The Greatest Mind I Ever Knew

Chapter 26: C'est La Vie

'Here you go, honey.' Mum said to Lotan after dinner that evening, carefully passing him a cup of tea. She'd had a difficult day with her alters; she told us so upon answering the front door, as if giving us the chance to decide whether to proceed further into her home, or get out now. Lotan and I had both simply wished her well and said,
'Is dinner ready? We're starving!'
               Despite Mum's warning at the door, she'd appeared very casual and calm all evening - only, cautious. Dad had taken the the lasagne out of the oven and cut it up, Dad had boiled the kettle for the post-dinner tea, and Dad had spoken quiet, gentle words to her in the corner of the room every time he spotted her whispering to herself, or fiddling quickly with her clothes.
               I don't think her anxiety was eased at all by the need to depend on her husband. - Especially since he and Leonardo had proven themselves fools by blowing up the microwave the day before!
               In an attempt to lighten the mood, I squeezed Mum's hand and said,
'So, how did Dad manage to break your kitchen again, Mum?'
               Groaning, she shook her head and said, 'You tell me! How can a fifty one year old man not know that a tin of beans will explode in the microwave!? How many years have we been married, Hunter?' she called out loudly. Dad called back from the kitchen,
'Is this a test? Er, hang on, give me a minute. Four, five, -'
'Twenty six years, Hunter Isaac Brookes!' Mum huffed, very unimpressed. 'And how old are you, Leo?'
               My brother, who'd been texting someone on the sofa until now, quickly looked up at his mother and said,
'Sixteen. - But it's not my fault it blew up like that! I didn't know metal -'
'It's both your fault! You two are absolutely - oh, what's the point?' Mum gave up, lowering her voice for our guest's sake. 'Sorry, Lotan.'
'No, no, is okay.' he said politely. 'I, er, understanding, this, er, frustration.'
'Plus,' I added, amused, 'it's nice for me and Lotan to see what we've got to look forward to. Do you think I'll be shouting at you and Joshua for blowing up our kitchen in twenty six years' time, my love?'
               Lotan looked down at me and smiled too.
'Yes, I think, probably, we will shouting because I am messy, Olivia.'
               We chuckled together, then looked back at Mum, who was watching us with starry eyes.
'Oh, my bambinos.' she sighed happily. 'You two are so cute! I'm so glad we found you, Lotan. Now drink your tea, while I make Leonardo and Hunter do some work. Hey, boys! Come on, you're on kitchen cleaning duty every night until you buy me a new microwave! Chop chop!'
               With a groan Leonardo stood up and strolled past me and Lotan. I ruffled his hair patronisingly while he pretended to strike me with one of his boxing moves, but with a grin he looked at my fiancé and said,
'So, Lotan, have you had a swarm of pretty girls around you yet? That interviewer lady seemed to think you'd become a babe-magnet after talking to her!'
               Bashful and blushing, Lotan replied,
'No, er, no, Leonardo. I not wanting this. Olivia is only my pretty girl, always.'
               My younger brother pulled a face.
'Gross. Well, if you get some unwanted attention feel free to point it my way!'
               Lotan didn't know what this meant, while I teased, 'Sixteen has changed you, Leo. But if you were still single I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have been texting all evening long.'
               Now it was Leonardo's turn to blush. He quickly walked into the kitchen to busy himself with cleaning up the dinner plates. I heard Dad greet him with,
'So who's the girl, hm? Come on, don't be shy, little man!'
               Alone in the living room, Lotan and I shared another smile and moved towards the sofa to sit down. We sat side by side, but I turned a little to put my legs up on his knees, and he rested a hand on mine. Together we let out a content breath.
               'Joshua likes this.' Lotan said after a moment, gesturing to the baby sleeping in the playpen Mum had bought for his use when we visited her. It was filled with rattles, bright books and teddy bears. 'Is, er, er, makes him tired, because he has very much fun.'
'Mm.' I agreed tiredly, smiling wider when Lotan began massaging one of my feet. 'Are you going to drink that tea, my love?'
'Er,' Lotan glanced behind my head and whispered, 'no, Olivia. I don't like tea.'
'You should have told my mum!' I chuckled, taking the warm mug from his hand.
'Yes, but, is rude, I think, to saying no. In France people are, er, very, er, er, saying no, a lot, and, er, critique, things, but I don't like this. Aunt Vivienne told me when I moved here to not talk rude things, like French person. She said English people are, er, er, very polite.'
               I laughed at my fiancé's desire to fit into our timid culture, and replied,
'Don't worry about silly things like that, baby. It's okay to be honest.'
               To prove my point I called out loudly, 'Mum?'
'Yes?'
               Lotan's eyes bulged.
'Olivia! What you are do to me?'
'Watch.' I whispered back, before raising my voice again: 'Lotan doesn't like tea! So I'm going to drink his instead. That's okay, right?'
'Oh!' Mum gasped, sticking her head back out of the kitchen. 'Bambino, I'm sorry! I didn't know you don't like tea. Don't worry, I won't make you any more.'
               I looked back at Lotan and smiled smugly.
'See? The beauty of honesty!'
               Lotan looked apologetically at my mother until she disappeared again, then he looked back at me and sighed.
'You are cruel, cruel lady, Olivia.' I giggled evilly. 'But,' he added with a small smile, 'thank you, for showing me this, er, honesty. And I like this phrase. I think I will writing a song tonight, and I call, 'The Beauty of Honesty'.'
               My smile turned a little stiff - how late would he stay up writing this song? - but then Lotan and I both laughed out loud because we heard Mum shout in the kitchen,
'What the hell, Hunter!? No, soap and washing up liquid are not interchangeable! Are you being thick on purpose!? Are you trying to give me an aneurysm!?' Her passion soon switched her voice into Italian, and I think I heard a few claps around the ear being dished out.
               Stroking Lotan's arm, I said quietly,
'Do your parents bicker like that, baby?'
                My dark fiancé looked over at me with a serious face.
'What is 'bicker', if you please?'
'It means to argue, but, like, playfully. We do it sometimes. Like when I call you messy and you say you're not messy, just disorganised, and then I chase you around the house with a box and tell you you have to put away your stuff or I'll chuck it out, and you start chasing me back to kiss me. Do your parents do anything that? Or are they both very serious?'
               Lotan nodded slowly to show me he understood, but then said,
'Er, no. No. They are serious, I mean, but, they are not bicker together.'
'Oh. Really? Never?'
'Never.' he said. Then he suddenly tried to change the subject: 'So, we are all, er, everything is ready, for our wedding?'
               I blinked a few times, with one eyebrow raised, but Lotan's eyes begged mine not to talk any more about his parents so I soon gave in.
'Um,' I said slightly disappointedly, 'yeah, I think so. Everyone's had their outfits tailored, and I'm going to pick up my dress tomorrow while you're at work.'
'By your own?'
'No, no.' I chuckled. 'Everyone wanted to come. Mum, Auntie Susie, Andy of course, Emma, Lex... -' Suddenly a thought struck me and I asked him, 'Lotan, are your groomsmen all sorted?'
               He stared at me in terror.
'What?' he asked quickly. 'I, er, er, er, I am supposed to doing more for them? What more? I have their suits, and their shoes, and Jack is my, er, what is called -'
'Best man.' I filled in. Lotan nodded.
'What more, then, Olivia?'
'I think that's it!' I said, stroking his hair to help him relax. Lotan groaned his relief.
'Ah, good! Because, we don't having this 'groomsmen' in France, Olivia. I was scared, I have more work for them!'
               I chuckled happily.
'I still can't believe you'd never heard of groomsmen or bridesmaids before, baby.'
'And I still can't say both words!'
                We laughed again. I watched Lotan chuckle, with his slightly creased eyes, his thick, dark brows rising, his nose scrunching up, and his mouth opening broadly. He had a truly beautiful laugh: so beautiful, in fact, that I couldn't blink when I heard it because I couldn't bear to miss a second of that sight!
               'Oh, Lotan.' I exhaled after a moment, stroking his hair again. He looked at me curiously, so I added, 'You look so happy right now.'
'I am.' he told me with a nod. 'Today is a good day. And, I think, you are happy also?'
'I am very, very happy.'
               Lotan's shoulders slumped and he leaned over my legs to kiss me, so I quickly put down my empty mug and received him. But he only gave me a short kiss before tilting his head down a little. He rested his nose against mine, and whispered,
'I can't waiting for our honeymoon, my love. Paris will be beautiful.'
               I grinned excitedly and kissed him again. But again his lips came unstuck after a moment and he added in a more serious voice, 'But, my baby, we must only going for few days.'
'What?' I whined instantly, pushing him away by his jaw. 'What do you mean? I thought we were going for a week!'
'I know, this is, er, er, how long, I pay the hotel, but Jasper telling me this morning have, we, er, have a show at the end of April, so I must be here.' Lotan said regretfully. He held my jaw too and added, 'But we go for three days, yes?'
'Oh.' I sighed, closing my eyes. I didn't bother asking Lotan to try and miss one show, because as a performer I knew it wasn't possible during the working season. So I accepted the news with a pout and said, 'Fine, baby. We probably shouldn't leave Joshua any longer than that anyway. He'd forget who we are.'
               Lotan tutted in disagreement and pulled me closer for another kiss.
'And,' he said afterwards with a breath in, 'there is more, my love.'
'What?'
'I must, er, working, this off-season. To make my orchestra ready, in September.'
               Truthfully I'd been expecting that news sooner or later, but it still made me sad to hear it. I'd been looking forward to the 4 month summer with Lotan at my disposal: I'd planned for us to go to concerts, away on holidays, to various different play centres and zoos and farms with Joshua... But now, like always, we'd have to fit those activities into whichever day or two of the week Lotan had off work.
               So I sighed again, but I didn't take my hands off my fiancé. He felt warm, and smelt like lasagne and sandalwood, and his lips were so close to mine...
               'Are you sad of me, baby?' he asked quietly after a moment, tucking my hair behind my ear. I inhaled through my nose.
'No. 'C'est la vie', right?'
               Lotan smiled and gently pressed his forehead against mine.
'C'est la vie.'
               That moment was so slow, so peaceful, that even when Lorenzo burst into the living room whining, 'Ugh, Mum's working us like slaves! This is so unfair! Dad's the one who...', Lotan and I didn't listen. We just kept our faces close, our eyes connected, until they finally shut and we kissed.
               'Ugh!' Lorenzo groaned again, stomping back towards the kitchen. 'Nowhere in this house is safe! Olivia and Lotan are smooching it up on the sofa, and you two are smooching it up in here! Can you all just stop?'
               With a laugh Lotan and I shared one last peck before turning our heads toward my brother, who was standing between rooms, covering his eyes with his arms, disgusted with the world.
               Dad soon popped his head out of the kitchen to peer at me and Lotan.
'Oi, kiddos,' he teased us, 'I'm the only one who's allowed to smooch it up in this house!'
'Hey!' I giggled. 'I couldn't help myself - Lotan knows how to heat up beans without blowing the kitchen up! It's a very attractive quality.'
               Dad rolled his eyes.
'Excuse me, Olivia Brookes, I'm still the man of this house. - Even if I am an idiot.'
               With that he came into the living room and sat down on his armchair, adjacent to the sofa. 'Now,' he said, looking me and Lotan up and down, 'is all the wedding stuff done?'
'Yeah, I think so.' I nodded. 'You're still doing a painting for us, right? To go on the cake table? How's it coming?'
'Yeah, good!' Dad said happily. 'It's nearly finished. Do you want to see it?'
'No, no! Keep it a surprise!'
'Oh, alright.' Dad chuckled. 'I painted it from that photo you sent me of you two and little Joshy outside the orchestra house, before one of Lotan's shows. You're both very dressed up. It's a nice photo.'
'Your mushy old man's got it in his wallet.' Mum chimed in, entering the room with yet another tray of mugs. Tea and coffee was as popular in this house as kissing! Everyone wanted some except Lorenzo.
               But when I saw Lotan take a mug of black coffee off the tray, I frowned. Why did he, a struggling insomniac, drink so much caffeine? Surely the taste wasn't worth the sleepless night that would follow?
               But I became distracted when Dad said,
'Oh hush, old woman. You've basically got a whole album full of pictures of these two! Anyway,' he looked back at me and Lotan, 'Livvy, I was thinking, there are a lot of your paintings up in the loft. They're really good! So - not that I don't like looking at them - I was thinking maybe you'd like to pick a few to put up in your new house, when you move into it? It's a big place, right? With lots of high walls? Your art would like nice hanging up there, bambina.'
               I blushed at Dad's suggestion, and glanced shyly at Lotan. He'd seen my sketches before, but since we'd moved in together and had Joshua, I hadn't painted once. I'd drawn lots: I couldn't help it when my baby was so beautiful and my fiancé was basically a French sex god! And to some of these drawings I'd added colour with pencils, but as for big canvases covered with paint, I simply hadn't found the time. - Or the space, for that matter. But Dad was a painting fanatic, and tempted me to pick it up again.
               'Come on!' he nudged me after a while. 'Lotan would love to see your paintings, I'm sure!'
'No, Dad, no.' I said weakly, shaking my head. 'They're so old! And most of them aren't even finished.'
'So? Art isn't about the finished result, bambina! It's about doing something you enjoy. I've always taught you that. 'Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life'. Who said that?'
'Picasso.' I smiled, remembering the times of old when Dad and I would paint together in the loft room, splattered with paint but dancing to music and smiling madly. Those were some of my favourite childhood memories.
'That's right!' Dad nodded. 'And who said 'there are sensations all around us, waiting to be harnessed into music or art or dance', and 'we should celebrate talents, and skills, and keep learning to inspire each other'?'
                I grinned widely and looked over at my listening fiancé.
'Lotan said that.'
               The Frenchman frowned.
'I did? Ah, yes! I remember this, today. Is true, also, my love. We must show our talents with other people! And I would like to seeing your paintings, very very many.'
'Woo hoo!' Dad cheered, jumping up from his seat and heading for the stairs. 'Follow me, Lotan! I -'
'No, Dad!' I cried nervously. 'I haven't seen my paintings in almost a year!'
'Well,' the older man shrugged, 'there's no time like the present!'
               Lotan quickly shuffled my legs off his lap and stood up to follow my father, despite my clinging onto him to stop him from leaving. I protested with a shrill voice but my fiancé only smiled and said,
'Come, Olivia. Inspire me, please. Again.'
               That melted my pride enough to make me drag myself up the stairs after him. I kept pinching his bottom on the way up though, just to be annoying. It was hilarious how flustered Lotan got over it! With every step he had to turn back and hiss, 'Ah! No, Olivia, no!'
               Dad couldn't hear his whispers, nor my throaty laughs, so while we went up the stairs he said,
'Me and Olivia have always liked painting together, you know, ever since she was tiny. The loft in our old house was much smaller though, so it's a good thing we found this house before she got really into it! She's a messy artist, Lotan, be warned. I'm sure Leonardo would have been worse if he'd ever taken a liking to it, but he's more of an athlete than an artist.'
'Ah.' Lotan nodded, after pushing my wandering hands away yet again and pulling himself up into the loft after Dad. He may have been annoyed with me but he still offered out a hand and helped me up too.
               Once we were all standing in the spacious attic together, Lotan looked around and inhaled happily. 'This is very good, Hunter.' he said. 'I, er, like all this shelves, with paints and brushes. And this your painting, yes?'
               The two men stepped closer to a canvas beside a covered easel, which must have held Dad's painting for our wedding. But it remained hidden. Instead Lotan looked over the uncovered art, one of which was a painting of Mum with her hair tied up, laughing at something uproariously.
'Ruth doesn't like this one.' Dad said, folding his arms and looking it up and down. 'She says it makes her look immature.'
'What!' I gasped, standing beside Lotan and putting an arm around his waist. 'It doesn't! She looks very pretty.'
'And very real!' Lotan added. 'Waouh, Hunter. This is very skilled. Olivia, you can paint like this?'
'No, no.' I confessed. 'I'm not nearly as good as Dad -'
'Liar!' the older man cried, quickly crouching down to look through a collection of canvases he kept beside the wall, sitting on their sides, tucked away in a row. 'She's amazing, Lotan. Look at this one.'
               Before I could protest Dad pulled out a large canvas and held it up to our faces. Lotan gasped, while I bit my lip and scrunched up my nose. But the more I looked at the detailed oil painting, I began to think,
'Huh! It's not as bad as I remember. But her hair could have been a bit shinier, and the brushstrokes in her dress could have been more blended...'
               However Lotan didn't hesitate to cheer,
'Waouh waouh waouh, Olivia! This is, ah, er, more than beautiful! There is a word for this, yes? More than beautiful?'
               I smiled shyly while Dad said,
'Yes, lad. 'Breathtaking'.'
'Ah, ah, yes! This is right word! Breathtaking, this art! Olivia, my love, this making me forget all English words again!'
               I laughed and hid my blushing face in his chest. Lotan squeezed me against him while Dad proudly said,
'She was fifteen when she painted this. Isn't it good? I kept telling her to enter it into a competition but she was too shy! And this lady in the painting is completely from Olivia's own head.'
                Lotan gasped again, and continued to stare at the big canvas I'd named 'Waterlily'. It was my personification of the flower, you see: female, naturally, with English rose skin and pink-tipped, elf-like ears which just peeped out of her long, white, flowing hair. She was youthful, mysterious, and surrounded by white and pink lilies. Seated elegantly by the side of a pond, her thin fingers were holding her long, lace skirt in place around her ankles. It was a very bright painting and yet dark too: there was something sinister about her black eyes and dripping red lips.
               She was probably the only character I'd ever managed to paint exactly as I'd imagined her. Drawing from real life is easy to get right, but drawing something new; something my own mind had created; that was a challenge. It had taken weeks, and lots of advice from Dad, but eventually I finished it with this huge sense of pride.
               But since I'd put it away my memory had belittled it. Hindsight had turned it ugly. But now, seeing it again, the old sense of achievement returned. Lotan seemed to feel it too.
               My fiancé continued to sing my praises until Dad said, 'If you think this one's good,' while carefully setting it down and picking up a smaller canvas, 'look at this!'
'Oh, I forgot about that one.' I smiled when he turned it around. I'd spent an entire week of the off-season painting that line of stretching, focussed, tutu-adorned ballerinas. It was in image I'd seen so many times by the age of eighteen that I just had to get it down on paper - or linen, in this case.
'Wow!' Lotan gasped, letting me out of his embrace to peer more closely at it. 'Where you are in this, Olivia?'
'Er,' I squinted at it too, 'I don't think I'm in it. - Oh yeah, it's done from my perspective, that's why.'
'Ah.' Lotan squeezed my shoulders proudly. 'Can we keeping this one, my love? Please?'
               I looked between the two, tall, hopeful men, and finally surrendered.
'Okay, Lotan. If you're sure.'
'I am very sure! And I want more paintings, Olivia! Very more paintings. We must move houses quickly so you have a, a, er, art studio, I think!'
               I chuckled happily and agreed. But soon the most exciting feature of our new house became not its big art studio, nor its cosy kitchen, - not even the ballet room, - but the high, steel security gates around it. You'll soon understand why.