a famous director of thrillers in his native Italy, and I had worked for a security team on his last picture, alongside Conroy Scott, who Jones had received my number from. I knew she was a star, but that”s as far as my knowledge went. As I said to Jones, I rarely watched movies, preferring to restrict my viewing habits to football and the bottom of bottles. Luckily, both could be done within the confines of a bar.
The day drifted by without incident or excitement. I did my usual impression of a statue most of the morning, watching exterior scenes being set-up, filmed and re-filmed. Both Virginie and Cassel looked cold and miserable between takes, and on several occasions Virginie came and stood under the umbrella I raised for her, although I lowered it as soon as she returned to work. I was dripping wet anyway, and a man standing alone under an umbrella was not an image I wished to portray. On one such occasion when she came to me I was sipping from a styrofoam cup of Hot Chocolate, and when I offered it to her she took it gratefully.
“That”s good,” she murmured into the cup, and then peered out from under the umbrella at the ashen skies. “Damn weather, I”m freezing.”
I sighed. “Yeah, it”s not all glamour, is it?”
She laughed, already a sound that I looked forward to hearing. “It rarely is.”
“Why do you do it, then?”
She looked at me curiously. “Why do you do it?”
I had answers to the question, but not any that I wished to share. “Better than lying in a gutter I suppose.”
At that moment a runner approached and informed her that she was required back for the shot. She thanked him, turned back to me and returned the chocolate to my hand. She took a step out from under the canvas, and then turned back to me, the rain thudding off her hair.
“We”re all lying in the gutter Daniel,” she said, “but some of us are looking at the stars.”
And as I watched her move gracefully back towards the waiting camera, I realized that for the first time in as long as I could remember, I actually found myself liking someone.
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The production ground to a blessed halt at three forty-five that afternoon. One of the cameras had blown, closely followed by Vincent Cassel, who politely told the director to go and fuck himself before retreating to his trailer. The weather had continued with it”s destructive mood, a mood which echoed my own. I was beyond cold. My feet had lost all feeling, my balls had retreated into my body and my fingertips had crinkled as if I”d spent too long in a bath. Right now, the thought of a bath was all that was keeping me going. Well, that and cigarettes and vodka, and I intended to combine all three as soon as I made it back to the apartment. Incredibly I”d only been able to bum one smoke from a crew-member all day; it seemed as if everyone in the city was rejecting their vices just as I was sinking further into my own. I intended to buy a fresh pack of Camels at the store on the corner of my I street and smoke the whole deck while laying in a tub of flesh-searing water with a drink in my hand. Possibly get some Hendrix on the stereo to complete the picture.
I was contemplating this fantasy when Virginie crossed over towards me. She still looked as gorgeous as when I”d first seen her this morning, despite the fact she was as wet as I. Regardless, her smile still bought a small shaft of sunlight into the day.
“All finished?” I asked, as we hurried towards her trailer.
“Yes, thank God. This has been a terrible day. For you as well, I think?”
“I”ve had better.”
She unlocked the door and we both threw ourselves into the welcoming heat of the trailer. Virginie moved to a closet near the couch and removed two towels from inside, tossed one across to me. I wiped streams of water from my overlong hair.
“How”s your headache?” She said.
“Gone. Now I just feel like frostbite has set in.”
“You want to try wearing this skirt all day.”
I coughed into the towel and shook my head. “I haven”t got the legs for it.”
Our eyes met and after a moment we both laughed, and a trigger flicked on in the back of my brain reminding me that this was how things were meant to be done. Just as I was about to say something I might have possibly regretted, there was a sharp rap on the door. I opened it to see the weasel face of Detroit Jones, still encased in his ridiculous coat. I motioned for him to come inside but he shook his head and remained on the step, and as a consequence let all the heat escape.
“That”s it for today, Miss Ledoyen,” he said pointlessly.
“I know, Monsieur Jones,” she replied with a distinctive mark of irritation in her voice. I guessed she had the same opinion of Jones as myself. Okay, but still a prick.
“Problem is, your driver has left. He”s fallen sick.”
“I”m not surprised. We will probably all catch colds after this day.”
“I have arranged another car for you,” said Jones, looking at his watch, “but it will be more than a hour. We can-”
“I”m not waiting an hour,” she replied, cutting him short. “I”m wet, cold, tired and pissed off. I”ll take a taxi.”
Jones shook his head. “I”m not sure about that. There will be people and press.”
Virginie took the towel from her head and shook her hair free. It fell in twists, framing her face beautifully, almost dramatically. “I appreciate your concern for my well-being, even though I know it”s because you”re paid to do so. However, I”ve lived in this city for a long time and I know it like my own reflection. The city and the people. So you can hang around this miserable place all afternoon for all I care, but in five minutes I intend to be in the back of a cab heading for the river.” She threw the towel over the arm of the couch. “Anyway, Daniel is coming with me.”
“I am?” I said, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. Jones looked at me with suspicion and perhaps a hint of jealousy.
“Well, I assume you need to go home?”
I nodded.
“Then we can share the ride. And with Daniel I will also be safe, Monsieur Jones, yes?” She smiled sweetly at the production manager.
Jones stared at her, then glanced at me. He opened his mouth to say something, either thought better of it or knew when he was fighting a losing battle, and closed it again. A moment later he was walking into the rain once more, and I thankfully closed the door on his eye-watering coat.
When I looked back at Virginie she had removed her denim jacket and thrown it next to the towel. Her shirt, obviously thin when dry, was now almost completely transparent as it gripped her damp skin. I could clearly make out the flat sweep of her stomach, her bellybutton a dark smear, and my gaze moved higher to the mounds of her small breasts, capped with tiny nipples that were dark and pushed against the fabric. I stared for a brief moment, and then suddenly became very interested once more in the photographs that dotted the wall.
“You”re sure you don”t mind escorting me home?”
“Of course not,” I replied, without looking at her.
“Good. Give me a moment, and I will be ready.” I heard her close the door to the other room behind her, and only then did I dare to take my eyes from the pictures.
There was water in the fridge and I poured a glass before sitting heavily on the couch. I took several mouthfuls and wished it was something stronger, then closed my eyes and rubbed against the sockets with the back of my hand, feeling the sting and discovering how tired I felt. When I dropped my hand to the couch I felt dampness on my palm, and I looked down to see the towel Virginie had rubbed through her hair. I contemplated it for a moment before lifting it to my face and inhaling deeply. The odor was of fresh water and a light scent, as I knew it would be, but for me it also smelt of memories, of a time long passed. I allowed myself another few seconds to remember, before replacing the towel in the same place and rubbing my hands once more against my face. The last thing I wanted was for her to see the tears that filled my eyes.
********************
The rain had stopped and been replaced by a harsh wind that cut freshly against my wet clothes, and I had to clamp my jaw together to stop my teeth from chattering. Virginie had the luxury of changing into dry jeans and a sweater, and had wrapped an knee length woolen coat around herself before we locked the trailer and moved off the set. We passed the security barrier after I had signed myself out on the clipboard that the sullen guard held out to me, and I returned the laminated pass that had been pinned to me all day.
The street was crowded and filled with spray from passing vehicles. The city was nearing rush-hour and as would soon be approaching the usual gridlock situation, and unless we wanted to be sitting in traffic for hours we had to get moving. A cab with a lit vacancy sign approached, and I stepped off the curb and hailed it, jumping back as the vehicle churned up a plume of water as it pulled in towards us. I held the backdoor open for Virginie and she thanked me and slid inside, and a moment later I was next to her.
A silence fell between us, but not one that I found unpleasant. I”m generally a man of few words and not prone to making what you might call idle chit-chat. I also didn”t find the way Virginie leant against me disagreeable. I”m not saying she was laying across me, but she didn”t stop the weight of her body on my own when she was pushed into me as we rounded a corner at speed, which seemed to be the only way the cabbie knew how to drive. I found myself pushing an arm against her own, not with enough pressure that she would notice, but with enough to make me know that I was touching someone else. Bizarrely, it was almost comforting. The driver asked for further directions as we crossed the Louis-Philippe Bridge, the Seine boiling away underneath us, and as she told him I noticed he took several long stares at her. If that was because he recognized her or because she appeared so beautiful in the late afternoon light that came through the greasy windows I didn”t know, but I certainly couldn”t blame him for looking.
Her apartment was in the ultra-smart suburb of Neuilly, located just off the very centre of the city. A district of stunning architecture, tree-lined avenues and litter-free sidewalks that seemed a world away from my own sleazy area, even though it was no more than two miles north. The cab pulled up carefully outside of a grand nineteenth century building that had manicured shrubs and a peak-capped doorman infront of the entrance.
“I”ll see to the fare,” I said, as she began to root around in her purse.
“We”ll share it.”
I pulled her hand away from the bag and closed it. She looked up at me once again with that tremendous smile. “I”ve got money,” I said.
“You”re sure?”
I nodded and as I did so she leant into me, one hand on the sleeve of my jacket, and kissed me with a feathery lightness on my cheek. A strand of her hair tickled against my chin as she pulled away.
“Thankyou Daniel. I”ll see you in the morning?”
“I”ll be there,” I replied. “Hopefully a little more coherent than today.”
“I think you”re fine as you are,” she said, and then opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk with one easy movement, a chill replacing her as she left. The door slammed closed and I twisted in the seat and looked at her out of the back window, her black coat streaming behind her as she reached into her purse. The words of the driver made me look round.
“Monsieur? Ou Pour?”
I sighed heavily. “Just drive.”
He turned back to the wheel muttering under his breath, but I wasn”t interested. I looked back at Virginie, and saw that she now standing facing a small, scruffy-looking man. He was mouthing words that I couldn”t hear, and she inturn looked cold and totally unamused.
I heard the cough of the taxi”s engine, the scrape of metal as the worn gears engaged, the clicking as the handbrake was released.
And I knew something was wrong.
I launched myself across the backseat and threw the door open before the cab had moved more than a couple of feet and crossed the sidewalk to where she and the small man stood. Behind me I heard brakes squeal and the cabbie curse loudly as I moved quickly towards her.
“Virginie?” I said, and she looked at me quickly and for a moment I thought I saw panic in her eyes, softening as I touched her arm. “Are you okay?”
“I”m fine,” she replied, but I felt her muscles stiffen beneath the coat sleeve. I looked from her to scruff, who had an obvious expression of annoyance on his unshaven face. He said something in French that I couldn”t understand, and she replied, shaking her head and taking the photograph and pen that he had taken from his jacket. The photograph was of Virginie, and it looked as if it had been taken as she entered the very building in front of which we now stood. She scrawled her signature across it and as she did so I looked at scruff. In return he glared back at me, and I was too tired and cold to ignore it.
“What”s your problem?”
Surprise lit his face. “Monsieur?” His pronunciation was as awkward as my own would have been, and I”ve lived in Paris long enough to be able to spot the real thing.
“You”re not French.” I said.
“Neither are you,” he retorted in perfect English.
Virginie had completed the autograph and she handed the photo back. Scruff seemed delighted, and ran a dirty fingernail across the image.
“Thankyou so much, Miss Ledoyen,” he whispered, continuing with the English. “Would it be possible to have a kiss?”
Virginie flicked her eyes at me, only for the briefest of moments, but it was all the reaction I required to let me know that kissing this idiot was the last thing she was keen on doing. She also stepped a fraction closer towards me.
“That”s not going to happen, pal,” I said. “Maybe you should be on your way.”
His eyes blazed fire in my direction. “I wasn”t asking you,” he spat, a tiny fleck of saliva decorating his lower lip.
“But now I”m telling you. Get lost.”
He took a quick step forward, raising his hand towards her, and that was all I needed. I caught his wrist in midair and twisted, feeling small bones grind beneath my grip as I used the weight of his body to spin him around and force his arm up behind his back. I jammed the thumb of my other hand into the soft cartilage behind his ear and pushed, and he gave a startled cry as I wheeled him away from Virginie towards the granite wall of the apartment building. People were staring as they passed, and in my peripheral vision I could see the doorman reaching for a telephone.
“Fuck off”, shouted scruff, but before he could give anymore abuse I rammed his arm harder up his back as my reply, high enough so that the palm was between the shoulder blades. “Okay, okay. Jesus, that hurts!” he cried, and I released the pressure slightly. It was easy to break a bone this way, and I didn”t want to go that far. I lowered my face to his ear, smelling sweat and dope on his skin.
“It would be good to not see you around here again,” I said. “Understand?”
He nodded quickly and I let him go, pushing him away from me. For a moment all I could see was the back of his head, dirty blonde hair creeping over his collar. Then he turned slowly to face me, and I was genuinely surprised to hear him laughing gently. He rubbed the strained shoulder joint and looked at me with a dirty grin.
“C”mon, man. All I wanna do is get inside her pants.”
My anger flared, but there were by now too many people watching. “She”s already got one asshole in her pants, fuckface, and if you”re not out of sight by the time I draw breath I”ll break you in half.”
He stayed still and silent for a second, then split his face with a yellow-toothed grin and gave me the peace sign before spinning on his heel and running away into the sea of people that filled the sidewalk.
I turned back around to find Virginie standing with the smart doorman, who was gesticulating with one hand and holding a telephone in the other. The taxi-driver was leaning out of his window looking at me with raised eyes, and I pushed some bills into his hand and returned to Virginie.
“You alright?” I said.
“I am used to people approaching me, you know,” she said, but there was no trace of the intended anger in her voice. Instead she sounded quiet, almost scared. Before I could reply the doorman spoke quickly in French. He still held the receiver, a finger poised over the keypad. She touched his arm and gently persuaded him to replace the phone, giving him her best movie-star smile as she did. I had no idea what she said, but if it stopped him from calling the police, which I”m sure was his intention, then I was grateful.
“I”m going inside,” said Virginie. “I”ll see you tomorrow, Daniel.”
“Do you want me to come to the door with you?” Immediately I wondered why I”d said that. Her building obviously had good security, and I had watched scruff run away in the opposite direction. Virginie was right; she was used to people bothering her, asking her to sign pictures. That was one of the aspects of fame, and in Paris she was extremely well known. So why was I suddenly being overprotective?
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