Twenty-Four
Brand jogged down the tree-lined path that circumnavigated the main street into town. On his left, a stream ran slowly, almost dry from the long summer. He ducked under a low bridge and headed up the other side, where the path wound around and joined the street. The hotel was a mile away, and he had fifteen minutes to get there and meet Tibby for a drink. He had plenty of time, and he didn't want to arrive all hot and sweaty. He slowed down and walked casually, glancing at his reflection in a shop window. I look good, he thought to himself, running his hand through his curls. He straightened up his shoulders and held his head up high. This is the moment in my life, he thought, where everything falls into place. When I get Tibby, I'll have everything. I'll have the confidence to tell my father that I want to be a writer, not an attorney. And I'll be able to finish my novel. And then I'll write the greatest love story ever written. And I'll dedicate it to Elisabeth Richmond...or our kids. He smiled to himself as he strode down the street. He couldn't help it; he felt awesome.
Etienne Girard closed the door behind them, and Tibby walked into the middle of the suite. The broad windows at the other end of the room opened out onto a balcony. How appropriate, thought Tibby, French doors. She giggled.
"Something is amusing?" Etienne came around and faced Tibby. He smiled, wanting to share in the joke.
"Oh, nothing. I just... this is an amazing room."
"Oui, yes. I like to 'ave space when I stay somewhere. I cannot be cooped up in a tiny room."
The suite was furnished with two large, long sofas upholstered in rich blue and yellow. Dozens of plump cushions were arranged perfectly on them, and a shining mahogany coffee table was positioned in between them, with several thick, glossy magazines and a sheaf of newspapers. Behind the sofas, a huge display of lilies and irises exploded out of an enormous vase on another gleaming table. Next to the flowers was a small bar with a basin and various bottles of wine and liquor. The bedroom, Tibby assumed, was through the double doors in next room.
"So, let us get started." Etienne walked over to the bar and picked up a pile of papers. "We do not 'ave a completed script yet, but I am working on it. These are a few of the important scenes from the film, though." He handed the papers to Tibby. "Per'aps you would like to sit down and read them for a few minutes. I will leave you alone. I 'ave to make some telephone calls anyway." He nodded and backed away, turning and going into the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, and a moment later, Tibby heard his muffled voice speaking in French. She sat down on the plush sofa and tried to force her heart to stop beating so fast. After a minute, she felt calmer again. She took a deep breath and looked at the script.
It seemed to be a story about a young girl, Claire, whose parents have left her alone in their big apartment in Paris and gone off on a vacation together. The first few pages had no dialogue at all, and just described Claire living alone in the apartment and doing all the normal things teenage girls do when they're at home by themselves. Sleeping in her parents giant bed, having long baths with the door open, drinking coffee on the balcony, staying up late and watching garbage on TV. Tibby liked the premise so far. If, as she thought, Etienne wanted her to play the young girl, it would be a bigger part than she had first imagined. She kept reading. Soon, the girl is visited by a man who calls himself Le Professeur, and who claims to have been hired by her parents to improve her schoolwork while they are away. The man is much older, but very handsome, and he moves into the spare bedroom. Shortly afterwards, Claire walks in on Le Professeur while he is in the bathroom. He is dressed only in a towel, and he is shaving. Claire is embarrassed and apologizes, but The Professor tells her not to worry. He is pleased with her progress as a student, and he wants to give her a present-
Tibby stopped reading. Perhaps she was missing something, but the script seemed to be going in a certain direction. A gross direction. She looked up and saw Etienne standing in the doorway.
"Another drink, Elisabeth?"
"Uh, sure."
"So, what do you think of the script?" Etienne walked over to the bar and uncorked a bottle of Chateau Haute-Brion, pouring two large glasses and carrying one back over to Tibby.
"Umm, well, it's-"
"You hate it? Merde. I knew it-"
"No, no!" Tibby interrupted, sitting up and shaking her head, "I think it's great. It's just, well, it seems-" She couldn't think of the right words, damn it.
"You do not like the character Claire? She is too, how shall I say, precocious?" Etienne perched on the edge of the coffee table and passed a glass of wine to Tibby.
"No, not at all. I think she's very interesting. I just-"
"The Professor, then? He is too old?"
"Well, I don't know. It's just-" She stopped, sucking in a chestful of air through her teeth.
"What? What is it? What is the problem?"
"Well, it just seems, like, kind of obvious where it's going." Tibby exhaled. She tried to smile at Etienne, but it turned out more like a grimace.
"What do you mean?" Etienne looked at her with a quizzical expression, his thick eyebrows pinched together above the bridge of his nose.
"Well, the Professor, for instance. He moves into the apartment with Claire. That's kind of odd, isn't it?"
"Not at all. Happens all the time in France. Wealthy families, they hire tutors who live with them. Totally normal."
"Okay, well, he just seems creepy." Tibby squirmed a little.
"How so?"
"Uh, hello!" Tibby laughed. "He's like, naked in the bathroom, and when Claire walks in on him, he's like, "I want to give you a present.""
"Hmm. I'm not sure I understand what you mean."
Claire stared at Etienne for a moment. She wasn't sure if he was joking.
"Claire just seems kind of young to be, you know-"
"What?"
"Too young to be having an affair with a guy like that." Tibby was surprised to feel her cheeks reddening. She couldn't look at Etienne, so she just stared at her glass of wine. The silence was deafening. After a moment, she looked up. Etienne was smiling.
"But Elisabeth, you are mistaken. Did you not finish the pages I gave you?"
"Well, I guess I stopped when he was about to give her his cadeau."
"Ha! Well, of course! You should keep reading, my dear. You may be surprised!" Etienne stood up and walked around the back of the sofa. He leaned over Tibby's shoulder and picked up the script, putting it gently back into her hands. Tibby trembled.
"Read it, Elisabeth, and you will understand. These relationships, they are not uncommon in my country. An older gentleman and a young girl. It is not improper. It is not romantic, or sexual. It is, I think, almost beautiful, platonic. It is paternal, like a father to his daughter."
"I guess I thought-"
"You thought I was casting you as Lolita, no? Of course, that is how it seems. Mais non, I would not do that to you."
Tibby felt embarrassed. She held the script on her knees and tried to concentrate, but Etienne's hands were on her shoulders, gently squeezing them. She reached for her glass of wine with a trembling hand, and as she lifted it to her mouth, she fumbled and sloshed it onto her camisole. The deep red wine immediately spread down her front.
"Shit!" She yelped, jumping up from the sofa and scattering pages of the script all over the floor.
"Don't worry, it is nothing." Etienne pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Tibby. She took it and held it to her chest. The sheer material of her camisole was soaked through with wine, and it clung against her breasts like a bathing suit.
"It's going to stain. I need to soak it, or at least rinse out the worst of it" She said, moving around the sofa. "Where is the bathroom?" Etienne said nothing. He looked at Tibby tenderly for a brief second, then pointed with one manicured finger at the bedroom.
Days Of St Croix Page 24