French Kissing: Season Two

by Harper Bliss

  “Don’t sweat it. I know what she’s like. She hits on everything in a skirt, basically.” Margot’s voice croaked. “She must have gotten the news of our break-up. You’re free to—”

  “Look, Margot, I, erm, need to tell you something.” Claire couldn’t let this fester. She had to tell Margot. Dievart might have just promised her to be discreet but Claire didn’t trust her as far as she could throw her. Margot had to hear this from her. She pulled the chair away from Margot’s bed a little, to create a distance that felt safe. “Last night, I, erm, was on a sort of date with Dievart. I was with her when the hospital called.”

  Margot didn’t say anything for what seemed to Claire like a really long while.

  “I’m sorry.” Claire couldn’t stand the silence. “I know it was in poor taste.”

  “I have no claims to make, Claire. We’re not together anymore.” Margot grimaced. Perhaps the pain in her leg had just flared up.

  “Yeah, but still. It was disrespectful towards a lot of people.” Claire had to look away. “And they were all here when we arrived together.”

  “At least I was out of it.” Was that a joke?

  “It shouldn’t have happened. I was lonely. Hurting.” Claire locked her eyes on Margot’s again. “Looks like we both suffered from poor judgement last night, must have been the position of the moon or something.”

  “I don’t hold it against you, Claire.” Margot’s voice was soft. “It hurts me, I’m not going to lie. It hurts more than breaking my shin bone in two places, I’ll tell you that, but what right do I have to admonish you after all that I’ve done?”

  “Do you think we can still be friends?” Claire tried a crooked smile.

  “Are you… interested in pursuing matters further with Dievart?” Margot clearly didn’t want to answer her question.

  “God, no. Please don’t think that. Nothing even happened.” And all hell would break loose, Claire thought, but of course, for Margot it had already done so. “It was a mistake, that’s all.”

  “Are we even now?” Margot pinned her dark eyes on Claire, showing a glimpse of her real, non-bedridden, unbroken self.

  Claire shook her head. “I should never have said that. I shouldn’t have said so many things.”

  “All water under the bridge.” That glint in Margot’s eyes had faded already.

  A knock on the door interrupted them again.

  “Doctor de Hay,” a nurse said. “We’ve already stretched visiting hours for you.” She smiled sheepishly.

  “Understood, Doris,” Margot said.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow.” Claire stood up. “If you want me to.”

  Margot nodded. “I’d like that.”

  On a whim, Claire leaned over her and pressed a soft kiss on Margot’s forehead. Then she had to rush out of the room because an onslaught of tears was about to overwhelm her.

  Once outside, she looked around to check if Dievart had really gone. She took a deep breath and wiped the tears that had made it through from her eyes. She had one more errand to run in Saint-Vincent before she could go home and get some much-needed rest.

  * * *

  Nadia’s door was open when Claire arrived at her office.

  “Good, you’re still here.” She leaned against the door.

  Nadia dropped the pen she was writing with and looked at her with an odd glance. “We keep having women in common, Claire.” She motioned for Claire to come inside. “Close the door, please.”

  Claire sat down. It felt a bit like being called to the headmistress’s office, even though she’d come here of her own accord.

  “Nothing happened.” Claire hated herself for having to repeat that. She had all this apologising to do for something she hadn’t even derived the slightest pleasure from. She supposed it would teach her a valuable lesson in the end.

  “I know. Jules told me.”

  “I spoke to her before I came here. She seemed to take it okay.”

  “I don’t have to tell you about the inner workings of Juliette Barbier’s mind, Claire. You know she doesn’t forget. She just has a lot to deal with at the moment.” Nadia rested her elbows on her desk and intertwined her fingers. “No matter what you do, just make sure she knows how much you value her. She’s about to go through all this stuff with her family and it’s sure to rack op a bunch of painful memories. And you know what she’s like.” Nadia cracked a smile. “But if she hasn’t shunned you yet, I’m sure you can work it out somehow.”

  “Dievart just basically cornered me in Margot’s room.” A flush rushed op Claire’s neck and cheeks. “I was forced to come clean.”

  “Jesus.” Nadia rolled her eyes. “Poor Margot.”

  “She took it okay as well. Everyone seems to be taking this quite well.”

  “This is Margot de Hay we’re talking about. She’s not one to burst out in an angry fit in any circumstance, and especially not while on heavy pain medication.”

  “I know, but I thought she should hear it from me. I don’t trust Dievart to not drop any hints.”

  Nadia sighed. “I would say I’d talk to her, but I’m not sure it wouldn’t have the opposite effect. Sometimes it seems the woman has a personality disorder. She must be convinced she’s the centre of the fucking universe. Or perhaps have been told one too many times how utterly gorgeous and brilliant she is that it went to her head.”

  “She asked me to dinner. Outside Margot’s room.” Claire couldn’t suppress a giggle. “The set of balls she has on her.”

  “It must work for her in the O.R., but outside, she’s not making many friends.”

  Claire nodded in agreement. “When are you clocking off?”

  “I’m about ready to get the hell out of here.”

  “Share a cab?”

  “Give me a minute to grab my stuff.”

  “By the way, Nadz, congratulations on setting your wedding date.” Claire witnessed how Nadia’s demeanour changed from worn-out to uplifted at the mention of her upcoming nuptials to Juliette. She wondered if wedding bells would ever chime for her. It seemed highly unlikely.

  STEPH

  Steph felt rather ridiculous sitting in Dominique’s leather sofa with David’s camera aimed at her. She’d worked with the freelance cameraman a lot over the course of her career at Barbier & Cyr, but usually when they made videos together she was behind the camera with him, giving directions and putting people at ease. This time around, both Juliette and Claire’s eyes were trained on her, and that lens appeared so big in her face.

  “Leave a small gap between the two of you,” Juliette said.

  “But not too wide,” Claire said. “There needs to be some sense of intimacy.”

  “Just not too in-your-face.” Juliette studied them as though Steph and Dominique were part of a famous painting that she was scrutinising on a museum wall.

  Steph had actually let them convince her to have some make-up applied. She could hardly be a hypocrite now after having used the same line on other clients. Dominique looked good enough to eat with her understated red lipstick—but not too red, because that would have been too sensual for the purpose of this video. She hadn’t needed anyone to do it for her, either.

  They had tried to practice the previous night, but Dominique had always ended up making fun of Steph’s ‘unnatural video voice’ and, ultimately, they’d spent most of their rehearsal time fooling around.

  Dominique acted as if recording this video was no big deal. A fact Steph had reminded herself of numerous times as well, but her own words didn’t have the same effect on her peace of mind.

  They’d record it today. David would edit and polish it the day after, after which they would show it to their families for a first-line approval—a premiere viewing to lessen the shock when it was scheduled to come out on Monday.

  But first, Steph would have to find a natural, unforced tone in her voice—even though Dominique would be doing most of the talking, and she was mainly ‘just a pretty face’ as Dominique had teased
her last night. “At least that comes natural to you, babe,” she had said, and kissed Steph profusely after.

  “Don’t worry about pauses,” David repeated his usual spiel. “I can cut those out. If you misspeak, we’ll just do another take. No biggie.”

  Although making this video had been Steph’s idea she was finding it hard to control her nerves.

  “I wouldn’t mind a beer,” she whispered to Dominique, who was going over the notes she’d made, her shoulders relaxed and her demeanour calm.

  “It’ll ruin your lipstick, baby,” she said, and put a hand on Steph’s knee.

  “Although only your face and upper bodies are framed, it would be better not to touch during the recording. It shows,” David said. He smiled apologetically at Steph.

  “Shall we do this then?” Dominique gave Steph’s knee one last squeeze. “All in a day’s work, right?” Her lips transformed into her killer politician smile, and that was how Steph already knew this video would be a winner. Not just because Dominique’s obvious talents lay in addressing people and effortlessly convincing them of her beliefs, if only in the moment she was talking to them, but also because of the sentiment between them. In her gut, Steph knew this was right. She didn’t know if PR gut instinct actually existed, but if it did, what they were about to do now made so much more sense than when she had previously believed she had followed her instincts. When she’d broken up with Dominique, drafted a press release, and had instructed her to deny their affair.

  At first, she thought it had felt not entirely right because it just hurt so bloody much, but now, as they sat here ready and about to do this, she knew it was more than that. It had been a lie. Not that she’d suddenly started believing that the truth would get her anywhere, but when love came into play, it really was the only way. She believed people would respond to that. She hoped they would see what they had between them as something beautiful and honest as opposed to something threatening the family unit as the ‘very cornerstone of society’, as Tous Ensemble put it.

  “Action,” David said.

  Next to her, Steph could swear she felt Dominique’s energy change. As though when a camera’s lens was focused on her, a forcefield came alive around her and her smile gained in wattage, her words sounded more powerful, and even the biggest doubters would eat up anything she said. But, of course, Steph was head over heels in love with Dominique, and the likes of Séverine Marechal were not, nor was anyone at the ANF, or the people who marched the streets of Paris on Sunday afternoons, shouting that gay marriage was, basically, the beginning of the end of the world. Another demonstration was planned for this Sunday. How ironic, she thought, that on that very day they’d be uploading what she hoped would prove to be some sort of antidote against their hatred and foolishness.

  “Bonjour,” Dominique started, and the ease with which she delivered the words had a relaxing effect on Steph. Because she knew that no matter what happened, from now on Dominique Laroche would have her back.

  * * *

  After they had shot the video, Dominique produced a bottle of Veuve Cliquot from the fridge and they broke out into an impromptu toast.

  “To all or nothing,” she said, and pulled Steph close to her.

  “Great job,” David said, stowing his gear in between taking a few minute sips because he was driving. “Some people just have it you know. It can’t be taught.” He shrugged at Steph apologetically, seemingly suggesting that she shouldn’t foster ambitions for a career in television.

  “Yeah. Yeah.” But they’d known each other for a number of years, and Steph could also see something else in his glance. Respect, perhaps. Or awe even, because she’d only gone and bagged the nation’s hottest politician, and had convinced her to come out on camera.

  “I’ll have this ready for you by tomorrow morning, ladies.” This statement filled Steph with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Once that video hit the internet, her life as she knew it would be over. No more visits to Le Noir. No more late night bar chats with Melanie at Les Pêches. Perhaps a paparazzo or two following her around, examining her every move because who was she to bring out the lesbian in the MLR’s candidate? If the video had the desired effect and actually managed to manoeuvre Dominique into that position. There were a lot of variables, and this was hardly an exact science. PR never was. And a lot hinged on the old-timers of the MLR, and how Laroche Senior would deal with it. If he turned against his daughter, there wouldn’t be a lot they could do. But, somehow, Steph gathered Eléonore had him in a tight grip.

  “When can you get them out of here?” Dominique whispered in her ear. “I feel like a celebratory fuck. If this ruins my career next week, at least I will have had that.”

  “The things politicians say when no one’s listening.” Steph broke out into a smile.

  “But you’re listening, Stéphanie.” Dominique kissed her on the cheek in front of Juliette and Claire and David and, for Steph, it was a significant moment.

  “Viewing party tomorrow afternoon at our office” Juliette said. “Then, if we are all okay with it, you can show it to your families.”

  “I’m looking forward to that particular visit already,” Dominique joked.

  After the bottle of champagne was finished, everyone left and Steph stayed behind, riding both an adrenalin and light alcohol buzz.

  “No matter how this plays out, you and I are going to make history, baby,” Dominique said. “Who would ever have thought?”

  NADIA

  Nadia had just watched the Laroche video on Juliette’s laptop.

  “Thank you for going to see Steph that night,” Juliette said. “I’m not sure we would be watching this now if you hadn’t.”

  Nadia revelled in the warmth this bout of unexpected gratitude spread through her. “You’re welcome, babe,” she said. “As long as Steph’s happy, and she sure does look it, although she could have come across a tad more relaxed.” Nadia giggled. “I mean, when she says, ‘we are just normal human beings like every one else’, she does kind of look as if she has a huge stick up her ass.”

  “That’s what makes it a great video though.” Juliette refilled their wine glasses generously. “Maybe it’s a bit cruel, but it’s really all about Dominique. She’s the one who’s supposed to shine.”

  “You PR people are incorrigible. No kindness for your own if it can serve a purpose.” Nadia took the glass of wine from her.

  Juliette shook her head. “You should have seen them. They’re really happy. Does that come across well?”

  “In spades.”

  Juliette stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “God, what a week.” She interlaced her fingers behind her neck. “And the worst is yet to come.”

  “Nervous?” It was a stupid question. They were on their second bottle of wine already, and this time Nadia hadn’t been the one to open them.

  “I just long for one quiet week. Some time for my mind to find some rest.” Juliette closed her eyes. “I’m so tired, but it’s just non-stop.”

  Nadia inhaled deeply. This could so easily lead to another argument, but she figured that was the last thing Juliette needed the night before her family reunion. At least for another weekend Nadia would be amenable and supportive, and perhaps until after the Laroche video had been launched, and the subsequent campaign, and the elections next year… Nadia willingly stopped her mind from spinning out of control in that direction again. She couldn’t play the wronged wife-to-be now. Instead, she deposited her glass on the table and stepped behind Juliette’s back.

  “Time for some of the Abadi magic,” she said, and moved Juliette’s hands away from her neck.

  “Oh yes,” Juliette crooned. “I will be eternally grateful.”

  “Take your blouse off first.” She let her hand wander down the front of Juliette’s neck.

  Juliette quickly obliged and sat in just her bra in no time. Nadia swatted the straps down and went to work on Juliette’s shoulders. Her muscles were hard with knots, and it was n
o wonder, of course, but really, what were they doing to themselves living like this? Work, and more work, and then even a little bit more, was not the only way to go through life.

  She pressed her thumbs in the tightness below Juliette’s neck, trying to knead it into a more supple mass, and thought back on the conversation they’d had the day before they went to city hall. How Juliette had said that there were no ultimatums between them, but oh that clock was ticking inside of her. Would it just pass with time? Or would she have a gnawing sense of having missed out on something for the rest of her life?

  “That feels so good, babe.”

  In response, Nadia let her thumbs crawl up along Juliette’s neck. All the way to the bottom of her skull.

  While waiting by Margot’s bedside, to occupy her mind, Nadia had done some soul searching, like Juliette had asked her to do. But Nadia didn’t see an opening in her life for that ‘possibility of change’ Juliette had hinted at during their conversation. As far as she could remember, she’d just never even felt a twinge of that desire to have children—that desire claimed to be universal in women around the globe. As if it was the main purpose of a female human being to bear children.

  Perhaps, if she’d been straight, it would have been different. It might have just happened, like it did for so many couples, for whom in the end, more often than not, the pressure of having children ended up being too much for their relationship; and the children, who weren’t even grown up enough to understand, found themselves the offspring of a broken home and all the hurt and bullshit that came with it.

  Maybe what also played in Juliette’s mind was the desire to do better, to prove the point that a child whose parents had treated her with such utter disrespect could make a great mother nonetheless. Because Nadia had no doubt that Juliette would make an excellent parent. She would tackle it with the same zeal and enthusiasm as starting Barbier & Cyr, and then where would that leave Nadia? Second in line, again—or perhaps even third—that was where.