by Harper Bliss
A familiar figure shuffled along the glass doors. Steph buzzed Solange in and braced herself.
“I had a chat with Aurore,” Solange said, once they were in Steph’s office. That was the last conversation opener Steph had expected to roll from Solange’s lips. “She made me realise I’m the one who owes you an apology.”
“How did Aurore accomplish that great feat?”
“Let’s just say she has a persuading way about her.” Solange inhaled sharply. “But this is not about Aurore. This is about you and me. And about the president, of course.”
“Of course. It’s never not about the president.”
“If I had any part in your decision to leave the Elysée, I would like to apologise for that. It was never my intention to drive a wedge between you. I’m not sure you know this.”
“If course I don’t know it. You’ve never given me any reason to.”
“The same can be said for you, Stéphanie. Sorry, Steph.” That sharp inhale of breath again. “It’s the president’s wish that we try harder to get along. I would like to give that another go.”
“Wanting it is not enough,” Steph said.
“That’s why I’m here. As a first step in the desired direction.”
Steph leaned back and considered Solange’s words. She hadn’t forgotten her outburst at the Elysée dinner table. Her rant against lesbians and her subsequent storming off. An idea brewed in the back of her mind.
“Okay, I accept your first step. But I’m going to need more. Coming here might not have been easy for you, it still doesn’t prove much. And I’m going to need proof of your best intentions.”
“I would like to say I’ll do whatever it takes, but you know I’m limited in what I can agree to.”
“If you want to be friendly with me, Solange, you’re going to have to behave as my friend.”
“What do you have in mind?” Solange scratched her cheek.
“Tomorrow evening, I’m having dinner with a group of friends. Claire and Juliette and their partners. Zoya and Camille. And your new spiritual advisor Aurore. I would like for you to join us. Be merry amongst the lesbians.”
Solange dropped her hand from her cheek into her lap. “Why? I might have heard you mention these women, but that’s no reason to have dinner with them.”
“The reason is me. I need you to put your money where your mouth is. I also need you to not leave the dinner in indignation because you’re too surrounded by lesbians.” Steph sighed contentedly. Good move, she congratulated herself in her head.
“What if I’m not free tomorrow evening?”
“Become free. What have you got going on anyway? I have access to Dominique’s calendar.” This part stung, because tomorrow evening Steph and Dominique were scheduled to have some free time together.
“I do have non-Elysée activities in my life.”
“Like what?” Steph was perhaps being a tad too hard on Solange. “Trying to get out of this dinner is not going to help matters between us. You came here to apologise. I accept your apology. It’s time to move to the next stage, otherwise nothing will change between us and we’ll be at each others’ throats again in no time. I need to know that you don’t despise me the way you made me believe at that dinner, that you dislike lesbians with such vehemence, because if you do, I can never be friendly with you. No matter how many times you apologise.”
“I don’t have a problem with lesbians. I’m a lesbian president’s chief of staff.”
“I think we both know that doesn’t mean anything. You’re MLR. You’re good at pretending.”
Solange shook her head. She was quiet for a few minutes. Steph let her contemplate in silence.
“I’d like to make a counteroffer,” Solange said. “I’ll come to the dinner if I can bring the president.” Solange stared Steph in the eye.
Check mate.
“You’ve invited Dominique and Solange to dinner?” Nadia said.
Steph shook her head. “No, I invited Solange, who then invited Dominique.”
“This is not going to be a dinner,” Juliette said. “It’s going to be some sort of unbearably tense farce.”
“Don’t say that, dear,” Nadia said. “This is good. This could work.”
“You have more faith than I do, Nadz,” Steph said. Phénix was lying half in her lap and she petted his head. Since she’d started staying with Juliette and Nadia, she had learned that stroking the dog’s soft fur calmed her down. It also made her miss Pierrot even more.
“Do you even want to see Dominique?” Juliette asked.
“I’m going to have to see her again at some point.”
“Sure, but is a dinner like that the right occasion?”
Steph shook her head. “Probably not. Solange played it well. She’s basically forcing me to contact Dominique, whose belief in the goodness of Solange’s heart will grow again.”
“You should know by now not to mess with her.” Juliette was not letting up. “You cornered her; she fought back.”
“How long am I going to let this woman best me?”
“Maybe you’re looking at it from the wrong perspective. She apologised. She came to you. She literally said she wants you and Dominique back together. Do you even want this woman at a dinner with your friends? Her presence will change the entire vibe,” Nadia said.
Steph nodded. “You’re right, Nadz. I don’t really want her there.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind being uninvited,” Juliette said.
“I need to think about it.” Solange wasn’t so much the issue. Dominique was. Sleeping in Juliette and Nadia’s guest room was all well and good, but Steph missed Dominique crawling into bed with her at night. She missed her smile, the light that always seemed to glow around her. She even missed her speeches.
If the conversation with Solange had accomplished anything at all, it was making Steph realise that this status quo couldn’t last much longer. She scratched Phénix behind the ears and said, “How about we sleep on it?”
Episode Seventeen
Camille
“I’m happy you’re making acquaintances,” Camille said. “I look forward to having them all over for dinner.” She spooned some salmon tartare onto her fork and studied it, then asked, “What on earth shall we cook?”
“I’ll prepare an Indian feast, of course.” Zoya cut a slice of her duck confit. “I haven’t really mastered French cuisine just yet.”
“You’ve tasted plenty of it, though.” After work, Camille had met Zoya at their neighbourhood restaurant, eager, once again, to forget about her day at the CNRS.
“You could say I’ve been working hard at that. This is delicious,” Zoya said with her mouth half full.
They ate in silence for a while. Zoya appeared lost in thought.
“Are you okay, chérie?” Camille asked. She hoped Zoya understood she could talk to her about her homesickness whenever she wanted to. “You seem miles away.”
“Hm.” Zoya put her cutlery down. She found Camille’s glance. “I can’t really describe how it made me feel, except perhaps a little envious, when I was at Barbier & Cyr.”
She still had trouble pronouncing the name of Juliette and Claire’s company with a proper French accent, which only endeared Zoya to Camille more. “Envious?” Camille inquired. “Why?”
“The way Steph was when she was with them. Like she was coming home and engaged in some banter with her sisters. There was something so pure and easy about it. The kind of camaraderie that sprouts when you work on a bunch of successful projects together, that comes with having years of history.”
“Do you miss your esteemed producer Jack?”
Zoya shook her head. “No, but I do miss that vibe of working towards a common goal, side by side, every day. I think that’s what Steph misses too. She was like a different person when she was with her friends. A brighter version of herself.” Zoya reached for her wine glass. “Being a foreign correspondent is all well and good, but it’s a far cry from what I
used to do. I used to be part of a team. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I would like to be part of a team again. I think it might help with me feeling so… out of sorts.” She sighed. “But of course the language is an issue. I have my expertise and my experience, but I can’t just apply for a job that will make me more part of a team, if I don’t understand what the team is talking about.”
“I should only speak to you in French. Give you that crash course I’ve been promising you.”
Zoya shrugged. “Even then it would take years until my French is good enough to properly integrate myself, especially in my business, where it’s all about words and language.”
“But that’s just the thing, darling. You’re good at words and language. It won’t take years. You’ve picked up so much already.”
“Not enough.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t have to be such a big hurdle. I know we French are very chauvinistic when it comes to our language, but this is Paris, and we do have quite a few multinationals here. Compared to ten years ago, we speak so much more English.”
Zoya nodded thoughtfully. “I didn’t only feel envy when I was at Barbier & Cyr. I felt a twinge of excitement to be amongst these women who had helped elect the president. As a journalist, I’ve always looked down my nose at PR a little. Being snobbish about it kind of comes with the territory. But PR is so important these days. For years, it was my job to pierce it, to see through it. But what if I joined the other camp? Maybe it’s the kind of professional challenge I need.”
Camille hadn’t heard Zoya speak with such drive in her voice about anything work-related for months. She always suspected Zoya harboured much more ambition than her current job as foreign correspondent required. The short interviews with people about butter and city gardens and clean energy didn’t satisfy her as much as the single in-depth interview she used to do every week. “Maybe it is. Maybe it’s exactly what you need.” Camille flashed her an encouraging smile.
“Do you, um, think I can broach the subject at dinner tomorrow?”
“Of course you can. You should. Claire and Juliette own a company in the field you’re interested in. They may have some leads. And if not that, they’ll probably have some invaluable tips.”
“I might do that then.” Zoya leaned back in her chair and shot Camille a confident smile. “They speak decent English. I might make myself understood.”
“There’s no doubt you will.”
Zoya
Zoya stirred the curry with a bit more vigour than she normally would. She inhaled deeply and let the air escape through her mouth slowly. She was cooking for two extra people—one of whom was the president of France. Moreover, Dominique and Solange’s presence would disturb the atmosphere she was hoping for. Even though Steph had promised her she would talk to Dominique beforehand, there was no other way but for tensions to run high.
“Try this.” She beckoned Camille and held out a spoonful of sauce. “Blow on it first. I don’t want you to burn your tongue. It’s such a precious body part.” She threw in a lewd smile.
“Delicious, if a tad spicy,” Camille said. “My palate has learned to handle it, but I’m not sure our president eats a lot of spicy food.”
“We wouldn’t want to give her eminence an upset stomach.” Zoya added a bit more coconut milk. “But I do refuse to serve bland curry.”
“It’s far from bland, chérie. All the spices are coming through.”
Zoya kissed Camille on the cheek. “Let’s open the wine so it can breathe,” she said.
“And we can have a little aperitif already.”
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” Zoya bumped her hip against Camille’s.
“Oh, well, then you must allow me to put them back.” Camille grabbed her by the hips and kissed her on the lips.
“I’m so very sorry,” Steph said after kissing Zoya and Camille hello. “Dominique was held up. I don’t think she’ll make it.” She handed Zoya a bottle of Champagne. “But who knows, maybe Solange will show up. I say it’s highly unlikely though.”
“Is our country in crisis?” Camille asked.
Steph shrugged. “Who knows.”
“Have you talked?” Zoya asked.
“Very briefly on the phone. That’s it,” Steph said. “Solange’s move hasn’t worked.”
“What do you mean?” They headed into the living room. Zoya sat down with Steph for a minute. Her feet were tired from standing up in the kitchen for the better part of the day.
“I invited Solange so she could prove she isn’t homophobic. In return, she wanted to bring Dominique. To force us to talk to each other.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have used this dinner to play these kinds of games in the first place. I see that now. I’m sorry. Either way, nothing has come of it. But still. What was I even thinking asking Solange here? That ice queen in your beautiful, cosy home.” She shook her head. “Her mere presence would make the sauce curdle.” She grinned. Zoya was happy to see some sign of glee on Steph’s face.
The bell rang.
“I’ll go,” Camille said.
“There’s the rest of the cavalry.” Steph exhaled. “In a way, I’m happy Dominique’s not coming. I just want to relax with my friends.” She shot Zoya a genuine smile. “How are you?”
Zoya was distracted by the sound of voices in the hallway. There was a mishmash of them so she concluded Juliette and Claire must have arrived with their significant others.
“A little nervous, to be honest.” She drew her lips into a pout.
“About this lot?” Steph tilted her head. “No need. As long as you have plenty of wine on offer.” She chuckled.
Zoya rose to greet their guests. She was introduced to Juliette’s wife Nadia, a warm woman with hair and eyes as dark as Zoya’s. Zoya immediately liked her. Claire’s fiancée Margot was harder to read. Her smile was tighter and her hair pulled back in a severe pony tail. She had a firm, steady grip and looked Zoya straight in the eye for a moment when they shook hands. Unlike most of the French Zoya had encountered, Margot didn’t kiss people on the cheek when she first met them.
While everyone was busy getting a seat and having drinks served, the bell rang again and Zoya opened the door to Aurore. It was good to see someone she had known pretty much since the beginning of her arrival in Paris. It made her realise again how important familiar faces were in all aspects of life.
“I thought Dominique was coming?” Juliette asked just as Zoya and Aurore entered the living room. Steph could duck the question as Aurore was being introduced to the people she hadn’t met before.
When they all sat down, Steph said, “Let’s avoid the D-word tonight, shall we?”
“If that’s what you want,” Juliette said. “Can I mention the S-word?”
“What’s with all these one-letter words?” Margot asked. “I know who the D stands for, but you’re going to have to be more clear about the S.” She sounded serious, as if she didn’t crack a joke easily.
“Solange, honey,” Claire explained. “Dominique’s chief of staff.”
“Right.” Margot looked as though she wasn’t that up to speed on her friends’ dramas.
“What about Solange?” Aurore asked.
“Aurore has gotten quite well acquainted with the chief of staff,” Camille said, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Oh, stop it,” Aurore said.
“Wasn’t she supposed to come?” Juliette asked.
Steph shrugged again. “I think it’s safe to say my relationship with Dominique and Solange’s feeble attempt at making amends have taken a backseat to whatever is keeping them at the Elysée. Nothing new there.”
Nadia, who was sitting next to Steph, put an arm on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Then the bell rang again. Zoya witnessed Steph’s muscles stiffen. Zoya rose to see who was at the door. It would either be Dominique or Solange. Or both.
“Bonsoir,” the woman in the doorway said. She held out a bottle of wine, her arms sti
ff, her smile sparse. Either Solange Garceau was nervous about being here, or she really was as uptight as everyone described her.
“Please, entrez.” Zoya opened the door wide as she accepted the bottle of wine. At least they would have plenty of booze to make it through the evening.
Numbers were uneven, so Zoya had discreetly removed a plate from the table and positioned herself at the head so the rest could evenly spread out. Camille sat to her left and Nadia to her right. Steph sat between Solange and Camille and Solange had Aurore sitting across from her. The curry was going down well. None of them, even Solange, seemed to mind a bit of spice.
Now that the food had been served, Zoya could finally relax. The wine had done its bit as well.
She had missed most of the conversation while she put the final touches to her dish in the kitchen and it took her a while to catch up. They were speaking in French and as far as Zoya understood, Camille was being frank about her work situation.
Zoya cleared her throat. “Any chance you can throw some English words in there, honey? For all I know, you’re slagging me off like nobody’s business.”
Camille brought a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, darling.” She addressed the table. “Everyone, if you don’t mind, let’s switch to English. Unless you want to say something uncouth about Zoya.”
Zoya lifted her hand and waved it about. “Please, don’t switch to English entirely. I need to learn more French.”
“This is delicious,” Aurore said in English. “I haven’t had this good a curry since I was actually in India.”