III

After more than a quarter of a century traveling the world over, he was confident he could greet in almost every language there was, so he stood there, all satisfied with himself. Yup, I still got it.

She realized there was nothing she could do to hide the blush on her cheeks. She wasn’t old-fashioned, but she liked those little details, and it had been a while since she had seen a man do that.

“Oh…enchanté”, she responded appreciatively, catching him off guard. “Parlez-vous français ?”.

“I’m sorry?”, he managed to ask, trying to recover.

Seeing Richie’s puzzled expression, she smiled demurely, trying to prevent him from feeling uncomfortable. She squeezed his hand and gave it a quick shake, she continued: “Nevermind…it’s…You can call me Frédérique”, and Richie softly released her hand. Her name sounded so easy to pronounce coming from her lips…

“Have you been here for long?” Richie quickly changed the subject. “I hope I didn’t lose track ‘a time out there”.

“Oh no, not at all – waving her hand at him - , in any case it was I who arrived a little earlier. Besides, it’s so beautiful here… – she signaled with her arm then hooking her thumb casually on the edge of her pocket - …I wasn’t having a hard time waiting”.

“I’m glad, you also have good company, I hear”, tipping his head towards the car behind her.

She chuckled: “Yes…”, she looked back at the car, but instead noticed the dark clouds on the horizon again. They were a little closer this time: there wasn’t time for small talk.

“I was wondering if we could start by walking around the site so I could take some pictures and check the information on my topographical map?”. She said, looking at him straight into his eyes.

“Um…sure, yeah” , Richie started moving towards the gate and opened it. He extended his arm, a broad smile on his face. “Welcome”.

“Wait just a second, please”. Frédérique leaned into the car to turn off the CD player.

Richie couldn’t help but stare: the tight jeans showed her perfectly toned legs, and the jacket accentuated her waist. Her ass must be the most perfect ass he had ever seen...on a woman: as a man as he was and confident with his sexuality, he had to admit that his friend Jon had been blessed with, among other things, a perfect ass.

Frédérique closed the car door and headed for the gate. She smiled and looked down as she passed through the wooden gate. The land had soft slopes, with beautiful, thick green grass. Some trees were scattered here and there and she could see the reflection of the sky on a pond in the lower part. The views were breathtaking, some bright-red barns splashing color into the scene.

“So what’s your idea for the construction?”, she asked as she kept walking, pulling her camera out from the case and setting it to make the most of the diffuse natural lighting.

“Well, I’m not very ambicious. My idea is just to have somewhere quiet to run away to when I need to relax or work without being disturbed, I wasn’t planning on it, but I came here for a photo session a couple months ago and fell in love with this place. It’s really something else”.

Richie looked around and then focused on her face. She wasn’t full-on exotic, but had exotic features like her almond-shaped eyes, and slightly prominent cheekbones. She was a full head shorter than him and, though not skinny, she was fit.

 “It certainly is…”, she agreed, giving Richie time since he seemed to be thinking about what else to say. She took advantage of the hault in the conversation to take some pictures from where she was standing. Her words brought Richie back from his ramblings.

Richie waited for her to finish and started talking: “Where was I? Oh, yeah. What I need here, is a house with maybe 4 bedrooms and a separate recording studio, nothing very flashy, just comfortable and cozy but also functional and low maintenance”. Richie put his left hand in his pocket, gesturing with the other one. Frédérique had stopped her walk in order to pay more attention to Richie and he turned so they could speak face to face, she listened with her head slightly tilted to her right and nodding from time to time. Her face muscles made a myriad of different movements, evidencing the intense activity going on inside her head, as the ideas flashed in front of her eyes.

“4 bedrooms? That’s a lot of space, do you have a big family?”

“Something like that, yeah”, he replied with warmness in his eyes. Before his mind drifted away he continued:  “I’m sorry, I don’t know squad about architecture, I’m gonna need your help here, Fré…drd…”, he stuttered and soon realized he wasn’t going to be able to pronounce it – “…is it inappropriate if I call you Fred?”.

She chuckled - Why not?- and shook her head. Then resumed the conversation “I think it’s better if you try to express yourself with your own words then we see where it goes from there, OK?, so you are not conditioned”, she encouraged him, gesturing with her hand and resuming the walk. “I want to know exactly what you want”. Did I just say that?

“Well, in THAT case, how much time you got?” Richie grinned, but decided not to pursue that when he felt her uneasiness. “I’m sorry – trying to mend his previous words - it’s just that I really feel like a fish out of the water”.

They continued walking as Frédérique listened to Richie express his ideas, trying to concentrate harder when he went adrift to incomprehensible details regarding the different recording equipments - besides their measurements and energetic demands, it was useless information to her, but she let him continue: his voice was delightful.

They continued walking down one of the soft slopes towards the pond. She took some more pictures and in her mind went over the topographical map she had back in the car and confirmed that it was accurate - she had a good photographic memory and remembered with a good amount of detail the information she had seen on the map.

All of a sudden Frédérique stepped on a mushy rock, slipped and fell on her knees and palms. Richie tried to catch her but it happened so fast he didn’t even have time to react. There was a moment of silence. Richie’s reaction was to quickly approach her extending both his arms in front of her, a concerned expression on his face. Frédérique, instead,  couldn’t help but burst out laughing, leaving Richie completely puzzled.

“Oh my God,  y’alright?” he asked, but she couldn’t answer she was laughing so hard. Then Frédérique sat back on her heels and put an arm around her stomach. She had perfect, small teeth and slightly longer fangs. Richie didn’t know what to make of the scene in front of him, but her laughter was so contagious he joined her as he pulled her up until they were standing toe to toe, their arms folded in the space between them, his hands still holding hers.

Frédérique looked down and took a deep breath to compose herself. Richie did the same, but the air he inhaled contained more than just oxygen – it was packed with Frédérique scent, and it went right from his nose down to his groin. Whoa. He automatically let go of her hands and took a step back.

“I’m so sorry, I’m really clumsy, I shouldn’t have put on these boots”, she took a look at the green wet spots on her jeans - just above the edge of her boots - and brushed her hands over them to take off the small bits of grass still plastered there. She was still having a hard time toning down her amusement. Richie did the attempt of helping her but she incorporated and looked back at him, her eyes still sparkling and what seemed to be tears running down her cheeks. He saw her extend her arm and turn the palm of her hand up. It wasn’t tears, but rain.

“We better get going…”, she said, putting the camera back in its case, “…or we are not going to make it to the gate before…”.

As if on cue, the skies opened up and in a matter of seconds it was pouring rain. They had walked, though at a very small pace, for more than an hour downhill, so they started to run back uphill. Richie instinctively grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him as he took long strides, he looked back at her and shouted:

“I can’t send you back home all battered and bruised, right?!”, his wet hair was already stuck on his face, but she could see his smile. Why wasting time resisting?.

During the fifteen minutes’ run back to the gate, Frédérique couldn’t taker her eyes off of Richie’s back: his soaked shirt was now almost transparent and stuck to his skin, she could see every one of the muscles on his wide back…the wet thin fabric of the cargo pants left nothing to the imagination.

Richie was taking them past the truck towards her car when Frédérique let go of his hand and waved it at him, shouting over the deafening sound of the storm as she continued to move forward with her head looking back: “Go!” – he didn’t move – “Richie, just go! We’ll talk tomorrow!”

Speechless, Richie stood there as he saw Frédérique get in the car, start it, drive in reverse, then forward again and speed down the road, disappearing in the thick curtain of rain. He frowned, and finally got himself inside the truck. He sat still for a few moments. He felt like a train had ran over him. What the hell was that? He combed his hair back with his fingers and wiped his face with his hand. He blew out the air in his lungs. He started de car.

He knew EXACTLY what that was. What she was: trouble.

Comments

It seems there's a problem with the blog settings and the comments' window doesn't pop up. I have no idea what the problem is, I've checked with my other blogs and they are running OK with the same settings.

I do need your feedback, though, so if you have any comments please send them to richiefic@gmail.com.

Sorry :(

Toti

II

Like any other regular day, the next morning Frédérique woke up and started putting on the clothes she had prepared the night before. She preferred to dress up for all her clients, not out of vanity, but out of sheer marketing: it was always a safe bet to make a good first impression and that was something she was good at.

She chose a pair of fine, tight, moonlight blue jeans, knee high boots and a tight little white cotton jacket - with thin silver and pink threads - that fit her waist and rounded up her overall balanced silhouette, with just a little cleavage. She braided her long, thick dark brown hair and rolled the braids around her skull – in a Grecian style like her mother had taught her – leaving some lose strands. She barely wore any makeup, but accentuated her eyes with some mascara and liner, her cheekbones with just a splash of powder and barely-there lipgloss on her lips. Finally, Frédérique sprayed on a little bit of her favourite unisex cologne – the same one she had used since she was 13.

She headed straight out through the tunnel towards the highway and as soon as she left the chaos of Manhattan traffic she popped in Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson’s “Storytellers” CD. There wasn’t a more proper soundtrack for a day out in the countryside in Pennsylvania.

She started singing along at the top of her voice and in record time she was already in Bear Run. She took the guided tour of Fallingwater, enjoying the beautiful green surroundings and then stopped for a cappuccino before heading for the meeting point. She had estimated it would take about 35 minutes to get there from where she was, but decided to allow 45 minutes just in case the location proved more difficult to find than expected.

As Frédérique approached the site, she could see a black truck parked right outside the gate.  Her stomach clenched at the thought of arriving late - unpunctuality was something she couldn’t understand and wouldn’t allow herself to inflict upon others, least of all a potential client - so she checked her cell phone to see the time, it was 7 to 1. Phew.  She looked around but saw no movement whatsoever. She parked and got out of the car to approach the truck and knocked on the driver’s side window.

Nothing.

She tried to peek through the tainted glass windows by using both her hands as a shield on the sides of her face and coming close to the glass until her nose bumped against it, leaving a small dot. Then looked around.

Nothing.

She took a deep breath. Patience. She sat back on the car leaving the door open, as she listened to the music coming from the speakers. It was a slightly cloudy day and the temperature somewhat comfortable, but she could see darker clouds forming on the horizon and prayed that it didn’t rain until she was through with the meeting.

She sat back, one leg hanging out from the car seat, the tip of her boot brushing against the gravel beneath it as she swung it back and forth. One thought crawled back into her head – what if..? That would be funny, no? But what difference would it make? He was just a human being for crying out loud, and bottom line he was just a client.

She looked at the time.  2 to 1. Patience.

Singing along to one of her favorite songs in the album, Frédérique remembered the 6 months she had traveled like a gypsy all around Europe with some of her friends from college. Her feminine singing voice dwarfed in comparison to Nelson’s.

Like a band of gypsies we go down the highway

We’re the best of friends

Insisting that the world keep turning our way

And our way is…

Suddenly she heard another voice joining

…on the road again,

I just can’t wait to get on the road again…

She incorporated herself and came out of the car, as she saw the owner of the voice coming out of a winding path that disappeared into the bright green background. He was statuesque: tall, thin and muscular. He was wearing light brown cargo pants and a body-hugging long sleeved white top, the trail of buttons that went down to the middle of his chest completely undone. Shoulder-length wavy chocolate hair flapped backwards as he walked towards her with a smile, still singing…The life I love is making music with my friends…and I can’t wait to get on the road again. Growling when he accentuated the word “road”.

.

She recognized something of the man she had seen on the CD booklet the night before in the man in front of her, but this one - though older - looked, if at all possible, much more attractive. Anyway she made some quick maths…if he was around his 30’s when I was 14, then by now he should be around…45? 50? No way. This person looked no older than in his late 30’s or early 40’s. She had trouble wrapping her head around the idea that they were the same person.

He looked so relaxed and at ease it was contagious. Frédérique couldn’t help but smile, not the “marketing” smile -  the real one -  as he greeted her.

“Ms. Balbé?”.

“That must be me, yes. Are you Mr….?” she said extending her hand.

“…Sambora...um…Richie” he finished and - catching her French accent – taking her hand, he kissed it, bending forward a little as if paying courtesy: “Enchanté, mademoiselle”.

I

She went back to the day her boss called her up to his office. It had only been close to three months that she had been transferred from the Switzerland architecture studio in Lugano to the US one in New York, but she was quick to adjust herself to all kinds of new environments, it was never easy for her to stay put in one place for more than 2 years, and this time hadn’t been the exception. At 28, she was already a consummate professional and had by way of efficiency and diligence, quickly gained both her design team and her bosses’ trust.

“Frédérique, I have a friend that recommended us to a potential client”, the man sitting in front of her across the desk started saying. He continued: “I know you are still adjusting to the US regulations and codes, but I think you’re ready to take the lead of the design team yourself, and I’ll be available if you need any help, which I’m sure you won’t”. 

She sat silently, she liked taking on a challenge: if it came out right it would be a huge breakthrough for her. Her mind started working, expanding.

“OK, great, can you brief me on it?”

“Unfortunately I don’t have much information other than it’s a small-scale project in Pennsylvannia. For starters we have scheduled a meeting with the client tomorrow at 1 pm on location so you can gather as much information as you can to get started.  Julia is preparing a map with directions and a file with the client’s contact info”.

“Ok, that’s not a problem. I can handle this”, she replied.

These last months had been so hectic that she hadn’t even had time to visit the surroundings of New York so she decided to plan ahead in order to make good use of the day. She knew that Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater, the house that had inspired her to take on a formal Architecture education, was in Pennsylvannia so she decided to leave early in order to take the guided tour around the house.

Frédérique sat on her desk, preparing everything she needed to carry with herself from the office so she wouldn’t need to drop by to pick anything up. As she was doing so, Julia came through the door and handed her a folder with the information on the next day’s meeting.

She first took a look at the map in order to have a clear idea of how to get there, this was her first time driving outside of Manhattan and specially, on a highway. She was glad to find that the site was just a few miles from Fallingwater.

She then turned to look at the client’s file. The name sounded familiar.

The rest of the afternoon Frédérique felt her brain struggling to find the connection to that name. She had an excellent memory and it bothered her tremendously when she couldn’t remember something, worst of all when she KNEW she had it somewhere in there.

She forgot about it for a couple hours but while she was driving on her way home it hit her. No, it can’t be HIM. Well, actually it COULD. It wasn’t as if it was impossible that it WAS him. She was in New York after all, the capital of the universe, right?.

As soon as she arrived home she went straight to her CD collection, one of her “survival kit” items she always carried with her (the others would be her camera, then her laptop, and last but not least, her guitar). She found the one she was looking for and opened the booklet inside it. Of course the band bared the name of the lead singer, but that was not the one she was looking for. She followed the letters with her fingers; well, the initials matched and she was relieved that she had found were she had seen that name before, but the States’ are a huge country, hundreds of people may be sharing that same surname. Yes, it must be a coincidence.

However, she couldn’t stop from looking at the men in the booklet. It had been years since she had last played that CD. She had bought it the first time she had arrived in New York with her father for a wine exhibition, she wanted to take something “All American” back home to Bordeaux and the attendant in the store had recommended that one because it was “hot” back then in 1994.

By the end of the 90’s she had lost track of them, up until a few years ago when she rolled her eyes to reading they had produced a “Nashville inspired” record. They were very handsome men, she wondered how they looked like 15 years later.

After that first visit to the States she started listening to more and more traditional American music and had fallen hard for it. In 15 years she had gathered quite a CD collection that included anything from Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson to Tom Petty to …Keith Urban – that was her latest country crush and she was completely smitten with him. She put the “Crossroads” CD back in the shelves and pulled out “Days go by”.

She smiled at the crisp sounds of the banjo of the title track coming from the speakers as she undressed herself before entering the bathroom to have a shower.

Prologue

Frédérique woke up and turned off the alarm. 9.30. She stretched a little bit and managed to open her eyes. Then she released herself from the arms that surrounded her waist and rolled over to look at the man lying beside her.

She looked at his face buried in the pillows and left out a sigh. She caressed  his cheek with the back of her index finger, all the way from his cheekbone down to his jaw, biting her lower lip when she felt the resistance of his light stubble. She knew it took a while for him to actually get himself to wake and get up, so she just waited.

He barely opened his eyes without moving a hair, and battered his eyelids before his pupils adjusted to the bright daylight coming from the windows. She observed the whole process lying on her side, with her arm folded under her head. His dark blonde hair looked as if a grenade had exploded right in front of his face. He reluctantly pulled an arm from under the covers to scratch his eyes before being able to open them widely and raise his upper body, supporting it with his right arm. He looked puzzled, like a little baby bird, as if it was unnatural for him to be awake in the morning. He finally took his torso from under the covers and looked at her, his head hanging from his neck.

“Morning” he said, curving the corner of his lips just enough to let her know that he was conscious, as he extended his left arm to rest on her hips. With the palm of his hand he followed her curves softly up to where her arm started and then jumped to cup her face. He leaned over to kiss her, and she relished on the feel of his soft, warm lips. She took in his smell until her lungs were full. He smelled like a bread freshly taken out of the oven - warm, soft…and delicious. No.

“You need to leave”, she said with a neutral tone, before sitting on the edge of the bed and putting on a pair of sleeping shorts and a tanktop that lay on the floor. She silently padded to the kitchen to get the coffee machine started.

She covered herself with a long, broad sleeved wool jacket her mom had knitted for her and she always wore at home as a kind of robe. She returned with one steaming cup in each hand to find him standing against the wall next to the window. He was barefoot and his hair still all spiked up, even though it looked like he had attempted to tame it with his hands. She saw his profile as he looked through the window, probably still trying to wake up. She followed the line down from his forehead to his perfect nose, his lips, his chin, his Adam’s apple, his pecs and his flat stomach all the way to the waistline of his jeans…

Focus damnit. She picked his T shirt and turtleneck from the back of the armchair and handed them to him together with the cup of cofee, without saying a word or showing any kind of intention of coming near him.

He took them, had a sip of his coffee, then put it down on the vanity next to the bed and started to put his clothes on. He sat down on the armchair next to the window and finished putting his socks and boots on. She waited leaning on the door jamb, her face buried in the coffee cup, which she held with both hands.

“I better get going” he said in a low voice, she jumped a little - in the silence of the room, it sounded like screaming. She nodded and looked at the floor. She had “the wall” up, and he didn’t try to tear it down, after all, it made things easier for him, too. He swallowed a couple more gulps of coffee and headed for the door. He grabbed her waist, gave it a squeeze and kissed her flat on the cheek, heading for the door. She made a feeble attempt at following him, but only managed to turn her head to see the expression on his face as he stood there, half way through the door, one hand on the door knob.

As if they were speaking telepathically, she answered, anguish in her voice:

“Jon, don’t. Please…just go”. She turned her eyes back to the empty space in front of her.

A deep sigh and the sound of a door closing followed.

The ride starts here

Hello you! Some time ago I saw a picture that really made something explode inside my head and I guess this story developed from thinking "What would happen if...". I started a train of thought that became more and more...interesting let's say and I got so caught up in it that I decided to write it down to see where it went from there.

The general outline of the story is ready, and I'm about a third of the way through, but the story seems to have taken a life of its own and it has taken me to places I didn't intend it to go at first.

If you're not a patient person you may wanna pass, even if I have done a lot of trimming to the story, I've taken things reaaaally slowly because I needed to feel everything as real as possible.

If you are interested and like the story, expect a chapter once a week. As I said, I'm a lot of chapters ahead and the general outline ready, but you never know when obstacles may appear...

Have fun!

Toti