by Linda Kepner
“Well, I know that, and you do. I’ve got a brother who’s a Vietnam vet, remember. He’s seen people shoot themselves rather than deal with things, just like Louis watched Carola put a gun to her head and pull the trigger.” She saw Marie wince. “At least prison wasn’t a bad experience for him. He was already so traumatized, he hardly remembers it. Coming back to La Réunion is letting him go through the motions of living a normal life again.”
It was Marie’s turn to take a deep breath. “Okay, Joe wanted me to ask. I’ll tell him I asked.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d both keep this confidential. Short as the conference is, he’s still my advisee.”
“Of course. But wow.”
Bishou smiled. “That’s what I thought the first time I saw him. Wow.”
“What a hell of a situation you’re in, Bishou.”
“I’m getting used to it.”
• • •
The next morning was Sunday and Bishou made her way to the chapel. She wasn’t religious, but she had promised Bat she would go to church. As she walked across campus, she spotted a man in a dark jacket and grey trousers, walking slowly. Even from the back, she recognized that stance, that hair. Light suit for business, dark suit for Church, she thought. Quickly she walked up beside him and took his elbow. Louis Dessant glanced at her in surprise. Then he tucked her hand around his elbow, and they merged with other nicely dressed attendees of this nondenominational chapel. They found their way to a pew, still without speaking.
Louis knelt on the tiny stool before him, crossed himself, and prayed. Bishou knelt, mainly to be company. She thought about many things, about Bat and his buddies especially. When Louis sat again, she sat beside him. They stood, knelt, sat with the rest of the congregation, and listened to a sermon about peace on college campuses as well as in Viet Nam. Outside the chapel, after the service, Louis observed, “Not many people for a large campus.”
“Attendance is optional.”
“Why are you here?”
“I promised my brother I would pray for his lost comrades on Sundays.”
“A good promise.” Louis nodded. He offered his elbow again, and she took it. His rough hand stroked hers. “Maintenant. Petit dejeuner.”
“I haven’t had breakfast yet, either,” Bishou admitted.
“Bon. Back to my hotel, then, to their Sunday brunch. Can you bear us all on a weekend, when you thought you would get away from it all?”
“I spent all day yesterday with academic crises. Tobacco people would be a pleasant change.”
They talked about his bus tour and her counseling sessions as they walked slowly to the edge of the campus and out a campus gate. Louis asked Bishou, “What do you do with the ones who won’t listen?”
“I let them know I understand that they won’t, and they must accept the consequences. For most of them, it’s their first time away from home, and they’re waiting for someone to say, non, non, cherie, you must not do that, come back inside. Here, it’s not going to happen. They do mess up their lives, and come to me begging for help when it’s too late — when their grades are sunk, or they have a child on the way.”
“A child. I never thought about that.”
“I can’t help them. I can give them the address for Planned Parenthood, or counselors, or the suicide hotline — but I can’t fake their grades, I can’t adopt their babies, I can’t explain things to their parents.”
“But you can tell them what you see, and warn them. Not that they will listen.”
“Not that they will. But a few recognize my warning signs and scramble back onto the path. Those are the ones I’ll risk things for, the prodigal sons. Also, the goodie-two-shoes who never leave the path and never seem to be appreciated. I give them a few extra pettings, too.”
Louis chuckled. “What would you have told me, if I were truly your advisee?”
“Not a fair question. I can only judge on what I see now.”
“What do you see?” He really meant it.
Bishou looked into his eyes. “A man with the respect of his peers, and there must be reason for that. A man with faithful friends, and there must be reason for that, too.”
Louis smiled at her, but was not embarrassed. Yes, he’d worked hard to regain the respect and trust he had lost. He just wondered if it showed.
They reached the hotel. Louis escorted her into the lobby, to the brunch buffet. They joined the rest of the tobacco men and helped themselves to a heaping breakfast full of wonderful tastes and smells.
“So were you two off churchin’?” Gray Jackson asked.
“Not together,” Bishou replied. “I saw Mr. Dessant along the way.”
“Are you a good Catholic?” Sukey asked Louis.
“Non. I have fallen from grace. But I go through the motions, nonetheless.”
“What do you mean, fallen from grace?” Sukey wanted to know.
Bishou saw how uncomfortable Louis became, and understood. “He means he’s broken a commandment or two.”
“About half of them,” Louis admitted. “I am no longer welcome in a Catholic church.”
Vig snorted. “’Bout time you became a Baptist, then. There’s nothing wrong with you, Louis.”
Bishou kept her nose in her coffee cup. Louis glanced at her, drank his coffee, and kept his silence.
Chapter 10
The week passed rapidly. Monday and Tuesday were full of lectures, tobacco business, and tobacco genetics. They met for lunch. Bishou still taught her Tuesday morning classes, amid tutoring and counseling, and kept a very full schedule.
When they met Wednesday morning, Louis told her, “This is the last day, you know.”
She felt a sinking feeling. “I know. I’m sorry. I will miss you.”
“And I you, mon amie.”
There was no denying that last afternoon full of seminars was hard. Everyone felt the end of the conference was near. It seemed like they had always been there, listening to lectures, arguing at lunchtime, and gathering for dinner.
On Thursday morning, Bishou went to the hotel to see off those who were headed for the airport. Louis slid his suitcase into the cargo hold of the bus and turned to her.
“When you have your doctorate, come for the vacation to La Réunion.”
“I will be looking for a job after I get my degree in August,” she demurred. “I won’t be able to afford to travel.”
Louis smiled down at her. “Perhaps there will be a tobacco subsidy.”
Bishou almost laughed, and admitted, “I know you paid for my work, but still — I wish I could afford to give you your money back.”
Louis looked surprised. “Why?”
“Because this was fun, and you are a friend. I didn’t feel like an employee.”
“You weren’t. You let me tell silly stories about Carola and me.”
He had, indeed, told her about Carola wanting him to buy a fire-red car, an incident involving taking off her sweater in a public place (braless, yet), about her love of crème de menthe, and other silly little married things that were natural for a widower to mention, but would no doubt have caused Etien to clamp down on him firmly. Louis had been himself, the bereaved husband trying to recover from his loss.
“You made me feel like she was a friend I hadn’t yet met,” Bishou said. “I rather liked those stories.”
Surprised, he smiled again, and clasped her hand in both of his. “Thank you for making me feel … normal. Ordinary. Regular.”
“You are normal, Louis Dessant, and regular,” she answered. “I’m not so sure about ordinary, though.”
He squeezed her hand, released it, and climbed onto the bus. The engine started, and she watched it trundle away, out of sight.
“Well,” said Gray Jackson’s voice, right behind her, “that’s that.”
She turned and nodded. “That’s that. You’ve run a very successful conference here, Gray.” Bishou did not struggle when he put his arm around her shoulder, but slipped an arm around his
waist so they could walk back together to the campus. She sensed that it would be easier to work with him than against him. “Why aren’t you on the bus?”
“Vig and Sukey live near me. They’re giving me a ride home. We’ve got an extra day.”
They walked comfortably together, keeping in step. Gray squeezed her shoulders, to bring her close enough for him to kiss her ear. Then he murmured, “Want to make the most of it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve got a hotel room here, baby, and everyone else is gone for the day.”
“Whoops. That was what I thought you meant, Gray. I’m going to say no even though that is the best offer I’ve heard in months, and I’m not made of stone, so don’t keep asking.”
Gray kissed her ear again. “I’ll keep asking ’til you say yes, honey. If you can come across for the poor little rich boy, you can come across for me.”
This time, Bishou did laugh. “I’m not that kind of girl, Gray, sorry. And what I do is not your business.”
“Oh, yeah? What if there’s a baby coming, and he’s vanished into France? You’d need a man, wouldn’t you?”
“If there was a baby coming, I would have a right to be surprised. Because there’s only one way for that to happen, and it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Shee-it,” he muttered, in her ear. “You still a good girl?”
“Very good.” Another thought struck her. “Goodness. You’re jealous. You’re jealous, Gray Jackson. You’re jealous of Louis Dessant.”
“Well, why shouldn’t I be?” He sounded indignant. “Waltzes in here with his angel-white suit and hurt-puppy eyes, and does the poor little rich boy thing. And every woman in the state willing to undress for him, goddamn it, while he ignores them and plays the martyr.”
Bishou almost argued back in Louis’s defense, and caught herself. Why should she tell Gray things Louis himself had not divulged? And why should she be so moody and defensive? Because Gray was right, it was the “poor little rich boy thing” that had caught her attention. As Bat would say, she was acting female. She needed to look at Louis Dessant in a cold light and from a distance — preferably from the other side of her completed dissertation.
Bishou Howard laughed. Her dark cloud dissipated. She stopped walking and turned to Gray. He looked surprised as she placed her hands on either side of his face, and told him, “Gray, I do not want to play around in your hotel room right now. But I would like to buy you a drink. You don’t know what it’s done for me, to have a handsome fox like you being jealous of yet another sexy male. I will be riding high on that compliment for the next week.”
He raised an eyebrow. Then he smiled with good grace. His ego had been salved, too. “As long as you mean the ‘handsome fox’ part, baby, I’m yours.”
“And I mean it. Come on. To the bar, that is.”
• • •
Bishou had let her dissertation slide while the World Tobacco Conference monopolized her life. Now she buckled down to it. She spent early mornings and late nights gathering the materials she needed and compiling her work. Dr. Roth spoke hopefully of a June panel date.
“Do it,” she said. “Let’s finish this up.”
“All right.” Sitting once again in Bishou’s comfortable easy chair, Roth made a few notes. “What are you going to do after this?”
“For the fall semester? Probably go back to New England, take care of the family, and wait for the word from you. If I have to respond or resubmit, I want to be immediately available.”
“Mmm.” He nodded. “Going to look for work?”
“Can’t, ’til I’ve got that PhD in hand,” Bishou replied reasonably, “unless I want to deal them off the arm in the Exeter Diner.”
Roth chuckled. “You can always go into fundraising, according to President Lanthier.”
Bishou smiled to herself. “That was a fluke, but yes, I suppose I could do it if I had to.”
“Brr. Fundraising gives me shivers, just thinking about it. Okay. I’ll get moving on the final rush here, and see what I can dig up for a panel.” He rose. “I admit I was a little scared about Louis Dessant. I thought he might drag you from the straight and narrow.”
“Not realizing that the event organizer, Gray Jackson, was trying to drag me from the straight and narrow because he was so jealous of Louis Dessant. Thanks, Dr. Roth.”
Roth reddened, but he also grinned. “I never spotted that, but it made sense when you told me. Would’ve been more interesting if he had wanted more than just a drink. I suspect Security would be picking up the pieces and wondering how a man got attacked by a Marine in the middle of campus.”
“Gray told me to keep his number in my little black book so I could come cry on his shoulder when Louis Dessant turned me down,” Bishou grinned. “I heard Sukey say one day that he’s got a woman in every port, and two in some of them. I don’t think Gray Jackson is going to suffer long.”
Roth eyed her. “I’ll bet your number is going to stay in his little black book for a long time, Bishou. You’re a bit of a prize, you know. Enough that he didn’t want the other guy to get you.”
Bishou felt her cheeks burn. “Don’t you start, too.”
“No more than anyone else,” Dr. Roth replied. “I know it’s not proper these days to say that a woman thinks like a man, but you do, and maybe that’s what saves you. You can’t believe they’re serious about you.” He shook his head. “And yet you dive into all these French works and write commentaries on passion.”
“As I said before — writing it, not living it.”
“You’ll live it, too. You’re in the world, Bishou, sometimes too much in it, but in it nonetheless. Yes, you’re an academic. And a good one, thank God. But you also see a side of human nature most academics don’t experience. You’ll be dealing with that dichotomy all your life, I suspect.”
“I suspect you’re right,” Bishou agreed.
Chapter 11
She smiled at the letter with the French stamp, marked ILE DE LA RÉUNION.
Ma chère Mlle. Howard,
Louis has had a good laugh at me, for not realizing you were a woman when I wrote you. My deepest apologies for referring to you as Monsieur Howard. Neither the tone of your letter nor your handwriting gave you away when you contacted me.
Louis speaks well of you. He says that the assistance of someone who was equally comfortable speaking English or French was invaluable to him. He told me the story of the bet, where you explained scientific concepts to a room full of disinterested tobacco growers. It is one of the few times in years that I truly have seen him laugh. You must have amused him greatly!
He also came back with new ideas. Of course, as I told you, I am a cowardly conservative. But he wants to plant some cotton, and experiment with filtered cigarettes, so why not try it? We will see.
Louis is rested and relaxed, more than I hoped for. This American visit did him great good, even if he did have a small nerve-storm in the middle of it. He seems to have recovered from it quite well. I suspect we have you to thank for this.
I know that you are halfway around the world, but it would be a pleasure to meet you someday, and you are always welcome in our home. La Réunion is a beautiful island, you know — a nice place for a vacation.
Regards from both myself and Denise,
Etien Campard
• • •
Bishou regarded herself in the mirror. White blouse, dark skirt, sensible high heels, and stockings — the female academic outfit the world over. She locked her door as she left, and went downstairs.
“Luck,” said Marie Norton, who stood at the door of her apartment as if she had been waiting for her.
“Thanks,” Bishou replied.
Bishou walked across campus to a classroom building. Dr. Roth waited outside.
“Are you nervous?” they asked each other at the same moment.
“Jerry Paisley’s was yesterday, and Damon King’s tomorrow,” Roth said, not for the first time, “and th
ere are also sciences panels occurring right now. So we are not alone in our discomfort.”
They stood in a corridor until the clock registered 9:00 A.M. exactly. Then, Dr. Roth went inside. A few moments later, he reappeared and motioned Bishou in.
Six men sat at a conference table. Roth took his seat to make it seven. Then the grilling began.
Bishou had already decided not to be upset about obscure questions or star attitudes, both known problems with such panels. She answered questions about her work with a thorough knowledge of it. When a panelist went off on a tangent, she asked for a further explanation, often disclosing a pet peeve that had nothing to do with her dissertation. She never pointed these out; other panelists caught it and moved on. After all, they were busy; there were two of these inquisitions per day, if they were examining literature degree candidates, the most plentiful field.
“God Almighty!” Bishou exclaimed, as she exited with Roth. “We were in there three hours!” Her clothes were soaked with sweat and she felt as if she had spent time playing basketball with her brothers.
“Off you go.” Roth patted her shoulder. “I’m taking them to lunch. We’ll do a post-mortem some other day. Go home and eat and drink again.”
“Right,” Bishou said. “See you later.”
Back at her rooms, she left the door open and stretched out on the couch. The last summer session had ended; the campus was dead. No one was going to be in this building but her, Marie, and the graduate survivors.
Marie appeared at the door. “Are you still alive?”
“Can’t tell yet. I’ll let you know after another drink.”
Marie sat in Dr. Roth’s favorite easy chair. “You won’t know the results for another month, will you?”
“No, I won’t. Marie, I’ve been thinking. I’m going to pack up as much of my stuff as I can, sell the crap, buy a used car, and head for home. If I need to come back for responsion, I’ll beg a room off you or stay at a hotel. But I can’t sit around here for another month during the dead semester, waiting for maybe.”
“Sure, makes sense to me. I’ll put you up if you have to sleep on the rug — but you won’t. I’ll bet you don’t have a responsion, either, if President Lanthier has anything to say about it. The tobacco people are still sending him donations.”