Long Hot Summer

Chloe is watering plants with a hose, spraying in an arc across the fence where the boys next door are hiding, spying on her in her string tied bikini. She laughs at them for their impudence; they are naughty boys and she is a young woman, and even though there is not a chance, it doesn’t prevent them taunting. Chloe’s mother Sylvia steps out onto the terrace in a long flowing Kaftan that reaches to her ankles, placing a tray containing bottles and glasses onto a marble topped table as she reaches for dark sunglasses, pausing to stare at her daughter who is glistening in the afternoon sunlight.

“Leave that and come and take a drink.”

Chloe drops the hose and slinks across to the terrace, sinking into a white upholstered chair. “Those boys are spying again. I caught them with the spray.”

Her mother wafts away the implication. “Let them look, what do they expect to see? It’s only flesh, there’s so much of it on display this summer. It’s been one of the hottest on record.” She draws out the phrase. “A…long…hot…summer.”

Chloe rattles ice in her glass. “One of them was Ronald’s brother. I’ll talk to him about it later – its time that boy was tamed.”

Sylvia raises her sunglasses. “Are you going out with Ronald tonight?”

“I said I would.”

To an outsider, the two might resemble sisters rather than mother and daughter; Chloe born when her mother was far too young, creating a difficult start for the lovers, but they came through. Her father Pierre achieving his main ambition to become an executive working for TV France, while Sylvia writes for a fashion magazine based in Paris. With their respective careers to shape, there had never seemed an ideal time to try for a second child, but lately Sylvia had grown keen on the idea again; Pierre was less inclined. It wasn’t that he disliked children, or wanted to disappoint his wife, but he'd grown used to a certain style of life that allowed him to believe he remained carefree, not that it would harm his reputation to be seen to father a child. “Perhaps we should settle for what we have?” he had suggested when she first raised the issue.

Her face grew hard as she contemplated the food under preparation.

“I want another child,” was the simple response, and he recognised she wouldn’t be easily swayed. To be fair, Pierre had never really understood this need in women as he fell back onto the defensive.

“We’ve a good life Sylvia – do you want to go back to changing nappies and four o’clock feeds?”

It wasn’t what really troubled him, but he used it to deflect opinion, suspecting she had long believed him guilty of carrying on an affair and might view the prospect of a second child as the means to pin him down. But if that was her intention, she didn’t show it by her manner, insisting it was her choice to have another child and expecting not just his contribution but his support as well. What she failed to mention was that if there was another woman in his life, she would deal with the bitch at a more appropriate time. If he continued to resist her ambition, she would see to it that she approached the task of discovery with a great deal more tenacity than currently employed.

Chloe was talking rapidly into the mobile, turning to her mother.

“Justine wants to take me shopping – she’s seen a pair of shoes.”

Sylvia nodded drowsily, disturbed in her contentment as the house phone rang. It was Pierre calling to advise that he would be late getting home. This started an argument, as she suspected an altogether different motive to the one provided. He was in no mood to debate the issue, slamming down the phone and afterwards she felt incensed he should treat her in such a cavalier manner, swallowing two glasses of a young wine left over from lunch before heading back onto the terrace.

“Who was it?” Chloe asked, coming down after getting changed.

“Your father – delayed in Paris,” Sylvia responded doubtfully.

Chloe sashayed inside, calling back to her mother. “I’m going on to a party with Ronald afterwards, I’ll be back late.”

Sylvia sighed. “You’re all abandoning me.”

She felt hot and sticky following the disagreement and had only just got comfortable again when the phone rang, suspecting it was Pierre wishing to continue the argument, she answered angrily. Whoever was calling hung up immediately and on her return to the terrace she spotted the boys beyond the fence popping their heads up to take a peek. On impulse she turned her back and flashed her bare bum in their direction, laughing as she settled into her chair.

The house was in complete darkness when she woke and turning onto her side to glance at the clock discovered it was after two am and Pierre had still not returned home.

There was a message from him waiting on the answering machine.

“It’s got so late I’m staying in town tonight – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She didn’t believe a word and sat down heavily trying hard to think through what her next move ought to be. She was distracted by a chorus of Cicadas from the garden, went onto the terrace where a cool breeze stirred her hair.

Taking a deep breath she stared straight into a bright moon that shone seductively and might in other circumstances have put her into a balmy mood, but she remained peeved at being deserted and in no condition for romance.

She was about to go back inside when she heard a distinctive sound coming from the shed in the garden next door, and instinctively went to investigate.

What she found took her breath momentarily. There was Chloe with skirt raised above her hips and pressed hard against the wall by a determined Ronald. But it wasn’t the unexpected sight of her daughter caught in this passionate embrace that disturbed her quite so much as the full impact of her need for a baby, and the fact Pierre could deny her wish by not even being present when she needed him.

For a brief moment she felt like crying, but a burst of laughter from inside the shed brought her back to her senses, causing a swift return to the house where she sank face down into the coolness of a leather upholstered sofa to weep.

Many things raced through her mind, including the fact that Chloe was too young to be throwing her life away on a boy like Ronald who had only ever expressed interest in a career in road racing, and whose sole ambition was to take part in the Tour de France. It was some time later when she heard the front door open and then softly close that she was about to call out but delayed too long as Chloe bounced upstairs. Silence followed; a long difficult silence during which Sylvia felt inadequate to the task of challenging her daughter about what she had witnessed, deciding instead to initiate a conversation during the next couple of days.

The following evening when Pierre came home he was full of apologies for his unexpected absence, presenting her with a large bouquet. Despite this, she refused to forgive him, and practically accused him of seeking any excuse to remain apart from her.

The subject of an affair sat between them like the proverbial elephant in the room and when he refused to deny her ‘foolish assertions’, she removed herself to the terrace accompanied by a half bottle of the good Scotch whisky to get progressively hammered.

Waking some hours later she found that a patterned throw had been flung across her legs and staring up at the same blank eyed moon seen the previous night was reminded of what she’d witnessed. Staggering inside she swallowed the best part of a bottle of mineral water to counteract the alcohol, washed her face and went into the bedroom. Pierre was breathing heavily as she slipped in beside him, lying on her side to contemplate this errant man. If ever a wife was more likely to drive a husband into the arms of another woman, it was her, but despite everything, she couldn’t get the thought of babies out of her head and wanted to cry out; he was there, just lying there – why couldn’t he feel the way she did? She wanted to hit him, and might have done but in that moment he turned towards her, opening his eyes.

“Sylvia,” he breathed.

She leaned down to him, kissing lips and eyes, progressing further until her mouth fastened over his penis. Then he came alive, rolling her onto her back and fucking passionately as she slid hands up and down his taut body, firmly pressing nails into the flesh, bringing him to a climax in a way she had read would extract the maximum pleasure by pushing a finger deep into his arse.

God, if she didn’t become pregnant before autumn it would not be for want of trying.

Waking late, she found Pierre sitting at the breakfast bar completing a call on his mobile as he scanned the newspaper.

“Where’s Chloe?” she asked, helping herself to fruit juice.

“Asleep I imagine,” he answered, without glancing up.

She sat beside him, contemplating another sunny day and wondering if she could face the prospect of doing absolutely nothing or instead turn her attention to the article she was meant to be writing.

“I’m staying home today,” he announced. “I’ve a great deal of work to do, and I’ve invited some people for dinner – can you handle Patrick, Jacques and Clement?”

She glanced at him. “Clement pinched my bum last time he was here.”

Pierre smiled. “Should I put a notice on your back – hands off, private property?”

“Well, he should know better – why don’t they ever bring their wives and girlfriends?”

“It’s business.”

“Not for me.”

He flipped the page. “Oh, and Celeste – she’ll be there.”

She raised her glass. “Who’s Celeste?”

He didn’t look at her and she surmised Celeste might be the woman he was having the affair with, scrutinizing his reaction as she asked.

“What does she do?”

He waved a hand in the air. “Production Assistant – she’s Jacques' right hand. You know how agitated he can get – she calms him down.”

“How exactly?” Her gaze remained on his face. “And what does she do for you?”

He glanced at her, lowering the paper. “Nothing directly, but I’m thinking of giving her more.” He lifted the paper. “Why the interrogation?”

“I’ve never met her - do they have any food issues – is anyone a vegan, or pregnant?”

He laughed flippantly. “How should I know? Just give them what we’re eating – if they don’t like it they can soon tell us.”

She filled a coffee cup in silence, sipping thoughtfully. “I’ll go to the market.”

He glanced at her. “One thing more – don’t drink too much. I don’t want you passing out like you did last night.”

She sipped her coffee. “And I thought it must have been a dream, having you home to make love.”

“And that’s another thing – don’t start talking about babies tonight. Not tonight - I need everyone to keep their minds on the task.”

Before she could answer, Chloe tore in at the door, her face a mask of streaky mascara and raced upstairs before anything could be said.

“Oh God, what now?”

Sylvia swallowed the last of her coffee, following her daughter up the stairs to find she had locked herself inside the bathroom. Remaining on the other side she spoke through the door, but Chloe refused to answer and eventually erupted to disappear into the bedroom where she slammed the door against her mother.

“Do you need anything?” Sylvia asked, but the girl refused to answer.

Sylvia paused to listen before heading into the bathroom to contemplate the mess Chloe had left behind.

“And another thing,” she announced to anyone that might be listening. “I’m not the fucking servant in this house – pick up after yourselves.”

Downstairs, she refilled the coffee cup, lacing it with cognac; it was going to be one of those days and already she had a headache.

Chloe didn’t come out of her room all day and when she did went straight in to see her father. Whatever was discussed appeared to calm the girl, as afterwards she helped her mother to prepare the evening meal. Sylvia glanced at her periodically, but didn’t openly question the girl about her behaviour.

Pierre took his guests directly onto the terrace as they arrived, with Sylvia playing hostess, serving drinks and snacks while trying hard not to stare at Celeste.

Celeste was not as Sylvia had imagined, turning out to be a quiet bespectacled creature with an anonymous face, a large mouth and complexion borrowed from L’Oreal. She rarely joined in the debate, keeping her opinions to herself, and, as Sylvia observed with great pleasure was far from being the fascinating and destructive beauty she had imagined, with whom she might be forced to compete for her husband’s attention.

Satisfied, to ignore the debate taking place, she contemplated instead the steps she should take in her desire to fall pregnant, interrupted as a rampant Clement moved his chair to get closer to her.

“This must be extremely tedious for you?”

She had known Clement for years; he was an accomplished man in his field and able to employ a certain charm he liked to believe must be irresistible. Sylvia thought him a bit of a letch, but as he could be amusing and also highly entertaining, was prepared to overlook this defect in his personality.

“No.” She smiled. “Pierre often brings people back – time was when we lived in Paris it might be every second night.”

She often thought about those times and the hectic studio life they had lived then; sometimes she missed it, but as often preferred what they had.

Clement was talking about something and she tried to bring her mind back to concentrating on what he was saying. It had to do with the theatre; he was a great theatre buff and one of the few people in the visual media she knew who actually attended live events, describing a recent evening at the opera and asking if she would like to accompany him to see the show.

She shook her head. “I don’t get out much now – only catwalk and fashion events.”

“Oh, but you should,” he insisted, and she felt the touch of his hand on her arm as he smiled obliquely. “Pierre keeps you locked away out here.”

“It’s my choice,” she observed, moving her arm gently.

He remained insistent. “My treat – dinner at a restaurant of your choice, and if Pierre say’s no, we’ll go together – suit you?”

She smiled. Clement could be described as old school, coupled with a reputation he liked to cultivate for being the naughtiest boy in class. Having a perverse nature of her own, she quite liked naughty boys and promised to speak to Pierre when he was less busy.

He grinned, leaning closer. “Or better still, don’t bring him. I’m usually available. You’ve never seen my apartment have you – it overlooks the Seine and you get a good view…of the bedroom ceiling – if you get my meaning.”

It was an offer she could afford to ignore, going up to bed after dinner and using the excuse of a headache. Twenty or so minutes later when a body slipped in beside her, she sat up in alarm, expecting to fend off Clement but found Chloe staring at her with puzzled eyes.

“Whatever is it?” Sylvia asked, breathing a sigh of relief.

Chloe lay there, twiddling her hair through her fingers. “I’ve told Papa, but I need to tell you – I intend to drop out of university for a year. I’ve met a boy in Paris and he’s asked me to go traveling. I want to go – if I don’t, I’ll lose him.”

“And that means more to you than your studies?” Sylvia queried, contemplating her daughter. “I thought you and Ronald...”

“Ronald is a plank – all he wants to do is ride that bike of his and become a professional road racer. He’s one dimensional.”

“You’ve known him since you were small and…Forgive me, I saw you with him in the shed a couple of nights past.”

Chloe regarded her mother fiercely. “You were spying on us?”

“No, it was accidental.”

Chloe sank onto the pillow. “So, we fucked – I had to be sure, didn’t I, and now I am. I am – really.” She stared at her mother. “This boy…”

“Does he have a name?”

“Lucien. He’s made plans to travel throughout South America and the East – I want to go with him. It’s so exciting. I just need your support.”

“My support? Why, I’m sure I’m the last person…”

“Oh Mum.” Chloe flung her arms around her mother. “I’ll be gone so long, and I’ll miss you.”

Sylvia sat upright. “Rubbish – there are all kinds of devices you can use to remain in touch. Your father probably knows more about these things. Did you ask him – I saw that you ran to him before you came to me?”

Chloe grinned. “Dad says you’re trying for another baby – that would be ace – a brother or sister. Do I get to choose a name for him or her?”

Sylvia held her breath for several seconds. “He discussed that with you?”

“It came out as we were talking – he said he didn’t know how I’d react if I heard the news halfway across the planet, and he said some other stuff.”

“What?”

“Nothing you need to know – father-daughter stuff.”

Sylvia regarded her daughter. “So why were you crying – when you came home this morning?”

Chloe sighed. “I told Ronald it was over, and he flipped – it took almost all night to get him to calm down, and I suppose I got upset too.”

Sylvia glanced away. “Yes, I imagine it can be difficult giving boys the brush off, especially when you’ve known him most of your life.”

Chloe laughed, jumping out of bed. “Bloody right, but lets not talk about that stuff anymore - trying for a baby at your age. What’s going on? No wonder you need your rest – and where is Dad? Why has he brought those people from work home? He never can get his priorities right.”

“You know your Dad, business comes first.” Sylvia smiled. “I imagine he’ll remember about me when he’s ready.”

“I’ll go and remind him if you like.”

She placed a hand on her daughters arm. “No stay – talk to me about this boy Lucien, and your plans. I want to know everything.”

Lying in bed that night she turned to Pierre.

“Clement propositioned me tonight – I’m almost inclined to take him up on the offer.”

Pierre laughed. “I wondered what you were talking about. I can see you and him, arm in arm – musical theatre, dinner, perhaps a cabaret – his apartment that he likes to portray as overlooking the Seine, but which in fact allows the merest glimpse of a silver ribbon in the distance, the dusty furniture and unmade bed – because he likes to try his seduction technique on every cleaning woman the agency sends. A bottle of something cool chilling at your side and his interminable stories – ah, yes it would be so sweet – if you were young and gullible.”

She smiled, facing him fully. “Is it so very wrong to want another child Pierre? We’re losing Chloe. She’s a woman now, starting a life of her own and…”

“Not wrong – no,” he consoled.

They lay in silence, with their separate thoughts.

“I don’t want us to grow apart Pierre, and I know I’m growing older – I want another child.”

“You’re not old,” he soothed, kissing her neck and cheek.

“Take me in your arms then, and give me a child,” she pleaded resolutely.

He grinned. “Only if you promise not to stick a finger up my arse – you nearly gave me heart failure last time.”

She laughed. “Didn’t you enjoy it? I read about it in a magazine – it’s supposed to prolong the enjoyment for a man, and add a new dimension to the orgasm.”

“You sound like one of those blasted magazine women, which you are. I prefer my Sylvia – I don’t need surprises.”

“Don’t get complacent on me Pierre – it may be my turn next to demand something different.”

He took her into his arms. “It will be my pleasure.”

She knew the three boys had taken up station on the other side of the fence, watching as she watered, and drawing closer heard her name mentioned.

“She’s grown fat,” one was saying.

“Obese,” another observed. “My mother say’s it’s from fine living.”

“I don’t know,” The third added. “I’d still give her six marks out of ten.”

Sylvia stifled a laugh, but they must have heard for they immediately fell silent as she peered over the fence at each in turn. “I’d like you to know that I’m not fat – I’m pregnant – not obese and certainly worth an eight in anyone's estimation, but I thank you for the partial compliment.”

The boys stared dumbfounded before scrambling for cover. She grinned, stroking her belly as she continued watering the plants.

“If you’re a girl I’ll give you the low down on naughty boys, but if you’re a boy… If you’re a boy I’ll set you straight about the right way to treat a woman, and it’s got nothing to do with what they write about in magazines.”

She laughed, squirting the hose high into the air.

- THE END -