Capturing Paris (9 page)

Paul looked surprised at his suggestion but laughed. “It's a fine idea. François, you are a true Frenchman, never forgetting your appetite.”

“
Et Madame Annie
?” François bowed in her direction.

“
Avec plaisir
.” Annie smiled. And it was with pleasure that she accepted this unexpected invitation. They hadn't even decided on whether to use her poems for the book, but she sensed that François was hungry for company and probably wanted to prolong his visit. She could see how he enjoyed being with Paul.

“Annie?” Wesley's voice boomed from the front hall.

“I'm in the kitchen.” She pulled a steaming casserole from the oven and set it on the counter. Her anger at Wesley had slowly diffused over the last few days, and she'd grown accustomed to their silent truce. She had been deeply hurt by Wesley's rejection the afternoon she'd returned from her long lunch with Daphne. That scene was humiliating to her;
his pushing her away had seemed so cruel at the time. She knew his self-esteem was at an all-time low, and she wanted to be patient, but it was becoming more difficult. Poor Wesley. It seemed like his life was closing down on him, just as hers was starting to take off in a new direction.

Since that afternoon, he had been courteous, almost to a fault, and she accepted the distance he seemed to want to keep between them. Now she was excited to tell him about the possibility of the book and her meeting with the two men that morning. Already she felt a glimmer of hope. François and Paul had been charming at lunch, and they had spoken so positively of the poems she had submitted.

When she'd come home, still buoyed by the glimpse of their literary world, she decided to make an especially nice meal for Wesley. As she chopped and sautéed, she thought back to everything that had happened during the lunch. François had kept them both laughing by telling stories about Paul as a little boy. Both families spent summers together in the south of France in a charming village called La Motte in the hills above Saint-Tropez. She enjoyed hearing about their shared history. But later, when the waiter brought their coffees, a shadow fell across Paul's face. He looked older, and the pleasure of their conversation seemed to fade as the weight of grief fell again across his shoulders. Everyone had his share of troubles, it seemed.

“There you are.” Wesley came into the kitchen and drew her into an awkward hug. “I've got some good news.” He grinned, clutching a bag from Petit Robert, the wine shop around the corner. He had more color in his face, perhaps from a long walk in the fresh air. He pulled out a bottle of champagne. “Let's have a toast. Can dinner wait a few minutes?”

“Where've you been?” she asked. He looked breathless and his glasses had steamed up when he came in from the cold to the warm kitchen. “This must be great news.” Her heart started to lift, as she imagined a new client or some new case. She pulled off her apron. “I'll get the glasses.” Wesley twisted the bottle with one hand while holding the cork steady with the other. He was rewarded with the festive
pop
, and she followed him into the living room.

“Our luck is changing. Wait till you hear.” He sat on the sofa and Annie set the champagne flutes before him on the coffee table. He
poured, and Annie watched as the sparkling wine danced into the glasses. She reached across and smoothed his hair. He took her hand and drew it to his lips, kissing the tips of her fingers, then lifted his glass and touched hers. He still remembered the easy, affectionate gestures that she thought had disappeared along with his job at the firm.

“Here's to our future,” he said. His voice was light and happy, as if nothing had fallen between them, nothing had weighed on them month after month.

“Tell me,Wes, what is it?” She took a big sip, relieved that Wesley was back, the sunny, dynamic Wesley she had married. She could hardly believe the sudden change. She moved closer to him.

“Hal called this morning.”

“Well good.” She smiled. “I'm glad to hear that.”

“His firm has agreed to a lateral hire, and he said I would be the ideal candidate.” He grinned and leaned back into the cushions. “He waited to call me until he got the go-ahead from the hiring committee.”

“Why, that's wonderful! Great news.” So many good things had happened in one day! “Did he offer you the job?”

“Not exactly. I need to go to Washington and meet the other partners. Hal says it's just a formality. I'm the kind of attorney they're looking for. I have all the right credentials. He's setting up interviews with the other partners. I'm going over right after New Year's.”

“So would you be opening a Paris office for them?”

“Annie, no. I told you. It would mean a job in Washington.” He sipped his champagne.

She put her glass down. She didn't remember him telling her this. “What do you mean?”

“I told you it was a possibility. That we might need to move if I found a job somewhere else.” He reached for her again, but she moved forward to the edge of the sofa.

“I thought Hal was just going to give you some business here in Paris. That you were waiting to hear about that.”

“That's how it started, but now they want me to join the firm. Don't worry. We don't have to move right away. I could go over and find a place to live, and you could come later.”

“Later?”

“In the spring. Whenever.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Hal?”

“Yes, Hal. What did you tell him?”

“Well, if the meetings go well in January, and there's no reason they shouldn't, that I could start right away.”

Annie felt like she'd been carried up onto a cloud, floated momentarily, and then dropped to earth.

“I can't believe you're telling me this. When the firm closed we both made the decision to stay in Paris. I love it here. I thought you loved it here even more.” She hardly knew where to begin. “Why didn't you talk to me first? I feel like this is so sudden, so … out of the blue.”

“Christ, Annie. It's not out of the blue. You know what it's been like. I don't love it here when I don't have any work, or even the prospect of a job. I'm sick of scrambling for work. This firm is perfect. I have the expertise they need. They want me. Did you ever consider that?”

“Of course I understand all that. It's just so sudden. You told me you were going to look for more work here, try to build your practice again.”

“Well, it hasn't been working.”

“You said it would take time.” She took another sip of champagne. It no longer tasted the same.

“Well, it's taking too much time and it's just too damned uncertain. Look, Annie, this is a job. It's a job that I want.”

“And just because you want it, I'm supposed to want it too?”

“Look. You wanted me to find a job.” His voice took on a sharp edge. “You wanted me to work again. Well, I've found a way. I don't see why you're so upset.”

“It's just a lot to get used to, that's all. We made the decision not to move last spring. You were actually quite adamant about wanting to stay in Paris.”

“Well, I've changed my mind. I'm trying to make a living, you know.”

“I know that. I just wish you'd think about what this is like for me.” She put her glass down. “I met with the editor today, Daphne's friend.

Both he and the photographer liked my work, and they want me to do some poems based on the photographs—sort of on a trial basis.” The dream of doing the book was fading fast. Even if she got an offer, how could she write the poems in all this upheaval?

“So, write the poems.”

“What's the point now? I'd need much more time here. It's not that simple. If they agree to hire me, I'd have to meet with them. There would be editing and—”

“Come on, Annie. If you did the book, you can fax back and forth. Look, we're moving to Washington, not the end of the earth. You can write poems anywhere. Plus we'll be so much closer to Sophie.”

How could she argue with that? She missed her daughter terribly.

“See, Annie, everything is going to change now. I feel so much better knowing I have a future. It will be like it used to.” He set his glass down and put his arm around her.

Could it ever be like it used to be? she wondered. “But I hate the thought of leaving,” she said. His arm weighed on her shoulder. “We've been here so long.”

“Paris will always be here.” He stroked her face and pulled her closer.

All of this made sense, but her heart felt heavy. Wesley's familiar hug didn't feel the way it used to.

“Come on, Annie. I want this job, and I want things to be better for us.” He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes.

Here was the man she thought she knew better than anyone else on earth, and yet it was like she was sitting next to a stranger. She couldn't believe how easily he'd made this decision. She turned her head away. “So, we erase the last six months and do whatever you want to fix it?” She pulled away and stood up.

“You're being unreasonable now,” he said, his voice cool.

Perhaps she was, but she felt suddenly powerless. She tried to push her angry reaction aside. “I don't know. I just don't know.” She left her glass of champagne on the coffee table and walked back to the kitchen to resurrect the casserole for dinner.

Le Solstice d'Hiver

The morning of the solstice party Annie awoke with a sore throat, a raw
dryness that indicated a cold coming on. She didn't want to get sick. She needed all her energy to finish getting the semester grades for the students at Liberal Arts Abroad, and that meant tracking down stodgy French university officials who saw no need to supply this information promptly. She wanted to get this work behind her so she could give her full attention to writing the poems for Valmont. Even if she and Wesley had to leave Paris, she still wanted the chance to do the book.

She had started work on two of the photographs. The poem about the merry-go-round was going well, but it wasn't going to be easy to finish three or four poems by the start of the year. While she walked on the street, rode the subway, even while she loaded the dishwasher, words and phrases played out in her head. The scenes in the photographs kept reappearing before her, and her small notebook was filling quickly with ideas.

Later that morning, after swallowing two aspirin, she drew a steaming hot bath, hoping a good soak would make her feel better. Wesley was out on a wine-buying mission, and she'd given him a list of several ingredients she'd forgotten. She bent her knees and eased lower into the hot water. The tap at her feet dripped slow fat drops like the quiet, even ticking of a clock. She was glad for this time alone. The book project felt like a lifeline to her, something she could wrap her mind around, something to focus on besides the probable move to America.

Wesley kept trying to convince her of the benefits of moving. He would be earning more money and she wouldn't have to work. She could write full-time. His arguments were valid. Would things return
to normal once he had a job in a firm, a job with more security? Sometimes Annie had a difficult time remembering what their lives were like before the law firm had closed. Wesley had been busy, sometimes distracted even then, a level of tension often coloring his behavior. But the stresses of his job, demanding at times, were like dark clouds that frequently lifted and allowed his kind, loving nature to shine through. They used to spend winter evenings together, each at one end of the living room sofa, he with papers in his lap, his glasses sliding down his face, she with her nose in a book. “Wesley, listen to this”—and she'd read him a few lines of a poem. He'd push his papers aside, close his eyes, and reach over to rest his hand on her shoulder or her neck, touching her lightly and giving her his full attention. They used to talk, laugh about inconsequential things, and ultimately he'd pull her up from the cushions and they'd walk arm in arm to bed, their lovemaking smoothing out any unpleasantness from the day.

Wesley refused to discuss what they would be giving up if they moved to Washington, what it would be like to leave. They'd lived in Paris for more than twenty years, and it felt like home. The rhythm of their days, enriched with everything Paris had to offer, had fueled Annie's creative life and made her happy. If Wesley got the job in Washington, he would immediately have the challenging, interesting world of his office, whereas she would be alone in a new place, setting up a home, starting over. He ignored her doubts and reservations. This infuriated Annie.

Last spring, when Wilson & James closed their doors, they had had many long talks about the future and had made a joint decision to stay in Paris. Now Wesley was making this decision without her. When she'd asked him about interviewing with other American firms in Paris, he said it was impossible, that law firms were cutting back, that American companies turned to French law firms to handle their business problems.

“But have you interviewed anywhere recently? Have you called anyone? Wesley, I just wish you wouldn't give up so soon. The decision you make affects both of us.”

“So you want me to turn this down? You want me to stay here and be miserable?”

“Of course not. If we have to move, we'll move.”

She secretly hoped that the job in Washington wouldn't come through. She knew this way of thinking was uncharitable, but perhaps all of a sudden some new client would appear. Wesley just needed a few good clients to get his practice going.

Annie placed the hot washcloth over her face. The moist heat felt good and blocked out the day ahead. Normally she looked forward to parties. She enjoyed the preparation and the planning almost as much as the main event. Now, with her bad throat and aching head, she viewed the solstice dinner as something to get through. She breathed into the soap-scented cloth. At least there was Daphne. Knowing that she was coming tonight made the party more exciting. They'd talked several times, and Daphne had been delighted that Paul wanted her to try writing some of the poems. “Paul's quite taken with you. He says the work you submitted was really good. Now you both have me to thank.” Her throaty British laugh had pleased Annie. “You'll be forever in my debt,” she had joked.