Blaise debated at length what to wear for them. In the end, she wore a plain white cashmere sweater, a short black leather skirt that showed off her legs, high heels, and a string of pearls. It seemed the right combination of respectful and a little kicky, since Simon said they were odd and he didn’t think they’d dress up. He said his mother was partial to hand-woven things she bought in Mexico, made by the Indians in bright colors, or ponchos, or vintage clothes she found at auctions or garage sales. He had no idea what they’d wear to meet Blaise, but probably nothing normal. That would be too simple, and too unlike them.
But they surprised him, when he opened the door to them promptly at four o’clock. They had never been on time in their life, and Simon was shocked. His father was wearing a tie, although it was slightly askew and one point of his collar was bent and pointing up, and the shirtsleeves peeking out of his jacket were too long, which gave him a slightly goofy look. He had hair like Einstein, and a warm smile that reached his eyes as he shook hands with Blaise and Salima, and Blaise fell in love with him immediately. He looked like someone you wanted to hug. He was as tall as Simon, but stooped over, and despite the slightly cockeyed tie and collar, he looked like a very distinguished man. Simon looked a lot like him, but he had his mother’s eyes, which were dark. His father’s eyes were blue, and he had white hair, and looked a little like Pinocchio’s father in the fairy tale. And his mother was still beautiful with dark eyes and a wild mane of salt-and-pepper hair that had once been jet black like her son’s. She had worn a plain dark blue dress and flat shoes and was carrying a dark blue Hermès Kelly bag. Simon had never seen her look so respectable in her entire life. No poncho, no cowboy hat, no sparkling red shoes like in The Wizard of Oz, all of which she was capable of. And she was wearing an armload of bangle bracelets that she never took off. She had slept with them for thirty years and collected them one by one. It made Blaise think of the Cartier bracelet she’d been given in Dubai. She never took that off now either. It was beautiful and simple and had been a fabulous gift.
“You have a very pretty apartment,” Isabelle Ward said primly as she sat down, with slightly pursed lips. She had a beautiful full mouth and perfect teeth. It was easy to see why Simon’s father had fallen in love with her when she was an eighteen-year-old girl and his student. She must have been a knockout. And Blaise said as much to Simon as they brought the tea tray in together while Salima entertained them and told them all the things that she and Simon had done recently, on their many adventures.
“Can’t you take her someplace more fun than a hardware store?” his mother scolded him with a disapproving look. “And the post office?” She looked around the room again then, as his father’s head bobbed and he smiled benignly at all of them. He looked like he was enjoying himself as Simon handed him a cup of tea. It was his favorite kind, and then his mother spotted an object in a far corner that caught her eye. It was a silver-plated skull that Blaise had brought back from one of her trips, in this case from Nepal. “Doesn’t it upset you having something like that here? Think of what they did to the person they took it from. It’s such a violent object to show off.” She looked disgusted as she said it and examined Blaise more closely. She was trying to decide if her hair was its natural color or she dyed it. She couldn’t figure it out, so she asked.
“No, it’s my natural color,” Blaise said with a warm smile, and Salima laughed, as Simon tried not to groan and gave his mother a quelling look, which she ignored.
“You must have gray in it at your age. Mine went gray at twenty-five. Do you use a rinse for that?” It was the kind of conversation women normally had at the hairdresser, or with close friends. But his mother was never afraid to barge right in. Boundaries had never existed for her. And she came across them like hurdles at a track meet.
“Yes, actually, I use a rinse. But I’m lucky. I don’t have a lot of gray.”
“Have you had your eyes done? They look very good.”
“No, I haven’t,” Blaise said, and laughed. “Maybe I’m not as old as you think.”
“I read somewhere that you’re fifty-two.”
“I’m forty-seven. That’s bad enough,” Blaise said without artifice, as his mother sat admiring the drapes.
“Beautiful fabric,” she said, as Simon prayed she would have nothing more to say about Blaise’s looks or her age. She was his employer, after all. “Strange color, though. I imagine if people sit too close to them, they look sick.” They were a slightly odd shade of yellow that Blaise had fallen in love with and still liked and thought was very chic. Simon’s mother did not agree. And Blaise laughed as she listened to her. She had no filter and said whatever went through her head. She stared at Blaise’s skirt after that, and Blaise felt suddenly self-conscious, more so than about her drapes. “Your skirt is very short, but you have fabulous legs. By the way, I loved your interview with the French president last year. Is he as handsome as he looks on TV?” It was a topic that interested her since she was French.
“More so,” Blaise said with a winning smile, as Simon’s father engaged Salima in conversation and was very sweet to her. “Your son is a fabulous chef,” Blaise complimented him, hoping to distract his mother for a while, and she smiled the moment Blaise said it.
“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” she said in a matter-of-fact way, as she continued to comment on the furniture, the surroundings, her children, and whatever else came to mind, and she said Salima was a very pretty girl. Simon looked like he was dying, and his father was good-natured through it all. He was used to the sensation she made everywhere she went, and had for thirty-five years. She had been just like that when she was young. It was part of what he loved about her, her openness, and indifference to what anyone else thought. She was her own person, and had never been afraid to be. And he had been totally enchanted with her since the day they met and still was. He looked like a happy man. And Isabelle Ward commented on him too. She called his inventions “ridiculous,” but said they had been very lucrative, which had allowed them to buy a very nice house, far nicer than any of the other professors, or even the president of the university. She seemed pleased about it.
She asked Blaise then what interviews she was planning to do next, and Blaise said she was going to Israel before Christmas, to interview the prime minister.
“What an interesting job you have. I’m a poet, you know. I’m sure Simon told you. Actually, I brought you my new book,” she said, opening her purse and handing it to Blaise. She had autographed it and opened it and then offered to read one of the poems, which she promptly did, while Salima tried to keep a straight face. She was the most eccentric, outrageous woman Blaise had ever met, and she could see why Simon was embarrassed by her, but Blaise liked her anyway. In a funny way, she was refreshing. There was no artifice about her. You knew exactly what she was thinking at all times.
Simon looked as though he’d been released from prison when they finally stood up to leave. Salima said goodbye and disappeared while Blaise went to get their coats, and as soon as she left the room, his mother turned to him with a worried expression.
“You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you? She’s much too old for you.”
“In the first place, she’s not old. And in the second, I’m not sleeping with her. She’s an extremely famous woman, and an icon all over the world. The last thing she’d want is a little schoolteacher like me,” he said humbly, discounting his extreme intelligence, and unaware of how he looked.
“That’s ridiculous. You’re much better than she is. And your grandfather has a title, for heaven’s sake.” His mother looked disapproving, as Simon prayed that Blaise would come back with their coats quickly, so they could leave. He was already past his limit for what he could tolerate. “I’m sure she’s in love with you,” his mother said loudly, just as Blaise came back in the room and pretended not to hear. She thanked them profusely for coming, and they thanked her for the tea.
“Good luck in Israel. I hope nobody throws a bomb at
you. That would be very unfortunate. Simon really likes his job,” his mother said to Blaise.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, I’ve been there before.” Isabelle Ward kissed her on both cheeks then. Her French accent and her customs were still noticeable even after many years in the States.
A moment later they left, his father still bobbing and smiling, and his mother looking respectable for once, but still not acting it. And Simon fell to his knees in front of Blaise the moment they were gone.
“I beg your forgiveness. My mother should have been muzzled at birth. My brother and I have volunteered to do it a thousand times, but my father won’t let us. He still thinks she’s cute, particularly now that he’s going deaf so he doesn’t have to listen to her. I swear, I will never bring them back. I’m sorry that I invited them, and I will never, ever do it again. I’m sorry about your hair and the curtains, the length of your skirt, and everything else she said. Ohmygod, I need a drink,” he said, getting up, as Blaise laughed at him.
“She’s very funny, and I like them. Don’t apologize. Your father is adorable. And your mother says everything the rest of us wish we could, but we don’t have the guts. She is one ballsy woman,” Blaise said admiringly. She could only imagine what it must have been like to grow up with a mother like her.
“She thinks we’re having an affair,” he said, looking miserable. He was mortified by everything his mother said. He always was. He felt fourteen again, but he was relieved to see that Blaise was undisturbed by it and actually amused, which he found hard to believe. She had been an incredibly good sport, in his opinion.
“What makes her think that?” Blaise asked, about the affair.
“I have no idea. She’s always announcing who is having affairs with who, particularly among their friends, or movie stars she’s never met. She thinks she’s psychic, and once in a million times she’s right. I told her we weren’t.” He was afraid Blaise would be offended by what she said.
“Did you tell her your virginity is safe with me? I’m too old to go after you,” Blaise said, smiling at him. “I’d get arrested for child molestation,” she teased.
“Don’t be stupid,” he said, looking annoyed. “You’re only about ten years older than I am.”
“Fifteen,” she corrected him, not that she wanted to add more years, but it was the truth. He was thirty-two and she was forty-seven, which they were both aware of.
“That’s not a big difference. My father is twenty-two years older than she is. And he married her when she was eighteen and he was forty.”
“Men can get away with that. Women can’t.”
“I don’t agree with you. It may cause more comment when the woman is older, but it’s no different. And who cares? You look younger than I do, and you have more energy than anyone I know. You don’t look your age,” he emphasized again.
“Neither does your mother. She looks fabulous.”
“Why couldn’t I have been born to a deaf-mute? Then she could insult everybody in sign language and most people wouldn’t know what she was saying. Thank you for being such a good sport. I feel like a complete idiot for inviting them. I know better. I just wanted them to meet you and Salima, and I guess insanely, I wanted you to meet them. I’m very proud of my father, and mortified by my mother, and always have been, with good reason.”
“Part of being an adult, someone told me once, is accepting your parents as they are, with all their failings.” She was trying to calm him down, to no avail. He looked totally shaken.
“That’s a tall order in my mother’s case. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”
They walked into the kitchen then, and Blaise took out a bottle of wine. She opened it, poured him a glass, and handed it to him. He needed it. And he looked at her with grateful eyes as he took a sip.
“Thank you, for your patience and understanding, and the wine. Do you have a Valium to go with it? I think I need one.”
“She was fine,” Blaise reassured him again, and as she did, he looked at her with a strange expression. Their eyes met and held as they had before, and suddenly for the first time, she wondered if his mother was right. Maybe she was psychic. All she wanted to do now was put her arms around Simon and comfort him. Maybe she was in love with him. And what if she was? How disastrous would that be? His parents would be horrified, and the world would laugh at them, or her at least. She never took her eyes from his as she thought about it, and then rejected the idea. She poured herself a glass of wine then, and tried to think of something else. But suddenly, all she could think of was him. He pulled her into his arms then, and put his arms around her. And as he stood holding her, neither of them moved or said a word.
Chapter 9
It took Simon a whole day to calm down after his parents’ visit, which was what his mother always did to him. And Blaise kept telling him that it was fine. She said his mother wasn’t a vicious woman, just an outspoken one, and there had been no harm done.
But he made a superb dinner that night to thank her, chateaubriand and asparagus with hollandaise. And after Salima went to her room, he talked about his mother again.
“She actually asked me if I was gay when I was in college, because I’d never introduced her to a girlfriend, but she’s so outrageous, I was afraid to,” he said, sipping the wine he had bought to go with the dinner, to atone for his mother’s sins. He had been apologizing for her all his life, and should have been used to it by then, but he wasn’t. He still looked embarrassed and contrite.
“What convinced her otherwise?” Blaise asked with a look of amusement.
“I slept with the daughters of all her friends to reassure her,” he said, and Blaise laughed.
“I guess that would do it,” she said, with no need to be convinced.
“I was thinking about what my mother said today, about our having an affair.”
“She would kill you if we did.” Blaise was clear on that concept also. And his mother had made it clear the night before. She thought Blaise was too old for him, and Blaise thought so too.
“I told you, your age is irrelevant. But what could I ever give you, what could I add to your life? You have everything, a fabulous career, every material thing you’ve ever wanted. I couldn’t support you on what I make. You have Salima. And what do I have? Nothing.” He sounded sad as he said it. He had thought about it all day, and the night before.
“You have you,” Blaise said simply. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted from anyone. I’ve never been dependent on any man in my life. All I’ve ever wanted from a man is for him to love me. I don’t need anything else. You’ve already improved my life immeasurably. You worry about me, take care of me, feed me. You’re wonderful to Salima. You care how my day was, you ask me how I am and want to know. That’s more than I’ve ever had from any man, even the ones I was married to. I’m not worried about what you can give me. Everything you are is a gift, and you already are just as a friend. And I’m not suggesting we have an affair. But if we did, the real problem is what I can’t give you. Or probably not at this point. I have Salima, as you just said. And I’m sure you want children. I’m too old to have another one. Technically, I could, but probably not without some assistance. But I’m too old to do that again. And going through Salima being diagnosed with juvenile diabetes was so traumatic that I’d never want to try again. And no one should deprive you of that. You need to be with a woman who’ll give you babies. That rules me out as an option, no matter what your mother thinks we’re doing.”
“I’ve always wanted one or two,” he admitted. “Not four like my brother, which seems like too many for me. But two would be nice. Or one great one. But I have to admit, I’d be sad not to have any at all.” He was being honest with her, but she already knew it.
“That’s my point. I may be crazy, but I’ve been feeling some weird stuff between us lately. Some kind of electrical current. But I’m not an option in a real sense. You need someone to give you kids. That’s not me.” He nodded sadly as she said it. He
had suspected that was how she felt about it, especially after Salima. That whole experience had been too scary. And she never wanted to go through it again.
“Why are we talking about this?” he asked, looking at her. “And by the way, I’ve felt that same current you have. A couple of times, I’ve almost said something, but I was afraid you’d say that I’m crazy. Something’s been happening between us, Blaise. I know it and so do you. We can’t ignore it forever. Maybe my mother isn’t as crazy as she looks. I want to put my arms around you now every time I see you.” He was keeping his voice down so Salima didn’t hear him, and so was she. What they were talking about had been building for weeks. And Simon wanted to get it on the table. Blaise knew it was hopeless between them because of his wanting kids, and that seemed fair to her. He deserved to have them. But not with her.
“So that’s it?” Simon looked at her, upset. “There’s no chance for us because you don’t want kids? How dumb is that?”
“It’s not dumb. You want kids,” she insisted. “I don’t. I have the only one I want.”
“Is that nonnegotiable?” he asked her, as though they were making a deal. But there was no deal to be made with her.
“Yes, it is nonnegotiable. I’m sure.” She was quiet but firm about it. “We shouldn’t even be talking about this,” Blaise said softly. But suddenly it was all out in the open, and part of her was glad it was. She had been beginning to think she was crazy. Suddenly, she was feeling attracted to him. But she knew him so well now that it had evolved from the friendship they’d been building since they met. “All we can ever be is friends. Or you’ll break my heart when you go off with someone young to have babies. It’s better to stop it now, whatever the underlying feelings are, and just be friends.”
“Are you sure that’s a decision? Don’t these things just happen?”
“No, they don’t.” Blaise’s eyes flashed at him. “That’s how we both got hurt before. You make decisions in life. You stay away from something that’s wrong, or isn’t what you want. I’m a forty-seven-year-old woman who doesn’t want kids. You want them, and should have them. I don’t even know if I’d get pregnant again, without a lot of help, or at all. And you’d always be disappointed not to have children. Simon, I can’t do that to you.”
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