French Kissing: Season Two

by Harper Bliss

  “Should I introduce myself?” Claire asked when she turned back to Nadia and Juliette.

  “Maybe later,” Juliette said. “They have a lot to deal with right now.”

  “I know, I just—”

  “It’s okay. I’ll talk to them,” Nadia said. “I’ll stay with them.”

  Dievart was walking from where Margot’s parents were standing and, in passing, stopped long enough to briefly caress Claire’s arm and say, “It will be all right.” Claire watched her walk away. Not because she wanted to look at Dievart a while longer but because she couldn’t face Juliette’s glance, nor Nadia’s for that matter. When she did finally dare to face her friends again, it seemed as though their eyes were glued to the spot on her arm where Dievart had brushed a few fingers against her, as though the puzzle pieces that had been scrambled up in their mind had come together and they could clearly see the picture for the first time.

  Nadia was the first one who was able to regroup. “Stay at our place, Claire. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

  “You’d better call me when you have news, Nadz,” Juliette said. “Claire’s phone is on silent.”

  “Jules, don’t start. Not tonight.” Claire knew it looked every bit as bad as it was, but Margot was being treated for severe injuries, and could Juliette, just for tonight, get past herself and her own endless woes, and focus on that?

  “Come on.” Juliette touched her lightly on the back. “Let’s go home.” They all hugged and a little while later Claire and Juliette sat in the back of a taxi.

  “Jules—” Claire started.

  “I think she was on her way to see you,” Juliette said at the same time.

  “Oh my god.” Claire let her head fall forwards into her cupped hands.

  “It’s not your fault, Claire. It really, really isn’t.” Juliette turned her body a few degrees so she could face Claire better. “Before you arrived at the hospital, I heard something being mentioned about too much alcohol in her blood.”

  “Of course it’s my fault.” Claire freed her face from her hands. “I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive her.”

  “That doesn’t mean you poured booze down her throat and made her get on her bike inebriated.”

  “Fuck, Jules.” Claire let her head fall back, tears stinging her eyelids again. “I’ve made such a mess.” Margot didn’t even get on her bike after two beers, Claire knew that much. If she’d ridden her motorcycle to Claire’s flat in a drunken stupor, it was entirely Claire’s fault. Because Claire had allowed the mild annoyance she’d felt during their date night, the very night that was meant to kick start their new beginning once again, to develop into a pissed-off feeling she couldn’t shake. She’d been thinking about Marie Dievart when she’d sat opposite Margot, and re-focused her energy on the neurosurgeon instead of harnessing it towards coming up with solutions to save their relationship. Juliette had no idea. She’d been there, her shoulder ready and warm to cry on afterwards, but she simply had no idea.

  Now Margot was lying in a hospital bed, perhaps she was in surgery at this very moment… and could Claire forgive her now? She’d need to forgive herself first.

  “Listen to me,” Juliette said. “I mean it, Claire. You need to understand this. What happened to Margot was an accident. Something you had absolutely no control over. You broke up. It was a mutual decision and, from what you’ve told me, it was for the best.”

  Claire needed a few minutes of silence to put her thoughts in order before she could say what she was about to say. She looked out of the car window, at the lights gliding by in the cold Paris night. “I’m sorry you had to see me walk in with her, Jules. I—I can explain. I—” But Claire couldn’t explain how she had ended up being with Marie Dievart when the doctor got the call about Margot, not to Juliette. Not now. Possibly not ever.

  “We’ll talk about that later.” Juliette turned away from her and aimed her gaze at the driver’s head in front of her. “I have a trip to Lille to plan next weekend. I’m going to see my father.”

  EPISODE TEN

  STEPH

  Xavier Laroche sat shooting daggers at Steph, as though it was all down to her. As though her existence was the sole reason the three of them were sitting in his lounge right now, portraits of his forebears covering the walls—the Laroches were an eminent, extensively decorated family of politicians—seemingly in support of the claim he kept repeating: under no circumstances could Dominique, his daughter, his flesh and blood, raised in this house by the principles that made the MLR such an outstanding party, come out with the news she had just imparted to him. It was absolutely out of the question, he had said, time and time again.

  “It was bad enough that you had to issue that press release six weeks ago. Your vote for same-sex marriage, I could marginally comprehend. Having your picture printed on the front page of Le Matin, that was seriously pushing the boundaries already.” He stroked his chin. “But this. No. If you’re after my support—and I have supported you greatly through this mess, Dominique, more than you’ll likely ever know—you don’t have it.”

  “Papa—” Dominique started, but Xavier held up his hand and Dominique promptly shut her mouth. Maybe Steph ought to try that move on her some time. But this was no time for such thoughts. This was a serious conversation. Had Dominique really expected it to go any differently? She was high on hormones triggered by their reunion, and the intoxicating prospect of doing something meaningful. Xavier Laroche was decidedly not.

  Steph could hear the children in the kitchen, chattering to their granny, and chasing the dog. The sounds approached, slaps of feet on the hallway tiles, and the door of the lounge, where they’d been sitting for the past half hour in isolation, flew open.

  “Chérie, I think the children should sleep here tonight. I’ll put them to bed and take them to school in the morning,” Eléonore said.

  “They’ll love that.” Dominique appeared relieved to see her mother. “Merci, Mamy.”

  “After that,” Eléonore addressed her husband, “I’m going to talk some sense into your father.”

  Dominique gave a sheepish smile, and soon all the tension that had been building in the room was sucked out by the arrival of Lisa and Didier, followed by the chocolate labrador they adored.

  “Granny said we can sleep here.” Lisa’s voice was coated in high-pitched excitement.

  Xavier Laroche sat shaking his head, no doubt contemplating the fate of his grandchildren now that their mother had decided to sleep with women. “Come here,” he beckoned Didier. “Give your old granddad a kiss goodnight.”

  “I’m too old for that,” Didier said, hesitation in his tone.

  “I’m seven times older than you and I’m not,” Xavier said and opened his arms. A man who joked around with his grandchildren like that couldn’t be all bad, Steph concluded. Maybe he just needed some time. They had sort of sprung it on him. Had driven over to his house in a mad dash without discussing a strategy to deliver a piece of news the man never wanted to hear.

  The children kissed everyone goodnight—Steph included—and Eléonore took them upstairs.

  “No matter what your mother says,” Xavier straightened his posture, “and we’ve had this conversation before so I know precisely what she’s going to say, you have to understand that, for purely political reasons, I have to stand firm on this. I can’t budge because you’re my daughter, Dominique. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else in the party, so I can’t offer you my support either.”

  “Well, I’m not going to lie any longer, so it looks like we have a problem.”

  “Even if I wanted to stand by you.” Laroche Senior’s voice seemed to carry less and less weight. “The leadership would crucify me. Most likely behind my back.”

  “We all know there’s only one true leader in the MLR.” Dominique looked her father straight in the face. “The ‘L’ in the party name may as well stand for Laroche.”

  Good one, Steph thought, but perhaps not helping much. She fe
lt for Dominique, for whom going through this must be pure agony, but she had trouble feeling like anything more than a spectator in this verbal sparring match between father and daughter. Steph had broken up with Dominique in the first place to avoid the sort of situation they found themselves in at the moment. Not that she regretted how things had turned out in the end. One glance at Dominique was all it took to re-convince her of that. It was never going to be easy. Nothing worthwhile ever was.

  Xavier Laroche might be powerful, but he’d been grooming Dominique as heir to his MLR throne for a reason. The man was an old crocodile, his real glory days behind him. Perhaps he was just trying to hold on to the last scrap. He must know his days at the top were numbered.

  “Not for much longer if it were up to you,” Xavier said. “I can’t sit around and witness how you destroy everything I’ve built. I’ve made a lot of sacrifices to get us both where we are now, and you want to erase them all by… posting a video on the internet?” He rubbed two fingers over his forehead.

  “This is not about you,” Dominique tried.

  “The hell it’s not.” Xavier slapped the palm of his hand hard against the leather of his club chair. Steph could picture him sitting in it under different circumstances, a cigar in one hand, a glass of century-old cognac in the other, thinking of ways to enhance his power in the political landscape of France. He didn’t look very powerful now.

  The door swung open again and Eléonore walked in. “How are we doing?” she asked.

  She walked over to where Steph was sitting and took the spot next to her in the sofa. A whiff of her perfume caught in Steph’s nostrils and Steph was humiliatingly reminded of what she’d said to Dominique’s mother when they’d just arrived. But the time for questioning her character had passed now. She and Dominique had chosen each other, again—firmly. And anyway, Steph might have a questionable past in the eyes of conservative people, but at least she was photogenic, and she wasn’t short of charm either. Steph hadn’t come up with this herself, but Dominique had recently listed all her politically advantageous qualities, and those were in the top two.

  “Dismally.” Dominique turned to her mother for support. “But as good as can be expected, I guess.”

  “Here’s what’s going to happen.” Despite sitting in a slouchy sofa, Eléonore’s spine remained straight as a plank, her ankles crossed and her hands resting gracefully on her knees. Dominique looked so much like her mother, it was uncanny. They had the same eyes, and the same elegant manner, but perhaps the latter was required when you grew up in a house—and a party—where appearances mattered most. “Your father is going to sleep on this. Perhaps it will take more than one night, but he will come around in the end.”

  Xavier suddenly appeared meek as a lamb. Possibly, he knew there was no point in arguing about this with his wife.

  “The MLR is a family party,” Eléonore continued. “We are a family. We have gotten where we are as a family. That’s not going to change now. We’ve had the good fortune of agreeing on most important matters in our lives so far. None of us has had to employ great flexibility to understand the other’s point of view. I say we’ve been lucky.” She eyed her husband now. “Dominique has been more than an exemplary daughter, Xavier. There’s no contesting that. She still is. On top of that, she’s brave. Like you were, like you have been all your life. How can you hold that against her now?” She paused to look him in the eyes a bit longer. “She tried the route you preferred. Denied everything. And it made her miserable. Do you really want your child to be miserable?”

  When Eléonore paused the room was dead quiet. Perhaps Dominique got her oratory talents from her mother as well.

  “Moreover, this is another time. Everything is different now, and thank goodness that it is. Imagine, for just one second, the impact of the great Xavier Laroche standing by his daughter’s side when she comes out.”

  Even Steph had trouble picturing that, but damn, it sure could make for a powerful image. One that would stick it to Le Matin easily.

  “I, for one, will be there when she comes out. And my heart will burst with pride.”

  A sniffle came from Dominique’s side and she fished for a handkerchief in her pocket. When she couldn’t find one, her mother handed her one from a box on the side table next to her. After she blew her nose Dominique looked at her mother incredulously.

  “De rien, Chérie,” Eléonore said.

  “Your grand speeches are all well and good, Ellie.” There was an audible croak to Xavier’s voice. “But you’re not the one who has to justify all of this to the likes of Gilbert and Rousseau. The latter is already firmly in Marechal’s camp.”

  “Then let him. His vote won’t be crucial,” Eléonore said. “Invite the others over for dinner. I’ll talk to them.”

  Was Steph witnessing in action the age-old expression of every great man having an even greater woman standing behind him? Because it looked very much like Eléonore was calling all the shots in this family. And a good chunk of the MLR as well.

  “The only thing you really need to do is convince the leadership that Dominique is still a viable, strong candidate to bring the elections home for the MLR.” Eléonore shook her head. “Séverine is too much of a hardliner. People who are into her brand of conservatism will vote ANF, anyway. Surely, anyone with a head on their shoulders already knows that.”

  Steph hadn’t said a word since Dominique had introduced her to her father officially in her capacity of lesbian lover. Perhaps now that the speeches were over, it would be a good time for her to contribute.

  “I belong to an age group of people who, mostly, don’t bother to vote. The percentage of people actually voting has gone down with every election because people are sick and tired of the same old faces promising the same old things and never delivering.” She held up her hands. “Admittedly, I didn’t vote in the last election either because, really, what was the point?” She didn’t add that she would surely have voted for the Socialists, no matter what a pillock Goffin was and how he had royally screwed up. “What this country needs is an exciting, radically different candidate. It would be difficult for Dominique to prevent people from falling for the lure of the far-right just by being her ordinary, mildly conservative self. No offence.” She glanced at Dominique. “But coming out as a lesbian, and making a clear stand against Tous Ensemble and the sourness of the ANF, may sway a lot of traditionally left-wing voters.”

  “Not without alienating a lot of loyal MLR voters,” Xavier interjected in a surprisingly reasonable tone.

  “Who might just have swung a little further down the right already and plan to give their vote to the ANF, though. A vote Marechal is trying to go for, but if you’re going to vote right, then you might as well go all out and vote for the ANF. The things Marechal has been saying lean much closer towards their party politics than the MLR’s, anyway.”

  Laroche Senior shook his head. “There are still a whole lot of centre-right voters left, Mademoiselle Mathis.”

  Mademoiselle Mathis? What the hell?

  “And where were they during the last elections? There may be many, but there aren’t enough,” Dominique said. “And please call her Stéphanie.” Dominique looked at Steph and smiled at her.

  Xavier held up his hands in temporary supplication.

  “I think what Stéphanie and Dominique are trying to say, Xav, is that this whole business could end up being a blessing in disguise,” Eléonore said.

  “Yes, well, we’ll have to see about that.” Xavier pushed himself up to sit a bit straighter in his chair. “But, as per your mother’s instructions, I will sleep on it.”

  “Merci, Papa,” Dominique said.

  Would there be a hug fest now? Steph wondered. Steph had grown up without a father and had been raised by the most liberal mother imaginable. A woman who never judged, didn’t care one bit about politics, and whom Steph had gravely neglected throughout all of this. Then again, this would barely be a blip on her mother’s radar. She�
�d say in that ever-casual tone of hers, “So what, Steph baby? As long as you know who you are, that’s all that matters.”

  “The little rascals will be up early. I’d better turn in.” Xavier rose, waited for Dominique to stand as well, and pressed a quick kiss on her cheek while holding her at a safe distance by the elbow.

  Perhaps this was the bourgeois version of a hug, Steph pondered, then suddenly asked herself if she should be standing as well, and accept Xavier Laroche’s tiny display of affection, if it were to be extended to her. She shuffled around nervously until Eléonore patted her knee a few times, which calmed her down.

  Then Steph saw that it was a moment, however brief, between Dominique and her father. A small opening towards middle ground. So she happily sat back and waited for Xavier Laroche to leave the room.

  NADIA

  Nadia stared into the down-beat, ashen faces of both Claire and Juliette. She imagined she looked about the same as they did.

  “Can I see her today?” Claire asked.

  “She’s still in the recovery unit and only direct family is allowed during the strict visiting hours they have. But I’ll go see her later and tell her you were there, if you want.” Nadia drank from the strong coffee Juliette had made. “And I will keep you posted on her condition, of course.”

  “I can’t get over the fact that she was drunk-driving.” Claire shook her head. “It’s so unlike her it seems impossible. Are you sure?”

  Nadia exchanged a quick glance with Juliette. “Yes.” What else could she say? It was the truth. Margot had been supremely lucky that no one else had been severely injured, or worse. Nadia knew for a fact that Margot might forgive herself for sleeping with her ex, and breaking up with Claire, but she would never, ever forgive herself for getting on her motorcycle under the influence. Moreover, there would be professional consequences. The board would be informed; it would be inevitable. It would all be one big mess.