A Moment's Distraction

Elodie cursed as the nagging doubts resurfaced. She banged the steering wheel in her fury. Was she being worn down into making one final attempt at reconciliation with other members of the family, and Jean in particular, or should she give him up as a lost cause?

The latter seemed to be the only sensible option, after many failed attempts; his feckless and faithless behaviour more than she could bear. To start afresh, and with someone else, seemed the only option and a means to protect herself from any emotional fallout that always followed their arguments. The last one, that had caused their split, had seen them hurling insults at each other and she had given voice to her deep sense of betrayal by his infidelity and casual dismissal of her reaction. She had been there once too often, with him, and wondered if any man was worth so much trouble.

She was in a foul mood, alone, and drove the little Peugeot hatchback to its limits; felt the thrumming of the cobbled city street, through its suspension, as she neared the intersection and before the turn that would take her out of the city and into the rushing frenzy of traffic that was the highway and beyond. It was more of a raceway and was taking her away from the gallery and her workplace; the studious management of restoring treasured works of art and their frames; the loving attention to classic pieces of furniture or the making good of irreplaceable wall hangings that had survived 'two intrusions by the Boche', as one client had told her, unashamedly. Her opinions were not the least bit dulled by her country's capitulation to those in Brussels, and their ultimate masters.

'Merde! I've done it again! Merde!' she screamed banging her hands on the wheel and letting rip, her beaded necklaces swinging with every movement that she made, her matching bracelets sliding over smooth arms. It was a white-knuckle ride, more out of anger than desiring the speed that she now pushed her runabout to meet.

'Merde! The meddling bitch...that mother of mine! I've given in...again!'

Her grip on the wheel, her furtive and angry glances all around her and at the traffic, were now a sure sign that her emotions had taken a hold. Music! She would distract herself with that.

Her fingers stabbed at the radio control button but to no effect. It resolutely refuses to spring into life. She fumbles for the window handle and winds it down a turn or two and soon feels the whipping wind of the slipstream tug at her hair; her purposefully frizzy long blonde hair with the first signs of grey, its frizziness lending it, and her open, still unlined, face, a more youthful and somewhat rebellious look.

Her mood and emotions are frayed, but she did not think of herself as overly rebellious. If she really was she'd have said 'no' to any idea of taking this journey and meeting Jean on supposedly 'neutral' territory'.

The engine responds to her stamp on the accelerator. It's a nice, accommodating and only too functional little hatchback with its maroon bodywork still in perfect condition and, for once, spotlessly clean.

She felt her rings and bracelets press into her skin. An engagement ring is not one of them and never has been. How was she, really, to agree to marry such a dishonest and unfaithful man in spite of his protestations of regret for what he had again done? His behaviour continued to fit an only too predictable pattern. Just how many times did she have to hear Jean say sorry? What was missing was the simple truth. What a wonder, and a lie, also, if she were to hear him say: 'I'm sorry...for fucking about with someone else, again...Elodie, cherie'

It would be just one more among so many others.

'Merde!' She shakes out her arms to have the bracelets slide back down over her wrists. The car's engine is at full throttle. 'That mother...that woman always gets her way! Almost always! No...always!'

It's as if she likes to have Jean around her; the thrill of seeing two former lovers argue; what may happen between them when they make up.

She presses on, her mind in turmoil. She weaves through the traffic and ignoring yells of rage or the hoot of car horns, along with the yells of sudden anger of pedestrians who have to jump out of her way. They are soon left behind.

A good day will soon become a only too aggravating day. But she had the presence of mind to wash and to change; to put on a summery camisole dress that she had chosen not what her mother had suggested she wear for the occasion. Its blue cotton fabric is patterned with flowers that slowly thinned as they reached her waist and were all but gone at her breasts. The weather justifies the flattering fit, the sultry warmth at odds with her raging mood. She's enervated but for all the wrong reasons.

Her eyes dart this way and that as she negotiates the traffic and people going about their late afternoon business. She pays heed at all intersections as she seeks to speed through them and intent on getting the first moments of a rendezvous out of the way, as soon as decently possible. She's just aware of the changing lights and seeks to speed through them whenever she can. She's a danger; right on the edge, but she doesn't care.

She needs to be taken out of this mood and as soon as she can reasonably make it happen. But how, after the words exchanged in her call? They suggested that she stayed the weekend in the converted farmhouse, with its surrounding orchards, that is the family's country place. Damn the woman for her crushing honesty.

'You're rich, still attractive but you're single...'

She had loved hearing that as if it was news to her. 'Still beautiful...and you're still single.' She may as well have gone on to say, 'and alone.' As if she needed reminding! She an effing forty-one-year-old woman; straight and with her practised ways with men, Jean the last one, But that had been some barren months back and no one had taken his place...not that she had tried.

Oh, she knew it only too well, that there had been a break from the effing part of her mother's unwanted reminders. Why stop there? Why not gone step further and tell her that, 'you'll probably die alone, Elodie, my dear daughter.'

Well, she hadn't done so badly in her life in spite of sleeping alone just lately.

And now, she was clearing away the city limits and would soon be out of it, away from the gallery and the restoration workshop she had bought when it was on its last legs, and she had turned it around. That was where her arts degree had come in real handy; education and craft skills that left that Jean man trailing in her wake, and that slipping her a length had not made up for. He contributed nothing to the business and pursued his own interests and ways of making money.

Ha! She'd soon heard what else he did.

No man had helped her get the business going and then to have seen it thrive. She'd learnt the sharper, grittier ways of getting on. In doing that, men were but a distraction; someone to share the empty hours with and her bed. It turned out that she could only really trust herself; to stay loyal until that flame had flickered and Jean had finally snuffed it out with his latest affair; a fleshy teen fuck by what she had heard from another trusted confidante...a female friend.

What she had made of her work-life mattered a whole lot more, now, than the company of a man. That wasn't to say she didn't miss the slip and slide; the sight and sound of sharing it with a man or doing it for him.

Just to think of it made her press fingers between her legs for a moment; to press and touch herself.

'Concentrate!'

Brake lights flare ahead of her and she soon speeds around them, the car responsive to her foot on the accelerator, the engine note rising but not out of stress. She's travelled through her days and life like this; rushes of energy and passion, then slower and more considerate times. They were days of emotions idling to almost nothing when something, like a red light now, finally makes her stop. She has a moment to reflect, to glance around at a car that draws up beside her and at youngsters out for a good time; the dull unmelodious beat of some rap tune thumping into the early evening air and through the car's windows; the bright-eyed glances of pretty young things and the lustful eyes of their mates. One of them offers her an appraising glance and a soft, knowing smile, before his friend jerks the car away in a roar of the engine and puff of exhaust fumes.

Impatient hoots make her move off. No one takes her into account, and she has to accommodate others, just as her clients seek her out, to be used when needed then the ensuing silence when it is over. She has to live on and continues to exist. Work finds its way to her studio, and she sells choice items on to new owners. They are works that others no longer have a taste or use for.

She yearns for some sense of continuity, both in her life and in her bed; a salve to her body and mind and the confirmation that she is wanted and she alone. She wants to let go...she...she the woman!

'I need to take control, somehow...of my life... and my driving. Merde!' she cries out; looking in the rear-view mirror for any cop car's lights. She adjusts the skirt of her dress and seeks to keep it from sticking to her warm thighs. She pants in the heat of the car's interior that the rushing breeze, as she drives, does nothing to lessen.

'It makes no sense killing yourself...driving like this, Elodie.'

She's rebelling and has chosen not to wear something dressy and formal as her mother had asked of her. She's dressed for a summer evening, not some grand soirée.

'I'll face her down...'

She darts a glance down over her body and sees the press of her breasts through the fabric of her dress and their roundness. She feels it grip her hips and, glancing down, sees the hem drawn up over her thickening thighs. She's still blonde, and more voluptuous than in her early years, something that Jean never complained over and that he so often sought from her and to touch. Only, in spite of the fine words, life with her was too settled and ordered...for the feckless man. Ha! No, fuckless, because he went after a young bustier chick, so the story went, and she had finally thrown him out.

The road traffic clears, and she soon sees the turn off that is needed, the welcoming sight of open countryside beyond and the buildings soon outlined on the horizon, then lost to her view by the stands of trees and clumps of the hedgerows along a country road.

She will be on such a route for more than an hour. The scenery will settle her temper; calm and soothe her. The downtown scenes, the noise and the traffic are being left behind, along with it the roar and rush of the Friday evening traffic.

'I'm going away...but not to a place I can call home any more. I just get lectured to, when I'm there...'

She's startled out of her reverie at the sight of him. He's a young guy squatting against a road sign post and a back pack between his knees. Something, an instinctive reaction on seeing him, has made her slow down and it allows her to take in the guy as she then draws to a stop just beyond him.

'Don't be stupid, Drive on...' she mutters but looking in the rear-view mirror all the same. 'This is dangerous territory for a woman...'

A few cars whizz past her and she's glad to have pulled over onto the verge. She toots her car horn. It startles him. She takes in his look towards her; the languorous movement as he stands up and grabs at the carry strap of his bag.

He's a young man, in his early twenties; bulky and strong. Sher takes in the tattoo on his left arm. He's muscular and only too fit, his skin is an ebony brown that seems to glisten. She's taken by how his T shirt sticks to his body. He's hot and his black hair is matted and short. She has time to take in his features; a slender nose, full lips and dark, questioning eyes as he saunters her way.

Elodie pushes the control on the armrest by her side and the window hums and shivers as it opens. The guy crouches and gazes in at her, his head seeming to fill the passenger-side window as he gives her an unashamed and only too overt, appraising glance. She shifts, but still turns towards him. That look of his upon her has been the cause and her reaction to it so at odds with all that's gone before as her mind turned over her barren life when not at work..

'You stopped,' he says in a deep voice, 'for someone like me...so, thank you.'

'I...I wondered if you were okay? It's very hot to be out there...'

'Tell me about it...'

'Is something wrong?' she asks, wondering where that came from.

'Only that I'm out in this heat...'

She's captivated by the sheer novelty of this chance meeting; and she's only too aware of the dangers. The thing that has struck her, though, about this 'boy' or 'young man'...a stud even, as he has that rather dissolute look about him, is the solemn expression on his face. He has a defeated look and he's tired. He looks like he could do with some help.

'Can I give you a lift? I'm heading on towards...'

She stops.

What the fuck are you doing, Elodie? You know you're not supposed to do this. Haven't you heard the warnings and paid no attention to them? He could be a killer, high on drugs or a dealer; worst of all a rapist. You don't give rides...any kind of rides to strangers; not even good-looking, muscled, coloured guys on a country road that will soon become little more than a narrow, tree-lined lane.

He hesitates; takes a moment longer in looking at her; he does so brazenly. She's older than him by some years but he still takes in her appearance; his eyes note her wispy blonde hair down, to her shoulders; he lingers, unashamedly, on the press of her breasts through her summer dress; at how her beaded necklace hangs there; he sees slender arms and an assortment of colourful bracelets. He nods; likes what he sees; averts his gaze and looks left, then right, up the roadway. He looks at her once more; wonders if he should take the lift that is being offered, so he supposes.

Elodie is undecided, just as he seems to be; she fidgets, nervously. Just before she seeks to drive off and save herself a lot of angst, the guy jerks open the passenger door and slides in beside her; his pack soon on his knees.

'I have no plans of where I'm going, so just drive...'

It's more of a plea than a command. 'Put you bag on the back seat, and mind that picture! Don't lean the bag against it... will you?'

'I hear you...' Elodie breathes in the raw smell of the guy as he brushes her shoulder with his arm and the bag is stowed. 'My name's Yanis...'

'Elodie,' she answers curtly, but seeing his lingering and appraising glances upon her, once more, as she turns to look behind her, and in the mirror, before pulling out onto the highway. 'I'll take you to the next main town and you can take it from there...'

'Thanks,' she hears the young man mumble without looking his way. Elodie doesn't have to 'look'; she feels his presence; has sensed his raw vitality when he brushed her arm in stowing his bag. His white T shirt's clean; so are his jeans and his on the mark trainers.

The presence of a total stranger has aroused a riot of emotions in her; what she will learn and know of from a coloured guy. He's spoken well, in the little that he has said and in a deep, only too French, and unaccented voice.

'The car's super reliable but it's hot. No air con except for the open windows...' she says, just to break the silence.

'No problem, uhm, Elodie. Where are you heading?'

He asks it even as she moves to adjust her seat belt so it doesn't clamp her tits to tight and shape her more than he's already seen. She's gone into auto mode; adjusting and pulling the hem of her dress down to her knees; to keep his look from her lightly tanned thighs; she's taken to sitting more upright as if to show a more slender figure than her age has bestowed on her; to lessen the swell at her hips; love handles some call them; and drawing in her tummy. It is all a range of behaviours that she has refined, practised, over the years; but they had fooled no one, least of all Jean.

'I'm due at a family reunion...an hour or so drive away, yet,' she answers but decides to give no details. Why should she? She's slowed down her speed; no longer feels the need to be in a rush. The young guy has engaged her attention and she his, or so it seemed.

He's only gone and done what all young people do now; he's pulled his cellphone out of his jean's pocket; he's chosen to look at the screen; not to engage with her any more.

He's got the new phone, same as she has, Elodie soon notices. He rubs at his forehead; she sees his arm muscles flex and strain the hem of his T shirt sleeve. She then hears Yanis sigh.

'It, uhm...it doesn't matter where you drop me off. I really don't care...I'm drifting about for a few days,' he tells her, looking her way and then out of the window.

At least, then, he's not going to worry if he goes to the same place as I'm going to, Elodie now thinks and decides on it. She accelerates.

'Good, that's settled then,' she smiles at him and is surprised on seeing his response to that.

They drive on for twenty klicks or so; see the sun drop lower in the sky and the heat begin to ease off. She wants to engage him in conversation, but she senses that silence is what Yanis needs, so she doesn't intrude.

She doesn't feel the same awkwardness that rose up in her when she stopped for him. It feels almost fitting that they've met; he's preoccupied with something touching his life, just as she is. His clothes are clean, and she feels that his youthful, raw masculinity fills the space around them. He seems to be done with something in his life just as she is.

'Are you a student...but something's wrong and you're running away from it?'

'You can tell?'

'No, or only in part. How you are,' she smiles wanly at him. 'I...I know the signs. Have been there too...'

'I graduated only a few weeks ago...engineering college. I then surprised my people, and many more, by getting the grades. Even more so when I got a job...starts in a few weeks....'

'So why be down? It sounds like life is really on the up?'

'My girl's left me. Got tapped by some guy she met at a club. She's carrying his kid...the bitch!'

'Hey! Mind my car!' she yells out, startled by the ferocity of one hand banging the dashboard in front of him. 'Do that again and I'll just pull over...'

She saw him nod; saw the pout on his full lips and the stilled look of his eyes upon her, if only for a moment.

'Yeah...I've got you.' He remains silent for a spell; Yanis then shifts in his seat and turns to her. 'What's your story?'

'A secret...'

'So secret that you're on a country road and you just happened to stop for a guy like me? I may be young but I'm not stupid...'

'You can believe what you like...' she sniffed.

Her mind has begun to wander, and she welcomes the distraction from what awaits her when she reaches her family's place, west of Rambouillet. She's taken to thinking of men and how long it's been since she felt that she had a lover or companion. That he, Yanis, looks at her in the way that he does is concerning. That he finds her attractive, even sexy, doesn't occur to her...or not too strongly. A young, vigorous, guy couldn't be taken to a woman of her age, driving in a little car with nothing to commend it save its reliability and undoubted use to cart her work about in.

She sighs. Mother always did have to point out that losing that appeal for men was a sure sign of aging. That woman confounded her own opinions on that. Her lovers changed with disturbing frequency.

But something in the scent coming from this young guy, Yanis, has awakened her curiosity in him. It isn't his body odour; it's a mix of a strong men's body scent, sweat, and something else that she cannot put from her mind. But it's a smell that she does not know in her prosaic ways of it at the gallery and in her workshop; not an odour that she as a forty something woman would be overly familiar with.