by Jo Maeder
He kissed her on the lips. The butcher smiled from ear to ear.
“I think I’m in heaven,” she said.
“Hog heaven,” added Nelson.
She laughed too hard.
“Tell me how you did this, Al-ees. You are very lucky you were not hurt. Sangliers are dangerous when angry.”
She delighted him with her story (leaving out the part about peeing in the tree.)
As they were leaving, Eduard insisted they take a cut-up chicken. “Not everyone likes boar.”
Once home, she called Liliane’s house, but there was no answer. She had email addresses for her and the students she wanted to invite and put the word out that way.
Alyce and Nelson spent another quiet evening together: Nelson on his computer doing vineyard research while Alyce made a wonderful meal she called réchauffé.
“It’s French for heated leftovers,” she said.
“The French can make anything sound elegant.”
The cicadas hummed and all was good. Nelson tickled Alyce when he mimicked Eduard. “We are such ze enchanting cup-el!”
When it was time to clear the table, Nelson said, “It already feels like home here.”
They were soon in a loving embrace. While slowly stroking his back, she said, “You’re going to buy it?”
He hesitated. “Let me see how I feel when I get back to New York.”
Her reply was a long kiss. While it grew in intensity, she concentrated on one wish: The put-an-ocean-between-them trick will work in this case, as well.
Avignon
Liliane, her two sons, Raymond, and his wife Odalis dolefully watched Jean-Luc curled into a fetal position in the guest bed at Raymond’s home. His nephews, each holding one of their mother’s hands, stared at him as if he were a grotesque animal caged at a zoo.
Raymond looked the worst. He was at that age where friends and relatives were vanishing from the face of the earth at an ever-increasing rate. Odalis stood behind them, hand under her chin, contemplating how to handle this situation.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jean-Luc said from his bed. “Why didn’t he die?”
Liliane replied, “No, I am thinking, why did he live? There must be more for you to do on this earth.”
“Yes, Jean-Luc,” said Stéphane. “Much more.” Benoit nodded and said in his small voice, “Marry Al-ees. I want her to be my aunt.”
Jean-Luc’s eyebrows formed perfect arches.
“I cannot do that, Benoit. She is spoken for.”
Stéphane said, “We met him. We like you better.”
It warmed his heart that he had hardly been the perfect uncle and they still thought that. “I am afraid there is nothing I can do about it.”
“But there is something you can take on,” offered Liliane.
“The Université almost withdrew their offer,” Raymond said. “I had to do quite a tap dance to convince them you just needed a little more time to think it over. I never mentioned your incident.”
His sister and nephews moved closer. She said, “There are many applicants and those from within lobbying for the position.”
“Everyone agrees you are brilliant.” Raymond eased his frame onto the edge of his bed. “But can you teach? Are you reliable? Are you sensitive enough?”
“Yes, you are,” said Stéphane. Even Benoit nodded in agreement.
Liliane said, “I love you, Jean-Luc, but I am having another child and cannot take care of your life anymore.” With a rougher edge, she added, “I also run a school filled with foreigners in need of constant attention, in case you forgot.”
“I do not need anyone to take care of me!”
Odalis politely extracted herself from this argument with a soft, “Excuse me.”
He was so tired. “Why did that car have to drive by and save me?”
“You are being your usual dramatic self,” Liliane said. “You would not have died.”
He had been diagnosed with stress cardiomyopathy, a reaction to extreme emotional upheaval that pumps large doses of hormones and other chemicals into the bloodstream. They can be temporarily toxic to the heart and mimic a heart attack but cause no permanent damage. He would be fully recovered in two weeks. A complete overhaul of his lifestyle was ordered that included drinking much less, not smoking at all, easing into exercising regularly, and his favorite: reducing stress. The doctor told Jean-Luc to lower it as though it were a dial he could turn up or down.
Had the boys not been standing there he would have told them he was now obsessed with morbid thoughts of how he would die. Would it be while he was doing something ordinary, like tapping the shell of a soft-boiled egg he was about to eat, or in the white heat of an argument? Every man dreams of dying after making love to a beautiful woman, but even if he were that lucky it would be a contemptible cliché. The worst would be during his sleep. He wanted to know death was descending upon him, observe its every nuance. Nor did he want a tawdry scene with loved ones gathered around his bedside.
Liliane intruded with, “You can move into a nice apartment at the Université for visiting professors. If the Mansfields don’t buy your property it can be auctioned off. Or wait for a buyer. But the sooner you have real money in the bank the better.”
“Have you heard anything from them?”
“Not yet, but Al-ees and Nelson rarely leave the premises. They’re behaving like smitten newlyweds.”
His plan was working. If only his heart didn’t wish otherwise. He eyed Benoit. Why did he have to make that comment about marrying her? Children are so intuitive.
“I must go now,” Liliane said as she picked up her purse. “We have a two hour drive back to Marlaison.”
Raymond added in his eternally optimistic way, “You may even like teaching.” No wonder he was able to stay gainfully employed in the cutthroat world of publishing for so long. “Look at how well you did with the American girl.”
That brought a smile to his sister’s face. “She was hopeless until you became her tutor. My spectacular challenge is now a spectacular student! She has been moved ahead two levels.”
Stéphane turned to her. “What about us? We have been teaching her, too.”
Jean-Luc knew they had kept it on the most rudimentary levels. Nevertheless, Liliane kindly indulged them. “Yes, you and Benoit have been a big help, my darlings.”
What made him think he might actually be cut out for teaching was his experience with Alyce. But everything about her, their situation, and the style in which he taught was different. The restrictions of a classroom and teaching schedule would make him insane.
He sat up. “Not a word to Al-ees about any of this! I am healthy as an Angus steer!”
“Not until you say yes or no about the position,” Liliane demanded.
He plucked a white tissue from the box on his nightstand and waved it at her. “I surrender. Happy?”
Odalis appeared at the doorway. He saw immediately what she was holding and snapped, “Damn you!”
Raymond reached out and touched his shoulder. “I asked her to see if you had been writing anything.”
She handed her husband his crumpled pieces of yellow legal paper, now flattened out.
“Oh, go ahead and read it. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about anything.”
“I read it,” Odalis said. “You must write more, Jean-Luc. You must.”
He turned over, pulled the pillow over his head, and screamed. Then he jumped up, grabbed the box of tissues, and yanked several of them out, filling the room with floating white squares.
“Okay! Okay! Okay! I surrender. I’ll write my memoir.”
By the time he was done with his ridiculous tantrum, everyone was laughing and applauding.
If only his books were as funny.
24
A Summer Feast
Marlaison
In class the next day, Alyce told the wild boar story. In French. It was a huge hit.
Claire exclaimed, “Al-ees, you are a raconte
ur.”
More people from various countries were invited to the boar feast she and Nelson were throwing the following night. The guest list grew to Ulrike and Jutta, two Danish men, one Japanese woman, two Brits, a South African and an Eastern Indian woman. Plus Liliane and her family.
As Alyce and Nelson set the long teak table that had turned gray from being outside, she was sorry Jean-Luc wasn’t there, though she was glad she was rising to this challenge on her own. Well, pretty much on her own. Nelson helped some, but mostly sat at his laptop staying in touch with clients and reading about winemaking.
She stopped to watch how the sun at that hour bathed the kitchen in golden light, turning it more yellow, and pointed it out to Nelson.
He looked up for a second. “Yeah, honey. It’s beautiful.”
The Girards arrived first. Stéphane and Benoit loved the photos of the wild boar in the wheelbarrow. Nelson offered to take them to the scene of the crime. Simon joined with the suede gun bag over his shoulder.
Walking away, Liliane turned to Alyce. “Nelson is good with children and easy to be with in general. And he comes from money. I can see why you are attracted to him.” She paused. “Have you made any decisions about the future?”
“In terms of the property? I expect an answer soon. I’m as anxious as you are to move forward. I just have to let him make the final decision.”
“You know your man best. I’ll alert you if anyone else is interested.” She added with a smile, “You killed a wild boar and cooked it! I cannot believe it.”
As other guests arrived, Alyce put them to work grating cheese and turning the slices of aubergine (eggplant) roasting on the open fire in the back. Nelson was a wonderful host, too. Being in sales, he knew how to turn on the charm.
They finally sat down to dinner while singing along to the universally appealing Frank Sinatra. They weren’t far into the meal when Alyce heard a familiar bark. A powder puff of pure ivory came prancing toward her.
“Didon?”
Her long feminine face was shaved. Above it was a crown of white, accented with a pink bow. Her paws and the tops of her legs were shorn, too, with a big alabaster puff in between. Her tail was bare with a big pom-pom at the end. Finally, she looked like a poodle. And she smelled wonderful.
Jean-Luc, however, didn’t look so good as he gazed at everyone from the kitchen. She excused herself and went inside. “Are you mad that I’m throwing a party?”
“Not at all. It is nice to see the place enjoyed.”
“You don’t look very happy.”
“I came down with the flu when I was in Avignon.”
“What made you go there?”
“My editor.”
“Ah. How is she?”
“He is fine.” He noticed the ring dangling from her neck. “Are you betrothed?”
“Yes.” It came out with a defiant edge.
His pale blue eyes burned into her. “He did not know your ring size?”
She archly responded, “That’s not unusual. I can get it fixed.”
He took it in his hand, inspected it. “But of course it would be vulgar.”
She snatched it from him. “But of course you would say that.”
“What are you serving?”
She lit up. “A wild boar I shot in the woods while gathering herbs.”
He didn’t believe it. She showed him the photos.
“I would not miss this meal for anything. How did you make it?”
When she told him she used white wine, he made a face of disapproval.
“Eduard told me to do that!”
“Hmpf. He was, how do you say, messing with your mind?”
“Wait until you try it, Mister Never Wrong.”
He took out a silver spoon and tried a bite, savoring it as though it were an $800 bottle of wine. “Hmmm.”
“Well?”
“Not bad. Too much brandy. Did you flambé? Light it?”
“I just poured it in.”
“You need to flambé. It makes it smoother.” He took another bite. “Not enough deglazing. A daube is all about deglazing. But for a first try, I am impressed.”
Coming from Jean-Luc, that was indeed a compliment.
He came outside and warmly said, “Salutations, friends. Welcome.” There was no need to say who he was.
She moved from the end, opposite Nelson, so that Jean-Luc and Nelson could face each other. It didn’t seem right for either one to step down from their positions of power. She squeezed in a chair to Nelson’s left, cater-cornered.
Soon she was regaling Jean-Luc with the boar story after apologizing to everyone for repeating it.
Ulrike called out, “It is too good not to repeat!”
This time Alyce left in the part about peeing while in the tree. She knew Jean-Luc and the little boys would love it, and with all the drinking, everyone roared with laughter.
All but Nelson. When she was done with the story he cleared his throat, leaned into her and said, “You can edit out the peeing part in the future, dear.”
It stung her to hear him say that. Okay, they were eating. With strangers. Maybe it was inappropriate. Still she hissed back, “It’s not like your mother is here. Lighten up.”
Throughout the meal, Alyce watched Jean-Luc expertly draw out of everyone what he wanted to know, like a surgeon in the operating room. He started with the Indian woman, Gitali, whose marriage had been arranged. He explained to his nephews what that meant.
A crestfallen Stéphane said, “Your parents tell you what to do forever?”
Gitali seemed genuinely happy about it.
“I can’t imagine marrying someone I didn’t know well,” Alyce commented.
Jean-Luc pointed out that 50% of all American marriages end in divorce and the rest are of questionable quality.
Nelson said, “That’s your dismal view.”
“Yes, Jean-Luc,” Alyce concurred. “Must you look at everything through a cracked window? La Vie en Rose! Put on some rose-colored glasses.”
“Some of the best unions I’ve ever seen were arranged,” he argued.
He took a poll around the table and Alyce was surprised that half of the guests agreed arranged marriages were perfectly acceptable, including Nelson.
She shook her head. “Not for me.”
“But you are so practical, Al-ees. You are driven by logic and numbers. Why wouldn’t it appeal to you?”
“It just doesn’t.”
“Knock it off, Frenchie,” Nelson nearly yelled at him.
Everyone momentarily stopped talking. Oh no, Alyce thought. Nelson’s had too much to drink. Jean-Luc seemed almost pleased that he had succeeded in getting him to blow his cool.
Jean-Luc shifted his focus to the Japanese woman and her religious beliefs. He startled her when he said, “I sense you do not practice Shinto, Buddhism, or Confucianism.”
“Yes, you are right. But how did you know?”
“Intuition.”
She was a Catholic, unusual for someone born and raised in Japan. An intense discussion about religion followed until Alyce said, “Jean-Luc, in America we say there are two things you should never discuss at dinner. Politics and religion.”
“You would like me to keep the conversation nice and dull? Perhaps you will like this joke instead.” He eyed his nephews. “On second thought, never mind.”
Liliane rose. “It is time for us to be going anyway.”
The boys protested but Simon agreed it was past their bedtime. When he and Jean-Luc cheek-kissed goodbye, he whispered, “Tell me the joke later.”
Once tender ears were gone, Jean-Luc resumed.
“An American woman had a facelift. She went to a McDo’s. That’s McDonald’s to some of you. She asked the boy behind the counter, ‘How old do you think I am?’ He said, ‘Uhhh. Thirty?’ She exclaimed, ‘I’m 47!’ She asked a shopkeeper the same question. The woman said, ‘Oh… 35?’ She was thrilled. Then she sat on a park bench and a man sat down next to her. She tu
rned to him. ‘How old do you think I am?’ He replied, ‘I can tell your exact age if I feel under your blouse.’ She was taken aback but agreed. He reached under her shirt, then under her bra and felt around for some time. Finally he said, ‘Forty-seven.’ She gasped. ‘How did you know?’ He said, ‘I was standing behind you at McDo’s.’”
It brought the house down (except for Nelson) and set off a round of silly jokes poking fun at every culture.
Despite Nelson’s edginess, Alyce didn’t want the night to end. Neither did the female guests who acted in Jean-Luc’s presence like sun-starved house plants that had been moved outdoors.
Around 11:00, he pulled her aside. “Serve the orange juice.”
“What orange juice?”
“It is how you let guests know it is time to leave.”
He kept frozen concentrate on hand for emergency situations, though it pained him to serve anything of such mediocre quality.
Ulrike and Jutta stayed to clean up, though Alyce sensed they really wanted to hang with Jean-Luc. When he said goodnight and went upstairs, they quickly finished the dishes and left.
Didon would not lie down in her old place. She moved to the other side of the kitchen and watched Alyce, chest out, front paws delicately crossed.
Alyce was jolted from her good mood when, back in the cottage, Nelson said, “I don’t want you staying here after I leave. I’m putting you in a hotel until school is over.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She held up the ring. “We’re engaged, remember?”
“I don’t trust Jean-Luc.”
Her mother always told her: “Pick your battles.”
“I’ll do it to make you happy, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“We’ll see about that.”
25
Triangles
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alyce asked Jean-Luc the next morning as she made café crèmes for everyone.
“No, I am not okay, Al-ees. I am dying for a cigarette but have vowed to quit.”