Under His Thumb
It was his infectious laugh that first attracted Marilla to Jean Pouce when she was in her mid twenties. It was the sort of full-throated roar that made you feel he was fully invested. She heard it one July day at the grocery store and felt compelled to seek out the source. The guffaw originated from a tall, broad-shouldered young man with thick brown curly hair, his round face adorned with a goatee. Marilla could think of no way to interact with him, but when he turned up at her local cafe the next day and found himself unable to find a table Marilla invited him to sit at hers. She had been enjoying a quiet cup of coffee on her lunch break but was happy to share the space. "Thanks," said the stranger, "I'm Jean Pouce, pleased to meet you." His French accent sounded like warm melted chocolate.
"Marilla Cuthbert," Marilla introduced herself inwardly cringing because usually an introduction involved a tedious explanation of her name. To her relief he did not enquire. "So, what's good here?" Jean asked perusing the short menu.
"Um," fumbled Marilla, she had never met anyone quite like Jean. Shaking herself she came to, "the mac n cheese is quite nice."
"Hm, mac n cheese it is then, on your recommendation," Jean winked at Marilla while he beckoned to the waitress with one hand. He ordered the dish with a soda before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and fastidiously taking the wrapping off. He lit his cigarette with an ornate stainless-steel lighter, "want one?" he offered. Marilla did not smoke, but she wished to impress this exotic stranger. She nodded and tentatively took one from the proffered pack. Watching how Jean held his she copied his style, putting it in her mouth and leaning forward to the flame. Slowly she inhaled through the slender tube and coughed when it hit her lungs.
"So, what do you do for fun around here?" Jean drawled through a cloud of blue smoke.
"Um, well there's dances and stuff," Marilla said shyly, Avonlea was pretty quiet. She described drives over to the bigger towns to the movies or trips to the beach. As she was talking Jean's mac n cheese arrived and he ate it in small mouthfuls, the cheese oozing and trailing down from his fork. He took drags from his cigarette between bites until finally satisfied he leant back stubbing his cigarette out in the dregs. Marilla watched in fascination and mild horror. Her mother would not approve which naturally made Jean seem all the more alluring.
Marilla glanced at her watch, five to two. "Well I'm sorry but I have to go. Um, maybe I'll see you around?" she hated the hesitation she heard in her voice.
"Sure, Mary was it?"
Marilla swallowed, "Marilla."
"Oh yeah, sorry, Mar-illa." Jean dragged out the syllables, he smiled absent-mindedly at Marilla and reached for another cigarette.
The afternoon lagged. Marilla had a book-keeping job at a local cider company, Apples for Apples. The work was tedious, but jobs were scarce in such a small town and Marilla knew she was lucky to have it. Usually her afternoons passed by quickly enough, people came and went exchanging gossip, as she tried to concentrate on her work, but the only thing Marilla heard today was Jean's infectious laugh echoing in her mind; she desperately wanted to know this man better.
"Have you been smoking?" her mother asked when she got home that afternoon.
She had her chance a week later when Jean strolled in to the office. He needed a job and he hoped he could find something to take his fancy. "Hey, it's my lunchtime saviour, Mary wasn't it?"
"Marilla," replied Marilla, somewhat hurt by his error.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry Marilla. I'll get it right one day, don't you worry." That 'one day' gave Marilla such a thrill, that meant they might keep in touch. "Oof, I've walked miles today, can I'ave a seat?"
Marilla had a pile of papers on her spare chair, but she hastily shoved them off and made space for Jean. "Water?" she offered.
"Merci, I'm parched." Jean had an unusual way of drinking with his tongue placed over the rim. She watched as he swallowed long gulps of water his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Once he had finished, he placed the empty glass on the desk rocked the chair onto its back legs and spread his legs apart. He wore very tight black jeans. Marilla had giggled with her colleagues when someone mentioned the way gentlemen dressed the other day. Jean dressed to the left it was plain to see.
"Tell me about Avonlea, it's a bit of a dump isn't it?" Marilla was torn. She wanted to defend her home, but she also wanted to impress this exotic stranger.
"It's alright, I guess," she said hesitatingly. "I've never lived anywhere else."
"What do you and your boyfriend get up to then?"
Marilla smiled, "no boyfriend. I mean I did have one a while ago." Several years ago, if truth be told. "But we split up," he dumped her.
"So whaddaya do? What's your job?" Jean said as he rubbed his knee, licking his lips as he watched Marilla watch him.
Marilla dragged her eyes away from Jean's crotch "Um, I do the book-keeping. It's not that exciting but it helps pay the bills, you know."
"When do you get off?" Jean asked, well aware of the double entendre.
"Oh, a couple of hours yet." Marilla replied breathlessly not noticing the double meaning. She was feeling all sorts of new things. Jean was beguiling with his tight pants, pink shirt with the top buttons undone and a loose tie.
"Might see ya later then, thanks for the water I was parched." Jean tipped his forefinger on his forehead and wandered out the door. Marilla couldn't help but crane her head past her desk to watch him saunter off casually. His jacket slung over his shoulder, boots clicking on the wooden floor.
Jean was waiting by his car when Marilla left the building after work. Marilla rushed up to him panting ever so slightly. Jean opened the door and watched as Marilla practically fell in. The car smelt of stale smoke, mouldy clothing and mouse poo but to Marilla it smelt of freedom. Jean walked around to the other side and climbed in. Putting the key in the ignition he asked, "so, we're we off to?"
"There's a new place in Bright River that has the most amazing milkshakes," she suggested. Jean looked at her quizzically. "Everyone says they're delicious," she added.
Jean shrugged his shoulders as he turned the key in the ignition, "alright, milkshakes it is then." The car started with a throaty roar and they sped off down the road. Jean wound his window down and Marilla followed suit, sticking her head out the window to feel the air rushing past, her eyes watering in the cold wind.
Jean patted his pockets down and swore, "shit, I'm out of money. Not much of a first date if you have to pay is it?"
"No that's fine," said Marilla digging down into the recesses of her handbag for some change. She felt deliriously happy to be sitting opposite a handsome man sipping a delicious milkshake in the booth by the window. It had been a long time between dates for Marilla Cuthbert.
"Jean Pouce," her mother frowned recalling her school-girl French. "Doesn't that mean?"
"Jean Thumb," Marilla replied. "Yes, it does. Please Mom, don't say anything to him. As the owner of an unusual name I know how annoying it is to have it brought up all the time."
Her mother spluttered, "but Jean Thumb, I mean it's practically Tom Thumb, is he short?" she giggled.
"No, he's a perfectly normal size, please don't make a thing of it Mom, I would be mortified."
"I promise we'll behave, won't we David?" Marilla's mother sent a sharp look at her husband. "And you know Matthew will be good." Matthew nodded over his coffee.
"Well hello Jean," Marilla's mother greeted the young man kindly. "Marilla's told us all about you."
Jean strode into their living room and looked around at the colourful couches, "have you got an ashtray?" he asked, holding his hand under his teetering cigarette ash.
"Of course," Marilla's mother dashed off to find an ashtray, no one in the family smoked, but she was sure she had something he could use. By the time she came back however she could see it was too late and there was a small dusting of ash on the carpet. "Sorry about that," Jean said. "It fell."
"No matter," said Mrs Cuthbert, though she hated the smell of cigarette smoke and was distressed that her carpet and room might now smell of it.
Jean got to his feet and walked over to the mantlepiece, he picked up a photo in a frame and looked at it intently, "is this Marilla?" he asked.
"The day she turned fourteen," said Mrs Cuthbert proudly.
"Hm," said Jean looking at the photo of a gawky teenager. He put it back without further comment.
Jean took Marilla around to his apartment a few days later. She looked around his only room, he had a double bed, a chair and a full ashtray on the floor. Dirty takeaway containers were strewn around the kitchenette, Marilla couldn't stand it she started piling rubbish into his trashcan. "Is there a dishrag?" she asked rummaging around under the sink.
"Dunno?" Jean muttered, looking by his bed for a pack of cigarettes. He sat on the chair and watched her work; waiting til she emptied the ashtray before tapping more ash in it.
"How long is it since you washed these sheets?" Marilla called from the bedroom.
"No idea."
"Shall I wash them for you?"
"I can't ask you for that, it's too much work," he replied, hoping that she would.
"It's no bother." Marilla spent her Saturday stripping the bed and stuffing the sheets into the washing machine. When the thing made a groaning sound half an hour later and then came to a shuddering stop, she lifted the lid and found the sheets awash in dirty water. Not to be outdone and determined to please Jean; Marilla hauled the sheets out and placed them in a laundry basket. Water dripping down her shirt front on that chilly afternoon, she walked to the laundromat and put them in to finish the load; spending money she could ill afford. Finally, when the sheets were dry, she folded them and took them home.
The bed looked so lovely all made up and she knew the sheets were fresh but when Jean got home, he merely said, "oh, you didn't iron them? I do like a nice ironed sheet, don't you? There's just something so lovely about them when they're crisp." He glanced across at Marilla's crestfallen face. "Don't worry, it'll be fine. There's always next time. I'm not too much of a bother, am I? I hate to be a pain." He patted Marilla on the arm, "don't hate me for it, sweetie. I'm just an old stick in the mud when it comes to my bedding."
Marilla gave him a half-hearted smile and said, "no, it's fine. I completely understand. I can do better."
"That's the spirit gorgeous. Hey, I bought you a present. Do you want to see?"
"Ooh yes please, Jean. What is it?"
"Close your eyes and I'll give it to you." Marilla obediently closed her eyes, all hurt forgotten. Tenderly Jean placed an object into her outstretched hands. "You can open them now." Marilla opened her hands to find a broken locket.
"Oooh," she said wonderingly.
"I know it's broken. I couldn't afford anything else, but I have the other half here," Jean patted his chest. "When we are together it's whole, see?"
"Oh darling, it's gorgeous. I couldn't imagine anything more divine." Marilla gushed, leaning in for a kiss.
"Not now I'm exhausted, and I think I have a headache coming on," Jean pushed her away. "You can take care of yourself for a little while, can't you? Just don't slam the door on the way out." Marilla walked away fingering her half locket, thinking about how sweet he was. She touched her lips, he was such a lovely kisser she just wished they did it more often.
Marilla paid a visit to Rachel one afternoon, over the sounds of children squabbling, talk turned to Jean. Marilla showed Rachel her new locket, explaining that its broken state was actually a testament of their love. Rachel hesitated, the last thing she wanted to do was upset Marilla. She looked at the locket quizzically, to her it was nothing but cheap broken thing. "Marilla," Rachel said kindly. "Do you think he's right for you?"
Marilla looked across at her shocked, "Rachel, you just can't stand for me to be happy when you aren't. I just think that's so selfish of you. Not all men are like your Thomas you know. Jean is so sweet to me."
Rachel sat back, that wasn't what she meant at all. She just thought Marilla deserved better. The two women sat back looking at each other grumpily until Marilla took her leave. They did not see each other for a while.
One day the accounting manager at work told her he was retiring, "you know you could do this job with one hand tied behind your back, Marilla. You're such a boon to the business. I think you should apply."
Marilla told Jean but he was discouraging. "How long have you been there? How will you feel if you don't get it? I think you're better off where you are. There's no need to over-reach. No one likes an egotistical woman, you know." Marilla took his words to heart, but she was keen to apply. Jean would be so proud of her when she was successful.
As the day approached she grew more nervous, it had been a long time since she had been interviewed. Her parents encouraged her, reassuring her that she would be fine, after all she knew the business well. She did know the place backwards and had helped run the accounting team when her old manager was there. Really it should have been the simplest thing for her to get the job.
The interview took place in the boardroom. The place they usually all ate lunch together; a familiar and usually friendly space, but today it was too big and echoey. She sat at one side of the table and the interviewers, the general manager and the HR manager, both of whom she knew well, faced her. The general manager did most of the talking. First, he described the role. Marilla knew what it entailed, but supposed he had to go through the motions for all candidates. "Where do you see yourself in five years' time?" Marilla had drifted off during his monologue, so unfortunately he had to clear his throat and repeat the question before she had a chance to answer. She fumbled over the answer, saying that she was very happy where she was. If that were the case, why was she applying for a better job?
She sobbed into Jean's chest the afternoon she got the news having gone around to his place after work. He held her close and told her it was all for the best. "I mean you're good at your job aren't you. There's still new things to learn." he asked, feeling her hot tears through his shirt.
Jean was waiting for her in the car park after work a few days later. He looked excited, "Marilla, I have news!" he called to her as she approached. "Darling, you are looking at the newly minted Apples for Apples Accounting Manager. Won't it be fun, we'll be working together. You can be such a help to me," he giggled. "I mean you should have got it really you know the place much better than me."
Jean looked very smart on his first day in his new powder-blue suit and pink tie with pointed black shoes. He had asked Marilla to polish them for him the night before. She had knelt down to do as good a job as she could, pulling back after a while to show them to him. He'd pointed out a bit she'd somehow missed, and she did it over again, eager to please. Eventually they were polished to his satisfaction. She knelt down again to tie his laces for him and he took a step back to gaze at himself in the mirror, preening a little. Marilla leaned back on her knees to look up at him. He looked very handsome. "I scrub up okay, don't I? Say thanks for lending me the money to buy this suit, Marilla. I'll pay you back when I get my first pay-check, promise."
Marilla met him at the front door to the office the next morning and went to introduce him to the other staff. "Jean this is Pat, our secretary and this is Betty, our receptionist. This is our new accounting manager Jean Pouse." He nodded at the ladies. When Marilla lead him into his office, he shut the door firmly and told her to take a seat across his desk. "Marilla, I mean of course it's fine to call me Jean out of the office, I mean you're my girl and all. But I think here at work you, and the other ladies should call me M. Pouse. You can see how it looks, can't you? I'm in a position of authority, I need them to respect me."
Marilla nodded, of course it made perfect sense, "yes sir," she said. As she turned to leave the office Jean leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. "Bring me a cup of coffee, Marilla. Black, one sugar."