by Alix Nichols
As he strode down the street in the direction of the Park Citroën, where he intended to sit on a bench for the next two hours, he couldn’t help but replay Marco’s words in his head. How could someone so young and modern consider his actions a betrayal? Or was Kes missing something? Was he too blinded by his feelings to see the reality? Was he truly renouncing his origins and giving up his soul for a pretty gadji’s smile?
A gadji who might never admit she had feelings for him. And who didn’t want a future with a Gypsy.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
Relearn It
~ ~ ~
A Woman’s Guide to Perfection
Guideline # 11
The Perfect Woman is strategic in the choice of her pet.
Rationale: Having a pet has both inconveniences and advantages. The authors of this guide believe that the advantages overweigh the inconveniences, hence we recommend getting a pet.
A word of caution: You must be strategic in your choice. In addition to your lifestyle and the size of your apartment, consider the following: Do you have a boyfriend or a man you’ve set your sights on? Is he allergic to cats? Could he be jealous of your bond with your dog? Is there a risk that he fails to see the fundamental difference between hamsters and rats?
Permissible exception: If you’re single, dogs provide endless occasions to meet people (e.g., other dog owners and vets).
Damage control: When you are not close enough to the man you’re hoping to seduce and can’t find out about his allergies and attitudes, a fish is your safest choice.
~ ~ ~
La Bohème was having the slowest morning since Amanda joined its staff over a month ago. The absence of Parisians was easily explained by the local tradition to take a long vacation in August. But the absence of tourists this morning was a mystery. Even the irresistible aroma of roasting coffee beans wasn’t enough to lure them in today.
Were they all at the Paris Plage or in the nearby Starbucks, attracted by the promise of air conditioning? Whatever the reason, they were clearly not at La Bohème, ordering cold drinks and tipping the waiters.
Merde.
Amanda looked around. Besides their regular, José, who was sipping his daily espresso at the bar and telling Jeanne some interminable tale, the bistro had only three other customers. A man in his sixties, dressed in high-rise jeans with a denim shirt tucked in, was talking on a cell phone. Two elegant ladies, both in their seventies, were enjoying iced coffee and a lively conversation on the sidewalk terrace. Amanda was certain she’d seen them at La Bohème before.
“Madame Sanchez and Madame Bloch,” Jeanne said, following Amanda’s gaze. “They’ve been friends since primary school and have a standing date here every Tuesday morning. Madame Sanchez takes the train all the way from Strasbourg to see her friend.”
“Really?”
“Yep. They only miss their date when one of them is ill or visiting with her children and grandchildren.”
“They’re both widowed,” José said. “I would’ve pursued Madame Bloch—that’s the one in blue capris—if she were fifteen years younger.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. José was in his early sixties, but he catalogued himself with the forty-year-olds.
“Look at him,” José pointed at Denim Man. “He’s been talking on that phone for at least twenty minutes, nonstop.”
“You exaggerate,” Jeanne said.
“Not at all.” José sneered. “Old people. They talk and talk and don’t realize they’re boring everyone around them to death.”
Amanda opened her mouth to deliver a snide comment on José’s unfortunate failure to see the irony of his statement—and shut it again, suddenly unwilling to hurt him.
Oh God, was she becoming nice?
She’d always wanted to be more diplomatic. But being kinder had never been on her agenda. Kindness didn’t put you in the corner office—strategy and hard work did.
She blew her cheeks out and marched to the other end of the room, where Manon was reading one of her trashy romance books.
On closer inspection, she wasn’t reading. She was checking out the stud on the cover.
“You’re drooling,” Amanda said. “Believe me, you wouldn’t want this guy hitting on you.”
“Believe me, I would.” Manon gave her a defiant look. “He looks so, so very hot.”
“On a book cover, maybe. But in real life? I don’t think so.” Amanda sat next to Manon. “Just picture this: a man enters La Bohème and walks toward you. He’s wearing tight leggings, his shirt is open down to his belly button, and his chest is waxed and oiled.”
Manon’s lips twitched.
“He stops in front of you,” Amanda continued, “and gives you the Zoolander look. What would you think?”
The younger woman hesitated.
“I’ll tell you what you’d think.” Amanda schooled her features into a grimace of disgust. “You’d think, ‘Eww, what a creep.’ Or, alternatively, ‘What a slut.’ ”
“What a slutty creep,” Jeanne offered from behind the bar.
José finally set his cup on the counter, placed a two-euro coin next to it, and climbed down from the barstool. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ladies.”
“I wish he were coming here in the evenings instead,” Amanda said after he left. “When I’m not around.”
“What do you usually do after your shift ends?” Manon asked. “Do you have a second job somewhere else?”
Amanda shook her head. “I go home and read vacancy notices, send out applications, and tweak my CV to better match the job I’m applying for.”
“You forgot the part about ferreting out information on your old company, Energie NordSud,” Jeanne said.
“So what? I’m curious to know how ENS is faring.” Amanda glanced at the women on the terrace to see if they needed anything. “And I’m trying to stay in touch with my colleagues. I had very nice colleagues there.”
“Are we talking about the same colleagues who gave you that mean T-shirt when you got promoted?” Jeanne asked.
“The one that said ‘Do I look like a people person?’ ” Amanda smiled. “I thought it was hilarious.”
Jeanne sighed.
“OK, yes, I know.” Amanda contorted her mouth. “I wasn’t the most popular girl at ENS . . . But I did get along with a few people. For instance, one of the PAs, Karine, and I were really on the same wavelength.”
“Is she the brunette who stops by sometimes?”
Amanda nodded.
Jeanne drew closer and fiddled with her watch for a few moments. “And what about Kes? Are you two still ‘on the same wavelength’?”
Amanda produced her best Parisian shrug. “I guess so.”
“Mat and I really like him.” Jeanne smiled. “He’s friendly and . . . different. He’s great for you.”
“Of course you’d like him,” Amanda said, ignoring Jeanne’s last remark. “You’re a former Goth. And that means you’re a deviant oddball disguised as a cute barmaid.”
“Bartender.”
“Whatever. You’re a wildcat at heart, an adventurer . . . I’m not like that. I’m—”
“A koala disguised as a scary grizzly.”
Amanda blinked—and lost her tongue.
No one had called her a koala before. An office rat, yes. A bitch—more times that she cared to remember. Even a hyena on a couple of occasions.
But a koala? Never.
* * *
Vivienne phoned just as Amanda got home.
“Two words,” she said, wrapping up the grueling conversation. “Dead. End. My diagnosis is that you’re going through a phase. A belated rebellion. But you need to think about the consequences.”
“I have, Maman.”
Vivienne made a noise that resembled a sob. “You’re twenty-eight, Amanda. Please tell me you’re just fooling around and not making long-term choices.”
“It’s exactly as you said, Maman.” Amanda let out a weary sigh. “I am not planning to be
a waitress forever. And Kes . . . he’s just a summer fling. There’s nothing serious between us, trust me.”
Vivienne perked up after that assurance, and they said good-bye on a more cheerful note.
Amanda spent the next hour cleaning her apartment and thinking about what Vivienne had told her. And about what she had told Vivienne.
She’d meant it.
This summer was just a glitch, a forced detour on her path toward perfection. Against her expectations, it had turned out to be fun, like that tent-sleeping hike in the Jura a few years back. Amanda had dreaded it but ended up enjoying every moment . . . until day three, when the novelty wore off.
She just wasn’t the type to sleep in a tent for an extended period.
Her job at La Bohème was a welcome distraction and a source of much-needed income, but she had to find a real job very soon. Waiting tables wasn’t her calling. Being a powerhouse in the energy sector was. She’d studied long years for it and worked her ass off so that one day she could sit in that corner office and make a difference.
As for Kes . . . He’d turned out to be so much more than she’d expected. She was having a great time with him. But she couldn’t envisage a future with a gambler two years her junior whose caravan-dwelling family—er . . . tribe—was stuck in a time warp and not interested in getting out of it. They denied themselves and their children a better life. They refused to move up in the world.
Not Amanda. She hadn’t given up on her dreams. She was going to pull herself together and do everything possible and impossible to find a proper job again.
And a suitable man.
* * *
Renewable energy flagship (or shall we say, ex-flagship) ENS had a catastrophic second quarter. Its profits dropped to a historic low, and its shares plummeted. Shareholders blame the new CEO, Julien Barre. The board is rumored to be considering radical steps. Such underperformance is a first for a company that was well on its way to becoming a European leader in energy just a year ago.
Amanda read the article in the financial pages of Le Figaro five times between Félix Faure and Grands Boulevards stations of the métro. She nearly missed her stop, jumping up from her seat at the last moment and throwing herself through the doors. As she walked down rue du Faubourg Montmartre toward La Bohème, her heart pounded and her mind raced as if the news concerned her on a personal level—which it did, in a there’s-justice-in-this-word-after-all sort of way.
Finally. It had happened.
The a-hole had made enough stupid decisions and done enough damage to the company and the shareholders’ pocketbooks for the board to take notice. His days at the helm of ENS were numbered. Whether it took a week or a month, he was getting the sack. Oh, he’d have his golden parachute, no doubt, because you didn’t just fire a CEO of a major company without sweetening the pill. Even a CEO who had screwed up in every way.
But he’d be gone, and with some luck, ENS would recover. Its foundations were solid, and it still had enough good people in its ranks to pull it back up. The next CEO wouldn’t have to be a genius to save the company—just someone with more intelligence and less ego.
Come to think of it, Julien’s fall from grace might affect her personally, too. The industry might delist her from the untouchables and put her in the deserves-a-chance category. She might have better luck next time she applied for a managerial position. It made sense that Julien’s warning not to hire her would matter less now that he’d failed at his job so spectacularly.
Amanda was so excited she showed the article to Jeanne and Manon. She shared the news with Amar and Pepe, who’d come by for his Arabic lesson with Amar. She even told José about it. Tonight, she’d fill Kes in, and they would celebrate with some good champagne. Amanda grinned as she pictured him raising his flute and saying, “Burn in hell, Julien. Mwahahaha!”
She was still grinning when someone tapped her shoulder. “Hey, you! It looks like this new job of yours isn’t as awful as you’d feared.”
She spun around. “Patrick! What are you doing here?”
“I took a day off and thought I’d drop by.”
“That’s so nice of you.” Amanda pointed to a table. “Why don’t you sit down and have a drink? I’ll take my coffee break and join you in half an hour.”
“Promise?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “We’ve known each other five years. We’ve worked together, and partied together in Bangkok’s nightclubs.”
He sighed. “Those were the days . . .”
“Have I ever promised you something I wasn’t sure I could deliver?”
He shook his head.
“Ha.” Amanda nodded toward the table again.
Patrick smiled. “Can I have some sparkling water?”
“Absolutely.”
When she joined him thirty minutes later, Patrick launched into reminiscing about their year in Bangkok as green ENS recruits. He and Rob had left the company to launch a start-up. Given how successful they’d been, he had never regretted that decision. But, man, they’d had fun in Bangkok.
“You know,” he said, giving Amanda a strange look, “if you hadn’t been Rob’s girlfriend, I’m sure I would’ve hit on you at the time.”
“Oh.” She smiled quickly to hide her surprise. “But you’re into busty brunettes. It’s the only type you’ve ever dated.”
“I’m over busty brunettes,” he said. “I guess I’ve grown up. I’m no longer interested in women who look a certain way.”
Her lips quirked. “That opens up a whole new world of possibilities.”
“I’d like to have a relationship that can grow into something bigger—something for life.”
She didn’t comment.
“These days,” he plowed on, “I’m interested in women who are more . . . like me.”
She wrinkled her brow. “Tall, clean-shaven, and prematurely balding?”
“God forbid.” He chuckled. “I’m interested in a woman who, in addition to good looks, has brains. And ambition. And balls.”
She opened her mouth to comment on the last qualification.
“Figuratively speaking,” he said quickly.
“Ah.”
He looked down at his glass and then up at her. “A woman like you.”
She stared at him to ascertain if he was kidding with her, but he looked earnest. What’s more, he looked anxious to hear her reply.
“Patrick,” she finally said. “I’m not sure how to react to this.”
“I understand.” He leaned in. “Will you have dinner with me any day this week? Or the next. We could go to a Thai restaurant for old times’ sake and . . . just chat about life.”
She hesitated.
“Amanda,” he said. “I may never have told you this, but I’ve admired you since the day we met. You’re so elegant, efficient, so . . . together. In my eyes, you’re the ideal woman.”
She felt a blush warm her cheeks.
“All I’m asking for is one dinner. Afterward, if you decide I’m not your type or you could do better than me, I’ll totally understand, and we’ll carry on as friends.”
It was hard to say no to those terms.
“OK.” She stood. “My time’s up. What about Thursday night?”
“Thursday night’s perfect.” He gave her a happy grin.
After he left, she tried to figure out if she was more surprised or flattered by his sudden proposition. Patrick was one of the four people she called friends. She’d never thought he’d be more, even if he did tick most of the boxes on her checklist.
Vivienne considered him an ideal man.
She’d be over the moon to learn Patrick considered her disappointing daughter an ideal woman.
Amanda smirked.
Ideal, my foot.
It was the most misguided, delusional image anyone had ever had of her.
But it was undeniably gratifying.
* * *
Kes and Amanda opened a bottle of bubbly and drank it between bouts of hungry lovem
aking. An hour later they collapsed next to each other, a little sticky and a little tipsy.
Amanda propped herself up on her elbow and traced the taut ridge between Kes’s neck and shoulder. “I love this part on a man.”
“Do you?”
“Absolutely. But I’m hard to please. This muscle here”—she ran her fingers along the ridge again from shoulder to neck—“has to meet very strict criteria of thickness and length. And it must slant at a certain angle.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Just the left one or the right one, too?”
“Both. In a symmetric way.”
“What happens if one or both fall short of your specifications?”
“Bad things.”
“Such as?”
“Failure to activate the region in my brain that controls lust.”
“I see.” He gave her a smug smile. “Well, it brings me pride and joy that my symmetric shoulders are activating your lust region.”
“They aren’t activating it.” Amanda slid her hand down to his biceps. “They’re setting it on fire.”
His smile grew bigger. Then, suddenly, something snapped in his eyes, chasing hilarity from them and replacing it with a deeper, more solemn emotion. An emotion Amanda couldn’t quite decipher.
“What about me?” she asked, trying to regain her comfort zone. “Which part of me do you like best?”
“Every part. I like every part of you, Amanda.” His eyes burned into hers. “I like every single thing about you. Very much.”
Her stomach began to knot. This conversation was taking a turn she hadn’t anticipated. Or was prepared for.
“It’s the novelty.” She forced a smile. “It’ll wear off. If you stayed in Paris through September, I’d start getting on your nerves.”
“I doubt it.” He laid his palm on her cheek and began to stroke it gently. “I haven’t felt this way about anyone before.”
Oh God.
She peered at him. “How can you make such claims?”
“Because I know my heart. And I’ve dated enough women to recognize that anything I may have felt in the past is a fraction of what I feel now.”