A French Song in New York

by Anna Adams

  Through twists, turns, hairpins, rolls, and abrupt drops Jazmine’s heart fluttered, but her mind remained peaceful. During the final hairpin, she let out a loud scream of delight relinquishing the doubt she’d felt all through the day.

  Her band would make it! Of that she was certain.

  “You’re a chicken,” Jazmine teased, once they were back treading solid ground. They made their way to the Thunderbolt Roller Coaster.

  “You didn’t look too self-assured either.”

  “Because I thought you’d break my hand. It seems there’s always a new aspect of your personality that completely clashes with what I think I know about you.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me how good you were?”

  “I’m a good person,” he teased solemnly.

  “No, I mean, you’re a really talented filmmaker. You’re top of your class and you make great movies.”

  “Oh, that.” Dev scratched his head and shrugged.

  “You said you were bad,” Jazmine insisted.

  “I never said that!”

  “You didn’t say you were amazing. You let me believe you were an okay director.”

  “I let you believe what you wanted. I had nothing to gain from boasting about my skills. Besides, there are way more talented artists than me. Ever heard of Jenna?”

  Jazmine laughed.

  “Is my being a good director a problem?”

  “It isn’t. I just got a little insecure, if I’m honest. It doesn’t happen often.”

  “There’s nothing to be insecure about. After all, I saw clips from your gigs and I thought you girls were amazing.”

  Jazmine grinned.

  “But you didn’t know that before you accepted to work with me. Why did you agree?”

  Dev swallowed and grinned.

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see you again. But also, I like working on different projects. My dream is to direct my thesis film in South Korea. I’m raising funds if ever you want to donate.” Dev held out an open hand like a beggar humbly supplicating for food. Jazmine showed no mercy and he closed his hand, amused. “In the meantime, I’m working on different projects. And I’d wanted to work on a musical project for some time. When I saw videos of your performances, I was certain. Your band is going places. And I want to be a part of that. Of course, I had no idea you’d be a scared, little mouse in front of the camera.”

  “I was not-I’m actually a good actress. I have a natural knack for these things, I swear!”

  “Maybe it was too difficult for you to play the wicked girl who breaks up with that poor dude.”

  “It’s not that hard. I did break up with poor Jason, who was probably one of the kindest guys a girl could hope for.”

  Dev stopped abruptly and frowned. “You’re JJ?”

  “How do you know Jason called me that? It was the most ridiculous nickname. I made him swear to tell no one about it ... is something wrong?”

  “You’re JJ? You’re the girl who broke his heart. Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “I thought you knew we dated.”

  “I didn’t. He kept this from me. He knew I’d never agree to work with you.”

  “You didn’t even know me back then!”

  “I knew enough! Jason was miserable for months. I met him just before you two broke up. I was also going through a bad break-up. I saw what you did to him.”

  “What I did? Are you serious? It didn’t work out. I’m not some monster. I mean, sure, I could’ve handled things better.”

  “You broke up with him through a text message!”

  “Because I knew it would be harder for him face-to-face!”

  “How generous of you. Really! I can’t believe this.”

  “Look, if it makes you feel any better, he’s over me.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “He’s dated a gazillion girls since we broke up.”

  “I thought he was over you, but now I have to admit I was wrong. Why did he ask all his friends, everyone he knew, to help you out with your videos?”

  “He did that as a friend.”

  “Who helps out their crazy ex-girlfriend—”

  “I’m not crazy!”

  “—by reaching out to their entire circle of friends. And by hiding the fact from his best friend that the girl he’s asking favors for is the same one that left him a blubbering mess?”

  “OK, maybe he still likes me.”

  “Likes you? He was madly in love with you. Thought of proposing the following year and having babies with you.”

  “What? I was eighteen!”

  “That’s how crazy you made him. No, no. I’ve got to stay away from you. I shouldn’t have flirted with you. I can’t go fooling around with my best friend’s soul mate.”

  “We’re not soul mates,” Jazmine said through gritted teeth. “Look, Dev, seriously, I like you. A lot. Perhaps too much. I don’t want to give up on you or on our work together just because I dated your best friend in the past.”

  “I won’t abandon this project because I gave you my word. But I’m sorry, I can’t envision anything else.”

  Dev pulled away from her and walked ahead.

  Over Jazmine’s head, the excited cries from the Thunderbolt sounded like the strident laughter of a mocking audience.

  Chapter 8

  WHILE CYNTHIA’S LOVE life was less calamitous, her professional life brought her only despair.

  As she sat alone in an office in Mendez &Larry waiting for the partners to arrive for an interview, she gazed out the window. Skyscrapers surrounded her like the dark, cold bars of a prison cell.

  She was in Wall Street after all.

  Where had she gone wrong?

  She’d perhaps been too optimistic growing up. But she’d been certain she could change the world by helping those in need.

  Had she harbored too many dreams?

  This was not what she’d planned for her life. Years before, she’d imagined herself pleading human rights cases before the international Hague court. She’d bring down dictators, big polluters, and corrupt politicians. Or she’d work in another country and help people gain access to water, food, and health care.

  Why was she presently sitting at Mendez &Larry applying for a spot as a corporate lawyer?

  Before Cynthia could question further the validity of her choices, a woman and man dressed in starched business suits walked into the office with a quick step. It was clear that they had little time to spare Cynthia and that she was not their top priority. Still, the fact that they met her at all was an indicator of their interest regarding her candidacy.

  Cynthia held her breath and observed the two partners, registering every detail of their appearances. It was her way of preparing for battle.

  The woman, who Cynthia recognized as Mrs. Mendez, had short, dark hair with blonde highlights and pair of blue frames that hid part of her face. When she smiled, she displayed small teeth like a dolphin, though her demeanor was not as friendly.

  The man next to her, Mr. Larry, had partly plucked eyebrows and kept tugging on his blue necktie nervously. He sat only after Mrs. Mendez did.

  “Thank you for waiting,” Mrs. Mendez said as Cynthia rose. The female partner gestured for her to remain seated.

  “We were in a very important meeting with a huge company. Can’t say which!” Mr. Larry pretended to lock his lips with an imaginary key.

  Cynthia laughed, but gripped the arms of her chair.

  “We’ve looked at your candidacy, and we have to say, you have a solid résumé. You were valedictorian, have interned in very good firms, and have impressive letters of recommendation.”

  “Thank you,” Cynthia croaked.

  “Tell us a little more about why you’d like to work in this firm.”

  Cynthia gulped. This was often the question she feared most. Especially when being asked by the partners of a firm she had no interest to work in. She had prepared for th
is question and had repeated her answer over and over in front of the mirror that morning.

  “You’re one of the top ten firms in the country. Your infrastructure is modern, you’ve got an international presence, and you’re the best at what you do. Who wouldn’t want to work with you?”

  “What did you do last year?” Mrs. Mendez held Cynthia’s résumé. “It’s unclear. You were traveling?”

  Cynthia’s eyes lit up as they often did at the mention of her journey.

  “I went on a world tour with my husband.”

  “Charity work?” Mr. Larry asked, frowning.

  “Sometimes, but also a journey to discover different cultures.”

  In an instant, Cynthia told anecdotes about villages, mountains, animals, and people. Enlivened, she could not stop talking until Mr. Larry interrupted her.

  “Basically, you’re more into humanitarian work. Why do you want to work here?”

  “Oh.” Cynthia looked down at her hands, though she knew that was bad interview behavior.

  “I can’t find work as an international human rights lawyer in New York and I need a job.”

  Mr. Larry exploded in laughter, but Mrs. Mendez peered closely at Cynthia. Mr. Larry, still laughing, turned to his partner, waiting for her to join in. He was disappointed when she did not.

  “We’re not social workers. We’re not here to help you,” Mr. Larry said. “Let’s just say we’re more takers than givers.”

  “I know,” Cynthia mumbled as her grip tightened around the arms of the chair. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. This isn’t my dream job. Honestly, who ever declared ‘I want to be a corporate lawyer when I grow up.’ No one. Not even you, I’m sure.” She took a deep breath and continued. “But I know I can do an excellent job. I’ve never been known to let my employers down. I’ll stop wasting your time now.”

  Cynthia rose from her chair and walked out.

  When she entered her apartment, she found Daniel in the kitchen making dinner.

  “How did it go?” he asked. He added olive oil, mustard, and apple cider in a bowl and whipped the ingredients until it became a smooth, yellow salad dressing.

  “Remember that time an elephant in South Africa pooped on my shoes?”

  “Gross, but unforgettable. It can’t have been that bad.”

  “It was worse. The worst. I never should’ve gone to that interview. How can I convince anyone that I’m the best candidate to be a corporate lawyer?”

  “I managed to convince my firm to hire me though I spent an entire year backpacking around the world. I’m sure your interview wasn’t as bad as you think.”

  Cynthia shrugged. She kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her vest.

  “Take a seat at the table,” Daniel coaxed. “Relax. Don’t think about it anymore.”

  “Dan, what if I don’t find a job?”

  “We’ll continue to live here.” He added pepper and salt to his salad dressing, tasted it and licked his lips.

  “I can’t stand your father’s snide observations about how I’m leeching off you.”

  “We’re partners.”

  “My mom always said a woman should have her own money. I tend to agree.”

  “You will. This is just a setback.”

  Cynthia carried her shoes out of the kitchen and reentered moments later. She took two plates from the cupboard.

  “You hate working at that international finance firm. I’ll die if I have to work in a corporate law firm. Remember when we said we’d open our own human rights firm?”

  “We don’t have any money. First the apartment, then the firm.”

  “Don’t you wish we were still on our trip?”

  Daniel put down the bowl and said gravely, “Everyday.”

  “Why can’t life always be that fun? And adventurous?”

  “Remember when we spent an entire week learning about South African civil law to prevent that poor man from being evicted from his apartment?”

  “And we taught English to Syrian refugees in Calais?”

  “Those things were useful. Gosh, knowing the law and how to wield it is such a powerful thing. Helping big companies evade tax laws ... it doesn’t make me feel useful. It makes me feel like a cheater.”

  They both stared at each other in silence.

  “You know what?” Daniel said. “Maybe we don’t have to be on a trip. What if we promise that each weekend we’ll do something completely crazy and new? And each other weekend, we’ll use the law for good. We’ll do pro bono work.”

  Cynthia’s eyes lit up.

  “What do you have in mind for this weekend?”

  “Um, how about ... bungee jumping?”

  “I knew when I married you that you’d make me happy. I never thought you’d have such awesome ideas.”

  Her phone rang and she answered immediately, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Hello. Mrs. Baldwin-Lewis?”

  “It is she.”

  “It’s Mrs. Mendez.”

  “Oh!” Cynthia’s smile disappeared and her fingers tightened their grip around her phone.

  Daniel questioned her with his eyes.

  “Mrs. Mendez,” Cynthia mouthed.

  “I was calling to tell you that you’ve got the job.”

  “You’re ki ... I mean, are you sure?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Cynthia went into the living room and sat in the closest seat.

  “Far be it from me to question your judgment, but I thought I’d failed the interview. I was sure I had.”

  “You’re the person I’m looking for. I know you’ll work hard. I hope you’re ready.”

  Once Cynthia had hung up, she stared at her phone overwhelmed with uncertainty, wishing she could call Mrs. Mendez back to turn down the offer.

  Instead, she went to the bathroom, washed her hands, and joined her husband at the dinner table.

  The pungent salad dressing pricked the insides of her mouth, but she smiled and swallowed the meal until every item had disappeared from her plate.

  Chapter 9

  GRACE HAD NOT ATTENDED class for the past two days. It was strange, Maude had dropped her off and picked her up each time at the school.

  Yet, she’d received a call from the principal. She knew Mrs. Mary would not tolerate this.

  Maude did not enjoy failing. But she had to admit that she was the worst mentor a girl could hope for.

  Grace had not improved in vocal technique, she had not improved as a student, and she certainly had not improved as a human being.

  Maude had decided to get to the root of the problem.

  The root of the problem lived in a lovely townhouse in Brooklyn.

  When Maude rang the doorbell, a petite woman with curly, blonde hair, polished fingernails and slippers shaped like two fluffy rabbits opened the door.

  “How may I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here to talk about Grace Heaton,” Maude said, in lieu of a greeting.

  “I’m sorry. I know no one of that name.” The perplexed expression on her face might have fooled Maude had Mrs. Mary not informed her that Grace’s mother had severed all ties with her daughter.

  “I know she’s your daughter, Mrs. Heaton. Mrs. Mary told me so. Please, let me speak with you.”

  “You’re that French singer, Maude Laurent,” Mrs. Heaton said. Her face relaxed and she stepped aside, opening the door wide. “Why, of course. Please come in.”

  Maude followed her into the living room. Pictures of cats were perched on every piece of furniture, yet no tangible evidence revealed the existence of a real one in the house.

  Mrs. Heaton moved around like a mouse, making little noise.

  The living room was spacious and the house was well-furnished with the warmth of a loving homemaker.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Mrs. Heaton asked.

  “No, thank you.” To soften her refusal, Maude put her hand to her throat. “I’m not thirsty.”

  “How did you get
to know that ... Grace.”

  “I visited Children’s Haven. That’s when I heard your daughter’s voice. It’s lovely. She must take after you.”

  “No. She doesn’t,” Mrs. Heaton said curtly. She sat on a fluffy pillow, but remained erect and stiff.

  “I’m training your daughter,” Maude explained. “She’s got an audition coming up soon and she needs to prepare.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “She’s uncooperative. She fears she won’t succeed. That’s why she’s not giving it her all.”

  “I don’t know what I can do for you.”

  “You’re her ...” Maude stopped to recollect her thoughts. “She needs someone close to her to tell her that she can succeed.”

  “We’re not close. I haven’t seen her in two years.”

  Maude did not wish to antagonize her, but she feared the woman did not feel the slightest discomfort. She noticed the hard lines around her mouth. Grief had slashed her face like a sharp stylus on a clay tablet.

  “May I ask why?”

  “I ...” The woman burst into tears. “I can’t do it. Don’t ask me to take her back.”

  “No, no, I’m not asking that. She’s with me for now.”

  “I can’t do it. I can’t take care of her.”

  “Nobody’s asking that of you.”

  “She’s a horrible child. She-she talks back all the time. She looks at you with such arrogance. Her father, he understood her. But he’s gone now and it’s her fault. I can’t handle her. She’s mean and selfish. It’s her fault George’s gone. Gone forever.”

  Maude’s heart tightened as Mrs. Heaton cried profusely, her wails interrupted only by violent hiccups.

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Maude said calmly but doubt seeped into her heart. Had Grace destroyed her family?

  “You think you know Grace, but you haven’t seen anything. She hates people for no reason. She hates me, and I her.”

  “She probably does hate me, but not you.”

  “She hates you?”