Amanda's Guide to Love (23 page)

“What’s wrong with that? I thought
you were OK with her. With us.”

“I’m OK with you sleeping with gadji
women, no strings attached, like you’ve done in the past.” Marco leaned in and
put his hand on Kes’s shoulder. “The Gitane girls are out of bounds before
marriage, so a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”

Kes glared at him. “I think it’s
stupid that our women don’t enjoy the same freedom as the men.”

Marco removed his hand but didn’t
comment.

They sat in a fraught silence for a
few long moments.

“How serious is it?” Marco finally
asked. “Are you planning to bring her into the family?”

“Hey, hold your horses. We aren’t
even . . . a thing yet. Not officially, anyway.”

“But you’re hoping to be.” Marco
smirked. “Wow. How did you go from telling everyone you weren’t made for
relationships to being so into someone?”

Kes shrugged. “I don’t have the
foggiest.”

Marco gave him a long, probing look
and shook his head. “As I said, sleeping with a gadji is one thing, but letting
it get serious? I can’t believe you allowed her to creep into your heart and
pollute it.”

“What the hell, Marco?”

“Are you so changed by living among
them? Are you so transformed that you’ve forgotten who you are?” Marco screwed
his face up at Kes. “They’re unclean. They’re alien. You can’t attach yourself
to one. You can’t betray your people like that.”

Kes stood. “I have some errands in
town. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, and I suggest you change your tune by
then.”

“Or else? Will you kick me out, pral?
Will you disown me and your entire family and never break bread with the Gitans
again?”

Truth was Kes had no idea what he’d
do, so he just shook his head and walked out the door.

As he strode down the street in the
direction of the Park Citroën, where he intended to sit on a bench for the next
two hours, he couldn’t help but replay Marco’s words in his head. How could
someone so young and modern consider his actions a betrayal? Or was Kes missing
something? Was he too blinded by his feelings to see the reality? Was he truly
renouncing his origins and giving up his soul for a pretty gadji’s smile?

A gadji who might
never admit she had feelings for him. And who didn’t want a future with a
Gypsy.

* * *

Relearn It

~ ~ ~

A Woman’s Guide to Perfection

Guideline # 11

The Perfect Woman is strategic in
the choice of her pet.

Rationale
: Having a pet has both
inconveniences and advantages. The authors of this guide believe that the
advantages overweigh the inconveniences, hence we recommend getting a pet.

A
word of caution
:
You must be strategic in your choice. In addition to your lifestyle and the
size of your apartment, consider the following: Do you have a boyfriend or a
man you’ve set your sights on? Is he allergic to cats? Could he be jealous of
your bond with your dog? Is there a risk that he fails to see the fundamental
difference between hamsters and rats?

Permissible
exception
: If
you’re single, dogs provide endless occasions to meet people (e.g., other dog
owners and vets).

Damage
control
: When you
are not close enough to the man you’re hoping to seduce and can’t find out about
his allergies and attitudes, a fish is your safest choice.

~ ~ ~

La Bohème
was having the slowest morning since Amanda joined its staff over a month ago.
The absence of Parisians was easily explained by the local tradition to take a
long vacation in August. But the absence of tourists this morning was a
mystery. Even the irresistible aroma of roasting coffee beans wasn’t enough to
lure them in today.

Were they all at the Paris Plage or
in the nearby Starbucks, attracted by the promise of air conditioning? Whatever
the reason, they were clearly not at La Bohème, ordering cold drinks and
tipping the waiters.

Merde
.

Amanda looked around. Besides their
regular, José, who was sipping his daily espresso at the bar and telling Jeanne
some interminable tale, the bistro had only three other customers. A man in his
sixties, dressed in high-rise jeans with a denim shirt tucked in, was talking
on a cell phone. Two elegant ladies, both in their seventies, were enjoying iced
coffee and a lively conversation on the sidewalk terrace. Amanda was certain
she’d seen them at La Bohème before.

“Madame Sanchez and Madame Bloch,”
Jeanne said, following Amanda’s gaze. “They’ve been friends since primary
school and have a standing date here every Tuesday morning. Madame Sanchez
takes the train all the way from Strasbourg to see her friend.”

“Really?”

“Yep. They only miss their date
when one of them is ill or visiting with her children and grandchildren.”

“They’re both widowed,” José said.
“I would’ve pursued Madame Bloch—that’s the one in blue capris—if she were
fifteen years younger.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. José was in
his early sixties, but he catalogued himself with the forty-year-olds.

“Look at him,” José pointed at
Denim Man. “He’s been talking on that phone for at least twenty minutes,
nonstop.”

“You exaggerate,” Jeanne said.

“Not at all.” José sneered. “Old
people. They talk and talk and don’t realize they’re boring everyone around
them to death.”

Amanda opened her mouth to deliver
a snide comment on José’s unfortunate failure to see the irony of his
statement—and shut it again, suddenly unwilling to hurt him.

Oh God, was she becoming
nice
?

She’d always wanted to be more
diplomatic. But being kinder had never been on her agenda. Kindness didn’t put
you in the corner office—strategy and hard work did.

She blew her cheeks out and marched
to the other end of the room, where Manon was reading one of her trashy romance
books.

On closer inspection, she wasn’t
reading. She was checking out the stud on the cover.

“You’re drooling,” Amanda said.
“Believe me, you wouldn’t want this guy hitting on you.”

“Believe me, I would.” Manon gave
her a defiant look. “He looks so, so very hot.”

“On a book cover, maybe. But in
real life? I don’t think so.” Amanda sat next to Manon. “Just picture this: a man
enters La Bohème and walks toward you. He’s wearing tight leggings, his shirt
is open down to his belly button, and his chest is waxed and oiled.”

Manon’s lips twitched.

“He stops in front of you,” Amanda
continued, “and gives you the Zoolander look. What would you think?”

The younger woman hesitated.

“I’ll tell you what you’d think.”
Amanda schooled her features into a grimace of disgust. “You’d think, ‘Eww,
what a creep.’ Or, alternatively, ‘What a slut.’ ”

“What a slutty creep,” Jeanne
offered from behind the bar.

José finally set his cup on the
counter, placed a two-euro coin next to it, and climbed down from the barstool.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, ladies.”

“I wish he were coming here in the
evenings instead,” Amanda said after he left. “When I’m not around.”

“What do you usually do after your
shift ends?” Manon asked. “Do you have a second job somewhere else?”

Amanda shook her head. “I go home
and read vacancy notices, send out applications, and tweak my CV to better
match the job I’m applying for.”

“You forgot the part about
ferreting out information on your old company, Energie NordSud,” Jeanne said.

“So what? I’m curious to know how
ENS is faring.” Amanda glanced at the women on the terrace to see if they
needed anything. “And I’m trying to stay in touch with my colleagues. I had
very nice colleagues there.”

“Are we talking about the same
colleagues who gave you that mean T-shirt when you got promoted?” Jeanne asked.

“The one that said ‘Do I look like
a people person?’ ”
Amanda smiled. “I thought it was hilarious.”

Jeanne sighed.

“OK, yes, I
know
.” Amanda
contorted her mouth. “I wasn’t the most popular girl at ENS . . .
But I did get along with a few people. For instance, one of the PAs, Karine,
and I were really on the same wavelength.”

“Is she the brunette who stops by
sometimes?”

Amanda nodded.

Jeanne drew closer and fiddled with
her watch for a few moments. “And what about Kes? Are you two still ‘on the
same wavelength’?”

Amanda produced her best Parisian
shrug. “I guess so.”

“Mat and I really like him.” Jeanne
smiled. “He’s friendly and . . . different. He’s great for you.”

“Of course you’d like him,” Amanda
said, ignoring Jeanne’s last remark. “You’re a former Goth. And that means
you’re a deviant oddball disguised as a cute barmaid.”

“Bartender.”

“Whatever. You’re a wildcat at
heart, an adventurer . . . I’m not like that. I’m—”

“A koala disguised as a scary
grizzly.”

Amanda blinked—and lost her tongue.

No one had called her a koala
before. An office rat, yes. A bitch—more times that she cared to remember. Even
a hyena on a couple of occasions.

But a koala? Never.

* * *

Vivienne phoned just as Amanda got
home.

“Two words,” she said, wrapping up
the grueling conversation. “Dead. End. My diagnosis is that you’re going
through a phase. A belated rebellion. But you need to think about the
consequences.”

“I have, Maman.”

Vivienne made a noise that
resembled a sob. “You’re twenty-eight, Amanda. Please tell me you’re just
fooling around and not making long-term choices.”

“It’s exactly as you said, Maman.”
Amanda let out a weary sigh. “I am
not
planning to be a waitress
forever. And Kes . . . he’s just a summer fling. There’s nothing
serious between us, trust me.”

Vivienne perked up after that
assurance, and they said good-bye on a more cheerful note.

Amanda spent the next hour cleaning
her apartment and thinking about what Vivienne had told her. And about what she
had told Vivienne.

She’d meant it.

This summer was just a glitch, a
forced detour on her path toward perfection. Against her expectations, it had
turned out to be fun, like that tent-sleeping hike in the Jura a few years
back. Amanda had dreaded it but ended up enjoying every
moment . . . until day three, when the novelty wore off.

She just wasn’t the type to sleep
in a tent for an extended period.

Her job at La Bohème was a welcome
distraction and a source of much-needed income, but she had to find a
real
job very soon. Waiting tables wasn’t her calling. Being a powerhouse in the
energy sector was. She’d studied long years for it and worked her ass off so
that one day she could sit in that corner office and make a difference.

As for Kes . . . He’d
turned out to be so much more than she’d expected. She was having a great time
with him. But she couldn’t envisage a future with a gambler two years her
junior whose caravan-dwelling family—er . . .
tribe
—was
stuck in a time warp and not interested in getting out of it. They denied
themselves and their children a better life. They refused to move up in the
world.

Not Amanda. She hadn’t given up on
her dreams. She was going to pull herself together and do everything possible
and impossible to find a proper job again.

And a suitable man.

* * *

Renewable
energy flagship (or shall we say, ex-flagship) ENS had a catastrophic second
quarter. Its profits dropped to a historic low, and its shares plummeted.
Shareholders blame the new CEO, Julien Barre. The board is rumored to be
considering radical steps. Such underperformance is a first for a company that
was well on its way to becoming a European leader in energy just a year ago.

Amanda read the article in the
financial pages of
Le Figaro
five times between Félix Faure and Grands
Boulevards stations of the métro. She nearly missed her stop, jumping up from
her seat at the last moment and throwing herself through the doors. As she
walked down rue du Faubourg Montmartre toward La Bohème, her heart pounded and
her mind raced as if the news concerned her on a personal level—which it did,
in a there’s-justice-in-this-word-after-all sort of way.

Finally. It had happened.

The a-hole had made enough stupid
decisions and done enough damage to the company and the shareholders’
pocketbooks for the board to take notice. His days at the helm of ENS were
numbered. Whether it took a week or a month, he was getting the sack. Oh, he’d
have his golden parachute, no doubt, because you didn’t just fire a CEO of a
major company without sweetening the pill. Even a CEO who had screwed up in
every way.