Karma by Nikki Sex
Incredibly expressive, André Chevalier was completely unafraid to show his emotions. Somehow, Marcy found herself explaining that she had sworn off men for all time. He told her that she should date, because it was better not to be alone.
"Well, where is your partner then, my eccentric Frenchman?"
"Oh, I do not have a woman of my own, ma belle, but, je vous assure, I date, oh, often."
Marcy giggled. Right. He meant of course that he enjoyed regular sex, she supposed. Why wasn't she squirming with embarrassment by now? Sex and relationships were two awkward topics she strictly avoided discussing, particularly with men. Yet she was comfortable with him. In such a short time, André Chevalier had airily beguiled her into speaking her own mind.
"And love, André? What about love?" she surprised herself by asking.
He turned rather penetrating dark eyes upon her for a moment. "Love is the most important of all, ma belle. I am loved by many, comprenez vous? And I love many, my friends, their families, and so on. I will tell you something that few know. It is that I am in love with a married woman."
Marcy stiffened, disturbed by this admission. Infidelity was wrong in so many ways.
"Oui, it is true," he said with complacence. "Her husband and I are very close. He knows of my secret, of course, and understands very well. In his way he loves me a little, too, do you see? But in such matters there can be no resolution. I must find another. Yet the heart yearns for what it knows it cannot… it must not strive for."
"Oh," Marcy said, with an ache of sadness for him. The woman wasn't unfaithful to her husband. André had unrequited love. Could anything be worse? It would be difficult to love someone you couldn’t have… someone who you knew should never be yours.
"I'm sorry," she said.
André gave her a low, ironic laugh. "I would change nothing, ma belle, I promise you," he said. "All is as it should be. My love for her increased my understanding and experience. I am a better person for it. Mon Dieu! Never did I feel so much! With my mind, my heart, and my soul. Such pain is part of being human, no?"
"I guess so."
"You have suffered, too, I think." He slanted her a knowing look. "Love is a hurt that no man or woman can avoid. Yet the English Lord Tennyson said it best when he wrote about such sorrow: "It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
Marcy heaved an inward sigh. She still had no idea what love was. She thought she had been in love with Trent, but that was just a childish crush. She had never really known her ex-husband. She loved her daughter, but that was different.
After they got to Hoover Dam, a place she hadn't visited since junior high, Marcy took her turn driving the Bugatti on a long straight section of road. She got settled and oriented to the car, and then gunned it, making 120 mph in moments.
What a rush!
Marcy laughed uproariously to see André's fingers white-knuckled as they gripped the dashboard. It was worth it to give her easygoing new boss a fright.
"Merde!" he called out in fear and surprise, followed by a long trail of vociferous and incomprehensible French. Marcy recognized the word 'Merde,' which was the French version of "Shit," but nothing else as he spoke so rapidly.
The Bugatti's steering was light, and visibility was restricted by shallow side windows, but other than that, it honestly handled more or less like any other car. The whole experience was incredible. After about thirty minutes of effortlessly eating up the road, Marcy pulled over and let André drive once more.
The day was so carefree, and André spoke with such effortless confidence, that Marcy hardly noticed when he changed the subject.
Somehow Marcy found herself explaining about her own life. Young marriage to an ambitious man, and dropping out of college to support him. Her married years of full time work, while he went to school to become an orthodontist. It seemed to her that her ex-husband, Trent, needed two wives. One to pay the bills while he went to school, and a trophy wife to proudly show his friends once he 'made it.'
André made murmuring sounds, encouraging her to continue.
"Frankly, André, I'm honestly glad that he's gone," she admitted. "I have no earthly idea what I saw in him in the first place. The thing is, he continuously 'forgets' to see Katie. He is so carried away with his new life."
"Ah," André said, the light of understanding coming into his eyes. "It is this that concerns you about your child. I feared perhaps an illness - instead it is the pain of abandonment."
Marcy nodded. "The poor kid thinks it's her fault. A child should be unconditionally loved by her dad. A father doesn’t have to be flawless - my own father wasn't perfect by any means, but I never doubted that he loved me."
"Pauvre petite fille," André remarked in French. Marcy understood him to mean 'poor little girl.' "It is difficult for your Katie to know rejection at such a young age. He violates an important natural law, this ex-husband of yours." There was a dark hint of condemnation in André's tone. "It is a great sin."
"I hate that Katie blames herself," Marcy said. "I'm worried that her father is scarring her for life, making her feel unloved and unwanted. As a grown woman will Katie be drawn to men like Trent? Men who ignore her or treat her like crap?"
Marcy paused and caught her breath, aware that the tone of her voice had been rising to a mildly hysterical pitch.
Breathing out a deep sigh, Marcy said, "I feel like together Katie and I are driving off a cliff. It's like the brakes have failed and there is no way to stop the damn car. No matter what I say to Trent, nothing changes. Katie is suffering and is going to continue to be hurt by her father. My asshole ex is far too self-absorbed with his new wife and his new life to listen to me."
André's jaw flexed and tightened but he didn't speak.
In the abrupt conversational silence the purr of the car's engine seemed very loud. Marcy could see that he sympathized and was disturbed by her story. Well, that was perfectly understandable. She was upset, too.
But not as upset as she was going to be by the surprising words he spoke next.
8. Passion
André shook his head. "I have heard of this before, oh, many times," he finally said. "The selfish man uses the loyal, hardworking spouse to support him until he attains his goals. Once he has the education and so on he no longer needs this type of woman. Then he seeks and finds the younger wife, to fit the new lifestyle of comfort and wealth. But to neglect his own child? Imbecile. He does not know what he throws away. Oh my heart fills, it swells with such pity! Of a certainty, mais oui, it does."
Taken aback, Marcy flew into an unexpected rage. "We don't need your pity," she said, and her pulse spiked, pounding with fury and indignation. "I told you that Katie and I are better off without him. Is that why you offered me this job? You felt sorry for me? Well fuck you, Mr. André bloody Chevalier!"
Marcy saw a slightly started look in his eyes, and defiantly went on, "I was doing just fine without you! I don’t need your pity. I'm not weak and incapable. Do you really think that women need men to make them feel valued and worthwhile?"
For a moment an expression of utter chagrin and surprise filled the Frenchman's face. Was the man astonished that she should lose her temper? That she wouldn't bow down to his money bags? Well she had more pride and self respect than that, even with the impoverished circumstances she was in.
André put on a blinker, slowed the car and pulled over, switching the ignition off.
"Pardon, ma belle," he turned toward her and said in a quiet voice, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I did not make myself understood. My comment was indefinite and clumsy. Excusez-moi. À cœur vaillant rien d'impossible. This is a French proverb, you understand. The literal translation is: 'to a valiant heart, nothing is impossible.'" He shrugged. "I do not waste my pity on you, Marcy. You are courageous and will do well. I am honored to know you. My compassion is for your ex-husband."
He paused for a moment, waiting it seemed, for her staggering thought processes to absorb
"Mon Dieu," he continued with a wave of an arm, once she finally took that last bombshell on board. "Voyons! Can you not see it? Do you imagine how he will suffer for such wickedness? For these are not small, unintended offenses. He causes great harm through selfishness and greed."
Stunned, unblinking, Marcy just stared at him.
André patted her knee in a gesture of understanding. Marcy generally disliked it when people touched her. She wasn't a touchy-feely person. Yet André was so open, his touch seemed natural and reassuring. She didn’t pull away.
"Oui," André said. "Perhaps you will yet observe the result of such dark karma. Then I am persuaded that you shall pity him, too. In life I would much prefer to be sinned upon than the sinner. It is easier, vous comprenez? With the clear conscience one sleeps very well. The sinner may deny it… but in his heart he knows. He does not deserve to be happy."
"Oh," she said.
André gave her a faint smile, his expression as eloquent as his words. "Just so."
Mortified by her outburst, Marcy's cheeks burned with shame. This man had treated her with respect. He offered her an incredible job. And how did she repay him? She yelled at him for no reason at all. What had she been thinking?
"I'm sorry for losing my temper," she said. "I… I'm not sure what came over me. I don’t usually do that."
"It is nothing, ma belle." He shot her a genuine grin, his white teeth flashing against his tan skin. "It stirred the blood, did it not? To raise the voice? To release such anger?"
"It sure did," she said with a low chuckle. "Right up to the point I realized that I'd misunderstood you. Then I felt like an idiot."
"I say bravo, ma belle," he spoke with fervor. He pressed the start button on the high performance car, and it roared to life. André put on the blinker, checked the rear view mirror, and pulled back out onto the highway.
"I love the passions. They create such sensation! Anger, grief, fear, love, hate, excitement. The fierce emotions make one feel. Such are a gift, so one knows one is alive. To live without passion is to have no life at all."
It didn’t take long for them to get back into Las Vegas and both remained quiet for the rest of the journey. The silence wasn't uncomfortable by any means. If anything it was companionable.
Recent events rolled through Marcy's mind. In truth, yelling at André had been invigorating. Being angry, aggressive and standing up for herself was something she didn't have much experience with, but she was learning. Unfortunately, just like the Shakespeare quote, "Me thinks thou doth protest too much," Marcy's rage at André had been misplaced.
She recalled her angry demand: "Do you really think that women need men to make them feel valued and worthwhile?"
As much as she wanted to deny it, the irony of it was that for many years that is exactly what Marcy thought.
I yelled at André, but I think I was actually mad at myself.
As a child Marcy constantly sought her father's rarely given approval, and this inbuilt behavior carried on into adulthood. Talk about daddy issues! She was such a cliché. Avoiding confrontation, backing down when a man yelled at her. She even sought to appease her ex-husband throughout their divorce, which was the height of his incredible prickishness.
God. I was so pathetic, she berated herself for those years spent with Trent. I was foolish and naive, but I'm smarter now.
She was every bit as good as a man - better in fact! So why did men give her such a mind fuck? Why did she feel the need to placate and please them? Even when some jerk made a rude pass at her, Marcy felt guilty for upsetting them when she refused their attentions. What was that about? It just wasn't in her to be mean. Why was she so pitiful?
It's best to keep away from the opposite sex all together, she decided for the thousandth time.
One area where she had a backbone of steel was with her daughter. Like a mother lioness, Marcy could do battle with a hundred men and win when it came to Katie.
André drove underground and parked in a private, well-marked spot. Then he took her on an express elevator to the penthouse levels. There she met Pascal Duval, the Chef, and Pascal's wife, Anne, as well as a number of Mr. Chevalier's other staff in the kitchen.
Her welcome by André's staff was overwhelming with smiling, loud voices raised in French with smatterings of English and much gesticulating.
Marcy sat down at the thick wooden table that seemed out of place in the huge stainless steel commercial kitchen. Pascal plied her with fresh croissants, strawberries, melted chocolate and cream. Two security guards sat down one on either side of her and chatted about food and fashion. Marcy thought that they might be gay, but who could tell?
Maybe they were just French.
Gustave eventually got everyone to settle down and stop talking at once. It seemed that unless they were working and clients were nearby, everyone was allowed to call Mr. Chevalier, André. They really did act like close relations, bickering and interrupting and laughing as any group of close family members might.
It was surreal.
André gave her an elegant bow of farewell and left Marcy with Gustave, who was tasked with showing her around. His security consultant would be along to interview her later.
As she sat at the oddly rustic kitchen table, surrounded by these friendly and rather overwhelming strangers, Marcy mused over the circumstances of the day.
André Chevalier was a man with surprising depths. He was the most transparently honest person she had ever met. His emotions, actions and words all perfectly aligned. He was exactly what he appeared to be and he made her feel… what?
The answer made something inside her flutter with pleasure. How did she feel? Lucky? Happy? Grateful to be alive? Yes, all of those things and something further. André made her consider that she was special, not just as a woman. It took a moment to realize.
Oh, she mused. I feel valued as a human being.
9. Security Officer
Michael Thompson was a nerd.
During his awkward teenage years he was short and weedy, with a full head of dark messy hair and thick, dark-rimmed glasses. He had been an avid techno nerd with an idealistic heart. Mike had seen every Star Trek episode dozens of times, read fantasy and science fiction, and played fantasy games with his friends (generally on-line). He avidly read magazines including 'Engineering Today,' 'Scientific America' and 'Wired.'
When he hit seventeen, he shot up to six feet one inch, but remained skinny, nerdy and dateless. He saved his money from an after school job and received laser surgery, making his vision 20/20 without glasses. The only sport he enjoyed was fishing, something he and his father did together.
His nagging cousin, Anthony, not wanting to go alone, made him attend swimming, tumbling and diving instruction. For over a year Mike threw himself into these sports, dreaming of competing in the World Aquatic Championships.
He started too little too late, but that was okay. Instead of swimming and diving medals he created a strong masculine physique. Finally, when he turned eighteen, he managed to discover girls – or at least they discovered him.
Mike's problem with girls was that to him, love and romance was all tangled up with the sexual act. Casual sex made him uncomfortable. A born romantic, Mike wanted to "make love" rather than just "bang her" or "tap that" as the boys in P.E. would say in the locker room.
Mike was a loner on the subject and unpopular, but he preferred it that way.
An army recruitment officer had found him when he was trying to work out what he wanted to be when he grew up. With his technical skills, he was recruited for army intelligence. There he worked with other nerds as they eavesdropped on the entire radio spectrum and interpreted it in real time. This included broadcast radio, television, military traffic, radar emissions, and even microwaved telephone and telegraph traffic, including satellite information.
Mike was good at his job because technology fascinated him, and his avi
He had loved his job, but he missed his parents, two younger brothers and sister, not to mention his other relations. Mike was a family man and wanted a family of his own.
Not long after Mike left the army and set up his own business installing and maintaining security systems, he met and married Barbara. They put off having children, preferring to get their debts and his business in order first. This was a mistake, as she became terminally ill and passed away. Barbara had been gone for over two years, and had been sick for a year before that.
Now Mike was alone with nothing to show for their love except for memories and photographs.
At thirty-nine years old, Michael Thompson was still a nerd. No longer socially inept, he had the sleek, muscular build of a competitive swimmer. While not totally bald, Mike lost a lot of hair on his head. This only seemed to make him more attractive to the opposite sex.
The embarrassing fact was that Mike Thompson looked exactly like Jason Statham, the tall, tough English guy in 'The Transporter' movies. Mike amused his friends now by putting on a gravelly English accent and saying in a deep voice things like: "Rule number one. Never change the deal."
His business had prospered so well that now he only contracted to André Chevalier and one casino. He kept up to date technically, and still loved his work. But what was the point? Wasn't it ironic that with all the time and financial security he wanted for a family, now he had no family to enjoy it with?
André called Mike in to background check and evaluate a woman that he planned to place on his household staff. This was a first. Why now? And why this woman, Mike wondered?
Explaining the unusual circumstances, André spoke of Marcy Paget's struggle with her conscience and the decision not to steal. He wanted Mike to "take the time he needed" and to "interview her most properly." Mike was further admonished to "show her respect" and to "be particularly kind to her" because "I like this woman."