The Man of Their Lives

by Françoise Bourdin

  “Here’s the script for the TV series I was telling you about,” Alix said.

  Louis raised his head on the verge of protesting, but she pressed her fingers on his mouth.

  “Wait! Read the thing first and then we’ll argue. And I don’t want to hear that you think that television is crap! We’re talking big budget here and they want to do whatever it takes to make it great and they’re willing to pay for it.”

  Stifling an irritated sigh, he got off the piano bench.

  “Hey you,” Alix said in a cheerful tone, “don’t you give me that great misunderstood artist attitude!”

  Louis turned to the portrait of Puccini and said, “Can you believe how that witch is talking to me?”

  “Wasn’t that dude deaf?”

  “No, that was Beethoven. Don’t play dumb with me, okay? I’m going to bed now. What about you?”

  “Yeah, yeah…”

  He didn’t take the spiral staircase that went from the music room straight to his bedroom. Side by side, he escorted his sister along the long hallway leading to the main staircase up to her room. Marianne had the stairs covered with plush red carpeting in an attempt to break Frédéric’s falls. That was a long time ago; the teenager no longer slid down the banister.

  “Good night, Louis,” whispered Alix when they got to her room.

  He brushed her cheek tenderly before heading for the other side of the house.

  His bedroom had once been a vast game room above the old winter garden. His childhood bedroom now belonged to Laura’s two daughters, Sabine and Tiphaine. Frédéric had tried sleeping in all the free rooms as soon as he thought he was big enough not to sleep right near Daddy. A few months ago, he’d finally settled in at the far end of the left wing, in a trapezoid-shaped room that had its own bathroom. Father and son had no chance of being on top of each other during the week. They rarely even ran into each other in the hallway. One of these days Frédéric would bring girls home. He’d begun by asking a few questions about sex. The first time Louis had launched into explanations that were too detailed. Then he filled every bathroom medicine cabinet with condoms. His little boy, his baby, was soon going to see him as a rival. Louis had a hard time admitting it. Already, he could hardly hit Frédéric with the tip of the foil when they fenced, or keep up with him when they went for a run. How much time did they have together before Frédéric went away to college? And then…

  Louis stood by his bed lost in thought. Was it Marianne’s sudden death that had kept him from falling in love these past eight years? Or was it the fear of hurting Frédéric? Or was it that his family, Alix mostly, disapproved of every vague attempt he’d made to find someone? No, it was music that kept him on the margins of the world. Music kept him in solitary confinement and prevented him from looking around him. At least he preferred to think that was the case.

  Piece by piece, he let his clothing drop to the floor, feeling suddenly exhausted. Life had not given him what he expected. It also hadn’t turned out the way he’d dreamed when he was a child. During movie screenings, he got his good share of accolades, but he was never recognized like the actors and the director. His contribution to the movie was secondary. His life had nothing to do with the concert hall, where he’d imagined himself conducting. The sting of the failure he’d suffered five years ago in London lingered. The sparse audience had been polite, and the critics had denigrated the symphony that he’d toiled over for eleven months and believed was outstanding. The criticism was all the more depressing since the Philharmonic Orchestra had performed exquisitely, exactly as he’d wished. A fabulous moment turned into a nightmare after the last chord was played. It was an experiment he wasn’t about to repeat anytime soon. A Parisian critic had even suggested that Louis Neuville would do everyone a favor if he just stuck to television and movie scores, where he was more in his element. Louis knew the critic in question and he was determined to literally make him eat the article. It had taken every argument in her book for Alix to change his mind.

  Alix, his guardian angel and demon, always watching over this career she’d chosen for him. He’d basically given up on being recognized as a serious composer. But his royalties were proof that he was talented enough to make a good living as a composer, no matter what kind of music it was. Why not be satisfied with that?

  He leaned against his pillow, taking in the near-perfect silence. Frédéric was no doubt sleeping, Alix too. Tomorrow, all the rooms would be occupied. He wasn’t alone in the world. A new weekend was about to start and there was no reason for him not to be happy about that.

  CHAPTER 2

  Past the gate, Louis felt disoriented. He couldn’t distinguish one glass-and-concrete building from anther on the twelve-acre high school campus. Upset, he cast a glance at the letter signed by Frédéric’s homeroom teacher: “Pavilion H4, Room 2011, 9:50AM.” Good thing he’d decided to open his mail this morning while drinking his first cup of coffee. He’d left a note for Alix on the kitchen table, before going to the bathroom to take a shower. He couldn’t fathom starting the day until he’d been doused by hot water for a good five minutes. Then he’d quickly put on a pair of jeans and a black shirt and grabbed his gray blazer at the last second, remembering his role as parent. What could Frédéric possibly have done to prompt the school to summon him so urgently? A discipline problem? Maybe it had to do with drugs? A theft? Or something even worse? Teenagers were capable of anything!

  “But not Frédéric…” Louis mumbled to himself, trying to lift his own spirits.

  The school hallways were strewn with cigarette butts and papers. The grass was yellow and patchy and the entire campus looked devastated. Climbing the concrete staircase in building H4, Louis wondered how his son could possibly be happy in such an environment. Thinking about it filled him with anguish. When he reached the hallway it was covered with a coat of God-awful fuchsia paint and the few students were sitting right on the floor. Those kids seemed to bear all the boredom in the world on their tired shoulders.

  In front of Room 201, Louis hesitated before knocking. Right away woman’s voice invited him in. It was an ordinary classroom, no different from his twenty-five years earlier. A rather young blonde woman was sitting at the end of a long row of desks with a pile of folders opened in front of her. Her head swiveled in Louis’s direction. She stared at him with a kind of puzzled expression before smiling.

  “Mr. Neuville? Hello, I’m Francine Capelan, your son’s French teacher…”

  Keeping his gaze fixed on her, he shook her hand and remained hesitantly standing. The room was silent for a moment and then she cleared her throat and asked him if he wanted to take a seat. He pulled up a chair, crossed his legs crossed, and felt nervous about what he was going to hear.

  “Thank you for finding the time to come over,” she said while sifting through a stack of papers. “I thought it’d be easier for you to meet me on a Saturday morning.”

  “Something bad happened?” he asked, unable to control his impatience.

  Right away he regretted saying that. He realized too late that for a truly serious problem the principal would’ve called.

  “You’ve received Frédéric’s latest report card, I suppose, and you saw that his grades were downright catastrophic.”

  There was a hint of reproach in her comment.

  Louis said nothing, so she stared right at him.

  “Yes, I’ve seen it,” he finally said. “I talked to him about it. It’s…I think he’s bored in class, and that he’s not really cut out for—”

  “Mr. Neuville,” she interrupted sharply. “Nobody likes class. I don’t know a single high school kid who wouldn’t prefer to hang out at some café or go to a concert! But this is tenth grade and students have to study Rousseau and Hugo, even if Frédéric doesn’t care about any of that!”

  “Doesn’t care…” he repeated, vaguely upset by her vehement tone.

  “He hasn’t read a single page of the books we’re studying! And this isn’t coming from
me. He’s actually bragging about it! I wanted to know if you were condoning his attitude.”

  There was a brief pause and then Louis apologized.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Really? And so you never wonder why his grades are so horrible? He’s the one who decided to take a French lit class this semester, and yet…”

  “Well, it’s not so much that he wanted to take a lit class, I’m afraid. What he really was doing was trying to avoid algebra. That’s even worse for him. I knew he wasn’t working all that hard since the beginning of the year, but I didn’t realize he was neglecting his courses to that extent…And that he was disrespecting his teachers. Thank you for informing me. You must think that I’m so…Such a bad parent.”

  An unexpected smile lit up her face for a brief instant. Then it disappeared.

  “It’s not easy to figure them out, is it?” she said. “I have a son the same age as yours. I know how they are!”

  “To tell you the truth,” Louis admitted with a too obvious relief, “I was afraid you had something much worse to tell me.”

  “Worse than what?” she said, indignant. “As a teacher, I have a hard time imagining more disastrous grades than the ones Frédéric has gotten so far this year. It’s all the more unacceptable since he’s a smart kid. He’s not from a rough home. And he says he likes to read—as long as it’s not assigned!”

  She looked at Louis intensely and then lowered her eyes, feeling embarrassed. She rarely spoke so virulently to the parents of her students, but this one made her feel jumpy. He uncrossed his legs, rested his chin in his hands, and listening attentively. Most people preferred to think that school-related problems had more to do with the incompetent teacher and not their own kid’s laziness or shortcomings. They always tried to make excuses. But Louis Neuville didn’t fit the category, or so it seemed.

  “What does Frédéric do outside school?” she asked, calmly.

  “Fencing, a little tennis. He likes music…”

  “Oh, yes…I see that you’re a composer?”

  She pointed at a line of the report in front of her, but he shook his head.

  “My profession has no bearing on Frédéric. He merely listens to music with his buddies. As for sports, he’s not really into that either. Not seriously…”

  “So there’s really nothing that stands between him and his school work. I think you should have a serious talk with him.”

  “Yes, and it won’t be the first. But I’m not sure I can motivate him.”

  “You’ll have to! He’s not trying at all in any of his classes!”

  Louis watched her finger was running down a column of grades .

  “Are you thinking he might be held back?” Louis asked with a frown.

  “We’re still only in March and…Well, in Frédéric’s case, being held back would don’t him any good. The principal’s office might recommend it, but it’s not always the best thing to do. Hopefully Frédéric will wake up soon when he realizes that finals are around the corner. That might whip him into shape. If he doesn’t come around, I’m not sure what’s going to happen to him.”

  “What’s the solution? I mean, what do you think he needs to do?”

  “I don’t have a magic wand, Mr. Neuville!” she nearly shouted. “The solution is for him to work! I thought you realized that.”

  She caught herself once again. This man was making her nervous and awkward, and she couldn’t figure out why. Usually, she wasn’t flummoxed by adults any more than by teenagers. She turned to him and tried to match his stare, but couldn’t do it.

  “Maybe we should think about getting my son some kind of help?” Louis said. “You know...private lessons? Maybe you or a colleague of yours...”

  How many times since grammar school had he tried this sort of thing with his son? Tutoring, private lessons, summer school. He had very little to show for it. He must’ve gone about it wrong, or at least with insufficient vigor. Sitting across the desk from this small blonde woman who seemed to be judging him, Louis was blown away by it all.

  “For that to work,” she said softly, “your son must be willing to put in the effort.”

  A wave of compassion softened her up. This man—as was written in his son’s file—had been Frédéric’s sole caretaker for a long time and he seemed to take the responsibility seriously.

  “Talk to Frédéric about it,” she suggested. “He could gain some new skills, like analyzing literary texts. If he’s up to it, all he has to do is let me know. I’ll find someone for him.”

  “Thank you.”

  Louis couldn’t wait for this meeting to be over,and was already on his feet. For some reason, she seemed disappointed. Unable to come up with anything else to say, she escorted him to the classroom door.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said with a very serious air.

  She gave him a broad smile and watched him walk down the pink hallway.

  * * *

  Laura slapped Alix’s hand away from the saucepan.

  “You can taste it at lunchtime, like everybody else!”

  The smell of curry wafting from the kitchen made Alix as hungry as a horse. She heard a stampede, a slamming door, and muffled bursts of laughter.

  “I bet that’s Frédéric playing with your daughters,” Alix said.

  She went over to the window and saw her two nieces chasing Frédéric in the yard.

  “Yup,” Alix said, “the three of them are out there goofing around. He’s turning into a real cutie, that boy!”

  The teen looked like Louis at the same age, which made Alix’s heart melt. Thinking of her brother reminded her that she’d been waiting for him all morning.

  “What’s he doing anyway? He promised to let me drive that new car of his this morning, and now it’s too late! We’ll have to wait till this afternoon…”

  “You can go for a spin in our car if you’d like,” Laura said in a mocking tone.

  Her sister shot disgusted look her way. The old beat-up station wagon that Laura and Hugues owned didn’t even deserve to be called a car. Back in front of the oven, Alix stuck a finger in the casserole and licked it hungrily.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on a diet?” Laura said.

  “Kiss my…”

  There was no doubt Alix had put on a few pounds—weight that only Tom appreciated. Laura, she was very thin, like Louis, but that was the only feature they shared. Unlike the twins, who had olive skin and dark eyes, Laura had a fair complexion and blue eyes, just like their mother. It was as though they were from two different families. Her Nordic look attracted Hugues when they met, during their last year at university for their psychology degrees.

  “Yes!” Alix said suddenly. “Listen to that!”

  She opened the window and leaned on the window sill to hear the rumbling of the Alfa Romeo coming up the driveway.

  “Do I have time to go for a ride before lunch?” she asked Laura.

  Without waiting for a response, Alix ran like a bat out of hell to the front door. Louis was getting the boxes of pastries he’d bought out of the trunk when she appeared behind him.

  “Give me your keys! You promised! It’s about time you got here!”

  He felt Alix’s hand in his pocket fishing out the keys. Before he could do or say anything, she got behind the wheel and gunned the engine. She made a sharp U-turn at the end of the driveway and nearly ran over Louis’s feet as she zipped by him out the gate and gone.

  Frédéric came over. “Can I help?” he asked.

  Without a word, his father handed him the boxes and they headed for the house.

  “You and I need to have a serious talk,” Louis said drily. “I’ll be waiting for you here.”

  Louis rarely used such a cold tone with his son. Dumbstruck, Frédéric hurried to take the cake and pastries to the kitchen. When he came back a few seconds later, his father was sitting on the steps of the veranda, smoking a cigarette.

  “Anything wrong, Dad?”

 
; “You tell me! I just had a very enlightening conversation with your homeroom teacher…”

  “Capelan? Why?”

  “Because she called me over!” Louis shouted. “That’s why!”

  Taken aback yet again, Frédéric crossed his arms on his chest defensively, further exasperating Louis.

  “I’ve had it with being the good guy, the supportive dad, the freakin’ idiot! You’re taking advantage of me!”

  “Dad…”

  “Not only are you doing no reading whatsoever, but on top of that you’re foolish enough to brag about it! Why the hell would you want to do that? So your buddies think you’re cool? A big-time rebel and all that crap? It’s pathetic! What do you want,? To be stuck in high school till you’re thirty ?

  Frédéric lowered his head and mumbled, “Stupid bitch…”

  “Why are you saying that? Is it her fault you’re flunking out? You’re going to tell me that she hates you and that the grades she’s giving you are unfair and that you’re working like a dog in class? I must look like a complete moron to you!”

  He felt real anger toward his son. Until today, he thought that he and Frédéric had a strong bond.

  “What’s going on down there? What’s with all the shouting?”