Free Make Me Bad: Private Lessons by W.H. Vega

of her pale face. “I’m Juliette. My father, Francois, and
your mother were friends.”
    Yes! Juliette! I hadn’t seen her in at least ten years; not
since the last time that I had come to France with my mother. Juliette’s father
had been like a brother to my mom, and he always helped take care of her in
some way whenever we came to visit. I always believed he’d secretly been in
love with my mother, but that was neither here nor there.
    “Yes!” I exclaim, “I remember now. Please forgive my
terrible memory!”
    She laughs brightly. “No worries! I’m a bit of an idiot
savant when it comes to faces and names.”
    “Would you like to get a cappuccino and catch-up?” I ask
politely, motioning to a small shop across the street. I don’t want to be rude
and it would be nice to catch up with Juliette. After all, I had just been
considering getting in touch with people from my past.
    “Why, yes! That would be lovely!”
    She follows me across the street, her stylish boots clicking
across the pavement. We duck inside, and the aroma of baking bread and
chocolate greets us.
    “Mmmm.” she says inhaling, “I never tire of all the little
shops in Paris.”
    “You don’t live in the city?”
    “Oh no. I live an hour outside the city in Montargis, but
I’m usually in town every few weeks or so.”
    I nod. We order at the counter and I pay for our things. She
thanks me, and we find a table tucked in the back of the cafe.
    “So, how have you been? If memory serves me right, it’s been
at least ten years since I saw you last.” I say.
    She nods, sipping her cappuccino. “Yes. It’s been about that
long.” She’s quiet for a moment. “That was the last time we saw your mother.”
    I nod. My mother died the year following our last visit to
France. I wonder if she had somehow known she wasn’t going to be around much
longer. She had been adamant about us going to France to see all of her friends
and family that year—even though we had no money to do so. It was as if she had
planned her farewell trip and I'd missed all the signs.
    “I got married.” I glance at her finger, but there’s no
ring. She laughs. “And divorced. I have two beautiful girls though. Sophia and
Monique. They’re eight and six. I own a jewelry boutique, which is why I come
into the city a lot. Many of my artisans and dealers are located here.” She pauses.
“I know a bit about you.” she admits, “I’ve loosely followed your career.”
    Strangely, I’m flattered that this woman from my past has
paid attention to what I’ve done over the years.
    “Yes, well, I’ve had some success.” I don’t want to come off
too cocky. “Aside from composing music and some recording, I’m now an adjunct
member of New York University. That’s actually what brings me to Paris. I’m an
advisor for a group of students studying abroad this semester, and teaching a
couple of classes at the NYU Paris campus.”
    She smiles. “And personally?”
    I suppose I can’t avoid it. “Well, like you I was married…and
divorced.”
    She smiles sadly. “Children?”
    I shake my head. “I wouldn’t exactly call my ex-wife the maternal
type.”
    “Such a shame. My girls were the best things that came out
of my marriage.”
    I don’t have a response so I don’t say anything. I don’t
admit that regardless of Vera's ice-covered heart, I can’t picture myself as a
father, or that I run the risk of passing down my nasty mental illness. Somehow,
these tidbits don’t seem fit for this little chitchat.
    “So, if you’re only here with your students,” Juliette
begins, coyly running her hand through her hair, “you must not have much of a
social life. How long are you in Paris?”
    I shift awkwardly. Juliette is undeniably attractive, but I
think back to Madison and how much it would hurt her if she found me here now.
    “I have a few friends here.” I lie, not wanting to admit
that my social activities have been filled with twenty-one year olds.