Explore Her, More of Her (12 page)

Anton studies us. “Okay.” He looks at Belmont. “This way.”

Belmont flexes his eyebrows at me before rounding the corner. When he’s out of sight, I can finally breathe. I walk over to the window and look out at the street. I hear Belmont and Anton, though I can’t make out what they’re saying. Anton laughs in a way that indicates he has been caught off guard. That’s what Belmont does—he catches you off guard, and before you know it, you’re putty in his hands.

A little while later, Anton says, “I will have it posted on Monday.”

“Both of them?” Belmont asks.

“Only the one for Angelina. I will drive the other to the house on Tuesday.”

I turn to face them when they’re right behind me. Belmont’s gaze peels me out of my jeans and tank top.

“There is a television crew on the property for three days, is that right?” Anton looks at me for corroboration.

Belmont’s expression turns into a severe frown.
 

“Um, I think so,” I say.

“What television crew?” Belmont snaps.

“They are with Daisy. I want to keep the painting safe. When they leave, I will take it.”

My eyes bulge. I’m waiting for Belmont to blow his lid. He’s not the kind of man who explodes into a rage, but this might be the sort of news that sends him over the edge. He clenches his jaw and stares at me as if he can see through my eyes and read my thoughts.

Belmont clears his throat. “I understand,” he says in a carefully composed tone. “Daisy.” He nods.

My heart is pounding. “Belmont.”
 

Anton squints curiously. “I will show you out.”
 

Anton walks Belmont to the elevator. I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m a little curious about what Belmont intends to do next. He’s not a talker; he’s an action taker, which means the plot may have gotten thicker.

I order a sandwich with emmental, creamy chévre, and mozzarella cheese layered with prosciutto between a flaky baguette. We sit on stools at an oversized table set against the window.
 

“So you don’t believe your theory on what you call ‘daddy issues,’ do you?” Anton asks.

I’m momentarily confused, but then I remember what I said in the car. “Yeah, why? You don’t believe me?”

“Are there mother issues?”

I give that thought. “Humph, probably.”

“So then maybe your issues are not ‘daddy issues’ but ‘parent issues,’ no?”

I grunt sarcastically. “I’m sure Heloise has worked on my psyche.”

“Daddy issues imply that a woman needs a man to be her father, her dictator, her guide, and her father has failed to be that for her. The work I showed you—the man, the woman and the wheat—do you remember it?”

Ah, last night before I passed out at the table. “I remember that.”

“A woman does not need influence by her father. That is patriarchal bullshit. A woman needs a partner. Your father cannot be your partner unless he is a pig. He is your mother’s partner. Together, the parents show you what it means to be the Adam—the man and the woman as one. But if they are held accountable for their failure, then what shall all the societies do? We change everything, right?”

My confusion shows on my face.

“Your mother and father are equal in your issues, that is all I mean.”

I stare at Anton’s face. Memories, theories, and conclusions race through my mind. He’s saying that both parents are culpable because they failed to pattern true partnership. “I never looked at it that way, but you’re right.”

“No, Daisy, no one is right and very few people are.” He tilts his head. “Possibly you and your husband will be the few. What is his name… Jack? My buyer?”

I laugh and pound the table gently. I feel so caught. “I so meant to tell you. Did he tell you?”
 

“He did not. Jack wears a gold band with your name engraved.”

“That’s right…”

“He wears a ring, but you do not?”

“That’s because he had never taken it off, and I had. It’s a long story. Do you want to hear it?”

“Do you need to tell it?”

I tilt my head to think. “Actually, I don’t.”

“Then I don’t need to hear it.”

I grin at Anton. He is such an enigma. He certainly teeters on the edge of pompous intellectual self-indulgence, but he’s not puffing up his ego or trying to make me feel inferior. He was trying to get me to challenge Jung’s Electra complex theory, and it worked!
 

“So… when are we going to get my dress?”

Anton stiffens his shoulders. “We can go now.”
 

I notice the change in his demeanor as he pays for lunch. He’s more sullen, and we walk silently up the narrow cobblestone street.
 

We’re nearing the shop doors when Anton shakes a cigarette out of the package. “I will finish this.”

I nod. “Okay.” I leave him to linger under a lantern while I go inside.
 

I’m a lucky shopper, because as soon as I walk in, one dress catches my eye. It’s a red silk, spaghetti-strap jersey dress, and it will look nice with the sandals Angelina packed for me.
 

Other shoppers browse the racks, but the two ladies who watched Anton and me walk by earlier haven’t taken their eyes off me. They’re both pretty brunettes in their late twenties or early thirties. One of the women touches the other on the shoulder, consoling her.
 

“He wants to torture me,” the consoled woman says in French.
 

They stare at me as if I’m the enemy they can’t banish. Then the woman doing the consoling approaches me. I stare at her like a deer trapped in headlights.

“Can I help you?” she says in English.

I knew she wouldn’t be friendly, but I didn’t think she would be downright harsh. I hold out the dress I’ve selected. “Um, yes, I would like this.”

“Is that all?”
 

“Um, sure, yes,” I say. She reaches for the dress, but I pull it back. “Is there a problem?” I ask her in French.

“No problem,” she says in English.

“Just so you know, Anton is my cousin. So…”

Her eyes widen, and I watch the wheels turning behind them.

She reaches for the dress again. “May I take it?” she says in a nicer tone. I hand it to her, and she holds it up. “For you, this is a good choice.” She smiles.

I accept the olive branch she’s holding out and smile back.

“Come this way.”

I follow her to the counter. As soon as she gets to the register, she tells the other woman that I am Anton’s cousin. The information doesn’t make the other woman’s bitter expression ease.

“I am Anna,” the woman who took the dress says. “This is Nina.”

“I’m Daisy.” There’s an awkward moment of silence. “So you are friends of Anton’s?”

Anna and Nina look at each other.

“Is something like that,” Anna says.

“Oh?” My tone rings with intrigue.

“We were lovers,” Nina says. “Then he dumped me for his cousin.”

I’m a little caught off guard. I think she’s referring to Anton’s relationship with Angelina. “Well, Anton and I are not the sort of cousins who have sex,” I say. We’re blood related.”

Anna chuckles cynically. “Blood or no blood, cousins fuck.”

I wave my finger. “There will be no
fucking
between Anton and me.”

Anna blurts a laugh. Nina smiles sheepishly. I think the iceberg has fully come crashing down.

Anna spreads the dress on the counter. “Well, you are lucky. This is our last like this.”

I’m still a little rattled by Nina’s insinuation, but I force myself to smile and move on. “I guess I am.”

“Where will go you in this?”

“I’m wearing it to a party tonight.”

In unison, their gazes shift toward the doorway. I turn to see what has captured their attention. Anton has come inside, and he’s watching them. Anna looks at her shaking hands as they fold my dress and wrap it in white tissue paper. After she pulls herself together, she looks at Anton, who has come up to stand beside me, with a smile.
 

“Bonjour,” Anna and Nina say to him.

“Bonjour,” he replies.

Anna asks Anton how he has been, and he says he’s been as well as to be expected. Their interaction is very strange, as if they haven’t seen each other in a long time. However, Anton’s studio is upstairs. I’m sure they run into each other every now and then. Nina still hasn’t said much to Anton. She’s the one who thought my mere presence was her torture.
 

Anna hands me the bag. “Daisy, have fun at the party.”
 

“Thank you. Do you live near Chateau Mes Fleurs?” I’m making a last-ditch effort to force this moment past the awkwardness and unspoken words.

Anna shakes her head. “I do not.”

“Oh, it’s my father’s vineyard.”

“That’s right, your father is Jacques Blanchard,” Nina says. She gives Anton a cross look.
 

Of course she’s heard of him. I sometimes forget how popular my father is, especially in France.

“I see the resemblance,” Anna says.

“Do you see the resemblance between Daisy and me?” Anton asks, grinning.

Anna sniffs cynically. “She is more beautiful than you. But then, you were always pretty like a girl,” she says in French.

She and Anton share a lingering gaze. As soon as they realize they’ve stared at each other for too long, they cut their eyes away.

Two women stand beside me, ready to have their purchases rung.

“Do you have paper and pen?” Anton asks.

Anna retrieves both from beside the register and hands it to Anton. He writes the address of the party and the time it starts then slides the paper on the counter between Anna and Nina. “I hope to see you tonight.”

“Is the invitation for one or two?” Anna asks.

“One or two.” Anton takes the bag out of my hand. “Daisy, let’s go. It is already late.”

We say
au revoir,
and I follow Anton out the door. I have to trot to catch up with him. Once we’re out of Anna and Nina’s eyesight, he leans against the wall to catch his breath.

“What did I do?” he asks, fumbling through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes.

“You invited Nina and Anna to the party tonight,” I say.
 

He shakes the package, but he’s all out. “Fuck!”

“We can just stand here until you even out.”
 

He nods. We lean against the wall and watch the people passing by watch us, although Anton doesn’t really see them. One minute passes, then a few more.
 

Anton takes a deep breath then releases it. “Okay, that is enough.”

We start down the sidewalk, heading back to the car.

On the way home, Anton tells me that he and Nina were lovers during the two years he spent as a university student in Paris. They broke up when he dropped out. Four years later, he had his first successful gallery showing in the 3
^rd
Arrondissement. Nina happened to wander into the gallery with a group of friends. Before he knew Nina was present, Anna had walked into a circle where he was struggling to tell potential buyers that he wouldn’t explain the piece they were interested in.
 

“If it only attracts your eye, then leave it. If it grabs your heart, then take it,” he had said.
 

“You sound like a pompous egomaniac. Their relationship with the art does not need to satisfy you,” Anna said, which intrigued him.
 

They had bantered back and forth. He was about to ask her to join him in the artist den, which was a small room at the back of the gallery that had a red velvet bed, but then Nina eased up beside her. That changed everything.

“Oh, so you’re interested in Anna, not Nina?” I ask.

“Nina and I were together again for three years, but I was an addict. I made her leave me.”

“So where does Angelina fit in?”

“Angelina was two weeks of making love and being in love. She was my one perfect lover a man has in his life. I knew she would never be mine.”

“But how did you and Angelina get together?”

“After I cleaned myself, she visited Jacques in Paris. He was taking care of me. She was more satiating than the drugs.”

I picture Anton and Angelina humping on the sofa in Anton’s cottage. I realize that Angelina and Charlie screw often, but the longer we are sisters, the more I don’t want to picture her engaged in the act. I throw up a hand. “Okay, got it. But back to Anna and Nina—I’m still confused. Which one are you interested in?”
 

I indulge in the mystical purple evening as Anton works on his answer. An apartment community off to the side of the road catches my attention.

“Anna. I like her a lot, but we can never be together because Nina will always love me,” Anton says.

“Have you ever told Anna how you felt?”

“Never, no.”

“Then how do you know she’ll never be with you?” I ask.

“Because they are kiss, kiss like sisters. Also, Nina went into depression after I broke off from her.”

“Oh… how long ago was that?”

“Two years ago.”

“But you were seeing Angelina? Oh… you cheated on her with Angelina?”

“My heart did not cheat. I did not love Nina,” he says.

“I’m sorry to hear that Nina was so hurt, but she’s an adult. I kind of think that this one is in the Anton Bisset repertoire—you can choose who you love, but the best kind of love is the kind that chooses you.”

Anton chews on that for a moment. He smiles. “That is very good.”

“I think so…” I smile and put a hand on his shoulder.
 

He puts his hand on top of mine. The moment passes. I get comfortable in my seat and look out the window as Anton turns up the volume on the stereo. I inhale the wind blowing against my face. The Cyprus and oak trees along the sides of the road shuffle past like a deck of cards. This moment is perfect, and I didn’t go looking for it. It just happened in real life. I’ve come to the conclusion that I want and need more moments like this.

The tires crunch the dirt road. The ride becomes smoother as we roll up the paved part of the driveway, which has a shaved lawn on both sides.