by Harper Bliss
“What do you mean?” Dominique asked. She was leaning on Steph’s shoulder.
“Solange and Aurore. I think it’s on.”
“Are you still going on about that? Shouldn’t you be congratulating me on my stellar performance instead of obsessing about Solange’s, frankly, non-existent sex life?”
Steph gasped. “You think they’re having sex?” She turned and made Dominique slip off her shoulder. “My mind hadn’t even gone that far. I just can’t picture it, you know. Solange having sex?”
“Don’t be so hard on her. She’s flesh and blood, just like us.”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of that.” Steph wagged her finger in the air. “If you ask me, it’s that porn video that did it. Solange’s reaction to that was far too extreme. It got to her. It must have aroused her, and then she didn’t know what to do with herself and decided to throw a puritanical hissy fit.”
“You’d better pipe down by the time Aurore and Solange arrive, babe. Don’t scare her off. Solange deserves to have a good time. If something is going on between them, which I still very much doubt, then I’m happy for her.”
“Why else would Aurore ask her to ride with her? That just doesn’t make any sense. Did you see how mortified Solange reacted?” She patted Dominique on the thigh. “I’m sorry, Madam President, but your chief of staff is stealing your thunder tonight.”
Steph kept a keen eye on Solange. If the woman who had sat in that same chair accusing all of them of being too lesbian was now herself showing lesbian tendencies, she had to find out every last thing about it.
Dominique had opened a bottle of Pauillac and Aurore especially was enjoying its taste. Solange had only taken a tiny sip, as though she was scared of what a bigger sip combined with being in Aurore’s company might do to her.
“A toast.” Steph raised her glass. “To you, Aurore, for hosting such a wonderful, much-needed radio show.” Then she looked at Dominique. “To you, babe, for being your usual smashing self.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I even for a second considered not being with you anymore, let alone for a full week.” She kissed Dominique on the cheek, then turned to Solange. “And to the chief of staff, of course, for making it all happen. That really was some crafty chief-of-staffing you did there. You’re not so bad, after all.”
“I guess I should take that as a compliment,” Solange said.
They clinked their glasses together.
“I’m just glad you two can now be in the same room together without wanting to scratch each others’ eyes out,” Dominique said. “They were worse than my children at times,” she added to Aurore.
“If we all make small compromises, we can usually get where we want to be,” Aurore said.
“Spoken like a true politician,” Dominique said.
Aurore waved her hand, then said, “You made a serious move to the left today, Madam President. Some friendly newspapers will be hard on you tomorrow morning.”
“Then they are the fools. I should have come out in favour much sooner.”
“It’s hard when you’re president. You don’t get to make the decision you want simply because you’re in charge,” Solange said.
“I don’t think anyone anywhere gets to do that,” Steph said. She watched Solange cut a tiny sliver of pizza with her knife and fork. Steph had shared too many pizzas with Lisa and Didier to care much for decorum, let alone cutlery. It made her think of what they’d said in the car earlier. Someone as prissy as Solange having sex? With Aurore? She glanced at the pair of them. Surely Aurore would need to do all the heavy lifting, so to speak.
“What?” Aurore asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Oh sorry, I was lost in thought.” Steph wouldn’t be herself if she didn’t pry a little. “I was just wondering how Solange did manage to pull all this off? I imagine convincing you was much harder than having to convince Dominique. You’re a Rivière supporter. Especially after what went down after that dinner here.”
“There’s no need to rack all of that up again.” Dominique’s tone was stern.
“Solange has her ways,” Aurore said and winked at Solange.
“Oh, I’m sure she does.” Steph examined Solange’s face.
“What are you insinuating?” Solange asked.
“Nothing.” Steph shook her head. “Nothing at all. I should thank you really. Not only for making this happen, but for coming to that dinner last Saturday as well. I really appreciated that.” Steph smiled at Solange. Maybe she had always gravely underestimated the chief of staff. Steph was judged all the time for how she looked. She should know better than to judge Solange the same way. Maybe, underneath her proper and prim exterior, the woman brimmed with passion, and that was what Aurore saw in her. Or, maybe, Dominique was right, and Nadia—and Steph herself by extension—was just imagining things. Maybe Aurore and Solange had simply struck up an unlikely friendship.
“This question was vetoed by Solange,” Aurore said, “but I would like to ask you now, off the record. Are you starting to feel too hemmed in by your party and what it stands for? Clearly, this bill was a no-brainer for you on many levels, but party politics kept you from supporting it. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“The party is changing. For the better, I believe. There’s a whole new generation waiting in the wings, people like me, with a much more progressive agenda.”
“So you’ve never thought about breaking free and starting your own more centrist party? It’s all the rage across Europe these days,” Aurore said.
“Never for one second,” Dominique said. “I sometimes disagree with people in the MLR, but I’m still loyal to them.”
“One can dream, though,” Steph said. “And if you were to run independently, I could run alongside you.”
“You already run alongside me, babe.” Dominique shot her a smile. “You’re just not on any list.”
“I still think the MLR would be glad to see me go,” Steph said. “I’m sure quite a few members rolled their eyes when you insinuated I might want a child. Or had a near stroke.”
“You’re too hard on the party sometimes,” Solange said.
“Maybe,” Steph replied.
For the rest of the evening, every time Solange said something, Steph wondered whether she was playing footsie with Aurore beneath the table. At one point, she considered dropping her fork, so she could sneak a peek, but the chief of staff was much too cunning to get caught red-handed—or footed—like that.
Most of all, though, Steph was glad the four of them were sitting at the Elysée dining table together, and no fits were being thrown, the tone was cosy and respectful, and, most of all, she and Dominique were firmly back together.
Camille
Camille went to work strengthened by the conversations she’d had with her friends, but, even more so, by the thick file she had in her briefcase. For a long time now, she had let Duflot believe that he could continue his bullying without her doing anything about it. With her taking it in silence. On paper, he was an intelligent man, but his behaviour towards her clearly disqualified him for working for the CNRS any longer. They were an institution of reputation. Camille advised the government. The president was a lesbian herself—which probably added to Duflot’s chagrin. His own boss coming out had pushed him over some invisible edge, made him blow a fuse. Now it was time to let him know that he would not get away with it. He might be a civil servant and his job protected by a law that made it very hard for him to get the sack, but he had broken too many rules for any old-fashioned statute to protect him. Duflot was done. Camille would make sure of that.
“Bernice, can you ask Monsieur Duflot to come see me, please? As soon as possible and no matter what he’s doing at the moment. It’s urgent.”
Bernice nodded and Camille went into her office to wait. She laid out the file on her desk. Every email she had received, including a trace to who had sent them. Every threat that had been clumsily written on a piece of paper. A notebook fill
ed with the things she’d heard whisper in the hallways.
A knock came on the door.
“Oui,” she said, bracing herself.
“Bonjour, Camille,” Guillaume Maisonneuve, the head of HR, said.
Camille invited him to sit. She couldn’t fire Duflot on her own. She needed an independent witness to this meeting as well as the display of HR power that was attached to Maisonneuve.
She hadn’t gone to HR immediately. At first, she had been too stunned, had thought Duflot’s shenanigans were just a stupid, mindless prank. Until they had continued and Camille had, along with Zoya, planned her strategy. She had gone to HR only when she’d had enough evidence. And she’d had to test the limits of her patience to stand it to that point, but she had managed because she wanted Duflot to get the greatest punishment possible. She didn’t only want him to be fired; she also wanted to make sure he wouldn’t get scooped up by another government agency, as so often happened with disgraced civil servants.
He would not be given the opportunity to get back to his old antics every time he encountered a woman in power he didn’t agree with. She wanted him properly punished and stained with a record that would make him undesirable for any future employers. Her lawyer had prepared a civil case and Camille was thinking of pressing charges, all backed up by the head of HR. She would set an example, because she was strong enough to do so—she had all the support she needed—and other, less privileged women might not.
“Are you ready?” Guillaume asked.
“More than ready,” she said. She couldn’t wait to get this over with—to get this whole sordid affair off her mind. Because that was the thing with being bullied, no matter how much you tried, and put your energy into building a case, and had the loving support of a partner, it still got under your skin. As much as she hated herself for it, and as much as she knew that she had done absolutely nothing wrong, Camille had questioned herself. And this was the real harm that bullies like Duflot inflicted. They made women feel less than, made them waste their time and energy on doubting themselves in the most irrational ways.
Another knock came on the door. Bernice’s head popped in. “Monsieur Duflot is here.”
Camille nodded.
“I’ll let you do the talking,” Guillaume said.
Camille didn’t get up when Duflot entered, nor did Guillaume. She just pointed at the chair on the other end of her desk. When he noticed Maisonneuve, Duflot nervously rubbed his palms together.
“Bonjour,” Camille said.
“Er, what’s this about?” Duflot asked. “Bernice didn’t give me any information.”
“I think you know very well what this is about.” Camille planted her elbows on her desk and leaned in his direction. He recoiled. “You disobeyed my instructions on several occasions, you’ve been sloppy in your reports to me, you’ve actively undermined my authority within the department. I could go on and on.”
“I’ve just been doing what I think is best for the department, based on my long experience here.” He looked at Maisonneuve for support. “It’s not my fault if you can’t handle the pressure of the job and see everything you don’t like as a personal attack on you.”
Camille continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The thing is, Duflot, you did these things for one reason only.” She cleared her throat. “What was particularly striking about your behaviour is that it changed so abruptly after the office party. After I introduced you to my partner Zoya.”
Duflot shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Camille painted a small smile on her lips. She tapped the folder in front of her. “It’s all here. Every last infraction against the rules of the CNRS. All the emails—”
“What emails?” Duflot said. “I only ever send you professional emails.”
Camille smiled again. “You’re not as clever as you’d like to believe. Did you really think the fake addresses you set up couldn’t be traced? If not to you, then to at least two people in your team, whom I will be going after next, you can be sure of that. The institute has zero tolerance for the kind of behaviour you displayed.”
“What kind of behaviour?” Duflot’s voice shot up. “I haven’t done anything.” He pointed at the folder. “I have no idea what you’ve got in there, but I can assure you I have nothing to do with it. As for anything else, it will always be my word against yours. People here know me. They know I’m a good guy.”
“Maybe the pair you enlisted to do your dirty work for you might possibly lie for you, for a minute or two.” Camille sighed. “Either way, it’s not a confession I’m after. You’re fired, Duflot. You have harassed me, taunted me, and bullied me, all because I fell in love with a woman. Your tactics may have worked a few decades ago, but this is France well into the twenty-first century. You may have some sort of fantasy that women, especially lesbian women, are not equal to you, but guess what? We are. Well, most of us are much better than you, clearly, because you’ve stooped to a level so low, you’re not worthy of being in the civil service anymore. Which is a shame. You’re a good scientist, but you’ve just gone and ruined your career. And over what?” Camille narrowed her eyes and sought his gaze. “Over something that doesn’t even concern you. My private life. Of all the stupid things you can do.” She looked down at the folder. “Why?” She glanced up again. “Did you really think you could get away with it?”
“I will fight this.” He turned to Maisonneuve. “None of this is true. This is slander. I should be making a complaint against her.” He spat out the last word.
Camille opened the folder on her desk and started reading from an email she received. “What you need is a man to show you what it feels like. A big hard—” She paused, but then decided to continue. “—dick shoved into that lesbian cunt.” She glanced at Duflot again. “All very imaginative.” She scoffed. “You really couldn’t be a little more original than that? What did you do? Go on the internet and consult the Threatened Straight Male Handbook?” Camille rolled her eyes. “Did it have a section on ‘How to troll lesbians’?”
“I’m not admitting to any of this.” He turned to Maisonneuve again. “If that’s all the proof you’ve got, I’m innocent until proven guilty. Anyone could have written that.”
Camille nodded at Maisonneuve.
“You’re fired, Monsieur Duflot,” he said. “Human Relations considers the charges made against you sufficiently proven. Official charges may be made against you with the police. You may want to consult a lawyer at this point.”
“A lawyer?” His voice grew high-pitched. “What’s with this witch-hunt against me all of a sudden?” He slammed a fist on the table. “And all because of her?”
“Please, Monsieur Duflot, I urge you to remain calm. You’ll only make matters worse if you don’t,” Maisonneuve said.
He shot up out of his chair. “How do you expect me to remain calm when I’m hearing all of this? So she received some anonymous emails. So what? I keep telling you, it wasn’t me.”
“Oh, so you have the utmost respect for me, is that what you’re trying to say?” Camille asked. “Is that why you’re getting so worked up?”
“Of course I don’t respect you. You’ve never respected me.” He sat down, took a deep breath, and said, “Everybody here knows how you got this job. Because your ex-husband knows the right kind of people and you… probably displayed very persuasive methods to have been put in charge. What’s next? No more men allowed to work at CNRS? Or only sissies, perhaps.” He let his hands fall into his lap. “What has the world come to if a woman like Dominique Laroche can become president?” He forcibly blew some air through his nostrils. “I hardly recognise the country I grew up in anymore. It’s just not right. You can go on about equality all you want, to me”—he balled his fist and brought it to his chest—“in here, it simply doesn’t feel right.”
Camille could have said so many things, but she knew it would be in vain. Men like Duflot were so convinced of their superiority, and so brainwas
hed by organisations like Tous Ensemble and the ANF that there was no use arguing. Not when he was in a state like this. Besides, she had already wasted too much time on this particular man. She hoped he would never know how much his bigotry had hurt her. How much she had hated coming to work at this institute she genuinely loved, where she had worked all her life, and had begun to feel so out of place.
“You’re a scientist,” Camille said. “That’s what baffles me most of all.”
“Being a scientist’s got nothing to do with how I feel,” Duflot said.
“You can go now. And don’t come back.” Camille had had enough of looking at his sorry face.
He sighed, remained seated for a few more seconds, but couldn’t look Camille in the eye anymore.
“I’ll escort you out,” Maisonneuve said.
Camille watched them leave her office. Only when the door was firmly shut behind them, did she take a deep breath. She breathed in and out slowly for a few minutes, then called Zoya.
“It’s over,” she said. “He’s gone.”
“Take the afternoon off, darling,” Zoya said. “I’m finishing my last assignment for ANBC.”
“Gladly, mon amour,” she said on a sigh.
“I’m so proud of you,” Zoya said.
“I have nothing to be proud of,” Camille replied. “It was just plain old bigotry.” She closed her eyes. “A lack of respect for another human being. If having to fight for respect is something to be proud of these days, then what has the world come to?”
“The world has always been like this.” Zoya’s voice was calm. “And it will always be like that, just as love and kindness and dignity will always be the antidote. You’re on the right side and that counts for something.”
Camille smiled. She could focus all her attention on Zoya now. On making her as happy as possible in Paris—although she suspected Zoya’s level of homesickness had already decreased considerably when she was offered the job at Barbier & Cyr. “I’ll be home in an hour, ready to love you,” she said.
“Good.” Zoya made a kissing noise over the phone. “You might not think we have anything to celebrate, but I’ll pick up a bottle of Champagne nonetheless.”