Bad Marie (6 page)

They were quiet in bed, having sex in France in the French
actress’s apartment. Because Benoît did not want Lili Gaudet to hear them.

“Why have sex at all?” Marie said.

But she didn’t mean it. Silent sex was exciting in its own way. They were quieter than they had ever been; it had been safe before, Ellen had always been at work. The danger, then, had been in the cleaning; keeping the sheets fresh, not leaving any hairs in untoward places.

Benoît and Marie had never had sex at night, never in the dark, and this was different for Marie, not being able to see Benoît’s body, his face, but still to know him, to taste him, to recognize his touch. His mouth, teeth, on her breast, sucking. Marie was silent, silently reclaiming Benoît Doniel from the French actress.

Sex. It reminded Marie, who was drunk and tired and angry, appalled by this ferretlike French actress in their life, why she was with Benoît. Reminded her that she was hopelessly in love. Marie was glad she had not fallen asleep after her bath. Silently, she pushed him in deeper and harder. In those six years of prison, there had been no sex. Every time she was with Benoît, Marie felt grateful. Alive. She wanted more.

She could be quiet.

Nothing was lost.

They had run away together.

They still had this passion.

In the morning, when they awoke, there would be fresh croissants, made in Paris.

“I love you,” Marie said.

It felt especially generous to say these words, given the way the day had gone. It was the first time that she ever told Benoît that she loved him, and Benoît returned Marie’s declaration with a soft murmur, delivered into the bony flesh of her shoulder. “
Moi aussi,
” Marie heard him say, meaningless words, more so because they were spoken in French, but Marie was appeased. She believed in the promise of the coming day. The certainty of breakfast.

Marie had forgotten how it felt, to fall asleep with another person. Benoît was smaller than Marie. She held him tight, spooning her body around his.

Marie woke up and saw Lili Gaudet sitting on a black leather
beanbag chair in the corner of the guest bedroom, watching them. She was wearing a sheer black nightgown that barely covered her thighs.

“You have nice breasts,” she told Marie.

Benoît lay on his side, sleeping. Marie reached for the sheet, covering their nakedness.

“They are much bigger than mine,” the French actress said.

“Leave,” Marie said.

“Are they real? Your breasts?”

Marie did not answer.

Lili chewed on a strand of long blond hair.

“Thank you for bringing him back to me,” she said. “Really, I am grateful. He’s been gone for too long. I have been waiting for him to come back. I knew someday he would come back. I will give you money. You can travel. Or go home to your America.”

“And my hot dogs.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Hot dogs,” Marie said. “Americans like hot dogs.”

“Dégoûtant,
” Lili Gaudet said. “I will give you money. You can go home. Or you can stay in Paris. Why not? It is a big city. It does not matter to me where you go. I am a very successful actress. I will help you. He belongs to me. He knows that. You know that.
Comprends?
”

Marie lowered the sheet to show off her large, real breasts.

“You know it won’t last,” the French actress said. “He will have sex with anyone. He was always like this. Nathalie did not want him to meet any of her friends. He did not care how it made her feel. He’ll fuck anything.
Comprends?
Ask him. Wake him up. Wake him up.”

Marie leaned over, gently shaking Benoît Doniel’s shoulder. Benoît tried to kiss her, put his hands in her hair, and Marie let him pull her down. She wanted the French actress to watch, to let the French actress know what happened between them in bed.

“Arrête,
” the French actress said.

This stopped Benoît.

“She is in our room,” Marie whispered.

“My room,” Lili said. “My apartment, my room.”

“Lili?” Benoît broke away from Marie, sitting up in the bed.

“Three years,” Lili said, addressing Benoît and only Benoît, but speaking slowly and deliberately in English, for Marie’s sake. “Three years you have been gone. Not a word. You have another woman’s baby.”

“I had to leave,” he said. “I didn’t have to explain it to you. I owed you nothing.”

“You did owe me,” she said. “You made promises to me.”

“My sister died.” Benoît’s voice was angry. “She killed herself. She hanged herself in your summer house. You were there. You discovered her body.”

“Every night and every day, that summer, you fucked me.”

“You misunderstood, Lili,” he said. “We were crazy. With grief. That’s all it was. I had to get away. You are fine. You are a big star. You knew you would be.”

With that, Lili Gaudet started again, speaking in rapid French. Marie heard that one same word at the end of almost every sentence, repeatedly.
Comprends? Comprends? Comprends?
Because apparently, Benoît did not. He did not want to give her whatever it was that she required. The French actress waved her arms, she chewed on her hair, and then she came over to the bed, she pulled the sheet off of Marie and called her a name. Marie did not know the word, but she understood what it meant: whore, slut, something hateful. Marie thought that women didn’t get to call other women whores or sluts anymore. And then she noticed that the French actress was staring again at Marie’s breasts, and when Marie looked down, she could see the spot where Benoît had sunk his teeth. He had bitten hard, as if he had literally tried to consume her.

Benoît got out of the bed, naked, and he went for Lili before she could get to Marie. Marie was grateful. The fingernails of the French actress were long, her rodentlike eyes crazed. Benoît grabbed Lili Gaudet by the shoulders and tried to force her to the door. A strap from her nightgown fell off her shoulder, revealing a breast. Her breasts were small, much smaller than Marie’s, but they were perfectly formed, and Marie noticed, while Benoît tried to force the French actress away from the bed, that his dangling penis had become aroused, and Lili Gaudet was crying, again, as she started to punch Benoît with her fists. “
Je te déteste,
” she repeated, striking wildly.

Marie felt more tired than she had ever remembered being. More tired than the day Ellen’s mother explained that she could not pay for her college education, but offered her a small sum for textbooks. More tired than the day she was released from prison and realized that there was no one to pick her up. Marie sat upright in the bed and watched them: the French insanity show. She did not defend what was hers.

Served her right.

That was what her mother would say. She said that every time Marie got into trouble: for shoplifting a lipstick at the mall, for getting caught cheating on an algebra test, for going to prison for abetting a violent felon.

Served her right.
Her mother’s words.

Her mother would be ashamed if she knew what Marie had done to Ellen’s marriage. Her mother had taken Ellen’s side when it had all come out about Harry Alford. She’d think Marie was getting exactly what she deserved, witnessing the sick and twisted dance of Marie’s adulterous lover and his insane French actress.

“Comprends?
” the French actress screamed. She punched Benoît in the chest. Over and over. With every
comprends
.

The ridiculous hair that Marie loved swooped down into Benoît Doniel’s eyes, but Marie couldn’t miss the change that had come over him; at a certain point, Benoît had stopped defending himself against Lili Gaudet’s crazed punches. He had stopped trying to push her to the door.

Marie watched as he broke down and did the absolute worst possible thing that he could do. Marie watched while Benoît kissed Lili Gaudet, his hands in the French actress’s long, tangled blond hair, his tongue in her mouth. Marie even understood, a little, the pull of nostalgia. To get a second chance. To slip back into your past, to be the person that you once were. To return to your youth, your lost love. Marie had never thought that Benoît Doniel would take the place of Juan José, but he had left his wife for her. He had left the safety and comfort of his wife and taken his child and traveled across an ocean. He had done all of this for Marie, and here he was, embracing this French actress right in front of her, as she sat naked on the bed where he had just fucked her, and if Marie believed in fate, which she seemed to, then there seemed to be something fated about this, too. Fate had given Marie Benoît Doniel, and now fate was taking him away.

Benoît Doniel was kissing Lili Gaudet in front of Marie. Lili was still crying, pressing herself against him, stroking his unmistakably erect penis with one hand, holding him close with the other. Marie listened to the French actress moan with pleasure. And Marie, she just watched, paralyzed on the bed that her lover and the reprehensible French actress would soon need, before she decided, finally, that this was more than she could take. Struggling to stand on legs that would not bend, Marie dragged herself out of the bed.

She wrapped herself in the sheet, a beautiful pale lavender sheet with small pink flowers, maybe the nicest sheet Marie had ever slept on, and she left the bedroom, walking carefully around Benoît Doniel and his French actress, hoping that he would cease in this madness when she passed by. But he didn’t, and Marie made it safely into the living room, where earlier she had tucked Caitlin into a makeshift crib, couch pillows lined up on the floor next to the couch, a row upright, blocking her in. Beautiful, sweet Caitlin, asleep on the living-room floor, thumb in her mouth.

“Paris,” Marie said to Caitlin, staring at the cobblestone
street
that lay ahead of them. There were expensive-looking shops lining both sides of the street. There was a lingerie store, a bakery. A bar. The restaurant where they had eaten steak frites. A bookstore. There were beautiful people, walking dogs, in stylish clothes.

Marie also found a bank, though she was too early. Marie did, at least, have money. She had four weeks’ babysitting salary, practically untouched, and the five one-hundred-dollar bills, the guilt money Ellen had handed over the last time they saw each other. Marie would change these dollars to euros. She had money; she and Caitlin would be able to last awhile.

“We are in Paris,” Marie said again. “Those birds you hear singing are French birds.”

“French birds,” Caitlin said.

“You got it,” Marie said. “Exactly. French birds. They don’t understand English. Not even a little bit.”

Caitlin looked at Marie, not sure how to respond.

“And over there,” Marie said, pointing to a little white poodle on a blue leash, “is a French dog.”

“Doggie!”

Caitlin clapped her hands. The Frenchwoman walking the dog kindly allowed Caitlin to pet her dog. Caitlin was always happy, petting someone else’s dog. Marie watched as the poodle licked Caitlin’s face. Caitlin squealed. The woman smiled at Marie and Marie smiled at the Frenchwoman. Marie realized she would do fine on her own in France. French people did not look at her and think
kidnapper
.

Benoît Doniel could have his French actress. If that’s what he wanted. It was unthinkable, really, that that was what he wanted, who he wanted, but Marie would be okay with that. She would revise her opinion of him. She had believed that she truly loved him, but that might have only ever been an idea. A concept. A crush on the author of
Virginie at Sea
. She did not need him, no, she had used him to get to France, a place she had never been before. She would go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. She would take Caitlin.

“We need breakfast,” Marie said. “Are you hungry?”

Caitlin shook her head.

“I am hungry,” Marie said.

“The doggie licked me,” Caitlin said, smiling.

“I want to eat the best croissant in France,” Marie said. “That’s what I want.”

They started to walk. They turned the corner onto another cobblestone street without shops, but lined with old and beautiful buildings, one after the other, flowers planted in beds of grass lining the sidewalks. Marie had no idea where they were. She could see the Eiffel Tower, but could not tell if it was near or far. Where were the museums the French actress had promised, or those famous gardens? Marie only knew that they were getting farther away from the French actress’s apartment. She wondered how late Benoît would sleep, if he had managed to sleep, after he’d finished fucking his French actress. Maybe he had heard them leaving the apartment and he was racing to find them after waking up and discovering them gone.

With every step farther from the French actress’s apartment, Marie felt a return to her better self. The Marie who did not care, who did not worry. Who took everything that was offered to her. Who did not look back. Caitlin was not unhappy. They started to walk as if it were any old day, as if New York was Paris and nothing had changed. They heard people speaking other languages in New York all the time. They walked one block and then another, turned right, and then right again; the view changed, the name of the street changed, and Marie found an outdoor market and a bubbling fountain. In the center of the square, near the market, French children were playing in the water. Dancing and splashing.

“I want to,” Caitlin said, bending down to take off her shoes.

“Soon,” Marie said. “First breakfast.”

She was surprised by the adult tone of her voice. She was the responsible one, the one who told Caitlin what to do. Because she knew, by now, what Caitlin needed. Or maybe it was just that Marie was hungry. In need of coffee.

Marie found them a café out on the square, and she was able to order coffee, a croissant. She asked for everything in English. In France. This pleased Marie enormously.

“With milk?” the waitress asked, also in English. Because, of course, they spoke English in France. It was not much different from Mexico.

“Yes,” Marie said. “In a bowl. Please.”

“The milk in a bowl?”

“The coffee.”

Marie also ordered milk for Caitlin. In a glass. And another croissant. And fruit. A fruit salad. Marie asked for everything in English and it was all delivered, along with three different kinds of jams she had not asked for and a chocolate hazelnut spread.

Marie dipped her croissant into the bowl of coffee the way she had watched Benoît Doniel dunk his food into his coffee. This made Marie happy, though she would have rather shared the experience of her first coffee and croissant with Benoît. She was not happy to have left him. They had not lasted a day together. Not a single day. But Marie did not see what else there was for her to have done. She could still picture him, his hands in the French actress’s hair, his penis erect. Caitlin dipped her fingers into the pots of jam and then licked them clean.

“We like it in France?” Marie said. “
Oui?
”

Caitlin shook her head.

“No,” she said. And then she changed her mind. “Weeee,” she said.

She liked the jam, and Marie let her keep on eating it with her fingers. Caitlin had no interest in her croissant, but she drank her milk. She had gotten good with a glass, no longer needed a sippy cup. She was growing up. In the month they’d been together, Caitlin had gotten bigger, her hair longer. She grinned at Marie. There was jam in her hair. On her nose. On her yellow flowered T-shirt.

“Look at you, Caty Bean.”

Marie did not really believe that she had walked out on Benoît Doniel, taking his daughter with her. Benoît could take Caitlin from his wife, but Marie had no right to take the girl from her father. That was illegal; it had to be. But Marie could not fathom leaving the French actress’s apartment without Caitlin. She could not imagine her life without Caitlin.

The croissant, at least, was delicious. Lighter and flakier than any croissant she had ever had. It tasted like butter. And the coffee, it was also delicious. When the waitress came back around again, Marie ordered another.

“Do you want to eat your fruit?” she asked Caitlin.

Caitlin didn’t.

Marie gladly ate Caitlin’s fruit. The strawberries were smaller in France. Marie thought she should tell Caitlin what she was missing, insist that she should try the strawberries, but instead Marie ate them, every last one. She could not help herself. She had never tasted strawberries like these. They made her happy.

“Hi Caitlin,” Marie said, smiling at the little girl, fingers still in the jam.

“Hi Marie.”

“Hi Caty Bean.”

“Hi Marie.”

After breakfast, they would have to do something, go somewhere. Caitlin’s things, the bags and bags of favorite things Benoît had feverishly packed, were still in Lili Gaudet’s apartment. Marie had grabbed only Caitlin’s travel bag, Caitlin, and her own backpack, leaving everything else behind. She wished she had taken Caitlin’s stroller. A couple of stuffed animals. The Elmo doll. Caitlin’s father.

“What do you want to do next?” Marie said.

“I want to see sea lions,” Caitlin said.

Marie nodded. It was the right thing to do, symbolic. Whenever Marie required wisdom, she could count on Caitlin.

“How did you get so smart?” Marie asked her.

Caitlin grinned.

“We’ll go to the zoo,” Marie said. There had to be a zoo in Paris.

“Where is Mommy?” Caitlin asked.

“Mommy?” Marie only missed a beat. “Mommy is at the office.”

“Look at my fingers,” Caitlin said.

They were sticky with jam. She smeared jam on Marie’s bare arm. “Red,” Caitlin said.

Marie licked the jam off her arm. She licked Caitlin’s nose. Caitlin seemed to be satisfied with Marie’s answer. It was the same as in the airport. Caitlin did not miss her mother; she just needed to know her whereabouts.

“Your daddy is busy, too,” Marie said. “He is with the French actress.”

“There,” Caitlin said. “There is Daddy.”

Caitlin pointed, and there, in fact, was Benoît Doniel. His face was bright red, covered in a glossy sheen of sweat. His button-down shirt was unbuttoned and untucked. He doubled over once he reached them, hands on his thighs, catching his breath. His legs shook violently. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t.

“Of course,” he said, finally. “Of course. Of course.
Bien sûr.
You are having breakfast. No need to worry.”

Caitlin put her finger back into the pot of jam and offered it to Benoît. Benoît shook his head. He was staring at Marie. Marie couldn’t recognize the expression on his face. Love? Fear? Rage? She was inclined to think it was the latter, though she had never seen Benoît Doniel angry before. She did know what he looked like aroused by another woman.

“Good morning,” he said to Marie. “You have already eaten. That’s good. Very good. She went out for breakfast. That’s all. That’s okay. Sensible. You were hungry.”

“No,” Marie said. “I left.”

Benoît looked around for the waitress.

“I left you,” Marie said. “Then we decided on breakfast.”

“We saw French birds,” Caitlin said. “I pet a dog. This is good.” She dipped her fingers back into the jam.

“Don’t do that,” Benoît said, taking Caitlin’s hands out of the pot. “Why do you let her do that?”

It was the first time Benoît had ever criticized Marie for the way that she looked after Caitlin. Marie did not appreciate Benoît’s look of contempt. For the first time, he reminded her of Ellen. He had chosen to marry that woman. Why? Because she drank Diet Coke? Because she paid his bills? Was she even any good in bed? Marie doubted it. She reached for Caitlin’s croissant and took a bite.

Benoît ordered his breakfast in French, which seemed like just one more betrayal. But there they were, together, at a café in Paris, France, the way it was supposed to be. Standing in front of the sea lion tank, Marie had believed in them, in their future. She had thought everything was possible. They had been happy in New York, eating macaroni and cheese, taking walks to the park, taking baths in the afternoon. That had been real. Marie had been in love before and she recognized what it felt like.

“I know somewhere else we can stay,” Benoît said. “With my grandmother.”

“Good,” Marie said.

She needed some place to stay. Hotels in Paris would use up her meager savings in a matter of days. Marie was glad that Benoît Doniel had found them when he did. He could also pay for breakfast.

“I’m sorry, Marie,” Benoît said. “I beg you to forgive me.”

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“We have a complicated history,” Benoît said. “Lili
et moi
.”

The waitress came with Benoît’s coffee. He had gotten an espresso, not coffee in a bowl.

“I don’t want to know about her.”

“But you want to know about me. I am telling you about myself. Lili is practically a sister to me.”

“You have sex with all of your sisters?” Marie immediately regretted saying that. She didn’t want to engage him in this conversation. Did not want to be something as trivial as jealous. He could have this fight, later, with Ellen. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

“I want to tell you.”

Marie shook her head.

“Tell me,” Caitlin said. “Tell me, Daddy. Tell me.”