part0032

He walked to the far corner of the room to speak with two men. He was working. Havilah looked around and noticed an ensemble of men in black. She couldn’t tell if they were Thierry’s kind of people or reception guests. They were discreet in every way, as her usually keen-eyes-for-details aunt hadn’t noticed, either. Havilah was sure there were officers in that room. Knowing that they weren’t there to haul her off to the Palais de Justice but to ensure her safety put her at ease, especially when she caught an occasional glimpse of that slick-as-oil Gaston Carpentier circling the room. She had been briefly tempted to grab one of the flickering candles and set his jacket on fire.

“You’ve been busy,” her aunt clucked as they too moved to an opposite window in the circular room, where a large fresco was painted in the dome.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Havilah hadn’t wanted to reveal any of the last almost twenty-four hours’ details to her aunt. She didn’t think Thierry would have apprised her either.

Her aunt took the glass of champagne that was extended to her on a tray by a passing server.

“Merci . This and that.” She discreetly pointed to Thierry Gasquet on one side and Lucian Patrick, who hadn’t seen her yet, in the middle of room.

“He escorts me here on your request and even has keys to your apartment while you arrive with your ex-fiancé. That’s one for a book.” She shook her head and then brushed a strand of her bobbed tresses away from her face.

“I always knew you were more warm-blooded Southern belle Gaie than prim New England Scholl. I couldn’t be more pleased I decided to take a room at my favorite Parisian haunt for this trip.”

“I’m not sleeping with either of them.”

“Neither?” Aunt Neet looked confused for a few seconds. “Now that’s just too damn bad, Havilah. A waste, I say.”

“It’s complicated,” she said, looking down like a wayward child.

“Really? Let’s see. The hazel-eyed Idris Elba or the well-groomed, beardless, green-eyed Jason Momoa without those wild eyebrows?” Her aunt gestured towards her own eyebrows. “Okay. I guess that would be difficult. So why not both?”

Havilah laughed, as she too discreetly looked over from Thierry, talking rapidly with some silver-haired man, to Lucian smiling, but obviously slightly nonplussed by the surprise presence of Misty Gilligan. He probably hadn’t wanted Havilah to think any more about Misty. And voilà… there she was . There was also something to what her aunt had just noted about both men’s physical characteristics, which made her again marvel at just how observant Aunt Neet was in most matters.

“After Lucian…”

Aunt Neet raised her hand and hugged her niece’s shoulder. “I know all about it, dear.”

Aunt Neet had been the only family member in whom Havilah had confided about Lucian’s cold feet and his taking up with another woman. She was Havilah’s second mother and besides her two girlfriends, Tessa, from her junior year abroad, and Amarine, she too was a near-girlfriend-like confidante. There were things she’d tell Aunt Neet that she’d never, ever tell her mother, Bertie Scholl Gaie.

“That’s Misty Gilligan.” Havilah tilted her head.

“That’s enough about Lucian and Misty. Lucian will keep, given what he’s done.” She sipped from the champagne flute, smiled, and waved at Lucian who lit up like one of the candelabras lighting the reception.

He rushed over and nearly picked Aunt Neet up off the ground.

“I missed you, Aunt Neet. I can’t believe you’re here.” He rushed through his words in earnest delight.

Juanita Gaie had that effect on those who knew her. She was giving, attentive, and forthright— unconditionally.

“Of course you did, Lucian. I missed you, too. Now I was in the middle of discussing something important with Havilah. I absolutely promise we will get caught up. And you can introduce me to your lady friend in blue.” She gave him a mischievous smile.

Lucian looked out of sorts at that last remark. He didn’t protest but followed her suggestion and slowly walked back over to Misty Gilligan, who had been joined by two other professor types.

“And Misty will wait for him for as long as it takes for you to decide if you want to throw him back out to sea,” Aunt Neet said picking up where she left off. “But you can’t keep using Lucian as an excuse for inertia, dear. You went back and forth with him for two years before leaving. That was way too much time to give a man who told you he didn’t want children when you know you did. Then you had six months of contemplative self-reflection until you met this French-Moroccan eye-candy you’ve been stringing along for an additional three. There is no doubt you should get to know him before you bed him, but this nine-month, knees together, revirginated va-jay-jay stint you’ve been on is about control and keeping him at a distance.”

Aunt Neet chugged the flute down and snapped, “une autre, merci, ” for another.

Havilah pouted at first, even though she knew her irrepressibly astute aunt was right. “He unmoors me,” she blurted out in exasperation, thinking about Thierry. “And besides, his ex let herself into his apartment just this morning and told me to kick rocks as she was there to reclaim her man from the B-team after a three-month hiatus of some sort.”

There. She figured she had one-upped her aunt, of whom she was now certain would see that it was a good thing that she had kept her knees together these past three months, or else the two of them would be doing a Paris version of Diary of a Mad Black Woman to Thierry’s apartment.

“Are you saying he’d be a hard dog to keep under the porch?” Her eyebrows were now raised near her forehead.

“I didn’t get that impression from her. Quite the opposite.”

“Well the super-fine ones with means always have a meddlesome ex somewhere. I bet that Misty woman feels the same way about you. Thierry wasn’t there, I gather, and you haven’t told him because that little secret lets you have something else to keep him on the righteous path to blueballdom.” Jaunita Gaie chuckled, rubbing her niece’s back playfully.

“Did she tell you something else you didn’t know?”

Aunt Neet was never one to let an opportunity pass by. From her perspective, all interactions provided insight. And exes— jaded, hysterical, and spiteful though they may be— were always useful starting points for information gathering. Havilah squished her face and looked puzzled. Then she shook her head, remembering. She smirked at her aunt.

“She went there, did she?”

Havilah nodded and she and Aunt Neet began giggling conspiratorially.

“So she told you that Thierry Gasquet was packing? Sweetie, one woman’s Polish sausage is another one’s Vienna sausage.” She used her index finger to make the point, and then shook her head as if thinking about her own daillances.

Her aunt had said Vienna the way her mother, and Havilah’s grandmother, Naida, and other folks down South did, with a long “i” instead of an “e” like the capital of Austria. Aunt Neet and Nana Naida had traveled the world and each spoke more than one language. They were cosmopolitan women. But they revered the Southern way of doing and saying things.

“You’ve got choices.” She looked from Lucian to Thierry across the room. “But the only way to know you’ve absolutely made the right one is to give the one you don’t know a chance to prove you right. Or wrong.”

Havilah glanced at her watch. Their five minutes had just elapsed. Though she was always happy for her aunt’s counsel, she needed to speak with Thierry about more pressing matters than their love life. I might not have a life to love after tonight.

They walked towards Lucian and Misty since Thierry was still preoccupied with his colleagues. There were now five professors from the conference talking with Lucian and Misty. Aunt Neet hugged Lucian and engaged Misty. Thierry walked up to the group less than a minute after their arrival. Havilah swore she saw Misty Gilligan fluff her hair and smile flirtatiously at Thierry when she introduced him to everyone as Agent Thierry Gasquet. And why not? She’s single , she thought.