The Man of Their Lives

by Françoise Bourdin

  “Be right back,” she suddenly mumbled.

  Already on her feet, she set her glass on the table and headed for one of the French doors. Louis watched her until she disappeared in the house, and then he turned to Romain.

  “Sorry,” he said, with a sheepish smile.

  He sat down and poured some more champagne for himself and raised his glass, “To your future, Romain,” he said.

  Romain drank some of his champagne.

  Louis relaxed a little and said, “I am absolutely in love with your mother. That’s all there is to it. And things between you and Frédéric… Still war?”

  He spoke so directly that Romain answered in the same tone.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Because of a girl?”

  “Not just that.”

  “What else, then?”

  “Why don’t you ask him? He’s not here?”

  “No. He’s not going to be around this evening. But he wouldn’t tell me anyway. You could.”

  “Yes, but I won’t.”

  Louis’s spontaneous burst of laughter surprised Romain. He was afraid he’d been too forthright.

  “Okay,” Louis said. “What about sleeping here tonight? There’s lots of free rooms in there. You could have your pick.”

  It was a pretty direct question, but Romain was glad to be treated like an adult. He was tired of hearing his mother getting up in the middle of the night to come here, only to come back at the crack of dawn. He gave Louis a nod.

  “Thank you,” Louis said.

  He was relieved at the thought that Francine wasn’t going to leave after supper. Eventually they’d have time to be together, talk, make love. Romain wasn’t behaving like a jealous son, a spoiled kid. He seemed very mature for his age, comfortable in his own skin. This observation made him think of his son and feel very guilty. Every time Louis paid attention to Romain, Frédéric took it as a personal attack. Every time Francine showed up, he saw it as a threat. Louis could still hear Frédéric’s tone of voice on the phone when, he said he “needed some time to think.” This sounded so bad to him he didn’t event want to think about it.

  “We’re going to set the table,” he said, getting to his feet. “Want to help me?”

  This was the sort of thing he usually did with his own kid—set the table, throw something in the oven, eat, watch a DVD. Their daily life. Nervous once again, Louis forced a smile and headed for the kitchen.

  * * *

  A little before six the next morning, the birds began to go berserk in the trees outside. This was paradise for them. No one sprayed insecticide, no one cut down tree limbs holding up nests, no one picked up fruit on a regular basis.

  Woken up by the birds’ racket, Romain took in his surroundings with interest. The night before, he’d had a very hard time falling asleep. The silence in this huge house had spooked him. He got sick and tired of thinking about Élise. He’d gone downstairs for a glass of water, trying to find his way to the kitchen.

  That morning, his eyes took in the window drapes, the rocking chair in a corner of the bedroom, and the old sculpted wood chest. The walls were pale blue and bright yellow, very cozy. He stretched for a moment, and rolled out of bed. He showered in the adjacent bathroom and then got dressed. From now on, he wouldn’t be able to pretend like he didn’t know anything when his father questioned him. Last night, he’d been facilitating things between Louis and his mother.

  Back in the room, he made the bed and looked around one more time to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. Then he stepped out into the hallway. He was famished. Louis had told him that there was nothing private in the house and that he was free to go wherever he felt like.

  On the ground floor, he took a look in the dining room. Then he crossed the large living room, then the small one, winding up in front of the library. The house’s layout was original but a bit complicated to figure out. He went by the music room without entering, remembering that it was connected to Louis’s bedroom through a staircase.

  After he was done with his exploration of the ground floor, he went back upstairs, unable to control his curiosity. He needed to know what Frédéric’s room looked like. Most of the doors were ajar, and he had no trouble finding Frédéric’s room. Amidst indescribable chaos, Romain made out the drum kit that Richard had told him about, a small synthesizer, and even a dust-covered electric guitar. This showed how far Louis had gone to make his son love music, to no avail. The room was huge and extremely messy. Romain smiled thinking of his mother, who didn’t tolerate discarded clothing, unmade beds, overflowing wastebaskets. How would she react to this chaos?

  He knew he was being nosy but he couldn’t help being terribly curious. He he took a few steps toward the fireplace, on top of which a few foils were hanging. He picked up one and was surprised at how light it was. Not too many boys were into fencing and Élise must’ve been impressed by it all. That girl didn’t know what she wanted. Roman didn’t feel like making himself sick thinking about her all the time. He looked around the room once more, wondering what Élise would say if Frédéric ever invited her home.

  With a heavy sigh, he left the room and went down to the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice. Why wouldn’t his mother want to live here? It was an amazing place, almost magical. An old house filled with wonderful objects and a rich history that inspired dreams, Romain’s included.

  He walked out and sat on an old bench under a tree with his glass of juice. He wondered where Frédéric was. Did he spend the night at Richard’s just to avoid seeing him and his mother last night?

  “Asshole,” Romain said, before taking a sip of juice.

  He hated that he rejected his mother. If Frédéric was also making her life hell in the classroom, Romain was going to make him regret that. And, he was going to let him know about Élise once and for all.

  As the sun was rising, he lay on the bench and closed his eyes. Two minutes later, he was sound asleep. He didn’t see Francine open the bathroom window. When she saw her son down there, she smiled broadly. Then she looked at the blue sky above her. This was going to be a beautiful day, she could tell. Though it would also bring its usual share of worries.

  After glancing at her son once more, she tiptoed back to the bedroom. It was too early to wake Louis up so she slowly slipped into bed beside him. He moved a little, and mumbled something she couldn’t make out. They’d made love for a long time, insatiable both of them, each refusing to be the first one to bring their lovemaking to a stop. Once again, she’d sensed to what extent he was fascinated by her. Attentive and worried, he was aware of her every move, ready to fulfill her every need. Unlike Antoine, he didn’t try to dominate her, but rather understand her, and he let her lead as she pleased.

  “Francine,” he whispered, snuggling against her.

  He was slowly waking up, delighted to find her there with him.

  “We have to get up already?” he asked.

  “Not for another fifteen minutes,” she said.

  Leaning on his elbow, he kissed the tip of her nose, and played with her blonde curls.

  “I’d like every morning to be like this,” he said.

  He turned and lay on his stomach, and Francine began to caress his back.

  “Don’t do that,” he moaned. “Fifteen minutes is not enough...”

  Leaning over him, she peered at him intently for a moment.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked, worried.

  “You. You’re so handsome, you make me crazy.”

  She could feel his skin quiver under her fingers, and she kept caressing him until, unable to resist any longer, he turned to face her.

  * * *

  Frédéric also woke up in an unfamiliar room. His grandfather’s apartment was like Ali Baba’s cave, filled with antique furniture and knickknacks bought all over the world. He’d slept here before, as a little boy, on nights when his parents went out and left him with Grégoire. They went out a lot back them. It was the beg
inning of Louis’s career and Marianne dragged him to parties, premieres, art shows.

  On the wall above the bed there was a row of photos in small gold frames. Frédéric got up to examine them. His father at the Victoires de la Musique awards ceremony and at the Cannes Festival. His mother on a beach with a baby in her arms—Frédéric. His parents standing in front of a church on their wedding day, both radiant, smiling at the camera. Another church, on the day he got baptized, with a beaming Marianne holding her infant son.

  Who’d framed all these pictures? Grégoire or Laura? The last two photos were taken at Neuville House, at the beginning of the renovations. In the first one, Marianne looked truly beautiful, posing with a hand resting on little Frédéric’s shoulder. In the second picture she was sitting at a table, outside, smiling joyfully looking at someone, most likely her husband.

  Frédéric let himself fall back in the bed. He buried his face in a pillow, to quell the emotions rising inside him. In order to remember what his mother looked like, he almost always turned to photographs. And those photos almost always exuded happiness. A lost happiness that his father must’ve missed every night all those years. He certainly wouldn’t find it again with that Francine Capelan!

  He heard a knock on the door. Laura appeared on the threshold with a breakfast tray—bacon, scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, blackberry yogurt, and a tall glass of orange juice.

  “Your grandfather went out for a walk,” she said, setting the tray in Frédéric’s lap. Then she went over to the window to open the drapes. “Hugues took the girls to school, and he’s going to be running errands,” she added. “It’s after ten and we have the entire day in front of us!”

  During supper the night before, nobody had talked about Frédéric’s situation. Sabine and Tiphaine traded barbs with their big cousin, Grégoire and Hugues talked politics. The atmosphere was pretty much like at Neuville House on weekends, except that Laura noticed Frédéric’s lack of appetite.

  “Go on,” Laura now said, “eat. You must be starving. Did you sleep well?”

  “Did Dad call?” Frédéric asked, in spite of himself.

  Laura shook her head no.

  Frédéric was the one who left home, so he should take the first step, not his father.

  “Do you think I should give him a call?”

  “Well, it depends on what you want to tell him. If you guys are going to be fighting again, you might as well wait a while longer before you pick up the phone.”

  His father’s silence filled Frédéric with anguish, Laura could sense it. Still, she didn’t add anything.

  “You want me to help you study for your exams?” she said.

  “I don’t have my books,” Frédéric said.

  “Doesn’t matter. We can still talk about what you’ve had to read.”

  “Like the psychology of the characters? Stuff you know about…”

  He smiled at his own joke, looking a bit more at ease. And he took a big bite of toast.

  “Have you decided how long you’re going to stay here with us?” Laura asked.

  “No…”

  “I suppose it’ll depend on how angry you feel at your father?”

  Eyes opened wide, Frédéric stopped chewing.

  “But, Aunt Laura, he hasn’t done anything to me.”

  “Okay, so you realize that.”

  As usual, she’d trapped him, and he raised his eyes to the ceiling.

  On the front of the T-shirt he was wearing was the name of an American university. Pointing at the inscription, Laura said, “What do you want to do when you’re grownup?”

  “I still have time to think about that. And Dad agrees with me.”

  He was bringing the conversation back to his father again. He needed to talk about him, needed not to feel guilty. She watched him eat his yogurt when the doorbell startled her.

  “Must be a delivery or something,” Laura said. “Be right back.”

  Frédéric stayed in bed, not eating, listening to Laura’s voice on the other side of the apartment. When he heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway, he was stricken by panic but had no time to do anything. His father was already in the room.

  “Hi,” he said, coldly, eyeing his son and the breakfast tray.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Laura asked in a soft voice.

  “No, thanks. I’m in a hurry.”

  Louis dropped a travel bag on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  “I’ve brought your books,” he said, “and some clothes. I figured you’d need it. See you later.”

  His dark eyes landed on Frédéric’s face and remained there for a moment. And then Louis turned on his heels, and stormed out of the room. Laura followed him down the hallway.

  “I’ll keep you posted,” she whispered.

  “Yes. Please…”

  “Don’t be too hard with him.”

  “That’s been the problem all along.”

  Laura knew her brother enough to see how troubled he was, even though he was putting up a front. He’d asked nothing of Frédéric, not even an explanation. But he hadn’t given his son the opportunity either. Slowly, Laura came back to the bedroom. There she found the teenager in front of the window, looking at his father down on the sidewalk. He seemed devastated.

  CHAPTER 10

  Before hopping into the cab, the record executive told Alix, for the tenth time that night, how thrilled he was. Finally he settled in the backseat and waved as the taxi took off.

  “What a pain,” Tom sighed.

  They started down Boulevard du Montparnasse toward Alix’s car, which was parked one block down. The night was hot, and humid. Despite the late hour, many people were still ambling on the sidewalk. The extravagant soirée at La Coupole had been dedicated to Louis’s success, good fortune , music,and all the money he generated.

  “He’s on cloud nine,” said Alix. “It’s the biggest thing that’s happened to him! We’re selling Pacific around the world. Every morning there’s more demand for him, more sales, more income. America went crazy for it first, then half of Europe, and now Japan. No wonder the man is euphoric.”

  Of course, Alix was most triumphant. The gloating was getting on Tom’s nerves. Especially when he thought about Louis’s own opinion about the entire thing.

  “What about Louis? Is he happy, too?” he asked with a certain amount of malice.

  “He would be if he could. But because of that woman, he’s neck-deep in problems. Frédéric is giving him all kinds of headaches. You can’t count on Grégoire or Laura to give the kid the good dressing down that he deserves. He’s living like a king in their apartment while Louis is back at the house heartbroken!”

  Tom knew the story, he knew pretty much everything with the Neuvilles. Alix deeply loved her nephew, but that had quickly disappeared when he attacked her twin .

  “When are we going to be rid of this woman?” Alix continued in the same spiteful vein. “You should’ve seen her that day at the recording studio, standing there in the booth like some country bumpkin. With all Louis has to do these days, I hope she’s not going to tag along everywhere he goes. He can’t be dragging that ball and chain around all the time!”

  “I don’t know about that,” Tom said. “I like Francine a lot. I don’t get why you and Frédéric can’t stand her. Obviously Louis is in love with her, and he’s getting laid!”

  His comment and the chuckle that followed made Alix stop in her tracks and shot Tom a deadly look.

  “Don’t be vulgar…”

  “It’s true! Your brother isn’t just some sort of spiritual, artistic being these days. He’s enjoying himself. Good for him!”

  He’d meant that sincerely. “Happy as a little kid” Louis had told Tom earlier in the evening when they were alone for a minute. Tom thought that his relationship with Alix felt old and frayed. No more illusions there. Alix had been so busy lately that they hadn’t made love in an eternity. They hadn’t even spent the night together, except at Neuville
House, where she claimed to be exhausted and shut her eyes as soon as she got in bed. In reality, Tom was still was attracted to Alix. He was tired of her attitude, but not her body.

  “Good for him?” Alix said. “Being with that blondie?”

  “It’s funny. You sound like you’re jealous of her.”

  His insistence was going to cause a fight. but couldn’t help himself.

  Sure enough, Alix darted down the sidewalk angry. Three yards behind her, Tom walked at a normal pace. She had to turn around and wait for him by her car. She was wearing a long skirt with a slit on one side and high heels that made her look even taller. Tom thought she had a lot of style, an elegance of her own.

  “If you have to make a scene,” she said, “not on the sidewalk!”

  “What kind of scene? A breakup scene?”

  Right away he regretted uttering those words, but it was too late. Car key in hand, she glared at him, not sure what to do.

  “Is that what you want?” she finally said.

  “Listen, Alix, if only we could spend three hours together, just you and me…”

  “How am I supposed to find three hours? I’m late with everything! My clients are badgering me, and I spend an insane amount of time taking care of Louis…”

  “Too much time. Way too much.”

  “Damn it, Tom, it’s my job!” she shouted.

  “And your only purpose in life, too. Your brother is the only thing that counts. And I’m tired of playing second fiddle all the time. I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a long time.”

  The last time he brought up the topic, many years ago, she’d left him. Defeated and missing her terribly, he’d managed to win her back. He knew to be quiet about Alix’s relationship with her brother. He was hoping that this was a good time, and that he’d be strong enough to hold his own.

  “The only thing that counts…” she repeated, slowly.

  “You’re not a child anymore, and he’s not your double. You don’t need to protect him, let alone suffocate the poor man. But Louis is an issue for you, Alix. An obsession that you should’ve faced a long time ago. It’s a psychological thing… And that’s what prevented you from having a life of your own.”