by Jo Maeder
“What a summer,” Alyce said as she rubbed the wooden arms of the chair and reflected for a moment. “I can’t believe my time here is almost over.”
“If we ever do an advertising campaign we should use you as our spokesperson. What a transformation.” Liliane offered her a chocolate from a box a student probably gave her. She often received tokens of appreciation from her clients.
Alyce waved it away. “There’s caffeine in chocolate. You still eat it when you’re pregnant?”
Liliane looked momentarily aghast. “But of course. And thank you for getting Jean-Luc to work on his memoir. I just heard from Raymond. There’s a bidding war for it!”
“That’s fantastic!”
“Al-ees, you succeeded where all others have failed.”
She took a chocolate after all. “I don’t feel like I did anything special.”
“It may be more what you did not do. He said to me last night on the phone, ‘She will not even make love to me. After nearly dying, it is the least she could do!’” She tried to control her amusement. “He finally meets the perfect woman and cannot have her.”
The sweet now felt like a rock in Alyce’s stomach. “I’m sure it’s not the first time he’s wanted something he couldn’t have.”
“Just keep doing whatever you are not doing.”
Alyce crossed her legs and glanced down. “Nelson doesn’t want me to stay friends with Jean-Luc after today. We’re moving into the Hôtel Marlaison this afternoon.”
Liliane pecked her forefinger at her. “He does not own you!”
Alyce felt herself move back in her chair as if she’d been physically poked.
“Trust is essential in a marriage, but it does not mean you need to tell him everything or obey his every word.”
She gave Alyce an imperious look, as if she had to uphold the dignity of all women.
“Of course not. Of course he doesn’t own me.”
“It is of the utmost importance that Jean-Luc not lose his focus on his memoir. Between moving, Isabella, and health issues, it is certain to slip through the cracks. Please, I beg you, keep him on track. Make sure he doesn’t waste time fussing about in the kitchen to avoid the blank page, either! Al-ees, his entire future depends on it.”
Alyce couldn’t tell if Liliane was contemplating what she had said or which chocolate to devour next.
“Like chess, Nelson is protecting his queen.”
“That’s silly,” Alyce replied. “Jean-Luc has Isabella now.”
Holding up a delectable truffle, “Then why did she not get him to write his memoir, eh? And remember, the queen is the most powerful piece. She can move any number of squares, any direction.” She nodded to Alyce’s belly. “Especially when she is eating for two. Does Nelson know?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t want to tell anyone else yet.”
“I understand. I always wait until I am past three months to share it. I have had my disappointments.” She popped another chocolate. “Though everyone knows when I start eating these it is certain that I am pregnant again.”
If only that were the reason why Nelson wanted to be secretive. Thankfully the bell rang that signaled the next class was starting. Alyce headed toward the door.
“You are not going to the closing, Al-ees? I was going to offer you a ride.”
“No. I become part owner after we’re married.”
Liliane did not hide her alarm. “I hope you have a very good lawyer handling your affairs.” An even worse thought struck her. “That awful woman’s perfume! I am sure to be ill.”
Charles Latrou’s assistant was hurriedly opening all of the windows at the law office as Liliane chatted pleasantly with Nelson and Glorianna, charming them as best she could. Charles, the notaire, stood just over five feet tall. What he lacked in height he made up for in attitude.
Jean-Luc willed away a scream. At least Luther wasn’t along as well to stink up the place.
Mrs. Mansfield said in a voice that reminded him of the screeching brakes of a train, “Before we sign the papers concerning the sale of the property, there’s one thing we’d like Jean-Luc to sign.”
Charles poked his nose into the air. “What is this?”
“I wanted to give you a chance to see it beforehand,” she said in a way Jean-Luc knew was a lie, “but it just arrived this morning from my lawyer. If you need more time, then we’ll have to hold off on the closing.”
“I have to be at a very important meeting in 40 minutes,” Charles barked. “This is very—what is the word? Unappropriate.”
“Inappropriate,” Nelson said, trying to exert some authority.
His mother said, “And don’t forget we’re doing your client a big favor by letting him stay rent-free another month.”
Liliane did not look pleased and moved closer to the window for fresh air, unconsciously rubbing her belly. Jean-Luc knew she had timed several payments around this closing.
“What is it now?” Jean-Luc asked. “You want another break on the price? We can end this meeting this instant if that is the case.”
“No, that’s not it.” Glorianna lightly cleared her throat. “The family is, understandably, concerned that you will write about us and will not grant permission unless we are allowed to read what you’ve written in advance and given our full approval in writing.”
Even Liliane was taken aback. “Madame Mansfield,” she said as kindly as she could, “you should have mentioned this earlier.”
Charles shook his head and straightened up as much as his frame would allow. “This is absurd!”
Jean-Luc and Charles would be talking about this one for a long time. And was Alyce in agreement or were they doing this without her knowledge? She must have told Nelson about the notebook.
He calmly said, “Let me have a look at your document.”
Without reading a word of it, Jean-Luc held it front of her face and tore it in two.
“Kiss your steal of a deal goodbye.”
Glorianna’s eyes bulged out of her Botoxed head. Nelson’s response was smooth and every bit the salesman that he was. “Come on, Jean-Luc, can’t you see our point of view on this?”
“We are upholding your reputation,” she said haughtily. “You can uphold ours.”
“Is that what you call exploiting my name?” He leaned in toward the Royal Assholes. “You obviously have no idea how creativity works. You also have no idea what a cliché you are. And your ego is so big, you would think any character bearing the faintest resemblance was you. Are you saying I cannot create someone who lives in New York? Who sells advertising? Who is a socialite? Who wears enough goddam perfume for the entire city of Marlaison? I would not sell my property to you if my life depended on it!”
Nelson squirmed in his seat. “Gee, how do you really feel? Heh, heh, heh.”
Glorianna’s voice went up an octave. “Has there been a miscommunication? We heard you were writing a memoir and don’t want to be in it without seeing what you’ve written. We’re not public figures. We’re entitled to our privacy!”
“And so am I! It is bad enough I have to answer to publishers.”
Liliane moaned. “I don’t feel well” and stuck her head out the window. They were still able to hear her say, “I do not think a memoir by my brother, as adored as he is here, will ever be read by many people in America.”
She would apologize profusely for that comment later.
Liliane continued. “What could he possibly write that would be offensive? You finessed a good deal on his property? I would think your friends would be impressed. And you’re saving him from financial ruin. You are an angel to him.”
In French, Jean-Luc said, “Don’t push it.”
His sister smiled politely as she brought her head back in. “Don’t you push it.”
In English, Liliane stated, “It has been my observation that those who are immortalized in this way are flattered.”
“Indeed,” Jean-Luc said. “Most people are upset when I do not write
about them.”
Their words seemed to soften the Americans. Nelson and his mother stepped outside to discuss it.
A few minutes later, they returned. She announced, “We’ve reconsidered, Monsieur Broussard. You will not have to sign the agreement.”
Nelson said, “If you write anything libelous, we’ll just sue you for all you’re worth.”
Charles ranted in French that they would kill the deal on principle. That they did not deserve to own property in Marlaison! Jean-Luc pointed out to him, in French, that it was nothing to worry about. If what he wrote was fact, they could not win. If he made them into fictitious characters, it would be hard for them to win their case. Furthermore, any legal proceedings would only boost book sales. His lawyer calmed down.
“Fine,” Jean-Luc said, “I am not concerned in the least that I will write anything worthy of a lawsuit.”
With a flourish, Nelson whipped out a Mont Blanc pen and sat down to complete the paperwork. Jean-Luc was stone-faced as one paper after another was passed before him. He glanced at each title to make sure Glorianna hadn’t slipped a gag order in with them.
When all was said and done, Jean-Luc was handed a check for €969,000. He had to admit, it felt damn good to see it.
To Nelson and Glorianna’s surprise, he joyfully kissed them on their cheeks—right, left, right—before they left.
“The end of an era,” Jean-Luc said to Charles and Liliane when the Americans were gone. “Who would have thought it would have turned out like this? And how fantastic it would feel to get rid of that place.” Hugging his sister, he said, “I feel liberated!”
“If I did not have morning sickness, I would feel the same.”
He kissed her on her cheeks as well. “I am lucky to have you as my sister. I promise not to burden you again. Of course, I will give you a nice chunk of this money.”
She conveyed a look of pure love he rarely saw. “If you would like to start a trust fund for the new child, like you did for the others, I will not say no. But you do not have to give me anything. Relieving me of my accounting duties is payment enough.”
Charles stifled a laugh.
Liliane, picking up her purse, appeared to be deep in thought. “I hope Al-ees is not making a big mistake.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jean-Luc.
“Three months ago, I would have said she and Nelson were perfect for each other.” She eyed Jean-Luc.
Charles broke into a smile. “Ah, you devil, Jean-Luc. What have you been up to?”
“Nothing!”
His legal counsel pulled up his short frame again. “Let me share a popular American expression. It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”
Jean-Luc looked out the window that afforded a view of the parking lot. He saw the Mansfields standing outside their car having what looked like an argument they were trying to keep from escalating. An idea struck him. After his outburst it might not be easy to pull off.
“Liliane, wait a moment before you go.”
Nelson saw him coming first and signaled to his mother to stop talking. She turned and put on a fake smile. So did Jean-Luc.
“I would like to apologize for my behavior, madame, monsieur. I am, like any artist, sensitive when it comes to my work.”
Glorianna adjusted her Hermès scarf around her shoulders. “Apology accepted.” He gave them the opportunity to apologize as well. When they didn’t, he almost scrapped his plan. It was Liliane’s comment about Alyce making a mistake that spurred him on.
“I would like to invite all of you,” he looked at Nelson, “including your son and his mother, to dinner in your new home. Isabella and I will make a meal that will outshine any restaurant. Consider it a goodwill gesture, a celebration of a new beginning for all of us.” He bowed to Glorianna when he said, “I am grateful you bought my property.” To Nelson he said, “I am grateful to Al-ees for saving me 50,000 Euros on the commission. It is the least I can do.” He playfully wagged his finger at Mrs. Mansfield. “And I will not be writing about this.”
Glorianna was thrown by his generosity. So was Nelson. She said, “I’m not sure about inviting…”
“Mother,” he said sternly, “this doesn’t mean she’ll be coming to Thanksgiving dinner and all of your parties. If you acted like you didn’t think my son was a leper for a change, we’d probably see a big change in him. It would certainly make my life easier, especially with my getting married.”
“Well…”
He drew his mother into him and whispered what sounded like I’m making you happy, now make me happy.
She patted her bun-head. “I suppose if Alyce doesn’t mind, why not? Maybe we’ll all get along just fine.”
They set a time and Jean-Luc watched them drive off.
What did I’m making you happy mean? Was that what he said? Alyce had mentioned Glorianna was hell-bent on “extending the Mansfield brand” and that she’d felt as though Nelson had woken up one day, decided to get married, and she would do.
Jean-Luc’s assessment was that he truly adored her. Or he was a very good actor.
There was more to this. He could feel it.
He thought of one of his Golden Rules for storytelling: Look for the woman and follow the money. If his instincts were correct, the trail was about to take a new turn.
32
The Nelly and Carmelita Show
Alyce and Nelson’s suite at the elegant 18th-century Hôtel Marlaison had a sensational view of the Mediterranean Sea. Dotted with small fishing boats and luxurious yachts, it was a scene she had seen on postcards around town. She didn’t even mind that Glorianna and Luther were staying there as well. When Nelson’s mother insisted that Carmelita and Junior stay at a lesser hotel a few blocks away, Alyce again found herself liking her future mother-in-law.
As for Luther, ever since Alyce introduced him to Le Gentil Gendarme, who hooked him into the gay scene in Marlaison, she could do no wrong.
Before she took off for school, she and Nelson stood on their balcony, arms around each other, glowing with love. Alyce said to Nelson, “I can’t believe your mother is going to be breathing the same air as Carmelita and Junior tonight.”
“She wants to manage any damage control. You know how Carmelita can get. If Junior acts up, at least it won’t be in public. And she doesn’t trust Jean-Luc.”
Alyce didn’t trust him either. Regardless of his denial that he wouldn’t write about the Mansfields (it appalled Alyce to no end when she heard what had gone down at the closing), she still suspected he was either trawling for material or going to play a cruel joke of some kind. Either way, tonight could turn out to be more unpredictable than her 27th birthday.
What she did offer was, “That’s quite a lot of people to entertain.”
“It was his idea, honey. We’ll bring some excellent wine and it’ll be fine. Besides, this is our new home. Much more interesting than eating out.”
She could hear his mother saying, “Not to mention cheaper.”
She turned to go. A thought stopped her. “Your mother floored me when she asked me if I’d like to get breast implants for the wedding! As if I’d do that after nixing the Botox. It was all I could do to not blurt out that I was pregnant. I really wish you’d tell her already.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“When?”
“I meant about getting implants.”
“What!”
He covered his face as if she was going to smack him. “I’m kidding. I love you just the way they are.”
“You better.”
“I just wouldn’t object if you wanted to have implants at some point.”
That comment gnawed at her. After she gathered everything for school, she asked, “Are Carmelita’s real?” They had to be at least DDs.
He kissed her goodbye. “I have no idea. Have a great day, honey.”
During her midmorning break at school, she texted Nelson to see how things were going. He’d driven to the Nice airport to pick up Ca
rmelita and Junior, the final members of the CF. Their flight was due in at 10 a.m. The airport was two hours away. That left plenty of time to get back to Marlaison and be rested for the evening soiree at Jean-Luc’s.
He answered: STILL IN NICE. SO FAR SO GOOD
She went to the toilette and noticed small red stains in her panties.
No! They seemed different from a period. She searched out Liliane. She wasn’t in her office.
Alyce’s breasts were still tender. That must be a good sign, though they also grew tender before her period.
Every hour she checked. There was a tiny bit more blood. Maybe her period was slow getting started because she’d just gone off the pill? She felt a bit relieved. It was too early to get pregnant with Nelson anyway.
A crushing grief came over her at the thought of losing a child.
Around 4:00, Nelson called. “We’re just leaving. Time flies when Nelly’s mom has a credit card and there are new stores to conquer. Can you pick up some wine?”
“Nelly?”
“Yeah, can the Junior. He’s on a Nelly kick now.”
“I hope you don’t hit traffic.”
“Can we get out of this dinner? Make it tomorrow night?”
“He’s cooking for eight people. I’m sure it will be exceptional.”
He let out a long exasperated sigh. “Okay, we’ll make it.”
She managed to say through her teeth, “Drive safely.”
Her outfit for the evening was a snug black skirt that tapered to her knees and a simple pink top that gathered between her breasts, accentuating them. So what if Carmelita’s were bigger? A lot bigger. She had to show she didn’t care. The neck opening of the blouse was so wide it almost fell off her shoulders.
At the last moment she switched to a strapless push-up bra. Her breasts were quite tender. The glorious feeling of being pregnant surged through her again.
It was past 7:00 when Nelson showed up at their hotel room—the time they were to be at Jean-Luc’s. He ripped off his shirt.
“You want to have sex now?”
“No, I have to jump in the shower.”