“Is that the watch?”
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“Nice.”
“It’s kind of sleek, isn’t it? This one is the Carrera… Carrera Calib-something… I don’t remember. It’s late.”
“It’s a good-looking watch.”
“I think it’s too sleek for me,” he said, slipping it off his wrist. “It’s fancier than I usually am. Here, you try it.”
I let him put the watch on me. It was stainless steel: clean, masculine, elegant.
“Wow, that looks good on you. Keep it.”
“No, thank you.”
“I’m serious. It looks good on you and I’m probably never going to wear this one. They gave me two others. Just keep it.”
“I’m not keeping your watch,” I said, handing it over.
“Okay, just borrow it, then.”
“Hayes, I’m not the woman who’s going to accept gifts like this from you. Thank you, but no.”
“Don’t think of it as a gift. I’m lending it to you. If you borrow it, it kind of ensures that you’ll have to see me again.”
“You still want to see me again? Even after I freaked out on you?”
He nodded, a lazy smile spreading across his wide mouth. “Yeah. Because you have to return the favor. And I’m too exhausted to let that happen now.”
I started to laugh. “Really? So we’re going to do this again because Ioweyou?”
“Yes,” he laughed, sitting up and inching across the bed. “And because I have lots more things I want to do to you, I’m just too knackered to think of them.”
I sat up and watched him collect his belongings, zip his boots, smooth his hair, reapply his lip balm.
He made his way back over to the bed to kiss me. “This was fun,” he said, slow, sensual, his eyelids heavy. “I really like you.”
“I really like you, too.”
“Thanks for giving me the pleasure.”
“Ditto.”
On the way out of the room, he stopped and placed the TAG Heuer atop the stenciled credenza in the corner. “I’m going to be in the South of France next month. You can return it to me there.”
And then he was gone.
côte d’azur
I knew I would go. The way he’d dangled it in the air… like candy. This sweet, sweet lure. The way he’d phrased it. As if I did not have a choice. The way it fit into my schedule. Easy.
I had the gallery’s travel agent make the arrangements: a quick detour to Nice following Art Basel. I lied to Lulit and told her I was visiting family. I lied to my family and told them I was meeting clients. I tried to be honest with myself. It was just physical, this arrangement. Carnal. Nothing more, nothing less. And knowing that, I thought, would allow me to enjoy the ride.
I should have been able to pull it off: sex without guilt, sex withoutshame, sex without expectation. The French had been doing it for centuries. It was in my DNA. Surely, I could tap into that part of me that had yet to surface. Three days on the Riviera with a beautiful boy and no strings attached. I would not overthink it. I would go and have fun, and then return to my life. And no one would be the wiser. It had been three years. I deserved this.
The week before I left for Switzerland, Isabelle and I spent the weekend in Santa Barbara. Just the two of us, at the Bacara Resort, catching up on some mother-daughter time as I’d promised. She was heading off to Maine for summer camp at the end of the month and would be gone until mid-August. As it did every year, the pending separation weighed on me. The idea that she would return to me forever changed, in some small way or another. Time eluding us both.
