I Looked for the One My Heart Loves

by Dominique MARNY

  18

  Every single piece that Simonetta Lorenzetti had created found a buyer during the exhibition. Her refusal to show up at the gallery and the mystery that surrounded her had not only intrigued critics, but also generated a lot of interest among collectors.

  Amanda wondered what the artist would do with all that money.

  “Hopefully, she’s going to find herself a decent place to live in! Why does she insist on living in that dump of hers?”

  “Simonetta feels like she has to punish herself,” Anne said.

  “Punish herself for what?”

  “Simply for being alive.”

  Simonetta never talked about her private life, let alone her childhood or adolescence. What had she done with her time since she stopped working? Without a phone, cut off from the outside world, reluctant to establish relationships of any sort, indifferent toward her neighbors, what was she thinking about all day long? There were few books in her apartment, no newspapers, no radio or television.

  “She should’ve been a nun,” Amanda kept saying. “And a Carmelite at that.”

  When spring arrived, François invited Anne to spend a weekend in London with him.

  “So you’ll forgive me for being away so often,” he said. “Just you and me, without the girls!”

  A week later, their plane landed in Heathrow, and they took a cab into town. After dropping their luggage at the Basil Street Hotel, they headed to Carnaby Street, home to many fancy fashion boutiques. Anne bought some clothing and accessories at Mary Quant’s. Then François bought himself some jeans and a few shirts. In the middle of the afternoon, they stopped into a pub, where they drank beer and listened to The Who’s latest album. It had been so long since they had spent any time together alone! It was almost as though they were on their honeymoon! And so it went for two days of fun and relaxation, during which Anne’s every desire was satisfied. For the entire weekend, Anne did her best not to think about Alexis.

  On their way back to Paris, François said, “We should do this kind of thing more often.”

  But right away reality set back in, with François traveling all over the world for work, and Anne returning to her reveries. Especially since Alexis wrote the gallery at the end of April! Knowing that Amanda was always looking for talent, he talked about his own enthusiasm for the work of a painter living in Sausalito. Along with the letter, he sent some slides.

  “Interesting,” Amanda said. “But I don’t think I have the strength to go all the way to California.”

  “I could go,” Anne suggested.

  “You’d leave your daughters?”

  “Well, if I could line the trip up with their vacation, it’d be possible. Isabelle and Aurélie love spending time at their grandmother’s.”

  “And your husband?”

  “I don’t think he’d be against it,” Anne said, though she felt as if she was walking on quicksand.

  She brought up the topic that very evening.

  “San Francisco!” François said. “Are you sure this artist is good enough for you to go all the way there?”

  “What I saw of his work makes me want to meet him.”

  “Maybe we could go together. …”

  Anne’s throat tightened.

  “When would you go?” François asked.

  “July,” Anne said. “Unless the artist isn’t free then.”

  “July … That’s not good for me. There’s this big project I’m working on …”

  Anne felt great relief at those words. And she hoped that Alexis would be free in July as well.

  The telegram he sent put her mind at ease. He had signed a contract to give a series of courses over the summer, so he wouldn’t be leaving town.

  All Anne had to do now was obtain Amanda’s consent. She was still hesitant.

  “If you really like his work, we’re going to have to organize a show for him. … Is it really worth it?”

  On Monday, June 16, 1969, Georges Pompidou succeeded General de Gaulle as president of the French Republic. All day long, Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré was closed to traffic. Knowing that few people would come to the gallery, Anne worked on the upcoming show. She didn’t share Amanda’s interest in Serge Sakalov. With his unpredictable temper and gigantic ego, the painter had a knack for turning a normal conversation into a confrontation. As Anne considered how she would display the paintings, Sakalov phoned for the third time that day. His slurred speech told Anne he was drunk.

  “I want to take some of my paintings back,” he said.

  “You’re going to have to talk to Madame Kircher about that. She’s the one in charge.”

  “Don’t tell me you have no say in decisions.”

  “I’m sorry to …”

  Sakalov hung up before she could finish her sentence.

  Back home, the atmosphere was just as charged. As soon as she opened the front door, Aurélie came running toward her.

  “It’s horrible!” she said.

  “What? Something bad happened at school?”

  “No. It’s Thomas.”

  “What about Thomas?”

  “His mother is sending him to boarding school.”

  “I saw Agnès yesterday. She didn’t say anything to me about that.”

  “She didn’t dare.”

  “I don’t understand. Thomas is doing pretty well …”

  “She said she doesn’t have time to take care of him. Isabelle hasn’t stopped crying since she heard the news.”

  Lying face down in her bed, the teenager was sobbing.

  “Don’t be so upset,” Anne told her gently.

  Her words only made her daughter cry more. Anne sat next to her.

  “I hate her,” Isabelle said.

  “Who told you about this?” Anne asked.

  “Thomas! He’s so sad!”

  Anne arrived first at the Rostand. She ordered a mint tea. From the café’s terrace, she had a view of the Jardin du Luxembourg. Children playing with a ball, students studying for exams, old folks sitting in the sun—all were enjoying the late afternoon’s beautiful weather. Ten minutes later, Agnès showed up. With her hair cascading down her shoulders, her plunging neckline, her skin tanned by daily swims at the Piscine Deligny, Agnès had become prettier since her divorce.

  After some idle chitchat, Anne decided to get to the heart of the matter.

  “My daughters told me that you’re sending Thomas to some boarding school.”

  “That’s what I intend to do, yes. …”

  “Why? He’s no trouble at all …”

  “It’s impossible for me to look after him after school,” Agnès said. “I never leave the shop until seven …”

  “And you’d like to go out every night,” Anne said.

  “I felt trapped for so many years!”

  Since she’d started working at the stationery shop, Agnès was leading the life of a student: going to the movies, sleeping with men left and right. In that context, Thomas was a fifth wheel.

  “What does your son think of the idea?” Anne asked.

  “He’s not happy. Especially since he’s only going to come home on holidays and for summer vacation.”

  “You’re not going to let him come home on the weekends?”

  “I found a boarding school that’s not too expensive in the Limousin region … That’s pretty far away from here!”

  “I just don’t understand you,” Anne said.

  “If you put yourself in my place, you wouldn’t judge me. My ex-husband has pretty much vanished. He doesn’t give me a cent. I work all day … And I don’t think I have the strength to look after my son all by myself.”

  “We’ve always been there for you.”

  “I’m not saying otherwise.”

  “Thomas was just getting used to his new l
ife! You’re going to impose something totally new on him now?”

  “What do you suggest?” Agnès asked, annoyed.

  “That you pay attention to him. Something you haven’t done much since you guys moved.”

  “You’re the one who wanted him to stay over all those times.”

  “François is his godfather, and I’m his godmother. Of course we wanted to help you out.”

  “Nobody can help me!”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I married the wrong man. I have a job that I don’t care about and that barely allows me to pay the bills. I’m a mediocre mother …”

  “You’re an overwhelmed mother,” Anne said.

  “And I’m exhausted.”

  Seeing that Agnès was weakening, Anne said, “If Thomas was a problem child, I’d understand why you’d want to send him away to boarding school … Don’t ruin your relationship with him just so you can have a bit of fun.”

  Agnès sighed.

  “If I’m hearing you correctly,” she said, “you want me to sacrifice everything for him.”

  “We will support you anyway we can, whenever you want. We would be willing to transform the laundry room into a bedroom. It would be small, but he would have his own space.”

  “I’ve already imposed on you guys so much …”

  “If the tables were turned, would you let me down?”

  “Of course not.”

  19

  As the plane took off, Anne felt a pinch in her heart. It was the first time she had ever been away from her family. In the last couple of days, she hadn’t had much time to think about her trip. She had driven her children to Cormery, then she had closed the gallery for the summer. Now that she was sitting among the other passengers, she took stock of her decision. She could tell herself that it was a business trip and nothing more, but she knew better. As soon as the plane reached its cruising altitude, Anne shut her eyes. If only she could fall asleep! A nap might help make up for the last few sleepless nights when, lying next to François, she tried not to feel guilty. She did manage a fitful sleep, and then read the paper until the plane touched down in Boston.

  Anne didn’t have to wait long before getting on the American Airlines flight to San Francisco. All around her, people were speaking English. When Anne had first been hired at the gallery, Amanda insisted she take courses at the Berlitz School. Today, she was glad she had listened to her employer. Though she hadn’t mastered the language, she understood what people said and managed to communicate with others.

  As soon as she set foot on California soil, her anguish dissipated. Was it the distance she had traveled, the warm air? Through the open window of the cab, she took in her environment: the wooden houses, the huge billboards, the gas stations with gleaming trucks and automobiles with aerodynamic curves …

  She had booked a room at the St. Francis, a hotel in Union Square. At the end of the hallway, the porter opened a door to a room that contained a gigantic bed. Anne took off her shoes and enjoyed the feel of the thick carpet. The room had everything: a dressing table, a television set, a well-stocked mini-bar. The first thing Anne did was to draw herself a bath. She stayed in the hot water a long time and then, wrapped in a bathrobe, lay down on the bed. She wasn’t feeling jet-lagged, but she did feel nervous at the thought that Alexis would soon call her. In her last letter to him, she had indicated the day of her arrival, as well as where she was staying. When the phone rang, she jumped up.

  “Hello.”

  The front desk clerk told her she had a call.

  “Hi,” said a man’s voice.

  Anne recognized it right away.

  “Did everything go well?”

  “Yes. No problems at all.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay before I left for work.”

  “That’s very nice of you.”

  “Things are so quiet in the apartment without you and the girls. I miss you guys.”

  As soon as she hung up, Anne glanced at her watch. Five twenty-five. Unable to stay put, she began unpacking her suitcases. As she hung one of her dresses in the closet, the phone rang again.

  Alexis was calling her from the college where he was teaching.

  “If you’re not too tired, I could come pick you up.”

  “I feel great.”

  “Isn’t it strange to be meeting here, in California?” Alexis said as he showed Anne to his car.

  They left downtown, its banks and its department stores, and headed for the Golden Gate Bridge. Then they came back through Pacific Heights, where the view was stunning, and went up Nob Hill. Every time they passed a landmark, Alexis turned into a tour guide.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked Anne.

  “Don’t worry. There’s room service in my hotel.”

  “I’m not worried. I just wanted to invite you to dinner.”

  “At your place?”

  “There’s nothing in the fridge. My wife and son are on vacation in Quebec.”

  Anne shuddered. He was alone! The situation almost scared her. As though there were no safeguard against what might happen.

  In Chinatown, she thought she was in Asia. The banks, the boutiques, the grocery stores, every building had a Far Eastern look to it: slanted roofs covered with green slates, bamboos, dragons everywhere.

  Alexis pushed open the door to a restaurant. A woman wearing a bright silk dress showed them to a table and then handed them a menu with numbered choices.

  “I’m letting you pick the food,” Anne said.

  He ordered some shrimp with crispy rice, dong’an chicken, and orange-flavored beef.

  “We’ll share,” he said.

  Drinking a glass of beer, Alexis told Anne how much he liked his new life.

  “I love the atmosphere in this city. There’s something European about it—some of the buildings, the way people live—but there’s also a wind of change blowing over the place. Soon I’ll take you to Berkeley. Unlike in France, students here don’t throw rocks. Instead, they use words and music to express their views.”

  Eyes alight, he talked about the inspiring rock groups playing at the Fillmore and the Avalon Ballroom. Led Zeppelin, Jefferson Airplane, Grateful Dead—Alexis had attended their concerts recently!

  “Too bad you missed the Haight-Ashbury festival in Golden Gate Park not too long ago. There was a huge crowd, and the atmosphere was psychedelic.”

  As soon as the waitress placed the dishes on the table, Alexis served Anne.

  “Careful,” he said. “It’s very spicy.”

  Too late! Her mouth on fire, Anne felt tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Don’t drink,” Alexis said. “Eat some rice instead.”

  Thanks to the jet lag, Anne woke up in the middle of the night. After turning on her bedside lamp, she drank a glass of water. Then she thought about the evening she had spent with Alexis, and the fact that he was going to be all by himself for the entire length of her stay! For her part, she felt free. For the first time in an eternity, she had the impression that her life wasn’t centered only on her family and Amanda’s wants and needs. No schedule, no responsibilities, no one to report to. All she had to do was enjoy herself.

  A big part of her day was spent exploring the city. Map in hand, she hopped on a cable car to the Embarcadero and its famous fish market. The throngs of tourists there made her decide to head for North Beach, filled with boutiques and strip clubs. She felt herself grow more and more excited as the time she had agreed to meet Alexis neared. Deep down, she was afraid he would bail on her at the last minute, even though he had been unfailingly true to his word ever since they had met again in Paris. …

  And there he was, right on time.

  “No classes until Monday,” he said, putting his car in gear.

  On their way to the artist’s, they t
ook the Golden Gate Bridge. As they crossed over, Anne took in the breathtaking scenery. On this sunny Saturday, the bay below was filled with sailboats and ferries. And in the middle of all that movement was the gloomy presence of Alcatraz. Once in Marin County, they headed for Sausalito. Phil Kasav lived in the sort of small seaside town that artists are drawn to. Alexis took a side road that went uphill. After about a hundred yards, he and Anne left the car to head up the staircase that led to the houses on the mountainside.

  Anne rang the bell, and a dog began to bark. Then a man opened the gate. Small, with green eyes, he was holding on to a Labrador by the collar.

  “Come in before he escapes,” the man said

  A woman appeared on the wooden terrace.

  “This is Lizzie, my wife.”

  Once the introductions were made, Anne sat on a canvas chair. Overrun with vegetation, the place looked like a jungle. The conversation began in English.

  “We have some California wine,” Phil said. “White. It’s not as good as your Meursault or Chablis, but it’s not bad.”

  “I can attest to that,” Alexis said with a smile.

  In no time at all a friendly atmosphere set in among them. The couple wasn’t much older than their guests. Phil was skin and bones and tense looking, whereas Lizzy was round and jovial.

  After asking Anne what she thought of California, Lizzie said how much she’d like to go to Europe.

  “We’ve been together only five years, Phil and I,” she said. “Since then, we moved out of Los Angeles to settle up here. I’d love to go to France and Italy, but Phil is chained to his easel.”

  As soon as he felt comfortable with his guest, the painter showed Anne to the studio he had set up in the garage. In order to get there, they had to cross a footpath lined with ferns and lichen. Phil opened the garage door and stepped aside.