by Rue Allyn
Then she knelt beside Louis and gripped his shoulder. “Monsieur Dessant. Louis! Wake up. Levez-vous!”
Marie was at the door in record time. “Bishou, What happened?”
“I don’t know!” She looked up at Marie with wild eyes. “I stepped away to clean a spot off his jacket, and while I was out of the room he just fainted.”
“Let’s get him up on the couch,” said Marie.
Bishou took hold of his shoulders and Marie grabbed his feet. Manhandling was something she could do. Between them, the women got him up onto the couch. Marie slipped off his shoes while Bishou undid his tie and collar. He was still unresponsive.
“Oh God, oh God,” said Bishou, “I just expected to hand him his jacket, and leave.”
“I’m going downstairs to call Emergency Services,” said Marie, who had the only telephone in the building other than a pay phone. “Last thing we need is for one of the conference attendees to have a heart attack here.”
“Heart attack?” Bishou gasped.
“You stay with him, honey, while I call the doc.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Bishou scribbled on a paper on her desk. “Here’s a name — Gray Jackson, he’s one of the coordinators for the World Tobacco Conference. He was meeting us at lunch. Call the Barrington dining rooms and tell Gray what’s happened.”
“I’ll do that,” she agreed. “We don’t need university trouble.”
“Amen,” said Bishou anxiously. She was glad that Marie left the door open for Emergency Services to find them when she went downstairs This was a university emergency, all right. She sat on a wooden chair close to the couch, the one on which she had hung Louis’s jacket, and clasped his hand. It was ice cold.
What made her glance at her desk, she did not know. She saw the papers, half out of the express envelope, and suddenly realized what happened. He had been standing there, waiting for her to get the lighter fluid. He saw an envelope on her desk, papers sticking out the end. The words printed on it were French. Out of curiosity, he pulled the papers out — and saw his own portrait and that damned article. She’d only gone weak-kneed when she saw them. He had fainted.
She rose and put the papers back in the envelope. Then she tucked it into the busiest bookcase, where no one would find it unless undertaking a serious search for it.
“This is my fault,” she whispered to herself.
She sat down again on the chair and heard footsteps running up the stairs. Two college EMTs dashed into the room.
“Miss Howard? I’m Jimmy Falcon,” said one of them. “This our patient?”
“Yes.” She stood up so the EMT could have the chair.
“Can you tell me anything about him, Miss Howard, other than that he’s attending the Tobacco Conference?” The man took Dessant’s pulse. His partner made notes on a clipboard.
“I can’t tell you much. I’m just an interpreter. We walked across campus to pick up his jacket. He left it on the bus yesterday and they gave to me to return to him. His name is Louis Dessant, L-O-U-I-S D-E-S-S-A-N-T, from Réunion Island, a French-owned island off the coast of Africa. He runs a tobacco plantation there.” They didn’t say Dessant as in the cigarettes, so she did not feel obliged to tell them. “There was a stain on the jacket, and while I was getting my spot cleaner from the bedroom, I heard the thud of him hitting the floor.”
The second EMT wrote this down, while the first took Louis’s blood pressure.
“Do you know his age?” asked the second EMT.
“I happen to. Thirty-five.”
“Smoke, drink?”
“He’s a tobacco man. What do you think?” she answered, and both EMTs chuckled.
“So he doesn’t have a local doctor, then, does he?” asked Jimmy.
“No, and I don’t think student insurance will cover him,” she replied.
“We’ll take that up with the Tobacco Conference,” said the second EMT. “It’s their problem, not yours, Miss Howard.”
“Still. These are all nice guys,” she replied. “I’ve enjoyed working with them. I worry about them.”
The EMT listened to Louis’s heart, lifted his eyelids, checked his ears, and then his eyes and mouth with the light. Then Jimmy said, “I’m not 100 percent sure on this, but my first guess would be plain old exhaustion. He’s been overdoin’ it, flying halfway around the world and goin’ to all these conference sessions.”
“That seems pretty likely,” said Bishou, “but Marie Norton wanted to make sure it wasn’t a heart attack.”
“It wasn’t. He’ll come around soon. Before he does, though, we’re gonna take some blood for tests, just to make sure.” Jimmy suited actions to words, sliding up Louis’s sleeve and banding his arm tightly. He drew blood into a hypodermic and transferred it to other vials. “We’ll probably be back in touch, if not with you, then with Mr. Dessant himself. But I think he’s gonna be fine.”
“Thank you,” she said, relieved.
“He should rest where he is until tomorrow.”
“Huh?” Bishou stared at the EMT. “I’m a female grad student, and this is my apartment he’s in.”
Jimmy reddened. “I know it might look bad, but it’d look even worse if he fell and broke his leg or arm or neck, Miss Howard. And I don’t think you’d want to pay for the ambulance to haul him up and down these stairs. He can go home tomorrow if a friend drives him over. Otherwise — you’ve got yourself a house guest.”
“The university will have fits,” she muttered.
“I’ll send them a copy of the emergency report, too,” the EMT replied. “He’s to take it easy for twenty-four hours, and then he can be transported back to his hotel room if someone gives him a ride.”
They gathered up their materials and equipment, and left. Almost immediately, Marie Norton was in the door. “What did they say?”
“Not a heart attack,” said Bishou, and saw Marie slump in relief. “They say it’s just jet lag and exhaustion. But they don’t want him moved until tomorrow.”
“Pas de probleme,” quipped Marie, adding dryly. “No one can ever accuse you of sneaking a man up to your room, Bishou. You do it with fanfare.”
“I guess that’s true, but I’m going to take an awful lot of heat for this.”
“I know better,” said Marie, “and I’m on your side. Dean Chambers or anyone wants to complain, bring ’em on.”
“Thanks so much, Marie,” Bishou sighed.
“He is attractive, though,” Marie mused, “and I’m a judge.” Considering Marie’s head-resident stories, this was probably true.
“I know. But it’s no secret he’s a widower and still carrying the torch for his first wife. I’m safe as safe can be.”
“Unless he starts walking in his sleep.”
“My brother the Sergeant Major has taught me some self-defense tricks. I’m still safe as safe can be.”
The front doorbell sounded. Marie left to answer it, saying, “Back to work. Keep the faith, Bishou.”
“Right.”
She sat down again on the chair near Louis. She heard creaking stairs and the sounds of whispers and murmurs in the hallway, so she was ready for the tobacco people when they appeared in the doorway.
Gray Jackson grinned and asked, “We got the right apartment, Lady?”
Bishou smiled and motioned them in.
Sukey Hansen took the easy chair, and looked very chastened. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t expect this to happen when I sent you both over for his coat.”
“Yeah,” said Gray, “she expected maybe a little nooky in the hallway.”
“Shut up, Gray Jackson,” said Sukey.
“What the hell happened?” asked Vig.
“The EMTs say he’s just been overdoing it,” Bishou replied. “Between the jet lag and all the socializing he’s been doing with you guys, he just fainted. It’s exhaustion, nothing more.” Saying more felt unnecessary, too.
“How’s he getting back to the hotel?” asked Gray.
“I’m not even going to worry about that until he’s conscious,” Bishou replied.
“I’m gonna stay here with you, honey,” Sukey said quietly. “At least for a while.”
“Thanks, Sukey,” Bishou said, equally quietly. “I appreciate the support.”
“My pleasure, honey.” She looked up at her husband and Gray. “You know, Bishou never did get any lunch. Why don’t you boys go over and pick up a box lunch for her, and something for us to drink?”
“That’s a plan,” said Vig, as the men left.
Bishou rubbed her eyes. Then she realized Sukey was looking at her, very thoughtfully.
“Want to tell me what happened?” Sukey asked, in that same quiet tone.
It was a strong temptation. “Not yet.”
“All right. Then later.”
Louis groaned.
They both turned to look at him.
“Carola.”
Sukey looked at Bishou. “Carola?”
“His wife,” Bishou said.
Louis spoke again. A second time, a third time. Bishou felt sick to her stomach.
“What did he say?” Sukey prodded.
“He said, ‘I know what you are doing. Don’t you think I know you are poisoning me? Fill it up! I love you more than anything. I don’t want to live without you.’” Bishou took a deep breath as he spoke a fourth time, then translated. “He said, ‘Kill me. I would rather die than leave your side.’ ”
He repeated, “Carola. Carola.”
Bishou got a handkerchief and wiped tears from his face. Once again, Louis fell silent.
Bishou stood, went to her tiny bathroom, got a washcloth, and dampened it. She knelt beside the couch, and wiped his face with it.
“Merci,” he said, either in his dreams or not.
“De rien,” she replied quietly.
“Si froid.”
“‘So cold.’” She turned to Sukey. “Could you get one of the blankets off my bed?”
Sukey nodded. In a moment, she returned with a coverlet, which the two women wrapped snugly around him. They returned to their seats.
“So tell me about him,” said Sukey.
“I’d rather not.” Bishou rubbed her eyes. “It’s not my secret to tell, really.”
“But you stumbled across one of Louis’s secrets?”
Bishou nodded. “An item in my research for my doctoral dissertation. And he saw it on my desk.”
“Lordy. And he fainted. It didn’t mean to you what it did to him.”
“That’s it,” said Bishou, in lieu of a lie. But it was no lie when she added, “I feel so bad. I wish he’d never seen it. I never thought about him coming here to get his jacket.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” said Sukey. “It’s my fault, too. I should never have suggested it, but how was I to know?”
They lapsed into silence, watching the sleeping patient. The room was very quiet for a long time. Bishou saw Louis’s hands and feet twitch, then his face. He should be waking up soon, she thought. Then, suddenly, he sat up, screaming.
Sukey jumped back, but Bishou dived for Louis. She grabbed one of his wrists and put an arm around his shoulders. He fought her. “Ssh, ssh,” she urged. “Doucement, doucement.” Gently, gently.
“Oh, mon Dieu,” he sobbed. “Ou est-il?”
“I have hidden it,” she replied in French. “No one knows.”
“Oh, non, non,” he cried. “Where did you find that horrible thing? I hoped never to see it again!”
“It came from Paris in my university research for my doctoral degree. I am so sorry, Louis. Please forgive me.”
“Oh mon Dieu, mon Dieu. I fainted.” He saw Sukey. “And all the world knows it.”
“Non, the world knows nothing,” she said, still speaking French. “The doctors came here and said that you fainted from exhaustion and décalage. They did not see the paper, either. They did not know why you collapsed. Only you and I know what you saw.”
“Bishou,” he wept, “what have you done to me?”
“I am sorry. Please, Louis, there are people here now. You must be strong. I will help you. This will pass.” She kept her voice strong, but quiet, and she held him just as Bat held Marine meltdowns that still appeared on his doorstep from time to time. And this was a meltdown, for certain.
Louis took a deep breath. Bishou wiped his face with the cool, damp cloth. Slowly, it occurred to him that Bishou was holding him tightly, and hadn’t let go. In English, he said, “Mademoiselle, if you do not release me, Madame will think there is more to our relationship than the truth.”
Bishou smiled, and sat back, relieved. Sukey looked as relieved as she did. “My Lord, Louis, you gave us a fright. I’m going to send you to bed like one of my teenage boys, from now on.”
“Not for a night or so,” said Bishou. “Tonight he’s staying here, on the couch.”
“Quoi?” Louis asked, startled.
“Doctor’s orders.” Bishou’s mouth tightened. “They said you’re too weak to walk very far, so they don’t want you walking anywhere, nor climbing stairs. Here you stay. Tomorrow, the Hansens can pick you up and take you to the hotel.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I am here for the conference. This is — ” He said a phrase in French.
“Just a minor setback. I know, and you may be right. But the only thing the university is more worried about than propriety is injury. If you hurt yourself, it would be even worse for the conference.”
Louis made a face. Before he could say anything, a voice called out from the door, “We’re back! We brought take-out chicken instead. That okay with everyone?” Vig and Gray entered carrying bags and boxes.
“Heeey, Louis!” Gray reached out to shake his hand. “Welcome back.”
“I am glad to be here. What is it that smells so good? Poulet?”
“Yes, chicken,” Bishou answered. “But go easy. You’ve had a rough day.”
Louis growled. He pulled himself upright on the couch, the blanket still wrapped around his legs. Vig, Gray, and Sukey invaded Bishou’s pathetic little kitchenette.
“Cryin’ out loud, Bishou,” called Gray. “Don’t you even have three glasses that match?”
“Why do I need three glasses? I wash out the one I use as soon as I use it,” she called back.
Louis chuckled. She started to rise, but he grabbed her hands and pulled her onto the couch beside him.
“Stay here,” he advised. “Let them learn about graduate student apartments by themselves.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
He put his arm around her shoulder. “Things like this, I am always right.”
“I am very sorry to shock you,” she said.
“We will talk later, when everyone has gone.”
“Hey! Chardonnay!”
“Go easy on that stuff,” she called. “That’s what I feed my boss.”
“Did I hear my name?” Dr. Roth stood at the door.
“Aiiee,” said Bishou, very quietly, and stood up.
Sukey, however, beat her to the punch. “We’re gonna owe you a whole case of Chardonnay for lending us Bishou Howard,” she said with a smile, taking Roth’s hand and pulling him into the tiny living room.
“I came over to see if Bishou’s day was as rough as I’d heard it was.”
“Uh-oh,” said Bishou. “Marie Norton, or the dean?”
“Both, actually.” Roth held out a hand to Louis. “Monsieur Dessant, so nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Raymond Roth, of the literature department.”
“Ah. Mademoiselle’s advisor?”
They shook hands, and Roth slid into his favorite chair. Bishou sat down again on her wooden desk chair.
“Yes, that’s correct. The university wanted me to check up on you, too, and make sure you were all right, because — after a fashion — you are one of Miss Howard’s students.”
“Indeed, I am.” That businesslike French accent never sounded nicer. “I am grateful for all her help, and I am most apologetic for
being such a burden to the school.”
Roth made himself comfortable in the chair. “Well, it’s taught us one thing, at least, that we shouldn’t hit the ground running with overseas students. We need to give them a day or two to adjust to the strain of airline travel.”
“I think that might be necessary,” Louis admitted. “I am sure that is what happened to me, exhaustion and décalage — jet lag.”
“I can’t help feeling we’ve met before,” said Roth.
Louis chuckled. “We have. You were in the back of the lecture hall the day I stopped in to see the college class. I have never attended university. I was curious. We spoke a few words.”
“Not enough for me to realize your native language was French,” said Roth, grimacing. “My apologies.”
“De rien.” Louis smiled, and got more comfortable on the couch. “I am glad to know for certain who you are, because I knew Mademoiselle Howard respected Dr. Roth greatly. Please do not — what is the word? — penalize her for my foolishness.”
“No, no, of course not. What happened here was so obviously an accident — and it is well documented by the head resident and by medical reports.” Roth stood. “Well, I just came by to see how everything was. Now I’ll move on. I promised my wife I’d be home by dinnertime. Goodbye, Bishou. I’ll see you on Friday.”
Bishou sighed. “I am in so much trouble.”
“How so?” asked Louis in surprise.
“They told me not to get personal about this job, and here I’ve got a whole bunch of you partying in my apartment,” she said unhappily.
“Maybe you’re being a bit straitlaced Yankee about this,” Sukey suggested.
“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t know academia. It’s worse than a small town. Gossip travels at the speed of sound, and they’re quite willing to believe the worst on no evidence at all.”
Louis, his hand resting against his cheek, smiled and said, “Maybe you should just have some chicken and deal with one problem at a time.” Then he struggled to raise himself from the couch — and slid to a pile on the floor. He growled something ugly and explosive.
“Okay if I don’t translate that one?” Bishou asked him, as the men helped lift him.
He growled again. Gray helped him navigate to the bathroom, and he came back to the couch by himself.