The three busiest times of the day were simple: in the morning when customers grabbed a quick coffee before going to work, at noon when the literary types had their lunch break—they were the ones who forgot to eat because they were looking for a new novel—and cocktail hour after work. That was when people came for a drink at the bar and every once in a while, they’d buy a book to keep busy on a night they’d be spending alone. Every now and then, I gave Felix free rein to organize a themed evening; there was no one better than him when it came to such events. He always found a speaker who was eccentric and unbelievably knowledgeable to discuss any theme arranged—and the debate was always controversial—which made the alcohol flow like water. So much so that the participants often left with several books under their arms, without really understanding what had been discussed. And Felix’s tips were paid by promises of steamy nights. I never went to those evenings; they were his thing, the time when I let him have fun and closed my eyes to his avant-garde customers.
I had wanted the bookstore to become a warm, welcoming place, open to everyone, somewhere that all types of literature would find a home.
I wanted to advise readers while allowing them to enjoy themselves, to read the stories they wanted to, and without feeling ashamed. It didn’t matter whether they wanted a literary prizewinner or a best-selling popular novel, only one thing counted: that our customers read, without feeling they were being judged because of their choices. Reading had always been a pleasure to me and I wanted the people who came to my book café to feel that, to explore, and, for those who were the most reluctant, to at least try it. All types of literature sat side by side on my shelves: detective novels, general literature, modern romances, poetry, books for young adults, biographies, bestsellers, and books for the most esoteric of readers. It was my own personal shambles, the place where Felix, my regular customers, and I came together. I loved the feeling it had of having to search through all the treasure to find the book. New clients were gradually initiated by each other.
Today, the bookstore was my equilibrium. It had allowed me to get my head above water, to resume my life in Paris, to realize the extent to which work was beneficial to me, to prove to myself—since I couldn’t prove it to my parents—that I was capable of accomplishing something. Thanks to the bookstore, I had once again become someone blessed with relationships with other people; I was a woman who worked and took on responsibilities. I had to lose everything I loved the most to realize what tied me to this place, to these four walls. I hadn’t taken a day off in a year; I was incapable of leaving and would never again let Felix run it alone.
The only failure in developing our business was not due to a lack of customers: it was my fault. I’d had the idea to start up reading workshops for children on Wednesday afternoons. Felix had encouraged me; he knew I loved children’s literature. We’d done some publicity and distributed flyers in local schools, leisure centers, etc. I’d topped up my stock of fruit juices and especially my children’s books. The big day had come. When I saw the first mothers coming in with their children, the little bell on the front door had made me jump for the first time in weeks; I’d hidden behind the bar. I just invited them to go to the little room in the back. I’d asked Felix to supervise getting them settled in while I went out for a cigarette. Since I was taking forever, he came out and told me they were waiting for me to start; I was the one leading the workshop. I staggered back inside to my little group. I’d started to read The Blue Dog and didn’t recognize my own voice.
I realized I’d made a serious mistake when a little three-year-old boy came up to me. When I looked at him, I jumped back and started shaking all over. At that moment, it was Clara who I wanted to be coming over to me, to sit on my lap so she could see the book close up. Then I would have buried my nose in her hair. I dropped the book and called Felix to the rescue. It didn’t take long for him to come over; he’d been standing there, watching me. He took over, playing the clown, and I went upstairs and locked myself in my apartment. I spent the rest of the day and all night rolled up in my quilt, screaming into my pillow, crying and calling out Clara’s name.
The next day, the books were sent back to the publishers. That disaster made me realize something: I’d never get over losing my daughter. I could get over Colin, but not her. I’d realized that no child would ever come into my life again, or to the bookstore.
In spite of that incident, one decision had become essential. I’d made an appointment at the bank to review the situation on Colin’s life insurance. He had taken every step to make sure I would want for nothing. I refused to squander any more of that money; it should be used for something important, something that would have made him happy. I had to find a project worthy of my husband. I’d already found it: I was going to buy the bookstore back from my parents.
We’d made it to the big day: ending these months of fighting with my parents. The importance of the day didn’t stop me from visiting Colin and Clara. I walked down the paths of the cemetery smiling, with my head high. After putting down my armful of white roses, I twisted around so I could get down on my knees without looking ridiculous; I’d put on a black dress—it was a little tight—and high heels, which I hadn’t done in ages. My parents had surely described me to the lawyer as irresponsible and depressed and I wanted to prove to them that I was totally the opposite.
“Today’s the big day, my love! Tonight we’ll be at our own place. I hope you’re proud of me; I’m doing it for the two of you. And since I never do things by half, after we’ve signed the papers, I’ll go out and celebrate with Felix! When I told him that, I thought he was going to cry tears of joy. Life is going on… it’s strange… I can’t be late; they need me to sign the papers! I love you both, my darlings. Clara… Mama… is with you…
I kissed their gravestone and left the cemetery.
The reading of the deed was carried out calmly and in silence. The big moment had come: the signing. I was shaking so much that I had to stop and start again. My emotions were surfacing: I’d succeeded, and all I could think about was Colin and the woman I’d become. When I sat down again, a few tears filled my eyes. I looked over at my mother: nothing. Then the lawyer handed me the document confirming that I now owned the property. The deed stated in black and white that I was a widow with no children. He politely told us we could go. Once we were out on the sidewalk, I turned towards my parents, looking for something without really knowing what.
“We didn’t think you’d actually go through with it,” said my father. “Try not to mess everything up, for once.”
“I have no intention of doing that.”
I looked at my mother. She came over to me and hugged me more warmly than usual.
“I never knew how to be the mother you needed,” she whispered in my ear.
“That makes me sad,” I replied.
“I’m so very, very sorry.”
We looked into each other’s eyes. I wanted to ask her “Why?” The look on her face told me she couldn’t take my questions, my reproaches. My mother’s armor cracked, as if she could finally deal with her remorse. But wasn’t it too late? My father took her arm and said it was time to go. By way of encouragement, I was treated to “See you soon.” They left on one side of the street and me on the other. I put on my sunglasses and headed for my bookstore. I walked down the Boulevard de Sébastopol to the Rue de Rivoli. I didn’t take any shortcuts down the side streets: the wide avenues were calling out to me and I wanted to walk past the Hôtel de Ville and get jostled by the crowd by the BHV department store. When I finally took the Rue Vieille-du-Temple on my left, I was only about 100 meters from my bookstore. The moment the little bell rang, I told myself that Felix must have had informants on every street for he popped the cork on the champagne the minute I set foot inside. Champagne that sprayed all over the counter. Without bothering to pour me some in a flute, he handed me the bottle.
“You’re amazing!”
I drank straight from the bottle. The
bubbles tickled my taste buds.
“Shit! When I think that you’re my boss now!”
“That’s classy!”
“I prefer that to your father,” he said, grabbing the bottle from me.
“Felix, you will always be a partner in my heart.”
He crushed me to him and took a long drink.
“Shit, that stings!” he said, letting go of me, his eyes shining.
“Teach me the joys of partying again!”
I didn’t bother going upstairs to change. I wiped the champagne off the counter and closed up. Felix led me from one bar to another. Known as the white wolf, he went into each place as lord of the manor. The cocktails had been chosen in advance; my best friend had planned the evening in great detail. All his lovers and would-be lovers stood aside in a group to make room for me; if Felix loved me, they had to take care of me. Our journey was scattered with eccentric encounters, red carpets, sequins, flowers stuck into my hair, everything needed to make me a princess for a day. The mad atmosphere that Felix organized probably went to my head even more than all the alcohol I was served.
It was time to stop to eat. We went to a tapas bar for dinner, which certainly wasn’t going to be enough to soak up everything we’d drunk. Our seats at the counter had been reserved. Felix knew very well that I loved sitting on high stools and seeing what was happening backstage. A bottle of red wine was opened for us. Felix raised his glass.
“To your parents, who won’t be a pain in your ass anymore!”
I took my first drink without replying; the wine was strong, powerful, just like what I was feeling at the moment.
“I have no family left, Felix…”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Do you see? Nothing is tying me to my parents anymore; I have no brothers or sisters. Colin and Clara are gone. You’re all I have left. You’re my family.”
“Ever since we met at college, we were a couple, and that will never change.”
“We’ve done everything together!”
“Except sleep together!”
A nightmarish vision for both of us! He put one finger in his mouth as if to throw up and I did the same. Like two teenagers!
“On the other hand, if you change your mind about having kids and don’t find the right guy, I can make a donation at the sperm bank. I’ll teach the kid about life.”
I spit out my mouthful of wine and he burst out laughing.
“How could you suggest such a weird thing?”
“We were getting too sentimental and that bothered me.”
“You’re right! I want to dance, Felix.”
“Your wish is my command.”
We whizzed past the entire line of people waiting to get into the nightclub: Felix had his ins. He kissed the bouncer full on the lips right in front of my startled eyes. The last time I’d seen him such a state was at my hen party! A magnum of champagne was waiting for us in the VIP lounge. After knocking back two glasses, I was well on my way. I was swaying back and forth, eyes closed; I felt alive, ten years younger, free of my sorrows, and entitled to enjoy life.
“I made a request for you,” Felix whispered in my ear. “Take advantage of it; they won’t play it all night long.”
Thanks to two pairs of arms, I was flown up onto the podium. The bass line and drums put me in a trance. Within minutes, I was the belle of the ball with “Panic Station” by Muse. For weeks now, I’d been listening to this piece of music nonstop, so much so that Felix couldn’t take it anymore. He’d even caught me cleaning up the bookstore with this song playing in my headphones. I had an audience and I made everyone sing the chorus: Ooo, 1, 2, 3, 4 fire’s in your eyes. And this chaos, it defies imagination. Ooo, 5, 6, 7 minus 9 lives. You’ve arrived at panic station.
Around four o’clock in the morning, by mutual agreement, we decided to head back home. The trip was a hard one, and annoying to anyone who was asleep. I kept howling out my song while Felix sang the chorus, a bottle of champagne stuffed into my jacket. He accompanied me to the door of the bookstore and glanced over at the shop window.
“Happy people control their own lives! This is your home now!”
“That’s amazing!”
“Can you get upstairs by yourself?”
“Yes!”
We gave each other a big hug.
“Good night, my family,” I said.
“Shall we keep going?”
“No way!”
I let go of him and opened the door.
“We’re closed tomorrow morning, so go to sleep,” I said.
“Thank you, boss lady!”
He left looking all perky, as if rejuvenated by the news he could sleep late. But what he didn’t know was that I was planning on opening on time.
Getting up was horrible. Eyes half-closed, I looked around in my medicine cabinet and swallowed two Tylenols before having my first coffee of the morning. I took a cold shower so I could think clearly. As I was putting on my shoes, I realized the biggest mistake I’d made the night before wasn’t having celebrated with Felix, but having kept my high heels on all night. I was going to have to work in thongs in April!
Like every morning, I took a shortcut to the bakery to buy the croissant and chocolate pastry I had every day. Then I opened the door to Happy People and left it open. The cool morning breeze would help me keep my eyes open—too bad about my frozen feet. I started the coffee machine and made myself a triple espresso. My early customers came in quietly and took their time to wake up with me by leafing through Le Parisien newspaper. Once the first wave of customers had gone, I tidied up whatever needed it, then looked over the stock, checked the accounts, and skimmed through the latest literary releases, as I’d done for almost a year. I knew I’d have a nice long quiet time because Felix’s idea of sleeping late in the morning usually meant the afternoon. Let him enjoy it! Nothing had changed and yet everything was different. I had emerged as an adult, at peace with myself after the battle with my parents. I didn’t owe them anything now. And life, my life, didn’t depend on them, even if I did still feel a little bitterness.
3
At the end of this sunny day, I was leaning against the doorframe smoking a cigarette when a customer turned up. I glanced over at him—he didn’t say anything to me; Felix could help him. When I got back inside, my partner was standing behind the counter, staring into space, and the customer seemed lost looking at the books and the way they were whimsically arranged. I walked over to him.
“Hello, can I help you?”
He turned toward me and paused for a moment. I gave him a little smile.
“Umm… hello… I think I’ve found what I needed,” he said, grabbing a book at random. But…”
“Yes?”
“Are you still serving drinks?”
“Of course!”
“Then I’ll have a beer.”
He sat down at the counter, watched me fill his glass and gave me a little smile as a thank you. He started tapping on his phone. I discreetly watched him. This man gave off an air of assurance. He was attractive, but I couldn’t decide if I would have turned around to look at him in the street. Felix cleared his throat, which brought me back to reality. The smile on his face annoyed me.
“What is it?”
“Can I leave you to close up by yourself? I’m expected somewhere…”
“No problem, but don’t forget that tomorrow is delivery day, and I don’t want to be left alone here, breaking my back again.”
“What time?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“You can count on me.”
He grabbed his jacket, planted a kiss on my cheek and left. A few minutes later, my customer got a phone call that seemed to irritate him. While continuing his conversation, he finished his beer, stood up, and looked over at me to ask how much owed. He paid me, and asked his caller to hold on. He put his hand over the phone.
“Have a good evening,” he said, “This is a nice place you’ve got here.”
> “Thanks.”
He turned quickly around; the little bell on the door tinkled as he left. It made me smile. I shook my head and decided to close up a little early.
Of course, I was the only one there to accept the deliveries the next morning. To release my anger, I called Felix. It went straight to voice mail. “You’re a pain in the ass, Felix! Once again I’m going to have to kill myself working alone!”
I begged the deliveryman to help me carry the boxes into the café, in vain. Shoulders drooping, I stared at the truck as it drove away down the street. I rolled up my sleeves and picked up the first box—the smallest one—when someone called out to me.
“Wait! I’ll help you!”
The customer from the night before didn’t give me time to react; he grabbed the box from me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I live in the neighborhood. Where should I put this?”
I led him into the storage room where I kept the surplus stock while continuing to question him.
“I’ve never seen you around before.”
“That’s because I just moved here three weeks ago. I noticed you… that first day, uh… I mean, your café… but I didn’t have time to come in and have a good look around until yesterday. OK… should I bring the rest of the boxes in here, too?”
“No, that’s OK, I can manage by myself. Don’t make yourself late.”
“Are you kidding?” he replied with a big smile before taking off his jacket and picking up the next package.
He was unbelievably efficient; everything was sorted out in ten minutes.
“All done! You see, it didn’t take long.”
Don't Worry, Life Is Easy Page 2