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“Madam, I am with you one thousand percent,” Josh says, as serious as a heart attack. He leans forward in the armchair facing me in my office, lowers his voice a touch as he stares at me with absolute stoic conviction. I lean closer, my arms crossed on the surface of my desk. “I figure it’s one of two things,” he continues, holding up two beefy, callused fingers. “The Academy absolutely is in the pocket of whomever is paying them off—” I fake a cough that sounds like “Netflix.” Josh winks. “Or, as you say, they unreservedly have creamed corn for brains. Although, I would be less astute than yourself and use the word shit—excuse my French.” I wave one hand. “Denis is the sole proprietor of enough French around here.” I nod and sigh heavily. “But I’m afraid it’s both… unless there’s a further mystery.” He winces. “Like what?” I shudder to even think it, and my heart aches, so I whisper, “Did Denis piss someone off?” Josh straightens, waves his hands, shakes his head with an assured smile. “Nah, impossible. You saw how much the old guard over the years have glazed him over and over—Spielberg, Cameron, Coppola even—they have so much influence, and I can’t even imagine him doing a single impolite thing. It’s more likely that the Academy is on one of their perennial ill-informed quote-unquote social awareness kicks again.” “Oh like they only have eyes for something like Crash or The Green Book,” I say, sticking out my tongue. “Ewww.” I shake my head, rub my face. “I’m sorry the possibility of an indiscretion even crossed my mind. I feel terrible.” Josh gets up and walks around the desk to squat down beside my chair, takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’re forgiven for your doubts, Madam,” he says gently as he looks up into my moist eyes. “This whole thing is so incredibly dumb and preposterous. It’s a fucking travesty and I hate it.” “But we can’t let Denis know it’s eating us up so much. I know he doesn’t put much stock in awards and he’s right to do so, but I can’t help being offended at the injustice of it all.” “Yeah, he’s too sweet a guy, too above all this to care that much, and he’s so grateful to have even had the opportunity to make his cinematic dream come true… but that’s exactly why he should be recognized and rewarded!” “Shhhh, I know, I know!” I hiss, holding a finger to my lips. I pat his shoulder and adore the sincerity in his big, weathered face. I am grateful for his fraternal presence at this exact moment. “There’s nothing for it at this point, I suppose, but to just say fuck it and give up on the Academy for good.” Josh’s smile returns, and he gives me a thumbs-up. “Fuckin’ A, Madam.” Just then, there’s a knock on my door, and a mild voice inquires “Madam, t’es là?” “Merde,” I say under my breath, then I call out “Ouais, rêveur, I’m here.” Josh quickly stands up, stares at the door as Denis enters. He grins, acts casual. “Hey, Denis, what’s up, man?” Denis stares at both of us in turn, clearly trying to read the situation. “Chui bien, bien. But I ehmmm, wanted to check on you, ma femme, see how your project was going.” I still get shivers from his referring to me with that new appellation, and I smile brightly. “Oh it’s great, actually, thanks very much to you sending me those books the other day!” “Uh yeah, she was just interviewing me a bit about it, wanted my input on something,” Josh says with a little chuckle, then looks to me. “It appears you’re having a lot of fun.” “Yep, yep, it’s been a profound distraction from all the uh… garbage fires in the world.” Denis smiles that gnomish smile, puts his hands on his hips. “That is wonderful, Madam, I’m happy to help. But you ehmm… you two have not been conspiring by any chance?” “Conspiring, no, what?” Josh blurts. Denis shakes his head, but still stares us down. “Non, not conspiring, mais… I hope you two are not… how do you say… complaining? Tsé, soaking… in your anger?” Josh and I exchange a quick knowing look. I blink at Denis. “No… we’re just… chatting.” Denis narrows his gaze, then beckons me with with one finger. “Could you come with me, Madam?” he asks, nodding toward the door. “S’il te plait?” I glance at Josh as I stand up. I silently walk around my desk and across the room toward my husband. “Un moment, un moment,” Denis says over his shoulder at Josh as he places a hand on the small of my back, leading me out the door. He closes it, silently walks me a few feet down to my master bedroom, guides me inside. I step toward the bed, wringing my hands, then turn around as he shuts the door behind us. My heart is already in my throat, never having been truly afraid of a private conversation with him until this moment. Our eyes meet, and for an eternal second, I regret all my gossiping with Josh, and I worry that I’ve upset my new husband somehow. “Denis—” He shakes his head, steps close, only inches from me, and I suddenly feel all six feet of his presence compared to my tiny stature. As his deceptively large, warm hands grasp my shoulders, I hold my breath, unblinking. “How many times must I tell you, my love…” he says with a deeply disarming softness. “Ne t’inquiete pas?” I breathe, feel a few tears well into the corners of my eyes. “Désolé, amoureux—” He stops my mouth with a daring kiss, stealing my breath with its assertive flavour, accompanied by an embrace of such passion we haven’t shared in a while—since David’s death kinda knocked the fire out of us. My heart, previously frozen with nerves, instantly sublimates and steams me up with a refreshed desire to simply be directed by him in any way whatsoever. Enthralled, I don’t even notice we’ve moved until the edge of the bed knocks against the back of my legs. Still kissing me, Denis reaches down my hips, slides his hands down my outer thighs until he quickly grabs them so I lose my feet and I fall onto my back on top of the comforter, gasping. The wolfish look in his eyes is entirely new to me, and my body flushes with anticipation of the unknown. I go to sit up, but he leans forward, gently pushes me back down as he climbs onto the bed, straddling me, caging me on his hands and knees. I bite my lower lip, and he smiles, caresses my cheek as he dips closer. “Now I will know,” he whispers in that bedroom baritone, “c'est quoi être ton mari.” “Mon mari,” I moan as I shut my eyes and his lips meet mine again, plunging me into a divine state of arousal. *********** “Amoureuse.” The word is warm velvet caressing my earlobe. “Ma femme… ma Sayyadina.” “Hmmm?” I hum before opening my eyes. I see the ceiling fan ever so slowly twirling clockwise, because it’s winter. I rub my eyes and turn my face toward the voice, feel my husband’s lips and whiskers tickle my skin. He presses his smile against my cheek and sighs as he snakes an arm underneath me and pulls me against his naked chest. A few deep breaths later, he strokes my hair, my ear, touches two fingertips to my lips. His smile is hiding just below the surface—he always has one at the ready.
“Comment ça va, chérie?”
I nod once and smile, lightly skim my nails down the side of his neck. He twitches when the goosebumps come, then bites his lip. I cup his cheek and press my forehead against his. “Je me sens… fantastique.” I say, sighing happily. “Do you officially feel like a husband now?” Denis’s chuckle vibrates through his chest and straight into mine. “I suppose so!” “Well, you did your duty, anyway,” I say, winking. “Well done.” He blushes. “And yet, I know I have failed somehow—” “What?” I snort. “You’ve never missed, trust me—” “Non, non, non, not that, my love, I mean…” He sighs, wrinkles his brow. “I thought I could convince you finally not to care so much about awards and nominations—” I shut my eyes, embarrassed. “Oh, Denis, you were right all along. But it galls me so horribly to see you passed over all the time. But… I promise you I’ve given up and I’ve unburdened myself of giving a single shit what happens. Now and into the future. I swear. I’m done. J’ai fini.” Denis sighs, tenderly tucks some stray curls back from my face. “Madam, you have other things more worthy of your precious time and brainpower… like taking care of us… and your little writing projects.” I smile and shrug. “I do love my little writing projects.” “And those require all your focus on love. You need as less annoyance as possible.” Although I’ve promised him to point out any minor English faux pas in his speech, I sometimes opt not to correct him at all, because it feels like the equivalent of sanding down the shape of his character. “I have been bad about my resolution not to get so annoyed. It’s harder than going dry.” “Oh please let’s not go dry, as you say,” he scoffs. “Maybe I like red wine too much, though.” “No you’re okay. You’re a grown-up about it. I think what I need is a mantra to repeat whenever something starts to irk me.” Denis’s eyes fix upon my bare shoulder as he thinks. “Oh, what about this—” he says, tapping my arm. “When you get annoyed, you can ask yourself: would it matter so much if a nuclear bomb went off right now?” “Pfft, but Denis, then nothing would matter at all.” “Exactly. Not much is worth getting so upset about, either, tsé. Think about it.” I sit with it a moment and try to imagine using it for future occasions. It’s such a dark but extremely honest thought, and I find myself chuffed that he knows his audience. “Yeah, then the only things left to worry about would be my friends and family… at least until we all died from the fallout.” He chuckles uneasily. “That is almost what I was trying to say. Very close. But try it. Maybe it will help you. If it doesn’t help you, it wasn’t my idea.” I laugh and kiss him once, then hold his head against my bare chest. “Je t’aime pour toujours.”