The house was quiet when we returned from Masson's concert, which dovetailed nicely with my plans. Christine slipped into a dressing gown and I volunteered to brush her hair. Actually, it was about sixty percent hair-brushing, forty percent neck-nibbling.
"What are you doing?"
"Whatever I can." I abandoned the brush in favor of handfuls of Christine.
She spun around and slipped her arms around my neck. "Alright."
"I was thinking about a bath," I suggested.
"Ooooh," she beamed. "Wonderful."
Soon I was soaking in fragrant bubbles with my favorite girl on my lap. "What are you thinking?"
"Oh, that I'm not doing too badly for an old guy." She popped me on the head. She dislikes 'old guy' talk. "What are you thinking?"
Christine sighed and crinkled her brow. "That I need more money, more jobs, and a bigger building. I need more room, Erik; where will I find another building?"
I smiled. "I don't know, Christine. Why don't we pop out of here now and just review your finances?"
"I'm sorry."
"Quite alright, Angel. We really can discuss it if you like."
"No," she insisted firmly. "I want think about something else. Any suggestions?"
"Mm. We had a visit from the Vicomte de Agrican today. He was calling for Miri-ange; unfortunately he got me instead." I reached for the sponge and lathered my angel up.
"Erik, no! What do you mean?"
"I mean he met her at Bertrand's birthday last month, and his mother was married at fifteen, and he admires the way we're raising our daughters." I tossed that last bit in because I could see Christine turning colors already.
"Mother married at fifteen," she muttered. "Nothing but white slavery; I'm dashed if my—" I went for a mouthful of breast, suds and all. I had to salvage the evening. Much irritated splashing ensued.
"Erik! I'm going to box your ears! Why do you tell me something like that and then expect me to play?"
"Poor timing, I guess," I shrugged.
"I should say so! What did he want?"
I sighed. There was no chance for me until I got her settled with this Vicomte thing. Honestly I don't know what I was thinking bringing it up, except I was afraid she'd hear of it from Miri-ange and then I'd be for it.
"Well, the usual, you know; courting, betrothal, wedding."
Christine sat fuming.
"Darling," I whined, "I'm sorry I said anything. I had to tell you because Miri-ange isn't speaking to me, and you'd notice soon enough, but I didn't want it to ruin the evening."
"Of course you didn't," she crooned. "Let's get out."
That was easy, but the difficult part was ahead of me yet. Having an ulterior motive as I did, I knew I'd have to be at my absolute suavest to win the day. One definite benefit of being an old guy is that the youthful selfishness has all but disappeared. I was perfectly happy to spend the evening driving Christine wild. When she was nearly unconscious, I made my move.
"Erik, don't forget…our English friend," she murmured. Damn; not unconscious enough.
I decided to present a counter-offer. "I'll pull out."
She didn't say no, so that was a yes…
"ERIK!" I dodged as quickly as I could, but Christine landed a couple of good whacks before I got clear. "You didn't even try!"
"Sorry." That was a little fib. I tried to snuggle, but she wasn't ready to let me apologize that much.
Christine propped up on an elbow and glared at me. "What's wrong with you?"
Undaunted, I moved in again. "You're stunning, Christine; how did I get so fortunate?" I plowed her over.
"I don't know," she permitted a kiss, grudgingly.
"It'll be alright, Angel, just this once."
"You know it only takes once, you wicked man," she fussed.
"It wouldn't be so horrible to have another beautiful baby," I suggested, squeezing her luscious bottom.
"And where will I find the time for a baby, Erik? I have thirty four women I'm looking after as of this afternoon! I haven't but seven women helping me; no one I can trust to run things if I'm not there. I'm trying to develop two additional training paths for the girls, there's never enough money, and—"
"Forgive me, Christine; I'm only your husband. You remember; family?" I snapped.
"What am I, a brood mare? Haven't you got six children?"
"They'll all be married and gone soon!" I blurted. Next thing I knew, I was blubbering.
"Oh, my poor sweet Angel. Come here." Christine gathered me up and let me pour it all out.
"Miri-ange has a genuine suitor! My baby girl; I was the first person she ever saw in the world. Remember my princess and her Smudge? How she loved that stupid goat. She can't be all grown up already, Christine! And my boy, I don't even recognize him anymore! When I see him, I think, my god, who is this gorgeous broad-shouldered man? I don't want to hold them back; I know they're supposed to leave and make their own lives, but why does it happen so fast?"
"They're not gone yet" Christine soothed. "They're still young. It is scary, I know, but this is our opportunity to begin accustoming ourselves to the idea. Erik, you will always be their father, and they will always love you. You are a wonderful papa. And remember, Carmen and Gustave, Jeanette and Sofie are still here. They still need their Papa as all children do."
I nodded, still feeling pretty damned pitiful.
"Erik, if you want another baby, you don't sneak up on me like that. We discuss it," Christine scolded gently. "You're lucky I'm still weak in the knees or I'd beat you."
-0-0-0-0-
A couple of hours later I heard some ominous thumping. I slid out from under my drooling goddess and went to investigate. Masson's door was ajar. I knocked and peered around the door with trepidation. He was alone, thank god, but he was sprawled on the bed in nothing but his shirt, groaning in obvious pain.
Paternity kicked in and I rushed over to him.
"Masson, Son—" He sat up and grabbed at his ankle. It was ugly: bruised and hugely swollen. I winced and laid light hands on it.
"I had to jump out a window," he confessed.
Suddenly my heart was fluttering in my chest like a startled pigeon. "Well, then it must be broken, Son," I murmured. "I hate to poke and prod at it if I don't have to. Why did you have to jump out a window; do I want to know?"
"Probably not," he admitted. "Her husband came home."
"Right. Well, that explains the interesting outfit," I sighed. I rubbed my forehead. Masson had a gift for giving me a blinding headache in less than five seconds. "I will replace your clothes—and you will reimburse me. It was your blue concert suit, hm?"
He nodded.
"And your new boots, of course."
He nodded again.
"Alright. We'll tell Mama that…you were trying to impress some girl. You were fooling around up in the flies, showing off, you made a stupid move, fell wrong, et cetera."
He nodded, smiling gratefully. "Thanks, Papa. I swear—"
"No; don't. Masson, I want you to understand that I don't make it a habit to lie to your Mother, and I don't recommend lying to the woman you love."
"I know, Papa, you tell me every time."
"But still I find myself in this position!" I snapped. He looked at me with sad fat baby eyes. "No more with the married women, Masson. Please, for god's sake. With all the women in Paris…."
"No more," he agreed.
"I do not know how much longer I can cover for you, Son," I cautioned. "We'll discuss this further later; let me get you a doctor."