by Alice Quinn
And click. She cut me off!
I sat back in my hammock. Léo at my place? I’d have to make some room! I could put Sabrina in with the little ones and Léo could go in Sabrina’s bunk. Spacewise it was doable, but it would still be a bit complicated, to say the least. I mean, teenage boys . . . They eat a ton, don’t they?
I could see the tab at the store getting longer and longer. Anyway. We’d just have to see how it went. Stuff usually manages to work itself out, doesn’t it? And like my little Sabrina always says with her trademark lisp: That’th life!
I was trying to figure out our new routine when a loud ring-ding-a-linging interrupted my thought process.
It was a message from Véro.
—I need U. U workin 2mrrow? Nxt cpl days?
—Na! Y?
—Gr8! Plz, plz, go work at my boss Rachel Amar’s place 2moz. 41 rue Felix Faure @ 10
—Wat 4?
—She aint there. We off with kidz 4 a while. Vacation. And she wants a big clean. Big spring clean. I trust U on this. Call u wen bck. Will tell her ur goin.
—VACATION?
—If at all possible, please take the books you borrowed back to my boss’s place. Nil volentibus arduum.
Ismène must have taken the phone from Véro. I’d recognize her style anywhere. She doesn’t like text language. And she was obviously showing off by speaking some foreign language too.
It’s so weird. Two of my best girlfriends have totally fallen for each other and been in a relationship for months. Ismène, my confident Black Beauty, and Véro, Little Miss Miserable Panties.
They are night and day. Ismène works in local government, loves poetry, Japanese tea ceremonies, secret codes, and brainless bimbos. Véro goes from dead-end job to dead-end job, has had a string of rotten relationships and several longish stays on the psych ward. An unlikely pair, but it seems to be working. The two are inseparable. More power to them!
I couldn’t think of a reply, and I’m rarely short of something to say. So they were out of there, was that it? With no warning? And I was supposed to go and replace Véro at work, just like that?
Not cool, chickos, not cool.
How come I’d just wound up with a job all of a sudden? How was I supposed to make that work with the schedule I had? I hadn’t organized a thing! How in God’s name could I fit it in, what with taking care of all the kiddos and everything else? It was going to be a toughie. Teens like to go out and about at all hours. You don’t know if they’re coming or going. And then what about all those high-school teachers walking out on strike all the time?
Oh well. No point being a big crybaby about it. I couldn’t exactly change anything. School was nearly out for the summer, anyway. Oh, it was all going to get pretty complicated pretty fast.
Well, at least I could now return all those books I’d borrowed from Véro, the ones she’d clearly borrowed from her boss. Heck, there were some weird books in there. Mental stuff! Even crazier than my fave Snoopy comics, half the time! Most of them were written by this Freud guy, who had premonitions. Dreams and shit. I loved reading all that spooky baloney. Well, reading might not quite be the word I’m searching for here. I skimmed through them. There weren’t very many pictures, but still, I could feel the suspense! And they made me think of my own musical dreams that my mother sent me on an almost-nightly basis.
Véro’s boss had written a fair number of books. Fancy stuff for brainiacs. A lot of it was about big criminal types and why they did what they did. I’d seen the broad one time when I went to pick up Véro after work. She was one of those snooty, nose-stuck-in-the-air women. Dressed like a total square in a long-cut skirt, prissy shirt with a stiff collar, flat shoes . . .
One of those.
So, today’s big question: Could I face the housework at her place?
I absolutely hated cleaning other people’s houses, but it wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility. I knew how to clean well enough! And it’s not like I was rolling in cash or anything. I had my checks from the state, but not much else. I wasn’t deepio-deep in the red, but all the same.
I replied: OK.
What else could I say? I wasn’t about to leave Véro neck-high in the brown stuff. This was maybe the first time she’d ever been on vacation.
I added: Keys?
Immediate reply: Thanks! We owe you. We left a spare key in an envelope at the reception down at city hall. The girl there knows to expect you.
These dames had seen to everything. It was clear that Ismène was good at her paper-pushing-executive job for the local administrative services. Miss Methodical Girl.
My nice easygoing morning had suddenly turned into a swim against the tide.
3
I tried to prepare myself for the upcoming tornado by tidying up the trailer.
I gave it a real good cleaning and changed the kids’ bed linens. Despite the fact that every window in the place was wide open in my attempt to get something of a draft running through, I was sweating gallons.
I took the time to slice up half a baguette and dip it in olive oil. It would be enough to see me through to the next meal.
Finally, I took all our dirty clothes and bedding down to the laundromat.
As they were washing and drying, I went to the grocery store and added a little more to my tab (a can of tomatoes and an onion for spaghetti that evening). Grocery Guy was the only one around here who ever gave me any credit.
Bad news. Grocery Guy told me that I’d reached my limit with my tab. Settling up with him was now at the top of my list.
I took a quick detour to Sélect. I wanted to let Tony know there was no point counting on me over the next few days because I had to work for Rachel Amar.
Now and again, when he needed me, I helped Tony out in his café, Sélect. He gave me the odd couple of bills for it. All off the books, of course. Everyone got something out of it. Especially when he let me sing on Saturday nights.
Tony enjoyed a good flirt with me when he could. I never led him on too much. Our relationship had always been a breeze. Easy come, easy go.
Tony was getting ready for the after-work rush. It didn’t look like he could cope much without Mimi. He thought I was there to help out. As I don’t really like to bite the hand that feeds me, I promised I’d show up a little later on, once I’d picked the babas up from school.
However, there was nothing I’d be able to do for him the following day. I couldn’t even think of anyone who was maybe seeking a couple of hours’ work. I told him I’d think on it awhile and let him know if I had some ideas.
He offered me a quick coffee and I savored every hot gulp as I stood against the bar next to Antoine, an old regular around sixty, with a mustache and a big potbelly under his tight tee, dressed in cycling gear. Your typical gramps. An upbeat old man who clearly thought he could still kick it! He was wearing Lycra shorts, a fanny pack, and a Coke baseball cap to top it all off. He seemed very pleased with life.
I’d sometimes seen him with his grandson at the bar. It had been a while, though, since we’d seen the boy. I only remembered him because he and my Sabrina used to like playing together. We used to talk about the kids and school worries, their favorite toys, and how their teachers could sometimes get us so stressed and wound up.
That’s about it. I hadn’t seen him for a while, but we’d crossed paths here and there and given each other a little knowing nod and smile of recognition. He worked in real estate or something like that. I’d heard Tony say Antoine bought and sold properties and that the guy owned entire neighborhoods all down the coast. Rich? With that thick southern-French accent? Always dressed in neon shorts? Doubtful. Plus, Sélect was hardly the kind of dive that anyone with serious money would be seen dead in.
“Things going OK, Antoine?” I asked.
“Oh, you do what you can. And you, Cricri? Everything running pretty smooth?”
“Sure, life’s pretty good these days. I’m more or less in the black. You? Your grandkiddy? Bet he�
��s growing up fast!”
“Smooth sailing! He’s head of his class! A real brain! I don’t know where he gets it from, but it certainly ain’t me!”
He roared with laughter. A kind, hearty laugh.
“Cool,” I said. I didn’t really know how to respond to such showing off.
He leaned in close and asked in a friendly tone, “Your real name is Rosie, isn’t it? I never really understood why everyone calls you Cricri. Cricri isn’t short for Rosie! ‘Rose’ or ‘Roro’ I could understand!”
Another roar. He considered himself quite the comedian. He was starting to agitate me a little, but I felt obliged to answer him. Elementary politeness, my dear Watson.
“Oh, it’s just a family thing. My mother was the only person to ever call me Rosie,” I said.
I hate it when people call me Rosie! At least “Cricri” doesn’t remind me of my mom. After she died, I decided I didn’t ever want anyone calling me by my real name again. She chose the name and it belonged to her. And the fact that she isn’t here to say it anymore doesn’t change that! I just wound up choosing the name Cricri myself. I thought it was pretty nice sounding. Straightforward. No fluff.
“Fair enough! I have to go back to work now,” said Monsieur Cycle Pants as he finished his raucous laugh.
“Oh, do you still work? Not retired yet?”
“No. People don’t really retire in my line of work.”
He rummaged around in his fanny pack.
“Here! Give this to Sabrina, would you? It’s a Happy Families card game. I had them made on the Internet. It’s a nice little way of advertising.”
He handed me a mini deck of playing cards. On the back of every card was the logo of his real-estate agency, his contact information, and, in a larger font: “RENT or BUY.” On the other side were families—little kidlets all the way up to the grampies and grannies. Each family was looking at a different type of property with a “For Sale” sign in front of it: apartment, vacation home, suburban condo, etc. There was even a trailer-trash family!
“Thanks, these cards are great!” I shoved the game into my back pocket.
“It’s difficult right now,” he admitted. “There’s a financial crisis going on. Property prices aren’t going anywhere!” He was shouting.
“Wow, I can feel how stressed out you are! You need to take a chill pill there, bud!”
“What about you? How’d you like to buy a condo?”
And now it was my turn to crack up!
“Where do you think I’d get the money? Any bank lending to me would have to have fallen on hard times, don’t you think? Anyhow, I’m doing just fine in my trailer. It’s the biggest trailer in the whole region! Did you know that it was built for the King of Travel—like, Gypsy royalty or something?”
He took a great big long stretch and clicked his heels together as he jumped a good half a foot off the ground. The other clients gaped at him. He looked like something out of an energy-bar ad. We were all beat just watching him.
“OK, then! See you guys!”
And he skipped out, singing to himself.
I downed the rest of my coffee and followed in Antoine’s wake—with a little less enthusiasm, but followed all the same.
“You won’t forget about me, will you?” Tony shouted after me.
4
I went by city hall to pick up the keys to Véro’s boss’s place, which Ismène had left in an envelope with my name on it.
It was then time to go get the kiddos. I gave Antoine’s Happy Families game to Sabrina. Next stop was the laundromat to pick up our clothes. If I wanted to keep my promise to Tony, I had no time to go back to the trailer, so I shuffled back to Sélect with the groceries, shopping, and kidlets in tow.
The heat wouldn’t let up. Scorchorama. I set the children up at the back of the café with some bread, butter, jam, and glasses of milk all pilfered from the fridge in the kitchen. It was leftovers from breakfast. You can get a good breakfast at Tony’s place.
As they all enjoyed their after-school snack, I started helping out.
Between two orders, I managed to clear the kids’ table and get out their notebooks. Homework called.
Sabrina was supposed to be learning how to count aloud up to a thousand and how to add together two-digit numbers. Not too difficult. I was able to help her whenever I had a spare moment. The twins each got out a brightly colored notebook. They were learning how to draw straight lines, wavy lines, and circles. It all looked very pretty.
After a while, the little ones had clearly had enough and took it upon themselves to go and explore the café—at high speed, running around like little maniacs. Luckily, Tony was so busy, he didn’t notice.
As soon as she’d finished her math, Sabrina spread out all the Happy Families cards on the table and studied the pictures. But she soon wound up bored, so she got out her string and tied the twinnies’ dolls and some of her schoolbooks to the tables and chairs. She had always had a thing for string.
I’d been reading (when I say “reading,” I may be exaggerating a little) Rachel Amar’s books about the brain, and I’d been wondering about this little habit of Sabrina’s. String was her thing. Or anything that was string-like. Elastic, rope, laces, yarn . . . anything that could be used to tie two or more things together. Scotch tape was also a biggie. And knots were about as exciting as things got for my eldest daughter. It was why I had to be super careful at my place. Everyone did! You could so easily go splat in my trailer with all those long stringy scraps all over the house! We were booby-trapped to the max!
The child-therapisty person at preschool, back when Sabrina was a real tiny tot, told me that it all meant she was trying to stop the things she loved in life from getting away from her. She wanted to tie together anything she saw as separate—like her father and me, for example.
Back then, I’d thought the therapist was pretty weird to get all that information from a kid’s game. All I saw was that Sabrina liked playing with string. Period. But I’d come to know a bit more on the subject thanks to Rachel Amar. I was now totally tuned in to this shit and thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a little bit more to this string theory than I’d first thought.
Of course, I really wanted her to get over this string anxiety nonsense (especially as I kept falling flat on my backside in her knotty little world). So I had the idea of drawing pictures with her, the idea being she could draw lines between these pictures and attach them whatever way she wanted. Who knew? Maybe this could help put an end to it all. It couldn’t do any harm, right?
Little by little, the punters at Sélect started going home. Rush hour had come to an end.
As I was collecting the last of the glasses and giving the tabletops all a wipe down with a damp cloth, I heard a yelp and a couple of curse words coming from the back room. It sounded like one or two chairs had toppled over. Maybe Sabrina had gone too far again . . .
And she had. She’d tied two chairs together and left them outside the bathroom.
The guy who had tripped over them was lucky he hadn’t broken his nose on the floor. Before the situation got further out of hand, I grabbed Sabrina by the sleeve and snarled, “Emma, Lisa! Here, now! We’re going home!” I pushed them all out the front door. “See you, Tony! I’ll be back any day now for my pay! I’ve done two and a half hours for you, OK? OK! Ciao!”
Tony knew the kids had been up to no good and that I was running away from it all. He smiled at me.
“Thank you, Cricri!”
5
As we made our way back home, we ended up trudging behind a teenage girl who came across as more than a little odd. It seemed like she’d gotten her clothes from a bad gypsy yard sale. Just horrible. I didn’t pay much attention at first. She was just ambling along, carrying a ton of plastic bags. But at one point, she stopped at a small building and came out shortly afterward.
The reason I remember this is because it was at the exact moment Emma decided to sit on the ground and refuse to move any
farther.
Emma’s not a bad little girl. In fact, she’s very easygoing most of the time. But sometimes, she fixates on something and there’s no budging her. Little jealous fits of rage. It’s often hard to understand what exactly is bugging her when she gets like this.
Luckily for me, Sabrina always knows what’s going on.
She leaned in close to her baby sister, then stared up at me and revealed the meaning behind the snivels.
“Emma won’t walk home with uth becauthe the’th forgotten her Printheth Tharah doll at Tony’th and the won’t be able to thleep without her.”
“Well, why didn’t she just say so?”
Emma loves her doll. She dresses her up as Superman and tells everyone that Princess Sarah has magic protection powers. I was worn out by this stage, so I sat down on the ground too. My other two daughters followed suit.
Emma scrutinized me, and I pulled her onto my lap.
“So, you want Princess Sarah, is that it?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, we’re a long way from Tony’s place now. I’m very tired. It’s late and I just don’t think I have the energy to go back and pick her up. So I don’t really know what we’re going to do. We’ll have to put our thinking caps on, OK?”
I got to thinking, and just as I did, the teenage girl came back out of the building. She gave us a fixed stare and then continued on her way.
Our eyes had met for only a brief moment, but I could see how beautiful she was. Obviously, she was still just a kid, but her almond-shaped eyes lit up her whole face. She had Eva Mendes’s cheekbones, Penélope Cruz’s lips, silky black hair tumbling down her back, flawless skin, fine wrists and shoulders. She reminded me of a little doe or a gazelle.
A spooked gazelle. A hunted gazelle. But the vulnerability just made her even more stunning to behold.