Of houses

Christmas passed. I spent it in my family, with Stéphane by my side. It felt nice, for once, to have him around for a bit and bask in his warmth. I felt nearly complete then, with my love for Stéphane rekindling. And when he wasn’t around, I spend much time playing tennis with both my brothers and father, the typical family reunion.

But Stéphane’s worries over the company soon seeped through, and on 30th of December, we had to handle an emergency. A family whose heating system broke down. A hundred kilometers drive in the truck over fresh snow resumed the afternoon quite neatly.

As I waited in the truck, I couldn’t help but check at the thread Tristan had created on Whatsapp. Yeah, I had upgraded my phone to a smartphone. Cheeky me ! A christmas present that allowed more freedom in conversations. From that day, we were in touch much more often. Sometimes every day, sometimes every second or third. Sometimes, it was plain logistics – travelling, paycheck, costume, lodgings - or discussions about the movie. Sometimes, Tristan just drew me into conversation. I admit that I never got bored; he was such an interesting person. And I still felt privileged to have such an easy access to a man chased around by so many fans. I cherished this bond and nurtured it whenever my mind was free to roam.

The truck’s door opened, startling me. Stéphane was there, looking exhausted, but happy enough. His brown eyes twinkled as he watched me.

— “We’re done, phew. Now we can enjoy the evening, and spend the day cooking tomorrow”

I gave him a happy smile, getting back to the present.

— “Great. Now we can celebrate the new year coming”

— “And you rising as a star in Hollywood”

I scoffed then.

— “Not likely. The only reason I got this part is because they needed a French speaking actress that wouldn’t cost too much”

— “And you’re lovely too”

A blush crept on my cheeks as Stéphane picked up my hand.

— “It probably helps” he went on. “I hope Tristan is grateful enough I will let him kiss my wife”

Wife. This is what he always called me, from the beginning of our relationship seven years ago. Yet… I felt like he didn’t want to gap this bridge and make me his. Even if his acceptance over another man kissing me disturbed me. Of course, Stéphane had explained, at length, that it would be stupid to let jealousy get in the way of a potential career and such. It was a reasonable and rational though. Yet… his lack of possessiveness somehow annoyed me.

Perhaps I was being purposefully inconsistent. I know what Stéphane would have said. “Women !”

The new year came and went, and with it, the time to board my flight back to Norway. And despite the depression that always showed whenever I felt Stéphane behind, I was happy to find my little home again. It was at if being split was the bane of my life. Norway was mine, and if I loved showing it to my relatives, it still echoed in my heart as my place. Neither Paris nor the north east of France had carved so deeply in my mind.

Getting back to work was as soothing as it was stupid. I didn’t really like my job, nuclear physics and all, but the people around me where a second family. Those colleagues had become brothers and sisters; the workplace was well worth it. Here, people trusted me and listened to my opinions. I had a purpose, and a team that valued my work.

And I could ping Tristan more often, since I didn’t have the guilt of Stéphane peeking over my shoulder, talking to another man. A pressure I was putting on myself, for my boyfriend had not said a word about our thread. Still, I couldn’t help but feel unfaithful when most of my thoughts dwelt with another project… another man. Did Stéphane know exactly how much personal information Tristan and I exchanged daily ? Probably not. And it was just as well.

My phone blinked, emitting the tiny sound I was now familiar with. Tristan had sent a picture of a mansion made of calcite stone. Probably four hundred years old from what I could see.

‘Tristan: Here’s the setting. Love the house ?”

‘Me: Not bad, a little big for my taste’

‘Tristan: I though nothing was too big for a lady :p’

I chuckled. After a month of continuous discussion, I had learnt that Tristan was quite a mischievous character and fond of teasing me. Probably because I responded quite well to it. To his credit, he never made fun of me, per se. Nothing about my looks, and nothing disparaging. Just quips that bounced between the two of us, hoping that the other would find a subtle and funny way to send it back.

‘Me: I’m not most ladies, dear Sir’

‘Tristan: So what’s your ideal house then ?’

There it was, the moment ‘movie’ discussion turned into a pretext to share something more. I took a moment to consider his question.

‘Me: Cosy. Lots of wood. Sturdier rock, granite, maybe. A fireplace’

‘Tristan: Fireplace ? Nice, but it’s a lot of work’

‘Me: I’m used to it, I've been helping my dad with wood every year. I think a longère would do well’

‘Tristan: A longère ?’

I took me five minutes to get a picture that corresponded to what I had in mind. A small cottage with slate tiles and two dormer windows over a green landscape with lots of trees.

‘Me: Something like that. I guess cottage should fit the definition’

‘Tristan: Nice style. So no indoor pool ? No tennis court ?’

He was pulling my leg again, we’ve had at length discussions about Hollywood stars and their beach palaces.

‘Me: Nah. A nice bathtub can do the trick, more environment friendly. As for tennis, I’d rather practice at home where I have willing partners to squash me’

‘Tristan: I play tennis. I played with Venus Williams once’

I started. By then, I already knew that wherever a ball was – handball, football, any kind really – Tristan was willing to follow. The man would never cease to amaze me, and it didn’t take long for me to find the pictures of this friendly encounter. And many more where he attended Roland Garros with his wife. 2006, 2007… They always were at the central court. Talk about a sports guy !

‘Me: Is there anything you can’t do, really ?’

‘Tristan: Unfortunately, plenty…’

The phone went silent after that, and I wondered what had triggered such a bout of sadness. My thoughts went to his wife and kids, who were, by now, teenagers. Perhaps he’d had a fight with them ? Or messed something up at work ? Perhaps he was referring to something older, something deeper. I wouldn’t know. I respected his silence, only sending a little word of encouragement.

‘Me: Well. You know where to find me’

End of January 2010

The shooting was about to start – without me - and I had trouble concentrating on my work. I wondered how it would go. So far, I had received pictures of Tristan’s trailer, the crew, the director, the horses, the child that should be our daughter and of many places where they would have scenes. The landscape was pretty horrible, dry rocks and not a tree in sight. Ugh ! I had to suppress a wince every time he sent a panorama.

I was finishing lunch with Maerten, a close friend who worked in the IT department when the phone buzzed again. I found a picture of Tristan, his hair even longer than the last time and he wore a chemise with many weird plaits. I frowned. Was it the light, or…

‘Tristan: They died my hair grey !!!’

I showed the phone to Maerten who had become an unconditional fan.

— “Hehehe, he can pull anything off that guy”

I smirked.

— “I’ll tell him you said that”

— “Go ahead”, he laughed.

‘Me: The IT says you look great’

‘Tristan: Lemme guess… he’s a guy, right ?’

Maerten took a peek at the screen and smiled.

— “Too bad I’m straight”

Following behind him in the stairs, I let him hold the door as I typed.

‘Me: A very straight guy. But Stéphane always says that ‘it’s not because you’re on a diet that you can’t look at the menu’

‘Tristan: Ha ha ! I suddenly feel very old’

I scoffed. How old was he, really ? Not nearly forty I think. And with the sports he was doing, I doubted his body was even aware his thirtieth birthday had come and gone. I sat back in front of my computer and responded.

‘Me: It looks good, it gives an idea of what you will be like fifteen years from now. You’re going to be a hell of a guy !’

My eyes settled on the calendar. In three weeks from now, I would be on set.

‘Tristan: How about now ?’

I smirked. Judging by the comments I sometimes found on the net, calling him ‘hotter than hell’ or ‘plain gorgeous’, I doubted he ignored how women viewed him.

‘Me: Like you don’t know it’

‘Tristan: Hey, can’t a movie star have confidence issues?’

There it was, the sadness again. I wondered if there was a wound there, and chose to be as honest as I could.

‘Me: I’d understand it coming from Leonardo, or Brad Pitt. But not from you, you look great’

Tristan’s response was a set of blushing smileys that made my day.