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I don’t know who the “them” is, but I have an idea. I pull her chair out from behind her and wait while she sits and arranges her bag under her chair. “You look lovely, Miss Parkinson.”
“Less of the Miss Parkinson and more of the Juliette.”
“You look charming today, Juliette. Green suits you. It brings out the color of your eyes.” So far, I have not told her a single lie. Here’s hoping I can keep it that way.
“You don’t look too bad yourself, hot stuff.” Her eyes trail downward as I spread my napkin across my lap.
The waiter arrives with a massive plate of oysters, though we’ve ordered nothing.
“Thank you, Pascal.” Juliette pats the waiter and slips a folded note into his pocket. “He always takes care of me.” She lifts a shell, scoops some dressing from the center of the serving plate over the shimmering glob, and eases it down her gullet. “Marvelous.”
They hold no appeal for me, these lumps of fish snot, but what am I supposed to do? Turn them away? Not if I’m to remain in Juliette’s good graces. Even though she’s sent messages through some reliable back channels—my friend and teammate, Mick Anderson, being the chief of those—indicating that she’s interested in backing me, she’s still very far from being my patroness. I have to step it up. ‘Take it to the next level’ as they say.
Pascal arrives with a bottle of Dom Perignon.Ni en pedo—it’s Argentinian for ‘no frickin’ way,’ or at least that’s as close a translation as I can manage. This champagne is at least five hundred dollars per bottle, the kind that ought to be reserved for a special occasion, and yet she puts it away like it’s sparkling water. Still, it’s her money. And perhaps this moment is special to her. I can’t judge. Not now that I’m her—what?
“Mariano?” Juliette has cleared four oysters and is on her second flute of bubbly. “Tell me what youlike.” The meaning is clearlydouble.
I’m ready for this. I can do it. All I have to do is channel my inner slut. My teammate, Mick, says we all have one. The trick is finding thisinner slutwhen I need him. I had no problem finding him this morning with Lolly, after all. I stutter to reply to Juliette, but the words don’t materialize. What am I, a schoolboy?
Juliette lowers her glass. “You can’t shock me. I’m way past any of that foolishness.”
My tongue is tied. I can see the season slipping away from me, along with my beloved stables run by recovering veterans back home. I have to pull this one out of the hat. “I like a woman who knows her mind.” This is true.
Juliette laughs. It’s not unkind, but she’s not laughingwithme.
“I like a woman who knows her passion. Who grasps it. Who is not afraid to try something new.”
Her smile is one of indulgence, but it’s paired with a light frown. “You’re supposed to say something about me, not my entire gender.”
“Oh.”
“You say, ‘Juliette, I want to take you upstairs and peel layer after layer away from your body, then fuck you senseless.”
I feel the heat in my cheeks.
She reaches for the bottle, but Pascal, who has been hovering close by, rushes forward and pours her another glass. “But only after you’ve eaten me out and made me scream.”
“I…”
“Look…” She dabs her mouth with her napkin. “There’s no shame in sex. And I refuse to be cowed by the ridiculous cultural mores which say I should be put out to pasture simply because I’ve hit forty.” She smiles. “Or thereabouts.”
I don’t disagree with her. A woman should feel herself as a sexual being for as long as it suits her. It just doesn’t suit me to service this woman at this time.
“I spent my twenties in a loveless marriage.” A small dish arrives.
“Today’samuse-bouche.” It’s not Pascal this time.
“Chef Bertrand. How kind.” She pops the square of whatever, topped with what I don’t know or care, into her mouth and munches it down. “Divine.” The chef gives her a low bow and leaves.
“But I made my fortune and I have time on the clock. I intend to enjoy what life has given me. Without apology or shame for as long as I have thrust and drive.”
If we were of the same generation, and if I hadn’t met Lolly Benoit, Juliette would be my kind of woman.
“An older woman has had time to find herself.” She sips her drink rather than gulping it now. “She’s done with the nonsense of pleasing others, which means she has a certain kind of physical wisdom. Do you follow?”
I’m intrigued to hear what she’s going to say next.
“I know what I want and how I want it. I have a voracious cunning and it wants a voracious cock.” Her laugh is still kind but, as is so often the case when it comes to women in this country, inscrutable. Her hand reaches over the table and covers mine. “So, what do you say?”
