by Linda Kepner
“These are the Appalachian Mountains, n’est-ce pas?”
“That’s correct.”
“Where are the Smokies?”
“Great Smoky Mountains? You’re looking at them. The Appalachians have a different name in each state.”
“What are they called, in your region?”
“White Mountains in New Hampshire, Berkshires in Massachusetts, Green Mountains in Vermont. I’ve seen them all, at one time or another.”
“Ah, you said. Hiking.” He pronounced it as the French had adopted it, hi-KING. “Do you miss the mountains?”
“Not really. Being with my family was more important.”
“I understand.” Louis smiled.
They visited one more tobacco plantation. Now that Bishou knew what Louis was thinking, she could see his focus on cotton and the filters. However, it was definitely a two-way communication, because the hosts and Louis’s fellow travelers wanted to know just as much about the tobacco business on his island.
By the time they got back to the university campus, darkness had fallen. As they left the bus, Louis asked, “You teach tomorrow morning, do you not?”
“Oh, yes. I should have reminded you. You’re on your own for the first session.”
“D’accord. Now I will know to expect it. I will see you for the second?” he inquired.
“Yes, I’ll see you then.”
“D’accord. I am going out for dinner with the others, and will see you in the morning. Bonne nuit.”
“Bonne nuit.”
All the riders had faded into the distance before she heard someone call her name. “Miss Howard?” The bus driver walked toward her, carrying a white jacket.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Is that Mr. Dessant’s jacket?”
“Yes, Ma’am. He forgot it. Can you give it to him tomorrow?”
“Sure,” she said, but her hands were already loaded with her purse and tote bag.
“Wait,” said the driver with a grin. He wrapped it around her shoulders. “There you go.”
“Thanks. If he should ask for it, tell him I’ve got it.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Back at her apartment, she draped the jacket over an easy chair. The off-white jacket was as clean and neat as Louis was, smelling a little of cologne, a little of tobacco smoke. In dismay, she realized that the only way she could carry it around tomorrow was the same way she did tonight, by wearing it, because she would have the same load in her arms.
Chapter 5
Louis Dessant had on a fresh shirt, no jacket, and was taking his coffee break sitting with some of the other men on the wall of a planter in front of the Conference Center. Louis stood and smiled as Bishou hurried over to them.
“Sorry,” she panted, setting down her bag. “By the way, I’ve got your jacket at my apartment.”
“Ah.” Louis continued to stand after the other men sat down again. “You will sit, also, and I will bring you coffee. Fair is fair.”
“Oh, no, thanks. I can — ”
One eyebrow raised, a warning hand came up. “Asseyez-vous, Mademoiselle.”
“Oui, Monsieur.” She sat down.
He went to get her coffee.
Gray Jackson chuckled. “He’s a gentleman, all the way through.”
She nodded. “It’s very disconcerting. I’m used to dealing with college students.”
All the men laughed.
Vig said, “I never thought about us spoiling you, Missy, but I guess we are.”
“You are. It will be dreadfully difficult, going back to teaching undergraduates.”
“I’m gonna say what Louis says, that I’m glad I came to this conference,” Vig said. “I’ve learned a lot, not only about tobacco and research, but about colleges. Now I know how to get in contact with the researchers, and I’ve talked to a lot of the new blood. Some of ’em have some good ideas — even tobacco farmers from other countries, like Louis. Y’know, he takes it all the way from the seed to the carton. A lot of ’em don’t, and don’t know how.”
There was a mutter of general agreement.
“For me,” said Bishou, “it was more about the university. I knew EVU runs on tobacco money, but I never really knew what that involved. Now I do.”
“There should be a required film about that,” said Gray. “You hear so much about student riots and all, and they’re biting the hands that feed them.”
Bishou shook her head. “It’s like having your own teenager in the house, except there are a couple thousand of them. You never know which way the cat is going to jump. You just have to keep your eyes open for a chance to teach them something they’re willing to listen to.”
“Spoken by the girl with three brothers.” Gray toasted her with his coffee, and winked.
“Well, that’s true.” Bishou looked up as Louis reappeared, with croissants and two coffees on a tiny tray. “Where did you lift the tray? I expected you’d have them in a napkin.”
“I asked the cafeteria ladies. They gave me a tray.”
“Cafeteria ladies don’t give anything to anyone,” she said suspiciously.
“I was humble,” he replied, looking up with a deerlike expression in his brown eyes.
Again, the men laughed. Gray said, “You just blindside all the ladies with that French sex appeal, Dessant.”
“I won’t pretend I don’t know what that means,” said Louis. He sat and put the tray between himself and Bishou, and then broke up a croissant. “But I don’t think I have it, or my life would have been much easier.”
One of the cafeteria ladies came around with a box for their garbage. She gathered up the little tray, too, with a smile at Louis. The men went back inside, grumbling about the forthcoming lecture, sounding like elderly college students. “Can’t make me worried about what I don’t know yet,” Vig rumbled, and Louis glanced at Bishou in amusement.
However, the Future of the Tobacco Industry included filter cigarettes, and got their full attention., After the session ended, they broke for lunch. The wives joined their husbands.
As they started to cross the campus, Bishou told Louis, “Save me a place. I’ll go get your jacket.”
Sukey said, “Why don’t you go with her, Louis, and get your own jacket?” She was rewarded with suspicious stares from both Louis and Bishou, which she ignored. “We’ll save your places. Git.”
As they walked toward Bishou’s apartment, Louis said, “Madame Hanson has her ideas.”
“She certainly does, doesn’t she?” Bishou agreed. “Why didn’t you argue her out of them?”
“She is one of those women to whom it is easier to say ‘oui, Madame,’ and just do it. I noticed you did not argue with her either.”
“I think you’re right,” said Bishou. “As much as I like her. She’s definitely ‘my way or the highway.’ ”
He chuckled. “I had not heard that rhyme before, but I understand it completely.”
As they walked up the path to Garrison Apartments, Dessant observed, “This is not a dormitory, is it?”
“No. These are apartments for graduate students. My assistantship pays for over half of my expenses here, including this — a very good deal. In some places, one only gets half-tuition, and must pay almost double rates for everything else.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Graduate students are in no position to argue.” She pulled out her keys, unlocked the big glass front door, and ushered him inside.
Marie Norton was in the lobby, with the mailroom door open, sorting mail. “Hi, Bishou.” She looked carefully at the guest. “I’m Mrs. Norton, resident here.”
It was a hint for an introduction. Bishou obliged. “Marie, this is Louis Dessant, from the World Tobacco Conference. Monsieur Dessant, Madame Norton, our manager.”
“How do you do, Madame,” said Louis politely.
“Oh, my,” said Marie. “As in Dessant Cigarettes?” She laughed at their stares. “I did my junior year ab
road, Bishou, don’t you remember?”
Bishou laughed. “I totally forgot. Yes, as in Dessant Cigarettes.”
Louis smiled, too. “My name precedes me.”
“Is this your first trip to America?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, welcome. What brings you to Garrison today?”
“The bus driver from yesterday gave me Mr. Dessant’s jacket to return to him, and I ran out of hands this morning,” Bishou explained. “I said I’d return it during the lunch break.”
The resident apartment door was open, and they heard a baby begin to cry. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Dessant,” said Marie Norton with a smile. “Welcome to EVU. Anything we can do to help, let us know.”
“Thank you,” Louis replied and followed Bishou up the dark, carpeted stairs. In the stairwell, he murmured very quietly, in French, “I don’t have to leave fingerprints, do I?”
Bishou chuckled. “No, but she is good security.”
“I trust your word on that. She is young, for this job. I heard a baby.”
“Oui. Her husband is training at the law school. He studies, and she provides them a place to live while they start their family.”
“Whew. That is a grand commitment, much to do at once.”
“Certainly it is,” said Bishou. “I have true respect for her.”
Bishou unlocked her apartment door and ushered Louis inside. He stood and looked around him — the first time she could recall seeing him move his head as well as his eyes — at the bulging bookshelves, the tatty couch, the desk and typewriter.
“So this is your nest? I should perhaps not come in further, hein?” He saw his jacket, hung over the back of her desk chair, and lifted it. “What is this?”
She looked, too. “Uh, oh. Did I get lipstick on your collar?”
“It looks red,” he agreed.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll get some lighter fluid from my bedroom. Wait here.”
She stepped into her bedroom and opened a few drawers, searching for the lighter fluid. She found the bottle and started back toward the living room, just in time to hear Louis speak.
“Oh, mon Dieu,” he groaned, then collapsed on the floor with a thud.
• • •
Bishou stood paralyzed for a moment. Then she ran to the door, opened it, and shouted, “Marie! Marie!”
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 b
e 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.