Hidden In Paris Part 16

"Bull-s.h.i.t!"

"Really, Mark, it's just that...I had to...I needed to take some time off."

"Some f.u.c.king time off what? Your life is loaded with time off. That's all you f.u.c.king do, take time off, flee your f.u.c.king responsibilities."

Obviously the guy had Tourette's syndrome, and Annie wasn't the most verbally scrupulous person. Lola swallowed and looked at her with despair. By now, Annie's bloodstream was laced with adrenaline. She scribbled furiously and handed Lola a piece of paper, which Lola looked at, frowned at, but nonetheless read to Mark verbatim.

"Time off from your tyranny," Lola read flatly.

"My motherf.u.c.king what?"

"Tyranny," she repeated, rolling the word in her mouth like a piece of chocolate. She smiled at Annie. It must have felt good.

Annie smiled back, and they braced themselves with heads sunk in shoulders. But Mark stopped yelling.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. His voice was calm again. In fact, he sounded surprised.

"Well," Lola stuttered, "It's hard to say..." She looked up at Annie apologetically, and Annie sensed Lola was about to say something horrible in the vein of "you don't buy me flowers," if she didn't get involved. There was no time, so Annie, figuring that her one advantage over Mark was that she was in the room and that Lola seemed to respond well to intimidation, looked at her with lightning in her eyes.

It worked. Lola swallowed and spoke fast. "You, you...put me down, you abuse me emotionally, you treat me like I'm an...idiot. You...scream."

Another long silence, then Mark said, "Who's coaching you right now?"

Lola and Annie had an identical silent nervous laugh. The guy was no dummy. Or else he knew his wife well. Annie had an unfitting jolt of appreciation for him.

"No one," Lola a.s.sured him. His lowering his voice seemed to instill her with some form of strength. "I...had to leave because I couldn't stand the abuse anymore."

Mark had little he could say to that. "Tell me where you are, exactly."

While Lola stuttered, Annie scribbled frantically on the pad and brandished it before her eyes.

"I have every intention to come back," Lola read. "But if you don't make some changes, this relationship is over. Think about that. I'll call you tomorrow at the same time."

"I'll be back in L.A. tomorrow," Mark said matter-of-factly. "I have meetings."

Annie sliced her throat with the side of her hand.

"I'll call you tomorrow at the same time," Lola repeated like a robot, looking at Annie. And before anything could ruin this perfect moment, Annie tore the phone out of Lola's hand and hung up for her. For an instant, they were stone-faced, a second later they were breathing a collective sigh of relief. Annie brushed her hand across her forehead. It was drenched in sweat.

In Althea's room, a dozen canvases stood on the floor against every free inch of wall s.p.a.ce. She kneeled next to a painting of a desolate urban land that reminded her of home. At the very bottom, lying on her side was the fragile silhouette of a small girl with blonde hair. How did this painting have anything to do with her?

Every night that week, long after the rest of the house had gone to sleep, Jared had tapped at her door. Each time she let him in and he apologized for being late, which made no sense at all. It took him a while to decide on a position. He moved her and she made herself like soft clay under his beautiful hands. Once he moved to his colors and started mixing, it was her clue to freeze in position. From there on, and unless he came to her and moved her again, she would not budge for hours. Her body as outwardly still as it was pulsating wildly under the surface. She kept her face still as well while her mind buzzed with a mix of euphoria and burning questions as to the whys of this.

Jared mumbled to himself in French and asked her dozens of questions per session in terrible English. Was she comfortable? Was she cold, hungry, thirsty, tired? But he asked her no personal question, and she told herself she preferred that. He sometimes spoke about his painting in French, saying "tu comprends" and she nodded yes. He did not enquire as to how much French she knew, and she did not offer the information, which might have then forced her to speak, something she did not want to do for fear of breaking the enchantment.

Sometimes Jared drew instead of painted: the back of her neck, her hand. Sometimes he mixed colors and looked angry. Sometimes he mixed color and did not or could not paint at all. After an hour, or five, Jared stopped. He thanked her. He seemed shy then. Apologizing, he left her room like a criminal, and Althea felt fl.u.s.tered and ashamed. But then, the following night, she'd hope he'd come, and he would, amidst the mighty smell of turpentine fumes that made her dizzy.

On the gla.s.s of her bedroom window droplets of condensation collected like a testimony to the unacknowledged heat their bodies generated.

Chapter 17.

Annie and Lola closed the front door and descended the steps on a crisp morning that smelled of spring. Lola had done her share of crying and wringing her hands since the phone call to Mark, but this morning she was back to her own calm self and Annie wondered if she was witnessing an expression of Lola's denial at work. Lola was barefoot in her Birkenstocks, a gross overestimation of the shy sun's progresses. She was dressed for yoga in black leggings that made her slim legs appear even longer, and carried a rolled mat in a cotton bag. Annie held her grocery baskets the ten steps to the street and wondered if she too shouldn't be barefoot and in leggings instead of in heavy boots and wrapped in that red poncho that made her look like a tent.

Together they walked down rue de Pa.s.sy. Lola had found an English-speaking daycare willing to take Simon for a few hours every day so that she could take a yoga-teaching course. She had organized things to give herself free time, just like that. Annie had always lacked the ability to delegate. Besides, being a mother was what she did best. Perhaps the only thing she did well. So, Lola was from another Galaxy. She was an alien. And she was her friend.

The word dismayed her. Friend. A friend is someone you trust, and she somehow trusted Lola. She trusted her in the sense that she believed that Lola was absolutely benevolent towards her. Benevolent and admiring, which baffled her even more. Maybe this was not the kind of friendship where she would reveal her innermost thoughts. No, that was something she reserved for Lucas, the poor guy. Not that she told him everything either, but with Lucas she let herself be more vulnerable. With Lola, she was the grown up. The mother. Always the mother. She probably would have been The Mother with Lucas but he never let her. He let her feed him yes, but not mother him.

Lola was possibly the first woman friend she had made in ten years. How she mistrusted these Parisian women. How she mistrusted all women. And most men.

Annie tried to unb.u.t.ton her poncho as they walked, looking for air, for more skin to air contact. "How can you go to yoga with what's going on with Mark?"

"I can't think straight when I don't meditate. I have to de-stress first."

"What I mean is that you're putting Simon in daycare, and you're taking a cla.s.s. It's like you're planning your future here. But you know it's not going to be that simple, don't you?"

Lola gripped her mat. "You mean I should go back to him?"

No, Annie did not want Lola to go back. She wanted Lola to stay. But she had to wonder at her own motives. "I don't know what I mean," she said.

"France happened to me for a reason." Lola said, walking. "I can't just come back home as though nothing happened. I'm so terrible at making decisions."

"You've made a decision if I ever saw one made. France didn't just happen to you."

Lola stopped in front of the door of the yoga studio and looked into Annie's eyes. She always searched her eyes like that. It was unnerving. "So what do you think I should do?"

"Take action legally, not illegally," Annie said. "Get some child support out of that cretin."

"You're right," Lola said feebly.

"You always say that I'm right, but you go on doing the opposite. Like yesterday when you told him you were in France. Now the s.h.i.t is. .h.i.tting the fan."

Lola shuffled her weight. "You're right that I should want a divorce."

"Should, shmould."

"But I don't. What I want is for Mark to change. Back to the way he used to be. I know he has it in him. He was different at the beginning of our marriage."

"Then give him an ultimatum." What she wanted to say was "grow a backbone," but she refrained.

"I can't jump into things. People distribute ultimatums like chocolates. I'm different. I won't give an ultimatum I'm not willing to follow through on." Lola paused, then said, "and I don't want to leave. Not yet. I'm happy here, Annie. I'm healing. Being under your roof is very healing for everyone. It's good for me, it's good for Lia, and it's good for Simon. Just take a look at them. I leave Simon at a daycare for the first time in his life, and not a peep!" Lola put her hand on the yoga's studio door and added "Even Althea is not poor little Althea anymore."

"She isn't?"

Lola smiled mysteriously "Looks to me like she's in love."

"What love? What's going on?"

"Althea and Jared spend a whole lot of time together in her room."

Out of the loop again. Annie stepped onto the sidewalk. "What? I refuse to believe it."

"Three hours yesterday. In her room."

"What are you talking about? Jared has the hots for you."

"Oh, come on," Lola laughed. "First Lucas, and now Jared? You're being paranoid."

"To be paranoid I'd have to care. I'm just concerned about Althea."

"She's young, pretty, and has her life ahead of her."

"I don't know what he sees in her," Annie said as she walked away.

Annie hurried down the street and after a few blocks set her straw bags on the sidewalk, removed the Poncho, made a ball out of it and stuffed it in one of the bags. Cool air billowed under her shirt, a b.u.t.ton down flannel shirt that Johnny used to wear only on weekends. She had not imagined it would be so warm out today. Even the flannel shirt was too much. She stopped walking, set her bag down again, removed Johnny's shirt and rolled it into a ball. If she put the shirt in her bag she would run out of room for groceries. She thought of tying the shirt around her waist. So hot. She held the shirt in her hand, looked around. There was a city trashcan. She picked up her bags, opened the trashcan and tossed the shirt into it.

Lola had spent the night rehearsing her future conversation with Mark, and rehashing the one they'd had. She felt utterly exhausted, utterly weak and confused. Still she went on as planned and took the first of a series of cla.s.ses toward a yoga-teaching diploma. This was an accelerated program where she would be learning and practicing yoga for five to six hours each day. In just a few weeks she could get accredited to become an instructor. No matter where life led her thereafter, this diploma could not be taken away from her. This was the first time, probably in her life, that she was making a decision by herself, meaning without an agent, a manager or a husband's advice-not even with Annie's advice-to do something for herself with the grander scheme of things in mind.

By the end of the very first cla.s.s, she felt somehow stronger, more empowered. Taking the cla.s.s, she sensed possibilities for herself, and felt that she was closer to being able to finally take action. But the evening came, and the time to call Mark, and she felt weak again.

"Tell him what you want. Do you even know what you want?" Annie asked her.

Lola knew her plan had never gone this far. "I don't want him. Not the way he is now."

"Tell him. Set ground rules. He isn't in front of you, so you can be a bit more aggressive."

"Isn't pa.s.siveaggressive good enough?"

Annie patted her on the back. Don't worry, "I'll listen in and help you."

How to tell Annie she did not want that. She hesitated, "I'm pretty sure I'm ready to take sail on my own."

"No, really, let me," Annie said excitedly. "I'll put some serious wind in your sails."

Lola hesitated. "I'll be... fine?"

"You were crumbling yesterday. You could not wait to cave in and tell him about France. Trust me. I'll tell you exactly what to say."

"To be honest, I don't want to feel hara.s.sed from both ends." Lola said. This might be the most insensitive thing she had ever said to another human being, but Annie only shrugged it off.

"Suit yourself. I'll grab a shovel and start digging your grave in the backyard meanwhile."

Lola's hands shook wildly as she dialed her own phone number in Bel Air, a place where she'd lived eons ago, in another lifetime. There was one ring, and Mark picked up. "How are you doing?" she asked the instant she heard his voice, these being the only words she could utter.

"I'm doing," Mark grunted from somewhere in the mansion, maybe the bedroom. Was the housekeeper coming every day now that she was gone? It would have been unnecessary. Lola could hear the TV in the background. Football it seemed.

"How're the kids?" Mark asked. This could have been a conversation between them a month ago. She almost melted with joy at the normality of it all.

"They're wonderful."

"How well could they be doing, without a father?" he barked. How could she have responded without hurting him? But Mark spoke before she could. "The kids know I have a temper, big deal!" Something in Lola's chest sunk. Mark knew. He knew. "How do you think I grew up?" he continued. "I got my a.s.s kicked all the way to adulthood. If you think you're doing them a favor by protecting them from real life, well you're wrong! Life-I'm talking about real life, not the coc.o.o.n you live in-is tough as s.h.i.t."

"You make it tough," she responded, picturing the thumbs up Annie would have given her for this.

"It doesn't mean I don't love my kids," Mark said.

Lola felt her tears, irrepressible. "I know you love them," she said softly, "and I know you love me. But you don't show the love you feel."

"Lia hates both of our guts equally, I'll have you notice. And Simon-the kid isn't missing a limb for G.o.d's sake. They need a dad that's a real man. Not some f.a.ggot French guy that...Are you f.u.c.king a French guy?" His voice rose. "Is that why you left? For a French guy?"

Lola was incredulous. "No, of course not."

"So what's the point? What is it you want, Lola?"

"I want...I need for things to change."

"Like what?"

"I...I want to be a useful part of society, find a career." She imagined Annie would want her to tell him, tell it to him like it was. "But mostly, I'm very...anguished by our marriage." She waited for Mark to respond but he didn't. "I'm so sorry, Mark. I need this time. I was losing ground. I was so...unhappy and confused." Lola wanted to tell Mark how she felt free in France, boundless. How she cooked, ate, drank, laughed, flirted, explored Paris. How she felt light, playful, and happy with the children. Instead she said, encouraged by Mark's silence, "Here, I'm discovering who I am and what I like, and even what I'm good at."

His answer came, glacial. "And what might that be?"

Did he mean who she was or what she was good at? "I'm going through training right now," she continued weakly, "to get certified, as a yoga instructor."

"Certified at putting your legs behind your head? "

This was precisely the kinds of remark she was leaving him for, but she let it pa.s.s, regretting immediately having done so. "I can be a yoga instructor in L.A. just as easily," she said.

"And earn peanuts? Suit yourself."

"I needed to be away from a materialistic lifestyle, the facade, the arrogance."

"So you went to France?" Mark chuckled.

"My self-esteem was so low."

"Don't hold me responsible for your low self-esteem," Mark said. "That came long before you met me, honey."

Mark might be right about that. But he was certainly not innocent. Lola surprised herself and snapped. "Then why do I only feel low self-esteem when I'm around you?"

"You tell me."