17. ROMY
2001 Words
The yoga class is over. It’s the moment when, normally, I’m zen, relaxed… And yet, I’m quite the opposite. All along, I felt the weight of Alistair’s gaze on me. And I don’t think it’s my imagination, since even the teacher made a remark to him. Which makes me even more uncomfortable. I roll up my mat, listening with a distracted ear to what Leona is telling me. I dared not glance in the direction of the handsome Englishman. Because yes, I can’t deny that he has charm, and I’m sure I’m not the only one in the room who noticed it. They looked like a pack of hungry wolves facing a lamb. Because even if by his size, he dominates us all, it’s the participants in the yoga class that make me think of predators the most. And he’s the poor innocent lamb of the story. Well, innocent...
I see out of the corner of my eye that he’s going to put away his mat and his blocks in the dedicated space in the room. His way of moving is full of confidence. He wears basic gym shorts and a threadbare grey T-shirt. His outfit isn’t that of a new sports aficionado, we see that he uses it often. His dark blond hair is messy, he runs a hand through it, and like a 1990s soda commercial, a few women’s jaws drop. It must be said that this movement highlights a bicep… No, more than that. You have to admit, it’s a very nice bicep. And the torso to which it seems attached, even if it’s hidden under his T-shirt, seems to me just as promising. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the women present thought of writing to good old Elizabeth II to thank her for sending this national treasure.
“Where do you know him from?” Leona asked beside me.
“I don’t know him.”
I add:
“Well… not so much. He helped me at the bakery the other day.”
She looks surprised. It must be said that my statement doesn’t make sense. Would I have let a stranger work with me? I haven’t told my friends about the episode where he saved me from the rain – and possible pneumonia –; and I clearly don’t want to do it right now. So I elude by saying:
“He’s a customer.”
“A very pleasing customer to look at, it must be said.”
“I’ll repeat that to your husband!” I threatened her.
“You can, he’s not jealous.”
He’s totally jealous, but my friend loves to play with him. I finish slipping my mat into my bag when she adds:
“You should ask him to go for a drink.”
“ Leo, I’m old enough to be his mother.”
“Eh?”
“Anyway, I’ve given up on men for now. I remind you that my goal is to have a baby, not to pick up customers.”
She stares at me sceptically, then her face changes expression. She plasters her lips with an engaging smile and mumbles, “He’s coming our way,” before taking a suave tone and addressing Alistair who, I assume, is right behind my back.
“Hello, I’m Leona, Romy’s best friend.”
I raised a sceptical eyebrow at my friend. Really, Leo?
“Pleased to meet you,” Alistair replied, moving around me to take the hand she offered him.
As he passed, he brushed against me and my traitorous body reacted by bristling with goosebumps. Why? I think for a second of a hormonal imbalance, but another hypothesis suddenly seems much more plausible to me: the accent.
I admit it, I have a soft spot for foreigners who speak French. Seriously, have you ever watched an interview with Bradley Cooper speaking French? I get chills just thinking about it. And what about Hugh Grant or Viggo Mortensen… Strangely, it works much less well when it’s Boris Johnson who does it.
“Isn’t it, Romy?”
“Huh... uh?”
Leona looked at me smiling. I know that smile, it’s the one that says: I just did a dirty trick on you and I’m totally proud of myself.
“I was telling Alistair that I was angry with myself for letting you down when we had planned to spend the evening together. You find yourself all alone, it’s really bad luck! But hey, the role of a mother is to be with her family when she’s needed. My youngest has an ear infection,” she clarifies, addressing Alistair.
No doubt, she’s a really good actress. And Alistair – who doesn’t seem to me to be the type of guy who’s super knowledgeable about childhood illnesses – nods in understanding, even a little fear. He must be wondering if it’s contagious.
My friend kisses me and disappears in less than two seconds. And she hasn’t taken three steps when Alistair asks me:
“Since you’re free, do you want to go have a drink, you and me?”
Solution number one: I say no, and I come across as a b***h.
Solution number two: I say yes, but…
…but here is my dilemma. I have the impression that there’s an undertone in his question. Normally – if he had been a man my age – I could rely on a few details – like the way he stares at me – to judge that he likes me. I have enough experience with men to recognize eyes that cry: I want you. But the more rational part of my brain tells me that’s not possible in this case. He can’t be interested in a girl like me. Not when at least five younger, prettier women are in that same room dreaming of going for a drink with him. And then there are a whole bunch of other reasons why it’s a bad idea. The main one is the decision I made a few days ago: I’m going to start a family, have a baby. Now is not the time for me to fall in love with a sexy young Englishman who, anyway, is probably only looking for a little fun, and not an ongoing relationship. And if the experience with Simon has taught me anything, it’s that I’m not good at superficial adventures. I’m unable to separate s*x from feelings. So it’s better to avoid complications.
And yet, I don’t completely close the door when I answer him:
“I’m not really dressed for…”
“You’re perfect just the way you are. I need a shower, but I promise to be quick. If you prefer, we can have something here. However, I believe they are closing soon.”
I’m not going to tell him that I have the keys to the place. The idea of having a drink under the inquisitive gaze of my brothers, after having explained to them that I would close for them, dissuaded me immediately.
He stares at me with hopeful eyes.
“It’s okay, then?”
I nodded my head.
“Great, I’ll be as quick as possible,” he said, moving away to the locker room.
I get my own stuff and go see if my brothers are around. I found Guillaume in his office near the entrance.
“Hey! Did you like the class?”
“Great! As usual.”
I won’t say that, unlike previous times, I had a lot more trouble clearing my head.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Good, good.”
“And Jade?”
A long sigh was his only response.
“What is it this time?”
“New boyfriend.”
“And?”
I do feel there’s a catch.
“I saw him once in front of his high school. Not the Prince Charming type, if you know what I mean. Rather a boy in a tracksuit and cap. I’m sure he deals, too.”
“Oh! It’ll be easy to get rid of that one.”
“Ah yes?” he asks, hopeful.
“I don’t think Jade dreams of becoming involved in the underworld. So a good documentary on drug trafficking and its consequences should suffice. At worst, if you’re convinced he’s selling narcotics, put Loraine onto him. She knows how to be discreet.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I’ll do that.”
“Tell me if it worked,” I said, kissing his cheek. “Now I’m off.”
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“I have to join a friend,” I say, praying that he doesn’t ask me too many questions.
Fortunately, he doesn’t seem too disturbed by my lack of development on the subject. He wished me a good evening, and I went to the entrance where Alistair was waiting for me. His hair is still wet from his shower. He wears black jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt of the same colour. An understated and certainly quite nondescript ensemble on most people, but one that gives a truly appetising effect on him. I shouldn’t have such thoughts! There are a whole bunch of reasons why it’s wrong to notice all the little aspects of his physique that I find sexy: his well-trimmed beard, his large hands, his smile...
“Let’s go?”
“Okay,” I replied, still wondering if the idea of spending the evening with him was really good.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me to the exit. I’m glad I put on a sweater. I still feel the warmth of his palm through the fine wool. But we didn’t go two metres when Ben appeared.
“Hey! You left without saying goodbye?”
His eyes scanned us both and stopped on Alistair’s hand. As my brother frowns, I pull my shoulder away, but too late. Something in Ben’s eyes told me that Alistair had suddenly entered his sights. And the Englishman also surprises me, since he straightens up and raises his chin. What are they doing to me here? A kind of cockfight? If I weren’t afraid it would get out of hand, I could almost laugh it off. So I hasten to make the presentations:
“Alistair, this is Benjamin, my brother.”
The young Englishman relaxed immediately. Who did he take Ben for?”
“Well, let me introduce you to Alistair, who’s a friend.”
I insist on this last word.
“We already know each other,” explains my brother, without becoming any more affable.
So I add:
“He helped me out the other day with a leak I had at work, so I’m buying him a drink tonight to thank him.”
“A leak? But why didn’t you call me?” asks my brother, clearly annoyed.
Alistair clears his throat, but I take the lead again:
“Because sometimes I do things without telling you,” I replied.
Ben’s attention leaves me to focus on Alistair. They have a sort of silent exchange that irritates me. I feel like I’m back in high school when Ben played protective big brother. At the time, it was cute in a way, but at our age, it’s kind of ridiculous. I note, however, that Alistair doesn’t seem impressed. On the contrary, he smiles and announces:
“Well, good evening, big brother. Are you coming, darling?”
He rests his hand on the small of my back and gives Ben a defiant look.
My brother doesn’t flinch and even ends up muttering: Good evening.
I came on foot, so Alistair offered to take his car. I agreed, and he came to open the passenger side door for me. This somewhat outdated gesture is charming. I don’t remember a man ever doing that for me. I’m also not sure that I would have given him the opportunity. But this suddenly reminds me of another problem: what does Alistair expect from this evening?
- Writer
