Reprise: A Story of Reincarnated Love

*** Continuation of the party… Rooftop in the Quartier Pigalle, June 15, 2007 ***

Dominique knew a moment of panic when the electricity shot from where he was touching her to her spine. Goose bumps rose all over her body, as she pulled away, unable to meet his gaze. When he took her hand, Domi gently freed it, but followed, her gaze urgently looking for anyone she knew whom she could silently summon. No one was even looking their way between the milieu at the bar and the bands breaking down and setting up. Someone moved the spotlight to another banner to indicate which band was taking the stage. Realizing that she had been drifting along, she looked for Sean, then blushed when her gaze dropped down the line of his back to his jeans. She wrapped her arms around herself, fingers slipping beneath the crocheted hem of her top to tug at it between her thumb and hand as her fingers stroked the bare skin at her waist.

“Over here,” he said, turning to look back at her. She looked as if she were cold, or frightened, tugging down on her top and wrapping herself tightly with both arms. Sean stopped, turned, and waited for her to draw up to him. He beamed at her, and again gently cupped an elbow, leading her to the roof edge and the low protective wall that curved up from the level of the roof. “Is this alright, Dominique? We’re only three stories up.”

She gave him a small, quick smile, and dropped his gaze as she pressed her lips together. “I do not mind heights,” she confessed, looking over the edge with a shrug, “It is actually rather thrilling…” Her voice drifted off with the sudden mental image of sitting astride him as he lay on his back along the low wall, her weight fully on him with her feet dangling on either side. Shaking her head, she dismissed the idea as being uncomfortable for both of them. “Have you ever noticed that once you get to a certain height that it no longer seems so high?” Frowning, she did not give him a chance to answer before adding, “Like in an airplane? It is so far down that my mind cannot grasp it, and so it looses the thrill.”

“Haaa! That is interesting. It is not so for me. The higher I get, the more I can see of the expanse below, and the thrill increases. In an airplane, I always must have a window seat. If it is not totally clouded over or nighttime over an ocean outside, my head is glued to that window the entire flight! I have never lost a child’s fascination with heights, and flying in particular.”

They stood by the low wall, looking down. Sean suddenly slipped his vest off, and draped it over the slightly curved top of the wall, the inside against the wall and the outside exposed to the night. “Here, Dominique, sit, sit, please. I see no chairs here, and you did get knocked about a bit by our clumsiness. Please, your seat awaits you, Mademoiselle!” He swept his hand over the vest and gave a shallow bow ….

The inside of his vest would likely get very dirty, and yet would it not be impolite to refuse the gallant gesture? “You are very kind,” she commented, biding time to make her decision. She really was fine to stand – was used to being on her feet for hours at a time in much less comfortable shoes – but maybe he wished to sit and he could not unless she did? ”Thank you,” she added with a small grin, “Perhaps we can share it?” She fussed with the garment, but the vest really was very small. About the only way to share it would be to sit on top of each other.

She crossed her legs, sitting on one hip, and then patted the vest; though really it would likely be uncomfortable for him to try and seat himself on what little fabric was available.

“Oh, thank you, Dominique. No---the vest is all yours. I’ll sit in a moment, thanks. Tell me, what is the highest you have ever been? And, what was it like?” Sean asked her once she was seated.

Her grin was quite irrepressible, though she tried to subdue it. He was charmingly pushy, and it was easy for her to imagine him hocking his artwork in the same manner; and he had also been very gallant in giving her his vest to sit on, and as she looked out over the crowd, she would bet that there was not another male at the party who would have given any thought to the fact that there was no clean place for a girl in white jeans to sit.

Really, having to stand all night should have been her punishment for letting Labette dress her.

Trapping her lower lip between her teeth, face tilted up at him, her gaze went blank a moment as she considered that. “I’m not sure… maybe the World Trade Towers in New York City? We went up to the observation deck when I was seven or eight. The cars on the streets below looked like little ants and it was hard to make out individual people.” She blinked, gaze returning to the present. She had been in Paris already when the towers had come down, and had been at a loss to explain to her friends why it had affected her so. “What was the highest you have ever been, other than an airplane?”

“Ahhh---it was otherworldly, Dominique! More than four kilometers up on a broad ledge of the Matterhorn Mountain – just about 215 meters below the summit. I did that one summer when visiting Switzerland, and ended up with climber friends – art people -- in Zermatt which lies at the foot of the mountain. It was arduous, took half a day on an easy trail for non-climbers, but the view! The whole of Europe seemed stretched out beneath us, and we were in the heavens, it seemed.” He lowered himself onto the wall beside her, and turned, looking at her with admiration in his eyes. “You really do look so lovely tonight. I claim you for a dance after our drink, alright? Haaa! Penance, if I step on your feet, for not coming to the gallery!”

She had never been to Switzerland, and was not especially enamored of camping though she had never actually done it. The few nights she had been obliged to sleep on the streets though had been enough time spent ‘under the stars’ to last her a lifetime. So in the interest of being polite, she decided to welcome the subject change. “If you are as prone to clumsiness as my last dance partner, perhaps we should dance before the drink…” There was a hint of teasing challenge in her voice; and she raised her eyebrows at him as if daring him in some way.

He met her glance with wide eyes, stroking his scruffy chin as if in serious ponder. “Well, I’m perhaps slightly rusty,” he explained. “I so rarely go out to begin with and never dancing. I think the last time I danced was some two winters ago, at some big gallery opening and ball. But---rust or not, I warn you that I cut a fine figure as a dancer! Oh, yes. Uhm, although not the really young, new stuff, I’m afraid. A waltz, a swing, a foxtrot, any kind of Latin dance – I’m in my element with those!” He looked at her admiringly. “I’ll bet you can dance just about anything, and quite well! I’d be delighted to whirl about this roof with you! Haaa! Sober or a bit tipsy!”

She could well imagine him salsa-ing with a long-legged Spanish beauty. “It has been…” she looked away, biting her lip in consideration, “years since I have really danced,” she let out a mirthless laugh, “but I doubt there will be much opportunity to tango tonight.” Her chin indicated the makeshift dance-floor.

The band on stage had just begun their warm-up, and it was already clear that it would be one for the moshers. She gave him a weak smile. “In truth this is not really my sort of…” she turned her hand over, indicating the tableau before them, “event.” The boys from earlier were throwing their bodies against each other violently. One of them had fallen to the ground, where he was trampled as one of their number stepped on him and then fell on top of him. Wincing in sympathy, she admitted, “That’s a bit too full contact for me.”

“God, yes! Agreed! I’ve heard about this …. ‘mashing’ or whatever it’s called, but never seen it! You could get hurt doing that! Mon Dieu!” He shifted a bit closer to her, and looked at her inquiringly. “On the other hand, though, two people could certainly get to know each other rather quickly doing that. Haaa! And, no one would hear what they were doing, if you know what I mean, over the din from those speakers! No one would be looking, that’s for sure! Haaaa! Talk about scabrous!”

His teasing comment elicited a trilling laugh as she mocked slapping at his arm with the back of her fingers. “Let us hope it does not go that far – at least not on the roof…” she broke into laughter again, very glad to have found someone who was not, at least, all caught up in the politics of this competition. All week, all she had heard from Gus, Luc, and Labette was about which band was playing first, whose equipment would be used (or not used) who was allowed to invite what guests, and who the judges would be. The entire thing had seemed somewhat puerile to Dominique, though she knew that even two or three years ago, she would have hung on every word, trying to figure out how the social structure worked. Now her ambitions lay elsewhere. It was somewhat liberating and yet it filled her with guilt. This was a huge deal for her friends, so she felt she should care more.

“No, indeed, not on the roof,” he agreed with her earlier comment. “I daresay, though, there’ll be plenty of private, uh, ‘playing’ to be heard in those rooms we passed coming up here. Haaa!” He hazarded a quick wink at her.

No doubt he was right, and she wrinkled her nose a bit at the thought. Men, in her estimation, often did not care where they did such things, but it amazed her at how many women allowed themselves to be tumbled in closets, bathrooms, or a stranger’s bed. It was, however, a view she never offered aloud, knowing it was an unpopular one. Unsure what to say, she looked at her nails and then back over the crowd as if contemplating escape.

“Well, let’s sit this one out,” he said. “Have you ever been to Spain? Would you like to hear of a magical place there that crosses my mind for some reason tonight? Oh – I think we could get those drinks now. What would you like? You can stay here while I go play wait person – as long as you don’t run away!”

He did that a lot too, she had noted – introduced one topic, then switched to another before she could answer. So she ignored the question about Spain and stood, “Why don’t I go instead?” She offered. “I’m smaller and I know the bartender,” she explained. “What would you like?” She did not know him well enough to let him handle her drink.

“You know the bar tender?” he asked, glancing in the direction of the bar, still quite crowded. He spied the back of Angelo’s loud sweater up close to the bar itself. “How do you come to know him?” He seemed genuinely puzzled that she would know the bar tender on a thrash band roof mosh pit. On the other hand, she had come to the affair and must, therefore, know someone here.

Domi had shrugged, “He works most nights in a bar not far from here – they must be paying him to work this party. Pretty sure he would have been invited anyway.” She couldn’t be sure though. Her day job took up more of her time than school did. Well, sort of. She was also spending some of her free time with her new friends from the bank, which was cutting into the time and attention she could give to this social circle.

Not wanting to linger on the subject, she asked again, “What would you like?” Her tone and modulation every bit the barmaid.

“You know, I will drink light tonight I believe. This booming music already has me off balance. Haaaa! So …. I would like an aperiétif – the favorite of our French Foreign Legion, in fact: Dubonnet! A straight dubonnet rouge on ice would be perfect. I should some time tell you some tales about the Foreign Legion that I know, incidentally” … he trailed off, realizing he was motor-mouthing and shot-gunning from topic to topic. Time to calm down, collect, focus, he thought to himself.

The French Foreign Legion? She blinked at that, gaze moving over his body as if readjusting her estimation of him. Had he served in the military? Perhaps he was older than she thought? Deciding not to pursue the matter just yet, she offered him a small smile, “I’ll be right back…”

Sean watched her glide off toward the bar. Again, as in the previous month at the École, and during their afternoon together, he relished watching her singular gait, which he knew so well from her as Felicia in Spain. She was for him just then the fairytale princess come to life. In her absence, his zeal relaxed, and he realized how totally whelmed he was with everything he’d breathed and thought and dreamed and hoped and feared in the few weeks since Angelo had claimed to have found Sean’s portraiture ‘model.’”

Sean turned his head and caught sight of a tall, flaxen blonde approaching him. No – more zeroing in on him like a heat-seeking missile. Her moon-shaped eyes glowed like hot emeralds; and her thick, full lips were pursed in determination. She was quite a sight to behold! Her tall slender body was squeezed into an almost smutty tight bright vinyl corset, matching mini-skirt that revealed a set of dynamite seductive legs, supple and shapely with just the right amount of underlying muscle to be feminine and lethal! Matching boots that rose to mid-calf accentuated the entire leggy presentation.

Labette had started looking for Domi after she had made the rounds of the men she had wanted to see. Since she didn’t want to spend the entire night on her knees, she had decided to do a lot of flirting and some raunchy dancing to get her would-be benefactors all worked up, so that perhaps she could get the most generous two or three to cough up an especially charitable donation in the wee hours. If they were drunk or stoned or high, she might even be able to help herself to whatever cash was in their wallets.

However, all thoughts of other gentlemen were forgotten when she discovered Domi talking to what had to be the most handsome man in Paris. The sensation press thought so anyway – Sean LeBeque was regularly featured in the society rags – and was often photographed with both local and international beauties. So what in the world was he doing here, talking to Dominique? The blonde had watched the pair for a long moment before deciding that even Sean LeBeque couldn’t break Dominique’s shell. Her flat mate kept looking at her nails and scanning the crowd, as if seeking escape – and then suddenly she had done just that. Interesting… Knowing Domi, she didn’t even know who Sean LeBeque was.

All the better for her – for if Sean was slumming, Labette was happy to show him the ropes. He was handsome enough – and no doubt smelled heavenly – that she would gladly ride him just for the bragging rights. Though of course, he could afford to be generous.

Labette knew how to show off her body. She didn’t have Dominique’s narrow waist, but the corset took care of that – and she had two things Domi did not: one and three-quarters meters – five feet nine inches – in height (mostly in her legs), and a bosom that spilled over the tops of her corset as if the slightest jostle would reveal her nipples. Labette looked like a woman going to a party to pick up a man (or two or three). By contrast, Domi looked like a teenage girl going on family picnic.

The leggy woman was almost on him, and Sean rose as she approached. She was so tall in her spiky heels; her eyes were level with his, and he scarcely needed to glance downward to take in the bulging globes of her more-than-ample bosom, propped nearly over the top of her corset.

“You’re Sean LeBeque,” Labette stated in her most sultry voice, green eyes glittering as they raked his body as if he were the one up for sale. She came a step closer; “I’ve seen your picture in the papers. I’m Labette…” she indicated the bar with her chin and offered him her hand, palm down, as if expecting him to kiss it. “Domi’s flat mate.”

Sean’s jaw snapped open like a trap door collapsing under an ill-steered tractor-trailer rig. He reached idly for her hand as he spoke, staring wide eyed into her mischievous, sassy eyes, and turned it palm upward. He sandwiched her hand with his two and pumped it in what must have been the most awkward, distracted handshake he’d ever given, and then released it as he stammered on. “You … you are who? Labette? You share a flat with … uhm … Domimique? Dominique Vasser? Mais, est-que-c’est possible vraiment? Quelle monde petite!” – But, can this truly be possible? What a small world! And, you know me from Les Personalités magazine? Do you also know Angelo LaRussa?”

Her painted lips pursed in annoyance at how he said Domi’s name. She nodded noncommittally without indicating which of his questions she was answering. Surely he was not smitten with Domi… if so, she would have to disabuse him of the notion, just as she did all the other silly men who found her virginal roommate attractive.

“How flattering! I never pay attention to those tabloids.” He continued.

The corners of Labette’s mouth turned upward, “Handsome and modest… what a nice surprise…” Her pink tongue stroked her upper lip as her gaze moved to his bare throat. With a slow blink, she moved back to his eyes, “The two of you were talking rather… intimately. Do you know Dominique well?” She tried to make it sound casual.

“Ah, well, it’s a quite long story, and, Dominique and I have known each other only a brief time now. Essentially, my friend Angelo, who’s here tonight …. there – over there” he pointed out Angelo at the bar, “sort of introduced us. I, uhm, spent an afternoon last month touring Napoleon’s tomb with Mlle. Vasser and then supping nearby. I just, well, simply enjoyed her company. And, now, sheer chance, we both are at the same party! Haaa! As are you and Angelo. Mon Dieu!”

Labette let out a low snorting laugh, deciding that she must make him nervous. “Yes, imagine that… Though you have me to thank for her presence. I practically had to drag her here. She much rather would have been working.” She gave him a small smile and shifted closer yet, a bit off center from him, and now close enough that she could have put her hand on his shoulder.

He could smell her scent – a strong, unrefined perfume that assailed his nostrils with a caustic bite. He had fleeting images of the two-franc bargain stores in nearby Montmartre, or across the river on la rive gauche – the left bank – in the garment factory quarter. “Well, you can imagine my utter astonishment to see her here, let alone barge into her. Angelo and I walked right into her and some dance partner and sent them flying in all directions! So clumsy! Uhhh---if I have you to thank for bringing her here, well, thanks! Merci beaucoup! Mon Dieu! Why would she be working at her bank internship this late on a Friday night anyhow?”

Labette let out an astonished chuckle before she could swallow it. “The bank is like an unpaid hobby.” Scorn dripped from her voice. Blinking, she shook that away and asked suspiciously, “So are you and your friend Angelo here…” she made a small significant gesture with her hand, “together?”

“Oh, no, I’m with no one formally. Dominique and I are going to have a drink – she’s there now getting mine – so ‘gentlewomanly’ of her – and she owes me a dance! Haa!!”

Her relief that he wasn’t at the party with his lover was overshadowed by his insistence on discussing her flat mate. She considered telling him about poor Domi’s ‘condition’, but decided to try a subtler tactic first. “You know,” she cooed up at him, “I would not have thought it possible, but you are even more handsome in person. No wonder all those socialites are after you.”

“Uh, uhm … oh, well, thank you for the compliment! Ah, you, uhm, are looking very fashionable yourself here! Actually, haaaa, I’m not really in demand as the tabs might suggest. Work, work, work is my life, and the jeunes filles of Paris prefer play, play, play! Haaaa! Ah, now, here comes Dominique and Angelo!”

Angelo had glommed onto Dominique the minute he saw her at the bar and did not give her the slightest chance to slip away from him. “I cannot believe you are here,” he had lied, and he learned that she was actually getting a drink for herself and Sean. “Ah! That Sean denies this old man any pleasure by sweeping away one of the true beauties of Paris! Say, I knew you first, Mademoiselle Vasser,” he quipped.

Comments like that always irritated Domi a bit, dripping with cheap insincerity as they were. “Monsieur LaRussa,” she acknowledged, finally gaining the bartender’s attention.

The bartender did not have any dubonnet, and Dominique was at a loss what to get him. “Allow me,” Angelo interceded. “Dubonnet indeed! Sean’s a martini guy – I’ll handle this!”

Drinks in hand, they moved on toward the roof edge. Angelo sputtered on and on nonstop about the relative strengths of the major bands slated to compete during the evening, filling in with incomprehensible technical comments about riffs and bars and musical composition and more. He punctuated every other sentence with, “Don’t you think?” or “Wouldn’t you agree?” giving her no chance, however, to reply.

Dominique had no idea what he was going on about as the music was drowning out his ceaseless chatter. He had seemed anxious, however, to get her back to his friend; making her wonder if Sean had signaled him somehow. She and Labette had a series of signals so that they could help steer unwanted males away. The idea was a bit annoying, though Angelo had come in handy as he was able to pick a drink for his friend from the very limited selection of hard liquor and mixers.

She nearly dropped the clear plastic cup that was billed as a martini when she saw Labette pulling what Domi had privately labeled her ‘whore on the make’ routine on Sean. It really was not jealousy in those first few panicked seconds, but her long fear of what would happen if her two worlds collided. Sean knew her as the recent graduate who was just beginning her long internship, looking to make a place for herself in the professional financial world. What would he think if he knew that her flat mate was a whore who worked so cheaply that she had to wait tables at a low class bar just to make ends meet, even with a roommate and living in a slum? But then Labette had several expensive habits.

Domi’s blue eyes narrowed as she walked toward the pair, aware of Angelo bubbling on beside her, but paying him absolutely no mind. “Labette…” she started, giving the blonde a tight smile, “Have you met Monsieur LeBeque?” She offered the drink to him with an apology, “He called it a martini… it was the best he could do.”

“Oh, oh now, thank you, Domi! This is just fine, too. Ahh! ‘Domi,’ he repeated the familiar form of her name. “Mademoiselle Labette here, who amazingly I learn is your flat mate, calls you that! I like it. Uhm, maybe I should not be so casual with you, though?” he said with serious inquisitiveness.

Taking a sip of her ginger ale, Domi shrugged, unconcerned. She needed to split them up, but how? She found herself frowning into her cup.

“Yes, Sean, I cannot believe that we three are all here by such complete coincidence,” Angelo lied again. “As I was telling her, you have stolen her attentions from me, mon ami! I should challenge you to an old-fashioned duel over her, sir!” he joked.

The two women looked from Angelo to Sean and back as if they had grown two heads, shared a significant look, and then both looked at the ground. Labette was the first to recover, deciding to ignore the strange old man in favor of his wealthy, attractive friend, but the loudly dressed fellow interrupted before she could do much more than sidle closer to Sean.

Angelo finally simmered down sufficiently to take stock of Labette, and with a shameless whistle, looked her up and down with a broad grin stretched across his lips, and said, “Well now, Monsieur LeBeque, perhaps you would do me the pleasure of introducing this lovely jeune fille to me.” She actually stood somewhat taller than Angelo in her heels, and he looked up at her with rapt enthusiasm.

“Ah, mon ami, this is Mademoiselle Labette, as I said just now. And, Angelo, she and Domi share a flat together right here in the Pigalle! Quelle mondepetit, eh? What a small world, huh? Labette, this is my dear, dear artist friend, Angelo LaRussa. Years ago, I studied under him at the Art Academy, and then re-met him in various art circles that we both ended up frequenting. I dare say he’s my very best friend, when he’s not off charming all the eligible ladies of Paris! Haaa!”

“Even ineligible femmes,” Angelo smirked.

“Nice to meet you,” Labette replied dismissively, barely giving the older man a glance and not bother to correct Sean’s impression that they lived in the Pigalle. Deciding that driving Domi off might well drive the crazy old man off, she turned to Dominique and commented, “Sean was just telling me that you were dancing…” Domi frowned, and then shrugged, clearly unwilling to elaborate, so Labette added incredulously, “With a man?”

Domi pulled a face and shrugged again, “You weren’t around…” She was attempting to turn Labette’s own words back on her, but knew already that the game was lost. Labette could out ‘bitchy’ anyone.

But oddly, Labette laughed, took Domi’s drink, downed it, and handed the empty plastic cup to Angelo. “I’m here now…” she gave Sean her very best smile, “You don’t mind if I steal her for a few minutes, do you?”

“Well, Labette, that is not my place to say. It’s up to her, you know.” Sean was acutely aware of the thick-as-brie tension between the two women, and even more attuned to Dominique’s discomfort, much as she so valiantly attempted to conceal it. “It may be that you and I will need to duel, Labette, as it is my intention to ‘steal’ her myself …”

“Actually,” Domi cut in, eyes glittering, though her voice was still neutral, “I’ve promised Sean a dance…” She practically begged him to jump in; though the instant she did she realized that it likely looked like they were fighting over him. Merde … Still, it could not be helped. If she was dancing with Sean, then surely Labette would take the hint and go find someone else to drool on.

“Ahhh!” Sean exclaimed, his eyes glued to Domi although he spoke to Labette, “no duel required, dear lady! Yes, yes, I insist that you keep your promise now,” he said to her. The band had just wound down into a boisterous three-chord ballad lead-in to what he hoped would be a moderately-paced tune suitable for a relatively sedate dance. “I believe, Mademoiselle, this is the tune we’ve been anticipating,” he said to her, all suave and smooth and sincere. She was the center of time and space for him at that moment. “Shall we?”

Gratefully, Domi took Sean’s arm, mouthing at Labette behind his back, “Later.” Labette scowled at her, though Domi knew her well enough to know that she was more than a little confused. She would just have to hope that Labette would let it be.

Sean led her away with a scant glance and a smile at Angelo. He covered her hand on his arm with his other hand, barely touching her, and before the expected pull-away came from her, he turned to her and said in a soothing, baritone voice, “Thank you for accepting, and for the drink. We will have to get you another when we have finished.” He moved his hand off of hers, content to have rested it there for those few seconds. “Your flat mate is certainly … colorful … and you are most generous to have relinquished your drink to her. But, let us now enjoy the dance, and some time away from our two, uhm, rowdy friends.” He moved her onto the floor with gentle sweep of his arm, as velvety smooth as his voice.

Domi did not recognize the song at all, but the uproarious beginning had settled into a crooning, bass-driven melody; the beat too fast to dance close to – at least by a pair inexperienced with each other – and a bit slow to dance in half time. That was okay though, for Domi was content to sway back and forth slowly.

As they faced each other on the floor, Sean quickly decided that the tempo was best for impromptu free-form swaying, with no particular pattern of steps, but would allow him to touch her in lead without holding her close. How perfect for a first dance! He took her hand in his, fingers to fingers, and reached at bent arm distance with his other hand to palm her back, just above her waist and off center, toward her side. Her hand was cool and accepting; the bare skin between the waistband of her jeans and bottom of her top was warm, smooth, divine to feel with one finger, then a second, then another and another…

Initially, she was too caught up in positioning herself so that she could follow his lead, and distracted by the odd confrontation with Labette to notice how warm his hand was wrapped around hers, or that she could feel his fingers on the bare skin on her back. The realization made her breath catch, and soon the only thing she was noticing was the subtle way his fingertips moved over her skin. At first it was just his pinky finger and the touch was so light that it almost tickled. She squirmed a bit, arching her back to try to get more contact, but that did not seem to work.

Still tentatively, gently, he contained her waist more fully with his hand while guiding her hips to move their feet along in a wide, slow arc across the roof, swaying to the music as they moved. His thumb found a perch on the front side of her bare midriff, and he brushed it up and down slowly as they moved.

Her eyes went wide on a small gasp, the muscles of her belly tensing reflexively; and then she was afraid to relax them out of a purely vain desire to feel as thin as possible to him. It was absurd – as was the desire to writhe under his hand, and the whole episode left her pink with a mix of embarrassment and irritation.

He smiled into her face, ignoring her mild blush, hoping to dispel within her the detachment registered on the faces of so many of the dancers on the roof. He had taken his cautious incursion into her bodily space as far as he felt necessary, or desired, this time out. Just to be this close, swaying in unison with her to a primal beat that vibrated the rooftop and rocked their insides, to be holding her delicate hand and clasping her warm waistline so as to lead her, was sublime. He smiled, and looked at her face, hoping she would meet his gaze and connect for even a fleeting second. “You move with such grace, Domi,” he said in a near whisper.

Seeing as she felt as wooden as plank, she was not sure how to take that comment. In truth she given almost no thought to what her feet were doing, so concentrated as she was on his fingers. Was he being facetious? She sought his gaze, her expression a mass of confusion and disbelief. “I am afraid I am woefully out of practice,” she replied, licking her lips nervously and looking away. It would be so much easier, she thought, to dance like this while standing against him, her hand looped up around his shoulder; but she realized that it was not an easier time dancing that made her wish for greater contact. Blushing floridly at that, her hand tightened around his and she tucked her chin a little. One of the benefits of dancing closer would be that he wouldn’t be able to see her face…

Labette watched the pair dance her expression morphing from confusion to narrow-eyed pique. “Hrumph,” she grunted, flopping down on Sean’s vest and crossing her arms on a pout. “Most peculiar…” Her eyes never came off the couple.

“Why, Labette? Pardon? Peculiar? What so?” Angelo queried.

The blonde shrugged and snorted, “Domi doesn’t like men,” she confided. “I mean, like, she normally begs me to keep them away from her. So why in the world would she want to dance with your pretty friend?” She blinked to Angelo as if really seeing him for the first time. “Do you have any idea who she was dancing with earlier?”

“Haaa! Well, he’s a Gus someone or other,” Angelo replied. He appears to be some bi chap who knows her some way or other, but he’s totally stoned on all kinds of stuff tonight. I think we ‘saved’ her from him when we bumped into them. Haaa! We just walked right into them and broke up the grope or whatever was going on!”

Angelo suddenly felt slightly “traitorous” at having revealed the nature of the earlier dance. Something about Domi’s ‘not liking men,’ from his mild acquaintance with her, not to mention his deep knowledge of the reincarnation surrounding her and Sean, just didn’t ring true. He felt he’d fed into that possible untruth by revealing the earlier “dance” that was really not a consensual event.

“Oh.” Labette slumped a little, dismissing Gus out of hand, but not explaining why. Her gaze returned to Sean and Dominique. Could Domi actually like Sean? Maybe her problem had been that she didn’t like the kind of men that they normally hung out with. However, Labette immediately dismissed any idea of Domi being a snob. Of the two of them, Domi was far more generous and sympathetic; she just didn’t like men – or women, for that matter. Labette had tested those waters too, crawling into Domi’s bed one night several years ago after they had been drinking, ostentatiously to share body heat. Even drunk to the point of being limp, Domi had managed to slap Labette’s hand when it had started traveling up her thigh and wriggling away when Labette had begun to kiss her neck. The girls had never discussed it later, choosing to forget it happened.

“Uh, I certainly don’t see her disliking men! I mean, there she is, dancing with Sean. And they had supper a few weeks ago out near the Dome des Invalides.” Angelo reported.

Labette dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “I have lived with Domi for eight years, and I’m telling you, Domi’s not into guys. Not even drop-dead gorgeous guys. When men touch her she freezes up or totally freaks out.” She flapped her hands around her face frantically as if to illustrate. “Even after all these years…” She sighed tiredly and then shrugged. “You know, she’s such a tense little thing… though I can’t blame her. If I’d been through what she’s been through, I’d hate men too.”

“Whatever has she ‘been through’?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

This bit of acting was so practiced that it even felt real. “She was abused while she was in the States. After her parents were killed, she was kidnapped and this psycho cut her up…” she leaned in a little and covered the side of her mouth with one hand while pointing to her own crotch with the other. “Down there…” She let that hang for a long moment and gave Domi a pitying look, though she hardly looked like she deserved pity, wrapped up as she was in that gorgeous man’s arms.

“Huuuuuuuuhhhhh!” Angelo gasped in disbelief and horror. “Merde! Unbelievable! Poor child! Did they get the guy, punish the bastard?” Angelo was beside himself in horror. Sean had no idea about any of this. It would devastate him.

Labette shrugged. “Yeah, it sucks to be her. She pretty much doesn’t have anything left. She was all infected when they found her and the surgeons had to take everything. She looks like a Barbie doll, you know, down there…” Her tone was heartless, born out of envy. “Except it is all scar tissue, not smooth.” The story was almost guaranteed to turn men off. Of course, some freaks decided they wanted to see for themselves, but they were few and far between.

“Oh, oh! I just do not know what to say,” Angelo agonized deeply. “The poor, sweet child! What a fucking cross to bear! She is probably as afraid to have a good man for fear he wouldn’t want her as she is hateful of men for what happened to her. Sacre bleu!” He shook his head disconsolately.

Labette stood on a hard sigh, “Hey look, don’t say anything, okay? I probably shouldn’t have told you. She’s really sensitive about it and she IS my best friend.” She was clearly getting ready to leave.

“Well, no, no, of course not,” he replied. But, how could he not tell Sean, he thought to himself. This was just terrible!

“Merci,” the blonde gave Angelo a small smile. “Would you tell her I’m downstairs and want to talk to her?” She indicated the direction of the stairs with a nod of her head. “Getting chilly out here.”

“Uh, yes, yes I will. D’accord.”

Boldly, she adjusted her corset right in front of him, reaching in to scoop each of her breasts up so that Angelo could have a free look at her large, pale brown nipples before she grabbed hold of the vinyl and shook her chest until the twins settled into place. She watched his face as she did so, trying to judge his interest. With a smirk she leaned in close enough that he would be able to feel her breath on his ear, “If you – or your pretty friend – are interested… I’m perfectly whole and healthy…” She let her belly stroke his hip as she moved past him and strutted across the roof to the fire escape.

Angelo said nothing and watched her sashay away. She was a hot sex kitten to be sure; and ordinarily, he’d be propositioning her with a vengeance, but his mood was totally dampened, and for once, his penis lay flaccid.

Sean continued to guide Domi smoothly in slow arcs across the roof, watching her face and the graceful flow of her body as they moved. He eased back a bit on the gliding and brought them more or less stationary, swaying together, his fingers still gently stroking her skin as a natural part of her movements. “Now, I haven’t trampled your feet, have I?” he asked softly. “So, my reward will be a visit from you at the gallery, oui?” He wheeled her around in a tight circle and resumed swaying, smiling at her.

Having arched her back a bit to get more contact with his hand, and thoroughly distracted with the idea of dancing with her head on his shoulder, Domi blinked at his words, smiled self-consciously, and shook her head, though she did not get a chance to reply before he pressed his suit again. That brought her eyes to his on a frown, for she had told him she would see what she could do. Her shoulders fell, but before she was forced to reply, he twirled her about, bringing a smile to her face, and giving her an out to ignore his request.

He slowed further, almost to a stand still, and drew her closer into his embrace, still swaying with her, side to side, slowly, gently rotating the two of them around the spot they occupied. “Thank you for the dance, chére Domi. I’d like to dance with you again tonight.” He rubbed his hand slowly up her back, up to her neck for an instant, and then pulled it away. He dropped it to her hip, pulled back again, and continued the final passes as the band reached its final measure.

Without meaning to, Domi closed her eyes as he stroked up her back, the hairs at the nape of her neck standing on end as if begging for his attention. His hand was so large and warm as it stroked the bare skin beneath her hair, caressing it too as he traced her spine. The hand on his shoulder pressed into him as she used him to stay upright, and her fingers tightened around his hand. She did not recognize the soft, disappointed moan as her own when he drew his hand away and put it back on her hip. The moment had lasted less than three seconds, but had seemed to hold the promise of an eternity. She wondered briefly, and with another blush, what he would think if he knew how many of her future fantasies he had fueled with this one dance – or in how many of her fantasies he had touched her just like that. Why hadn’t she worn a backless gown?

It was that thought that had her blurting, “I really would love to really dance with you…” then with a shy smile indicated the stage with a nod, “I am afraid we will not get much in the way of dance songs tonight.” She suppressed the wild impulse to lean in and kiss the point where his arm met his body, but smiled secretly at the thought. He would likely think her quite odd.

The band was ending the tune with a final guitar trill and drum roll, and Sean brought them to a stand still. He stood for an instant with his hand still on her hip, and his other hand holding hers as if not finished dancing. He smiled at her, and said, “Well, they gave us this dance. Surely they have another one in them!” He pulled back, drawing her hand in his outward and softly covered it with his other hand. “Thank you, Domi,” he said quietly. “It was so nice to dance with you.”

With a small smile, she drew away and wove her way back toward the place along the wall where they had left his vest, Angelo, and Labette; however, the blonde was gone – much to Domi’s relief. No doubt the two of them would have a difficult conversation, followed by a few tense days, but at least whatever damage Labette had been about to inadvertently do was now over. That she considered Labette a threat did not sit well. As they approached Angelo, she adjusted the neckline and sleeves of her sage green peasant blouse, and then tugged the hem down, her fingers grazing over the over stimulated place on her back where he had so recently been touching her.

Angelo looked up, and struggled to hide his rattled demeanor. “Ah, the ballroom artists,” he said, somewhat stiffly. “Uhm, you two looked … divine out there. No other couple showed such … traditional grace. Mademoiselle, uh, yes, uhm, you uh surely made this clumsy man look good.”

Sean beamed, still mildly intoxicated from his whirl with her. “Thanks, Angelo! I rather think we cut a very nice figure out there myself!”

Brows knitting together, Domi sighed and then nodded, “Thank you, M. LaRussa; and thank you, for the dance…” she swallowed, “…Sean. If you gentlemen will excuse me?” Her gaze lingered over Sean’s a moment before she backed a step away, whirled, and headed for the rusty stairs. There had been something odd in the way that Angelo had addressed her, as if much of his natural buoyancy had been lost. It was perplexing, and a little worrying; and the only way she would get some answers was to hunt down Labette.

As she left, Sean took a seat on his vest and looked dreamily toward the stage. The band was gearing up a hard, driving rock number, and the din was rising again. He looked at Angelo, his reverie dissipating slowly, and asked, “Tout est bien, mon ami? All is well, my friend? You look … I don’t know, dyspeptic or something.”

“No, no,” Angelo replied as evenly as he could. “Maybe inhaling a bit too much second hand weed, and these awful drinks!” But, his expression remained distant, odd.

Sean continued talking nonetheless. “Well, Angelo, I feel so grand now. She felt …. she felt like yesterday! Such … so much like Felicia! Then, of course, she is. Oh, mon ami, I wanted to just pull her so close and dance with her slowly, the tempo of that band be damned, with my arms hugging her waist! But, time … in time, I am certain. This was really … as you said, divine! I do hope we have another dance later.”

Angelo nodded his head, but remained silent.

“There was a dance that I went to …. it must have been in October, you know, in 1835, in Spain, with Felicia. Oh, we were so madly in love by then! And intimate beyond our lust, in those special ways that lovers who want a life together are. Sharing dreams and thoughts and ideas about everything! Well, but, it was a governor’s ball I think in Tarragona, a tribute to the Queen. Felicia was so like Domi that night – beautiful, graceful, with me. We picked up one of those special little things that lovers share, you know, a phrase to bring back a memory, a thing with special meaning only to us.

“It was her orchid. I had picked a perfect white orchid for her that day. The orchid was very special, symbolic to us, Angelo. You see, she had, she has, oh, she has always had all the times we’ve been together, this birthmark.” he explained softly, a haunted look glazing his eyes over, “It’s the pale outline of an orchid, a silhouette, just above her tail bone!” He paused, lost in a sea of visions of their love-making, and his kisses, both tender and ravishing, upon that birthmark, that target of lust and of adoration.

“So,” he regained composure, “she wore it in her hair at the dance. It looked so perfect. Later, in my billet, she had taken it out of her hair and laid it on a table up by the head of our bed. We made love, sweet love … oh, how it was with us! That orchid, Angelo, was placed so that when she turned her head, she could see it, and when I looked up from her, I could see it. As we climaxed, I looked from her face to the orchid and back, over and over. When we rested, I told her, ‘I saw an orchid. I see the orchid!’ And, she said, ‘So do I, Frederick.’”

“Frederick?” Angelo suddenly interrupted.

“Oh, yes, I was called Frederick Downs then. You may forget that name from my past. In any event, from then on, when we meant to say ‘I love you’ or just express our joy, I guess, we would say, ‘I see the orchid.’ I can never forget that.”

“Uhm, yes, uh, uhmm,” Angelo said, distractedly, slipping again into a morose mood. Sean would be so devastated to hear what he had learned from Labette. He simply could not burst his bubble just now, though.

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