Trouble finding Blondie (10 page)

“I have done that already, Manon. With my first two children. There are months, and if you count them together, probably years, that I can’t even remember. It’s one big blur to me. I was too exhausted, sleep deprived, physically and emotionally drained, to be able to enjoy it. Yes, I was there 24/7, but I wasn’t present. Between starting a business, building houses, having kids 18 months apart, moving nine times, and having my husband being gone from six to midnight, I couldn’t even go to the bathroom with closed doors for the first 5 years.”

Simona was laughing, but nobody else was. It was too honest, too real, and everybody was still processing the picture.

“Com’on people, lighten up! I was just trying to make a point. I decided to do it differently now. Having a second chance, I’m fully present and enjoying it to the fullest. I’m very grateful for all my help, and I always make sure to let them know that.”

“Yes, you do, Mademoiselle Simona.” Madame Bonnet came out of nowhere. It was so out of her character that it shocked even Philippe. He started laughing, got up, and kissed his blushing house lady on her cheek.

“I’m not sure if she doesn’t bribe my staff. I have to start paying more attention I guess.”

Finally everybody was laughing, and Simona was off the hook. Philippe winked with his left eye and raised his glass.

“Fabulous dinner, Madame Bonnet! I hope I’m scoring some points. Thank you all for being here. Cheers!”

❖ ❖ ❖

Simona was taking too long in the bathroom, and by the time she walked out, Andre was asleep, snoring peacefully, just like baby Francois in the crib.

She slipped her bathrobe on, went down to the kitchen, got a wine glass and an open bottle of California’s Cabernet, tiptoed to the other wing of the house, opened the first door, and walked outside on the terrace. The lounge chair was set with cushions and candles. She smiled.

Philippe was reading in bed, waiting for her to come. He put his robe on, grabbed another blanket, and walked out.

“Scoot over. It’s kinda chilly tonight.”

“You are so thoughtful, and it proves that it’s not me who trained you to be the best host,” she was giggling, trading the blanket for the wine.

“Of course it’s all me. I always say, you just trained my staff to the Four Seasons standards, but under my thorough supervision.”

Philippe poured the wine and laid down next to Simona, covering both of them with the blanket. The stars were beautiful. A beautiful, although a little ‘crispy’ summer night.

“Is there anybody else you drink out of one cup, or one glass with? Or is it only our own tradition?”

“Nobody else. Solely and only you.”

She had a sip and pointed to the other side.

“Do you realize that all the teas, coffees, wine, and milk we ever drank was out of one glass, cup, or mug?”

“What is your point?”

“Nothing, I like it. It’s a certain, intimate ritual.”

He took a sip from the other side of the glass.

“Philippe, how did you know Andre was Francois’s father? I never told you that.”

“I have seen his birth certificate.”

“Andre is not on his birth certificate.”

“Not on the European one, but on the U.S.”

“Are you flipping kidding me?”

“It was just a general check up…” Philippe was sporting an innocent expression.

“General check up, my ass. You had me investigated? You are un-fucking-believable!”

“God, relax. It was a long time ago. I didn’t put it together until I saw the airline reservation with his name on it.”

“I thought you would be over the moon. Was I wrong to send him here?”

“I am. Of course I am... And yes, I still have to punch you for that shock therapy. I’m just tired. And thanks a lot for making me the target tonight.” Simona slapped him on his shoulder, and Philippe grimaced.

“Auuuch! So what is it? This is me you are talking to. Cut to the chase. Dis-moi…”

“I’m not sure if I can do it. I love my life. I love my independence. Hell, I love my freedom. I have done the ‘building the dream together’. I have done the big house, dog, two kids. And I got lost along the way.”

“You don’t have to give up your life now. You earned it. But why can’t that be even better?”

“We have three failed marriages between the two of us. You really think we are one person kind of a species? Look at your life. Would you give all of this up? This great life, and what about all the relationships you built? Your freedom of not having to make constant compromises? Would you?”

“Ok, ok, back up. Our marriages failed for different reasons but same principals. You focused your energy on one thing and forgot the balance. I did it with my business, and you did it with your kids. That is the easy analysis. Another common ground is that neither of them were the ‘real thing’.”

“Yeah, well, you blew yours. I blew mine. We at least figured life is too short not to ever feel that way again, right?”

“Well, you are onto something here. You have the ‘real thing’ now, and it’s clear to everybody in your presence. It’s not only visible, but it’s almost there to touch. And tonight probably wasn’t even the best example.” Philippe smiled.

“What the hell is your point? That I should throw all the reasons or any rationalization out, and solely turn my life upside down based on my emotional state?”

“No. Easy, tiger. I know you are scared, but scared is a good thing. I would be more worried if you were sure of this thing.”

Suddenly Andre walked out to the terrace. The picture of the two of them lying next to each other, covered by a blanket, sipping wine was like a ‘check out’ in his brain. He didn’t know how to process it, didn’t quite know what to think of it, and had no reaction.

Philippe didn’t panic, nor did Simona. Their relationship was built on so much intimacy that the comfort level seemed to be unshakable. She was actually irritated that he interrupted ‘their moment’.
 

“Hi, Andre.” Philippe had another sip of wine, kissed Simona on the lips, and got up.

“It’s my turn to tell you… ’WHEN YOU KNOW BETTER, YOU DO BETTER.’

And the answer to your question is...Yes, I would.”

❖ ❖ ❖

It was six in the morning. Simona’s biological clock woke her up, always a little before Francois opened his eyes. She brought him to bed, still too sleepy to nurse, but she wanted to finish feeding him and go downstairs. Andre was sleeping, and she was tiptoeing around. She did her morning routine of washing her face, brushing her teeth, and pulling her hair back. She put her workout clothes on and changed Francois.
 

He was touching Simona’s face with excitement. ”Clean, fed, ready to go?” He smiled in agreement, and Simona whispered. ”Shall we go, Munchkin?”

The kitchen was full of noises and smells. Everyone was up.

“What’s going on?” Simona was confused with all the early birds.

“We are playing golf this morning. Where is your man?” Philippe was in a great mood.

“Sleeping. Did you tell him last night?”

“I’m pretty sure. Go wake him up!” Philippe was gesturing with his head, pointing upstairs.

“I’m starving. You go wake him up.”
“Me?? Are you crazy? Not after last night.”

Simona threw stink eye in Philippe’s direction, although everyone else was operating on last night’s entrance story.

“Maybe Madame Bonnet?” Philippe was laughing.

“You’re evil.” Simona was smiling with a full mouth of delicious brioche.

“Come on, Francois. We will do it,” Hervé was taking baby Francois from Simona’s hands.

“Well, what can you sing, Francois? Let’s practice.”

The room was filled with curious, smiley faces while Hervé was trying different tones. Simona was sitting down, sipping hot coffee as Hervé and Francois were walking up the stairs.

“Hervé, I forgot to warn you. He sleeps commando.”

“And you didn’t remember that downstairs? I would have taken some incriminating pictures.”

“Com’on, he can’t be sleeping with all this riot.” Jacques was in disbelieve.

“Oh yeah, he can. That man can sleep standing on a battlefield.” Simona was ensuring everyone.

Even Madame Bonnet was laughing, but Jacques started shushing everyone because Hervé was about to enter. He turned around and started, ”Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, Dormez-vous…” Everybody started singing the song, and Hervé and Francois entered the room.
 

They sang the whole song until Andre showed up, wrapped in a sheet, half asleep, holding Francois, and bowing. Hervé was holding the sheet in the back, announcing that Andre had a hairy ass.

Everyone was laughing hysterically at sleepy Andre, but ‘hairy ass’ took it to another level.
 

“Well, is your royal hairy ass coming to play golf with us today?” Philippe asked with full mouth.

“Am I invited?”

“You didn’t get the memo? My sincere apologies.”

“What time is our tee time?”

“8 AM.”

“What time is it now?”
“Almost seven. Leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Sorry, my love. Papa has to get ready,” Andre kissed Francois and handed him back to Hervé. While Andre was in the shower getting ready, Madame Bonnet brought him a golf outfit and shoes.
 

“The service in this house is beyond any royal treatment.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate the compliment, but the ladies are the ones who deserve it.”
 

It was time to get things moving. Philippe was clearly anxious to go play golf.
 

“I know you play with Miura clubs, but today you have to settle for either Honma Beres or Mizuno.”

“You have HB clubs??” Andre couldn’t believe his luck. The famous Honma Beres clubs were a very rare sight on any golf course around the world.
 

“Yes, and you can play with them if you want to be paired up with me.”

“Sounds like a trap, Andre. Don’t take the bait.” Jacques was stirring the pot.

“I’m happy to take on this duel, Monsieur Bouchard. Bring it on!”

“You shouldn’t have dared him. He is like me.” Simona got up to give Andre a hug.

They were doing the careful dance of ‘I’m guarded after last night. I’m not sure where I stand’. She knew this was an ego match for both of them.

“Listen, all of you going to golf, don’t let them kill each other,” Simona was pointing at Andre and Philippe.

“Don’t worry. Golf clubs are not on the gentleman’s list of weapons for a duel. Yet.”

“And how the hell would you know that Maurice?” Pascal was peacefully drinking his coffee, enjoying torturing everybody with his historical knowledge.

“How? That one is easy, professor. Golf wasn’t played yet when they had duels.”

“That is incorrect, my dear. And I’m not sure why every finance guy I know forgot to take history lessons. Golf originated in Scotland in the 15th century.” Pascal was in his element.

“Well, I’m with Maurice on this one. It wasn’t an official weapon until Nick Faldo’s girlfriend and Tiger Woods’ wife made it one.” Jacques had his own way of putting out fires, and for an adrenaline guy, he was really good at it.

The whole kitchen was laughing, but it was time to regain control.

“Ok, how many players do we have, and how many cars do we need?”

“Philippe, everything is loaded.”

“What do you mean, Oli?”

“I mean all the clubs that were lined up are split into two cars.”

“Wow, perfect. Good job, Oli. You get to pick your partner then.”

“Ohhh, who do we have?”
“Me, Andre, Olivier, Jacques, Maurice, Manon and Naomi.”

“That’s an odd number.”

“Oh, I forgot Rene Bonnet. Madame Bonnet, is Rene here already?”

“Yes, Monsieur, he is ready outside.”

“Rene was loading all the bags with me. I’ll take Rene.” Olivier was always in a good mood and pleasant to be around.

“Wait, how about Hervé and Pascal?” Andre wanted to make sure he wasn’t taking anyone’s spot.

“Andre, can you even imagine a visual with either of those fools holding a club?” Philippe was stirring the pot again.

“Ha, I guess you get away with insulting your friends when you are the host.”

“Not only that, but they can’t even play mini golf.”

“All you fucking snobs, get the hell out of this house with all your fancy outfits so that the artists can finally have some peaceful time.” Pascal and Hervé were cheering with their coffee mugs.

“And fancy pants. Yeah yeah, you Philippe. We will kick your asses at mini-golf any time.”

“You are on, suckers! I’ll put in your favorite scotch and Hervé’s caviar.”

The kitchen was the heart of the house. It was filled not only with breakfast aromas, laughter, smell of fresh coffee, but now it turned into a stable with the clicking sounds of all the golf shoes leaving.

“Like a bunch of puffed up horses, just look at them.”