A bittersweet tale of life's regrets and second chances.
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Author's Note
I've been searching for a way to branch out a little in my stories. As much as I love the kinky escapades of Natasha and Charlotte, I'm also a fan of the slow-building romance. While I'm at it, I'm trying to get some much needed practice with third-person point of view. This story incorporates both of these elements. If you enjoyed Experimental Therapy, you'll probably like this too.
Inspiration for this particular tale came from the Depeche Mode song of the same title. I think there is an opinion out there that the song is about a fifteen year-old boy who has a crush on an older woman, or maybe vice-versa. I've never thought of the song that way myself. I've always envisioned a middle-aged woman looking a photograph of herself from when she was fifteen years old. She thinks about how her life has turned out, and feels a longing for the happier, carefree days of her youth. This story is based on that interpretation.
Enjoy the story!
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Wax Philosophic
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The events and characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1
"Have you decided what you're wearing?"
"David, I don't even know if I want to go," Janet replied, reaching up to put away the last of the clean dishes.
"Of course you're going, you're my wife. What would people think if I showed up alone?"
"It's your reunion, not mine." She closed the cupboard, a little harder than necessary.
"Janet, you're going. End of discussion. Now pick something nice to wear. Maybe that new dress."
Janet threw the dishtowel onto the counter. She was really getting tired of these one-sided discussions. It was his class reunion, but it's just expected that she go. He didn't even ask, and that's what pissed her off the most. Of course she was going, he had said. After all, they had to keep up appearances, because heaven forbid anyone discover what a sham their marriage has become.
Janet poured herself a glass of wine and began leafing through the yearbook sitting on the table. His yearbook, not hers. David with the football team. David with the basketball team. David standing with his letterman jacket tossed casually over one shoulder, baseball MVP trophy in hand. David, David, David.
Oh, wait, what's this? Finally, a picture of her -- French Club 1988 -- Janet's sophomore year. "King and Queen of France" the caption read. That really took her back. Janet and Laurie -- Laurie Whatsername. Laurie was elected queen and got to choose whomever she wanted as her king. She chose Janet. Janet was surprised at the time, but couldn't really blame her. There were only three boys in French Club and not one of them was what she would classify as a winner.
Laurie Moyenne was her name. No, that wasn't quite it. That's just what Mademoiselle Toulon called her. There were two Loris and one Laurie in the class, so Mademoiselle Toulon arranged them by height. She called them Lori Grand, Laurie Moyenne, and Lori Petite. Easier to keep them straight that way, she said. Mademoiselle Toulon was a little eccentric like that.
Janet gazed at Laurie and herself in the picture, standing side by side, both wearing their paper crowns and a couple of huge grins. The longer she looked at it, the harder it was to not break out in a grin herself.
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Chapter 2
"Come on Maureen, you promised you'd come with me," Laurie said. "We've known about this for months."
"I don't want to fight about this, baby. I have to go to this conference. You know how important it is for my work."
"What about me? I'm not important to you anymore?"
"Laurie, that was low." Maureen walked off to the kitchen.
Laurie caught up with her. "I'm sorry, honey. It's just that, well, high school wasn't really very easy for me. I'd like to show up at the reunion with my beautiful, talented, girlfriend on my arm."
"You forgot successful."
"Beautiful, talented, and successful." Laurie laid her head on Maureen's shoulder, and looked up at her with her best puppy-dog eyes.
"Nice try baby, but no."
"Come on, Maureen."
"I am not going, Laurie. And I don't want to be the big, gay middle finger that you stick in all your classmates' faces."
"That's not ..."
"Not going, Laurie. End of discussion."
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Chapter 3
"We could have saved some money and just stayed with my parents," Janet said. David was already unpacking, so she knew there was no way she was going to win this one. They would be staying at the hotel tonight. Still, she felt the need to vent.
"I don't really like your parents, Janet, and they don't like me either. Your father has made that abundantly clear over the past several holidays."
"But I like them."
"Fine. Go stay with them tonight, I really don't care. As long as you show up for the dinner and the dance, you can spend as much time as you want with mommy and daddy."
"Fine," Janet said. She knew he'd probably use her absence as an excuse to bang some bimbo in their room later, but at least she'd be somewhere spending time with people who actually cared about her. "I'm going down to the bar," she said. "I'll see you at dinner."
"Don't be late."
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Chapter 4
"Thank goodness for solid ground," Laurie thought as she stood outside the arrivals gate waiting for her cab. Waiting. Waiting.
"No, Laurie," she said, "spelled with an A-U, not an O ... yes, that one ... I
am
standing at the arrivals gate ... If I saw the cab, I wouldn't be calling you, now would I? ... OK, thanks."
"Rosemont Hotel," she said to the driver.
"There's been a slight delay with your room, ma'am. If you'd like to have a seat in the bar, I can notify you when it's ready." The front desk clerk gave her one of those half-sincere customer service smiles, and slid a drink coupon across the counter. Laurie half-smiled back and wheeled her bag over to the bar.
"Chardonnay, please." She plopped herself on a stool next to an attractive woman who looked to be about the same age, maybe a little younger. The woman smiled. Laurie half-smiled back. They both went back to contemplating their drinks.
"Laurie?" she heard a minute later. "Laurie Moyenne?"
A glimmer of recognition. Mademoiselle Toulon's French Club. "Oh, my god. Janet?"
"Yes."
"Didn't you graduate in '91? What are you doing here?" Laurie inquired. "Wait sorry, that didn't come out right. Rough trip. What I meant to say is, how are you? It's been a long time."
The two women stood up and hugged. It was an awkward embrace. They had formed a high school friendship, but it was brief -- and it had been a long time ago.
"I'm fine," Janet said. "I'm here with my husband. He was class of '89."