Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal (20 page)

That taken care of, Glorianna smiled with approval. “Are you
sure
you want to marry Nelson?”

“Only if he wants to marry me.”

“Of course he wants to.”

The golden gong was struck. “He told you this?”

Glorianna answered with a smile. She sipped her drink and the sun glanced off several diamond rings. She felt Alyce out on what she wanted from life. How important was her career?

“I’ve had enough of the world of advertising,” Alyce said. “Owning a vineyard and having children with the man I love would be a dream come true.”

Would Alyce raise the children Episcopalian?

“I was brought up Methodist, but I don’t belong to a church. Sure.”

“How do you feel about private education and sending the children to prep school when they’re of age?”

“Uh, haven’t thought about that.” She almost asked if she had their children’s names picked out.

“Just think about it.” She shook more ice into her glass. “Now, let’s talk about You-know-who. I don’t understand how you put up with her and that surly boy, but I’m grateful you do. Unless you intend for that to change in the future.”

Alyce took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Of course I’d prefer if she wasn’t in the picture, but Nelson loves his son. I admire him for that.”

She caught Glorianna’s light lick of the rim of her glass before sipping her water. She had told Alyce once that was her secret for keeping lipstick from appearing on the glass and disappearing from her lips.

“Once you have children, won’t the time he spends with them bother you?”

“If he’s over here and they’re over there, when will he even see them? Before you know it, Junior will be a teenager and in his own world. Or maybe he’ll like having half-siblings and come visit in the summer.”

“Kids today are so
progressive.
”

“With all due respect, he
is
your grandson.”

Her eyes flashed. “He was conceived with pure evil on the part of that woman. And believe me, he’s cost us plenty. That’s enough recognition.”

She waited until Mrs. Mansfield did another lick-and-sip to say, “So I guess Carmelita won’t be the maid of honor and Junior the ring bearer?”

She sputtered so much that Alyce had to say, “Just kidding!”

When she could speak again, “That wasn’t funny. Now on to my next topic. Do you have any objections to a prenuptial agreement?”

That question she had thoroughly considered. It came up with her sister, who signed one before she married. At the time Alyce thought it unromantic and crass, but Chantilly said it protected her as much as him. “Better to negotiate when you’re in love than when you’re not.”

“Not at all,” Alyce answered Glorianna. “Of course, I’d have a lawyer look it over.”

“Of course. Now is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

Without hesitation, she fired off, “Does Nelson truly love me?”

She slid her chair around, put an icy hand in Alyce’s. She assumed it was cold from holding the glass with ice but couldn’t be sure.

“I’ve never seen him happier. He so wants to be
respectably
married with children. With men, Alyce darling, timing is everything! He also wants to prove himself in a business venture of his own. And I’m sure getting away from me is a factor. I know I can be a tad overbearing.”

Alyce needed to get away from her, too. That perfume!

Glorianna thankfully scooted back to where she had been. She also became even more businesslike.

“Nelson has talked about various entrepreneurial ideas for some time. His father and I have been encouraging, though we never thought he’d want to try something in another country. If this doesn’t work out, I won’t mind at all if you live close by and get involved in my charities.” She added a hopeful smile.

It hit Alyce what was really happening. Nelson was asserting his independence and his mother was trying to accept it—or pretend to. Her style of delivery also made Alyce feel like she was watching a BOLD marketing presentation to snare a new client.

“It’s a lot to think about, Glorianna.”

“I understand. But really, how can you go back to that tiny apartment in Hoboken and another 9-to-5 job in the city?”

Was she ever right about that.

She patted Alyce’s hand. “Have a lovely time in Paris with Nelson. Enjoy every minute.”

“How can I not?”

As she paid the check, Glorianna said, “I’m going to skip dinner tonight, dear. I’m exhausted and Luther wants to go out and play. By the way, the meal you made was superb.” With a wink she added, “You can’t go wrong making Nelson another one. Pretend as if you’re already married while Jean-Luc is away. Let Nelson see how wonderful it will be. Be
sure
to wear sexy lingerie.” Her sly grin faded. “I’m convinced that’s how You-know-who enticed him in the first place.”

And so, with a new slight fondness for her potential mother-in-law, Alyce and Nelson returned to the cottage.

Operation Put-A-Ring-On-It was underway.

20

Monsieur. The Reality Check, Please.

Avignon

Raymond had been Jean-Luc’s editor, dear friend, and father figure for more than 20 years; the only stable relationship in his life. He had discovered Jean-Luc in his teens through a chance encounter in a bookstore.

He was the only one who knew about Colette.

At their lunch in town, Jean-Luc noticed how much Raymond had aged in the 10 months since they last met. That was one of the curious aspects of life. One could look the same for years on end, then
hop
, a steep decline strikes.

Or your hair turns gray practically overnight at the age of 35.

Raymond was quite the ladies man when they’d first met: thick black wavy hair, raspy voice, tall frame, aristocratic heritage. Then he married and became a devoted husband and father. His home buzzed with love, activity, laughter, and occasional yelling. Jean-Luc’s life, sadly, was not that different from when he met Raymond.

His editor livened up when he handed over a check. Jean-Luc did not share his enthusiasm. “I was hoping for another zero on the end of it.”

“Three thousand Euros to publish an out-of-print title in Japan is excellent in this market. Of course there will be more,
if
you make back the advance.”

Their lunch orders were taken, including a side of pâté for the now-gorgeous Didon curled up under the outdoor table. Odalis, Raymond’s Brazilian wife, insisted she be cleaned up before entering their villa. Having nowhere else to go on such short notice, he complied.

“Times have changed,” Raymond said. “The young editors don’t even want to hear stories of the old days. And ask my opinion on something current? Bah. It is time to retire, my friend. If you write your memoir
soon
it will be my swan song. Dark, brooding literary fiction is a hard sell now.”

“You do not think my memoir will be dark and brooding, too?”

“There will be plenty of fun in it, too, I am sure.”

Raymond gave him a look that said
please give it a try.
It was hard to refuse him.

“When I retire,” Raymond said, “I will sell the Paris apartment and move to Avignon full time. I want to spend my final days with my wife and family. I wish I could tell you it will be easy for you to find another editor.” His eyes were moist.

Jean-Luc felt a distinct change in the room. A heat. A reverberation. Which hurt more? The eventual loss of Raymond or hearing the words
spend my final days with my wife and family?
Was that damn American girl putting bourgeois ideas in his own head? He felt an unyielding jealousy toward Raymond.

“This is sad news, for you and me. Who can edit my work like you?”

“I have someone in mind. I’ll involve him in the next one.” He paused before asking, “Is there another one?”

Jean-Luc grunted. “I cannot think about writing at the moment. As you know, I am going to be moving, perhaps very soon.”

“How do you feel about selling your place?”

He gazed past him. “I will have no debts, less responsibility, and more time to write. What could be wrong with that?” His sigh that followed belied more.

Their lunch arrived, and before biting into his mozzarella, tomato, and basil sandwich, Raymond commented, “I think a change would be good for you, Jean-Luc.”

He poked at his penne with roasted chicken and pine nuts in a creamy rosemary sauce. He barely touched his glass of white Bordeaux.

It prompted Raymond to say, “Let’s change the subject. That is an excellent wine and I cannot bear to see you not drink it. How is it going with the student?” Life returned to his aging eyes. “I know something must be brewing there.”

Jean-Luc became animated, unable to stop talking. He dug into his food, enjoying his wine, as he rattled off one funny Alyce story after another: being shuffled from host to host, the young men who were after her, being kicked out of a convent when she was found in the bushes with one of them, finding two naked men in the cottage.

“But she was wearing the most unattractive pajamas! And the ugliness that comes out of her mouth sometimes. She can match me any day. I call her my little sow and I am her big boar. I scared the daylights out of her pretending I was one in the woods. And then there are the baby
loirs.
She is keeping them as pets!”

“
This
is your next book! And it would be therapeutic to do a comedy after
The Horse.
”

“I thought so too and started a notebook on her. But now…” He sat back in his chair. “I could not use her that way.”

Raymond’s food fell off his fork on the way to his mouth. In a hushed tone, he said, “
Sacre Dieu.
You are in love.”

He could barely contain his anger. “Do not say such a thing! Me with an American?” He shook his finger. “No, no, no. I am too French. Besides, she is about to become engaged.”

Raymond broke into a wry smile. “I am sure you could woo her away if you wanted to.”

“And then what?” The remark prompted him to say in a very different tone, “Raymond, what is to become of me? I cannot believe I am saying this. I suddenly find myself, at times, longing to have my own family.”

It was obvious Raymond could not believe it, either. He was about to take a sip of wine but was too shocked.

Jean-Luc clarified, “Not children of my own. I am afraid I will fall short as a father. An older woman whose children are grown would be ideal.”

“Is the real Jean-Luc stuffed in a trunk somewhere and you are an imposter?” He returned to his wine. “Must be your age. I was approaching 40 when I decided to settle down.”

Jean-Luc raised his glass in a toast “to change.”

Raymond responded in kind. “And to Liliane for all of her help. How is she?”

“Her usual flinty self.” He leaned in more and hissed so as not to be overheard. “I am not in love with Al-
ees!
I am ready to love, yes, but not her. It would never work. Let us change the subject this instant.”

“I already changed the subject to your sister. You brought it back.”

“I wanted to make that final statement. Now…” He told him about Julien Devreaux’s novel-in-progress. It had a lot of promise and he couldn’t help but make editorial notes. Raymond was almost as shocked by this news as he was to hear he wanted a family.

“
You
are editing?”

“Yes. I find it much easier to see the bad in someone else’s writing than my own.”

“Is he paying you?”

“He offered, but I cannot take money from a writer, only from a publisher. Yet there is not one that would pay me to edit.” He was sure the two women at the next table were trying to listen in on their conversation and lowered his voice again. “Raymond, I must make some kind of steady living beyond my books.”

“Teach.”

He groaned. “My knowledge has no relevance today.”

“That is not true.”

Raymond gently worked on him and by the end of the meal Jean-Luc agreed to attack his memoir while he was staying with him for the week.

“Only so you will stop your harangue about teaching.”

At that moment he heard in his head Alyce mewling from the bottom of his stairs: “Just treat your writing like a job! Start at the same time every day. I read it in a magazine!”

“What are you laughing about?” asked Raymond.

“Nothing,” he answered, “nothing at all.”

Marlaison

The Mansfield Mafia rendezvoused in the
Hôtel Marlaison
lobby one last time. They’d all had quite enough of acting like they adored each other. After lackluster air kiss-kiss-kisses were exchanged they went in search of a local café for their farewell breakfast. Glorianna refused to eat at the hotel due to their “ridiculous price gouging.” She was carrying a pink parasol that matched her suit, sandals, and toenails.

Luther did not bother to hide his foul mood. He’d fallen head over heels for a young man who worked at a
pâtisserie.
Not only was he spurned, he’d gained more weight inhaling delicious cakes and pastries as an excuse to see him.

They agreed on a café and sat outside. Alyce’s inner thighs were so sore from lovemaking she had to sit down gently.