by Alice Quinn
“Your house?” asked Jérôme. “But I thought you were staying at the hotel?”
“No. I’m at the old perfumery, in the south of the city.”
“And who are you exactly?” inquired Jérôme, who seemed impressed by what had just been said.
Gaston turned to me. “I rented a room at the Hôtel de Provence the other day for the interview,” he explained, as if I knew his whole life story. “Journalists coming to my place would be totally out of the question. Which brings me to Plan B. The hotel. The best option, in my opinion.” He turned to Jérôme. “Your place isn’t big enough. It’ll be a nuisance for you with all those children. Rosie, let me pay for you to stay at the hotel. After all, it’s the very least I can do for my niece. They have suites there. You and the children will settle in very nicely.”
Jérôme’s face had gone an even brighter shade of red. An angry red. He turned his back on us so nobody could tell just how furious he was. But he got over it fairly quickly, I have to say, because he whirled around to face us again with a smile. “OK. I give in. Your plan seems a lot better than mine.” He must have told himself that he’d have another chance with me later. “Your place is a holiday home, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely not,” replied Gaston stiffly. “In fact, I’ve always lived here. I was born here, but I didn’t always live in the perfumery’s Big House. My mother picked jasmine in the summer, and the rest of the time, she had a job in the soap works. I bought the place for a song when they moved the whole operation over to the new industrial zone. The buildings didn’t meet standards. OK, are you going to pack a bag?”
“Yes, but I’m not going to the hotel,” I said.
I’d just remembered: Véro’s apartment was empty. That would be the best place for me and the rug monkeys.
Because frankly, despite quite liking the idea of spending the night wrapped in Jérôme’s huge, protective arms, I wasn’t really in the mood for much else. A girl still has to sleep now and then, right?
And I wouldn’t be able to feel at home at the Hôtel de Provence.
At least at Véro’s joint, I knew the place. I could get dinner ready for the little ones and put them to bed in the kids’ rooms.
Thinking about little Pierre sent a shiver down my spine. But I had to think about Simon too. And he, at least, would be in his own bed.
Suddenly, I felt an enormous wave of stress when I realized that nobody had told Simon yet that his baby brother had vanished into thin air.
While my thoughts dwelled on this problem, I set the twins down on the floor and hunted around the remnants of my home sweet home, looking for a travel bag.
As far as clothes go, I’m pretty spoiled, thanks to Mimi. However, when it comes to luggage, as I don’t know anyone who travels much, I have very little. Not a suitcase to my name. That’s right. It’s not something I’ve ever really admitted, but as Sabrina would say, “That’th life, wight?”
I found an old duffel bag under the couch. The handle was busted. That’s how it goes with this type of bag. The handles don’t last long. So I looked around for some string to tie it shut. But first of all, I needed a change of clothes for me and the four kiddies, diapers, and toiletries.
Sabrina was watching me do all this and understood that we were on the move.
“Awe we going on vacathion, Mommy?”
“Kinda. We’re getting out of here for a while.”
She picked up a couple of small plastic bags and set about filling them up with her belongings: notepads, felt pens, baby dolls, and so on.
Jérôme, who was having trouble hiding how pissed he was, went over to the kiddos to give them a hand. I spotted him helping Sabrina dress some of her dolls before packing them into a bag.
“No, not wike that,” she told him. “That one there, that’th her. She’th the pwintheth. She hath her own jewelwy twunk. She hath to take it with her. There it ith, you see? I’m the only one who can get hew weady.”
Jérôme looked confused and threw me an embarrassed look.
He was so sweet.
When I’d finished packing, I put a couple of things to eat on top of the bag.
“Why are you packing food? We’re all eating out, aren’t we?”
“No, the scamps and I are going to eat in. We can sort it out when we get there.”
“Are you going to let us know where you’re staying?” asked Jérôme, a tad agitated.
His intonation stressed me out. He was behaving like I was a kid, like I had no clue what I was doing.
“Why is that your concern?”
“Because if it’s where I think you’re going . . . well, you can’t. So, there you go.”
“Why not?”
“Because we sealed the place off this morning.”
Gaston was following the conversation carefully. He looked perplexed.
I let go of my duffel bag and collapsed onto a pile of stuff on the floor.
“I’m sick and tired of it all. Get the hell out of here. Both of you! I can’t even cry with you two here!”
I hate when people see me cry.
20
They tiptoed out of the trailer, and I blubbered for a minute or so. Lisa’s and Emma’s chins started to wobble, and I knew they were about to join me. Sabrina’s face was all twisted up and she was breathing heavily. Simon was holding Pastis completely upside down and had started gathering up string to tie his paws to the bag I’d just packed.
I had to pull myself together and face my responsibilities as head of this family. I gave my nose a good blow and said to no one in particular that I was through with my mini breakdown. When I got outside the trailer, my bag bursting at the seams, I repeated myself. “OK. Breakdown over. Let’s go.”
“Where?” they both asked at the same time, each man hopeful for his own reasons.
“To the hotel.”
We had to cram the duffel bag and the folded-up stroller into the trunk of Gaston’s Jaguar. It’s a bitchin’ ride, but it has to be said that there’s not much room in the trunk. Still, I didn’t like to criticize—I was happy we had some wheels.
All four scamps got into the back seat with Pastis, who was making a meowing sound none of us had heard before. It sounded like he had his neck stuck in a door or something.
Poor little thing. It was the first time he’d been inside a moving vehicle.
Jérôme said his good-byes, but Gaston insisted he join us for dinner. He gave way in the end. We said we’d meet up at the Brasserie de la Piazza a half hour later. I’d thrown a mini tantrum and said I didn’t want to eat at the hotel restaurant. I’d already been humiliated in that joint, and I had no intention of going through that again. Breakfast in my suite. That’s as far as I’d go when it came to eating food in that place.
“We’re going to be passing in front of my house. You’ll be able to see where I live. It could come in useful,” said Gaston.
He made a detour and took a quiet road. There was never much traffic down there. It had an ancient stone wall running down one side and a small stream on the other.
He stopped in front of an old wrought-iron gate. The thing was falling to pieces. It had been devoured by weeds. Just behind it you could see a magnificent driveway, bordered by palm trees, leading up to what looked like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. It was all nestled in stunning parkland. You could just see the abandoned factory a bit farther away. The whole thing gave me an incredible sensation of peace.
“Is this your place?” I asked stupidly.
“That’s what I just said,” he replied.
“Smartass,” I murmured, but I was still impressed.
The huge garden looked like the ideal setting to park my little house on wheels. I was sure I’d feel safe enough there. The problem was, it wasn’t my place, and I wasn’t going to ask him if I could move there. I’m far too independent for
that.
He started up the engine again. We were off to the hotel.
Before heading down to meet Jérôme, we checked into our suite.
You had to see the place. First off, a bellboy took my crappy duffel bag and the stroller to my room as if he was carrying Madonna’s wedding dress or something. Honestly, he shot off out of there, looking all snooty. This was true class.
I entered our massive room. It had a bed at least six feet wide and a huge living space with a TV and minibar. There were two more doors leading off to other rooms. One went to an enormous bathroom. You’d have to leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind you if you wanted to find your way out again. The other door took you to a smaller bedroom. This one didn’t have a sitting area, but there was another minibar and an office corner. It had two massive twin beds.
“Wow! The babies are going to get lost in here! This is crazy. It must be at least two years since I last slept in a real bed.”
Madness. Everything had gone wrong. The trailer had been ransacked, Véro had vanished, baba Pierre was gone . . . It all weighed down on me. All of it.
The first thing I did was to swipe anything and everything I saw lying around. I started with the soaps, shower gels, shampoos, and tubes of toothpaste in both bathrooms.
Then I gathered up some of the towels. I only took one of each size because we’d be needing some while we were there. I finished off with some peanuts, tissues, an ashtray, and two minibottles of Martini vermouth.
Gaston watched me, stunned. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
“Provisions for the war.”
The cubs and I jumped onto the bed, bouncing on it like it was a trampoline. We were having a ball. Even Pastis was loving it, scratching away in the sandbox that the bellboy had brought up for him—after receiving a hefty tip from Gaston.
There was a knock at the door. The bellboy carried in two cribs. Amazing service.
As he was setting them up, Gaston sat down in one of the armchairs, smiling, watching us without saying a word. You could see how happy he was. All five of us were in fits of laughter.
“I gather you like the place?”
“Not at all,” I answered in the best snobby voice I could muster. “I don’t think we have enough room here.”
“Do you know who I’m going to call?”
“No idea,” I replied as I changed the twins’ diapers.
“I’m going to call up some realtors. I’ve decided I’d like to buy you a house. You need one, am I right? You can’t spend the rest of your life in this hotel.”
I can’t explain why, but this just sucked the joy right out of me. I felt winded.
He was going too far. I didn’t understand his intentions. Surely he didn’t want to sleep with me?
“Umm . . . Gaston . . . You don’t have to do that. It would never work between us.”
Now he was the one who looked winded. “Oh, Rosie, no! There’s nothing like that between us!”
“Cricri.”
“Of course, Cricri. You need to understand. You’re not like the others, right? Well, accept the fact that I’m not either. I’m bored out of my mind, that’s what it is. The life of an outsider, it was great, always living in the fast lane. But I’ve grown sick of it all. When I met you and your children the other day, it felt like an electric shock. It woke me up. I want to move, create havoc, stir things up a little. I need a spring cleaning. And I need you for that. It’s an honest exchange and nothing more.”
I grumbled, “Well, start out by communicating properly. I never get what you mean. It’s been like that from the start.”
He burst out laughing. “It’s all part and parcel of the job. But I’ll try harder, I promise. So, are we agreed? It’s all fairly straightforward, isn’t it?”
“Gaston, my mother always taught me to be careful around guys who say stuff like this. I’ve been there and bought the T-shirt. What are you playing at here? Santa? Or some fairy-tale hero? Because I don’t believe in either.”
Sabrina pulled at my sleeve. “Mommy? You’we wong, Mommy. Faiwy taleth are weal. Thanta too. If you don’t bewieve in them, you’we thtupid.”
I looked at my sweet Sabrina and thought of all the cash I’d reeled in by some sort of divine intervention. It was still waiting for me.
I smiled and kept my mouth shut.
Gaston took advantage of this. “She’s right, you know. They do exist. I’m living proof of that. Listen, if you like, we can forget about the house. But please don’t stop me from spoiling you and the children.”
Sabrina jumped up onto his lap with a satisfied, proprietary look on her face.
I wanted to protest, my instinctive suspicion resurfacing. Habits are hard to break. “No, wait, Gaston . . .”
But he wasn’t listening. He asked if I was ready to go meet Jérôme.
I put the twins into their stroller, with Sabrina and Simon holding onto either side. We strode out of there like kings, with Gaston bringing up the rear and picking up the key to the suite on our way out the door.
21
I ordered spaghetti Bolognese for the children and carbonara for me. Jérôme had only tomatoes and mozzarella.
“Are you on a diet?” I joked.
His face flushed. I wasn’t expecting that and regretted my remark.
“I’m always careful about what I eat,” he muttered, uneasy. He turned to face Gaston. “So, what’s your line of business?”
I didn’t hear Gaston’s answer over the scamps clamoring for me to give them some breadsticks. I gave in, to keep them occupied while we waited.
I was in a reflective mood. I had a whole host of things on my mind.
The first thing, of course, was Pierre and what had happened to him. Also, Véro—where could she be? Who was Djaïd? How did Alexandre fit into this? And what about Michel, Simon’s dad?
I could have asked Jérôme, but for some reason I didn’t want to in front of Gaston.
I also wanted to know why my trailer had been gutted. Was it really about the envelopes? Had they tracked me down and were now trying to intimidate me to hand over the dough? Now there was a thought. But I wasn’t going to give up all this money anytime soon. Who would?
I’d begun to get accustomed to the finer things. Doing my grocery shopping without adding it all up in my head as I went. Scarfing down pains au chocolat. Deciding, without the slightest hesitation, Hey, I’m going to buy a couple of cell phones. I don’t want any more trouble making calls.
I wasn’t following Jérôme and Gaston’s conversation. I was too busy watching the nippers. I didn’t want them spilling too much food off their plates. It wasn’t easy. Apart from Mickey D’s, they weren’t used to eating out.
And now look where they were. In the space of just two days. How weird life can be. You never know what it has in store, do you? Did this mean that Saint Expeditus had listened to my prayers? And not just listened to them, but actually done something about them?
Saint Expeditus was my mother’s favorite saint. Apparently he’d saved her own mother—Ruth, my Jewish grandmother. Jews don’t usually pray to Christian saints. My Grandma Ruth was the exception. Saint Expeditus had protected her when she arrived in this village aged just twenty-two, after an exhausting journey across France. She had references to show to a family with whom she was hoping to find work. But when she got there, they’d disappeared.
She went inside the church seeking shelter from the rain. As my mother tells it, it was raining buckets that day. Ruth knelt down in front of the statue of a saint. Everyone else was doing it, and she didn’t want to stand out from the crowd. She didn’t know what she was doing, so she just moved her lips, making it look like she was praying. It was him. Saint Expeditus.
She lifted her eyes to get a closer look at the statue and saw what looked like a Roman centurion. He was young and handsome with
a little skirt on and a red cape. The whole works.
She thought, Oy. What am I supposed to do now? I’m really down on my luck here. I need to find a way out of this mess fast.
She couldn’t have been in a better place. Expeditus happened to be the patron saint of pressing causes. He got things done today and not tomorrow. It was thanks to him that everything turned out OK for her. That very same day, as she left the church, she bumped into some guy looking for “escorts” for his nightclub. Things were going well for him, and he didn’t have enough staff.
From then on, her troubles were over.
She eventually took over the club and then sold it all when she had my mom. She invested all the money into small studio apartments, which she rented out to friends of hers who were still turning tricks.
Unfortunately, when she died, we found out that none of the property was in her name. This was an old Jewish habit she’d gotten into to stop the Germans from showing up and taking everything from under her feet. This meant that my mother had to start from scratch. But that’s another story.
So, Saint Expeditus had always had a good rep in my family. When I really felt like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel, I lit a candle for him. The best thing about him is he’s a fast mover. He expedites things—there’s no hanging back with this one.
At least, that’s what Ruth always said. As far as I could see, if I really thought about it, he’d never done a thing for me. Until then. Obviously my causes had never been pressing enough. But this time, he’d gotten back to me. I must have said the right words, because I’ve lost count of how many times I’d asked him to fill my shelves in the past.
And now not only had I found a pile of dough, but I’d gotten myself a new buddy who was rolling in it and wanted nothing more than to spoil me and the tots. This was certainly a first. Plus, I had personal police protection. Nothing to sneeze at.
I was in my own dream world when I suddenly heard a couple of interesting snippets of the conversation. They were talking about the mayor, Victor d’Escobar, and how he wanted to knock down the old railway station.