The Man of Their Lives

by Françoise Bourdin

  “Someone she dared to introduce to you?” Antoine said. “She’s got some gall! She should keep you away from her seedy little affairs.”

  Antoine sprung up and went over to the garden, and Romain followed him. He saw his father dump coal in the grill with brisk, irritated movements.

  “This guy, what does he look like?”

  Romain had expected that. He remembered the answer his mother gave him when he asked her the same question. “He’s handsome,” she’d responded with an air of rapture. That was exactly what he was not going to say. And the word “composer” was potentially explosive.

  “Forty-something. Normal.”

  “What do you mean, normal? He’s got black hair? Brown? He’s tall? Short?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Dad.”

  Romain’s gentle tone made Antoine settle down a little.

  “You’re right,” he said. “Plus, I don’t give a shit.”

  That was so disingenuous. Antoine knew full well, and he couldn’t hide being upset. The very idea of another man making love to Francine made him sick to his stomach. He managed to get ahold of himself and change the topic.

  “Would you mind getting the steaks in the fridge?”

  Romain smiled at his dad and hurried to the kitchen. The worst was to come. One of these days, he’d have to come out with some details that would hurt his father, it was inevitable. Louis Neuville was the epitome of what Antoine detested—an artist working in show business, earning a lot of money for something as inconsequential as music. Louis’s presence in his mother’s life wasn’t going to make him overjoyed, to say the least. Too bad, since this relationship was the best thing that could’ve happened to his mother. She was a changed woman since she’d met Louis. It was understandable. He was quite nice, as was the vibe at his place.

  Suddenly, Romain stopped in the middle of the kitchen. Was he betraying his own father by accepting the presence of another man so easily? Was he turning his back on all the principles that Antoine had tried to instill in him?

  Romain shrugged. Feeling guilty wouldn’t help. He had to admire Louis’s talent. He too dreamt that he would be able to make a living with his music. This didn’t make him love his father any less and, for the moment at least, nobody was asking him to choose between the two.

  * * *

  Pretty much the only topic of conversation at dinner on Saturday night was Louis’s trip to California. Grégoire was particularly enthusiastic about it, predicting great success for his son in Hollywood. Alix was more or less silent, reserved for once, but still delighted that she’d won that battle. Sabine and Tiphaine had put together a list of things their uncle had to bring back for them, making him swear that he’d spend at least one day at Disneyland.

  Sitting between Louis and Hugues, Francine kept quiet. Even though she didn’t say anything, this unforeseen trip upset her. Fifteen days away at the beginning of a fragile relationship was an obvious risk. Louis had insisted that she spend this last evening at his place, especially after learning that Romain was at his father’s for the weekend. Still, she felt uneasy.

  “If you rent a car,” Alix said, “just remember how insane traffic is on the freeways.”

  She’d lived in L.A. for a while after getting her law degree, and she adored California.

  “You won’t be able to smoke anywhere,” Laura reminded him with a mischievous smile.

  “Alix better make sure that I have a smoking room at the hotel. Otherwise, I’m coming back.”

  “And on the plane?”

  “I’ll take sleeping pills!”

  “You want me to give you some?” Hugues offered.

  “I just wish I was back already,” Louis said.

  Frédéric glanced at him across they table and realized that his father was not kidding.

  “And two weeks will be enough time?” Francine asked, in a way that she meant to sound detached.

  “The first time around!” Alix said before her brother could open his mouth. “After that, we’ll see. I’m sure Louis is going to love it over there. He’s going to love working with real pros! It might change his life.”

  Louis put a hand on Francine’s shoulder and pulled her against him. It was a spontaneous gesture, filled with tenderness, as though the idea of being away from her suddenly alarmed him.

  “Don’t worry,” Laura said to Louis. “We’ll take care of everything while you’re away.”

  Her eyes met her brother’s. Laura knew how to soothe Louis. Though not as close to him as Alix , she was more objective and perhaps the only one at the table who understood his anguish. Going to Los Angeles cause him him enormous stress. Away from his son, his house, his piano, his family, was he going to be capable of composing anything? And leaving now, after he’d just met a woman he liked, was worrisome too.

  “Well,” Hugues said, “I think I’m going to turn in.”

  It was almost eleven and they’d lingered at the table for a long time. Sabine and Tiphaine, who were exhausted, followed their dad upstairs without complaint.

  “Leave it,” Laura told Francine, who was picking up empty plates. “I’ll take care of all that tomorrow morning.”

  “No!” Louis said emphatically. “We’re helping.”

  Motioning to Frédéric, he got up and grabbed a few plates. Even Grégoire felt compelled to chip in. Five minutes later, they were all in the entrance hall saying goodbye.

  “I’ll see you in your room tomorrow morning before I leave,” Louis whispered in his son’s ear.

  Alix had volunteered to drive Louis to the airport and reminded him to be ready to be out the door at eight.

  “Yeah, yeah...” he said, as he walked down the hallway, holding Francine’s hand.

  They traversed the music room and reached the staircase. A suitcase was sitting on Louis’s bed and he closed it with an irritated gesture, and dropped it by the door.

  “What’s the weather like over there this time of year?” Francine asked with fake insouciance.

  “I don’t give a damn!”

  Louis caught himself right away, regretting what he’d just said.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know... Hot, according to Alix, but bearable. I simply don’t feel like talking about the weather with you.”

  Upset, on edge, Francine hesitated about what to do next. She didn’t know whether she wanted to stay anymore. Louis took her in his arms, but she freed herself right away.

  “Listen, Louis. Maybe I should go home. It’s going to be such a long day for you tomorrow...”

  She saw him tense up, furrow his brows. For an instant he scrutinized her with a puzzled look on his face. Finally he said, “Please, stay with me. Let me run the bath.”

  When he produced that smile of his, saying no was impossible. Just like a ten-year-old kid! He spun around before she could say anything and headed for the bathroom.

  He turned on the water and emptied out half a container of bubbles in the tub. No way was he going to let Francine go now; he really wasn’t sleepy and he really wanted to be with her. Large antique mirrors hung on the walls around him. The room was huge, maybe a bit too ritzy with the teak furniture and chintz drapes that Marianne had selected. Until now, he’d never really noticed any of this.

  Marianne… Why was he thinking about her all of a sudden? Because of Francine, or simply because this plane trip tomorrow was bringing back the nightmare of his wife’s death? Maybe he feared the flight more than the actual stay in Los Angeles. Pensive, he took off his jeans and shirt. No, he wouldn’t want to spend this night alone for all the money in the world. Steam rose from the hot water behind him, but he didn’t pay attention to it. He was too busy examining himself in one of the mirrors. Was he truly attractive to this adorable, small, volcanic blond whom he’d prevented from leaving? Alix, the treacherous one, pretended that he could get any woman he wanted and that he was an incredibly naïve man. With such statements, his sister was probably trying to protect him, but she’d only ma
naged to make him doubt everything.

  When Francine finally came into the bathroom, the gigantic round tub was overflowing with bubbles. Louis was lost in his thoughts. Already naked, Francine took a long look at his body. He broke the silence by saying, “I think there’s enough room for the two of us in there.”

  He waited until she, too, got undressed, and then he walked toward her, but she sauntered around him and lowered herself in the near-scalding water.

  “Come here, Louis.”

  The mirrors were now covered with steam, and a pleasant aroma of lavender had filled the bathroom.

  “No, not like that,” Francine said as Louis was joining her in the tub. “Turn around. Let me massage your shoulders.”

  With the palm of her hand, she scooped a bit of foam that she dolloped on the back of his neck. His skin was soft, and she loved caressing it. She didn’t just want to have sex with him. She wanted him to love her, she wanted him to say so. But she knew that expressing his feelings wouldn’t be easy for him.

  “Do you think we’ll want to see each other when you get back from California?” she asked, in a very low voice.

  “I don’t know about you, but I know I will!”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “Francine…”

  He wanted to turn to her but she wouldn’t let him.

  “Wait. Your muscles are in a knot. Must be from sitting at the piano all day.”

  She was concentrating on a painful spot, between two vertebrae He lowered his head. Then she moved her hands down the length of his back, lingering on each vertebrae of his spine, following the shape of every muscle, without hurting him, until he was completely electrified. When she brushed against his hips, he turned around, in a movement that spilled water on the bath mat. He grabbed her by the wrists, yanking her towards him.

  “I feel like a novice compared to you,” he said. “You’re going to give me an inferiority complex. Who taught you all that? Romain’s father?”

  “It’s not a question of learning!”

  She leaned forward for to kiss him, but because of all the foam, they slid and wound up under water. She emerged first, laughing out loud. She wasn’t happy about their embrace but the question he’d just asked. For the first time he expressed a hint of jealousy.

  * * *

  The alarm clock told her it was ten after four. The bedroom was engulfed in complete silence. Francine rolled to her side and saw that Louis was gone. She sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, and pricked up her ears. The entire house was asleep, though after a while she thought she could hear a faraway sound. Louis’s pack of cigarettes was on the bedside table, along with his lighter. She took one out and lit it, out of curiosity. She didn’t smoke but liked the smell of tobacco. The cigarette made her cough.

  Where was he? Intrigued, she decided to wait a while longer. She could smell the faint remnant of lavender on the sheets and pillows. Adorable Louis. She really was infatuated with the man. She thought about him day and night---before falling asleep, first thing in the morning, teaching, grading papers, and even when chatting with Romain. She’d never been in love like this with anyone before. Now she had this terrible feeling of anguish and frustration because he was going to leave, and because he had not said a word about how he felt about her. Maybe she’d been wrong to go along with him so willingly from the get-go. In order to win him over, she’d gone out of her way not to act like any other woman. He triggered all kinds of desires in her, which she didn’t try to curb. It was thrilling to feel so free. By making their relationship so sexual, she’d set up a dangerous situation. If he thought she was some kind of whore, he’d do everything not to get attached to her.

  Upset by this idea, she finally rolled off the bed. 4:25AM. Was he an insomniac? She put on her jeans and T-shirt, in case she ran into someone, and headed for the staircase that lead to the music room. Downstairs, in spite of the double-soundproofed door, the music was perceptible. She slowly opened the door, but stayed in the doorway.

  Louis didn’t hear her come in, as he was completely focused on what he was playing. From Francine’s viewpoint, with his terry-cloth bathrobe and short hair, he looked more like an athlete than Liszt or Chopin. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Then she took a couple of steps, and he still didn’t realize that she was there. He was immersed in an eminently sad piece of music.

  “Damn...” Louis said.

  He stopped abruptly, then pounded a few dissonant notes on the keyboard, before letting go a long exasperated sigh. He hummed a tune that he started to play hesitantly on the piano with his right hand. Head low, he seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment, and then put both hands on the keyboard. The music from the Steinway filled the room.

  Leaning against the wall, immobile, Francine watched and listened. So that’s how Louis was when he was by himself—anxious, prone to anger, adorable. Fragile. She knew she was intruding but the music was pinning her down. She totally wanted to listen to the whole piece. After a few minutes, when she could feel her tears well up, he stopped once again. This time he got up and began to pace the room, and when he turned around, he saw her.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t want to... But it was so…”

  “Did I wake you?” he asked, incredulous.

  Louis knew that he could make all the noise he wanted in here without bothering anyone, and he didn’t understand why she’d come down.

  “No! It’s just that I woke up and…”

  “When I got up, not only were you sleeping, you were dreaming.”

  Though he formed a nice smile, he remained distant.

  “If I’m bothering you,” Francine said, “I can go back upstairs.”

  “Wait! Since you’re here, tell me what you thought of it.”

  “What you were playing just now? It was… beautiful. Heart-wrenching.”

  “But what did it trigger in you? What did it make you think of? Death? Hell?”

  “Not really. More like sadness and anguish.”

  “Good. That’s good. Thank you.”

  “You wrote that? What is it? For what project?”

  “It’s not for anything,” he said almost harshly. He looked upset now, irked.

  Slighted, Francine turned on her heels and headed for the door.

  “Francine!”

  She stopped and looked at him.

  Louis was standing in the same spot, hands in the pockets of his bathrobe.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” he said. “I’m always unpleasant when I’m working. And I’m having a real hard time with… this thing.”

  She might as well know, he thought, if they were going to spend other nights and other days together. In his mind, explaining these things was a concession of sorts. He could’ve just told her that he couldn’t stand being interrupted when he was looking for inspiration with this damned opera that he was never going to finish.

  “Please, you don’t have to apologize,” she forced herself to say. “This is your home.”

  It was no big deal to be composing at night and that he had a bad temper at times but in a few hours he was on his way to the other side of the planet. She longed to press herself against him, listen to his tender words, anything that would reassure her. Right now, his attitude was keeping her at bay. In a short while, during breakfast, his family would prevent them from saying goodbye properly. Alix no doubt would be in a rush to whisk her brother to the airport. Now they were by themselves, but not only had he not taken a single step in her direction, it looked like he was waiting for her to leave so he could get back to his piano. Fine, she wouldn’t make him wait too much longer.

  Louis watched the door closing slowly behind Francine, and he almost ran to her. Outside, it was still night. He could continue to tinker with his aria for a while longer, or join her to make sure she wasn’t mad at him. Tightening his bathrobe around his waist, he struggled with his thoughts for a moment, eyes fixed on the piano. It would be premature and ill-advis
ed to admit a that he was beginning to need her. Besides, she wouldn’t believe him. In two weeks, things would be clearer. The separation would help him to figure things out. At least he was hoping it would. At forty he was behaving like a romantic teenager; surely he would regret that. Resigned, he went back to his piano.

  CHAPTER 6

  Louis was not only tired when he arrived at LAX but also out of his mind from wanting a smoke. And he was deflated after having read the movie’s screenplay. The story was basically nothing but a succession of fantastically violent scenes.

  A young man—tanned, head shaved—greeted him at the gate. He said his name was Billy and that he was one of the movie’s production assistants. He helped Louis get his luggage and escorted him to the studio’s black stretch limousine. When Billy informed him that the drive into town was going to take about an hour, Louis asked if it was alright for him to light a cigarette. Billy winked in agreement.

  Louis was never going to come up with a score that could adequately accompany all those knife fights, shoot-outs, and torrents of blood. Alix must be nuts to send him over here for this job. Behind the steering wheel, Billy kept jabbering. Louis understood little since he was talking too fast and with a heavy accent. Working with the movie crew was going to be very difficult unless he was given an interpreter, which was not stipulated in his contract.

  The limo drove away from the sea, heading north. Billy asked if he wanted to make a pit stop in Marina del Rey, the world’s most famous man-made harbor for small yachts, but Louis responded that he’d rather get to his hotel as quickly as possible. Billy laughed. Quickly? No chance, given the traffic around here. So Louis had to accept the fact that he was going to be stuck in the car for a bit.

  Forty-five minutes later, Louis found himself in the lobby of the Chateau Marmont, where Billy was going to pick him up that evening. Built between the two world wars, the hotel was part of Hollywood legend. An incredible number of celebrities—James Dean, Jean Harlow, F. Scott Fitzgerald—had walked through its doors. Louis thought the place was on the tacky side.