Hidden In Paris Part 10

Lucas peeked over Annie's shoulder into a pot. "You left the rooster's bones in?" he pointed out.

"It's chicken, " Annie said, chopping parsley at high speed.

"Coq au vin sans coq?" Rooster cooked in wine without a rooster. Lucas seemed to put a great deal of thought into his reasoning. "But then," he said "Don't you have to work around the bones as you eat. Wouldn't it be better to use a boneless rooster?"

"The bones give the dish its flavor. G.o.d forbid you'd have to put in the effort and work around the bones!" Annie turned to the dark-haired woman. "Lucas was born with a silver spoon, filled with boneless rooster, in his mouth."

"What do you mean?" Lucas asked.

"An American expression. Hey, why don't you tell Althea and Lola your theory on wrinkles, you know that bit about rich wrinkles and poor wrinkles."

Lucas turned towards the dark-haired woman. "This is not my theory. It's a known fact."

"Tell them," Annie insisted.

"Rich people's wrinkles are horizontal from time spent smiling in the sun, on a boat, or on a golf course," Lucas explained. "Poor people's wrinkles are vertical. Furrows between the eyes, creases around the lips, lines on the cheeks, lines obtained from a life of worries over financial woes."

"Interesting you'd say this in front of a widow on the brink of bankruptcy," Annie spoke to the women as witnesses. "Isn't this elitist, and revoltingly macho?"

"Elitist perhaps, but why is it macho?" Lucas asked.

"Because I'm approaching middle age, or will be in the next ten years." Annie looked at the beautiful dark-haired woman, who was laughing. "I guess this must be why women find him charming." Annie grabbed a large knife from behind Lucas. "I'm immune though. Lucas, please sit down, you'll get wounded standing there."

The beautiful woman extended a graceful hand towards Jared, which he shook. "Welcome, we're glad to have you," she said languidly. She was flirting with him, that much he recognized.

"Sorry. I don't speak English very well," he said, looking at the red haired woman.

"I'll have to hurry and learn French then," she smiled. Lucas came close to her and whispered in her ear and the woman giggled. Lucas at his best. His approach seemed self-defeating if Lucas's goal was to seduce Annie. Annie, using a butcher's knife as long as her forearm was chopping mushrooms at great speed, ignoring them. The red haired woman stood up and brought the peeled vegetables to Annie. She put the peels in the trash and left the kitchen without a word. Jared got up to leave the kitchen as well but Annie interrupted his motion by grabbing his arm.

"You better not have become a vegetarian or something," she said. "There is an endive and beet salad, and for dessert, a mousse au chocolat." She added, speaking to no one in particular, "Jared, he is too independent to be having dinner with us every night, but tonight, he is bestowing on us the honor of his company." Lucas was giving the shorthaired woman a wine tasting lesson, twirling her gla.s.s by putting his hand over hers; neither of them paid attention to Annie.

"What did you say her name was?" Jared asked Annie in a low voice so that the other two wouldn't hear.

"Oh, yeah, Casanova is waking up? Lola is married with children and Lucas has obviously claimed her for himself from the moment she landed here." She stepped toward the refrigerator angrily.

Of course he wasn't asking about that woman. "Stop calling me Casanova and Don Juan. D'accord?" he said.

"Whatever you say, Romeo!"

Johnny loved dinner parties and she had cooked for as many as twenty-five people almost every weekend. She had felt more comfortable in the kitchen while witty conversations in French darted around the dining room table. As intimidating went, Paris's advertising world was right up there with the Third Reich. Elitist, power hungry, and ruthless. She was left in the dust, among the internal political attacks and the sous-entendus.

But dinner that night, the largest dinner party she had hosted and cooked for since Johnny's death, was different. She was not retreating to the kitchen. The kids monkeyed around at the grown up table instead of being fed first and then sent to their bedroom. They drank several bottles from Lucas's family cellar, a wine collection that rested mostly undisturbed in the family's manor cave in Normandy, and the wine lifted spirits the way only fantastic Bourgogne could. The conversation, a blend of French and English had turned to everyone criticizing the United States, and Annie had taken on the role of its staunchest supporter. She who had been so critical of it while she lived there. Lola fell into easy laughs at everything anyone said. Johnny's dinner parties had always been filled with beautiful women as dependent on men's attention as if it were air or water. Annie had hated them, so why then could she not manage to hate Lola? Was it because Johnny wasn't there? Or was it that Lola listened to Annie intently and guffawed at her jokes?

Althea was the only one not speaking. She had stopped all manic talk since that day at the park. It was as though she allowed herself silence at last. She did not take part in discussions and did not seem very interested in what was said, but she did hide in her room as much. She hid in quietness and this suited Annie just fine. Now that Althea didn't try so hard, her face had relaxed and showed more vulnerability than tension. There was to Althea's face a romantic beauty, a charm that had not been apparent before. Charm was something so hard to put your finger on. You could be gorgeous and have no charm. You could be ugly and have charm. Everyone in this room had charm. Jared, of course, had a brooding charm. Even Lucas, that old rascal, was full of French upper-crust charm. Everyone was so darn charming, except, alas for herself.

After dessert, the children left the table to watch the brand new television delivered and installed that morning. Once they had left, Lucas, who was always mindful of the children's ears, began regaling the adults with a renewed repertoire of salacious jokes and juicy bits about past hunts and fishing trips with ridiculously inbred relatives, all the while extolling the virtues of France. The thin line between patriotism and bigotry so often crossed in her own country was not something Annie suffered gladly. "The golden age of France died with your glamorous ancestors," she reminded him, just to see where it would lead them. "France is finished. Now all it's known for the world over is negativism and sn.o.bbism."

Lucas raised his gaze from his gla.s.s. "Annie," he said, "you are the Queen of understatement and verbal restraint." Annie smiled. Bourgogne helping she had a glimpse of him from Lola's standpoint, or from any woman's standpoint, really. Lucas looked pretty good in his black slack and grey polo shirt. His face was handsome, his smile charming as heck.

"Look," she said, "I love my French children and I like my French cheese on my French baguette, but collectively, the French are inbred and the society has been stagnating for eons."

Lola giggled in her Bourgogne. "From my perspective, the French are as attractive, as charming, as poetic as their reputation." She smiled at Lucas. "Besides, they value the enjoyment of life. That's a form of intelligence Americans don't have. We go so fast. We acc.u.mulate, spend, consume. We have abundance and wealth, yet our lives miss the richness of being able to appreciate the moment."

Lola's plat.i.tude gave Annie satisfaction. "It's not because the French take their joie de vivre very seriously that it makes them decent people. Actually, doesn't that make them pretty selfish?"

Jared played with his knife and the breadcrumbs on the white tablecloth. "Are you sure you don't want to pack your bags and return to that great country of yours? Or maybe they won't take you back. You are so French now, so nihilist," he said.

"That's why I blend in so beautifully in France. Being in a good mood is considered socially unacceptable here. Be optimistic and people look at you like you're a simpleton."

"That doesn't sound too good," Lola said with a pout.

"Neither is it even remotely true," Lucas answered, unruffled.

But she had hit a raw nerve in Jared. "How can you be so misinformed?" Jared said. "Please remind me, you received your education where? Ah, yes, in America!"

"Education, of course. That wild card! You French are such intellectual sn.o.bs!"

Lola raised her gla.s.s. "I, for one, intend to learn as much from the French as possible."

Jared took a cigarette and offered his open pack around the table. "So, you haven't answered my question, Annie."

"Please smoke outside. I'm enjoying my life in Paris on the sidelines of all this, as a voyeur, and I'm witnessing the unraveling of the French."

Jared folded his napkin, placed it on the table and walked out of the dining room without a word. Lola and Lucas whispered to each other and Althea went nose-diving into her plate. Annie wondered if she had gone too far. Through the window, she saw Jared on the front steps of the house, his wide shoulders silhouetted, then his profile as he lit his cigarette. He took a long drag and tilted his head toward the dark sky. When Annie looked up, she saw that Althea was watching Jared too.

After dinner, Annie held onto Lucas's arm as she accompanied him toward the door in a way that only she could see as sisterly. When Annie drank, she became a tad seductive, Lucas had noticed. But he knew better. She leaned against the front door, in the semidarkness, her hand on the doork.n.o.b.

"So, that was a nice evening, huh?" she said and she nudged him with her shoulder and stayed there. "It's nice to see you being the life of the party. Something tells me that you're not impervious to Lola's charm."

Annie was so short that when they stood next to each other like this, she had to lift her chin up to look at him. He had the urge to lift her up toward him. "A lovely dinner," he responded. "But I'm only coming to see you, as you know."

"Oh, come on. It's blatant that you're smitten." She looked at Lucas expectantly, her neck stretched up to read his expression. "Come on," she cajoled, "admit it."

Lucas stiffened, wondering for the hundredth time why women were in general so easy to get into bed, and why he became so thoroughly inept when it came to Annie. "I'm just being friendly," he said.

"You don't have to apologize for flirting with her. She's having a grand time," Annie mused, stepping even closer to him, close enough for him to smell her perfume-a cheap perfume she bought in grande surfaces, something musky and wonderful, something full of promises. "If I were her, I'd have surrendered to your charm right then and there," she added. In the dark of the hallway, with the lamppost shining through the window as sole lighting, things seemed possible for an instant. "Alas," she said, stepping away from him suddenly and opening the front door, "you're going to have to try a little harder. Lola's convinced that she loves her moronic husband. She is so wrapped up in her lousy marriage that she wouldn't be able to spot a decent man if he came crashing down on her head."

Not unlike yourself, Lucas wanted to say. "Perhaps you spend too much energy thinking about your renters," he said instead.

She looked vexed. "I'm concerned, that's all," she announced. "I'm concerned for Lola, and I'm concerned for Althea, as a matter of fact. It's what we call compa.s.sion."

The thought occurred to him to ask her to be concerned about herself, to be concerned about him, but there was no good place for this to go.

"Maxence has renamed Althea 'Madame de Gloom,'" Annie continued sweetly. "Did you notice she's got a strange way of eating?"

"No."

"Sometimes she eats and eats. Other times she doesn't even come down for dinner. She says she is not used to French food, it doesn't agree with her. But to eat nothing at all? Don't you think she's skeletal as it is?"

Lucas stepped outside. "Let me know if you need help with Madame de Gloom and Madame..." He looked for a word, "bimbo."

"You're being unfair," she said, visibly pleased. "Lola's down-to-earth, not the sn.o.b you'd expect to find in someone so..." she paused, looking entirely disingenuous, "perfect."

The conversation was back on them, always other people. He wanted Annie close to him again, flirting with him, or did he imagine this? "She is gorgeous, and quite relaxed," he agreed.

Annie nodded gravely, but Lucas could tell she was fuming. "A little too relaxed. You know what she's been doing with her ex? I know there's a restraining order and all that, but she's been sending him postcards, through a friend of hers who lives in New York so he won't know she's in France. I think the later he finds out, the more chances Lola might have a wounded rhinoceros to deal with. I know that's how I'd react."

"Still," Lucas said, "does he deserve to be cut off from his children? Am I the only one who wonders about that?"

"Every time I bring it up to Lola-which, believe me, I do-she says she's going to write to him and spill the beans."

"Spill the beans?"

"Spit it out."

"Spit, ah yes," he said, having no idea what she was talking about. It was late now. The alcohol was wearing off; the window of opportunity was missed, if there had ever been one. "If I were you," he said, "I would look into Lola's story. Beans and all."

"My business is to bite my tongue, which does not come naturally to me."

"Those are your words, not mine."

Annie came close again, nudged him, and whispered against his neck. "Honey, I can keep quiet when I need to. I have my little secrets, you know. Don't think you have me all figured out quite yet."

Fl.u.s.tered, he changed the subject. "I.. hum.. I hope bringing Jared here was a good idea."

"Are you worried Jared will seduce Lola before you do?"

He had an epiphany. "Are you upset about the attention she is getting?"

"No. But I notice a lot of animosity coming my way."

"Animosity? Me?"

"Yes. I'm making a living. I didn't sell the house. You were wrong, and it p.i.s.ses the h.e.l.l out of you. How do you like them apples?"

"What are you talking about? What apples?" he said, baffled. And Annie pushed him out of the house and closed the door.

After dinner, Althea removed her clothes and folded them into the small cabinet. Everything fit exactly. She wrapped herself in the terry cloth robe and lay on her bed, waiting for the house to become silent so she could have the bathroom to herself. Tonight again, she waited until it was too late to call her mother. If her mom was angry with her or sad that she was in Paris, she did not say, but the phone calls to her mother filled her with dread.

From her bed, Althea stared out the window at the night. During the day, she stayed in the house, in her bedroom, coming down to the kitchen only to make tea. She did not want to see Paris. Not yet. What if it disappointed her? How could she handle that? Instead she stood at the window and watched the sparrows on the branch. They were noisy and active, jumping between branches and then disappearing in a delirium of feathers. In the morning, the children ran around, calling, climbing stairs, then, in an instant, everyone was gone, and the house became very still. Later, like the sparrows, the children came back and the house was noisy again. She felt safe here, in this room, in this house. In this foreign place, this house full of strangers, she felt out of harm's reach. Also, these strangers didn't burden her with their love, and she did not have to carry the burden of loving them.

"Don't worry about me. I'm great!" she had told her mother on the phone the last time they spoke.

"You're a big girl. You do whatever you want."

"I walked on the Champs elysees today. It was really...totally awesome. I wish you could have seen it."

"My dinner is not going to make itself."

"Of, course, Mom. Go ahead. I'll call you tomorrow."

Althea knew she would not call her mom tonight. Instead, she lay on her bed and thought of Jared, the new renter on the other side of her wall.

Chapter 12.

"Dear Mark. I am sorry to be doing this to you. I am in New York with the kids for a little while. I need time to think. I am very confused right now about us and about our life. I'm sorry, please be patient with me. Love, L"

Mark put down Lola's postcard, which he knew by heart. He poured himself a gla.s.s of whiskey and walked to the refrigerator to find it empty. His rage had not diminished in the week since Lola had left. She better get her a.s.s back home and quick. Here was the bottom line about Lola: She had a pretty sweet situation, and she knew it. She had the house, the help, and crews of cleaners, babysitters, cooks, pool men, gardeners, plumbers, and whatnot. They could easily afford a nanny per kid. He had told her to do it a million times, but she insisted on doing most of the kid stuff herself. That was up to her, but if that's what she chose, Mark didn't want to hear any c.r.a.p about the problems with the kids.

He wasn't going to change. He didn't need Lola's bull. He didn't need her at all, for that matter, if she was going to pull these kinds of stunts. He wasn't budging, and he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't running after her if that was the game she was playing. He was comfortable with that decision. She'd find herself confused and lonely in New York. With the kids? Where? What? In a hotel room? Hard to picture. Soon enough she'd wake-up, realize the insanity of what she had done, and she'd come back. It was a shock, though. He had to admit, not only because it surprised him, but also because of the staggering sense of loss he experienced at the thought that Lola might hate him.

Lola had enrolled Lia at the Lycee International rue de Pa.s.sy where Paul, Laurent, and Maxence went to school. School enrollment might turn out to be the least of her problems if she were dragged to court, charged with kidnapping her children, but Annie had probed and insisted. Lola got worried that Annie would become suspicious if she did not do normal things such as enrolling Lia in school. So in a way, she had caved to the strongest will this time again. And in the end she had avoided being the one in charge of her decisions, again.

Lia kicked and screamed all the way to her first day of school something terrible. Every step put Lola into an agony of guilt, and she would have turned back had Annie not been there. "I won't eat. I won't speak to anyone!" Lia screamed. But once in the school hall and surrounded by strange kids, Lia fell quiet. When the bell rang, Maxence made a sign for Lia to follow him and she did. An instant later the large wooden gate was shut and Lia was gone. Lola looked down at Simon in his stroller, then at Annie, and burst into tears.

Annie steered her away from the gate. "She'll be all right."

"But your children are different than mine. They do what you ask them to do. They don't throw fits."

"The kids aren't different, the mother is. I'm far scarier than you are. Let's go," Annie said, taking Lola's elbow. "I'm taking you to the market."

The invitation surprised Lola. Every morning she watched Annie march out of the house with the determination of a huntress, a straw basket on each arm, but every time she had offered to come along, Annie forcefully declined and Lola did not dare insist. Besides, she suspected Annie preferred to be alone. "I wouldn't want to slow down your errands."

"What errands?" Annie said. "This, my dear, is called faire les courses. That's an entirely different animal. Prepare yourself for an adventure of the senses." Annie began pushing the stroller and Lola followed thinking of Lia, who by now must be sitting alone, terrified, in the middle of a strange cla.s.sroom. Had Annie not insisted, had Lola not been weak, Lia would not be suffering right now.

Most of the trendy boutiques on rue de Pa.s.sy were closed still and wouldn't open until eleven in the morning or so. Only cafes and boulangeries bustled with activity, with men and women stepping in and out hurriedly. The smell of rain, freshly baked bread, and exhaust fumes permeated the air. Lola once again marveled at the sophistication of the people they pa.s.sed-stylish mothers, men in impeccable suits. She, herself, had adopted a uniform of sweatpants and snow jacket and had stopped wearing make-up. There was something absolutely delicious about having no one to impress, no eggs to walk on, no risk of coming face to face with a neighbor who would know precisely how many pounds she had already put on in her short time eating Annie's cooking. Interestingly, despite her lack of trying to look glamorous, men were looking at her more intently than they would ever dare to do in the United States. Desire, l.u.s.t, envy, admiration, invitation, flirtation could be communicated with the eyes in Paris. It was as direct as it was not always discreet, but it was quite exciting.

The excitement she perceived was not only about eye contact, it was about a richer texture, a greater dimension to relationships and even to life. The most striking symptom of this richer life she witnessed taking place in cafes and restaurants were the conversations, or rather the fact that there were conversations at all. No coffee was consumed hurriedly out of Styrofoam cups; no donut was eaten on the run. This was not a drive through society. The conversations happened between small groups of men and women who seemed engrossed in each other, high on life. This could be what was at the core of Paris's romanticism. It was the notion, the illusion perhaps, that you could suddenly meet someone and it would be the beginning of something extraordinary. Something intoxicating and adventurous. As they walked, and the farther they got from the school, the less bad she felt about Lia. Physical distance had a way of making things less real.

She followed Annie who was still pushing the stroller. They crossed rue de Pa.s.sy and made the turn onto rue de l'Annonciation. In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere of the street changed. Lola had walked through rue de l'Annonciation just the day before. She recognized the stores, patisseries, and cafes, but now it had blossomed into a street-long outdoor market, wild and busy and so very un-citylike. The smell of car exhaust was quickly replaced with the scent of flowers, fruit, raw fish, roasted chicken, and overripe cheese. There were piles of fruit and vegetable on the stands. Merchant voices clamored for attention. There were mothers and young children, old ladies dressed like peasants from another era next to women in heels and Chanel tailleurs. Many were holding straw bags that matched Annie's. Sitting at the terrace of cafes, men of all ages smoked, drank cafes serres, talked and watched.

Annie stopped at a vegetable stand. She pointed to Lola, "Do you like betteraves? Nooo! What are you doing?"

Lola had an apple in her hand. "You don't like Granny Smiths?"

"You're not supposed to help yourself, goodness gracious!"

Lola quickly put the apple down. Annie made a chin movement toward the wide shouldered man with a paunch and a thick black moustache who was weighing potatoes on an old-fashioned scale. "You're in his territoire."

"His territory?"