The Man of Their Lives

by Françoise Bourdin

As a way of making peace, she reached out and put her hand on his. She was sorry she made him feel bad.

  “How’s Romain?” she asked.

  “Good. He was released from the hospital the day before yesterday, and for now he’s resting at his dad’s.”

  Though she still couldn’t accept Francine’s existence, Alix had grown fond of her son since that horrible evening. She’d even visited him at the hospital, bringing the boy a huge box of chocolates.

  “You know,” she said. “If he’s really as talented as you say he is, I could represent him one of these days. It’s hard to get a start in this business.”

  “Jesus, Alix! Let him finish high school, at least! His mother would hit the ceiling if she heard us.”

  “Why? She’s that narrow-minded?”

  Even when she was trying to be nice, Alix couldn’t help spouting hurtful comments. Louis shrugged, though not really upset.

  “I received the fax from Warner today,” she said, to change the topic. “Everything in the contract looks fine. I thought they’d drive a harder bargain.”

  As soon as Louis thought of Frank James and his vampires, his face lit up.

  “The movie is going to be shot in France, as planned,” Alix added, “but you’ll have to go to L.A. to record the score. Just so you know…”

  Louis was paying the bill while the waitress was undressing him with her eyes. As soon as she walked away, Alix sighed and said, “You never notice anything…”

  Once outside the restaurant, they walked down the boulevard side by side. Their steps were in line since they’d always had the same gait. When she got to her MG, Louis asked her the question that had been on his lips for a while.

  “This drink, tonight, are you sure that you didn’t want to have it at Tom’s?”

  “No.”

  “You swear?”

  “Well… I have the impression that he doesn’t really want to see me.”

  This was a difficult thing for her to admit. Tenderly, Louis grabbed her by the neck and shook her a bit.

  “Call him,” he said.

  “No use…”

  “You’re too proud.”

  “Maybe I am,” she said. “But at my age, I’m not about to change.”

  Alix unlocked her car, and Louis said, “See you at the house?”

  “Okay, but you should know that this is a race. First one at the house wins.”

  “No fair! My car is parked three blocks from here!”

  “Too bad. Ready, go!”

  She was gunning her car’s engine. Louis hesitated for one second before accepting the challenge and darting toward his own car. By the time he got to the Alfa Romeo, his sister had five minutes on him, a serious handicap since she was as an equally good driver. Traffic was moving enough so he went fast on Boulevard Haussmann and onto Avenue de Villiers. Even then, he figured that she was still ahead of him.

  The bridge crossing the Seine and the Saint-Cloud tunnel forced him to slow down a bit. He waited until he was on the highway to step on the gas. He was going to have to slow down once he reached the Marly Forest where the road had only two lanes. He had to make up for time right now if he wanted to catch up to Alix.

  One car refused to let him pass, and Louis finally managed to zip by it in the right lane. In theory, the Alfa Romeo was faster than the MG. The Italian V6 engine generating more power than the transverse engine of her small British car. But Alix was willing to take more chances. Louis stopped driving like a madman right after Frédéric’s birth.

  Still, at one point he realized that he was going over 100 MPH, and he eased up on the gas. Why not let his sister win the race, he thought, just so she could enjoy the victory? It could be a thank you for the evening at the Opéra-Comique? He couldn’t be wasn’t obvious about it.

  At the Mantes tolls, he still hadn’t spotted Alix’s roadster. In spite of his plan to let her win, he speed so fast through the last portion of the highway that he almost missed his exit. When reaching the country road, he finally spotted her, about two hundred yards ahead.

  Alix, no doubt, had picked up his halogen headlights in her rearview mirror. She seemed to be stalling, as though toying with him by letting him get close only to lose him again. They’d raced this road—along the Seine from the intersection at the top of the hill to the one at the bottom--many times since they were young. They’d tried to beat each other’s speed record for years.

  He saw her go for the hilltop and he decided to follow. There were only two spots where he could pass her. At the first spot, when he was about to pull beside her, she moved to the middle of the road, trapping him behind her. The only chance he had left was after the last curve in the road, but he couldn’t go for it as a car was coming in the opposite direction.

  After she passed Port-Villez, there was nothing he could do. At the next intersection, they would have to make a turn onto the small, winding road that led to the house. He saw up ahead the headlights of a truck and he began downshifting, accepting defeat, happy for his sister.

  He was certain that Alix was going to let the truck go by before making her turn so he’d already slowed down a lot. That wasn’t Alix. In an insane move, she whizzed right by the ten-wheeler’s grill, the driver angrily honking his horn.

  Stunned by what Alix had done, Louis needed a few seconds to catch his breath. When he made the turn on the small road, his felt his shirt sticking to his sweaty back. Once at the house, he saw that she’d opened the gate with her own remote control and parked in her usual spot. She was waiting for him on the veranda. He parked his car and sprinted in her direction.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he said. “You’re tired of living? You want to end it all?”

  “I won…”

  “But you’d already won. At that point, the race was over, and you knew it. I always thought that you were a good driver, but what you just did was nuts. That truck could’ve crushed you. Thank God that driver had good reflexes. Are you crazy or something? Things are that bad for you?”

  He was stammering he was so furious. He reached out to grab hold of her, but she fell into his arms and held on to him like she was afraid to drown.

  “Jesus, Alix,” he said whispered.

  In the darkness, he couldn’t make out her face. He could only hear her heavy breathing. How many times had they taken refuge silently in each other’s arms whenever one of them felt adrift? How many heartbreaks had they shared? As long as he could remember, Alix had always been his double, his fortress against the world, his life support. But right now, he was dying to go upstairs to join Francine. If Alix knew she’d consider it the ultimate act of treason.

  The air was cool, with a wind that made her shiver in her light cotton dress. She suddenly pulled herself from him.

  “I miscalculated the distance, Louis,” she said in an even tone. “That’s all.”

  “Get yourself some glasses, then!”

  She’d found the strength to pull herself together. She always believed that she was the stronger of the two.

  Her heels clacked on the veranda floor. He followed her into the entry hall, then the stairs, and he kissed her before heading down the hallway. He felt a sensation of freedom that should’ve made him feel guilty but instead he felt happy.

  * * *

  Francine demanded from her soon what Louis was too much of a softy to have asked Frédéric to do under the same circumstances. Romain was completely healed and was his chipper old self again. He spent all his time with Élise. Antoine, who let him go to the pool or the movies with his buddies, had even let Francine buy him a new guitar. Francine could take care of that, since she had a “technical advisor” on hand. Antoine would pay for half of the instrument, as long as the cost was reasonable.

  The morning when Romain decided to do what his mother expected of him, he first planned to first go to the pool. He’d gone every morning since he left the hospital. Then he’d try to find Frédéric. He planned to check out spots where teens hung out�
��McDonald’s, the cafés, the movie theaters—and see if he could run into Frédéric. If that didn’t work, he’d head for Notre-Dame-de-la-Mer. Nothing about the task pleased him. He would’ve been dead against it if not for his true feeling of gratitude. After all if he were in a similar situation, he might not have done what Frédéric did i. There was no way of knowing really.

  He swam twenty laps or so, doing the backstroke, and then he went over to Élise and lay near her in the grass. She’d spent long hours at his bedside when he was recovering, smiling at him silently. Those moments had brought them even closer. She now felt attraction and a worried tenderness Romain. She never could’ve imagined being so in love with anyone.

  “Look who’s here, the lovebirds,” Richard said, standing next to them.

  Behind him were Nadège and Frédéric, hand in hand. Romain got up first, surprised by Frédéric winding up right there in front of him.

  “Hey,” Romain said to him. “Good timing. I wanted to see you today.”

  “Alright. Well, now you have. Okay, we’re going to sit down over there.”

  “No, wait one second. I need to talk to you.”

  Romain had a hard time getting the words out, especially in front of the others.

  “I think that the least I can do,” he managed to say, “is to thank you.”

  “Fine. You’re welcome.”

  Frédéric began walking away, but Romain stood in his way. More needed to be said.

  “I was out of it at the end of the fight, you know, but I was told that without you, things could’ve been much worse for me.”

  “Save your thanks for Damien. He’s the one who deserves it.”

  “You didn’t have to follow him.”

  “You know me: natural born fighter.”

  Frédéric’s mocking tone didn’t make Romain’s job any easier. As he fumbled to add something significant, Élise went over to the boys. She realized that Romain and Frédéric hated each other because of her hesitation and stupid need to be liked by everybody. She’d already explained that to Frédéric, the day after Music Fest. Now she felt like she needed to help Romain out.

  “Want to come swimming with me?” she asked Nadège.

  The girls exchanged a quick glance and walked together toward the pool taking Richard with them. Relaxing a bit, Romain took the opportunity to say, rapid fire, “I never thought I’d owe you anything but, man, what you did for me…”

  “Oh, quit it. You know why I got involved? Because Élise asked me to.”

  Right away Frédéric regretted his words.

  “I’m kidding, of course,” he said. “But I’ve had it up to here with the thank yous. Please keep yours to yourself. I don’t want to talk about that night all summer. Besides, if you want to know the truth, I’ve got nothing against you.”

  He was too young to figure out that it was precisely because he’d come to Romain’s rescue that he was able to be magnanimous. Even he was surprised by what he’d just said.

  “Nadège and I are together,” Frédéric added, as though it explained everything.

  “Good for you.”

  Both felt embarrassed and turned to the pool. The two girls were laughing, trying to catch Richard so they could toss him in the water.

  “Well, take it easy,” Frédéric said.

  He took a couple of steps toward the pool, stopped in his tracks, and came back to Romain, who hadn’t moved.

  “Listen. There’s no use trying to pretend. Your mother spends quite a bit of time with my father at the house. So if you want to come over, it’s okay with me.”

  Proud of himself, he took off to join the girls.

  * * *

  Out of breath, Louis shut his eyes. He tried to resist again, but let himself go anyway. He still was holding Francine by the waist and he felt her lean against him. When she kissed him, he closed his arms around her.

  “I’m exhausted,” he whispered. “I think you’re going to drive me crazy. Or turn me into a sex fiend. Or make me prematurely senile.”

  Playfully, she began to bite his shoulder. He still didn’t let go of her.

  “Stay there. You’re light as a feather.”

  She stretched out on his body, her head nestled in his neck. He remained silent for a while and then said, in a serious voice, “I love you, Francine.”

  “You say that like it’s an ultimatum.”

  “No, no. It’s a declaration.”

  With his fingertips, he caressed the nape of her neck, and her back.

  “You’re turning me into an addict. Hooked and dependent.”

  “As long as it doesn’t prevent you from composing!”

  “It’s the opposite.”

  “I know. You get up in the middle of the night to go downstairs. Sometimes I feel like sitting on the stairs to listen to you secretly, like a little kid.”

  “Please, don’t.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “But if you do come down, at least be courageous enough to come in. I’ll make love to you on the piano.”

  “Is that good for inspiration?”

  “Don’t know. I’ve never tried it before.”

  “As Frank would say, you’re too straight, Lou-iss, too classical.”

  “He’d said that?”

  “What do you think?”

  She stared at him, pensive, then pulled herself from him.

  “Where are you going?” Louis said.

  “I want to freshen up. Are you coming with me?”

  Once in the bathroom, she spotted a light blue terrycloth bathrobe that she’d never seen before, hanging by Louis’s.

  “I bought it for you,” he said.

  He’d already opened the shower door and took refuge under the water before she could say anything. Moved, she watched him clean up. She’d noticed that he methodically began by washing his face, then his hair, then the rest of his body. It was one of his rare routines.

  Set on taking her time, she decided to turn on the bathtub. Summer had just started and she wanted to enjoy every moment she could here with him. The beginning of the next school year was still a long ways away, no use thinking about it now. In any case, she’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to be a French teacher her entire life. She had other plans. Louis made her feel like she could reach any goal she set for herself.

  She checked the water temperature before climbing in the tub, and then poured in a bit of perfumed oil. Louis had bought that as well; the bathroom shelves were filled with new purchases. It had been a supermarket where he’d first asked her out, more or less convinced it was a good idea. Eyes closed, she let her mind wander. Louis… Louis Neuville, successful composer. And what was she? During the last teachers’ meeting, she’d been assigned the upcoming 12th grade French lit course, which meant that Romain, Frédéric, Élise, and Richard would be in her class. It would be an incredibly awkward situation with her son, her lover’s son, and her son’s girlfriend being among her student.

  “You think that they’ve made up for good?” Louis said. “God, I hope so.”

  He’d just kneeled on the bathmat, and was watching Francine with a worried expression.

  “It’s impossible to know what’s going on in teenagers’ minds,” she replied. “They’re too complicated. You want everything too fast. But don’t worry, we’ll get there.”

  She reached for Louis’s wet hair, then caressed his high cheek bones. She ran a finger down the contour of his jaw. This man was giving her everything--happiness, endless possibilities that she couldn’t have even dreamed about a few months ago--yet he was the one gazing at her with eyes filled with gratitude.

  “You don’t have to wait until I go back to bed and fall asleep,” she said softly. “Go on.”

  She’d read his mind, which made Louis break into one of his irresistible smiles. She held back a sigh when he stood. He put on his own bathrobe and left the room, barefoot. The melody running in his brain was haunting him, and he began to sing it while h
urrying down the stairs to the music room.

  Once the double doors were closed, he looked for a pack of cigarettes, whistling through his teeth. As soon as he lit one, he grabbed some sheet music and a pen on the Steinway. He quickly jotted down a series of staffs. Standing in front of the keyboard, one eye closed because of the smoke, he played a few notes with his right hand. In order to respect the dramaturgy of this godforsaken opera, he’d set his mind on a trio: tenor, soprano, baritone. And now the theme of danger needed to be introduced.

  He put out his cigarette and sat on the piano stool, where he spent the most interesting part of his life. He could play someone else’s music, improvise, create whatever he wanted on his instrument, and the rest of the world vanished. It was so simple! Even during times of terrible anguish, and even if the cause of his anguish was music, redemption was in his fingers and in his head, limitless.

  For a long moment he worked on the melody without realizing that the sky was beginning to brighten outside. Puccini, La Bohème’s snowflakes, the way the Italian composer had been able to personify the objects and atmosphere by his choice of instruments—one day he’d be able to attain that degree of craftsmanship, if only through hard work.

  A sharp pain in his back made him get up. He stretched, went for his pack of cigarettes, and spotted Laura, sitting on the floor by one of the open French doors. The sun was up, and she was holding a coffee mug, now empty.

  “What are you doing there?” Louis said.

  “I was drinking my coffee outside and I was listening to you. Then I decided to come in.”

  The music room’s soundproofing did very little when the doors or windows were opened. The Neuville family had always enjoyed hanging out on the wrap around veranda in the summertime when Louis was playing. They were more or less discreet about it. Grégoire liked to sit in a rocking chair right under the window, Sabine and Tiphaine spied on their uncle through the window pane like two kittens, and Hugues would lean against one of the veranda’s pillars. Only Frédéric didn’t hesitate to disturb his father. He would interrupt him right in the middle of a highly inspired session, certain that he was going to be welcomed no matter what.

  “What planet are you from, Louis?” Laura said, a benign smile on her face.