17 One step further, one step too far

When Pierre-Jean called the “cut”, I was in another world entirely. Tristan had to call me back so that I would stop walking.

— “Uh ?”

The actor caught up with me, wincing when his foot encountered a harsher stone. A Swedish curse passed his lips.

— “Are you all right ?”, I asked.

— “Yes, yes, just a stupid rock. Are you ?”

I had trouble not to smile at the sensations that washed through me. Damn, it had been such a sweet, little kiss, with almost no contact between us. But I couldn’t show how much it had affected me. For Stéphane, first; where was my shame ? And Tristan, secondly. He didn’t need another fangirl who dreamed about his lips. Still… he was a damn good kisser.

— “Yes. I am.”

— “Then come, Pierre-Jean wants us inside to try for a little…er. Intimacy”

I flushed then, and Tristan laughed.

— “Don’t worry. It will be mild. And I’ll be here to set the line, all right ? We agreed, nothing you are uncomfortable with”

— “Ok”, I stuttered.

Tristan pulled me against him, giving me a quick side hug before we had to separate because of the uneven ground.

— “It will be over soon. And you’ve been amazing so far”, he added.

— “It helps that you are a great kisser”

Biting my lip, I tried to backpedal.

— “I didn’t say that out loud, please bury me”

— “What, again ?”

I chanced a look at him, and found a playful light dancing in his eyes. And when he sent me a dazzling smile; I almost stubbed my foot on a rock.

— “You are not bad yourself. Come, it will be fine”

We climbed the uneven steps of ‘our’ home, penetrating in the barely lit room that sported a bed. The crew was kept minimal – for comfort – and Pierre-Jean ordered me to lay on the bed and relax. The costume lady came about, and helped me to undo most of the buttons, save one. My breasts were slightly showing with the gap, but it still was far mor modest than some modern clothing ladies tended to wear at the beach. Still, I was already flushing. Marie blew me a kiss.

— “You’ll be allright dear, you’re in good hands”

And she winked at me, pointing at Tristan who had shed his chemise, talking to the director, the lightnening guy and other members. Refusing to dwell on the intricate design of muscles upon the his back, I endeavored to keep my breathing even. Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep the knot tightening my chest, and I started to massage my sternum to ease away the pain.

‘Keep the mood’, Tristan had said. So I fled to the memory of our dance, barely an hour before, remembering how safe his arms made me feel. And sweet the fragrance of his skin, how gentle the feel of his hands. Silence fell upon the scene, and Tristan walked up to me. My eyes went wide; he was naked, save for a modesty patch. I nearly choked then, struggling to refrain from watching. I couldn’t help a quick peek, though, and I found him so … splendid ? Magnificient ? Handsome ? There were no words to describe his lean body.

— “Damn, I had forgotten about this”, I muttered.

I felt him sit on the bed beside me, his eyes roaming over my supposedly ‘relaxed’ form. My hair had been arranged I slight disarray, loose strands falling over my chest to keep some modesty. The contrast between the creamy dress, not yet crumpled, my pale skin and the reddish strands would probably look beautiful with the low light. Still, I had no brain cell available to consider the poesy of it all.

— “Forgotten about ?”, his smooth voice asked.

— “You being all… naked”

— “Yeah. One of us has to, better me than you. Speaking of which, I’m freezing my ass up there, so I’ll be glad to get a little warmth”

— “Central heating is not an item yet, mister reformist”, I quipped.

His eyes twinkled, but he said nothing. I didn’t try to lift the mood again; he was right. We were a couple in love about to consummate it. It called for fondness, tenderness and the right amount of body heat.

— “Ok, Tristan, Frances ?” called Pierre-Jean’s voice, settled a few feet away.

My ‘husband’ nodded, his eyes still smouldering ambers, the fire burning so bright in his maroon gaze that I was pinned into place.

— “And action”

Contrary to the usual exuberance, the command was much more subdued. Fitting to the mood, I guess. Tristan’s approached me like a panther would; his scent filled my nostrils already. His hand trailed along my waist, slowly, sending shivers through my frame. I closed my eyes an instant, savouring the warmth of his touch as he unfastened the last button of my dress. His hand slid in the gap then, making me gasp. My eyes flew open. I wasn’t… I didn’t… Oh god, his touch felt so good on my naked skin.

His eyes searched mine, concerned, as his hand continued his tantalizing caress on my upper waist. He was so warm, so tender, so careful… I tried to convey the reassurance that, despite the many sensations that now filled me, I was all right. My heart beat like hell beneath his palm.

The message got across, for a moment later, he was lowering the full length of his body above mine. His arms closed around me for a moment, giving me the sensation of safety I needed before his lips captured mine. The kiss was soft, at first, his mouth gently coaxing mine to respond. Then his tongue slid across my lower lip, and I granted access willingly. I wanted to taste him after our last kiss, as if I had gotten a whiff of this delicious chocolate, but couldn’t sink my teeth within. If he was surprised by the fervor of my response he didn’t show it, staying in control, his hand sliding to the hem of the dress to hoist it up. Inch by inch, the warmth of his skin seeped through my inner thighs. It was so intense, so exhilarating, so frightening at the same time.

My body reacted on its own, my back arched into him, my legs opening wide to cradle him. How could it be ? Tristan kissed me once more, more forcefully, with a little more passion, and I loved every bit of it. My heart hammered against his chest, my hands found his shoulders, caressed his back, went down to his waist to pull him against me. The crew was forgotten, the bubble we had created impenetrable. A pure moment where his skin against mine felt like an epiphany. He could have crushed me so easily, but his arms were taut; careful not to put too much weight onto me.

Then Tristan hoisted me up in his strong arms and reclined backwards, pulling me flush against him so that I was straddling him. Still fully clothed, our hair mingled for a while as I kissed him, then buried my face in his neck. He smelt… wonderful. Manly, endearing, mesmerizing. His smell was my undoing, even more than his hands roaming around my lower back, pressing my lithe form against his much bigger one. This was a dance unlike anything I’d ever known. Such was my trance that I had forgotten about Stéphane.

Stéphane! The thought hit me like a brick wall. How could I enjoy Tristan’s presence, his proximity so much ? What kind of woman was I, to loose myself in the touch of another when my boyfriend of seven years was absent ? I suddenly tensed, guilt overriding the sea of sensations. Tristan’s last kiss, landing in my neck, didn’t managed to relax me. The mood was gone, irreversibly crushed by my guilt. I couldn’t… I couldn’t…

I straightened then, tears threatening to fall over. Tristan stopped at once, searching my flushed face, then turned to Pierre-Jean.

— “Let’s stop there”, he said.

I sent him a grateful look, scrambled to my feet, and fled to the costume lady to give the dress back. As she helped me out of it, I couldn’t contain the tears that fell from my eyes. Marie tried to have me talk, but I couldn’t; the lump is my throat was so heavy. She got the dress, fearful of my trembling hands on the precious garment. I watched her go, hoping I would never see the blasted costume again. It was, anyway, my last scene.

Tristan came to me this evening, to share one last meal before I was supposed to leave. We joked, and talked, but I felt some barriers set themselves up on their own. This man made me feel too much. I couldn’t give in to my fantasy, else I became a traitor to my own principles. He didn’t touch me this evening, neither a hug, nor any of his hands that usually found my shoulders, or my arm. I didn’t hug him as I left the next day, exhausted from a bad night.

I fled back to my home, to my soothing oak tree, and to Stéphane, only to realise that my boyfriend didn’t make me feel half as happy as Tristan’s embrace had. It took me two weeks to start talking with him again through whatsapp; I just couldn’t help it. His humour, his moods, his words… I couldn’t live without it now. I was so totally screwed.

Frances was slippery fish – for a Pisces - and I wondered, for a few days, if I should even keep the contact between us. Her hasty flight after our intimate scene had only betrayed the intensity of her rejection. But damn, did it feel good to caress her skin and kiss her. It had been eternity since I had felt so alive with a woman in my arms. Yet… she had made her refusal clear, for the distance she had instituted after that was clear as day. Crushing, as well. Her smile had waned, her eyes became fearful. Of me, and what I might do.

How in hell had this beautiful friendship become such a failure ? Was I eternally doomed to mess up ? Had I been treating Frances like a rebound, forgetting that she was promised to another ? Had this role been a mistake ? A pretext for me to get to her ?

For days, I wondered what I should do. Our whatsapp thread became heavy with silence, and my mood worsened. It was perfect for the role; Johan had gone to war to seek justice, and soothe his ache over the loss of his beloved wife. How ironic, that it fitted my present state of mind so well; for I felt just as empty and broken hearted as when I had decided to divorce. Damn, how could this be, when Frances and I had not even been together ? When had she become as important as the air I breathed ? Even my little co-star, Elise, didn’t lift my spirits much. I had no trouble following the script, and being the embodiment of a stern, fundamentalist reformist.

Then the world started conspiring against me.

Pierre-Jean asked for a scene to be shot a different way. A last-minute idea, he said, that would help put things in perspective regarding Johan and his wife’s relationship. Meaning we had to call Frances back on a week-end. The issue was that I didn’t feel so confident about seeing her again. Now that I knew that I loved her, and had probably lost her… well. The depression post-divorce was peeking at me around the corner, waiting for my guard to fall down to gnaw at my toes again. Like a rat in a prison cell.

— “You look rather gloomy those days”

The governor’s voice – a Switzerland actor that spoke French, German and English fluently - would have startled me If I had enough energy left. But my nights weren’t so good presently. A chance we were shooting the jail scenes; Johan was quite desperate.

— “Ah, just tired and a little homesick”

Not entirely a lie; I missed my children. But there was something hidden behind those blue eyes, something akin to mischief, not without a trace of compassion. I had noted how the man had made Frances laugh at the time. They had gotten along fairly well. And I hated myself, right now, to think of her every single minute of my fucking life.

— “I heard Pierre-Jean wanted the little lady back. Quite a character, this one. Where did you find her ?”

Of course, he wanted to speak of her. Would I ever get any respite? I politely answered, but my legendary patience was running thin.

— “In her home village, playing a medieval lady”

— “Yes. I’ve seen she fits historical roles rather easily. She’s got the poise and the looks !”

My memory fled to this moment where, in front of the cameras, I had been able to slide my fingers through her mane of reddish curls. A delightful sensation despite the audience.

— “She’s quite the lady, your partner. Don’t let go.”

I sent the governor a shocked look, but he only smiled serenely. Was I that transparent that others had noticed my infatuation ? Were people talking around my back ? Around Frances’ back ? This could be bad – like the press saying that she got the role because she slept with me - so I chose to deny my feelings for her sake.

— “She has a fiancée, you know”

— “She must not be too attached then.”

Anger rapidly flooded my veins, and I was going to retort icily when the governor set his hand upon my upper arm. A gesture of peace, a gesture of companionship.

— “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Tristan, and I’m an old man. My wife and I, we live apart now.”

— “I don’t understand how this is quite relevant…”

— “Listen, mate. Divorce is not the end of the world, it’s just the beginning of a new life.”

So the man had made his research about me. Given his successful career in Germany, it was hardly surprising that he had gathered information on the main actor of a movie he starred in.

— “I’m almost forty, Bruno.”, I sighed.

— “Probably halfway through your life, then. And like us fools, you know, now, what is good for you. Seize that opportunity, and do something that you like with your life”

Speechless, I considered Bruno’s words carefully over my half-eaten sandwich. And when he stood, I only nodded to him. With a smirk, he saluted me, and left. But not without calling over his shoulder.

— “Did you know that tomorrow is the International Women's Day ?”

Damn him !!!