Lessons in French (24 page)

fort
y
-seven

Étienne did not call Lydia “Madame Papaye” anymore. He called her
la salope
because of what had happened with his Berlin Wall pendants.

I had brought her a few of them to look at, but she had balked at the price of two hundred francs apiece. “That much! For something so essentially junky!” She couldn’t bring herself to do it. But maybe I should talk to Sally Meeks because Sally had so many connections with stylists. You never knew. The jewelry might work in a photo shoot. Sally was doing something with Japanese
Vogue
these days. This kind of kitsch might appeal to the Japanese. “Actually,” Lydia had said, “let me handle Sally.”

So, Lydia had passed the “moonbeam” pendants on to Sally, and Sally had returned them to her, unceremoniously, a couple of weeks later. No interest from the magazines. Thanks, but no thanks.

“I wonder,” Lydia smirked, “if she didn’t secretly get a commission for them in Asia and pass them off as her own find. She probably told
Vogue
she picked them up on the streets of Berlin, where she has never set foot, by the way. I wouldn’t put it past her for a second.”

Étienne now suspected that his designs were splashed all over Tokyo, touted as “found,” as the stuff of street vendors and delinquents. “No, I
found
the story of the Wall and I
made
this. This is what I will leave behind of my life.”

He had been so dramatically angry at first that I had written him a letter of apology, which he had thanked me for.

“I don’t blame you for the sins of your
salope
of a boss, like I don’t blame Americans for their president, but it’s nice that you wrote to me all the same. I will remember that. Just don’t forget to bring me back the
bijoux
because there are people who do want to pay for them.”

A week after Sally’s rejection, Lydia still hadn’t given me back the pendants. She said she wanted to think about buying one for herself. And maybe one for Portia. Anything to amuse Portia these days. If only they weren’t so overpriced, she hinted.

I asked Christie if she thought Étienne would be offended if I suggested a discount for Lydia. After all, she knew a lot of people, and could give him publicity if she chose.

Christie interrupted me. “That’s just it. If she chooses. I don’t think Étienne should be relying on her good graces. Now if Lydia were willing to cut a clear deal, that would be one thing. But it doesn’t sound like she operates that way.”

“No, I’m learning that she’s only clear when it suits her.”

“So, I assume she hasn’t told Portia about her father having an affair yet?”

“I guess she hasn’t.”

We were on the tiny terrace of a bar on a pedestrian street near the Bastille, having blond beers late in the afternoon. Étienne was supposed to be with us, but he was still asleep after clubbing all night. He was feeling less
résistant
lately, not so young.

I still had Clarence’s “final” letter to Claudia, and was getting up the nerve to tell Lydia about it and avoiding the question of how to let Clarence know about my decision.

“Christie, I want you to know that I’m going to come clean in all this.”

“All what?”

“Clarence gave me another letter for Claudia. A letter telling her he can’t see her again and that one of them has to leave Paris, and I told him I would give it to her, but I’m going to tell Lydia about it, because she’s my boss and my loyalty should be to her, and I know I have to start being honest and I’m working on it. Do you think that’s right?”

“I can’t believe I ever envied you your fancy job.”

“I’m going to stop the double-dealing. I am.”

She looked skeptical but tried to sound supportive as she said, “More power to you.”

“I can’t keep lying.”

“Then why didn’t you tell Clarence you couldn’t deliver his letter when he asked you?”

“You’re right, I should have said no, but I couldn’t resist at the time, and I thought, at least this means it will really all be over soon. Besides, Clarence will understand. As soon as the skies clear, he’ll see I’ve done the right thing.”

“Are you ever going to tell Portia about Olivier?”

“That’s different. It’s private.”

She took a pert sip of her beer. “Do we know he never got back together with her?”

“Yes.” I drank. “Although I do wish he’d stop feeling sorry for her, but I can’t control everything. I’ll go nuts if I try. He’s promised to try to cut off all contact with her. He says I’ve made him see that it’s better that way. The Schells are tough though. He’s doing his best.”

“You’ve fallen hard, haven’t you? Cutting him all that slack. I thought you were going to let Bastien into your heart. After that night at Les Bains. But no dice, right?”

“I know it sounds weird after so little time together, but I feel close to Olivier. I can’t help it. I have this running dialog with him in my mind that’s comforting. Everywhere I go, I feel him picturing me. He’s the only person who gets the life I’m living now.”

“Wait a second. What about Bastien? What is he, chopped liver? You know he told me the other day he thinks you take him a little for granted. And what about Étienne and me? We’re there for you, right? We’ll make you feel grounded any time you ask.”

“I love you guys.”

“Étienne is such a doll, by the way. He’s so brave. Smell this.” She flexed her wrist under my nose. “It’s Guerlain. He stole it for me at Bon Marché the other day. He’s getting more and more brazen.”

“I know, he is.” I smiled. “He called yesterday to say he’s spotted this gorgeous Annick Goutal display for me and he’s promised to get me a huge bottle. He asked me what my favorite perfume was and all I could think of was Eau de Charlotte.”

“That’s Portia’s perfume.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw it in her room that time you stayed there. Isn’t that a little psycho on your part to be coveting the same perfume?”

“No. Portia has about twenty bottles of perfume and my own favorite happens to be one of them. That’s not so strange. It’s not like I’m wearing white foundation and bright red lipstick or anything. It’s a random preference.
Anyone
could like Eau de
Charlotte. That’s not weird. No, you want to know what’s really weird?”

“Sure. Tell me.”

“You know that letter I wrote to Étienne to say I was sorry about the snafu with Lydia and his jewelry? He told me it meant so much to him. He brought it up again the other day. So, I teased him that he should frame it and he told me in all seriousness that he had thrown it away. He said he needed to keep everything that was truly important to him inside his emotional memory and that he was throwing away all the important reminders in his life. He gets so dramatic. My feelings were hurt that he tossed my letter. Because of course he’s going to forget it someday long after this Zen master persona is gone.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand your own cousin when he tries to tell you something. You know you can be so naïve sometimes, hard-knock life and all, Katie. Bastien’s right, you’ve been very sheltered.”

I was annoyed. Who was she to be calling me an innocent? If it weren’t for me and my family, she would be out on the street. I wanted to say this to her, but I bit my tongue and took a long, greedy, un-French swig of beer. I looked down at my ring. The sides of the concrete chip were beginning to wear away. There was a scratch in the paint. Maybe Lydia was right. Maybe the ring was an expensive piece of junk. I allowed this thought for about a second before I began to cry.

Christie softened, but not all the way. “Just get him his pendants back.”

•   •   •

Brave with drink, I went home and wrote Clarence a note:

Dear Clarence,

After a lot of thinking I’ve decided that while I want to deliver your letter to Claudia, I can’t do it unless I tell Lydia first. I’m hoping everyone will understand. You all mean so much to me.

Affectionately,

Katie

•   •   •

Tearfully, I slipped it under the door of his locked office. I tried to squelch the fear that I was killing something between us, to remember what Étienne had taught me about my
Death of the Virgin.
You have to fully take a picture in, pain and all. Blind reflection isn’t seeing.

•   •   •

That evening, I was in Lydia’s office slipping Étienne’s jewelry back into its velvet pouches, when Lydia came in, high from a couple of Kirs.

“So your cousin wouldn’t give me a press discount?” She laughed.

“He shouldn’t devalue his art.”

She laughed harder. “Well then, I’m glad you’re getting that stuff out of here. We have to declare war on clutter in this office. I can’t take it anymore.”

My heart began to pound. I had to tell her about the letter, now or never.

I looked straight into her large round watery eyes and took my first real step toward what I hoped was a grown-up moral compass. The moment felt epic.

“Lydia, I have to tell you something.”

“My goodness, has someone died?” She was in a disconcertingly unserious mood.

“No, it’s not that bad. But I’ve really been thinking about what you said when you decided I could stay after, you know, the whole thing when I messed up with the amulet—”

“Yes, yes, what is it?” Her tone stayed decidedly light.

“I, my priorities, I’m trying to be honest, and I don’t know, I mean this is going to come out wrong, but there’s another, I mean, Claudia, Clarence’s old Claudia, she’s in Paris again and she’s been in touch and he needs to tell her that it’s over, and he needs me to take another letter and I just can’t do it without . . . I want to come clean . . . You, my loyalty has to be to—”

Her expression remained unaltered. “Oh, that, of course. You really are still rather naïve, Katherine. I basically wrote that letter for the poor man. He relapsed once or twice. Guilt. Par for the course. But he came to his senses such as they are. We drafted the letter together. I suppose he didn’t mention that. I knew he’d give it to you. He likes to think he can still keep a secret or two. Makes him feel manly. So utterly like him. Of course you should deliver the letter. Do us all a favor.”

“But—”

“Good of you to ask, dear. But really you should be onto us by now. Kir?”

fort
y
-ei
g
ht

The following morning, Portia left to return to school. As she thanked me again for my dinner party, she told me she hoped I would help cook for her twenty-first-birthday dinner in June, when she would be back. If Olivier kept refusing to even speak to her, she would be in a horrible state, and it would be good to see me, she said, averting her eyes from her parents, who stood with us beside her taxi, shaking their heads.

Her final words to them were, “If Joshua becomes a full-blown monster here in Paris, you’ll have only yourselves to blame. There is such thing as parental authority, you know.”

“At least we can keep something of an eye on him here,” mumbled Clarence as we crossed the courtyard back to the apartment.

“We can, can we?” Lydia snapped. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“Sleeping off last night’s pot?” Clarence attempted a playful sigh.

“His room is empty,” said Lydia.

“Well, it
is
noon,” said Clarence. “Perhaps he’s gone to a museum.”

•   •   •

Crestfallen from my conversation with Lydia, I put Orlando on his leash and carried Clarence and Lydia’s joint letter to the Île St-Louis. Again, I had the sense that I was being watched.

Get over yourself, Katie. Nobody cares enough to follow you anywhere.

I was loath to see Claudia in her final disappointment. So, I knelt to slip the note under her door. Then I caught hold of myself, stood up and prepared to knock. Wasn’t I here to comfort her? Before I could touch the door, though, she swung it open. In her solitude, she must be attuned to every passing shadow. She grabbed the envelope from me, and, motionless, read its contents before she even asked me in so that I stood blocked in the doorway by her rigid little body. I waited, noticing and renoticing the few details the room had to offer, the unmade sofa bed, the sludgy coffee cup on the tiny table, the silky mass of her clothes through the open door of an armoire of compressed wood chips, the moldy view from her window. My eyes made the rounds of these sad little facts while she read and reread the words on the the pearly page. Typed words with a signature at the bottom. All the while, Orlando sat patiently at my feet.

When she finally looked up, I don’t think she saw us. Her eyes were roasting in their own private fury. Nothing else mattered.

“This is not what he truly wants. He did not write this alone.”

“Even if he didn’t write it alone, Claudia, he put his name to it. He signed it, so I think we have to believe him.”

She backed into her room with an exaggerated slowness, her anger swelling into an eerie calm.

“I will rise from the ashes of this.”

“That’s great, Claudia. That’s all he wants for you.”

“Fuck him. I will leave Paris when I am ready. I will live my own life. He will never hear from me again. Not directly. Perhaps he will hear of me.” She flashed a devilish grin. “But I will leave Paris when it is time for me to leave Paris. You can tell him that if he is interested. And tell him his bourgeois marriage has nothing left to fear from me. His fucking fortress. Let him rot in it. He is dead to me.”

She didn’t ask me whether or not I would come and see her again. But neither did she say goodbye as though I wouldn’t. When she offered me a coffee and I said I had to be getting back, she did not insist.

Orlando and I were barely outside Claudia’s door when he bounded up the street, so quick and delighted that his leash slithered and flew from my hand. He was headed for the sunlight at the corner of the dark street where a familiar figure stood against a wall, licking an ice-cream cone. That figure was Joshua.

“Hey.”

“Joshua! What are you doing here?”

“I came to get some ice cream, dude.” He ran his tongue over a scoop of what looked like rum raisin.

At a total loss, I said the first thing that popped into my head.

“You know ice cream isn’t vegan.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right.” He turned his cone upside down and dropped it into the street, where Orlando inhaled it.

“I’m sorry, Joshua, that was a bitchy thing to say. You’ve always been so sweet to me. I guess I’m having a bad morning. But I’m still sorry.”

“So, tell me, what’s she like?”

“What’s who like?”

“My dad’s lover. His mistress. Whatever you people call her. What’s she like? Is she hot?”

“That’s all over, Joshua.”

“Okay, let’s say I believe you. You can still tell me if she’s hot.”

“I, I, it’s really not my business. Please. Can you ask your dad if there’s something you want to know? I’m just the messenger, okay?”

“Don’t kill the messenger?”

“Something like that.”

I was scared he was going to ask me which apartment Claudia lived in, but instead he asked, perfectly friendly, if Orlando and I were heading home, and when I said we were, if he could walk with us.

He offered to take the leash, and together we loped through the streets of Paris, discussing the fact that he wasn’t exactly a Republican but that he was sick of his parents hypocritical knee-jerk liberal bullshit and there had to be something else out there worth fighting for.

•   •   •

Once we had exhausted the subject of his personal politics, he asked me how I had learned to speak French.

I told him about my cousins and about my dad’s prolonged death forcing me to stay with them here in Paris longer than anyone thought I would. I talked about Étienne and our school and how proud his parents seemed to be of me when I took to the language and the culture, how it gave me a feeling of belonging that I’ve pretty much hung on to ever since. “French has kept me connected to my dad even though it was the thing that once kept us apart.”

So what were my cousins doing now, he asked, as we started up rue St-André des Arts, the narrow
crêperie-
lined street that would take us from St-Michel to St-Germain?

Well, Étienne was in Paris, making jewelry. I showed him my ring.

Cool. And Étienne’s parents?

They were retired in a town called Orléans.

What was Orléans like?

I had no idea. But I would go to see them soon.

“Whoa! Weren’t they like your adoptive parents? Why would you want to blow them off like that? Haven’t you been here for like months and months already?”

“Eight months.” I shriveled. “I’m not blowing them off. It’s just that working for your mom and this whole situation, it’s pretty consuming.”

“You mean it’s glitzy.”

“I
am
going to see my cousins.”

My voice must have cracked because he softened his tone. “Listen, if you’re worried my mom won’t let you get away, I’ll talk to her. I’ll tell her they’re your adoptive parents, for Christ’s sake, not her and Dad, but these real people out in wherever they are. She’ll let you go if I ask her. She’s so freaked out that I’ll do something insane, in case you haven’t noticed, that I have some leverage. If you want, I’ll do it for you. Just say the word.”

“Thanks, Joshua. You’re really kind. I’ve got to learn to stand up for myself though.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” He gave me a pale, searching look, then broke into a grin and said these crêpes smelled too fucking good and he didn’t care if they had eggs and milk in them he was going to get one and he’d buy one for me too if I wanted.

I asked for chestnut.

“Thank you,” I said as he handed me the crêpe, folded into a triangle in a wax-paper sleeve. “You know, Joshua, this may sound like a cliché, but you’re not nearly as harsh as you seem to want to come off. Are you really angry or are you acting rebellious for the fun of it? Because you’re obviously a sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” he spoke through a mouthful of Nutella.

“Sorry.” I laughed.

“I’m not angry for no reason, you know. Do you have any idea what it’s like growing up in a house full of phonies? You’d be pissed too.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t want everyone to think I was an asshole.”

“Well, you have a nicer personality than I do, don’t you?”

I thought for a second. “Granted, but it doesn’t mean I’m really any nicer, just a friendlier package, which some could call phony. In fact, people have.”

“Nah,” he said, “you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Josh. This crêpe is awesome by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As we approached the doorway to our courtyard, I seized my last moment with him to ask how he had found out about Claudia.

“Not so hard to miss,” he said. “There’s information floating around our family like poison gas. Unless you’re a total idiot like my sister, all you have to do is sniff.”

“You won’t do anything crazy, will you Joshua? The Claudia thing is over. You won’t try to see her?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy.” He laughed. “I’m full of surprises, but I’m not stupid.”