From Dream to Destiny Read online

  “Sophie, what I am trying to say is…well…Je t’aime, I desire you…but not right now. Right now I want to make love to my paints. I don’t want to see anyone.”

  She was silent. He could tell he had hurt her. He also knew that if he gave in now, his whole life would start to change. He would not have the freedom he craved.

  He remained silent. No one would ever be allowed to take away his painting time.

  “Oh. Well!” Sophie blinked back tears. “I didn’t realize you cut yourself off quite that completely. “

  “I told you that. In fact, several times.”

  “Oui. I guess you did. I just thought maybe it had changed because you seemed to be crazy about me. Apparently, though, it hasn’t.”

  Gastien tilted her face up to meet his eyes. “I AM crazy about you Sophie. But, I am even crazier about my work. If you really do want me, you will have to accept that. It could be two or three days. I don’t know.”

  “Can’t I bring you food?” she pleaded.

  “Non. I don’t want food. I have bread and cheese, which I doubt I will eat. I simply want to be left alone to create. I will find you when I am ready to come back to this world.”

  “Well, what can I say? I do have two days off in five days. I was hoping to spend them with you. What if you want to paint like that then?”

  “What two days do you have off? I will make sure that I am available, and we will spend them together.”

  “Next Sunday and Monday. I have been given those two off permanently. I thought that would make you happy. Perhaps I assumed too much…”

  “Non! You did not assume too much. Now that I know in advance, I can plan my weeks around them. I want to be with you, Sophie. I just need my painting freedom, too.” He kissed her softly. “I would love to spend every Sunday and Monday together. Can you stay with me Saturday and Sunday nights?”

  She smiled. “Oui! I would love to. I sure hope you don’t wait five days to see me, though! I don’t think I can wait five days to at least look into your eyes again.”

  “I don’t go five days without eating or sleeping. I paint for two, maybe three. I will come here when I am back to reality. How does that sound?”

  “That would be good.” She hesitated. “Do you allow other women with you during these times?”

  “Non! I don’t allow anyone.”

  “Do you get high?”

  “Oui, sometimes. I also drink sometimes. Not always. It just depends on what I am led to do.” She stood there looking up at him. He kissed her deeply. “Je t’aime, woman. I need to go, and you need to keep your job. I will see you soon.”

  “Je t’aime, too, Gastien. I hope you have a really good painting session. Can I walk by if I don’t come in or tap on the window?”

  He chuckled. “If you wish. Just don’t be surprised if I don’t acknowledge you. I don’t usually pay any attention to people outside when I am in my world. It is all about the color. That is no indication I don’t want you. I will just be fully involved with my precious color.”

  He kissed her quickly again and left. As he walked by his amis he called out, “Have fun. I have a date with my paints.”

  They all knew what that meant. Gastien would not be seen for two or three days. He would not want to be disturbed at his studio, either.

  He practically ran home, the call of his deepest love was so strong. Entering the studio, he quickly went out back to relieve his bladder. Back inside, he grabbed bottles of vin rouge, whiskey, and absinthe; then sugar, matches, his glass, a good amount of hashish, and a pitcher of water.

  The whiskey and absinthe may not get touched. The vin rouge maybe a little, maybe a whole lot. The hashish may be smoked lightly, or he may eat a lot of it to get really high. It all depended upon what his mistress told him to do. The bread and cheese had already been forgotten.

  Gastien no longer had a mind of his own. He was becoming one with the color.

  XXIX

  As Gastien picked up his favorite brush, he suddenly became motionless. His breathing slowed down as his mind left the physical. He was fully present, yet not of the earth at all; weightless, yet as solid as the earth itself. Gastien was reduced to primal man.

  Pausing, brush resting on his palette, he went even deeper inside. He had been created for one reason only: to be a vessel for the creative energy that has existed since before time. His mistress was claiming him now.

  Eyes closed as if in prayer, Gastien arched his neck, exposing his jugular in surrender and supplication. This is my body and my blood which I sacrifice to you. Into your hands I release my spirit. Pretty soon he heard nothing outside of his head. All thought was focused on color.

  Suddenly, all he realized was that he was red. Scarlet, bright, hot, screaming red. He was lifeblood pulsing through a vein, pouring from a gaping wound out onto the ground. He was warm, sweet juice oozing from an overripe berry; he was the burn of fire. His hand shook for a moment and then steadied. Without even knowing it, Gastien lifted the brush to the canvas and began.

  He usually worked with at least five or six canvases during these periods so that he could express the color in different styles. Soon he was yellow, bright blinding yellow; later he would become orange. There was white there, too, and black; just hints of it. He was molten. He was jealousy; he was rage. He was hellfire. He was desire; he was drive. He was lust. At last, he was the definition of passion.

  By the time he was finished, two days would have gone by. The vin rouge would be gone, half of the water, and very little hashish. This time, the feeling could not be muted by narcotic or liquor. It burned in him, demanding that he be fully present. And so he created. At different times he went to the bathroom in a chamber pot close to him, which he kept covered. If it happened to be daylight and someone was watching? Well, then they saw him relieve himself. Reality did not exist in this state.

  At the end of two days, he put down the brush. Gastien was emotionally empty. He felt like every cell of his body and brain had been drained by this mistress, this force of creation that he so willingly opened his soul to. He had once again been rendered a plaything for this energy that always waited so gladly to ravish him, claiming his body and soul. He was so totally used, so sated, that an orgasm was but a shadow of this intensity.

  It almost scared him. He was sure it was as close as one could get to dying without actually doing so; it always surprised him when he came back. He would gladly die for this mistress if it meant he would be used to create her ultimate masterpiece.

  Closing the shutters, he knew he should clean his brushes; but he couldn’t. He was starved, but he could not find the strength to eat. He stumbled to his bed, pulled down the covers, and fell into bed fully clothed. He would sleep for eleven hours without dreaming or moving.

  XXX

  When Gastien woke up, it was mid-morning. He had slept as if dead and now felt clear headed. He went outdoors, checking his schedule when he came inside. He did not have anyone coming until tomorrow. Now that he had been in his studio about five years he did not need to paint as many portraits for spending money. He had not even touched the money in his safe from Jean Luc, living mostly on the money he earned on portraits.

  He was going to start using some of the other money now. He had recently started to schedule only one or two sittings a week. Gastien really did not have to paint portraits at all because of the money he had saved up, but he was still concerned that he might run out. This was due to his past experience of being homeless.

  Mon Dieu, he was starving! And he stunk! He put on water, and forced himself to do fencing exercises. It was important to keep limber or his hip would become stiff and even more painful. Next, he quickly bathed. He felt hungry enough to eat the bar of soap!

  It was a little cool out for wet hair, but he did not want to wait for his thick hair to dry. He tied it back and then rolled it up under a beret, after dressing in plain beige peasant trousers and a brocade jacket of vivid greens and blues. He had found the jack
et in a local used clothing shop.

  How he could find oriental clothing in his size puzzled him. The Orientals he had seen around here were little. Maybe they sent back orders to their relatives to whip up some larger sizes and make some quick money. All he knew was that it fit him, and he looked unique. That was all that mattered. Pulling on his boots; throwing on a couple of thick, gold bracelets just to give people pause, he walked out.

  He went into Cassie and Vic’s shop. They were both there.

  “Who is going to eat with me so that I don’t attack all the customers at the restaurant and eat their food, too?” he asked.

  “Hi, Gaz. Welcome back to earth,” said Vic. “Cassie, you go on ahead. I need to finish writing up this order.”

  Cassie bounced from behind the counter and hugged Gastien to her closely.

  “Je t’aime, ami. I worry so about you when you go on one of those painting binges! You did not eat again, did you?” she accused, looking up at him.

  “Non. I did not. If you hold me up any longer with your interrogation I may just take a bite out of you! I am starving, so let’s go!”

  They ate at a small café a couple blocks away. Gastien ordered two thick soups, a plate of greens, some chicken with rich gravy, asparagus and – just to make sure he was full – potatoes, also covered in the gravy.

  Feeling Cassie staring at him while he ate, he paused.

  “Whattttt?”

  She shook her head and laughed. “You have no idea how disgusting it is that you can eat so much and stay slender. Another reason to hate men!”

  Gastien laughed. “There are plenty of fat men. You have to remember I have not eaten in three days. When I eat daily you know I don’t eat like this. Want some? You did not order much.”

  “Non! I had the soup and greens. I am good, except I may have a sweet.” She smiled guiltily.

  “You won’t be hurt by having a sweet. You have a nice figure. I think I will have a sweet, too. Do you want to split a bâton de Jacob?”

  “Non! I want to eat a whole one myself. Sorry. I don’t share dessert. I hog down the whole thing.”

  “Then I will, too.”

  As they ate their sweets, Gastien decided to broach the subject of pregnancy.

  “Cassie, I want to ask you for a favor. Will you please talk to Sophie about using herbs to prevent, well…you know…babies?” he looked away.

  She smiled. “You, embarrassed? Come on! Sure, I will talk to her, but they are not real effective. There are some that are effective for losing a baby once you are pregnant, but the ones to prevent do not do as well.”

  “Still, it is better than nothing.”

  “Oui. But what if she already is? Have you thought about that? I am sure the two of you made love more than once or twice during your hibernation.”

  “Let’s not talk about that possibility. If she is, I can worry about that later.” Gastien changed the subject. “Let’s get back, I want to clean up my painting supplies, get a few errands done. I plan on seeing the guys tonight and bringing Sophie back home with me, if she will come. Do you and Vic want to go drinking with us tonight?

  “We may come by for a glass of vin or two and something to eat. Let me give you some of the herbs for Sophie when we get back so that she can start taking them. These herbs are for prevention only, so if she is already pregnant they won’t do harm.”

  “Quit talking like that! She is not pregnant.”

  “Yet.”

  Gastien sighed. “Let’s go.”

  Later on, after getting his errands done, Gastien walked to the park. There, he talked to Mic and a few other painters for awhile.

  By the time four o’clock came he was ready to go see Sophie. He knew that no one else would be ready to go until about half past eight though, so he returned home and grabbed a novel.

  He relaxed on a chaise lounge to read. Mic would come and get him when he was ready.

  Gastien had dozed off; soon Mic was shaking him awake.

  His hair had dried long ago, and he had removed the leather strap that held it back. He decided to leave it long. He pulled on his boots again, and brushed his hair and teeth. All the while he listened to Mic bitch about how he took longer than a woman to get ready.

  “Come on, gorgeous, let’s go! You have already impressed her,” chided Mic.

  “All I am doing is brushing my hair and teeth! You can give me five minutes.”

  At the last moment, he added a little scent to his body, too.

  Mic rolled his eyes.

  “What??? Sophie likes my scent.”

  “Whatever you say, Gaz.”

  Gastien kicked Mic lightly in the butt as he they walked out. “You take just as long, admit it.”

  “Oui, whatever you say.” Mic looked at him. “I do like your oriental jacket, though. That is nice! How did you get a hold of that before I found it?”

  “Lucky, I guess. But you do have nice boots on. I am liking the look. Cowboy? From America?”

  “Oui, I think so!” Mic said proudly.

  “Very nice! Oh, I love the new, big ring, too! I think we will give any of the bourgeois out ‘slumming’ tonight something to wag their tongues about. God, they are staid! The hommes, anyway.”

  Gastien looked at Mic nervously. “I am really looking forward to seeing Sophie. Do you think she has decided I might not be worth it, after all?” he asked worriedly.

  “Non. I think she misses you terribly. Somebody should get her medical help for that.”

  XXXI

  There was quite a crowd inside Au Lapin Agile. It was a cool night, so no one was sitting on the terrace. Sophie was trying to deal with the smoke, noise, and close quarters of all the tables with men piled alongside each other. Although another server was also working, they could barely keep up.

  Gastien grabbed Sophie as she headed toward the bar for more drinks and tilted her back, kissing her deeply. The room erupted with cheers and calls for more. Sophie kissed him back for a moment before pulling back.

  “Gastien. I am horribly busy right now. I will talk to you when it quiets down – if it ever does!”

  “Well, just tell me this. Will you come home with me tonight?”

  “Oh oui! I will come home with you tonight. Now go sit!”

  Drinks were being ordered one after another. Gastien was careful not to get drunk, as he did not want to ruin the night. The guys teased him about drinking so slowly, but they understood. Each of them found themselves in the same situation at times. They were happy to drink slowly when they were going to be enjoying a woman later.

  Some of them, though, had live in girlfriends. Those men usually drank like crazy, because they were so tired of arguing about money!

  All of a sudden, a stranger grabbed Sophie as she walked by. He appeared to be a bourgeois. He pressed himself to her, trying to force her to kiss him.

  “Come on!” he yelled. “You kissed that bohemian. Why not try a real homme for a change?”

  Sophie struggled to get out of his grasp. Suddenly, the man felt a firm hand grabbing the neck of his jacket from behind. When he turned, he was face to face with “the bohemian”. Gastien’s eyes were cold and hard.

  “Shall we see which of us the better homme is?” he asked.

  “Oh, go play with your bracelets,” blustered the man, dismissing him. “I am busy playing with something better.”

  Gastien hauled off and belted him in the stomach.

  As the stranger crumpled forward, Gastien said, “You can thank me later for not hitting you in the face. You would have quite a dental bill if I had. Now, are you going to fous le camp or do you need further proof of my masculinity?”

  He forced the man to stand up and pulled his fist back to hit him in the face.

  “Non! Let’s call a truce. I…oh…my stomach…” he bent over again.

  Gastien let him go. “Don’t put your hands on my woman again! Do you understand?”

  “I did not know she was actually your woman,” he whi
spered as he rubbed his gut.

  “Well, now you do.” He beckoned to the other server. “Please get this homme a drink.”

  Looking at the man, Gastien said, “I will buy you a drink in the spirit of forgiveness. Don’t make me sorry that I did so.”

  Gastien walked back to his table. Sophie quickly went to another table to take orders. She was thankful he had been there. Working inside of Au Lapin Agile was proving to be difficult.

  At midnight, Sophie was done with her shift. She came to the table where Gastien sat with amis, singing along to a song. When he saw her he turned around facing her, so that there was room on his lap for her to sit. Then, he straddled the bench with his legs so that he could also talk with his amis, since he was sitting at the end.

  “Let’s stay for another drink, Petite Oiseau. A drink will relax you. Then I will carry you home and let you sleep,” he whispered.

  She turned to look into his face. “Non! The last thing I want to do when I get to your bed is sleep!”

  Gastien kissed her. “Then we will do whatever we feel inspired to do. But let yourself relax a little bit first. Have a glass of vin rouge.”

  Sophie had her vin, Gastien had a whiskey, and they sang along with the others. Soon Gastien picked her up and stood.

  “Hommes, I am going home with my woman! Have a good night.”

  “Put me down!” Sophie protested, laughing.

  “Non! I have been without you for three nights. I am keeping you in my arms where you can’t get away!”

  He winked at his amis. Sophie relaxed against him and put her arms around his neck, head on his shoulder.

  “Then take me to your cave and have your way with me. I am too tired to fight you off.”

  Gastien wiggled his tongue in her ear, making her giggle. Mon Dieu, she loved the smell of him and the scent he wore.

  He had changed it after moving to Montmartre to a less innocent scent. He figured innocence had long passed him by. It was time for something more adult. He wore a scent of oak logs burning in a fireplace and cherry, with a hint of lime whispering very quietly underneath. It was an odd combination, but quite compelling. Unique, like the man wearing it.