Quadrille

The breeze gently rushed the leaves of the great oak, and despite my uneasiness I found myself soothed by the familiar setting. I had taken off my shoes; I didn’t want to damage them in the grass. They were the crew’s property after all, and even leaving with the dress on might have been a problem. As long as I returned with the item unstained, things should be all right.

Tristan’s gaze was lost in the tree line; unbeknownst to him, he was facing the hole in the fence that led to my childhood’s lair. A makeshift wooden shack hidden in the edge where’s I used to light a fire and cook all sorts of unedible food … until I got home smelling of smoke with my tail between my legs. The reminder gave me a little courage, and I took a step forward. The movement was enough to call Tristan’s attention back to me, and he straightened his spine.

There. The dancer came forth. From the tip of his head to his toes, I could see the posture of a man used to perform. No wonder he’d helped his wife create the ball dance! Extending his arm, he waited until I latched my fingers to his hand, then pulled me a little closer. His other hand fell upon my waist. I found myself locked, the strength of his embrace firm enough so that I knew exactly where to place myself. There was no degree of freedom, truly; I was exactly in the spot I was supposed to be, neither too far, nor too close.

It didn’t prevent me from smelling his cologne, something subtle that didn’t assault my nose.

— “Eyes up,” he said, his smooth voice rolling over me like a massage tool.

I lifted my head, and locked eyes with him.

— “See, this is the proper distance when you twirl as a couple. From there, you will be able to step away, and back to revert to this position. You lock gaze whenever you need to be in contact across the dance floor, you turn your head away when you are too close so that it doesn’t get intimate. Medieval dancing is about finding the right distance. Touching is kept discreet, and the waltz position will not be used for a few hundred years.”

I only nodded, drinking into the knowledge. He didn’t wait before he started counting, and my brain struggled to remember the first steps of the dance. The first attempt was a disaster, I didn’t know left from right, and was too flustered by his magnetic presence to do anything else. My mind kept rolling around, digressing, and forgetting about the steps.

Frowning, Tristan stopped for a moment, his hazel eyes searching. Then his features brightened, and he stepped by my side.

— “We’ll try it differently. Follow my steps, we’ll perform it twice from your point of view, then I’ll revert to leading.”

And the counting started anew, and I just had to see where his body turned to remember which way I had to go. Imitation, the Japanese way, worked best on me because by the third attempt, I could perform the dance by myself. It had just taken this little bit of peace, to follow his lead under my oak tree, to empty my mind and let my body memorise the steps.

A deeply satisfied expression etched on his features, and I couldn’t help but find him enchanting. The patches of light drew halos in his blondish hair, making his eyes look grey and his skin slightly darker by contrast. He was a beautiful man, for sure. And rather kind at that. A great encounter.

Oops. My mind was digressing again. Setting my barriers firmly in place, I tried to concentrate and was almost surprised when he resumed his earlier position. Tristan offered his hand anew, and it was with more confidence that I took it.

This time, my body knew where to go, and Tristan had to rein my enthusiasm by keeping a firm leash.

— “Don’t anticipate. I’m leading, and I’m supposed to tell where, and when to go. You need to let the control go, and put your trust in me”

I froze, my hand falling to my side. So there it was, the reason why I had so much trouble dancing with another. Trust. Biting my lip, I nodded once, and offered my hand again. But instead of keeping the distance, Tristan bent his head a little closer and trapped me in his intense gaze.

— “You said you trusted me. I’ll endeavour to live up to the task. Will you allow me?”

My legs felt like jelly, and my stomach twisted and turned in painful ways. By the time I managed to nod, I know my brows were furiously furrowed. “Smile,” screamed the set choreographer into my mind, but I couldn’t and Tristan didn’t ask me to. He just freed me from his grasp, and extended his hand again so that I had to reach for him. And I did.

This time, I managed to follow his lead. It was easy, really, once I relinquished the control over the dance. My body knew the steps, I just had to follow. And it was … exhilarating, to say the least, to be able to just … dance! Soon, a smile quirked the corner of my lips, and my body unfolded entirely. My arms rising higher, my legs reaching further when I had to turn, my bows more graceful, my shoulders rolling with the flow. Tristan let me go, and called me back, her turned me around, and around again, his expert moves showing me where and when. He was so firm, so graceful, but at the same time unyielding. Might have been a fighter in a past life, because his very being moved with such purpose that it pulled me in a trance with him.

I loved every moment of it, and when a clap echoed under the oak tree, I couldn’t help but start. My mother stood there, a smile upon her face.

— “C’était superbe,” she said. (It was great)

I made a face, putting a little distance between myself and Tristan. This dancing we had shared was almost too intimate for my taste, and I didn’t want anyone to have any ideas. Especially my parents. So I took refuge in self-depreciation.

— “C’était pas gagné, surtout. Mais Tristan est un bon prof” (Wasn’t easy, but Tristan is a good teacher”

My mother’s gaze went from me to Tristan.

— “Et un bon danseur. (And a good dancer)

— “Je vous remercie,” he bowed. (Thank you)

The gesture called a smile to my mother’s lips, and I wonder if she didn’t redden a little. With the heat, it was hard to determine.

— “Sur ce, le repas est prêt. A table” (Now, lunch is ready, so let’s eat)

I took off immediately.

— “Great, I’m starving!”

Behind me, I heard Tristan translate my outburst to my mother. The world was spinning backwards today, but I was so happy with my newfound confidence that I didn’t give a damn. The table was set – my father, probably – and I realised there was an extra plate. Five seats, instead of four. Damn, I had forgotten my little brother. Said sibling popped up the moment Tristan took a seat by my side, his eyes avidly roaming over the table where salad, tomatoes and fresh french beans were ready to be consumed with a mustard sauce.

— “Hey p’tite frangine,” he said, giving me a bear hug. “Pas mal la robe” (Hello little sis, nice dress)

— “Salut p’tit frère” (Hello little brother)

Then he realised someone else was watching him, and he froze.

— “Bonjour… ?”

The corner of Tristan’s lips lifted slightly, and I wondered if I was missing something. Perhaps he got this expression a lot, but I was pretty sure my parents had no clue about who he was. Had my little brother put two and two together? He wasn’t much of a cinephile either.

— “Je m’appelle Tristan” my neighbour said, shaking little brother’s hand. (My name’s Tristan)

Gwad slightly frowned, a crease forming between his eyebrows, so similar to mine, then he shrugged.

— “Salut Tristan,” he responded as he sat. “Je suis désolé, j’ai l’impression de vous avoir déjà vu quelque part” (Hello Tristan. I’m sorry, I think I’ve recognised you from somewhere)

Tristan smirked fully then and, reaching for a piece of bread my father was handing him, deadpanned.

— “Peut-être au cinema, dans le dernier film d'espionnage. Le méchant” (Perhaps in theatres, in the last espionage movie. The villain)

My little brother’s mouth opened, then closed. I saw the moment recognition dawned in, a familiar glint shining in his eyes. Then he chuckled.

— “Vous n’allez pas égorger quelqu'un à table cette fois?" (So you’re not going to slit somebody's throat today, right?)

Tristan laughed this time, and so did I.

— “Non, je serai civilisé” (No, I'll be civilised)

— “Ok, alors bienvenue” (Well, then, welcome.)

And with this little joke, the awkwardness was gone. I didn’t know if my parents had realised just how famous Tristan was, right now, in the movie world, for they didn’t follow the people press. It didn’t make a difference to them, just like it didn’t for my brother or myself. They had met Tristan, the man, and not Tristan, the movie star. So lunch was as joyous as ever, with banter than sometimes spun out of control and had to be tuned down because, even if his French was good enough, Tristan couldn’t possibly follow everything my little brother was throwing at me. Neither my father’s jabs; he truly was the King of wits.

A discussion on origins flew about, us speaking about the Italians and Spanish side of the family while Tristan spoke of Swedish and Danish ancestry. We tried to speak a few Swedish words, and it made him laugh. A lot. He said I sounded Danish, damn! There were many anecdotes bartered between him and my father; the man had an endless curiosity about the French, or any other culture in the world. Quite like me, I had to admit.

Time flew fast, with compliments to the chef as well as awed ones to the gardener. Truth be told, my father’s tomatoes had only one competitor serious enough to win the title; my grandfather’s. And Tristan swore he’d never eaten such tasty vegetable; I believed him. After roaming markets and producers in Paris, I had not found yet one that could rival with those of home.

— “Il faudra m’apprendre, je veux un jardin comme le vôtre” (You’ll have to teach me, I want a garden like yours), he said.

My father smiled back, I could see it touched him to be on the receiving end of such praise. Gardening was a family institution. We took it for granted just a tad too much, and quite forgot to thank him for the greatness of his supplies.

— “Pas de problème. Ce n’est que du temps, de l’amour, et du bon sens.” (No problem, it’s just time, love and lots of sense)

Tristan locked eyes with my father, a detached expression announcing a jab.

— “Comme un marriage, en quelque sorte” (Like a marriage, I suppose)

My father laughed then.

— “Oui, mais c’est plus gratifiant” (Yes, but it’s more gratifying)

My mother’s “hey!” was drowned by our shared laughter. Had I paid more attention; I would have seen the gleam of sadness in Tristan’s eyes at this very moment.

But he kept smiling, and when we returned to the set after this refreshing moment, I was quite sorry to pull the hand brake in my parking spot. The bubble was shattered, though, and we extricated ourselves from the little Clio before burning to death. The jitters were returning full force as we trekked back to the hotel, and I was grateful for Tristan to engage me in conversation before we had to part.

— “Thank you,” he said. “Your place is very soothing, I had a great time.”

I sighed. Home was home, it never really got old. I longed to find a place I could call home, though. A home of my own where I’d feel as safe and happy as I had been as a girl.

— “Yeah. I love it here, it is an anchor to me, especially now that I live in Paris.”

Tristan took a drag of his cigarette, his eyes curious as he studied my defeated expression.

— “Don’t like it there?”

I shrugged.

— “Well … you know, lots of people, lots of agitation, and not as many trees.”

— “That’s it now, I know what you are.”

The teasing tone got me curious, and I took the bait.

— “What now?”

— “You’re an elf”

The smile didn’t quite reach my eyes this time.

— “If only… If I had eternity, I might have a chance that my boyfriend moves in with me. Anyway. Thanks for teaching me. I think I might be able to perform properly this time”

I could see in his eyes that he wanted to ask more, and I appreciated that he didn’t. Instead, he just dipped his head.

— “You are a graceful dancer when you don’t let your mind roll out of control.”

I blushed under the praise, and he took one last drag of his cigarette before pointing to the group of people gathered in front of the hotel.

— “Go and kick ass”

— “I will never thank you enough, Sir Tristan.”

The man bowed to me, gathering some looks from crew and cast. But I didn’t even see them as my attention was entirely consumed by this magnetic man who had been so gentle and caring.

— “You already have, my lady.”