FSOG: Girl in The Garden
Girl lost from herself
I'm pissed standing in the Paris Gare De Lyon Station, twirling my newly blond locks. Waiting for the 0600 departure of the Valence TGV to St-Marcellin with connection to Vinay to load. Vera, my Idahoan cooking school classmate turned roommate, bailed on me at the last minute. This was supposed to be our "girls' only road trip" thru the mountains and foods south of Lyon finishing with the Tour Du Mont Blanc. Something I've dreamed of for years.
Who am I bullshitting now, myself! This was supposed to be my last chance at being normal. Just Mia Grey, student of culinary delights, and life's simple pleasures. Not the spoiled princess Mia, Carrick & Doctor Grace's wild out of control daughter: Or Christian Grey's air head fashion obsessed little sister. Or even sports gods wet dream Elliott Grey's, sport inept little sister Mia. Or even La Petite Chef, prodigy cooking machine. Why is it so hard to just be myself? Whatever everyone demands, expected, required: I was! Why is it so hard to be myself? Why is it so hard for them to see me? Just plain me?
The Public address blares out the train is loading. Heading for my train; ticket in hand. With help from Grandma and ex-BFF Vera; We've hidden the researched for the trip, reservations, and even my new burner cell phone & virgin credit card: To prevent my family from interfering in this last trek; This last bit of time to be myself, before I lose myself in the characters I play.
I don't need bodyguards, or five-star hotels, or even Television icon tour guides. I've done everything possible to shield myself from Christian's Flintstones and Dad's PI's. Even have a body double living in the penthouse in Paris. She transcribing my recipe cards and notes into a niffy database program Fred created for me. It'll even generate a shopping list and if I keep the stock system up to date stop me from over buying. Gail loves the new database system. Even sent me a copy of her cookbook. Should be back in Paris in thirty days; before they realize I tour Provinces alone.
Alone because mega-shank airhead Vera decided the rich guy, old enough to be her grandfather; She just met two weeks ago, is taking her to Palma on Balearic Islands off coast of Spain for the summer. She thinks that is better than touring eastern France with me. Trading our friendship in for Majorca's, $1,287 a night, Nobu Hotel Ibiza Bay room. Sugar daddies be damned.
Worse, Vera planned the itinerary. Planned all the overnight stops, got all the reservation. Which I paid all the cost upfront on my new credit card. So Christian and Elliott and the folks can't track me. At least track me easily. Prepaid everything for the two of us. All the vacation reservations are for two people; I will have to eat the overage for the hotels, resort, even Mont Blanc.
I hate my life sometimes. Why do I attract all these Fairweather friends and leeches? Starting when I get back; thinning the user and abuser around me. I'm tired of everyone's petty backbiting and all the rest of their shit: Abusing my loyalty and friendship; I've endured for years being the good friend, the good daughter, the good sister.
Lily, my other former BFF, is especial gone for good this time; I found out about the rumor she's been spreading. How could she say those lies about me? Big brothers are in for some hurt too. They both need to back off and let me be an adult and live my frigging life the way I see fit! Letting me find a man to court me, love me. Is that too much to ask?
Getting on the train and finding my seat. Taking out my tablet. Double checking my itinerary
June 1.
DAY1-4 PARIS TRAIN TO VINAY
(6HR) 0600 DEPART:
CAR RENTAL AT VINAY.
VISIT CHEF'S FRIEND IN LES BIQUETTES DE CHAMBARAN
PONT D'ADÈLE MURINAIS, FRANCE
Place de la Tour Poitevine, Saint-Nazaire-en-Royans
VISIT MY FRIENDS AND GODDAUGHTER
TOUR THE COUNTRYSIDE: EPICUREAN SHOPS?
DAY5 PARC NATUREL RÉGIONAL DU VERCORS
BEAUFORT-SUR-GERVANNE,
DIE, FRANCE
DAY6 DIE, FRANCE
FARMER'S MARKET? EPICUREAN SHOPS?
VISIT CHEF'S FRIEND
THE DIE AND DIOIS MUSEUM (MUSÉE DE DIE)
TOUR DE PURGNON
DAY7-8 BOUVANTE, 26190, FRANCE
SAINT-JEAN-EN-ROYANS, 26190, FRANCE
PONT-EN-ROYANS, 38680, FRANCE
VISIT CHEF'S FRIEND
VILLARD-DE-LANS,
MAISON D'HÔTES LES MATINS BLEUS
DAY 9-11 CHÂTEAU HERBELON ON LAKE LE DRAC TREFFORT, FRANCE
VISIT CHEF'S FRIEND
DAY 12 ÉCRINS NATIONAL PARK
SAINT-MARTIN-DE-LA CLUZE: FARMER'S MARKET?
SAINT-GEORGES-DE-COMMIERS: EPICUREAN SHOPS?
VISIT CHEF'S FRIEND
MUSEUM OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION - DOMAINE DE VIZILLE
CHAÎNE DE BELLEDONNE
PHOTO OF BARRE DES ÉCRINS AND LA MEIJE
LE BOURG-D'OISANS ALLEMOND : FARMERS MARKET?
VISIT CHEF'S FRIEND
COL DU GLANDON ALONG THE GLANDON RIVER VALLEY
PONT DU RIVAUD BRIDGE ROMAN AQUEDUCT BRIDGE
SAINTE-MARIE-DE-CUINES
D213 THRU LA LÉCHÈREBACK
TORRENT D'EAU ROUSSE
N90 INTO MOUTIER
DAY13-15 MOUTIER EPICUREAN SHOPS? FARMER'S MARKET?
BOURG-SAINT MAURICE: EPICUREAN SHOPS?
D84 IN SÉEZ
MONTVALEZAN: FARMER'S MARKET?
VISIT CHEF'S FRIEND AND MY FRIENDS
STRADA STATALE 26 DELLA VALLE D'AOSTA
COURMAYEUR, ITALIA
VICOLO DOLONNE: EPICUREAN SHOPS? FARMER'S MARKET?
VISIT CHEF'S FRIEND AND MY FRIENDS
THE FUNIVIA SKYWAY side {1DAY} AIGUILLE DU MIDI
Tour du Mont-Blanc:
DAY 16 COURMAYEUR TO RIFUGIO BONATTI
DAY 17 RIFUGIO BONATTI TO LA FOULY
DAY18 LA FOULY TO CHAMPEX
DAY 19 CHAMPEX TO COL DE LA FORCLAZ
DAY20 COL DE LA FORCLAZ TO TRE-LE-CHAMP
DAY21 TRE-LE-CHAMP TO REFUGE FLEGERE
DAY22 REFUGE FLEGERE TO LES HOUCHES
DAY23 LES HOUCHES TO LES CONTAMINES
DAY24 LES CONTAMINES TO LES CHAPIEUX
DAY25 LES CHAPIEUX TO RIFUGIO ELISABETTA
DAY26 RIFUGIO ELISABETTA TO COURMAYEUR
BUS TO CHAMONIX
DAY27 CHAMONIX,
GRAND HÔTEL DES ALPES
CHAMONIX side AIGUILLE DU MIDI Glacier?
DAY28-30 TRAIN TO LYON: FARMER'S MARKET? EPICUREAN SHOPS?
VISIT MY FRIENDS
DAY 31 TRAIN LYON TO PARIS.
Looks good. Opening a e-tour-book about visiting the Parc Naturel Régional Du Vercors. I've always found the mountains magical and uplifting. Losing myself in the possibilities to enjoy the mountains, taste the mountain goddess's joy. Perhaps Orestiad Britomart will guide me on this journey. Love Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queene: With Britomart as the virgin Knight of Chastity, the Virgin Queen. Strangely fitting to me right now.
Sipping my lukewarm tea, no one is spoiling my trip. Looking about me; no one notices me. Good? I am Mia Grey. Or should I be someone else. I know! For this trip I will be Amelia Trevelyan De Grey. My passport supports the name. Smirking into the window, reflections of myself. A simple 'de' added between my last name. Grandma 'T' would be proud.
Relaxing finally as the city and suburbs sprawl breaks to countryside splendor. Farther I get from Paris, the better I feel. The motion sooths me as I embark on this wondrous adventure; alone? No, I feel fine with being alone. Being a normal girl: a twenty-one-year-old American girl loose in France. Lord help the rural, Provinces of real French culture! Not the Paris urbanities. Now if those wet dreams would calm down, my life could be perfect. I may have to die a celibate virgin; At least for the next decade? Britomart is teasing me, I the virgin princess!
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Driving away from Vinay, feeling bruised and pissed off. The car rental agent was a sexist pig, with the hygiene of a sewer rat. Far beyond the typical flirty French male. Did the balding middle-aged man with veg-o-matic (checkerboard cut) cut beard, in the ugliest mismatched leisure suit, not know that soap and hot water is a daily requirement? Not just pretty nick-nacks about the house. Because whatever was fermenting on him would have put a skunk to shame. Hell, a whole surfeit to shame.
Except for the missing Vera, and that no lose at all. Everything was going prefect, till picking up rental car in Vinay. Maybe that will be the one negative thing this trip? Driving into the country side with the top down and windows wide open to air out any vestiges of that smelly asshole.
Relaxing, cruising the pastoral country on my way to Les Biquettes De Chambaran outside the village of Varacieux. My instructor called ahead to one of his oldest friends; a weeks' worth of organic vegetable and cheese snacks awaits me. I think it's his way of tracking me, keeping an eye on me. Henri is just one of a dozen: cooks, farmers, store owners; Chef has scheduled me to meet on the road. Then onto Vera's vaunted health spa resort outside Murinais. She told me it would uplift me and change my life. Could use some positive change and uplifting. I really need some relaxing days to decompress and let the world escape into the far, far away. Needing normalcy. Needing to be me.
Les Biquettes De Chambaran is a lovely farm in rolling hills and Henri, Chef's friend, is a dear man. He enlightened me with several bawdy stories of La Chef during their college days. Priceless payback when he jumps my case. While slipping into my car several bottles of his homemade wine; Henri wish me health and luck. Flirting shamelessly for a newly hatched great-grandfather. Normal Frenchman flirting while avoiding his wife's hostile stare. He gallantly bows, kissing my hand. She loved me; but is sure Henri, her husband of forty-years is making and drink too much of his homebrew for his own good. Waving good bye to the rascally pair, heading to Murinais, and the health spa. The sky opens in brilliant blues with wisp of clouds high above, teasing the distance mountains. Perfect cruising weather about pastoral landscapes. Must savory the moment. It's perfect!
Heading thru the complicated farm and rural cross roads toward Varacieux. At least that what the onboard GPS is saying. When a speeding car on the wrong side of the road, must be British? Cuts a farm wagon off; forcing me into a ditch. I'm stuck and now pissed off. This trip is not starting out very good. That for sure. Great! One of Henri's bottles pop its cork. Wine spills on the floor. I grab for it and now; I and the car smell like a winery. Great just great.
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Luke-pov: Varacieux,
This was supposed to be a simple two-day job. Nothing stressful or hard. Just escort one commercially bonded courier from point A to point B. So much for simple or painless. I'm killing my newly former boss. Yes, I'm going back to the UAE and beat him senseless. Senseless with the contract we signed. He has no cause for firing me. It wasn't my fault the regular CPO for this shit was sick with Kidney stone. Or that the Courier decided to sleep the whole time from Shrewsbury, England to Lyon and then here. Too much weekend partying. Nothing about this failure is my fault!
Steamed, pissed off, impeding violence bubblies up, Volcano Mt. Sawyer is ready to erupt. The little prick handed over the thermos to the man at Champon Jean-Claude Paul Mar outside of nowhere Varacieux. Said he needed a smoke. Big boss and his investor were on a teleconference with livestock breeder for the handover. The next thing I know, he's speeding away in the rental car.
The thermos full of coolant should have fogged when opened; It isn't and that can only mean one thing, the hundreds of thousands of dollars in horse sperm is dead. My boss's employer fires me over the phone. Stomping outside. My cell phone rings: my boss, Wilson safely in UAE, on the phone, in the parking lot, rags me out. "Asshole, this job was a favor for you. Screw you and horse that road in on your dumb ass." Why me. All I was supposed to do was keep the thermos from being stolen: Not monitor the little gauge on the damn thing.
At least the courier dumped my bags on the pavement. I can hike and find a bus or train or something out of this god-forsaken rural hellhole. Get out of this frigging country and back to the USA. I've not step foot on America soil in three, no close to four years. Hauling my bags up; starting down the road to Varacieux. I think I saw a diner or something on the way in.
Right around the corner, a hay wagon's jackknife across the road. A rag-top sedan's stuck in a ditch. What the frigging hell happen. I walk up as French middle-aged man screaming at a teenager in classic spoiled European trust fund princess attire: Too tight Tee-shirt with some obscure band, skinny jeans with the required rips with four-hundred-dollar sunglasses: The "I don't care about money" ensemble of the trust fund babies. I've seen hundreds like her over the last two years playing CPO to the rich and useless. I should just keep walking; but she looks at me. Our eyes meet, everything is clear, the future is clear. She's young; I don't care how old she is! I want her. I want her right now on the top of her car in the ditch, in the farm land outside of Varacieux, France. I want her forever? uh, what? forever? I do?
"Problem?" I ask. Trying to be cool; looking at me, thru me and steps up to me. Her, perfect body, face, eyes alight with mischief and sparkling for me? I think she see me, wants me. The feeling in mutual, baby!
Smirking at me. "Damn it! You were supposed to meet me at Les Biquettes De Chambaran. I was heading back to Varacieux , That you got lost, again. This asshole got cut off by some speeding British asshole driving on the wrong side; Putting our car in 'Le Ditch'. Now he wants a blowjob to haul it out." She barks, pleading with me for help. America, wow she doesn't look like it. Then wraps a hand around mine; this feels so good. I could hold her hand forever. Wanting forever with her.
"Dear, my French is worse than your brothers. Tell him to unhitch the tractor and help us out of the ditch; or I'm kicking his ass and haul us out of the ditch. And he can explain to your dad, the general" Pulling her to me and kiss her forehead. The classic boyfriend kiss of possession. Stupid farmer George looks lost, great he doesn't speak English.
"Connard. Mon petit ami ici, capitaine de parachutiste de l'armée. Dit de faire de l'attelage et de nous tirer ou il te botte le cul. Mon père le général ! Et bien il était, mon parrain, le témoin du général de brigade blindée française à son mariage. Alors travaillez !"[ asshole. My boyfriend here Army paratrooper Captain. Says to hitch and haul us out or he's kicking your ass. My father the General! Well, he was, my godfather, General of French armors brigade's best man at his wedding. So, get working!] She barks; God damn that was sexy. I caught the army paratrooper captain, which I once was, kind-a if I toss in mustang first lieutenant airborne Rangers and Military Police. My haircut's still Army standard high and tight with clean whitewalls around the ears. So, I look the part; still.
Once the car's out of the 'la ditch' and Farmer rude is gone. I lean over and kiss her properly. "Luke Sawyer."
"Amelia Trevelyan De Grey." She speaks breathless and blushing. I wonder if her whole body blush; I'm dying to find out.
"Please to meet you. Can I catch a ride?" I ask with my best panty dropping smile. Right here sweetheart, the all-American blonde blue eyed Montana cowboy turned super trooper G.I. Joe is wanting you.
"Where to?" She asks, suddenly shy and meek.
"Where ever you're going is good." I smile and kiss her again. She melts into me. We kiss for a bit till another wagon goes by, driver shouting some obscene French; I'm sure it's 'get a hotel room' or something equivalent.
"I have a room at a resort near by" she whispers.
"Ok?" Trying not to scare her away. "It doesn't mean anything ok. Well take it at our own pace. OK?" She seems to relax. I think she's not very experienced; but neither am I. My hand as been my main date the last six years. Since my last girlfriend dumped me during my second tour in Iraq, when I moved from Military police to protection details; the classic 'Dear John letter.'
"Ok." We head down the road. She drives; I enjoy the view, even the one outside the window. Blonde hair, pert nose, smile that lights the world and o'so kissable.
"I can pay my part." I try to start the conversation. Keeping it on neutral terms.
"You don't need to. My former roommate: My former friend shafted me; so, all the reservations are for two with two beds." She looks angry and hurt. Must be something there. I'll wait till she's ready to tell me.
"Well work something out." I tell her, joyously happy in the dumb luck of finding someone like her. Here and now.
When my life was spiral into poverty and joblessness. Suddenly the door opens and everything is looking up. We cruise down the road, Amelia flips on the radio; breaking the tension in the car. We incurable happy people; Happily singing badly to bubblegum pop songs from some Swiss retro radio station on a ninety's bender. Checking into the hotel goes smoothly. The receptionist raved the weather and pool were perfect today. The lobby was strangely empty and the clerk more interested in her medical anatomy text book.
We could use some relaxing pool time. We change into swim wear and head down to the Pont d'Adèle Murinais pool. Walking out to the pool area. Everyone is staring at us. We quickly get something about us is not right, for this resort.
"I'm killing her! Vera is a dead woman!" Mia hisses. Anger flares in her eyes. I simply dump the towel on an open set of teak chaise sun lounge and drop my swim trunk. Smirking at Amelia, hop in the pool with the rest of the nudist. I bet solidly on black, that little Amelia Trevelyan will not join the herd.
"Luke? You need more sunscreen if we're going native." She strips out of that tiny Bikini and hops in. Should have bet red; But hell, yes, I like the loss. Must remember to not bet against Amelia being daring. Swimming to me, she smiles into my mouth. We kiss. Feeling the tension go away in all but one spot on me. He's tensioned enough to pound fence posts in the hard Montana dirt. Cuddling my Amelia in the corner, letting her feel tonight main event.
"My what big feet you have" Amelia laughs between kisses. Soon we're socializing, making friends. Enjoying the friendly crowd. We may even convert.
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Mia-pov:
"I'm killing her! Vera is a dead woman!" I hiss. Pont d'Adèle Murinais is a frigging nudist resort; I can see Vera's evil hand at play. She was always trying to get me into her weird nightlife of multi-day raves' and mindless, meaningless sex with guys she couldn't remember nor even cared to want to remember afterwards. I want something more like Grandma and Mom has. I thought I'd never meet anyone to match Dad or Grandpa; till a speeding asshole put my rental car in a ditch on a rural French road.
Watching Luke go native, "that devil may care, but I don't" smirk on his beautiful face. He hops in the pool. I can keep my suit on like the good girl I am; or become a woman, daring and bold. Pondering the thought for a second. Looking straight at my hot man. A right here and in this right now. He is my man! Yes! Little Mia Grey has a real boyfriend and he's smart, nice, mannered, and hung like a horse; maybe bigger than Elliott. An none of these euro trash skanks is getting him.
The hazard of having the Lothario of Seattle Sound as a brother. He's been doing girls all over Grey Manor, at parties. The egotistic extrovert showoff. So unfortunately, I've seen Elliott's junk more times than a virginal little sister should. I didn't need to watch porn in college or High school: Just watching Elliott date. I had a live porn show.
"Luke? You need more sunscreen if we're going native." Shucking my suit, my bikini wasn't very covering to begin with. Hop in the warm pool, swimming to Luke, kissing him. This could be a really good vacation after all. Feeling up close what I saw. OOH la-la!
"My what big feet you have" laughing between kisses.
We lounge in the resort restaurant over dessert and coffee: Vegan gluten free cookies. Day one of my trip has been eventful to say the least. Tomorrow sounds even better; Because Luke is going with me. Morning nude yoga, couple massage. Lunch at the nearby Brasserie du lac patio overlooking Le Lac. Museum of Saint-Antoine-l'Abbaye & Saint-Antoine l'Abbaye - Découverte du Patrimoine , Fontaines Pétrifiantes Garden at La Sone, and meanders drive to dinner at Hotel Restaurant ROME on Place de la Tour Poitevine, Saint-Nazaire-en-Royans on the river La Bourne. Seeing my truest friend.
The newest Sous chef at the Hotel Restaurant ROME, Philip Bouveries. He was a high school junior French exchange student my freshman year in Bellevue. His friendship during those turbulent years of Christian and Elliott starting their companies; and mom and Dad nearly divorcing over the stress of supporting them or not supporting them. He was my rock, and more important my model for my life.
It was he, who imbued me with need to cook as an outlet. A way to create, a way to carve out an identity of my own. Finding pleasure in making someone something special; joyful by bring a simple dish, and pastry to life. Changing a bad day with a bit of empathy and caring. Mom and Dad loved him and his quirky humor and wit. His reference at his Paris cooking academy got me the interview. My cooking got me in. Having Graduated three days ago as honor grad; I will walk out the school door in November. The culinary academy's first foreign-born student teachers in its three-hundred-year-old history.
Philip and his wife Marcella have a little boy Javier and infant girl, Lucienne Mia Bouveries. My goddaughter; Christened in Clisson's Église Notre Dame three months ago. Marcella family church; near Nantes on the La Sèvre nantaise. Marcella is an accountant and noted fabric painter and batik (cap,lukis,and tulis) artist. Her mother's people are Javanese-Dutch by way of Rotterdam. Her French father, family clown and cheerleader, a noted mechanical engineer; very much like I imagine Elliott will be like in twenty years, I hope he turns out like Marcella's father. The mischievous rascally pair remind me of the Grands.'
Batik is heavily in her maternal DNA. Her, ex-emo-girl, heavily tattooed older sister is a curator at Tropenmuseum in Amsterdam, Netherlands. Much like her mother; who was the first, back in the sixties. I have a lovely original Marcella Bouverie's Batik Lukis scarf with cooking words and motifs. Marcella is promising me a Chef hat in September, in the Batik Cap style with my name in regal gothic scroll.
Snapping aware when the waitress brings the bill. I was woolgathering staring out the window. Luke just sat there and watched me. Blushing at the weird thoughts: Thinking how will Luke like the tourist things I have planned; will he like them at all? Will Philip and Marcella like him and him them? How will Luke like Lucienne and Javier? Will Luke push tonight in the room? Am I ready for sex, am I ready for Luke?
"Amelia, what wrong?" Luke asks petting my hand.
"I'm a virgin." Why did I just say that out loud? Blushing, hiding my face in my napkin. Great, blow the one chance with this demigod.
"Amelia it's fine, and if you want to wait. That fine too." Luke says taking my hand and kissing the palm. I look into his blue eyes and know I'll always be safe and cared for. This is a man to keep.
"You're not upset?" I hope he's truthful
"No, Amelia, you are worth waiting for. Although are you opposed to kissing, making out, heavy petting?" He smirks in that adorable naughty school boy way.
"All I've ever done is kiss. I don't know if I'll be, you know, any good at the other stuff or sex for that matter." I confess
"Humm! I will have to educate you. So let us return to our room; To begin your first educational instruction on making out. Something tells me 4.0 GPA Amelia Trevelyan is going to excel at anything she puts her mind to or her hands, or lips too." Luke voice fades to a whisper by the end of the sentence. Smirking at me. I stand, taking his arm, waltzing Sir Galahad to our room. What little cloths we're wearing take flight, it was a bit chilly tonight. Pulling him down onto my bed, correction my inner goddesses scream 'our bed.'
Making out moves to heavy naked petting. We've been naked all afternoon. We just move into cuddling, then spooning then blissful slumber. Waking early in the morning; the life of a chef. Looking at his boyish face, peaceful and happy. I could easily get use to looking at him while he sleeps, forever.
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Day four: Pont d'Adèle Murinais, France
Lounging among shadows, cast from these ancient trees, sentinels against wind and sun. Relaxing, watching Luke doing naked Tai-chi with a herd of people; how strange the last few days have been? Here and right now, I am simply Amelia, not Mia-Grey, Not Petite Chef Mia, nor even spoiled Princess Mia. I am simply Amelia Trevelyan de Grey; teacher, student, wander, or even petite Amelia's femme fatale hunting one Luke Sawyer, my personal Captain America meets Magic Mike.
Smiling into the wide blue sky and imagining what the cloud high above are morphing into. Many are erotic, imagining a very long hard night; rubbing my thighs together in anticipation. Looking over; Luke is swimming laps; maybe I should in a bit join him? Or he could decide to use his time more wisely over here in the shade with me.
My friends, Philip and his wife Marcella think Luke is a keeper; My god-daughter Lucienne and her older brother Javier are in love with my rugged man. Watching them on the floor playing; That is the measure of a man and how'll he'll turn out by these unguarded moment with young children.
We play with them till Philip demands; we attend and bow before his culinary masterpieces. They are masterpieces, but I'm not admitting anything to him. His ego is already too large for his petite elfish six-foot four frame. After dinner back at the resort, we forayed into mutual oral exploration in bed, in shower, after a nightcap on the couch in the room and drift into cuddles, spooning as night drifts towards dawn. His soft snores along my ear, comfort me and quiet any doubts I have.
Tomorrow we motor away in our convertible sedan; beginning our Tour du Parc Naturel Régional du Vercors; Stops at Romans-sur-Isère International Shoe Museum of Romans, Barbières, Chabeuil, up to Le Perruclat. Down D70 thru lavender fields of the Gervanne valley. Beaufort-sur-Gervanne: then Miellerie des Chardons Bleus and Maison de la Résistance Mathias Mathieu with late lunch at La Fontaine Boeuf. Finally, Aouste-sur-Sye by the Drome River thru Le Glandasse north to city of Die. With a late dinner at Phillip's friends Naturel Gourmet. A full day planned to maximize our holiday hours.
Day 6: Wandering around the city of Die France. Our first rest day, with The Die and Diois museum (Musée de Die), Touring de Purgnon, and La Ferme aux Papillons, a family run butterflies "museum". If time permits sunset on the Croix de Justin observation deck. With a late dinner at Philips recommend Le Rendez-Vous, ending with their artisan Tartatatin.
He really like most of the place we stop; being with Luke makes everything better. OK! Maybe Luke's' not liking the International Shoe Museum or me needing two hours this morning in the weekly food market. But he humors me.
Laying in his arms as the sunset casts over Croix de Justin. We've just made it at last too very satisfying mutually oral in devours. Finding his taste very addictive. When no one was observing us at Le Perruclat, I blew his mind, his very large little man and myself away. Cuddling deeper, dreaming about tomorrow and us. Remembering half an hour ago behind the car in the parking area.
Day 7: Starts with us blasting up D518 highway towards Bouvante: First stop the Station du Col de Rousset chairlift to the top for a quick photo shoot. Then Highway D76 into Musée de la Préhistoire du Vercors, where Luke proves all men are caveman; the cute French tour guide was just being French flirty. My man has a very deep green streak; I might start calling him Hulk.
The summer heat hasn't turned the grasses brown yet. Green rocky passes golden in the morning light. They fall behind us into Saint-Jean-en-Royans for a romantic lunch in La Taverne. Cruise thru Pont-en-Royans, then back along scenic La Bourne River to Maison d'hôtes Les Matins Bleus in Villard-de-Lans with another late dinner at Philips recommend La Bergerie.
We spend the morning of day eight lazing away to hours; Wandering the town, and stocking up on snack for next few days. The afternoon is spend doing Luke's idea of fun stuff; hiking about La Petite Moucherolle and Corrençon-en-Vercors. Good practice for Mont-Blanc.
Romantic candle light flicker on patio table at Le Pot de Vin as we munch on another late dinner. We review the travel pictures so far. Talk about the coming days, places we want to stop and visit, spots to photograph. Strolling back to Maison d'hôtes Les Matins Bleus arm in arm. This is a Magical night; Muses play a happy tune.
The winding road of D531 thru to D106 into Grenoble with it waiting Musée de Grenoble collection of 13th century masters. Cable car up to Fort de La Bastille, a picnic lunch looking out over the city. Making out to the horrors of the French matrons and the cheers of the Grand-Mamans and Grand-Papas strolling grandkids.
We leisurely cruise down D1075 to Château Herbelon: Having a romantic patio dinner at Hotel Restaurant Castillan in the Château d'herbelon. Overlooking Lake Drac; Enjoying the floor show. We talk without words. Taking his hand in mine; leading him to our bed. Tonight, is the night I become his woman, and he becomes my man. Gazing soulfully into his eyes, kissing him and we melt into one body, mingle into one feeling and one thought. Making love till the rooster crows the new day. It's lucky we have couple of lazy days here. I need more yoga classes if I'm to keep up with him.
Last full day here: Dawn is breaking over the eastern hills onto Lake Drac. Shadows chased by sunrays sparkling the calm waters. We're hiking south across the Gateway Ebron. Luke plans on us bush hogging thru Ravin de Malpertuis to a point on the lake where the river Ebron merges with Lac Drac. About 8km. Luke is packing a nice lunch. After lunch and possible a heat up in the forest and cool down in the lake.
We plan to hike thru the village of Villarnet, across Passerelle Himalayenne du Drac into Bateau la Mira Embarcadère Plage de Savel about 6km. After dinner at Restaurant La Pergola patio. Luke has arranged a boat to take us back to the hotel, since we won't make the last ferry from here to Treffort.
Sipping wine on the patio, as dusk harkens into the lake Drac valley. An excellent dinner at La Pergola. Some parts of today were fantastic, while other parts: Are never going to happen again. Namely, bush hogging thru the forest. Luke was in hog heaven, being macho and rugged. I was sweaty, sore from up and down thru the Ravine de Malpertuis. Climbing over rocks, up and down the ravine walls, making like a frigging mountain goat. But wait mountain goats aren't dumb enough to go forging virgin trails thru dense thicket of brush and trees. I told Luke as much when I fell into the Lake Drac side of the point, fully clothed. Expressing myself thru international sign language: I extend my middle finger when Luke asks if I enjoyed the hike; while I laid in the cold water of lake Drac.
The cool water washed away most of the sweat, and made me feel better, at least human. I can take the hiking, breaking trail? Never again. Maybe I can con Christian and Elliott into buddying with Luke. At least in this bush hogging addiction of Luke's. I hope my brother let Luke have a chance.
He smirked at me, setting up the picnic, sunbathing spot, in a nice little low spot among the rocks. Hiding us from any passing boats.
I packed small refilled half bottles of Sauvignon Blanc; its citrusy aromas, and balanced with perfumed, and acidic flavors will pair well with the Taleggio cheese, sliced Rosette de Lyon, Olive de Nice, Olives cassées de la Vallée des Baux de Provence, and Olives noires de Nyons. With just baked that morning baguette. Chocolate chip palmiers and strawberry palmiers for dessert. We made sweet love after lunch.
We hiked over to Plage de Savel, meandering the beach, getting great shot on both hiking bridges. Even allowed Luke to take some R-rated peek-a-boo shots. Luke is in a European speedo, so until he opens his Montana cowboy mouth with his terrible hundred words of French; people think he's European, usually British, or Scottish. So, all the shanks on the Plage de Savel beach eye my man. I make them feel worse, sucking his tongue so hard, we go down into the grass. Full on Femme Fatale Amelia in savage amour.
Now waiting, sipping a nice wine, for our water taxi back across the lake to our hotel. Pepe is late as usually. Pepe and his wife Connie are what happens when Avant Garde hippies marry. Claudette 'Connie' inherited a 50 acres farm on the western slope of Lake Drac. Met Marko 'Pepe' Hyypiä, lazy, good-natured slacker, wandering Finish troubadour. Connie runs the farm, while Pepe works his boat, fishing guide, water taxi, lounges about playing his various string instruments. Connie laughed that Pepe "He just walks thru my vegetable garden, the next day rot and wilted plants appear. A true black thumb; as my British friends tell me."
We met them the first night at Restaurant Castillan. Connie moonlights as a torchlight singer; she does a killer Broadway show medley, with a show stopping Mama Cass triumph. Pepe played a lute, guitar, Finish kantele, Lyre Harp, Norwegian Hardanger fiddle, and obscure Harp Piano; he built himself. All in one night.
Just finishing the wine, the fresh seasonal fruit tarte tatin. Pepe distinctive air horn shakes the night. The locals ignore the obscene and obscure Finland drinking song, played at train horn sound levels. He's arrived, an hour late, but that Pepe's version of being four-hours early.
Watching the moon rise thru the windows. This is our last day here on Lake Drac. Tomorrow we head to Moutier thru the northern end of Écrins National Park. Scenic motor tour over the hill, mountains into Moutier. Buts that tomorrow. Tonight, is all about us, cuddle in bed, soft moonlight filtering thru the rustic panes of glass in the hundred-year-old windows. Tomorrow can wait a bit longer to arrive.
Day 11:
Cruising thru the mountains; skirting along the northern section of beautiful Écrins National Park. The mountain tower and hide from us on the winding road. But we're enjoying the majestic road to Saint-Martin-De-La Cluze; Relaxing photos on the cell phones; relaxing moments to smooch. We cruise into the bright sunshine this June day. One man, one woman, amor washes over us.
We're pulling into the Museum of The French Revolution - Domaine De Vizille at Saint-Georges-De-Commiers. Checking out the food stores before taking on D1091 cresting Chaîne De Belledonne Peak, then cruising along the River Romance.
Luke wants photos of Barre Des Écrins And La Meije. Lunching in Le Bourg-D'oisans Allemond. Enjoying the fresh air. We see a sign to a village outside of Allemond; We have to get pictures of me under the sign for road to Oz. It's one of those ironic moments when live teases you. Dad has a picture from his army lawyer days under Truth or Consequences New Mexico sign. Mom has one under the Pied Piper of Hamelin sign in Germany.
Elliott has pictures of him under all 18 of the cities called Carpenter in America, Philippines, Ghana. Christian even has one under the Mogul, Nevada sign. The grands started it with a picture next to the Reno 'The Divorce Capital of The World' sign; holding plastic balls and chains. Grandpa holding a placard, 'dare us?' Mom says they took a road trip when she was ten, her brother twelve to Disneyland and Death Valley. Her parents threatened them under the sign half way thru the trip to behave or else.
Luke tease me, "Should have bought those red sparkly slippers at the Romans-Sur-Isère International Shoe Museum gift shop." Teasing him when no cars are near, to flash my tits at him; the pervert snaps a picture. Laughing at how dorky I look trying to be sexy.
Over the Col Du Glandon. Up D526/D926. Loafing along the Glandon River Valley. Parking, exploring the Pont Du Rivaud Bridge Roman Aqueduct Bridge. The ancient structure is mind blowing to stand next to. How something so well made, so long ago, is still standing after these centuries. Teasing Luke to give me a shot of Mr. Happy. Teasing me back with just a hairy peek-a-boo of the little guy's lair. I'm tempted to pull him out and suck Mr. Happy into earth shaking, scream echoing satisfaction; but alas more tourist like us arrive. Singing the Stones, 'I can't get No Satisfaction' down to the car. Luke magical fingers tide me over till later; before we motor away.
Wandering thru Sainte-Marie-De-Cuines. The tall green, flowered covered hills have not turn in the summer heat. Wildflowers still bloom. D213 is the back roads, winding thru the valleys and along the river. Taking in the small town of La Léchère. We cruise along, stopping when we see something worth recording. Lounging an hour soaking our feet in a quiet section of the Torrent D'eau Rousse.
Enjoying talking about art, books, places we've been, want to explore and just the simple pleasures of being held by my man. We race the dusk on N90 into Moutier. Tomorrow we will explore more about the area. Tonight, I'm exploring Luke Swayer's terrain and valleys. Climbing a jagged peak, Mount Happy.
Day 12 Moutier: We arrived unluckily for Luke on market day. Leaving the Hotel du Faubourg along the River Isere. I search the market for edible snacks for the days ahead as we climb higher towards Mount Blanc. Right now; I'm in hog heaven in the farmer's market. Checking the produce, the foods, talking to the farmers, sellers, and common people; Writing some ten new recipes. All gems to enlighten haughty Paris and cuisine paganism Seattle. Luke's spends his time getting the rental car checked, something about tires or something other automotive; like Elliott talking building or Christian talking about a stock market. They all just hurt my head.
We catch the noon mass in Église De Saint Pierre. Enjoying the familiar rituals and movements. Lighting candle for love one lost in the past year. Enjoying Luke's arm holding me steady, in body and mind, as we pray for tomorrow.
After lunch, we tour the Musee des Traditions Populaires. Liking the new experience of the rural Tarentaise civilization. Must go to more of these when we get back to Washington state. I like the folk art and know that grandma will love the dishtowels I got her in the gift shop. I nearly walk off the curb. 'When we get back to Seattle.' Shaking at the reality of those thoughts of that future; our future.
Window shopping, people watching about the Mairie De Moûtiers outside of city hall. Dinner in La Voûte; then a nice stroll back to the hotel. It's going to be a very good night.
It's hard to believe that this is only day thirteen of my escape. Cruising up the D220. The nice drive to Bourg-Saint-Maurice, the road marked in the Antonine Itinerary, the Gallic side of Alpes Graiae. The mountains are alive in the morning clouds dancing with the rising sun. Sunrays break the silent white shrouded heavens in awe inspiring moments of Mother Earths mastery to awe us poor mortals. The soft jazz cd I found in that little cheese shop in Die, is perfect for this morning. The valleys are hidden gems among the towering peaks. Cruising up the Strada Statale 26 Della Valled'aosta road.
After a picnic lunch at Chanousia Alpine Botanical Garden. A short detour from the Strada Statale 26 Della Valled'aosta up the Col De Traversette. Pictures of Fort De La Redoute Ruinee. We meandering on into Saint Bernard Hospice, stocking up on photos and coffee. Luke is the perfect man, smart, funny, attentive to me. I have problems seeing this fairytale ending. I have ill thoughts of my brothers interfering in my life; chasing Luke away. Must not let them. Watching him help a poor harassed father, of four under eight children, change a tire in the hospice parking lot. He looks at me, a smile. Blowing away the doubts and fears.
Wandering more on the Strada Statale 26 Della Valled'aosta into Courmayeur, Italy. The Hotel Maison Saint Jean is an oasis in the city. Once checked in; dumped the laundry on the hotel service. We have enough time left in the day to drop off the rental car. Meandering back to Ristorante Pizzeria Du Parc in the setting sun. Over a pizza and wine. We map out the next two weeks of our Mount Blanc hike.
All my gear is here, I shipped it rather than carry it. Luke bought items he needs on the way here. So, we're good to go. The bulk of our luggage will go the Grand Hôtel des Alpes in Chamonix once we head up the hill for the tour. They'll hold it there till we arrive. Although we'll be back here after the hike to catch the bus across to Chamonix. I want to complete the hike; no one will be able to say I didn't complete the tour de Mont Blanc. Like they bitched about me completing the Louvre.
Tomorrow the Funivia Skyway for the day on the Italian and French side around Aiguille du Midi. Then final prep for the Tour De Blanc. We've mapped out a good schedule of about eleven days; with an average of about 18km a day. We're going in style, luggage service and all the perks of wealth travelers; minus the guide. My man Luke has been studying hard the tour e-books and web sites; my personal GI-Joe will not get us lost. Besides the trail's well marked and traveled. I don't foresee any problems. Tonight, lounging at the pool, room service ala amor. Maybe even some slumber, if I'm unlucky. Bating my eyes at Luke. He swallows hard, in the knowledge I'm going to rock his world, push him to the limits and beyond. What was I thinking just thirteen days ago? A celibate virgin for a decade. Now I'm sex crazed and in heat for my man. "Luke?" I purr.
"Right, you want to go bowling. I hear there is a place outside of town."
"LUKE?" I bark, as he laughs. He got me good. I laugh at my nativities. I will get him back. Elliott has made me very lethal in revenge: Him and Christian have given me plenty of practice. To Luke pity.
"Waiter, the bill!" He barks causing everyone in the place to look at us. Putting his hands behind his head. Doing that muscle flex thing with his chest. I thought that so cheesy on Elliott; but on Luke, vision of his chocolate coated nipples has me on fire.
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Col de la Seigne dusk plays about its peaks. Enjoying the show before we head into Rifugio Bonatti; Ending day one of the Tour du Mont- Blanc. 12km of easy hiking so far. Most of the stop overs over the next two weeks are double rooms if they have them. Which is fine by me. We've packed smartly for the hike, and laid in food accordingly. Luke has this little solar cell thing that rides atop his back pack, charging a phone; it takes about four hours to charge one phone. But we're taking a lot of photos. so we need the juice.
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Refuge Flegere wanders into sight as day six of the Tour is soon over; I'm sore from our stop over above the trail for a midafternoon sex fest in the grass meadow high on the alp's slopes. We most likely shocked the space station astronauts with our wanton display of carnal excess. Or the geeks in Langley on spy satellites; otherwise, the only observer was a goat with her brood.
The hiking days with stops, pictures, and just friendly banter merge into one long friendly party; the only hazard so far are mountain bike thugs. Three thugs have been tossed into the grass by Luke and one of our traveling companion German Hans, as opposed to schoolteachers Polish Hans and his girlfriend Petra. The big German is a Captain in the German army, teaching at something called Ausbildungsbereich Heeresaufklärungstruppe in Munster. His girlfriend, Norwegian, Lena is a teacher there with Hans. Luke and Hans bond over both having attended the Army ranger school. Lena is another only youngest daughter in a family of males.
They form a loose group of about ten couple on the tour headed the same direction and pace. Lena is a hoot with her mind shattering attempt to sing; She even had the cattle and sheep running in terror. At Champex, the owner handed her a full bottle of wine if she would stop and not start for the rest of our time there.
While Sam and Ted, the businessmen couple from Liverpool, can charm the milk out of the goats with just harmonies. An impromptu concert to La Face Nord des Grandes Jorasses. Was magical as the forty some odd hikers, mountain bikers and climbers filled the air with half a dozen songs in four languages, sometime one song in four languages.
Or the afternoon: Hans screaming when Lena pushed him in the cold mountain stream. Soaking wet, chasing her; both buck naked, across the trail bisected meadow was eye opening; Whatever were they doing that in that seclude little hollow, requiring them to be nude?
I drag Luke away for a little cool down sex. Can't let the others have all the fun. All the couples seem to wander into secluded spots; catching up later to the herd, red faced and very happy.
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Staring at the Aiguille Noire De Peuterey As dusk lingers over its jagged peak. Sipping a nice wine; soon dinner will be called. Lonely Rifugio Elisabetta is noisy with the groups ending their tour and group in the middle or starting their tour. We are finishing our holiday tour. Tomorrow we hike the last eighteen kilometers to Courmayeur. We have completed the Tour du Mont Blanc. I feel happy, sad, and afraid.
Happy to have completed the hike, met, and made friends, experienced life. A I've been accepted by all: as simply Luke's girlfriend, Amelia. A bubble of calm and comradery in the European alps. I've found peace within myself these last ten days and I can have a separate identity.
Sadness that this moment reprise from the world is over. My new friends are scattering to the four corners of the world. We ladies of the trail, including Sam and Henri, our French-Argentine spouse of Joe of Samoa; are a tight bunch. I see in them all the things; I thought were there in my old friends. They weren't really there, I de43luded myself. Loyalty, acceptance, even empathy and reality. From Sam telling Lena her buttock's lopsided, which it is. To Helena telling me blonde was not my color; so stop bleaching.
Luke shocked, I dyed my hair: he truly thought I was natural blond. Despite the black bush in his face for most of the last twenty-five days. I let my hair wash out to blackish blond hairdo. I like it and so does the herd. I don't think Luke cares; he only wants me. I can live with that.
Sipping the local red and let the mountains heal me.
"Amelia" Turning to Rachel, the oldest member of our group. The sixty-year-old out-hikes, out parties all us youngsters. Sitting in one of the high-backed chairs out here on the edge of the meadow above the Rifugio.
"Your upset about something, dear?"
"No?"
"Amelia?" I don't answer, I don't want to lie, even to myself.
"Amelia? Would you be shocked that I've been banging Floyd long before my husband died?"
"What?" I snap. They are a loving couple, both widows. How could the moral upright woman I've come to know?
"I loved my late husband, but we couldn't live together after my daughter died. I couldn't stand his touch, his false PDA. I was destroyed. An no one cared that my daughter was dead. Floyd was having a hard time with his wife's deciding that two kids was enough. A no longer wanted sex with him or anyone, including herself. She just turned cold and unreachable to him and everyone. We met thru grief counselling; His older sister committed suicide when her husband left her for a twenty something, who could breed." she looks outward sipping her wine.
"Why?" I don't know what I want to know.
"My husband decided that the business was his love, mistress, and all he needed. In the end it took everything from him; family, friends, marriage, and even his life. His son, my eldest son tried to make it work, but it broke him. He lost everything including me. Our youngest son, with Floyd help, I now talk to; might even see him over the holidays. You think me cold?"
"Family is everything!" I start. But who am I to judge? Rachel? I didn't understand she lost a daughter.
"Family is more than blood, births or even love. Family is being there when the worlds shatter. When everyone turns there back on you. You either stand and move forward or you roll over and eat a bullet. Amelia My daughter died not much younger than you are now. She was killed in a car driven by a drunk; smashed into by another drunk driver coming back from her college graduation party. Everyone walked away but my Kelly. Everyone whitewashed it; everyone wanted nothing more than to forget she existed. Sorry I'm bitter. Floyd will be upset I let the darkness in again."
"Why did they want to forget?" Asking confused. How could any family do that?
"My daughters supposed best friend from kindergarten was driving; Her father was my husbands COO. The other drunk driver was the fifteen-year-old son of the police chief and the mayor, who was also state leader in the party. The bitch mayor is the only daughter of the most powerful man in the state. My daughter was just collateral damage on their political aspirations. I couldn't stay and I couldn't leave. Even the church scapegoated my daughter, refusing me a public service. It was as if Kelly never existed to them."
"Even your husband, sons?"
"It interfered with business. The company. I was locked out of the family, community, and even my past friends. I found out very quickly who were my true friend, loyal family and even who I could be around. That is a tale to remember Amelia." She pets my arm. Refills my glass from a bottle.
"What happened to get you here?"
"Easy, husband had a heart attack. Eldest son didn't have the ability or balls to run and save the company. The COO proved what a drunk scum sucking lowlife he was. And your brother bought the company and broke it up; destroying the town. Ruining the life of all those who turned on me." she looks into my eyes. I don't see joy or pleasure; just pain and old miseries.
"How long have you known?"
"Since the seconds day we met; Luke mentioned you are from Washington state; I remember sitting in your brother's office; the only picture was leaning on a wall, a family portrait. With you touching his shoulder, you so reminded me of Kelly. That was the happiest day of my life; ridding myself of the company that had taken my daughter. My husband only put a little four inch by six-inch grave marker on Kelly's grave. She now has a ten foot by ten feet, twelve-foot-high grave monument. You two would have been fast friends; true friends. Kelly always found the good in people. Loved life with both hands. Just like you do. Just like you are."
"You never said anything?"
"Amelia; I'm sixty-two years old. I've had to deal with my daughters' death since I was forty. Deal with the exile, the ostracization, the burden of silence. My husband died less than five years ago. I understand the need to be your own person. I wish I'd been stronger and left long before I did. Floyd's been a widow nearly fifteen years. I look at you and know you'll make better choices than I did. So many years lost to pain and hate. I can look outside now and see the beauty and pleasure in life. I see Kelly in you girls. I see hope." She looks lost and nearly in tears. Standing I kneel and hug her, letting her tears mingle with mine. How petty and small problems compared to the pain she's been burden with.
"Amelia your problem?" Even in this moment of pain, and remembrance, she worried about me.
"Am I? Luke? Strong enough to survive my family and my brothers? Am I strong enough to hold this relationship afloat?" I unburden my fears.
She stands up, wiping her face. Taking my face in her hands. "You are strong enough to move the world. You are woman enough to hold the future in your heart. A relationship is about mutual commitment. Mutual everything. Times will happen when you need to carry the burden; but they are fleeting. An if not fleeting; then leave the relationship because it's not mutual or even health." She hugs me. We pick up the glassware and head into dinner. Floyd is holding Luke back near the doorway. Suspecting he was talking to Luke; holding him back.
Walking up to him and whisper my fears to him. We hug, then go into dinner; We'll talk more on the privacy of the hike. Our friends spend the dinner and night before bed keeping us laughing with tales from the trail. Luke's freak-out with one bee; Lena and Hans streaking, Sam and Ted's nearly being arrested in Champex for their horrible twenty words of French or Italian; No one is or was sure what language they were trying to mangle to buy a loaf of bread and pair of sausages. Which is how we met them. Or Karen, the designer from Rotterdam and her boyfriend Karl when they sat in cow patties in that meadow above Les Houches. An no one had the heart to tell them for nearly an hour that wasn't mud on their butts.
We laugh to bed, and cuddle thru the night.
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We would have loved to take the Funivia Skyway to the Aiguille du Midi to Chamonix; but time is against us so rather than rush back to Courmayeur; We'll take a later bus to Chamonix and a soft bed, room service in the Grand Hôtel des Alpes.
Tomorrow after a health American breakfast; We'll take the Cable car up to Aiguille du Midi. We were on the 3,842-m. Summit in the Mont Blanc massif from the Funivia Skyway and Courmayeur; before the Toru du Mont-Blanc. But there is so much we want to explore, do. A second visit was warrened.
We have more time to explore, hike about the mountain and still get off at Plan d'Aiguille on the return trip. Hike to Mer de Glace attractions; return hike to the Montenvers Train top station. The old funicular descending a steep track, stunning vantage points above the Mer de Glace, Les Grandes Jorasses, with Les Drus vistas. The scenic sunset train down the mountain to Chamonix will be enlightening, romantic. The cherry on the vacation. The mountains and my man; what could a girl like me ask for more than that?
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Sitting on the Mer de Glace restaurant deck, overlooking the receding glacier. Munching on cheese and sausages sample platter, sipping a cold local beer. It's been a long day, but very enjoyable. Watching Luke watching me. Sipping my beer before we head to the train station; for a scenic dusk falling trip down back Chamonix and our soft bounce bed. The fading light sparkle off the ice and snow. Shadows play about the valley and peaks as sunset nears her entrance of this June day. Magical reflecting in Luke's deep blue eyes. I will remember this moment forever.
"RING, BUZZ, RING, BUZZ" Luke's phone goes off.
He picks it up, frowns, and walks away to the empty railing for privacy. Great! I hope it's not that buddy of his we met this morning at the hotel. Andre something or other. Another ex-soldier turned security. He was hoping Luke would do a short job in Lyon tomorrow. A few hours for a six hundred dollars. I know Luke needs the money; as his former boss in the Emirates won't send his last paycheck. So, I'll drop a hint or two that its ok. Besides, I have several food shops to explore, I've already shipped four boxes to Chef in Paris, and a dozen shop purchase mailed directly from the shops, to hold for me; Didn't want to carry too much around in the car; a risk it spoiling in the heat.
"Ring, Ring" my phone timer goes off. We have to head out to the train station now. Grabbing our daypacks, moving to where Luke's standing at the Railing. Walking behind him. "Taylor, I appreciate the confidence; A grand ($1,000.00) retainer is more than enough to bring the spoiled brat back to Paris. She won't know anything till she's on a plane home. Yes, thanks for your support." He turns to me, looking guilty. "Boss, got to go. Talk later." Hanging up. Was that Christians Taylor?
"Who was that?" I ask; pleases tell me the truth?
"Old buddy, helping me out. Ready to go?" He answered and didn't say a damn thing. Shit! I pout at him. "We need to leave. Or miss the train?"
We head out; I don't know what is real right now. Doubts and negative scenarios rage thru my mind. Turning my mood dark and bitter. This night's soured pretty fast; from blissful to unknown. Must not let my fears and paranoia rule me. Sitting away from him on the trip down; he gives me my space; I fake tired. The trip down is a hazy blur. As my mood sours more. Could my brothers have found me?
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Lying in bed, faking too sore for sex. "Luke is there anything you want to tell me."
"I decided to take Andre's offer tomorrow afternoon. It's three hour of work, six hundred dollars. I could use the cash. You're not upset?"
"Is that all?"
"I might have to do a favor in a few days to a week for an old boss. Could mean a position in the states, stability?" He looks at me in the dark. I roll over and go to sleep; I don't want to think the worse of him, right now. Maybe I'm overreacting, after all there are a lot of Taylors in the world. It might not be Christian's Taylor.
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Day 28 of my escape awakens to Luke sexing me up; I give in to the pleasure and the emotions. I must not over react. Luke is honest if nothing else. He would never play me. Never intentional hurt me. Break my heart. He's to straight forward and too much standup guy. I must check my fears. We are fine and my paranoia will cause more problems for things that don't exist. We've check into Lyon Marriott Hotel Cité Internationale overlooking the Rhone River and the large Cité Internationale park. My mood is better; getting back to before the phone call.We are back, where we belong. In each other's arms, in love.
We seem to moving on. Andre is good to his word; Luke works three hours in the afternoon for an economic conference of the EU across town. We have a romantic dinner at the Le Président restaurant. A chance to visit with several classmates now working there. Letting the phone call at the Glacier fade; Luke is a man of honor. I can count on it.
Andre and Luke arrange to do four-hour tomorrow afternoon. I plan on several market shops; the food in Lyon is marvelous. And can be very unique. We make love till early in the morning. Everything is coming up golden. I look forward to Paris and bring Luke into the family. We can make this love work.
Luke leaves his cell phone in the charger; Andre prefers all his men have company cell phones with walkie-talkie functions. Limits distractions. If I need Luke, I have Andre's company dispatch number.
"RING, BUZZ, RING, BUZZ" Luke's cell rings; I look at the display.
"NO!" GEH screams into my face. I hit the answer button. I must know?
"Mr. Sawyer?" A female voice I don't recognize.
"He's in the Shower. Can I take a message?"
"Yes, the agreed retainer has been deposited in your Bank account. The outstanding balance to be paid, on deliver. Questions?"
"The outstanding balance is?"
"Forty thousand U.S.A; on delivery."
"Thank you I'll be sure to let him know."
"Yes, Mr. Taylor wishes him the best in his mission, And Mr. Grey will not forget his courtesy. Good bye."
Smashing his cell phone to pieces. I'm packed and out the door to the airport in less than ten minutes.
He's broke me, my heart. I gave him everything. Sitting in the Airports bustling terminal fuming. He sold me like yesterday's stale bread. I call a friend to take the foot locker Luke shipped to my place in Paris, by train to the hotel in Lyon. Luke should just arrive to find me gone. His footlocker on the bed. He played me. All those words, kiss meant nothing. I will not cry till I'm with friends behind closed doors. I will not publicly fall apart like the three girls about the chairs near me. I am a Grey; We're made of stronger stuff, at least in public.
The first flight out was to China, the second was Riyadh. The third was Copenhagen, Oslo, Stockholm. I called a friend in Oslo; I can crash at his summer place outside Hamer. I drown my sorrows in little bottles of liquor; my friends pour me out of the airport. Crying all the way to the country house on the lake Mjøsa, once in the car. I will hurt for years to come.