Chapter 216: Mimi XXVIII

 

Chapter 216: Mimi XXVIII—Decent

 

 

 

                                                Montreal—1988

 

            Michele had seen red heads before and she had always thought of the term “colored like a carrot” was a false one. All of the red heads she had ever met had hair that was more a chestnut color streaked with gold strands, sometimes it was a little lighter, redder and still with the gold streaks. She had seen strawberry blonds as well and been amazed by the pinkish hue in their hair. As for carrot colored hair… she had never seen the likes of it, until now.

            Michele smiled broadly, felt it stretch her cheeks, and she resisted the urge to gawk and laugh when Patrick came into the house with him. He had the most awkward, face she had ever seen on a man, a sort of eyebrow-less, bored, hound dog face and dark blue eyes, but his hair! It was vividly orange, streaked with darker red and exactly the same hue as a carrot.

            Patrick had introduced him; Michele was so caught up in the novelty that she hadn’t listened.

            “Pardon?” She said, hoping that he spoke just a little French, “What was your name again?”

            He gave her a momentary blank stare and Michele felt her cheeks warm and she said in English, “What was.. your name?” She felt proud of herself, her English was better than Patrick’s at any rate.

            The man sniffed, had an almost arrogant set to his jaw when he spoke. “Keane, Mike Keane.”

            “So nice to meet you,” Michele said, certain that she had said everything correctly, “Is you… are… is? Are you eh teammates of Patrick?” That wasn’t as good, Michele raged in inward disappointment at herself for messing that one up.

            He grinned, a set of white teeth, a friendly smile. “Sure,” he said, “I hope so.”

            Michele looked at Patrick who was smiling, “He will be, I know he’ll make the team.”

            “Oh that’s nice,” Michele said, “Come on in. Welcome.”

            Keane was still grinning and Michele realized that she had said it in French.

            “Merci,” he said, and he winked as he and Patrick entered the house.

            “You see?” Patrick said jauntily and Michele giggled when she felt him hug her from behind and his hands patted the small tight, bulge of her tummy. He kissed the side of her neck. “Don’t worry about my wife she’s not getting fat, there is a baby there.”

            Keane laughed and it was obvious then that he understood French but that didn’t concern Michele at that moment. She frowned and snapped.

            “Patrick you are a pig!”

            Patrick laughed and Michele saw Keane’s gaze run up and down her body, settled over her tummy. “Congratulations,” he said. “Your first?”

            Michele nodded, “Yes, he will be our first.”

            Keane laughed, “How do you know it’s a boy?”

            Patrick kissed her cheek, “Mimi is convinced we will have a son first. And she’s never disappointed in these things.”

            Keane raised his eyebrows and Michele suddenly felt embarrassed. “I bet you aren’t,” he said.

            Michele cleared her throat and felt herself blink rapidly and she spoke in words that ran far too fast. “Well would you like a beer? I will get you some.”

            “That would be great,” Keane said and he winked at her. Michele felt herself blush again and she watched them as they joined a group of their teammates who had already arrived for the party. Almost instantly they were laughing and talking in loud voices with each other. Like dogs, they were like a pack of noisy dogs.

            Michele sighed and smoothed her hands over her tummy as she walked into the kitchen, it wasn’t that big yet! Patrick was a swine, just a swine. “Daddy’s mean, Little One,” she said with a giggle and she patted her stomach, “But you’ll be strong.”

            She grabbed the beers from the refrigerator and set them on the counter as she felt a cramped pain in her abdomen followed by a wave of nausea. “My God!” she gasped and she doubled over, closing her eyes and feeling a cold prickle of sweat over her forehead. It had just started for her, and never in the morning, it was always inconvenient in the afternoons. She gasped again as the illness lifted away and she stood up. “You’re a difficult one,” she said with a tired laugh. “Just like your father.”

            “Is he that tough for you? Do you want me to talk with him?”

            Michele raised her eyebrows and half grinned at Patrick’s father as she picked up one of the beer bottles and pressed it against her cheek. “Is the rest of the family here?”

            Michel grinned, a smile Patrick had inherited and he slid his hands in his pockets as he sauntered into the kitchen. “To a hockey player’s party?” he scoffed, “It’s not a good place for the women, especially pregnant ones.”

            “Aww,” Michele said and she opened the bottles, feeling cooled and calmer. “You care, how nice of you of Mr. Roy.”

            “Have I ever shown you anything other than my affection, little girl?” Michel said and he opened the fridge, grabbed a beer.

            Michele nodded, “I never said you haven’t, I’ve always liked you.”

            Roy grinned, a dimple deepened on his cheek. “Good, good, good,” he said. “Then that would mean you would listen to advice from me, take it to heart?”

            “Mmhmnm,” Michele said, “Of course I would.”

            Roy opened the beer and took a quick swig from it. “Don’t change,” he said. “For the sake of your well being, and Patrick’s and of the baby, don’t change who you are and what you do.”

            Michele narrowed her eyes, what? “I don’t understand,” she said.

            Roy nodded, the sparkle left his smile. “I think you understand perfectly.”

            Michele slowly shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

            Roy gave her a glare, a penetrating, stabbing one that she had never seen him use before and it sent a chill through her body. Perhaps he had already been drinking before he came over.

            “I need to get these beers to the…” Michele said and the words died off when Roy approached her. She pressed herself into the counter, feeling scared and confused. He stopped when they were close enough to feel body warmth but not touching.

            “Don’t play dumb, little girl,” he whispered. “It insults me and you.”

            “But…” Michele said. “I really don’t…”

            The pain was swift and blinding and Michele’s first reaction was disbelief and anger at Patrick’s father and in herself for not screaming. She stared at him, felt her cheeks redden and she pressed her hand over her burning and pained right ear where he had boxed her. As if she were a little girl he had swatted her ear. “You bastard!” she hissed, not ready to make a complete scene. “What was that for I trusted you!”

            She tried to move past him and his fingers held onto her arm, not extremely tight but enough to stop her. “And you should still,” he said in a low voice, “I didn’t really hurt you but I need you to listen to me and not lie.”

            Michele glared at him, considered kicking the old man’s shins. “You didn’t have to do that.”

            “And you will need it if you do not take account of who you are and prepare the world for that child you’re carrying.”

            Michele could feel her heart clanging in her chest, felt herself trembling, wanted to howl at him, claw at him but at the same time she didn’t want to trouble the treasure inside her. She didn’t want to anger herself into such a frenzy that she killed her baby son where he should be the safest. “What is so important then?” She said, “You have my complete attention now.”

            “You are blushing now, glowing, and you will only grow more beautiful with that baby, and you will be happy and intoxicated at first, and in love with the idea of being a mother, and a wife and everything that you believe a perfect woman should be,” Roy said. “And there is nothing wrong with having fantasies but don’t confuse them with reality.”

            Michele shook her head. “I AM going to be a perfect mother and I will give him everything he could ever want. What’s wrong with that?”

            “But there is something different about you,” Roy said. “It is what my son loves about you and what I find refreshing and amusing. You know it clearly and that is why you know you don’t belong with the wives and girlfriends on this team and why you have no problem with these parties.”

            Michele rolled her eyes. “And what is that?”

            “You are a whore,” Roy said in a voice so calm, so cool that Michele found herself stunned and speechless, “and I don’t mean that as an insult because you never mean to harm. I don’t think it’s wrong for a girl to enjoy herself but don’t try to become something you can never be.”

            “What is that?” Michele asked, feeling her heart shattering.

            “Decent.,” Roy said. “You can never be a clean, decent young woman and if you try to be, you’ll only destroy that child you’re carrying and the bond you have with Patrick.”

            Michele closed her eyes felt the tightening in her throat but no tears. “Why do you say this?” She whispered. “I’m going to change, I’ve broken off with… I don’t… I don’t do those things anymore and I won’t.”

            She felt Roy’s lips at her ear and he said in a gentle voice as if he were talking to his daughter. “If you try to settle down into domestic bliss, you will get bored. I see how you look at other men, how you laugh with them, I see how you are with other women, how you detest them. If you make Patrick a promise now of complete fidelity and a perfect marriage, he will take your words to heart when he loves the woman you are now. If he doesn’t mind the lifestyle you have carried up to this point, why throw it away? It’s a gift that you two have found each other.”

            “No,” Michele whispered but he continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

            “Yes,” he said. “What will happen is your boredom. At first you would be content with the baby but the second you see him wander, slip up, break a promise you will bolt out of your promise, your jealousy of his freedom will drive you to the arms of the first man that looks at you. That could happen eleven months from now or eleven years. And the consequences will be on the head of that child.”

            “So what do you want me to do?” Michele exclaimed.

            “Don’t try it,” Roy answered. “Don’t try to become a housewife and deny your cravings. Keep as you’ve done it, discreet, amused, and don’t bring it into the house. The child never has to know, most children never know. I don’t want to see Patrick’s mental state shattered, your spirit broken and the child heart broken because you tried to settle down into a cookie cutter you couldn’t live in. Do you understand?”

            Michele slowly opened her eyes and looked at him, saw no cruelty there. She sniffed and grabbed the beers. “You’re mad,” she said.

            He raised his eyebrows.

            “But I understand,” she said, “perfectly.”

            He smiled and such a dazzling smile that Michele could only think, “He’s gone insane! The old man is insane!”

            “Mimi did you get lost?”

            Michele saw Patrick’s grin, saw the younger version of the old man and was momentarily disgusted. “Patrick,” she snapped. “Your father hit me!”

            Patrick’s eyes sparked and he glared at his father, “What?” he exclaimed.

            “Right here,” Michele said and she pressed her hand over her ear.

            Patrick’s glare turned into a grin and Michele wanted to throw the beers at him. “He boxed you in the ear? What did you say to him? He only did that to me after I cursed him out!”

            Roy laughed and Michele looked at the old man. “I called him an impotent bitch,” she said calmly and that wiped the laugh right off his mouth but brought a fresh one from Patrick. She walked to Patrick, slipped the beers into his hands and she hugged him and kissed him, looked at his father who was glowering. “And I told him if he didn’t keep his dirty hands off me I would crack this bottle over his head.”

            Patrick stopped laughing and he frowned. “He touched you?”

            Michele shrugged and grinned at the older Roy, “I’m sure he was just teasing my love, old men are like that you know?”

            Patrick grinned but he seemed uncertain. “Of course,” he said, “Of course.”