Chapter 51: Keaner II--We Learned to Swim

A/N: If this one turns your stomach a bit heehee then my mission is accomplished! Oh yes, a big disclaimer. I know nothing of the past, yadda, yadda.....

Chapter 51: Keaner II

1990—Montreal

"So where is the baby?" Keane asked Michele after noting how quiet it was in the house. She was mixing an almond pastry filling, and had been at it for quite an uninterrupted amount of time. That was unusual for a young mother with a toddler.

"Jonathen, he is with Patrick," Michele said softly, slowly in uncertain English. "Barbara was ada...ada...adamant that they take the baby with them."

Keaner drained the beer she had given him and let it sit in his stomach as he eyed her tiny little hips. She had once given birth to a son? There was no sign of it. "How long will they be gone?" he asked.

Michele sighed and scraped the almonds she had been chopping into the bowl, folding them into the mixture. "The weekend," she said to Keane’s surprise. "Long enough for Patrick’s family to soak their fill of my baby."

Keane nodded. "I didn’t know Patrick was going to be gone that long. He never told us. We have a game on Monday and three practices before then. He’ll miss at least two."

"Oui," Michele said. "That is why I am here. No one can know he is gone, I am supposed to say he is anywhere but gone. They are optional practices, I am sure he will be fine on Monday."

Keane leaned his chin on his palm. "He skips too many practices as it is, Mimi," he said.

Michele turned the corners of her soft, pink mouth down and shrugged. "And he will miss two more, yes?"

"Well it won’t go over well when I tell..."

"Oh non!" Michele cried setting the bowl heavily on the counter. "Mike you are Patrick’s friend! You will not tell s’il vois plait! Mon Dieu I only told you because I trust you!"

It tickled Keaner through and through to see her lips crumple her eyes batting back frighted tears. He had seen that act often enough used on Patrick that he didn’t believe it for a second. Patrick always seemed to believe it though.

"Naw," Keane said. "I ain’t gonna tell not to worry don’t cry you’re fine."

The sun rose over Michele’s face and she was aglow with a smile. Not much different than the other French girls in this city, Keaner noted, hot and cold so fast and violently.

"You talk so fast, Mike!" Michele laughed. "Not like any Yankee or English I’ve ever heard. I like it."

OK, Mike thought. That wins the award for oddest compliment. Still, he felt his cheeks redden. He cleared his throat loudly. "Well," he said, "you’re left with a mini-break, don’t it? Feel nice then, aye? A vacation from the babies?"

Michele frowned with smiling eyes. "There is only one baby, Micheal."

Keane grinned and let it settle into her.

"Ooooh!" Michele laughed when it dawned upon her. "Oui, oui! Yes the babies. Both of them are gone! That is not nice!"

"Yup," Keane said. "But you’re not gonna argue the fact."

Michele stopped laughing abruptly and rolled her eyes. "They take my son from me! But non, Patrick, he will not have it any other way.... And his mother.... She the same you know? Like she look at me, and say, ‘but Alexandra has not seen him in months’ and they take him! Even the dog! They do not leave me the dog!"

"I’m sorry," Keane said. He didn’t know what else he could say to a woman in a situation like that. He raised his eyebrows. "The dog too? Damn I thought it was quiet!"

Another smile slid over Michele’s face, a wistful, vacant one. "Even the dog," she said again. "But non, you need not be sorry. ‘Tisn’t your fault that they’re..." her eyes squinted, "Shit-heads?"

Keaner’s heart laughed. "Yah, shit-heads. You got it, babe."

"Mmm!" Michele squeaked with a self-satisfied smirk.

Right, Mike thought. He should be going now.

Michele pulled out a silver teaspoon and scraped it in the filling bowl, sliding it into her mouth. Her eyebrows raised and she nodded.

"Good, aye?" Mike asked more rhetorically than anything.

"Oui," Michele said. "I’ve never made it before but the taste is good. It’s sweet. Would you like one?"

Yah why not. Mike thought as he wandered over to Michele and her batter bowl. It would be a good deed on his part to help an abandoned homemaker feel better about her confections. Good ole Keaner to the rescue.

The intensity of Michele’s eager gaze on him was a bit disconcerting as he took the spoon from her little hand and sampled the filling. It was better than candy and so sugary and buttery that Mike rolled it over and over in his mouth, not wanting to swallow and lose the flavor. He finally swallowed and sighed, it was gone.

"Is good?" Michele asked.

"Real sweet," Mike said. He stared at her slender neck, wondering if he could close his whole hand around it. "Gone for the weekend, aye?" he asked her.

You need to leave right about now, asshole! He thought.

Michele nodded. Her eyes were pale and seemed suddenly without luster, as if she were bored or impatient suddenly. A signal that she wanted him gone? Fine, he would oblige her.

Before he could even take a step to leave, however, Michele grabbed his hip and squeezed it in her fingers, causing a definite stirring within him. He looked at her in surprise. He knew he was toying with something dangerous here. "Mimi," he said as calmly as his rushing blood would allow. "Look..."

Michele winked at him, interrupting his thoughts, and she squeezed him harder, causing him to yelp. Standing on her toes, Michele stopped his breath in his throat and quickly brushed her nose across his and kissed him. Both soft and insistent, Michele’s kiss coaxed his mouth open and commanded something deeper. Even though the feel of her hot breath sent shock waves throbbing though his whole body, demanding that he take her right there in the kitchen, Mike pulled away from her.

"Mimi!" Mike said as sternly as he could. "No!"

Michele crossed her thin peachy arms over her small breast. "I am not a dog," she snipped in French, "You can’t just order me with one word commands."

Almost as if he was afraid of her, and he knew he wasn’t that scared of her, Mike shrunk against the counter and Michele brushed by him and opened the fridge. "There’s one more beer left," she said. "Would you like it?" she pulled the can out of the fridge and opened it. A delicious pop and hiss issued forth from it. "One for the road?"

The feel of her mouth and the taste of her was still sticking on Mike’s tongue, and so was that butter almond taste. He knew if he tried driving home with just that flavor, he would go insane. "Sure," Mike said.

Michele sniffed and took a swig from the can. Her face scrunched up like a girl who having stolen a sip of her father’s beer instantly regrets it. "Fine," she said walking out of the kitchen with the can in hand. "Come and get it."

Mike sighed and he put his hands on his hips before he crossed the kitchen after her. Dammit! That was his beer!

"Why me?" Mike asked Michele as she lay; face and breasts flushed pink next to him. Her eyes were closed but he didn’t think she could have fallen asleep so quickly.

Michele made a little sound between a sigh and a moan and her eyelids flicked open. She yawned and sat up a little, lifting the sheet from around his waist and peeking so brazenly underneath it that Keane actually felt exposed. He blushed and pulled it back down to cover himself.

"Why not?" Michele answered. "I was curious, is good enough an answer?"

"No," Mike said. "That’s not even an answer. Come on, I’m not exactly the type of pretty boy bored new mother’s go after."

"I know," Michele said simply, "but I had to know."

Keaner leaned on his side facing her, looking at her, trying to feel an answer from her expression. Her eyes were half closed, like a napping cat’s would be. Inscrutable.

"Do you remember that day when I left Patrick at home with you and you two were going to play golf, and I was going shopping with some of the wives? I think it was in my sixth month of pregnancy." Michele said calmly, blinking slowly.

Shit, shit, shit, shit! Was all Keaner could think

"Yah," he said. It was all he could manage to say.

"I forgot my purse, and I came back to get it," Michele said, and Keane could only look away. "I was quite surprised at the sight I found in the living room."

Keane leaned back and closed his eyes. There was not even a beginning for him to try and talk or deny this one. He thought of that day, she had seen them? Why hadn’t she screamed or interrupted them, how long had she stood there? Did she watch the whole thing?

"It was quite.... Interesting," Michele said slowly. "I almost thought of interrupting you two, perhaps hitting someone with a vase... but no. You both seemed in such...bliss that I thought it would be bad of me to stop you."

Not opening his eyes, Keane groaned. There was nothing else he could do. There was no way he could explain to her either. He certainly wasn’t in love with Patrick; he didn’t want to break up his marriage. He wasn’t looking to hurt anyone. He wasn’t looking to be discovered either. How must she be feeling? What was she going to do?

"Was it your first time, right then, you two?" Michele asked.

"Nope," Mike said.

Michele laughed and Mike opened his eyes to look at her, that laugh sounded genuine! And when he saw that sparkle in her eyes, he could see that it was genuine. What was going on here? Wasn’t she angry and crushed?

"He started on you quickly, then," Michele said. "If that wasn’t the first time, or did you start on him? Who was responsible?"

Mike sat up completely now, staring at this skinny, naked, laughing little woman. He didn’t know her at all, he really didn’t know who she was. "You want to know?"

Michele sat up as well, resting her chin on her bare knees and looking at him with sleepy eyes. "Of course," she said.

"It was a little of both I suppose... I don’t know," Mike said feeling a strangling weight pressing in on his chest. This was worse than getting yelled at. "I’m not gay..."

"Mmm," Michele said with a smile, "I know you’re not."

"It’s just that... there was something about Patrick that..."

"Left you possessed, and breathless," Michele finished for him. "It is his best quality, when he stares at you and you can’t move."

"Are you going to tell him now? Was this your revenge, to sleep with me?" Mike asked. He was kicking himself inside for falling for this trick so easily.

"No revenge," Michele said quietly. "Like I said, was just curious. I wanted to see what was so special, that Patrick craved you so."

Mike raised his eyebrows. "And?"

"I don’t think I like Patrick with you," she said airily. "I think I would rather have you to myself."

Mike shook his head. This was too weird. "I think..." he said than stopped. He reached over and brushed her pale hair from her face. "I think, that you two are kinda scaring me. Either that, or you’re both just in one helluva freaky immature relationship."

Michele narrowed her eyes. "And what do you know of mature! How old are you?"

"Twenty-two," Keane said. "But I know immature when I see it. Like two children who would use me like a toy."

Michele grinned. "Oui, we will and I did not see you complaining just ten minutes ago." Chills and trembles rattled through him as she placed her hand squarely on his bare chest and pushed him down on the bed, crawling on top of him and straddling his sheet covered waist. "In fact I remember you purring to me in a much different tone."

Mike sighed when she leaned forward and kissed him. He never even dreamed shit this weird. He ran his hands around her tiny waist, squeezing it and nudging her off him. The pout in her eyes was amusing. Obviously she wasn’t used to being refused often.

"Come on, what are you up to?" he asked.

"Nothing," Michele said. "Is it wrong for us to enjoy a boring weekend?"

"I guess not," Mike said. "Honey, why are you doing this? Really? It ain’t normal."

Michele’s eyes paled in anger. "Normal?" she squeaked.

He grabbed her left wrist and held it up, looking at the ring glinting on her hand.
"When are you two getting married?" he asked.

"June," Michele said.

"No qualms?"

"What?" she asked.

"I mean no doubts?"

"Not a doubt," she said. "I can take it off if it bothers you."

"Naw," Mike said. "It’s pretty."

"It is," Michele said with a girlish smile, holding her hand up and looking at it.

"Mike, will you do me a favor? Please? I’m sure you won’t mind too much."

Alarm bells clanged through his brain and he looked slowly at her, waiting for the bomb. "What?" he asked.

She rolled onto her belly, resting her cheek on her forearm. "I want to see why it was so special for you two. I want to see what I’m missing." She looked him straight in the eye, and he could only gape in a feeling akin to terror when she said, "I want you to do me like you did Patrick. I want you to pretend I were a man."

"Mimi!" Mike finally breathed with a nervous laugh. "You’re joking!"

Michele sighed and rolled her eyes. She reached onto the nightstand and pulled a magazine off it, plopping it onto the bed in front of her and opening it up to a random page. "It shouldn’t be hard for you," she sulked. "I’m much smaller, softer."

"You don’t know what you’re asking of me," Mike said, a pain intensifying somewhere within his body. He knew he was being slowly pulled into something he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of, something he could never extricate himself from.

"Emotionally, for a woman, it could be too much."

Michele flipped the page of the magazine and gasped. It was a full color picture of her and Patrick, heading an article on them and their new baby. It was an old issue. Biting her lip, she slowly ran a finger across the glossy photo of Patrick. "I’ve had too much before!" Michele snapped. "I’m sure I’ll be fine."

Mike sighed. He looked straight into her gaze, and he saw her without her flirtatious dressings. There was something pained and haunted swimming in those pale eyes, and in that downward turn of her mouth.

"For a woman, Mimi," Mike said. "Things are never as simple as enjoying a boring weekend. You have your reasons for the things you do, women always do."

A distressed line creased her forehead and tears began to seep from her eyes. Michele blinked back the tears and didn’t say anything. She slid the magazine off the bed and onto the floor where it landed with a loud thwap. "No reason!" she said, "I am just trying to enjoy myself, why cannot a woman enjoy herself? You men can, and we cannot, or if we do, then we are cut away, we’re tramps!"

She lay flat on her belly, resting her face on her arms. "Then go, if you’re afraid. Get out, if you’ve had your fill."

Mike sat up, blinking and running his hand over the soft pink skin of her back, over the ribs and shoulder blades that jutted through the skin almost disturbingly so. Like a cat, she stretched her arms in front of her, spreading her fingers, the diamond on her hand glinting. "I said get out," she whispered.

"No, I don’t think so," Mike murmured, breathing over the fine hairs on the back of her neck and kissing it softly. A luscious sigh slid out of Michele and that was all Mike needed to hear. Needing no further encouragement, Mike did everything she asked him to do.

It was odd that throughout the whole day he spent with her, obeying her every whim and desire, actually learning things he never thought a man could safely do to a woman, that Keaner felt no guilt at all. He never once thought that he was doing something wrong, and he never thought that perhaps he was betraying Patrick in any way. He didn’t completely enjoy himself either. He was fascinated, pleasured but more than anything he was scared. He didn’t think that she could harm him physically, but he was afraid for her.

A slim, charming woman, a young mother, a young homemaker with bright eyes and a talent for cooking, with a wicked, dirty sense of humor, a harmless woman, that was how Mike had always thought of her. This other woman, this sexually perverse domineering and submissive woman, this wasn’t the same. Even the look in her eyes wasn’t the same. What was scaring him was that he wasn’t sure if he was with the same Michele Roy at all. Was there a distinction between Mimi and Michele? He was beginning to wonder that maybe he weren’t the sane one and he would wake up jacketed in a padded cell, ranting about the goalie’s wife.

"Just enjoy yourself," Michele had hissed in his ear when he had objected a bit.

"Yes, ma’am," he choked out.

And then as the evening approached, Mike was dressed and still trembling a bit. Michele had abruptly shoved him away, twisting her mouth and declaring her need for a bath and his need to leave, she was tired. It had hurt him, the way she had suddenly gone cold, unreceptive. He didn’t say anything but he supposed that maybe his eyes or expression had communicated as much to her because she had sighed and kissed him softly, almost chastely, told him in an almost motherly way that he needed sleep if he wanted a good practice tomorrow morning. And it worked, he had refilled with warmth and as she stalked into the bathroom, and he had gotten his clothes on, he almost felt exhilarated and in love.

But he couldn’t leave just yet. He sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the bath filling, to her humming and singing odd, pretty French tunes. And when he heard her climb into the water, he got up and walked into the bathroom.

Michele was mostly hidden underneath the piled, fluffy bubbles, her head resting on the edge of the bathtub and her neck exposed. Her eyes were closed, and he felt like an intruder. This was where she wanted to be alone, and he began to back out.

"You said us women always have reasons, yes?" Michele said, without opening her eyes.

Mike stopped and leaned against the wall. "Yeah," he said.

"You are correct of course," she said.

"Yeah?" Mike asked.

Michele opened her eyes, but although she turned her face to him, she didn’t make eye contact. "But I am not entirely certain of my reasons," she said with a husky quaver in her voice. "Sometimes I believe what I say, that I am just enjoying myself. But is not true. Is never true. You see, when Patrick and I, when we met... there was already things wrong, but we were... were different. We were happy..."

"What happened?" Mike asked.

"No one liked us," Michele said bitterly, "No one trusted us. And is not simple as that either. There was nothing but evil, and hate... and then it was quiet for us. So quiet like when... like when you sink in water, and you know you will die. And there is no peace in that...there is only waiting to die... there is only angry about dying. There is only hating those that pushed you in to drown."

Mike swallowed hard. "And what did you do?" he asked.

Michele looked him straight in the eye, a steely, pale look. "We refused to die, and we refused to sink."

"And now," Mike said quietly, "You pull others down with you."

Michele smiled, but her eyes didn’t change. "We learned to swim, my love," she said. "And I am sure you will too."

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