CLARITY

Leaving John at that very time of our lives to go back to New Orleans with the girls, must have been one of the hardest things I had had to do in the past few months. And, at the same time, I wanted to do it.

No, I'm not masochistic. Well, no more than the average girl, or should I say simply no more than the average human. I just felt the need to do it. 

First to spend some special time with my girlfriends again: Uma, Ann, Bou, Heather, Gaia, Kathy, Angel, Tulip, Carol, Wildie. Karen couldn't make it unfortunately because of her job. We were all very disappointed, but at least, it made someone happy: Jeffrey who was the only man who got to keep his woman for himself during that week.

But there was more in this for me than just the pleasure to have fun with my friends. There was something else, something I couldn't really explain, not even to myself. I just had to do it.

After John and Cort had loaded all the women's luggage in Pete's car, apparently making fun of the too many bags some of us needed - I think there is no need to name them... particularly if I add that there were a lot of shoe boxes involved - it was time for us to climb in the cars. Pete had the privilege of travelling with Ann, the rest of his car being full of luggage already, and seemed happy with it; while unfortunate Ralph got... the rest of us. I was surprised not to see Maximus, but thought that he must have been kept by something important.

John and I agreed silently to make our parting time as short as possible, neither of us being fond of goodbyes. We had told each other already what we had to say before, at least what we were able to express.

He had been very understanding about my need to leave again, with the girls, when I had first told him about it, but I could see that he was worried. 

"Clarrie... promise me you'll stay in the room... with the other girls... always have one with you at all times... and don't drink too much rum..."

"And you, you promise me you won't let anyone or anything take you away from me again?"

That was my biggest fear. That he was torn away from me again, and this time, forever. I had always feared that, since I knew who he was, who they all were, since I knew how uncertain our little wonderful but fragile world was. And the past had just proved me right. We were supposed to be safe now. But who could be sure it wouldn't happen again? The dream could stop any time. Definitively.

But there was not much I could do to prevent this if it ever had to happen. The only thing I could do was to try and make him happy, and make the most of each moment we had together. And I oddly felt at the present time that, to be able to do that in the future, I had to go away from him now.

Of course, I had not been able to tell that to him then, although he would probably have understood it better than me. 

He insisted again on the rum. He had certainly noticed how much I had enjoyed the various amazing drinks we had had chance to taste during our first trip to New Orleans.

And after. 

So, if the proud and independent part of myself felt insulted that my own husband had to express that kind of worry, the reasonable part of me knew that he was right... which didn't mean that I was ready to obey. I intended to do anything I could to make this time away from him as bearable as possible, and was determined to have as much fun as possible with my friends.

But it was painful to me to look at his worried face and read in his eyes fixed on me when we parted all the recommendations that he wouldn't word again.

His last embrace, these strong but tender arms around me, as an extension of his loving heart, felt to me like a nest, a nest that had been protecting me for months, a nest where I liked to believe that nothing could happen to me anymore, and that I was scared to leave... That I was scared to leave but that I also felt it was time for me to leave, even if just for a while, to see if I would be able to fly with my own wings, to make it without him,

But, what about him precisely? What about what he needed, how he was feeling? I shut up the little inner voice that was asking these disturbing questions. Yes, I knew it would probably not be easy for him either. But again I felt without really understanding it, that it could be necessary for him too, that it was time for both of us to try and make it by ourselves. And I was sure that a temporary relief from the burden I had been for him these last months could be good for him.

When the cars finally moved, I was both laughing at the girls' silly and funny comments to our poor driver so little used to all these crazy females' attention, and trying to hide my tears while seeing John's tall silhouette become smaller and smaller in the rear window. I was still frantically waving through the window after he had disappeared when Bou took gently but firmly my arm back and closed the window, with an understanding smile. I still had tears in my eyes and I felt ashamed of me when seeing in hers that she was as sad as me, she just didn't make a show of it. She was not only leaving the man she loved deeply, but she was also leaving their so sweet little girl.

I turned and looked at the other women's faces, and could see the same thing on them. They were laughing and embarrassing poor Ralph to distract their own sadness. Had I really thought that I was the one who had the most reasons to be sad to leave her man behind? I suddenly realised that each of us had many, and each of the others were trying to hide it their own way. How could have I become so selfish and lose tracks of my friends' feelings and needs?

Fortunately, there was something comforting in being in the presence of these women who had become my family. And we intended to have fun; after all it was why we were there, wasn't it? To accompany Angel in her last days as... a free woman, in fun and craziness.

We arrived in an amazing place, a beautiful Bed and Breakfast in the French Quarter, called 'Mimosa Orleans', both typical and obviously vintage, but with all the contemporary amenities we could wish for. It was good to be back in this so special city I had fell in love with during our first trip with John and a few of our friends, a few weeks ago. The joy and emotion to be here again was intact.

In Mimosa Orleans, each bedroom was named after a different kind of tree and had its own style, all beautiful I must say! Appreciation was now on all the faces around me, probably on my own too. We sure were going to enjoy being there! But, more than all the amenities, it was the owner of that place that put the biggest smiles on all our faces.

Richard LeBrok. What an amazing man! Full of kindness and consideration, a sharp sense of humour and...  cherry on the cake... errr, sorry, you say 'icing' instead of cherry, I think - more fitting to us all, I suppose - anyway, that man was also devastatingly charming and handsome. A delight for our sore hearts... and eyes.

That very attentive man had guessed that this bunch of women suddenly on their own would feel some nostalgia at first, and helped us to relax immediately by welcoming us with that excellent 'Mimosa' served in a beautiful courtyard, around the swimming pool. I then discovered that this kind of Mimosa is as pleasant as the flower wearing the same name, but much more efficient to make us relax and just enjoy life.

We also met Mr. Sam Beckett. He was the lucky one... or maybe not so lucky (sorry Ann!) that got the pie that Ann had kindly cooked for our host. That Mr. Sam Beckett probably stirred a lot of involuntary jealousy from the men when their woman called them and talked enthusiastically about his many qualities. We had all fallen in love with him. He was tall, handsome, very friendly and had chosen to spend each night in a different room, happy to share the bed of its occupant if she was consenting... and I must admit that most of us were. I've even heard a strange story about him rescuing poor Tulip from who knows what, by jumping with her in the swimming pool some night when I must have been already drun... em, asleep.

We all were almost as charmed by Mr. Beckett as by Mr. LeBrok, but expressed more freely our feelings toward him. 

Oh, maybe I should precise that Sam Becket was Richard LeBrok's Irish Wolfhound. Yes, a dog. 

Well, this little expedition was starting rather well and the abundance of Mimosa was loosening us up... and our tongues, unfortunately for poor Richard. 

This is the moment when the last guest made her entrance. 

We had first thought that Gaia would travel with Ann in Pete's car, but she arrived later in a taxi. This solitary arrival was not the biggest surprise she had in store for us all.

Her six month pregnant happy woman's round belly had a very different impact on all of us, but it sure had some, on each of us!

The first shock passed, my jelly brain finally took in what it was seeing around us. 

Of course, we were all sincerely happy for her and Terry, we knew they would be very good parents, they both had it in them. And both had already a child, just haven't had much opportunity to enjoy parenthood before.

But each of us, each of these women around me, and Paul, had their own reasons to be touched by this happy news. Those who had a child and were already viscerally missing him or her, those who wished to have one, more or less consciously, those who couldn't have any, those who thought they didn't want any... but wondered if their man would. And me.

Every woman has a gut reaction to the presence of a child, born or unborn. Even if this reaction is different from one woman to another, different also in her way of expressing it, or allowing herself to feel it.

Uma surprised us all by reacting unexpectedly friendly to Gaia's big news, in spite of their old rivalry. She was obviously sincerely happy for Terry and her, and also very much touched, showing a part of her she was trying hard but unsuccessfully to hide too often.  Of course, a little later, the 'old enemies' didn't disappoint us by throwing at each other some little barbs about their look. But it still remained all friendly.

Looking around me, I could read on these familiar faces their needs, their worries, their doubts, their regrets, their hopes. I wondered if they could read the same on mine. But they were fortunately too busy congratulating Gaia and trying to hide their own emotions.

A little understanding smile came to my face in spite of my troubled mind. Women would always be women!

As for me, I was still fighting hard not to let that new reminder of my own failures overwhelm me again. I felt an irrepressible need to be with John, to feel his calm strength, to hear his reassuring voice tell me patiently for the nth time that everything would be alright, that we would be alright. I was fighting the need to fly back to the nest.

I realised that I wouldn't be there with him either, for him, when Terry would proudly break the good news to them all. I wouldn't be there to take his hand and squeeze it, to reassure him too about something I was not so sure myself.

That's what we had been doing for each other during the past months, trying to comfort the other when we could feel he or she was in doubt, forgetting about our own doubts and fears.

But today, he was not here with me, and I wouldn't be there with him. We had to get over this on our own, this time. 

After a few more needed glasses of mimosa, that became plain orange juice for Gaia in spite of her (weak) protests, we soon retreated to our rooms to freshen up and put on more suiting dresses for the Sunday Jazz brunch adorable Richard had planned, with Crawfish Monica he had cooked especially for us. I think Uma tortured him... or was it rather 'charmed' him into spilling out his recipe for Andy. Richard had even managed to convince shy Angel to let us enjoy her extraordinary voice. So many reasons to look forward to the next hours!

Except that the teddy bear managed to scare everyone by giving Angel a private recital that Richard mistook for screams obtained under torture... but it's another story.

But, once in my room, I jumped on the phone to call John. It had been only a few hours since we had been parted but I'm afraid I was losing the fight against myself and already couldn't resist the need to hear his voice.

Of course, in the haste of the departure, I had forgotten to charge the battery of my cell phone and it had decided to die on me as soon as we had arrived. And, to make it even better, I had forgotten my charger at home, probably still in the outlet, charging... nothing. John wouldn't be happy; he hated it when I left the thing plugged even when I was not using it. Each of us in the group, or even in the hotel, having a different kind of cell phone, no charger fitted mine and I would have to buy a new one when I could.

In the meantime, thanks to the hotel phone, I could hear John's voice alright... through our answering message. Well, it would have to do, for the moment. Crazy me called once more to hear it again. It soothed me a little... combined with the effect of the Mimosa.

I opened my notebook to write down the numbers I would have to dial again from this phone next time I wanted to call outside, before I forgot and again disturbed Roberta at the desk (I found the instructions later in the drawer of my night table... when I was sober again).

I noticed then that today was Mother's Day in France. 

That notebook was another of John's sweet attentions. In spite of me telling him that my life was with him, in his country that was now also mine, and that I didn't feel nostalgia about my mother country, he had made a habit of buying for me, on each New Year, a French notebook,  so I wouldn't lose tracks of my roots, as he said. In fact, that caring gesture had always moved me much more than I wanted to admit it. To be honest, I wished we would be able to find the strength to go back to our house in Luberon, someday. That house that was meant to be the symbol of our love, and had almost become the symbol of our loss.

I really cherished this notebook. But today, I could have done without another reminder. 

I refused to let a new wave of negative feelings invade me again. I tried to convince myself that it was better that I couldn't reach John after all. First, he would have heard through my voice that I hadn't followed his advice about not drinking too much, and he would not be happy with me. And then, he wouldn't know about Mother's Day in France if I wasn't there to remind him. In a way, it was a relief that I couldn't share my selfish sadness with him once more. He certainly needed some room and some time away from the constant source of worry that I had been for him these past months.

My mind travelled back to a few weeks ago, on American Mother's Day. We had spent it on a very special way. Together. In New Orleans already. 

During that first trip to New Orleans, Ann had been kind enough to drive the few of us who were there at that time, around the town and its neighbourhood. 

We had been through areas that hadn't yet recovered from Katrina and, after having enjoyed the light and playful atmosphere of the French Quarter and other almost unchanged parts of the city, we had been then confronted to the other face of what was now reality for the inhabitants of this proud city and the areas around.

Saying that this drive through devastated areas had moved us all deeply would be an understatement. I think it changed us all and our take on the world. Permanently.

Ann had been explaining to us patiently and courageously, in spite of the hard memories it certainly brought back to her, what had happened here or there, the story of a place, of people, or just driving silently. Each of us was lost in his or her own thoughts and overwhelmed by what we were seeing. Still destroyed houses, with glassless windows, broken roofs, damaged streets and vegetation, orange crosses painted on the front of each house reminding us that each of them had been searched after the disaster, and the result of this search; or empty spaces where had been, before, houses full of happy people, of families that were now as broken as what had been their place; villages of trailers still sheltering now some of those same people.

And we had been listening silently, full of respect and deeply touched. It was an unforgettable experience, one of those that stays with you all your life.

Of course we were prepared to see that. Or rather we thought we were. We had followed the news, seen pictures, images on TV. But it was one thing to hear about such a tragedy, to see those disturbing and upsetting images through a TV screen or on magazines. It was another one to be there, even two years later, to feel it, to hear it from people who have lived it, who were carrying the weight of these memories and whose lives had been changed forever in an instant. We couldn't even imagine how they felt, how they still feel. No one can.

While going through inhabited areas, I had noticed most of the people gathered on the porch of their house, or in their garden. Families. 

Some had happy faces, some others looked so sad. 

And I had realised then that it was not an ordinary day, it was Mother's Day in the United States. 

And I had realised that this day was even more special for these people. 

I had realised that the ones with happy faces were celebrating their joy and luck to still be together, while the others were reminded even more painfully of dear ones' absence on that family day... a mother, a father, a child.

It had touched me so deeply to witness that on that very day that I hadn't allowed myself to even think about what had happened to John and me, about the fact that I should have been a mother now. I had been told and had told myself to others so many times before that there is no little pain or big pain, there is just pain, and it's the way it weights on people that counts. But I couldn't help thinking that I should be ashamed of not having been able to handle our grief when these people had lost one or several members of their family, along with all they owned in the most traumatic way. If I had believed in God, I would have blessed Him and sent Him a thankful prayer for still having my man by my side and the possibility to still be happy with him.

I could feel it had affected John deeply too. Probably even deeper than me, because he knew how it felt to lose his family. I knew he was struggling to keep the emotion from showing on his face. But he couldn't hide the way he had looked intensely at these people. And my hand had kept for some time in it the painful memory of his squeezing it unconsciously very strong while he was taking on what we were witnessing.

Fortunately, right after, Ann had driven us all to their farm where Maximus was waiting for us. Little Bennett who was in his father's arms had literally jumped into his mother's, and Maximus had placed a protective and supportive arm around his wife's waist while welcoming us in their beautiful home. He knew that this trip had been hard for Ann, like each time she came back to these areas, and he obviously wanted to pass some of his strength to her. It was comforting to see how much love there was between these two, they had been so close to lose everything too!

We had eagerly devoured a delicious meal of crawfish, but never got to know who had cooked it. We had endlessly teased Maximus, Kathy not believing that he could handle a spoon as well as a sword, while John Nash was frowning at her, Bou smiling knowingly under Cort's quiet and amused gaze. But Maximus had stayed silent and never gave away anything, keeping an enigmatic smile on his stoic face.

Back to the present time. 

This time, I was alone to face that French Mother's Day that had a meaning only for me. I realised that I had spent these two special days, the American version of it, and now the French one, in that very place. Could that be a message? That I should at last stop "looking at my own navel", as my mother used to say, and appreciate what I still had? And what a better day than this very one to find out that my best French friend was pregnant, and be happy for her? Another meaningful symbol.

In fact, this new trip to New Orleans was full of symbols for us. 

We were here to celebrate Angel's coming wedding, to have fun together, between girls. And it was the perfect place to do it, because the people there were sure very welcoming, knew more than anyone how to celebrate, and share their "joie de vivre". I loved their motto "Laissez les bons temps rouler!" This sentence talked straight to my heart.

But we had chosen that part of the world not only because of that. It was for us a symbol. We had been so worried about Ann and Maximus during and after Katrina, not being able to do anything, not even to reach them for some time, that we had promised each others that, some day, we would meet there, as a symbol of our friendship that resists everything and even grows stronger and stronger, through good and bad times.

With that thought that I shouldn't lose track of why we were here and what was important at that very moment, I repressed all my recurrent and selfish worries. I called home once more, hoping to get John but enjoying the simple sound of his voice through the answering machine again. I'm not so proud of that but, if I remember well, in spite of my tipsy state... or because of it, I think that I forgot my good resolutions not to worry him and left him a message this time.

Then, I went to bed where I fell fast asleep, lulled by the sound of the air conditioning... and too much mimosa. 

But my sleep was restless, haunted by disturbing dreams that I couldn't remember in the morning, for most of them. 

Except one. What remained in my mind was the face of a baby, a little girl, smiling... I knew that smile. It was John's. A warm feeling invaded me. But the face of the baby disappeared, only the smile could still be seen, and SID's face appeared around that smile that was now his. He was perched on a Mardi Gras float, covered with beads, blowing kisses around to an invisible crowd. All this disappeared again to leave only his face, and the kiss he blew then was directed at me.

"What a pity, my little love dove... you and your polar bear Boobie are so not fun anymore these times! Remember, life is short and you never know what it has in store for you next. Don't you think it's time at last to leave the good times roll? Come on, ma petite chérie, laissez les bons temps rouler... laissez les bons temps rouler..." This sentence resounded several times, like an echo, then he busted out laughing while his face faded away.

I woke up breathless and in sweat.

This time, I had to get John on the phone, I had to... I couldn't face this alone... I had to tell him... I needed to hear him tell me with his usual calm and good sense that it was just a silly dream, scold me because I had had too much booze once again and convince me that this nightmare was only the result of it.

When reaching out to the phone in the still dark room, the light of the alarm clock caught my attention. It was 4:30 a.m. and even John wouldn't be up already at that time of the night. It was not fair of me to disturb his needed sleep just because I'd had a nightmare. I had done that often enough during these last months. No, not this time, I had to stop clinging to him like a lifeline.

I took deep breaths until my heart beat calmed down. I couldn't go back to sleep, not so soon after this dream. I got up, looked down through the window and felt attracted by the patio, its comfortable garden lounge chairs looking very welcoming, aligned along the still lightened swimming pool, emerald reflections dancing on the ochre walls surrounding the courtyard, while the luxuriant vegetation seemed to wave friendly at me. It looked to me like the safest place to be in right now.

The stories we had heard about ghosts haunting this place, like many other places in New Orleans, came to my mind. We had joked about wanting to meet them, Kathy having asked Richard right away if it was true; he hadn't denied it. A whore and an old soldier from the Civil War... what harm would they want to do to me? Besides, the windows of my friends' rooms faced the pool and the courtyard, and I had heard that Richard's apartment was not far either. So I supposed that, if I yelled loud enough, I would be rescued... from who knows what.

I went downstairs, on the way got a bottle of water from the vending machine to try and get rid of all this alcohol I had swallowed, and snuggled comfortably in one of the lounge chairs. I was right, the sight the clear blue water and the starry sky above soon soothed my nocturnal anguishes. But more than that, I think that it's the thought of my friends sleeping peacefully all around, behind these closed and dark windows, that made me feel safe.

It's only then that I started to understand the meaning of this trip for me, behind the fun of this hen week. 

It was time for John and me to take another step in our recovery process. A big one. Not only we had to face it separately, as I already felt it, but we should also talk to someone else about it, open ourselves again to our friends, to the outer world. Without each other's protection.

I was scared by this perspective; none of our friends knew anything yet about our lost baby. But I knew that I couldn't have a better support than my girlfriends' one.

Of course, if I was going to do it, I had to find the right time, and be cautious. I certainly didn't want to darken the festal mood of this crazy trip. Maybe I could talk to Bou if we ever found ourselves alone. We were very close, she was a healer and had a child, she would be able to help me, without doubt. I certainly wasn't going to say anything to Gaia who absolutely didn't need me to put any shadow on her happiness and rouse in her any fear about her pregnancy.

I decided to play it by ear and let things happen. Feeling relieved after this thinking, I gave in to sleep, with New Orleans warm air as a blanket.

Richard... or rather Sam Beckett found me there a few hours later and woke me up more or less gently by licking profusely my face. 

Sam, not Richard!

We tried to do the best out of our first day, in spite of our light (first) hangover and our desire to just laze by the swimming pool. Ann had unfortunately to attend an important meeting, so she made the mistake of leaving us alone.

We decided to wander the Quarter on our own and managed to get 'arrested' by a funny guy in uniform who first scared us, accusing us of serious violations of the law. But when he enumerated them: smiling too much, ogling intently handsome men's butts and other unforgivable crimes, we relaxed and laughed with him.  He gave us little gifts: caps, funny stickers and other silly things... that, of course, each of us offset with a bill... Okay, call us silly tourists, but we've had fun and he had kind of earned it.

Later in Bourbon Street, a big guy advertising one of the many bars there spotted us looking around, asked us if we were looking for 'this'... and lifted up his advertising apron, showing us an impressive fake appendage. "Very classy!" said Kathy pretending to be shocked, and we all burst out laughing. In any other place, it could have looked shocking indeed, but not here. It was just plain funny, because done with a big smile and without real dirty intentions, only to make us laugh.

Ann met us again for lunch and took us to a good restaurant where we tasted our first Jambalaya (I think I could have lighted all the candles of a centenarian's birthday cake with my breath after). With a smile, she listened to us talking with excitement about our first adventures and promised us that soon we would really wander Bourbon Street the right way. We all wondered what it meant, but trusted her to keep us entertained.

We bought some food and bottles of wine to spend a quiet evening in the patio. 

Before joining the girls downstairs for dinner, I had a bit of blues and John's absence felt painful again. I doubted, wondering if I hadn't been wrong about all this, if I was strong enough already to do it alone, without him.  Maybe was it too soon? I tried to call him and got again the answering message, both home and on his cell phone. Unlike yesterday, it didn't soothe me at all but just frustrated me even more.

I missed him like a crazy already, but, even more than that, I was worrying about him. Why was he never home? Why hadn't he answered his cell phone this evening? I shouldn't have left him. I knew he was strong, stronger than me. But precisely, it's sometimes the stronger ones who fall heavier.

How was he feeling? What was he doing? Was he working like a crazy, spending longer time on paperwork in the office? Or worse? Although he had promised me to give up the dangerous stuff and leave it to younger people after we had almost lost each other twice, was he volunteering for night-shifts, or maybe dangerous missions, because no one was waiting for him home and he needed to take away the pressure?

I shivered while thinking about this and wished with all my heart it was not that. I wished that he was just spending his free time having healthy meals at Andy's restaurant, in his friends' company and had just forgotten to switch on his phone after work, as he often did.  At least, he wouldn't be alone, and he would be safe. Well, as safe as these men could be when they were together!

That thought brought a smile on my lips. 

STACY

That pub didn't look like the bars I was used to. More classy. But it's true that the man who took me here with him was also classier than my usual. When we had first met a few days ago, in the bar I used to hang around, I had wondered what that kind of man could be doing in that place. He didn't fit in there. Good looking, probably not really rich but obviously living a more comfortable life than most people in this bar, including me.

He should have felt lost in such a place, but he didn't seem to be. He looked troubled, defiant, already a bit drunk. I knew that look, I had seen it so many times before on men trying to bury a lost love, a work problem or any other unpleasant thing they had just experienced, into booze or looking for trouble, or hunting easy preys. I would have bet he was up to all of these.

Fortunately for him - and me - he finally chose the third option, not without having spent some time on the first before, and probably considered the second for a while.

I don't know which of us really picked up the other, but who cares? He finally offered me a drink, but I'd been staring at him since he had stepped in the bar. Men are never impervious to that kind of gaze, trust me.

Who I am? People call me Stacy. Well, men do. Women generally prefer to call me 'easy-pick-up', or even 'bitch' when they think they know me better. 

I'm not a bitch. I just don't mind much who, where and how, as long as I get what I want from a man, when I want it. No matter how long it lasts... one week, one night, one hour. Depends on how good he is.

I'm not a whore either. I've a boring but honest job and earn what I need to keep myself fed, warm and clean. It's not much but it's enough. 

No need to search my past, there's nothing there to tug at the heartstrings. I've been raised by what I suppose to be nice people. I just didn't want to live their tasteless life. And I like men.

That's all. Don't look for more, there's nothing else to say about me. 

So, when we arrived in this classy pub one evening, that temporary lover of mine seemed to almost forget I was with him. 

Not that he had paid much attention to anything else but my boobs or my ass until then, and yet, even that generally stopped as soon as we were in a standing position again. The rules of our game were clear for each of us. He wasn't interested in my conversation, no more than I was in his. That didn't stop him from talking for hours sometimes, about his job, what he wanted to do, how good he was. I didn't really listen to him most of the time, but I agreed with him on one point: he was good.

He merely dragged me behind him by the arm to the bar, with as much attention as if I was his doggie... Wrong example. Maybe he would have paid attention to it.

He looked at ease in that place, as if it was his home. He said "Hi" to several guys, relatives or something, having an odd resemblance with him. 

Unlike their cousin or whatever their family link was, the other guys did pay attention to me. A bit noisily but, well, I'm used to that too. I know what I am and what I'm not, and I know the effect I have on men. I'm not a beauty, not the classy or brainy kind either, but I have that something that generally gets men's attention everywhere I go.

And these handsome men in this nice pub were no different. 

Only one of them hadn't even had a look at me when we had entered this place, in spite of the racket around him.  

He was seated on a stool at the bar, reading a sports' magazine while nursing a beer. 

I don't know why, it vexed me and I felt the need to figure out why he didn't have the same reaction as the others. Maybe was he deaf? Or gay? 

While my so-called boyfriend was chatting - men's way: exchanging grunts - with another good looking guy behind the bar, apparently Irish or something, I approached the mysterious and lonely man.

"Hi." 

He finally looked at me, but it was not the look I was expecting. It was a furtive, non interested one, immediately back to his magazine. At least, he was not deaf. Nor mute.

"Hey."

"No need to pretend, you're not reading."

He looked at me again, a little longer this time, raised an eyebrow quizzically, and I could feel the weight of this particular look on me... even if it was still not the look I wanted from him. He looked older than my lover of the moment, more mature, maybe was it the beard? He focused again on the magazine.

"And what's it to you?" 

Good, I thought he wouldn't say anything. That was already a start, the communication - if we can call that the few exchanged words already - was not broken. His voice was also deeper, lower than my boyfriend's.

"Nothing, it just caught my attention."

Another look from him, more intense this time. Madre de dios, those eyes! I wondered for a short while if my young lover had the same ones, and why I hadn't noticed them before! Though, even if impressed by the unusual shade and intensity of these eyes, I didn't miss their expression. And I didn't like it. It felt insulting to read in this man's eyes that I was not worth his attention.

I don't know why that look hurt me. He was nothing to me and I already had what I needed at the present time, why looking for any difficulty with that man who was not reacting normally? I should have given up without giving it any more thought. But instead, I felt the need to prove him wrong.

Although his voice was soft, soft but distant, he made me jump. 

"Don't waste your time with me, young lady, I'm not on the market."

An impressive guy with weird tattoos suddenly shouted out. 

"Hey Kim! Ain't you scared your bint might get frigid? Her little needle seems to be pointing north!"

Kim, my young lover, shrugged and shouted back, burying his nose in a pint of beer. 

"No worries, mate, she'll come back. This sheila knows where the good stuff is." But he added to me, "Leave the Sheriff alone, love... unless you want to get arrested? If you've a thing for cuffs, just tell me, I'll be happy to oblige!" The others laughed crudely.

The Sheriff looked at Kim and said in a whisper, a little smile on his lips, "... And you are not either, obviously."

"What?"

"On the market."

Well, well, well... Mister Sheriff might not find me worth it, but he was not breaking the contact. That was becoming interesting.  

"I'm as free as the wind," I answered coldly. 

He raised his eyebrow, then looked at his young relative who seemed to have forgotten again about me, laughing with his brothers, cousins or whatever, insistently watching another girl and making crude comments with the tattooed man. 

Still looking at them, the Sheriff raised his open left hand to my eye level and said softly, "Well, I am not. I'm saying it again: don't waste your time on me, honey."

I had already spotted the ring on his finger. But who cared? I wasn't after his marriage. I was just interested in him. 

I was nothing more to Kim than he was to me, a pleasant means of spending pleasurable time together. There was nothing wrong with that. He was handsome and a marvellous lover, when he put his mind into it. I knew that I was not the only one for him but didn't care. We were just after each other's bodies and maybe some of our mutual skills too.

But this other one, that Sheriff, he really intrigued me. I didn't specifically know why. Something that I could read in him, surely. That... good guy side but with something else burning hard and deep inside him.

I just answered shortly. "I know."

"So?"

"So.... What's a nice married man like you doing alone in a bar with such a sad face if he's perfectly happy with Mrs Goodwifey?"

I could see that I'd just touched something in him. He threw me a look that was both angry and insecure. That look went straight to my heart. 

A heart I wasn't sure I still knew how to use.  

The next day, I went again to that pub, the Come On Inn, still in Kim's company, if we can call 'company' a man who spends most of his time drinking, playing darts or pool with his buddies, ogling other women, or making crude jokes with the cute Irish bartender.

I was feeling more at ease with these guys than yesterday, though. Their barking was worse than their biting; they were just acting like silly kids most of the time, silly kids with a wicked sense of humour. This place full of guapos should have felt like Wonderland for a girl like me.

The Sheriff wasn't there today. I was surprised to notice that I was disappointed. I thought I'd have forgotten the quiet and wistful man as soon as I'd have left that pub.

But I had not. 

He arrived a little later and sat at the same place as yesterday. He looked tired. 

The others jumped brotherly on him and tried to involve him in their game. He first refused, but they insisted loudly. Probably knowing that it was the only way for him to get over it, he finally gave up. 

These guys were beginning to feel like a bunch of younger brothers to me. If they constantly teased me about my assets, they never tried anything with me. I was Kim's girl, well, the most regular at the present time, and they seemed to respect that.

When they were absorbed in their silly games, I enjoyed watching them have fun together. And more particularly, the Sheriff. 

He looked like he was discovering a pleasure he had forgotten, maybe the simple pleasure of playing and saying stupid things with his mates? And, on that ground, I can tell that he could be as bad as any of them!

It made me inexplicably happy for him. He looked so withdrawn before. 

While he was having fun with his friends I could see him smile for the fist time. I mean, really smile, not that half little smile he'd given me until now, no, a really big childish grin that made him look younger, I could almost see Kim's face in his now. That smile was sure worth the wait. It not only brightened his face, but it also seemed to brighten the whole room... or was it only my world that had just been brightened by this smile?

Venga tonta, you're not falling for this! I thought to myself.

But the Sheriff was soon eliminated from the game - not enough practice anymore, teased the boys - and when, after too many beers, their silly jokes became too heavy on me, he took my arm gently but firmly, to my biggest surprise, leading me away to the other end of the bar. There, he unexpectedly offered me a... milkshake.

A milkshake? Who did he think I was? One of his kids? I didn't know why, he felt to me like the kind of man who had kids. Many kids. It made me smile and I accepted gratefully the milkshake. Reminded me of my own childhood. I could see his satisfied smile too... was he making fun of me?

He held out his hand and introduced himself.

"Biebe. John Biebe. Not being in the market doesn't mean I can't rescue a damsel in distress. Or try to. I just can't help it, I'm the Saint Bernard kind, you know. All I lack is the barrel hanging from my neck!"

That smile again. I could barely take my eyes away from his attractive mouth. Kim had the same mouth... and knew how to use it. 

"Saint Bernard... you know? The dog. Hello...? Anybody in there?"

I shook myself back to earth. At least, he was paying attention to me. 

I took his big offered hand and shook it. 

"Stacy. Damsel in distress. Even if I don't think I've ever been called that before." 

"Stacy...?"

"Just Stacy."

"You surely have a family name?"

"Some people don't need a family name."

"I don't think so. But okay, glad to meet you, Just Stacy." 

His sudden openness made me smile. What had made him change suddenly toward me? He thought I was no danger anymore now that I seemed to be admitted in the brothers' circle?

He was wrong. 

Kim apparently didn't mind at all me being 'kidnapped' by the sheriff. On the contrary, he made jokes about the quietest ones, and a big charming blond man tried to make a joke of his own about the cats dancing when the mouse was gone. He got me even more confused when he added that this, of course, didn't apply to tomcats about to share their cheese with beautiful white winged mice very soon. But his laugh was contagious, and his boyish self-satisfied and happy look contrasting with his imposing stature was touching. When all the men, including the Sheriff, made other jokes about him getting married, it made a little more sense. 

We were all laughing together when I realised that, although I hadn't known them very long, I was feeling more and more comfortable with these men who were behaving like children most of the time, but seemed to be more reliable than most I had known before. Like a family, something I had forgotten for a long time.

They were kind to me, even if I was not part of their bunch, Though I suspected that most of the younger ones would have made a pass at me if I hadn't been with Kim, and the older ones wouldn't have talked to me if their woman had been around.

But I knew by now that most of those women of theirs were away on a trip. Was my favourite sheriff's wife with them? I guessed so. 

Unwise girl. One should never leave what she cares for. You never know what can happen while you're away. 

CLARITY

At last arrived the big evening when we were going to paint Bourbon Street red... not that it had been waiting for us to be painted red, but well. We were all looking forward to this.

Unfortunately, Richard was gone for a few days. Many of us had noticed that he had invited Ann to her favourite bar before leaving, the Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. The General would probably not be very happy about that. But it's true that Richard had already seduced Uma, Gaia... and, to be honest, all of us, always respectfully, so we weren't too worried. Someone had even given him the nickname of 'Hopi'... some of us thought it had something to do with that peaceful Native American people, but it was, in fact a derive from a less noble but as flattering word: 'hottie'.

That charmer of a man had left in each of our rooms a beautiful bunch of roses... even for Paul! What a gentleman! We were going to miss him. 

I was tempted to try and call John once more before we left for our crazy night, but I was really tired of getting that answering machine. I knew he was still alive because he had finally called the hotel this morning, having probably found my cell phone charger in the socket (and sworn colourfully, I had no doubt about that!)

Roberta had written down his message and given it to me when we had come back from shopping. I had finally bought another charger and my cell phone was charging so I would have it for tonight... if I ever got lost in Bourbon Street, you never know! John used to say that I could even get lost in our dressing-room... and I'm ashamed to add that he didn't exaggerate... much.

The message said that he was alright, that he had gotten my messages and had tried to call me back several times, first on the cell phone, then at the hotel but could see that I was busy, that I shouldn't worry about him, he was not often home... and, as I thought, was sorry but often forgot to switch on his cell phone. And he hoped I was having fun but not forgetting his advice too much. He just ended by saying that he missed me, and I could guess that he had been reluctant to entrust someone he didn't know with love words. I kissed the message, even if it was not his handwriting, because it was all I had and it had really made my day.

So, now that we both knew that the other was okay, and that he seemed to be busy, I decided that I wouldn't try to call him too often from now on. There were only a few days left, I could handle it and I was sure that he could too. I had to let him go, I mean, let him be on his own, and myself too. That was for us the purpose of this week apart, wasn't it? To do it on our own.

Today, I already felt lighter, as if the colours of the world around me had become suddenly brighter. Particularly now that I had received this message from John and knew he was alright too, but oddly, even before. I couldn't really explain it. But it felt good.

After having dressed-up and pampered ourselves with even more care than usually, we first had a fine dinner in a beautiful place, had a few drinks before, during, and after it, a dessert that tasted like Heaven... how did Heather call it again...? Ah yes: a 'death-by-chocolate cake!'

Before leaving the restaurant, we gathered ourselves in that strategic place so dear to females: the ladies' room. 

There, Ann assigned us our next mission. This mission, should we choose to accept it, involved deadly weapons. And she gave each of us two redoubtable... pink boas she had kept hidden in a bag during the dinner. Yes, you've read it right: pink boas! But, believe me, we were going to find out that these were really efficient weapons for women looking for fun in Bourbon Street by night!

After she managed to shut us up, everyone making all kinds of comments ("it's not going to fit the colour or my dress", or "...my hair", or "...my shoes"... but it certainly fitted the colour of our cheeks!) she explained to us the purpose of these odd accessories. We had to wear one of the boas, as we had already guessed, but the second one had to be given away to a man wandering on his own in Bourbon Street that night. A man on his own but also man enough to wear it and still look manly. Someone added, "Just like Maximus!"... No idea what she was referring to. But now, that was a challenge!

Being the brave girls... and man, we were, once the first moment of surprise passed, we buckled down seriously to the task, hunting for Mr. Perfect in Bourbon Street. Paul was not worried at all, having managed to get beads almost each time we had stepped in Bourbon Street, and without even flashing.

The rest of us were more in doubt about our success on that special mission. But the various drinks we had had already, plus the extra one(s) we had in a bar while listening to real good music before going back to the hunt, sure helped to break the dam of our last inhibitions.

It took us some time because we were choosy, but all of us managed to find a fitting man. It was interesting to observe the different kind of man each of us picked, it probably said a lot about us. But I think we all made a very good choice, there was not an ugly one in the lot! That was funny!

Yes, it was funny, but not only. When we started this, I had no idea of the consequences that what had began tonight as a game would have in the next days, and in the future. My future.

But let me tell you how I found my boa-bearer. 

I had almost given up, none of the faces I had seen being able to compete with my John's (or any of our other men's) handsome one. Until... until I met him. He caught my eye immediately, leaning casually against a pillar, his white shirt half open, looking quietly at all the racket around him with an amused smile.

I wouldn't say that he was pretty. Not even really handsome. But he had something that got me at first sight.  Something manly, something both strong and... I don't know, just something that touched me.

My brain being already wrapped in a pleasant ethylic haze, I didn't think, just rushed to him and put my boa around his neck without delay or hesitation. Of course, he was surprised, but I must say that he was very understanding and a very good sport.

He offered me a drink, and, as the other girls and boy were all chasing their own prince charming of the evening to 'boa' him, I thought they wouldn't even notice that I was away for a while.

And I had not been disappointed. What that man, Mike, had inside was as charming as his outside. At least, it did it for me. 

It was the first time since I had met John that I was looking at another man in a way that was not really brotherly. Don't get me wrong, I had absolutely no intention of cheating on John. I was just enjoying the sight, and the company.

He made me smile, and even laugh. I didn't feel guilty for a single while because I was doing nothing wrong. And because I was past feeling guilty... to be honest, I was probably past feeling anything... No, it's not totally true, I was feeling... light, carefree, happy. More than I had been in a long time.

Who knows why, my boozed mind came up with the stupid idea of calling Jeff. I wanted Mike to tell him the amazing stories about his job he had been telling me while having one (or was it several?) drinks. Mike was a plumber, like Jeff. I found that immensely funny... I think it really was. Funny.

But, of course, I had to mess this up and choose the wrong 'J' on the directory list of my newly charged and now perfectly working cell phone. 

Poor Jeffrey Wigand! He must have thought I was completely gone. Well okay, I was. And, to make it even worse, I hung up on him without any explanation when I realised my mistake! How rude of me!

Even in that state, my mind registered two things.

First thing: it could have been worse... I could have called another 'J'. The 'J'... my 'J'. Imagine? God, would have I been in trouble! 

And second, I should not forget to call back Jeffrey later to apologize and find a suitable explanation before he said anything to John. If I could get Karen first, she would understand, I guess. Oh, I was sure that gentle Dr Wigand would never want to put me into trouble! But, I was less sure that John would understand why I had called Jeffrey in the middle of the night to tell him about a plumber. I had done nothing wrong though.

Yet. 

When I realised my mistake, I must have blushed to the root of my hair, while Mike was looking at me, amused. I had just managed to say as calmly as I could that I should join the group again before they worried about me, when our Paul came out of nowhere to sit with us.

He joked about us needing a chaperone, but I could very well see the spark in his eyes. And, instead of feeling the guilt I should have felt when Paul's playful words reminded me that I was not precisely a free woman anymore (no more than him by the way... well I meant 'free') another weird and incongruous feeling showed its ugly green face.

Even my own answer surprised me when I bit back at poor Paul, telling him a little too briskly to go and find someone else to "chaperone". 

I immediately stepped back and apologized, proposing to Paul whose face was trying to read me (fortunately, he was not precisely sober either), to share Mike... I meant his neck... for our boas.

In fact, I don't remember exactly what I've said, and, to be honest, I don't remember anything after that. I just think I called Mike "John", some time during the evening... or the night...

STACY

On Tuesday, he was there again. The mysterious Sheriff. At least his name wasn't a mystery anymore. But it's about all I knew about him. When I tried to ask Kim what he could tell me about John Biebe, he shrugged and looked bored.

"The Sheriff? Nothing much to say about him. He's a right bloke. Regular life, regular job, regular guy. The very kind that would bore you to death, love. If you want a threesome, I know lots of better bets round here, trust me." He winked wickedly at me with a smug grin. "You've only one word to say. You game?" He became serious again. "But leave the Sheriff alone. You're not his kind anyway." And he turned to his mates again to comment on a goal that some team had just kicked on the big TV screen of the pub.

This was the second time he had told me to leave that man alone. Who was he trying to protect? Certainly not me. Himself? The Sheriff? His evasive answer not only hadn't satisfied my curiosity, but had teased it even more.

I snuggled against Kim's back and my hand started to climb up slowly along his thigh while I answered his indecent proposal.

"No. One like you is enough for me. For the moment." He rolled his eyes, but I could see him swallow hard and didn't miss his little satisfied smile. Now I had his attention again; it never failed.

"What about his wife?"

"His wife? Come on now, what you up to?"

"What's she like?" 

"What's she like?" He shrugged again. "Nice girl, regular kind, too. Not much else to say either. They seem to fit fine together. The perfect and boring little couple, exactly what we aren't... you and me are different animals, aren't we, love?" He turned to face me with a predatory smile and cupped my breast possessively.

"Ah? We're a couple now? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought that a couple meant one person plus a significant other. And, as far as I know, there are many 'others' in your life, aren't there... love? Without even mentioning your job!" I added coolly. "Not that I care, mind you."

"Awww, don't you love me, amor mio?" 

He was kidding around to try to hide it, but I felt I had touched him, in a way that I couldn't really fathom and that bothered me. I had no intention of hurting him. I might not be in love with him, but I did like him.

So, while being nice and sweet, my own way, with my lover when he wasn't involved in some game or joke or silly contest with his mates, I spent more and more time with the quiet Sheriff, who had made a habit of 'rescuing' me.

We talked; or rather I did, most of the time. Not that I said anything significant about me. Not my gig. But I'm a girl, and any man will tell you that we can talk for hours without saying anything. And he listened, as if I was saying important things, sometimes a little smile playing with his lips. He was a great listener.

I was still hoping he would open up to me, say something that would help me to understand why he always had this underlying sadness in him. A sadness that he was obviously trying to hide, maybe even to himself, but that I could feel in him. And that I wished I could take away from him... which was rather unlike me.

But he kept his inner shell tightly shut. 

Some married men, when they're with another woman, are only too happy to talk about themselves. Okay, they don't need to be married to be that way. But, what's worse with this kind is that they inevitably end up talking about their wife.

I know, it sounds weird, but it generally was the way they did with me, no idea why. Of course, I couldn't have cared less about their wife, but I was interested in these men, so I listened to them. Or at least, pretended I did. It made them happy and they thought I made the most interesting conversation... particularly if I hadn't said a single word!

They often explained me in details how bitchy or how little their wife... understood them... poor babies! But it generally didn't take me long to get how firmly hooked they still were to her. What woman would be patient... or motivated enough to listen to the man she wants speak endlessly about another woman? Me.

I generally tried not to let this little flaw bother me, it was just one of many anyway. And their main quality made it up to me: they were precisely not free, therefore not expecting from me something I wasn't willing to give. No commitment, no future, no 'forever'. Only a pleasurable present. And that present, it was with me they were spending it.

But, at the end of the day, whatever they might have said about her, it was to this other 'so imperfect' woman that they were invariably going back. Because she had something I'd never have: she belonged to them. She was their half, half of their worries, half of their problems, half of their happiness too.

It had always been a bittersweet relief for me to see them go back to their wife. 

John Biebe was different. 

He'd never talked about his wife. I'd never dared to ask him either. I felt it was dangerous ground and I didn't want to lose the bit I'd gained with him already. Our young relationship was so different from the ones I was used to with men. It could have been friendship... if I'd believed in friendship between a man and a woman, if I'd believed in friendship in such a short time... if I'd believed in friendship. 

But I still thought that I wanted more than this man's friendship. And I had only a few more days left before the vixen came back to the den, before Saturday, the wedding day.

It wasn't going to be easy, I didn't know the rules of this game of pretended friendship, and I still had to find out the user's guide of this man who yet seemed easy-going with his friends. But I liked challenges, and challenge was probably what had first attracted me to this one.

After a very lively game of pool, followed by several rounds of beer for everyone, paid by the Sheriff for having lost the last games, most of the men started a poker game. The Sheriff gave up, saying with a big smile that he needed time to recover from the humiliation.

"God, I had almost forgotten how it feels!" he said. 

"To lose?" asked one of the men, snickering. 

"To play." 

I felt for him. Men need that kind of male bonds. And that selfish woman of his had obviously kept him away from his buddies. 

As no one was minding me, I went and sat by his side, at the bar, my now favourite place. I tried to make him talk about himself for a change, but all I could get out of him were short grunted answers.

"I'd bet she calls you 'Grizzly' when you do that!" I know it wasn't very wise but it had slipped out before I could think. 

I could see by the look he gave me that I was right, this hadn't been very wise. But there was more information in that look than he had given to me until now. Whatever she had done to him, his reaction when she was mentioned was still strong.

But unexpectedly his expression changed and a little smile appeared on his lips. 

"Not far," he said lowly, as in a whisper. 

He didn't add anything, just ran a finger pensively down the moisture of his glass, his mind miles away. 

Wherever it was, there didn't seem to be any room for me anymore in there. The door to his soul, which had been partway opened for a few seconds, was now hermetically closed again.

But it would take more than this to discourage me. 

That only gave me even more desire to find the key to his inner safe and reach the treasure I could feel was hidden deep inside.