XLVII

Richie woke up when a soft , thin fabric brushed his cheek, but kept his eyes closed and moaned softly: he felt so relaxed and comfortable that he wanted to take pleasure in his sensations for as long as possible. A soft, warm breeze that carried a faint mixture of fragrances from the different flowers in the garden called his attention and he frowned: this wasn’t just another hotel room in an undetermined city. He opened his eyelids half way and his lips formed a lazy smirk when he recognized Frédérique’s bedroom, dimly lit by a foot lamp that stood next to a white Berger style armchair on which rested his brown velvet jacket.

He rolled over to look for her on the bed but she wasn’t there, and by the untouched state of the sheets on the other side of the bed, she hadn’t been there before, either. How come? He frowned with confusion: Richie’s internal clock was telling him that it was a brand new morning, so he raised himself in his arms and looked at the window but the white black-out curtains didn’t provide any information as to what time of day it was. He continued to look around for more evidence: the last time he’d seen his jacket it hung on the back of the chair where he was sitting during lunch, he could also see that the towel he had dropped on the floor before getting into bed wasn’t there anymore, and finally noticed that on the dark wood coffee table by the armchair, lay a tray with different sizes of stainless steel bells covering different plates. On the table there was also a bucket from which the golden foiled neck of a champagne bottle stuck out, napkins, cutlery, flute glasses and also some small bottles of water.

Richie finally sat on the edge of the bed and took a few more moments before pulling to one side a delicate see-through fabric that fell from the crossbar of the four-post bed and getting up to walk toward the tall window. Inserting his hand in the crack between the two halves of the curtain, he pulled one to the side with the back of his hand and peaked through the open window: it was the dead of the night. Downstairs in the garden, the tents and arrangements for the wedding had been dismantled, the only remaining evidence of the party that had taken place there were some men who were loading piles of chairs into the back of a truck. He turned on his heels and drank a whole bottle of water before walking over to his suitcase, taking a pair of thin black sweatpants and putting them on.

Then he went to the bathroom and only after he came out, now that he was more decently attired, he fully opened the curtains to allow the warm and scented night air to flow freely into the bedroom. He stood there as he pondered his day – how only the slightest possibility of getting Frédérique back had led him to Bordeaux, feeling pretty unsure of the effectiveness of the plan: little did he know how much bliss he’d be feeling by the time the day came to an end. His thoughts were interrupted by a rumble in his stomach so he turned to the armchair, sat on it and took the bell from over one of the plates uncovering different varieties of amouse bouche, caviar, crackers, assorted cheeses and a bowl of salad with arugula, flakes of parmigian cheese, dried tomatoes and almonds. Another plate contained grilled foie gras on top of a pillow of sautéed green vegetables and a smaller one, a big slice of wedding cake. Sweet woman. She really new how to spoil him. In so many ways. But even more than that, he liked to spoil her, and couldn’t wait until he had the opportunity to do so.

He took a clean plate and put a little bit of everything in it, then sat back and lazily enjoyed the delicious food, while he contemplated the room he was in: except for the primary colors, Richie usually struggled to differentiate one color from the other, specially when there was artificial lighting involved, but he could tell that the walls were kind of purple, or a wild berries and cream kind of color. The furniture was in its totality dark wood, including the four-post bed, and the woodwork itself was stunning. All the fabrics – the armchairs’, the linens’, the pillows’, the cushions' - were white and looked expensive. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling over the round carpet between the foot of the bed and the vanity on the opposite wall. The bedroom looked lavish and luxurious, bearing little resemblance to the one in New York, but in a way it was just like her, too, only another side of her. Yes, she was like a fine white wine: a pure, simple substance in appearance that only once tasted became a sublime experience.

Richie’s heart swelled with love for Frédérique and he started becoming anxious that there was still no sign of her, so he reached for his phone inside the pocket of his jacket to look at the time – it changed to local time automatically - and text her, but got distracted by the number of missed calls and text messages that the screen was indicating. One was from his daughter inquiring if he had arrived safely and sending him good wishes that everything turned out well for him and Frédérique - he had told her he was traveling to France to try to get Frédérique back. Richie took his hand to his forehead, cursing himself for having completely forgotten to text her as soon as he had arrived at the airport. He phoned her and they talked for a little while as he continued eating, but she was going out to the cinema with her friends so they hung up promising they’d talk the following day. Then there were a couple of random messages from friends and some from Nikki, all of which he didn't read and completely ignored. He did take notice of Jon’s calls and text messages – Richie had kept Jon in the dark about him and Frédérique resuming contact, but Jon, of course had noticed something was brewing concerning that subject because he had informed Richie through subtle hints. Richie grinned devilishly as he read Jon’s messages. I bet you didn’t see this one coming. 

6.02 p.m. – Missed call “Jon”

6.05 p.m. – Text message from Jon “Answer back, goddamnit”

6.48 p.m. – Missed call “Jon”

6.51 p.m. – Text message from Jon “So?”

7.17 p.m. – Missed call “Jon”

7.22 p.m. – Text message from Jon “You’d better not be gettin’ yourself into trouble”

9.32 p.m. – Missed call “Jon”

9.37 p.m. – Text message from Jon “OK, now I’m worried, asshole”.

He wrote him a message. “In France J. DO NOT DISTURB”

Richie was planning to seclude himself in California until the following leg of the tour, so his assistant had cleared his East coast agenda. The West coast one, however, was -  though not packed -  abundant in activities and commitments here and there, so she complained a little when Richie contacted her while he waited at the airport to clear this following week, too, and leave the rest on stand by upon confirmation - in case things worked out right with Frédérique he would kidnap her and take her to some godforsaken place and have her all to himself.

As all kinds of erotic and blissful images flashed through his mind, the door slowly opened and the main character of his daydreaming tiptoed into the bedroom, her cheeks still pink from a hot shower, her hair loose and back to its slightly wavy nature, falling over each of her breasts. A loose knot in the belt of her light gray satin short kimono made it possible for the blue, loose silk teddy underneath to be partially revealed. Her feet were bare. She smiled widely with tired eyes when she saw Richie sitting on the armchair.

“Lord have mercy”, Richie took his hand to his heart while with the other he still held the almost empty plate with the fork on it. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, baby”.

“I showered in my parent’s room, I didn’t want to wake you up”, she told him with a warm smile while she walked towards him and he put the plate back on the coffee table, sitting further back on the chair and spreading his legs wider. “I had to keep myself from raping you…”, she lowered her voice as he tugged her arm so she sat between his legs, across his lap and her legs resting over the armrest of the armchair. “…you looked so yummy sleeping when I came back after the party was over”. She pushed both corners of his lips together with her thumb and index finger and gave him a loud smooch.

Richie hummed and his voice was thick and throaty when he told her, arching an eyebrow “I can fake sleep really good, ya know”. Then he imitated on her lips what she’d done with his.

…

Meanwhile, back in New Jersey, Jon’s lips tightened in a smile and he let out a puff of air through his nostrils, nodding so that his bangs fell over his eyes when he read Richie’s message. Sonofabitch. He had noticed Richie was up to something because during the last show he was more inspired than he’d been the past weeks. Not randomly inspired – Frédérique inspired. But he didn’t see this one coming. Hell no. So he’d gotten her back, and Jon couldn’t be happier for his friend, his brother, his “right-hand man”. Whatever had happened that had gotten those two back together, Jon was thankful for it, and he sighed with relief shortly before another realization sank in – Frédérique was back in his life, too, and he was also thankful for it, but now she was Richie’s. Like she had always been. Except for that night. He’d always be attracted to her, there was no way around it - she was delightful in every way - like a good white wine. But he was a strong man. Yes, he’d deal with it.

Time to behave, buddy.

…

“I can’t believe I missed the rest of the party” Richie said with resignation after pulling apart from the kiss and releasing her lips. Frédérique grabbed the plate with the wedding cake, took a piece of it with the fork and offered it to Richie. “Ever the gentleman the ‘rockstar’”, he quoted with his fingers before taking the fork into his mouth.

She shook her head and smiled tightly “Except for mamá we all travel a lot, we know a thing or two about jetlag”. She ate a little bit of the cake herself and continued carelessly, tilting her head from left to right emphasising her words. “Besides, I told them you liked to call yourself a cowboy: come to town, drink the wine, eat the food, ravish the women and then leave”.

Richie chortled throatily when he heard the lines he had used in more than one interview in Frédérique’s lips. “But I’m not planning on leaving soon”, he clarified as he lazily brushed the tip of his fingers down her thigh, lingering under the lacey edge of the teddy and drawing small circles on the satiny skin. His other arm surrounded her shoulders.

“Um…planning on it or not, WE are leaving. Tomorrow. I've already bought the plane tickets” she informed him excitedly, and realizing it was past midnight she added. “Well, today actually. We need to be at the airport by 3 p.m.”. She saw the flicker of disappointment in Richie’s eyes and quickly added patiently while she ran her fingers through his fringe to pull it to one side. “I’m supposed to get back to work on Tuesday”.

He recalled the conversation they had had the morning after they first were together. “I can kidnap you now, no problem”, he pouted and shrugged carelessly trying to keep a serious expression, “Your bosses will never know what happened to you”. Frédérique laughed out loud throatily, throwing her head back. In an instant Richie joined her – her laughter was too contagious. She pulled her head back up and shook it as she smiled. “As tempting as the idea is...I’d be miserable if I couldn't work”. Richie saw how a slight hint of melancholy flashed through her eyes. Yes, she loved her job, it was as much a part of herself as her hands and her eyes were: she wouldn’t be complete without it, so Richie didn’t pursue the matter. She added, tilting her head to one side “But I promise I’ll let you kidnap me some time soon, OK?”. How could he resist that look she gave him?. Richie chuckled softly and nodded as a little smile formed dimples on his cheeks. “Be damn sure I’ll hold ya to that”, he finished as he hugged her close to him and placed a kiss on her cheek, then another one on the corner of her mouth.