Mendocino Coast

Hmm, I thought. I'll have to keep an eye on my soul. This guy will sell it if he thinks there is a buck in it for him. "So," I said. "Cocktail party 101; clothes; hair styling; and head shots. Is that it?" That will still me leave plenty of time to see Paris, I thought.

"On no, no, no," Gerard responded. Starting on . . . he paused while he consulted his cell phone calendar . . . Starting on Wednesday we have the 'one on ones.' At least two or three a day—a lunch, an early dinner, and perhaps a late cocktail or dessert."

"One on ones?"

"Yes we have arranged meetings with at least 25 of our major collectors. Only the ones who live in the Paris area, although we could perhaps squeeze in a few more in Normandy or Provence. Travel is so much easier with the TGV now. Of course we won't actually make any sales at these meetings. Well maybe if someone wants to make a preemptive bid. But the idea is to give select customers a preview of the art and importantly the artist. Done right it will ensure they show up at the gallery show, ready to buy."

"It's also how we set the price," Claudine said. "We get initial indications from collectors as to what paintings they are interested in and what they might be willing to pay. By the time we get to the show we have enough data on each painting to put a price tag on it. You won't hear any of that because Gerard has the discussions after we leave or on the phone the next day."

"Are we going to take the paintings all over town?"

"No, no, no. Just a lap top with some high def reproductions. I will have a photographer in working on that this afternoon."

"Ah . . . One question. Language? I don't speak French."

Claudine chuckled.

Gerard said, "Oh not to worry. All of our collectors you will meet speak excellent English, when they choose to, and they will definitely choose to do so with you. This isn't Quebec you know."

Claudine laughed aloud at that.

"Quebec?" I asked.

"Never mind," Claudine said. "People with enough money to buy your paintings all speak good English."

"You're going to be very busy," Claudine said.

And I was. For the most part, the only sights of Paris I saw were from the window of a car as we rushed from meeting to meeting.

The hair styling and the head shots were not my style, but okay. They forgot to tell me about the make-up, but I was indifferent to it. Didn't learn anything I didn't already know.

The sessions with Pierre were helpful. I didn't think I really needed cocktail party 101, but it was helpful to spend some time working on the pitch. I thought he was a little strange, mostly because he wore a suit and loafers with no socks. I asked Claudine if that was a French thing and she said, "No, it's just a Pierre thing. He's a little strange but he's good at what he does."

The first couple of one on one sessions were a little intimidating, but after that they became very routine. The collectors all gushed over my paintings, I started with a brief sales pitch (we had pictures of the Mendocino coast on the lap top also).Then the collector asked virtually the same questions as all the others and I responded in virtually the same way. At an appropriate time known only to Gerard, Claudine and I left, and Gerard stayed behind to solicitate expressions of interest and haggle about pricing. If it was the last session for the day, Claudine and I went back to her flat and made love. My sex with Claudine kept the days from becoming boring. She had a marvelous collection of sex toys. One night we even went out in search of more. Pigale is well stocked with sex shops.

I was somewhat intimidated by the prospect of the gallery show. Before we went to the show I was at Claudine's where I dressed in the lovely little back cocktail dress she had selected for me. She was impressed that I could walk so well in the spiked heels she had selected for me.

"Another life," I said, thinking of the major-client solicitation events I had attended while practicing law.

She offered me a toke or two on a joint and, to my surprise, I declined. "I want to do this straight," I said. I think it was a sign of how nervous I was.

"Danielle," she said. "Relax. I spoke to Gerard earlier today. He says he has expressions of interest for everything that are well above his price targets. Your sale is a success. This evening is just about squeezing a few more Euros out of the buyers and beginning to build some excitement around your name for FIAC."

"Okay," I said. " Just one hit." It was good grass. I felt myself relax as the drug hit my brain. "Oh that's good shit," I said as I let the hit out of my lungs.

"I told you," she said.

"How much time have we got?" I asked her.

"At least an hour."

"Good. Now I'll show you my way of relaxing before a major presentation."

I walked to a table where my purse was sitting. I opened it and retrieved a small bullet vibrator that was always there—just in case. Standing before a couch, I hiked my dress up to my hips and pushed my panties down to my feet, untangled them from the spike heels I was wearing and kicked them away. Then I flopped down on the couch in a slouch with my legs spread obscenely and began to masturbate my clit with the little vibrator. It felt marvelous. I was silent, my face scrunched up in a grimace as I felt the approach of the climax. When it hit, I threw my head back on the couch, closed my eyes and groaned as quietly as I could. I lay like that panting for almost a minute before I looked up at Claudine. There was virtually no synesthesiastic effect from simple masturbation like that. I have never had that effect, much as I enjoy masturbation when there isn't a better alternative available.

She was staring at me. "Fuck that was hot." Looking at her watch, she said "Yes, there's time." She opened a drawer in a bureau and retrieved a rabbit vibrator. The long legged beauty walked across the floor and stood before me with her back to me. "Release my dress please."

I did as she asked and it fell to the floor, leaving her naked. As she stepped out of it I stroked her firm ass.

No, no," she said. "We don't have time for that. That's for later tonight, after we are done."

She flopped down next me on the couch and rapidly masturbated herself to a screaming climax. I pinched her hard little nipples as she was treating herself to the rabbit. She pushed my hands away when she was done, took a deep breath and said, "Clothes on. It's show time. We'll do more after the show."

There were perhaps fifty prospective collectors in the gallery that evening, although the crowd ebbed and flowed during the course of the night. Other galleries were having openings simultaneously so collectors were drifting from place to place. I chatted briefly with virtually all of the collectors I met earlier. It was clear that they were there merely to confirm their previous decisions by seeing the actual paintings. The vibe was very positive throughout the evening. It was in fact classic, cocktail party 101. Not at all difficult, except for one conversation.

About midway through the evening Gerard appeared from nowhere, took me by the elbow, and led me across the gallery, saying, "There are two ladies here you need to meet." On the other side of the room there were two extremely well dressed women. One about my age and the other probably well into her eighties.

"Madam Dubois and Mademoiselle Marchand let me introduce to you our featured artist of the evening, Danielle."

Their response was correctly formal.

I recognized the names immediately. It was Andre's wife Brigette and her mother who the family referred to as Grand-Mere. "How do you do. Are you enjoying my paintings?" I said.

They took their time responding looking around the walls as though this was their first notice of the art.

"And your last name Mademoiselle?" Grand-Mere asked.

I knew she already knew the answer. "Pilch." I responded.

"Oh. And you are Jewish?" If I had been holding a glass of wine I would have been tempted to throw it in her face. That is not a question you ask someone on first meeting them in the culture I live in.

"No. It is my ex-husband's name. I never bothered to change it after we divorced. He was non-practicing." As soon as I said it I wished I had left the last sentence off. It sounded apologetic. My mood was anything but apologetic.

"I see," she responded.

"I believe you know my husband," Brigette said, also ignoring my question about the art.

"Your husband?" I said, playing dumb.

"Yes, Andre Marchand."

"Oh yes, we met briefly in California several weeks ago." Okay, the briefly part was a bit of lie. We had spent three days in bed.

"He was kind enough to buy one of my paintings and to introduce me to Monsieur Rosseau." As I spoke I nodded towards number 8.

"Yes, I know. We still haven't decided where to hang it."

Madame Dubois spoke up. "My tastes run more to classical."

No way to respond to that, I thought, so I ignored it and pointed towards number 11, saying, "This is my effort to represent a particularly violent Pacific storm that had blown into the Mendocino Coast one night when I was staying at my cottage."

"Really," Brigette said very dryly.

That was when Gerard finally rescued me. "Well so nice to see you ladies again," he said with more syrup in his voice than I had ever heard before. "If you will excuse us, I must get Danielle around to see others. We have a big crowd here tonight."

"What was that about?" I asked once we were out of earshot.

"I'm so sorry. I assure you I didn't send them an invitation, but they of course knew when Andre sent number 8 over for the show. I couldn't ignore them. They are very major collectors."

"Of classical art?" I said.

"That was nonsense. Just a snub. Madame is a major buyer of contemporary works. So is her daughter Brigette."

"I see." I grabbed a glass of wine from a passing waiter, the first I had consumed all evening. I tossed it down in one long drink. When I looked back over my shoulder I saw they were gone. Gerard steered me into the back room and listened to me vent for a few minutes. After two more glasses of wine I was ready to go back to schmoozing real potential buyers.

As Claudine had predicted the sale was a success, as was our sex back at her flat after the show ended. I just couldn't get enough of her long, light chocolate colored legs, her sexy, little tits and her delicious, dark pussy. And oh my god, the things her tongue did to me that night!

I moved out of my hotel and spent the next three days touring a list of contemporary galleries Gerard had recommended (always important to be aware of the competition), and some of the major museums (the Pompidou, the Picasso, the D'Orsay, l'Orangerie, and selected parts of the Louvre), just like any other tourist. In the evenings I was dinning with Claudine at lovely little bistros, and sleeping with her each night.

On the last night I was in Paris an unexpected guest joined us at dinner—Brigette. She had been so cold to me when we met at the gallery that I expected more of the same when she slid into the third chair at our table. She was dressed stylishly, but far more casually than when I had met her at the gallery.

Claudine introduced us with formality—Mademoiselle Pilch this is Mademoiselle Marchand.

I replied a little coolly, "Thank you Claudine. We've met. At the gallery show."

Brigette spoke up rapidly before Claudine could intervene. "Danielle, may I call you Danielle, I wanted to apologize and explain."

I nodded.

I know I was rude to you that night, and I do apologize. It was because I was with my mother. I probably wouldn't have come at all, as I usually try to maintain distance from my husband's lovers, just as he does for me. Grand-Mere knew of you and she demanded that I accompany her. Her whole purpose was to slight you as retribution for your relationship with her son-in-law and it would not do for me to resist.

"She was quite effective," I said. "And you played your supporting role well." I was still pissed about the whole affair.

Brigette looked distressed, as did Claudine.

Claudine intervened, "Danielle you need to understand. Grand-Mere dominates the family. She is old and still living by the standards of decades ago. But she gets people to bend to her wishes because she controls the money."

"You seem to know a great deal about the family," I said.

"She should. She is my lover, and Andre's," Brigette said.

Oh my, I thought. What have I got myself into? I sat staring at them.

After a long silence, Claudine spoke up, "Welcome to Paris, Danielle. Our culture is perhaps more liberal than you are used to."

I chuckled. "No, not really any more liberal than when I was living in Berkeley and Mill Valley. I was just surprised, that's all. I kind of suspected that you were having an affair with Andre," I said, nodding towards Claudine. "You are just too beautiful for him to resist. But with his wife also? No, that surprised me. Does Andre know about the two of you?"

"Oh yes," Brigette answered. Sometimes we have a . . . how do you say in English . . . a threesome."

"Hmmmm. Yes," responded Claudine with a purr. "As you have already learned, he has great staying power."

I laughed. "Is there anything you two don't know?" They both shrugged.

"Oh and one more thing you should know," Brigette said. "I like your paintings, and I am very pleased to own one."

"You mean Number 8 that Andre bought?"

"Oh no. I mean Number 11. I called Gerard and purchased it the day after the show. What I said at the show about your art was strictly for Grand-Mere's consumption, and I am so sorry you had to hear it."

"Apology accepted," I said with a smile. "Perhaps we can get the waiter to bring you a glass. The wine Claudine has ordered is lovely."

"One more thing," Claudine said. "I think you two should kiss and make-up." Brigette leaned towards me. I was expecting a classic French kiss on each cheek. What I got, to my surprise, was a soft lingering kiss on my lips. It was delicious and we held it for a bit too long to be proper, even in a Paris Bistro. I got just the lightest touch of synesthesiastic effect from it—a pale pink with green overtones that came and went as she stroked my lips with the tip of her tongue. That didn't usually happen with a mere kiss, I thought. What is it about this woman?

Dinner preceded smoothly with a couple of bottles of wine. Late in the meal I asked, "So where did you two meet? Did Andre introduce you."

"Oh no," Claudine said. "We met at Le Club. It only came out that we shared a male lover later."

"Le Club?" I asked.

"It's a lesbian night club," Brigette said. "Has Claudine not taken you there while you have been visiting us?"

"No," I replied. "I don't think she wanted to share me."

Claudine smiled like the Cheshire Cat and shrugged her shoulders in non-denial.

"Oh you must go," Brigette said.

"I leave for the San Francisco tomorrow."

"So," she said with a mischievous smile. "We shall go now." She signaled for the waiter to bring the check in that same preemptory fashion I had seen Andre use at Bouchon.

Claudine excused herself, claiming she had an early modeling shoot in the morning, so I found myself in the back of a cab with my new lover's wife careening through Paris to a Lesbian night club. As we drove she caressed my thighs, not as aggressively as Claudine had our first night, but it was clear she wanted to have sex. Again there was a mild synesthesiastic effect—the palest orange wash that came and went with the varying pressure of her fingers.

We were at the bar long enough for a couple of drinks and a couple of slow seductive dances. We kissed, erotically charged kisses, while we danced and while we sat with our drinks, watching other lesbians grinding their bodies together on the dance floor. The kisses were a supercharged green. With pale white stripes. I could feel my synesthesia warming up for later. Yes this was a woman I definitely wanted.

"Perhaps we should adjourn to our flat," she propositioned.

"Grand-Mere won't be there?"

She burst out laughing. "Mon Dieu. She would have a stroke. Grand-Mere doesn't come near our flat. She comes to our home in the Trocadero, but never to our flat on Boulevard Saint Germain. She knows about it of course, because Grand-Mere knows everything, but she also knows that Andre and I use it only for assignations and those she prefers to ignore, most of the time.

"And why am I not in the class she ignores?" I asked.

Brigette thought for a moment. "I think she perceives you as a threat to the family," she responded. "You combine two of Andre's passions. You are beautiful, and you are an artist." If you were just beautiful, Grand-Mere would ignore you."

"And you?"

She smiled. "You are not a threat. Andre and I remain married only because Grand-Mere will not permit us to divorce. You will not be able to change that." Her tone was flat, like someone describing unpleasant facts that couldn't be changed.

Brigette's advances during the ride to the flat in the Saint Germain District were more aggressive. We kissed at length our tongues dueling, while she slid her hand into my blouse and fondled my tits (I hadn't worn a bra, expecting similar treatment from Claudine). I returned her treatment and she groaned in pleasure. Her breasts were bigger than mine and lovely to fondle. By the time we got to the flat, I had her blouse open, her bra pushed aside and I was sucking on her nipples.

The flat was large and beautiful, a classic example of what tasteful decorating and money could accomplish in modern Paris. There were pieces of modern art scattered throughout, including Number 11.

"Where is number 8?" I asked.

"In Provence."

"I see." Serious money in the family is what I saw.

"Have a seat," she said. "I'll get some wine."

I had expected, after her conduct in the cab, to be assaulted as soon as we entered the flat, but apparently, she had something else in mind. While I waited I slipped my panties off and tucked them in my purse. After the cab ride I was feeling very aroused, and if she didn't want to be the aggressor, I would.

When she returned, my concerns were banished. She had shed her blouse and bra so she was topless. Apparently, she just wanted a slow seduction I decided as she set a glass of wine beside me, kissed me briefly on the lips and then walked, a slow, seductive, slinky walk to a chair across from me. She sat, her long legs crossed, a pump dangling from one foot and her skirt riding high on her thighs, as she took a sip of her wine.

She set her wine down and lay back and placed a beautifully manicured finger just a bit into her mouth as she apparently thought about her next move. I sat staring at her beautiful breasts as I awaited her decision. Those are the breasts I always wanted to have, I thought as I watched her.

"So," she asked. "Where did you meet my husband?" She was caressing one of her breasts now, ever so lightly.

"In a gallery in a little town called Yountville. It's near Napa. In California"

"I know. After all my family is in the wine business and if you are French and in the wine business you absolutely know where Napa is.

"Actually," she continued, "I've been there. They have some lovely restaurants there." She was cupping both of her breasts now, holding them out to me and massaging each swollen nipple with a thumb and forefinger. I realized that I wanted to suckle on those dark swollen nipples more than anything else I could think of.

"And did he seduce you there, perhaps in the back room of the art gallery?" She stretched her long neck and pulled a breast up so she could suck on a nipple. I could feel my pussy leaking as I watched.