The Man of Their Lives

by Françoise Bourdin

  “Let me be very clear, Francine. No way am I going to allow my son to live with that musician of yours.”

  There, he’d said it all. And it was all in character. For Antoine, musicians, artistslived on the fringe of society, and nothing could be worse than that. Since Francine wasn’t here to announce that she was moving in with Louis, she was able to retort, “That’s not what this is about, at least not now. And don’t be ridiculous—Louis is not some sort of street musician.”

  “I don’t care what he is! I don’t want Romain to be part of that world, that’s all. I don’t want him to be tainted and have him turn into some two-bit entertainer.

  “Antoine, come on...”

  “I’m his father and I have a say in my son’s life, goddam it! You’ve let him get his head in the clouds with that damned guitar of his, and now what are you teasing him with? Easy money, a life of luxury? That lover of yours, that clown with his fancy sports car and his radio hits , you think he’s the right role model for a teenager?”

  He was out of control now, screaming. Francine simply shrugged, not at all impressed by Antoine’s emotional display.

  “Louis is a composer,” she said, “not some hack. It’s a profession as respectable as any. Sure he makes a good living, but he works hard. I don’t see how he’s a bad example for Romain.”

  “You don’t? Well, I’m not taking that risk! Romain lives with his mother, or else it’s with me. As long as he’s a minor, that’s the way it’s going to be. If you’re not happy about it, we can go to court.”

  Now, Antoine held all the cards and Francine was losing her cool. She wondered how he react would have been if she’d wanted his okay to move in with Louis. Fortunately, things weren’t at that point yet. For now, she simply wanted him to leave Romain alone, to not pour gas on the fire. Of course he was hurt. Replacing him with a man like Louis could only exasperate him. He’d always mocked Francine’s ambitions, her “pipe dreams” as he liked to say. When she said she longed for another life, he made fun of her. Not in a mean way, but with his own brand of common sense. Now she had Louis, and Antoine could do nothing about it. Fate had granted her an extraordinary and unexpected gift, and there was no way she was going to let go of it.

  He threw down his rake on the grass and pushed Francine into the shade of the house.

  “Don’t stay directly under the sun; it’s beating down... Listen, Francine, this is not just about Romain. It’s about you, too. I know you, you get easily dazzled... We’re divorced and you do what you want, but don’t get in that boat without thinking a bit! How much time is it going to take before that guy dumps you? And what are you going to do in a world like his? You think you’ll like it, that you’ll fit in? Be careful, you might be in for a big fall. You belong here...”

  There was something disconcerting about his conviction. Maybe he really was worried for her.

  “I don’t plan on changing anything in my life for the moment,” Francine said, trying to smile. “I’m keeping my job and my apartment. Only it might not be like that forever, and that’s all I wanted to tell you.”

  Continuing this conversation was pointless. The problem wasn’t Antoine, but Frédéric and Romain. And now there was the added danger of what Antoine had just asked, things that she’d refused to think about until now. The day at the Pacific taping worried her, as it showed that she would have some difficulty fitting into Louis’s universe.

  “Well,” Francine said, “I should get going.”

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  She shook her head, and grazed his cheek with her hand. When she turned around, she took in the garden, the abandoned rake, the grill.

  “Romain is going to be here tonight, as planned,” she said as she reached the fence.

  Once in her car, she glanced back at Antoine, who hadn’t moved, and at the white roughcast house behind him. She’d lived there many years. The first ones were happy enough that time had flown by--Romain’s childhood, starting at the high school where she was the youngest teacher, pleasant moments now frozen in time. When she realized that nothing would ever change, she’d got bored. Antoine needed his life to be regulated by routine and he hated any sort of upheaval. Antoine had often made her feel disheartened, made her lose her lust for the unexpected, risks, laughter. But it wasn’t his fault. He’d always been like that. She’d come to grips with it too late, and then she should’ve had the courage to leave much earlier than she had. That was her mistake. And now she had to live with those choices.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sitting on a corner of the desk, Louis listened to Alix with a polite little smile that betrayed his distraction. Nothing she said managed to grab his interest. In the wake of Pacific’s incredible success, the agency was bombarded with off-the-wall proposals for him. Louis declined them one after the other.

  “I have no interest composing songs,” he reminded his sister.

  “Okay. Why not an album, then? It’s now or never!”

  “What kind of album? Variety, classical, avant-garde, neo-punk? You’d like me to write a bunch of little pieces, like that, helter skelter?”

  “That’s what Pacific is—a four minute fifteen second piece!”

  “That was an accident, Alix. A stroke of luck, a fluke. Actually, it was my reaction to fifteen nights in California bars.”

  He put out his cigarette and lit another right away.

  “Smoking that much is crazy,” Alix said.

  “You’re making me nervous. I feel like you’re ready to sell me to anybody for anything!”

  “Of course I am! I want you to take advantage of your growing popularity as much as possible. This doesn’t happen ten times in a career, you know. You have to jump on that train while it’s going by. All you’ve got to do is sit at the piano and come up with a few songs that…”

  “So you think ‘all’ I have to do is sit at the piano? Well, you’re wrong. It doesn’t happen that way. I need a story in order to compose a piece of music.”

  He was getting even more stubborn than usual, so Alix switch her approach.

  “I know you. In a minute you’re going to talk to me about Puccini,” she said with gentle irony.

  “Yes. So? He couldn’t do anything without a libretto because he was telling a story while he was composing. You understand? The scenes and the words inspire the melodies. That’s why I find writing musical scores easy. The script already exists when I’m called in. I can see the dailies. Take any opera and you’ll see the importance of the themes and narrative.”

  “Please, Louis,” Alix said. Raising her hands to make him stop, “give me a break with your silly dream. Actually, I wish you’d write that damned opera of yours already, take an East European-sounding pseudonym and send the score to the Metropolitan or the Bolshoi! After that, maybe we’d be able to get back to real business!”

  In an angry gesture, she rummaged through the files piled up on her desk.

  “To sum up,” she said, dryly, “everything I’ve presented you with for the past hour is a ‘no’ for one reason or another. Did you decide to take a sabbatical?”

  “Oh, get over yourself. I do want to meet the folks at the Gaumont Film Company. They’re serious and I’m interested in their project. Why don’t you set up an appointment next week?”

  With a satisfied smile, Alix made a note in her agenda while Louis continued, “But first I have to see Frank James. He’s in Paris.”

  “James is here?” she said, dumbfounded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “So that I could read his screenplay in peace, without you pressuring me to sign a contract blind. I’m meeting him the day after tomorrow.”

  “That’s fantastic! I’m going with you. I’m dying to meet him! Besides, you wouldn’t know how to negotiate by yourself.”

  “We’re not talking about a contract at this point. It’s just supper between friends. And I’m taking Francine.”

  The news left Alix speechless. Nothing Louis co
uld inflict on her would be worse than what he just said. It had always been Alix who’d accompanied him to these dinners. The idea of being supplanted by that blonde exasperated her to no end.

  “You cannot be serious. You’re really going to drag her with you everywhere? I must be dreaming... You know what? Come to think of it, go ahead—this way you’ll get tired of her faster.”

  Taken aback, Louis glared at her before hopping off the edge of the desk and walking to the window. He absentmindedly looked down at the street, then planted himself in front of his sister.

  “A whole lot of water is going to flow under the bridge before I get tired of Francine.”

  He made the comment slowly, as though the mere thought of it made him happy.

  Alix shot back, “Soon enough you’re going to realize that you can’t take her to this kind of meeting. If she embarrasses you, you’ll be upset.”

  “Embarrass me? Alix, what are you talking about?”

  She couldn’t really add anything. Her brother’s expression had changed, and she knew quite well what that meant.

  “Who’s producing the movie?” she asked.

  “Warner,” he answered, coldly.

  “They drive a hard bargain and I’m going to have to be on my best game. Please don’t accept or sign anything without me.”

  That last statement had revealed Alix’s stasurprisednd. She couldn’t tolerate the notion that Louis might deliberately separate her from his professional decision-makin.. As for Francine, Alix truly was worried. At least Marianne had been a presentable woman, as a designer she was used to the scene and could go anywhere. But that Francine was some lowly high school French teacher who’d no doubt never attended a Parisian cocktail party. She knew nothing about the world of show business and its Byzantine politics. She was going to be dead weight for Louis, and she didn’t even have supermodel looks going for her! Why had he fallen in love with her so quickly and completely?

  “How’s Tom doing, Alix?”

  The question stunned her. Louis was still standing in front of the desk, but he already had his car key in hand.

  “We don’t see him at the house anymore,” he continued. “Of course, that’s none of my business...”

  Without waiting for a reply—and without giving her his usual goodbye kiss on the cheek—Louis turned on his heels and left the office, neglecting to shut the door.

  * * *

  “That’s your father playing?” the girl said once more.

  Her beautiful gray eyes widened even more, and she shook her head.

  “Man, he’s pretty good!”

  Since the French doors were open, the music traveled to the veranda where the three teens were hanging out.

  “He’s not ‘pretty good,’” Richard said. “He’s a pro. A composer. The guy who composed Pacific? That’s him.

  “No way!”

  This time, she turned to Frédéric and studied him, as though he was responsible for the hit. He suppressed a smile, happy she’d known nothing about his father and wasn’t here for that reason. Richard had arrived at Notre-Dame-de-la-Mer thirty minutes earlier, along with beautiful Nadège. Richard had a perfectly innocent smile and an ironclad alibi. Both their bicycles were leaning against the chestnut tree by the driveway.

  “This is an awesome house...” Nadège said. “If I had a place like this, I wouldn’t want to go away on vacation.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice,” Frédéric sighed. “I have to go to this stupid language camp at the end of July.”

  “And between now and then?”

  Nadège was smiling at Frédéric, which made him stammer.

  “Well... Nothing... How about you?”

  “I’m going to to the beach at La Baule, in August.”

  Richard sipped his soda with an indifferent expression, secretly pleased to see those two get along so well. The day after the party, Nadège had called him to ask if he could hook her up with that good-looking guy who’d gotten in the fight, and he’d jumped at the chance. If Frédéric stopped obsessing about Élise, there would be a lot less tension and trouble.

  “Why don’t we go to the movies tonight, the three of us?” he suggested, offhandedly.

  The other two, gazing into each other’s eyes, simultaneously said yes.

  “So,” Richard asked, “what did Ms. Capelan say about the other night?”

  He’d been dying to know but he hadn’t dared call Frédéric in case his old man picked up. A fistfight was the number one thing that made parents very unpleasant. For his part, he’d said nothing about it to his folks.

  “I only saw her the day after,” Frédéric said, “and she said nothing about it. Not a word.”

  Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Francine’s attitude towards him was the same, no doubt because she didn’t want to upset Louis and make things worse. It was a heavy silence for, Frédéric. He would’ve preferred a talk, even a stormy one.

  “And my dad was pretty cool about it, just a quick speech. I realize now that the fight complicated his life.”

  “Same for Romain,” Nadège said. “You should’ve seen his face two hours later!”

  She started to giggle, expressing no compassion. Quite the contrary, she winked at Frédéric.

  “I mean,” she said, “you really gave it to him. Looks like it’s not a good idea to step on your toes. You like that tease Élise that much?”

  “No,” Frédéric. “Besides, she’s a backstabber.”

  Richard rolled his eyes. Being close to both Romain and Frédéric had put him in an insufferable position for too long.

  “You know what Aristotle said: ‘A friend to all is a friend to none.’ But I don’t want to choose between you and Romain. And I don’t want to have to hear you guys badmouth each other.”

  “I didn’t say anything!” Frédéric said.

  “Not today, no. I’ll give you that.”

  “And you know why? As far as I’m concerned, the fight is over. I punched him in the face, I was itching to do it. He can keep Élise. I don’t care.”

  He meant it sincerely and had surprised himself. Nadège’s presence made him feel good, stimulated him, changed the way he saw things. Maybe the summer wouldn’t be so bleak after all.

  “Isn’t it a bit strange to live with one of your teachers?” Nadège asked.

  “She hasn’t moved in yet, thank God!”

  “On the other hand,” said the girl with a mischievous smile, “you’ve got plenty of room...”

  Frédéric gave her a sideways glance. Small nose, pretty mouth, auburn bangs that fell just above those magnetic gray eyes, and bright-white teeth. A very attractive girl who he’d never noticed her because he’d been obsessing over Élise.

  “We could go into town now,” Frédéric said, “and eat a hamburger somewhere before the movie. I’ll let my father know.”

  In a single bound, he got up and bolted toward the front door. First he went up to his room, where he put on a clean shirt, and then he ran to the music room.

  “Dad,” he shouted, barging in, “can I go out tonight?”

  Louis stopped playing, his hands dangling above the keyboard. He was so immersed in his music that Frédéric had to repeat his question.

  “Sure, if you’d like…”

  The teen went over to the piano and put a hand on his father’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted you.”

  “Doesn’t matter, buddy. I’ve been at this one for hours and I’m sick of it. Where are you going?”

  “To the movies, with Richard and a friend. A girl.”

  “What movie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And the girl…”

  “Her name is Nadège and she’s on the veranda,” Frédéric said.

  Louis got up, took a few steps in order to stretch. He looked tired and his son felt a surge of tenderness for him.

  “You’re alone tonight? Francine’s not coming over?”

  “Since when
do you want Francine around?”

  Intended as a playful quip, Louis realized that the question actually sounded harsh.

  “Here,” he said. “Your allowance.”

  Louis dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out a few bills that he handed to the young man.

  “Don’t stay out too late,” he said. “I don’t like you to be on the roads at night.”

  Since Frédéric wasn’t moving, Louis pushed him toward one of the French doors.

  “Go on,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”

  “What are you going to do?” Frédéric asked.

  “I’m going to work some more, I’m not done yet. But don’t worry. I’m fine, and I have stuff for supper…”

  His smiled convinced Frédéric he was okay, and the kid took off. Louis went back to the Steinway and he looked at it, perplexed. Did he really feel like spending more time on a piece that gave him so much trouble? Still standing, he tapped a few notes on the keyboard with one hand, then stopped to stretch his aching back. Francine was spending the evening with Romain, as she did every other day. He could’ve called her or driven over to the apartment, but he preferred not to disturb them. According to her, Romain was still mad at Frédéric, which couldn’t be blamed. He had no doubt those two would never be able to live under the same roof.

  Disheartened, Louis went out in the yard to make sure the gate was shut. On the veranda table, he found the empty glasses and cans of soda--his son’s usual mess. He lit a cigarette before sitting down in the lawn. The grass was noticeably too long, and was beginning to yellow. Up ahead, the house looked gigantic in the orange sunset. On another late June afternoon, ten years earlier, he’d asked Marianne if she wanted to live here. She’d loved the idea immediately. What would he have done if she’d refused? He’d loved Marianne, and he probably would’ve respected her choice, but he would’ve found another way to keep the house with Alix and Laura. It was an oasis for him, where he’d always adored composing and almost always found inspiration.

  On his back, shading his eyes with his hand, he gazed up at the slate roof lit up by the sun’s last rays. Here he was at forty, having led a pretty good life so far. Sure, he’d lost his wife and hadn’t done perfect a job raising his son. He raised him with a lot of love but sometimes he lacked judgment. He had to put up with his twin sister’s tyranny, had failed to write the opera he’d always dreamed about, and had unwillingly sold out his real talent. But he did make a very good living and had never shirked his responsibilities as a father, a brother, and a son. And he had composed a few pieces that he was truly proud of, even though they were destined to be abandoned on his piano without ever being performed.