by Liz Nugent
It was agreed that two evenings per week I was to go to her elegant apartment on Boulevard Saint-Germain and coach her through Shakespeare, the Brontës and Thomas Hardy. I sensed it was not the happiest home. Arabelle’s father worked in Lyon and I assumed her parents were estranged. Her mother suffered from persistent migraines and, on the few occasions I saw her, she would appear dishevelled in her dressing gown, standing at the kitchen sink, swallowing painkillers with a glass of water. There was a brother who was at university in New York. Clearly, these children did not want to live at home and university was their opportunity to escape.
The first time I came to the apartment, I met Madame Grasse, who admitted me, showed me to the study and then announced she had to go and lie down. The apartment was shuttered from daylight and I could see outlines of old dark furniture through the gloom with the occasional glint of silver from large candelabra sitting on sideboards. Arabelle’s study was bigger than my room in the school. She had baked a cake and before we began our class she was anxious that I taste it. She had to be reassured several times that I liked it and insisted I take the entire thing home after the class. I had come with a lesson plan, but she requested that we start each lesson with conversation in English because, that way, she was in the right mindset when we came to the text. I conceded to fifteen minutes of chat and kept the conversation banal. Where did she go on holidays? What did she like to watch on television? Who was her favourite pop star? I asked this question with a sense of mischief. I had not told anybody that Luke Drumm was my brother, but he was pretty big in France too. She named some other French group that I’d never heard of. But then she asked me questions. What was Ireland like? Did I prefer it to France? What was my favourite food? She pointed to my hand and asked if I was married and if Irishmen wore wedding rings. That should have been the first alarm bell, but I didn’t hear it.
The next time I came, she had prepared my favourite meal, even though it wasn’t dinnertime. She was wearing a skin-tight dress with a slit up the side that revealed her bare shiny legs. That day, I felt a little uncomfortable. I sat on the other side of the table to her whereas previously I’d sat beside her. She looked at me a lot more than at her book and this time I limited the conversation to five minutes and I asked the questions, keeping them mundane and generic.
Within a few weeks, at school, she had started acting familiar with me. She called me by my first name in front of the other students, even though I had never told her what it was, and it had always been ‘Monsieur’ before. The others mimicked her and called me Brian too, but in a simpering girly voice. Some of the boys made smooching noises when my back was turned and I realized that, whatever she had told them, I had lost any respect I had from this class.
I posted her mother a note, requesting that our next lesson take place in the school library, which stayed open until seven. Arabelle came to me in school, tearfully asking why I didn’t want to come to her home any more. I lied and said I had a part-time job in a restaurant closer to the school and her home was too far away. Of course, she wanted to know which restaurant, and on the spur of the moment I lied and told her it was La Saucisserie.
She must have staked out the restaurant for days because the next time I was there, perhaps a week later, after school, she passed the window and waved at me. She came in and sat beside me, uninvited, in her school uniform. ‘Hello, Brian! How are you? I’m going to order a coffee. Do you want another? Perhaps we could continue our lessons here? The library is so airless and this is comfortable, isn’t it? Are you waiting to start your shift?’ All these questions, delivered in perfect English, while I blushed with embarrassment, knowing that I was caught in a lie and a potentially dangerous position.
‘Arabelle, even though we are not at school, you must call me “Monsieur”, and this is not an appropriate place for classes.’
‘It’s my favourite restaurant. Do you work here weekends or just evenings?’
I guessed she had never been here before.
Conrad appeared at my side, surprised. ‘Brian, who is your young friend?’ he asked.
‘This is Arabelle, my student.’ I emphasized the last word. I tried to make some eye contact with Conrad, but he was looking at her with disapproval. ‘Conrad, shall I start my shift now? Arabelle, you must leave. Conrad doesn’t like to see me chatting with customers when I’m working.’ Conrad raised an eyebrow at me, but nodded, saying nothing. He was not going to actively lie for me.
She left, not before blowing me a kiss and saying she would see me tomorrow.
In French, Conrad expressed his discomfort. ‘Brian, I told you there were beautiful women in Paris, but what age is she? Sixteen? It is wrong to encourage her. Why did you tell her that you worked here?’
‘I know. Honestly, I haven’t encouraged her. I told her I worked here in order to get out of teaching her private classes at her home because I felt so uncomfortable. She just showed up today. I think she has a crush on me. I don’t know what to do about it.’
‘It is not right!’ said Conrad, and I could see he believed me. ‘You must tell her. Tell the school. Put a stop to it.’
Easier said than done. Most of the students were not impressed by me and I knew the faculty members thought me strange, a loner. I didn’t socialize much with them. If there was to be a suggestion that a schoolgirl had a crush on me, would they even believe it? It’s not like there weren’t better-looking and way cooler male teachers on staff. Perhaps that’s why Arabelle singled me out. She thought there would be less competition for my attention. She needn’t have worried. The other girls treated me the same way they treated their male teenage counterparts.
I should have acted straight away. I should have done something. But then I got a call from Luke saying he was coming to Paris for a series of concerts in May and had a few days off directly afterwards. I put Arabelle to the back of my mind until I walked into the classroom one day to be surrounded by girls asking me about Luke. In advance of his concert, he had done an interview with a teen magazine, Jeune et Jolie, and mentioned that he was hoping to catch up with his brother Brian, who worked as a teacher in Paris, while he was here. ‘Is it you, Monsieur? Is it you?’ Instead of denying it, I realized that maybe I could gain back a little kudos by admitting the truth. There was uproar and cheering, they all wanted tickets and to meet my famous brother, and I said I would see what I could do. Suddenly, my status among the students shot up.
It was no problem to get twenty free tickets. The Omnisports venue where he was playing was vast. I decided to raffle the tickets, but make the students pay half-price because I could do with the extra cash. They thought I was doing them a favour. There were far more than twenty children from the three classes I taught, mostly girls, who were interested in going. I deliberately did not choose Arabelle’s name out of the hat. She came to me afterwards, upset. ‘But we are friends! Why can’t you bring me as your guest?’ I gave her my best Gallic shrug and lied that it was the luck of the draw. I should have made it clear that we were not friends, but I was afraid of tears and recriminations. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
Ever resourceful, Arabelle found a way to come. On the night of the concert, she turned up, having bought a ticket at great expense. Afterwards she wanted to be introduced to Luke with the other selected teenagers. I had arranged a fifteen-minute meet and greet with autograph-signing, and Luke obligingly posed for photographs with them and some of their parents who had come to collect them. The happy children then dispersed, but Arabelle stayed behind, and when I got into Luke’s limo to be whisked off to the Lutetia Hotel, she climbed in behind me.
I was annoyed by her presumption and arrogance. ‘Arabelle, you must go home. I need private time with my brother.’ Luke was kind to her. He gave her a poster and some CDs. I insisted angrily that she had to go. She sulked but got out of the car.
Luke assumed she was a fan of his and I didn’t bother telling him the truth. I went back to Luke’s hotel and got drunk while
I watched him eat French pastries and drink Fanta. Every time he mentioned Will’s name, I changed the subject. Luke was easy to distract.
The next day when I went to school, I was summoned to the headmaster’s office in the afternoon. I knew instantly that this meant trouble. My hangover added to the paranoia.
‘What is going on between you and Arabelle Grasse?’ He was livid. He stood behind his desk, his hands gripping the chair. I squirmed in mine.
‘Absolutely nothing, Monsieur le Proviseur, except I think she may have a crush on me. I have done nothing to encourage it.’
‘I believe you have a brother who is a “pop star” –’ he loaded the words with disgust – ‘and that you took her and twenty other students to see him last night, on a school night?’
‘Well, yes, I arranged tickets, the students were most enthusiastic. But I raffled the tickets and Arabelle didn’t win one. I made sure of that. Their parents were aware, Monsieur, I got written permission from them.’
‘Oh yes, the parents are certainly aware, Brian. One of them rang me this morning to tell me that Arabelle Grasse was seen getting into a limousine with you and your brother.’
‘She tried, but I told her to get out.’
‘And am I to believe you have been giving her private tuition, even though she is one of the brightest students in the school?’
I looked down.
‘All of these things organized without consulting me or the Proviseur Adjoint. Are you aware Arabelle has told other students that you are her boyfriend?’
‘What? No! That is ridiculous –’
‘Have you given the girl any reason to believe you have romantic feelings for her?’
‘No! She’s a child. Of course not.’
He sat then. Did he believe me?
‘This shows poor judgement on your part. I am sorry to say this but there will have to be an immediate enquiry. We will be talking to Arabelle and her mother and –’ he peered at me – ‘we will be checking your references. We should have done so before. While the enquiry is conducted, it would be better if you stayed away from the school. And for God’s sake, stay away from Arabelle.’
‘What? But I’ve done nothing wrong. And I live here.’ I felt my temper rising. I have always had a temper, but most of the time I was able to contain it.
‘Au contraire, you have behaved entirely inappropriately. I suggest you seek alternative accommodation, at least temporarily.’
I stood up, shaking with anger. ‘Fuck you! Are you going to take the word of some manipulative little bitch over mine? You’re implying that I’m a fucking paedophile! Do you know what that could do to a teacher’s reputation?’ I leaned forward across the table and grabbed him by the collar. ‘Are you trying to destroy me?’
He yelled for help, and that made me angrier because I hadn’t even intended to hit him, but the secretary burst into the room, misread the situation and started screaming.
I was wrestled to the ground by the caretaker and the geography teacher and escorted from the office. The consequences were devastating. I received a note under my door later that evening from the Head of the School Board informing me of my immediate dismissal and with an instruction to vacate my apartment within twenty-four hours unless I wanted la police to be involved.
I had blown everything by losing my temper. But it made me even angrier, if anything. I knew my emotions were high. I packed my suitcase with my few belongings, walked to the Jardin du Luxembourg and sat, contemplating how I had screwed up my life so badly.
Luke was still in the Lutetia for another few days. I couldn’t tell him. He was stable now, but God knows what he might say or who he might say it to when having one of his episodes.
I turned to my only friend, Conrad. By the time I talked to him, I had calmed down and was feeling foolish, humiliated and guilty. It was all my own fault. Conrad had warned me. Arabelle was just a child. I couldn’t blame her for any of it.
When I turned up at the restaurant, I was close to tears. Conrad did not say ‘I told you’. He gave me a glass of pastis, offered me a small room in his apartment ‘just for a week or two’ and a job in the restaurant. I would chop vegetables and stack and empty the dishwasher in the kitchen. I would take orders from the chef only. I told him I had waitered in restaurants in Dublin through college, thinking that washing dishes seemed appallingly menial.
‘Brian,’ he explained, ‘in France, being a waiter is a career. It is not something we do to pass the time while waiting for something better to come along. All of my staff have at least three years’ experience. I would not insult them by giving you a job. You do not belong in a restaurant, but you can stay here until you decide what else to do.’
Despite my dive from grace, it was generous of Conrad. His apartment was large and ornate, filled with light, gilt and crystal, and well located on Place de l’Estrapade. I met his investment banker boyfriend, who eyed me first with suspicion and then curiosity.
André was much older than Conrad; he was clearly financing the restaurant and the apartment. They had met in New York. They were an established couple, though I could tell André was relieved I was not gay. Through the walls, I heard him say, ‘Okay, one week, but no more. We don’t know anything about him. Maybe he did do something with that child?’ I sat on my hands in the bedroom, wondering if that rumour might follow me for the rest of my life, wondering if there was any way I might counter it. Conrad later counselled me: ‘Anything you do will make it worse.’
He reported that Arabelle hung around the restaurant for a few days, loitering on the corner, perhaps hoping to bump into me, but I was in the basement kitchen, unseen by customers and staff. Conrad had approached and told her I had gone back to Ireland and that there was no point in hanging around. Apparently, she burst into tears and ran off. That was a relief. By then, though, I was able to feel sorry for her. What a troubled child she must have been.
To thank Conrad, I made Luke and his entire entourage come to the restaurant for a meal towards the end of his eight-day visit to Paris. Conrad released me from the kitchen for the evening, but he contacted the press in advance. I didn’t stop him. Free publicity for the restaurant was the least I could do to express my gratitude while I wondered what the hell I was going to do with my life.
Luke and I went back to his hotel that night. He invited me to take anything I wanted from his wardrobe, but he was patronizing about it. He had wardrobes full of brand-new expensive clothes, some of them with labels still attached. I took as much as I could carry.
The next morning, we met in an expensive café I could not afford. His shades and baseball cap covered him sufficiently so that we weren’t bothered by any fans. He asked why I didn’t have a proper job and offered to fire someone on his staff to give me a role selling his merchandise. I needed the job, but I couldn’t humiliate myself by working for my little brother. I could only imagine what Will might say. I swore I was fine on my own. ‘Really?’ he said in the most pitying tone of voice. I felt my temper flaring and left before I lost it completely. I went to La Saucisserie and put in an eight-hour shift, being roared at by a stereotypical obnoxious chef because the batons of carrots I had cut for a bloody garnish were an eighth of an inch too thick. I headed home with Conrad, in low spirits. André was away on business. Conrad poured us a brandy and asked me if I had thought about my plans for the future. It was an unsubtle way of saying that I needed to find somewhere else to live. I was going to have to reconsider Luke’s offer.
I was startled to be woken in the middle of the night by the buzzer. Nobody knew I was there. I assumed it was a friend of Conrad’s, but it was Luke, drunk and messy. Conrad, trying not to be furious because of the publicity Luke had given the restaurant, went back to bed. Luke had discovered where I was living from someone in the restaurant. He looked around at my opulent surroundings and immediately concluded I was in a relationship with Conrad. I was so tired I could barely argue with him. I didn’t take much persuading this time to
pack up my stuff and leave Conrad’s to go on tour with Luke.
I had avoided my family for the best part of two years. I hadn’t wanted to think about them or hear about them, because every time I did, I thought of Susan – and the baby I was convinced was mine.
34
2005
I was the loser brother. Despite Luke’s madness, he had already achieved a significant level of fame, and infamy, in his life. Will was enjoying huge success as a film producer. What was I? My brother’s manager, whose career was in freefall, and a part-time teacher who nobody ever recognized, who only got invited to events because Will or Luke put me on the guest list. When photos were taken for the papers, I was asked to step aside to make way for my brothers and their notable friends. I envied them both.
I always loved Susan, even when she lied to me about her happy marriage, even when she swore that Will was the perfect husband. We both knew he’d been cheating on her for years, but she desperately wanted to keep the charade going. I tried to believe in the ‘if you love them, let them go’ theory. I let them be.
When Will asked me to be Daisy’s godfather after her birth in 1994, I was in emotional turmoil. Daisy had been born two weeks before her due date, exactly as I expected. But Will had told me that the baby was an accident. He didn’t use condoms and Susan was not on the pill. He was convinced they must have been careless one night. I knew there was a strong chance she was my child, but when I confronted Susan about this the night before her shotgun wedding when her belly was swollen at five months, she denied it to my face. I begged her not to go through with the wedding, told her I loved her and that I would go back to Detroit with her and make a new life for the two of us there. I knew she missed her mom and her sister, Lynn. She told me I was crazy and that she wished I would leave the country and let her and Will get on with their lives and their baby. A month after the wedding I flew to Paris. I didn’t come home for the christening and was named as Daisy’s godfather in absentia.