French Kissing- Season Four

by Harper Bliss

  “I’m sorry I have to take this.”

  Aurore excused herself and took the call from Députée Rivière in the kitchen. They had a big day tomorrow, and her heartache would have to wait.

  Dominique

  Dominique heard a barely audible knock on the door, and immediately identified it as Solange’s. She had told her chief of staff to knock harder so many times, she didn’t have it in her to repeat it anymore.

  “Come,” she said in her most booming voice, hoping the power behind it would inspire Solange to make her non-verbal communication a bit more forceful—the woman was plenty forceful in other areas.

  Solange walked in, wearing her usual attire of black pencil skirt, black blazer, and white blouse. Dominique sometimes wondered whether, if she were ever to find herself staring into Solange’s wardrobe, she would find a neatly arranged row of black skirt suits and white blouses.

  “The socialists just introduced a bill in the Assemblée. One that might give us a hard time.” She put a sheet of paper on Dominique’s desk.

  “Just tell me.” Dominique didn’t even glance at the paper.

  “Opening up the use of donor sperm to single women and same-sex partners,” Solange said.

  Dominique puffed some air out of her mouth. “The party is going to love that. Who’s behind it?”

  “Rivière.”

  “Of course.”

  “They’ve blindsided us, which means they want to have this be a make-or-break issue.”

  “They want to test me.” Dominique leaned back in her chair. “Smart move.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Nothing right now. I need to think.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Being president was, most of all, a delicate balancing act of trying to keep everyone at peace. It didn’t matter right now that Dominique was all for making donor sperm available for everyone. Rivière might be all for it as well, but that didn’t take away that this was, most of all, a political manoeuvre by the new leader of the socialists, who had finally gotten rid of old crocodile Goffin and, lately, had felt invigorated by the fresh wind breezing through their party, spearheaded by charismatic Anne Rivière.

  When the next election came up, mercifully still two and a half years away, she would need to take up arms against two women vying for her spot. She was certain she could wipe out Marechal. She wasn’t so certain about Rivière.

  Solange lingered.

  “Anything else?” Dominique asked.

  “Do you really want to know?” Her chief of staff wasn’t the kind of person whose sense of humour manifested itself very often, and Dominique knew this was her idea of a joke.

  “No.” Dominique shook her head and managed a small smile. “You deal with all the rest.”

  She watched Solange trot to the door on her impossibly high heels—shoes so impractical Dominique had no idea why any woman would wear them—and pondered how much she relied on this woman. Steph was a hundred percent correct when she said Dominique spent more time with Solange than with her. This reminded her of the conversation she’d had with her partner two days ago.

  “Before you go, Solange.”

  Solange stopped and turned around. “Yes?”

  “Have you seen Steph? Is she at the office today or here?” In the beginning, Dominique had tried to keep Steph’s schedule in her head, or at least somewhere near her so she could at least pretend to keep up, but too many other matters vied for her attention, and she had people who were paid to know about these things, no matter how counterintuitive it was to ask someone else about the whereabouts of her partner.

  “Haven’t seen her. I think she’s at Barbier & Cyr all day. I’ll double check and let you know.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  The door closed and Dominique’s thoughts drifted first to ultra-progressive Rivière, who would easily sway back to her all the voters Dominique had been able to poach from the Left because of her predecessor’s flagrant incompetence. But the age of incompetence was over for the socialists. In Anne Rivière they had found someone passionate, charismatic and possessed with just the right amount of feminism to not scare off too many men. The next election might still be years away, but Dominique needed the legacy of a strong presidency if she were to take on the likes of Rivière, who knew very well what the MLR’s party line was on this particular subject.

  Then she thought of Steph, a socialist at heart, who didn’t hide her admiration for Rivière. As president, Dominique no longer joined debates in the Assemblée, but she would have her work cut out for her debating this particular bill at home.

  Steph

  “Have you heard?” Juliette’s blonde head popped up in the doorway of Steph’s office.

  “Heard what?” A small headache beat at the base of her skull. She had stayed at Zoya and Camille’s a bit too long, indulging in the excellent Pouilly-Fumé they had served. She was no longer in her twenties and even the best wine could leave her with a hammering hangover these days. It had been a pleasant evening and she had enjoyed getting to know Aurore Seauve, who was a woman after her own heart. Sexually openminded, at least on her radio show—although perhaps not so much in her private life. Ideas that naturally fell on the left side of the political spectrum, just like Steph’s—even though she was, currently, not at liberty to express these ideas outside the confines of, ironically, a right-wing-led Elysée.

  “Rivière is introducing a bill to the Assemblée,” Juliette said. “To finally allow all-female couples and single women to avail of sperm donations. This is going to make her very popular and… give someone else a massive headache.” Juliette grinned. “Unfortunately, it’s too late for me, but if this had been possible ten years ago, who knows, there might be a little Juliette Barbier walking around right now. Or a tiny Nadia.”

  “The bill needs to pass first.” Steph knew all about Juliette’s sudden wish for a child a few years ago—just when she and Nadia were going through a rocky patch in their relationship. She didn’t want to rack all of that up again.

  “I take it you will contact our client about this.” Juliette sat in a chair opposite Steph.

  “This is going to do her head in. And mine,” Steph said.

  “You’ll both get through it. There’s no choice. This needs to happen, Steph. It should have happened years ago.”

  “Your career in PR is long enough to know this could end up being a disaster for Dominique.”

  “We are the queens of spin. We’ll find a way to get her through this unscathed.”

  “Queens of spin?” Steph rolled her eyes.

  “It was an option when we were coming up with names for the firm.” Juliette’s eyes sparkled.

  “I would never have joined you then.”

  “Good thing we kept it safely—and boringly—at Barbier & Cyr.”

  “Speaking of, where’s Cyr today? I haven’t seen her all day.”

  “Day off. No doubt driving Margot crazy being a bridezilla. I’m sure Margot already regrets having asked. Claire is not one to have a small and discreet wedding.”

  “Dominique asked me again,” Steph said after a short pause during which she could easily picture the scene of Claire overwhelming Margot with ludicrous demands for the perfect wedding day.

  “That makes two proposals,” Juliette said. “She must be serious about it.”

  “I just fail to see what the big deal is. Besides, she doesn’t have time to get married.”

  “I’m no expert on Dominique’s private feelings, but my best guess is this has nothing to do with it being a big deal or having time for it. It’s just a pure expression of her love for you. She wants to be your wife.”

  “I can’t be somebody’s wife, Jules. That’s just not me.”

  “It’s a special feeling, you know. It’s hard to explain, but I just love the idea of being married, even though I used to be just like you. Well, maybe not just like you.” She tapped her fingers on the armrest of the chair. “I never felt any need to get married to
Nadia. What was the point? We were as good as married already. But now we are married, and no longer as good as married. It makes a difference to me.”

  “You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me, Jules. Your pro-marriage stance needs better PR.”

  “Talk to Claire then.”

  “God no. I’m not mentioning the M-word anywhere near Claire these days. I don’t feel like listening to a detailed breakdown of her seating plan and which cheesy music will be played at the ceremony.”

  “Maybe you just don’t like weddings.”

  “I was raised by a single mother. Marriage and weddings were never revered in my family the way they are in others. I just couldn’t care less.”

  “Clearly Dominique cares a great deal.”

  “Clearly.” Steph rolled her head from side to side. “Anyway, I’d best call home. See how our president is taking the news.”

  Steph had been waiting for Dominique to come to bed for an hour already. She put the book she’d been reading to the side and switched on the television. A rerun of the late night news had just started and the first item was the introduction of the Rivière bill. Sperm donation for same-sex couples was a difficult topic in France, but the new socialist leader was milking it for all it was worth. Steph admired her from a professional point of view as well as from a political—and even personal—one.

  What she was doing took guts as well as a strategic political mind. Steph tried to erase that cynical thought from her brain but she’d been in PR and, lately, in politics too long to see this for what it, ultimately, would be. Thousands of women wouldn’t have to leave France to find a sperm donor anymore. Their life would become a whole lot easier and their fundamental right to have a child would no longer be ignored by the state.

  Anne Rivière was being interviewed. She stood tall and smiled into the camera. This was her moment. The first shot fired in the war for the next presidential election. Some voters may believe Anne Rivière was doing this solely out of the goodness of her heart, and her heart may very well be in the right place, but this was as much a sign to Dominique. This was Anne Rivière saying she meant business and goading Dominique into a response—into saying something she wouldn’t otherwise have to say. Into taking a clear stance she knew was difficult for a president and leader of a right-wing party. The game was on.

  Steph peered at her. She was a good speaker with excellent delivery—nothing like her predecessor Goffin. The camera panned out as the interview ended and one of her aides appeared briefly on the screen. Steph blinked and looked again. She knew that face. She’d only recently been able to put a name to it. Last night to be exact.

  She paused the broadcast and rewound a few seconds until the screen froze on an image of Aurore Seauve.

  Aurore had advocated on her radio show for years for this legislation to be brought forward. She must have advised Rivière on the bill.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Dominique whirled into the room. “Sorry that I asked you to wait and then didn’t come up for so long.”

  Steph waved off Dominique’s comment. “Can you believe that I met this woman last night?” She pointed at the screen.

  “Which woman? Rivière? Have you been courting socialists behind my back?” Dominique waggled her eyebrows. She didn’t seem too perturbed by today’s events. She had many more delicate and difficult things on her plate.

  “No, the one behind Rivière. Aurore Seauve. The radio host.”

  “The one who does the show about sex?” Dominique sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Yes. She’s a friend of Camille’s. I met her at theirs last night. She didn’t say anything at all about this. Didn’t let on she was involved with Rivière at all.”

  “She wouldn’t have. This had to be a surprise.”

  “I’m still impressed with her poker face.” Seeing Aurore on television next to Rivière reshaped Steph’s view of her. Not that it was impossible for a person to be heartbroken and in need of friends at the same time as preparing a bill that would make the president’s complicated life a little harder still, but it did say something about her. There was a ruthlessness to Aurore Seauve that had not been on display the night before. A hidden side that, if she was honest with herself, impressed Steph.

  “What was she like? Did she ask about our sex life?” Dominique brought her hand to the back of Steph’s head.

  “She was mainly venting about her girlfriend leaving her.”

  Dominique scooted closer to Steph while her fingers caressed her scalp. “I don’t much feel like talking about left-wing lesbians anymore, babe. Nor do I want to think about sperm donations before I go to bed. Can you turn off the TV?” She kissed Steph on the temple. “Let’s talk tomorrow.” She slid onto her back.

  Steph switched off the television and looked at Dominique. “You’re still fully dressed.”

  “Who cares about some wrinkled clothes? The people who live in this palace with us simply love to iron. So much ironing goes on in here. It’s obscene.”

  Steph chuckled. Dominique’s eyes were already closed. “I care a great deal.” She started unbuttoning Dominique’s blouse.

  “Thank you, chérie,” she murmured. “Je t’aime.”

  By the time Steph had manoeuvred Dominique’s trousers off, Dominique was fast asleep.

  Camille

  “Your friend Aurore pulled a fast one on me,” Steph said into Camille’s ear. Camille usually only took calls on her mobile at work if it was one of her children or Zoya, but she figured she’d best make an exception for the first lady.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She advised Rivière on that bill. I saw her on the news last night. I had no idea she dabbled in politics, Camille. I would have appreciated a heads-up.” Was there a sharp edge of blame in Steph’s voice?

  “Aurore and I don’t discuss politics. It’s what keeps our friendship healthy.”

  “She sat right across from me for the better part of the evening knowing all along that the next day Rivière would introduce a bill that would put Dominique in a bad spot. When she took that call in the kitchen, she was probably talking to Rivière about it.”

  “Aurore is a friend who needed to see some friendly faces last night, Steph. I think you’re reading a bit too much into her being at ours. She didn’t know you were going to be there when she called me.”

  “I just find it a bit too glaring a coincidence, that’s all.”

  “She’s been my friend for a very long time and I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come down on you like this. I used to not give much of a damn about politics, and now my entire life revolves around it. It was just a bit of a shock seeing her with Rivière.”

  “I understand, Steph, I do. But I don’t think about politics when I introduce friends. Not anymore. And for your information, Aurore enjoyed meeting you. It took her mind off Vivianne.”

  “If not handled delicately, this whole thing could turn into a PR nightmare for Dominique. Neither of the choices she has when reacting to this is straightforward.”

  “Politics is not straightforward. But Dominique has defied her party once before. I’m sure she can find the strength to do it again. It is a good bill, after all. A necessary one.”

  “If only it were that simple,” Steph said.

  “What if it were?” Camille offered. “What if it really were that simple?”

  Steph chuckled in her ear. “You’ve been out of the political arena for too long. It hasn’t gotten any easier or prettier since you divorced Jean-Claude. On the contrary. Dominique might be president, but that doesn’t mean the more conservative MLR wolves aren’t sharpening their teeth and waiting in the wings for her to slip up—in their eyes at least. This is a nicely-wrapped gift for them.”

  “Do you want me to quiz Jean-Claude? See what he knows?”

  “No, no. Of course not. But what you can do is give me Aurore Seauve’s number. I would like to
have a chat with her.”

  “Oh, she’s going to love that.” Camille couldn’t hide her glee. She would like to be a fly on the wall wherever that conversation took place.

  “I bet she is.”

  “I’ll text you her number. Not, I assume, that you needed to call me to get it.”

  “Nah, I just called to scold you, obviously.” Steph let out a brief sigh. “I’m sorry for going off on you. I enjoyed meeting Aurore as well.”

  They rang off and Camille sank back into her chair while she considered Aurore’s motives. Aurore had no way of knowing Steph would be having dinner with Zoya last night when she called. Camille berated herself for even questioning her friend, who really had been cut up about losing yet another lover.

  She glanced at the clock. She had a meeting in fifteen minutes. After she had texted Steph Aurore’s number, she decided to call up her old friend herself.

  Aurore picked up after the first ring. “Camille, I’m so glad to hear a friendly voice.”

  “Likewise, even though you got me in a pickle with the Elysée.”

  “You? How so?”

  “Come on, Aurore. Let’s not play dumb.”

  “No, I’m serious. That bill or the work I do with Rivière has nothing to do with our friendship, so I don’t see how it could have landed you in trouble.”

  “Well, not trouble as such, but I did just get a call from Steph. She asked for your number, by the way, so expect a call.”

  “I look forward to it already.”

  “How are you feeling today?” Camille asked.

  “I’m too busy to suffer much from Vivianne-withdrawal symptoms, so pretty good. How are you?”

  Camille sighed. “I’m constantly having to remind myself that this is the twenty-first century. If some of my colleagues got their way, we’d go a few decades back to when a woman’s place was considered to be in the kitchen.”

  “I wonder how those colleagues feel about sperm donations being used by lesbian couples.” Aurore chuckled.