Jenny juggles three men but marries Marc
A big thanks to my editor Ken, who does not only edit my stories but is inadvertently, or maybe advertently, teaching me how to write.
You might want to read The Lamp Ch. 1 before this chapter. Chapter 1 is only 750 words long.
**
"I think your lamp has come," Jenny's husband Marc said. He was reading his email and saw the notification from the doorman of their Park Avenue apartment building. Jenny had told him about the lamp, and how she was sure the sculpture was of her supposed ancestor, Francine de Chamonix, who had been a model in Rodin's workshop.
Excited, she asked for it to be delivered up to their apartment on the 15th floor, even though she and Marc were both naked, having enjoyed a Saturday afternoon romp. She threw on a robe and hurried to the door. She took the lamp to the living room and began to tear at the packaging. Her husband, also in a robe, showed up to watch the unveiling.
The lamp unwrapped, Jenny looked at it with pride. It was a modestly sized table lamp, and the beautiful sculpture of the naked woman was open to view, as the lightbulb and shade were well above the top of her head. It had been modified to 110-volt American lightbulbs. There was a fancy stone base, too.
"It's beautiful. Is it marble?" Marc asked.
"Yes, it's Carrara marble."
"How do you know?"
"It's in the provenance documentation."
"Well, it's quite beautiful, and sexy, too. A wonderful shade of marble white. It must have cost us a pretty penny," Marc said.
Jenny didn't reply.
**
A few years earlier Marc and Jenny had met for the first time in the gardens of the Rodin museum in Paris, France. Jenny was there for her junior year abroad. She lived with a family that was conveniently located just two blocks from the museum. When it wasn't raining one could often find Jenny sitting on a bench in the gardens, reading her philosophy texts.
Marc was a sophisticated, rich businessman but he could have been just a tourist who loved Rodin's artworks. Marc also appreciated nature's artworks, and he thought Jenny was a perfect example of the capacity for beauty within the human race. Jenny would be the first to tell you that was a ridiculous exaggeration. She was just an ordinary college coed. There was however a difference.
The difference was that some of the sculptured nudes inside the museum did in fact resemble the pretty little coed in the gardens. Once Marc noticed the resemblance, he couldn't get it out of his head. He was too embarrassed however to use his observation as an excuse to introduce himself to her. He just kept returning to the museum. To hell with the Louvre: The Rodin Museum had plenty to see and to linger over, with the gorgeous coed in the gardens -- for him -- being the primary attraction.
Marc himself had a connection to the museum. According to his mother, one of his distant ancestors was a model for Rodin and his assistants. She had shown him pictures of his ancestor, a certain Francine de Chamonix. His mother was embarrassed to have such an ancestor because, like many other women who modeled nude for artists in the 19th century, Francine had "libertine" tendencies. Libertines would be called "sluts" nowadays. Marc's grandfather simply called a relaxed attitude about sex "a free love microcosm." Marc's grandfather was mentally still living in the 1960's. Nothing wrong with that, he liked to say.
Suddenly it dawned on him: The coed reading Heidegger in the garden looked like a reincarnation of Francine de Chamonix, herself! He dismissed the idea; it was just the power of suggestion. Jenny would later call it metonymy, using the literary trope, when he told the story of his initial crush on her. Still, there was no denying she had the same face as the long dead libertine model. She also had, as best as he could tell, the same delightfully proportioned body. He gave up: He had to meet her!
Marc didn't know how to go about meeting the lovely girl but he had always depended on luck in his life, both romantic and otherwise. As he was leaving the garden to return to his hotel, the coed rose to leave, too. They bumped into each other at the gate, both apologizing and with Jenny giggling.
"You're American?" Jenny asked. It was obvious from Marc's thick accent when he tried to speak French to her.
"Yes, and I guess you are too. Say, do you know of a nice café close by?" Marc said, not wanting to blow this opportunity fortune had dropped into his lap.
"Sure. Buy me a coffee and I'll take you to it. It's on my way home," Jenny said, with a smile that Marc thought could possibly be a come-hither smile.
"Sounds delightful."
Imagine Marc's surprise when, talking with Jenny for two hours at the café, he learned that she was probably descended from Francine de Chamonix, too! He told her he thought she looked just like some of the statues.
"How can you tell? The statues are all naked, and I most assuredly am not," Jenny teased.
"You have the same face as our ancestor."
"Really? You really think so?" Jenny had always loved the way Mademoiselle de Chamonix looked.
