French Lessons
Chapters 7-9
Chapter 7 - Carolyn's POV
Carolyn arrived at 4:00 on Thursday at the address that Joan had
provided for her, still at her most professional. She suspected that
she could be as creative and non-traditional in her methods as she
wanted without fazing her current students, but she wanted to keep that
professional demeanor intact for a few more lessons first. At
least until she could decide how to handle her attraction to them both.
She hoped that continued exposure to them and their charms would build
her resistance. If it didn’t, it was going to be a long three
months. She knocked at the door and was surprised when a young
man answered the door.
“Hello,” she said, “I’m supposed to be giving a French lesson at this
address.”
“Hi,” the young man said. “You must be Carolyn. Dad and
Orli haven’t stopped talking about their class since Tuesday. I’m
Henry, by the way.”
Carolyn listened mutely to the flow of words, trying to decide how to
answer. Before she could, Henry was yelling back into the house.
“Dad! Carolyn’s here. I’m gone.” Then, to her. “Nice to
meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you around. I’ve gotta run.” And he was out
the door. Carolyn took a few steps inside and looked around. She
was seeing a real home. This was no designer showcase like so many
Hollywood houses. People lived here. Papers were scattered
over the couch, CDs littered the table. Carolyn didn’t recognize the
music that was playing. Something South American, to judge by the
beat. She stood uncertainly on the edge of the living room,
waiting to be shown where to go.
Before she could grow too uncomfortable, Viggo came in, his hair
damp. “Bonjour,” he greeted Carolyn, shaking her hand à la
française.
“Bonjour,” Carolyn replied. “Où est Orlando?” she asked,
looking around for her missing student.
“He’s just getting out of the shower. He’ll be right down,” Viggo
answered. ‘Good,’ Carolyn thought. ‘He’s able to guess meanings.
If Orlando can do the same, this will be much easier.’
“Can I offer you a drink while we’re waiting?” Viggo offered.
“I’d love a glass of water,” Carolyn replied in English. She didn’t see
any around saying that one in English. This time. When he brought
it back, she’d tell him the word. That way, next time, she could ask in
French. She didn’t get the chance, though. Orlando distracted her.
“Have a seat,” Viggo said, gesturing to the couch as he went through a
door that presumably led to the kitchen. Carolyn had just sat
down when Orlando came bounding down the stairs. Carolyn rose to greet
him, hand outstretched. He took it and said, “Bonjour,” as she’d
taught him. Then, to her surprise, he leaned in and kissed her, once on
each cheek. “Isn’t that how friends say hello?” he asked with an
innocent smile.
“I’m not sure we count as friends yet,” Viggo answered from behind
her. “Here’s your water. Do you want anything, Orlando?”
“No, I’m fine.” Orlando flopped down on the couch, gesturing for
Carolyn to join him. She was about to decline, to sit in the chair, but
Viggo beat her to it, leaving her no choice but to join Orlando on the
couch.
“My director told me only that you needed to learn French in a bit of a
hurry for a new film. She didn’t give me any other information.
It would help me plan your lessons if you could tell me a little more
about what your goals and plans are,” Carolyn said, having decided to
get this out of the way before beginning class.
The two men looked at each other for a moment, then Viggo
answered. “We’ve been offered parts in a film, as you know,” he
told her. “We’ll be playing expats living in Paris. While we’ll
speak English to each other, we’ll have some French lines with other
actors. We don’t have to be perfect, since we’re not supposed to
be native speakers, but we are supposed to be fluent. We’ll need
to act comfortable with French culture, to fit in. Some of the
filming will also take place in France so we’ll need at least some
basic survival skills.”
“Once you get the script, we can work on specific lines and gestures,
if you like,” Carolyn said. “I think we ought to work on the basic
stuff first. What do you think?”
“The more we know of the language, the easier it will be to say our
lines convincingly,” Viggo agreed.
“What about you?” Carolyn asked.
“I’ve never been good at languages,” Orlando admitted, “but Viggo
convinced me to give it a try. Whatever you think is best is fine with
me.”
Carolyn suppressed a sigh at Orlando’s words. She was amazed at how
many people believed they couldn’t learn languages because the person
teaching them had been incapable. “You did fine on Tuesday.
Did you have trouble as a child learning English?”
“It took me a while to learn to read,” Orlando said after a slight
pause.
“What about to speak? Did you have to have speech therapy?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t have a problem learning languages. You just
didn’t have the right teachers. As we continue, I need you to tell me
what helps and doesn’t help you learn so I can do what’s best for you.
“That goes for you, too, Viggo,” Carolyn said, turning to face
him. “You just seem more comfortable with the idea.”
Orlando still looked hesitant. Carolyn put her hand on his.
“Trust me,” she said earnestly. “The problems were with the
teachers and their methods. We’ll find the right one and you’ll enjoy
this. I promise.”
“I liked all the speaking we did on Tuesday, and I liked the scenario.”
Orlando’s smile was just the slightest bit wicked as he mentioned the
scenario. Carolyn felt a shiver run through her again at the
thought. She forced her mind to stay on the matter at hand.
“We’ll do a lot of speaking. After all, that’s what you’ll need when
you get to France and for the film. The writing I do will be just
to let you take notes so you can study between classes.”
“We’ve been practicing,” Orlando assured her.
“Très bien. That’s one of the things that will help the
most. Allons-y.” She led them through her standard second lesson,
asking how they were doing and teaching them the responses, then doing
likes and dislikes with flashcards. They both participated
eagerly and Carolyn kept a particular eye on Orlando, monitoring his
progress carefully. She suspected that it was mostly a confidence
problem since he had done fine the first day, but she didn’t want him
getting frustrated. The friendly competition continued and she
began to see hints of the depth of their friendship when they knew as
much about each other’s preferences as about their own.
At the end of class, as she was putting away her cards, Orlando said,
“Is this right? J’aime Carolyn.”
Carolyn forced herself not to react. To smile and tell him,
“Almost. This is one case where the rule doesn’t quite
apply. J’aime does mean I like until you start talking about
people. Then it means I love.”
Orlando had the good grace to look embarrassed.
“For people, say J’aime bien, if you want to say I like.”
“J’aime bien Carolyn,” Orlando repeated dutifully.
“Très bien et merci,” Carolyn replied with a smile. “Je
vous aime bien aussi.” Orlando look confused. “Je,” Carolyn
repeated, point to herself. “vous,” point to Orlando. “aime bien,” and
she pointed to the heart that had symbolized like.
“I you like? What a strange language!”
“They say the same about English,” Carolyn laughed, taking her leave.
“I meant it, Carolyn. J’aime bien Carolyn.”
“Je vous aime bien aussi,” Carolyn repeated. She said goodbye and left,
a warm glow settling over her at his words and at the progress they
were both making. She’d even managed to keep her cool, despite
Orlando’s unintentional words.
Chapter 8 - Viggo's POV
Viggo heard the doorbell ring, but he let Henry get it. He’d let
Orlando convince him that they had plenty of time to make love before
Carolyn arrived. They’d had time to make love, but the showering
afterward had put them behind schedule. Orlando was still in the
bathroom, and he was only half-dressed.
“Dad!” he heard his son call. “Carolyn’s here. I’m gone!”
Viggo didn’t reply, knowing his son was already out the door. He
finished dressing quickly, tapped on the bathroom door to let Orlando
know, and went down to greet Carolyn. She was standing nervously
in his living room. The power suit was red today, Viggo noticed
in passing, just as professional and just as tempting as the purple
one. He and Orlando had talked quite a bit about the lovely Carolyn
since the first class. For the first time in a long time, their taste
in women coincided. The possibilities that opened up were endlessly
delicious. They’d agreed to get to know her a little better
before pursuing it, though. He walked the rest of the way into the
living room. “Bonjour,” he greeted her, shaking her hand the way she’d
taught them. Yes indeed. Endlessly delicious.
“Bonjour,” she replied. “Où est Orlando?” She looked
around the otherwise empty room as she spoke.
Viggo made an educated guess. If he was wrong, he was wrong, but either
way, he couldn’t answer her in French. “He’s just getting out of the
shower. He’ll be right down.” Viggo watched for a reaction to his
words, wondering what Carolyn would make of him and Orlando living
together, but she gave no sign that she thought anything of it.
“Can I offer you something to drink while we’re waiting?”
Carolyn asked for a glass of water. “Have a seat,” Viggo said,
gesturing to the couch. He went into the kitchen to get her water. As
the door shut behind him, he heard Orlando on the stairs. He
poured the water quickly and went back to the door to see what mischief
Orlando was up to this time. He had so enjoyed ruffling Carolyn’s
feathers during the last class that Viggo was sure he would try
something.
“Bonjour,” he heard Orlando say as he shook Carolyn’s hand and then
leaned in to kiss her once on each cheek. “Isn’t that how friends say
hello?” he asked disingenuously.
“I’m not sure we count as friends yet,” Viggo answered him, saving
Carolyn from having to reply. He handed Carolyn her water and checked
with Orlando, who declined, plopping down on the couch and gesturing
for Carolyn to join him. Viggo saw her about to refuse, to take
the chair instead. Before she could, he slipped into it, leaving her no
choice but to sit next to Orlando. Viggo sat back, prepared to
watch Orlando try to charm her for the next hour. He expected her
to start class right away, like she’d done the first day, so he was
surprised when she asked instead about their reasons for learning
French and their goals. His eyes met Orlando’s. At Orlando’s nod,
Viggo explained about the film. Only the vaguest details. No need
to tell her, yet, that they would be playing lovers, the lovers that
they were in real life. He explained what they wanted to learn
about the culture as well as the language, for the film and for life
while filming.
She suggested the basic survival skills, just what he had thought to
study. Then she turned to Orlando, asking his opinion.
“I’ve never been good at languages,” Viggo heard Orlando say. He wanted
to shake the younger man. He was good at whatever he put his mind to.
Of course, Orlando would say that Viggo was biased, but Viggo really
believed it. “but Viggo convinced me to give it a try. Whatever
you think is best is fine with me.”
It was obviously not the answer Carolyn was hoping for. “You did
fine on Tuesday. Did you have trouble as a child learning English?”
Viggo tensed at her words. She couldn’t know that Orlando was
dyslexic, that he had struggled for years with reading. It was still a
sore spot with him. He wanted to intervene, to brush aside the
question, but he knew he couldn’t protect Orlando from everything. He
could only support him if he needed it.
“It took me a while to learn to read.” That was an understatement, but
Viggo was proud of Orlando for saying that much.
“What about to speak? Did you have to have speech therapy?” Carolyn was
obviously driving at something, but Viggo could see Orlando getting
uncomfortable. If she didn’t get to the point soon, he was going to put
a stop to the conversation.
“No,” Orlando answered.
“Then you don’t have a problem learning languages. You just didn’t have
the right teachers.” Viggo could have kissed her. Right then.
Even if she was wrong, the confidence she had in Orlando’s abilities
was priceless. He really hoped she was right, though. He hated seeing
Orlando’s old insecurities come back.
Then she was speaking to him. “The same goes for you, Viggo.” He
nodded, hoping that would suffice as a response. He had no idea what
she had just said. She turned back to Orlando, seeing the hesitation
still on his face. She read him well, Viggo observed. She reached out
to take his hand, to encourage him. “Trust me. The problems were
with the teachers and their methods. We’ll find the right one and
you’ll enjoy this. I promise.”
They were already enjoying it. Viggo started to tell her that, but
Orlando spoke first. “I liked all the speaking we did on Tuesday
and I liked the scenario.” His smile was just a little
suggestive. Viggo suppressed a smile. They had enjoyed the
scenario, indeed. They had especially enjoyed discomposing the
otherwise controlled Carolyn.
“We’ll do a lot of speaking,” Carolyn assured Orlando. “After
all, that’s what you’ll need to do in France and for the film. The
writing I do will be just to let you take notes so you can study
between classes.”
“We’ve been practicing,” Orlando told her. Memories of how they’d
been practicing assailed Viggo. He knew there was nothing special
about what they’d learned so far, but knowing why they were learning,
hearing Orlando speaking French, had been enough to land them in bed
several times during the past two days. He shifted in his chair
to hide his growing erection.
“Très bien. That’s one of the things that will help the
most. Allons-y.” As she spoke, Carolyn reached in her bag to draw
out the flashcards she’d brought and so missed the promise in Viggo’s
and Orlando’s eyes as they met over her head. They’d be back in
bed as soon as she left at the rate they were going. Viggo didn’t mind.
He never minded making love with Orlando.
He forced his mind to matters at hand as Carolyn taught them how to ask
how others were doing and how to respond. He had no problem
assuring her that he was doing very well indeed when she asked.
Orlando smirked at him behind Carolyn’s back, staring openly at Viggo’s
groin. Viggo suppressed a groan as his lover’s frank appraisal
sent another shot of lust through him. Orlando was going to find
himself dumped on his back and thoroughly ravished as soon as Carolyn
was out the door! He returned the appraising glance when Carolyn
turned her attention to Orlando. He tore his gaze away from
Viggo, but didn’t try to hide his grin. When they had mastered
that simple exchange, she pulled out a second set of cards, one with a
heart, one with a heart scratched out. “J’aime,” she had them say when
she showed them the heart. “Je déteste,” when the heart
had an X. Then she showed them other pictures and had them choose
between the two cards, like or dislike. They ran through the
cards for themselves. Then she switched to “he likes” and “he dislikes”
and asked them the same questions about each other’s preferences.
Viggo wondered what she thought when they knew all of each other’s
likes and dislikes, but, after all, they had been friends, and more,
for ten years. They had good reason to know each other well.
Carolyn was putting everything away at the end of class when Orlando
decided to experiment. “Is this right? J’aime Carolyn.”
Viggo caught the hesitation before Carolyn turned and explained the
difference between “j’aime” for things and “j’aime” for people. Viggo
almost laughed as they went through the explanation and Orlando
practiced dutifully, then returned to what he had been trying to
say. “I meant it, Carolyn,” he insisted. “J’aime bien
Carolyn.”
“Je vous aime bien aussi,” Carolyn replied as she said her farewells
and left. “Je vous aime,” Viggo repeated to himself. Now he could
tell Orlando he loved him in five languages instead of four.
As soon as the door closed behind Carolyn, Viggo pulled Orlando into
his arms and kissed him thoroughly. “Je vous aime,” he murmured
against Orlando’s curls as he tucked the younger man firmly against
him. He could feel Orlando’s erection against him as they
snuggled close. “Let’s go to bed.”
Chapter 9 - Orlando's POV
I was in the shower when Carolyn arrived, still trying to recover.
Viggo had left me weak and breathless, as always, when we made
love. I suppose it was my fault, if I wanted to talk about fault,
since I was the one who started everything, walking into the living
room where he was trying to clean up with no shirt and the button on my
jeans undone, making it clear I wasn’t wearing boxers. I was the
one who kissed him, who ran my hands down his back to his ass, pulling
him against me. I was the one who whispered, “We have plenty of time.”
It figures, then, that I was the one who was late. Viggo tapped
on the door to let me know it was time. I forced my legs to work as I
stepped out of the shower and got ready for class. I didn’t mind
hurrying like I usually do. The thought of seeing Carolyn again, of
having another opportunity to flirt with her and see her struggle not
to react was enough to get me moving. I pulled on jeans and a
tee-shirt and ran my hands through my hair to fluff my curls. It
would have to do. I didn’t want to leave Carolyn waiting.
I bounded down the stairs, suddenly full of energy at the prospect of
another hour of French, another hour of seductive competition with
Viggo, another hour of ruffling Carolyn’s senses. Viggo wasn’t in the
living room when I reached the bottom of the stairs, but Carolyn was,
rising from her perch on the edge of the couch to greet me. I
knew her red suit was meant to be professional, and it was, but it was
also well cut. It clung to all the right places, accenting the swell of
her breasts, the curve of her ass, the tiny waist. And the color was
perfect for her golden skin and dark hair. Classy sex. That’s
what she radiated along with the professionalism. I was not
immune and I had realized in talking to Viggo that he wasn’t
either. For the first time, we both wanted the same woman.
We had agreed before that a particular woman was attractive. We’d
occasionally wondered what a certain woman would be like in bed. We’d
often joked about finding a woman to share our bed and our lives, but
we’d never actually expected to find someone we could both agree
on. Our tastes were just too different. And so the joke
continued. Until, on the way home from our first class, Viggo had made
a comment about Carolyn. I had been thinking the same
thing. The conversations that had followed since then had led us
to actually consider what we’d only joked about for years. We’d both
taken women on dates, and even to bed from time to time, over the
course of our relationship, but this was different. We both
wanted her. And we were willing to share her. If she was willing
to be with us. Now we just had to convince her. Slowly and carefully.
“Bonjour,” I said, shaking her outstretched hand. She had such nice
hands, such soft skin. I wanted to feel more. I bent toward
her and kissed her, first on one cheek, then on the other. The skin was
smooth and soft beneath my lips, a tempting contrast to the slight
stubble that almost always adorned Viggo’s cheeks. Carolyn looked
vaguely shocked at my gesture. “Isn’t that how friends say
hello?” Having grown up in England, I’d been to France on
vacation. I knew it was typical of French friends. I also knew that one
class did not move us into the category of friends. Still, if we were
going to seduce her, we had to get closer than just shaking hands. I
caught the twinkle in Viggo’s eyes from the kitchen door. He knew
exactly what I was up to, but that was fine with me. I fully
intended for both of us to benefit from the fruits of this seduction,
if it worked.
Before Carolyn could answer my question, Viggo spoke, drawing her
attention back to him. “I’m not sure we count as friends yet.”
I knew we didn’t, but the sooner Carolyn made that transition, the
sooner we could start seducing her in earnest. He handed her a
glass of water and offered me a drink. I didn’t want anything. I sat on
the couch, gesturing for Carolyn to join me, the better to continue our
campaign. Viggo cut off her escape route by sitting in the
armchair. I settled in to learn, focusing my concentration. Certainly,
I was going to flirt with her, but first and foremost, I was going to
learn what she could teach me! Her question about why we wanted
to learn French caught me off guard. Viggo and I didn’t have
permission yet to talk about the film. There was a confidentiality
clause in our contracts and I hadn’t read it closely enough to know
what we could tell Carolyn. I exchanged glances with Viggo and signaled
him to answer. He was always more aware of the legalities than I
was. He explained just the minimum of information, telling Carolyn only
that we would be playing expats living in Paris and that we would need
to be able to say some lines in French and get around while we were
filming there. They talked a little more about what we should be
learning when Carolyn turned to me.
“What about you, Orlando?”
I wanted to sink into the couch, to just disappear. I didn’t want
to think about what we were doing. I couldn’t. I’d panic and it would
be like all the other languages I’d ever tried to learn. “I’ve
never been good at languages, but Viggo convinced me to give it a try.
Whatever you think is best is fine with me.” I could feel Viggo
frowning at me. He refused to believe me when I told him I
couldn’t learn something. He just kept insisting until I gave
in. Of course, that made him insist that much more the next
time. I expected Carolyn to accept my answer and go on, focusing
most of her attention on Viggo. That’s what had always happened
with my other language teachers. They taught the talented
students and left the rest of us to stumble along as best we
could. So when Carolyn didn’t just leave it at that, I was really
surprised. “You did fine on Tuesday,” she told me. “Did you
have trouble as a child learning English?”
I froze. For only a second or two, but I couldn’t react. I
hate it when I have to talk about my dyslexia. Even though I know
it doesn’t make me less smart than anyone else, it was the reason I was
called stupid for so long that I still feel uncomfortable talking about
it. Carolyn was waiting for an answer, though. “It took me
a while to learn to read,” I admitted. That was easier to say
than admitting to the rest.
“What about to speak? Did you have to have speech therapy?” she
asked.
I squirmed uncomfortably under the questions. What did my dyslexia have
to do with speaking? “No.”
“Then you don’t have a problem learning languages. You just
didn’t have the right teachers. As we continue, I need you to tell me
what helps and doesn’t help you learn so I can do what’s best for
you. That goes for you, too, Viggo.” She kept talking, but I
heard only one thing. She didn’t think I was the problem.
She thought it was the teachers. No one had ever said such a wonderful
thing to me. She wanted to teach so I could learn.
“Trust me,” she said, turning back to me, putting her hand on
mine. I was so overwhelmed by the idea that I might be able to
learn French, really learn it despite all my previous problems, that I
didn’t even react to the touch of her hand. “The problems were
with the teachers and their methods. We’ll find the right one and
you’ll enjoy this. I promise.”
I felt almost shy when I told her how I had really liked the fact that
we had spoken so much in class. The dyslexia affected my reading
and writing, not my speaking. Then I mentioned the scenario and
couldn’t help but send her a flirtatious smile. The scenario had
been too much fun. She didn’t react. Damn! I’d have
to try harder. She just explained about practicing. Now
that was a nice thought. I assured her we’d been practicing. I
didn’t need to tell her that speaking French had already been added to
my arsenal of ways to seduce Viggo. Not that “je suis anglais”
was particularly seductive, but speaking French turned Viggo on like a
light switch. I met his eyes over Carolyn’s back as she bent to
riffle in her sack. Oh yes, we would definitely be practicing French,
especially since Carolyn seemed convinced that I really could learn
it. When she drew out a series of cards, I concentrated on what
she wanted us to learn. Her faith in me was restoring my faith in
myself, and I suddenly really wanted to succeed. With pictures
and gestures, she made us understand that we were asking and telling
how people were doing. She asked Viggo first, maybe to give me
one more chance to listen before I had to answer. When he said,
“Ça va très bien,” I almost snorted. I didn’t, but
I couldn’t keep from smirking. Carolyn was looking at him so I didn’t
hesitate to stare openly at the bulge that was growing behind his
zipper. The heat in those blue eyes assured me he’d seen where I was
looking and was aware of my interest. We’d be back in bed as soon
as Carolyn left. I couldn’t wait. I made myself look at Carolyn
when she turned to ask me how I was doing, but I couldn’t hide my
smile. I was too happy. I was speaking a foreign language and
understanding it. I had an absolutely gorgeous lover who would be
fucking me through the mattress again, if I didn’t get to him first,
just as soon as class was over. And, if all went well, we might have a
girlfriend to add to the mix before long. I didn’t need Viggo’s
hot gaze to get me going. My own thoughts were doing that quite well as
it was.
When we could give all the variations on “I’m fine” or not, Carolyn
switched gears, showing us how to say “I like” and “I don’t like” and
then asking us, by way of pictures, if we liked certain activities,
different kinds of music, different films, different foods. I was a
little worried about all the new words until I realized that she only
wanted us to learn “j’aime” and “je déteste.” As the class went
on and I found myself speaking French, really speaking it, even if only
a few words, I decided Carolyn was the third most wonderful woman in
the world, after only my mother and Sam.
When class was over, I decided to try a sentence of my own, without
Carolyn’s prompting. “Is this right?” I asked. “J’aime
Carolyn.” I didn’t know how to say you so I just said her name.
“Almost,” she said. Almost? But that was what we’d been
saying all afternoon! “This is one case where the rule doesn’t
quite apply. ‘J’aime’ does mean ‘I like’ until you start talking
about people. Then it means ‘I love,’”
I blushed. I hadn’t blushed in years. I wasn’t in love with
Carolyn, not the way I loved Viggo, but I was beginning to think it
wouldn’t be difficult to end up there. “For people, say ‘j’aime
bien’ if you want to say ‘I like.’”
“J’aime bien Carolyn,” I repeated, committing the phrase to memory.
That was a gaffe that I didn’t want to commit in France.
“Très bien et merci. Je vous aime bien aussi.” I
must have looked confused because she repeated the sentence with
gestures.
“I you like?” I asked. “What a strange language!”
“They say the same about English.” She gathered her things and started
for the door.
“I meant it, Carolyn. J’aime bien Carolyn.”
“Je vous aime bien aussi,” she repeated, saying good-bye and leaving.
As soon as the door closed, Viggo was there, wrapping his arms around
me and kissing me breathless. I love him in all his varied moods,
but I especially like it when he takes charge. I can just give in to my
desires and let him take care of me. And them. When he broke the
kiss, he fitted me all the way against him, his lips coming to rest
against my head. “Je vous aime,” he whispered. It took me just a
moment to put it together. I you love. I love you. In French. I
rubbed against him, letting him feel my response to his words. Then he
said the rest of what I wanted to hear. “Let’s go to bed.”