French Fried (20 page)

“But it’s sad, isn’t it?” I said. I’d have to be extra nice to her. No wonder she had seemed standoffish when we first met.

The waitress told us that a lady was waiting for us in the lobby, so we finished our coffee and left to meet Catherine, who seemed quite surprised to see Albertine, or maybe she was surprised to see the dog. “I didn’t know you were coming, Albertine. We will be crowded in my car.”

Oh good! She had a car. I wouldn’t have to use any money for bus fare, and I could always claim that I wasn’t hungry if we went out to lunch. Of course, I’d be sure to mention to Jason tonight that I’d gone hungry. Catherine decided I should sit in front with her so that she could tell me about Villeneuve before we got there.

The ride was quite unusual. For one thing, she took shortcuts through streets that had posts coming up out of the pavement to block cars. At the first one, she clicked a gadget, and the posts retreated into the roadway. “That’s Catherine’s apartment,” said Albertine, pointing to a gate through which I could see banks of squares that were actually apartments with balconies. Then the complex was gone, and we approached another street with posts.

“You’ll have to get out and push or jump on that post, Carolyn,” said our driver. “They’ll all go down when you push down the first.” Reluctantly, I approached a post, but pushing didn’t accomplish anything. I had to climb onto it before it retreated under my weight, and then I more or less fell off. What if I’d hit my head again? After that we left the posted streets and headed for the bridge.

Catherine told me that Villeneuve-les-Avignon, which was on the right bank of the Rhône facing the papal city, had been occupied since the fifth century when the hermit, Saint Casarie, lived there. “In the tenth century a Benedictine monastery was founded on his site and named the Abbey of St. Andre, around which quarrymen and stone-masons formed a small town. Avignon ruled the town across the river until Louis VIII—”

“He’s the one who besieged Avignon for three months because of its heretics and finally starved them into giving up,” I exclaimed. “I hadn’t realized until yesterday that Avignon was one of the places attacked by the crusade against the Albigensian Heresy.”

“Yes,” said Catherine, obviously resenting my interruption. “St. Andre then made a treaty with the king and later with Philippe le Bel, who built the tower at the end of Pont St. Benezet. In the fourteenth century, the bridge ran all the way across the Rhône. Then in the fifteenth century, when the papacy was moved to Avignon, the new town grew bigger with the palaces of rich men and cardinals who wanted to escape the filth and crime of Avignon, brought on by all the people who came to profit from the papal court. The fort and defensive walls were built by the kings of France as a barrier against the power of the church across the river.”

Catherine recited these facts without much interest, which surprised me because it was she who had suggested the trip. She finished by saying that we would drive up Mount Andaon to see Fort St. Andre, and then back down to visit the Church of Notre-Dame, the museum, and the Monastery La Chartreuse.

What a tour it was! We walked at a tremendous pace through the monastery church, around the huge crenellated walls, in and out of a funny old chapel, and up and down rough paths cut through deep grass. I could hardly keep up, but then both women had longer legs than I, although I don’t think Albertine was in any better shape, and she was older and wearing heels. Charles de Gaulle was in seventh heaven. The weather had turned cold, overcast, and windy, but I was perspiring by the time we got to a group of huge, round towers that had once guarded the only entrance to the fort.

“I’ve saved the best for last, as you Americans say,” Catherine remarked. “The view from the top is exquisite.”

“We’re going to climb up there?” Albertine was not happy.

“You and the dog can rest,” said Catherine, “but Carolyn would never forgive herself if she missed this view. What could I say? Breathless and tired, I started up after Catherine, who climbed stairs like a mountain goat.

“I’m following,” called Albertine. When I glanced back, Charles de Gaulle seemed the most eager of us all. He strained at his leash. Then I lost sight of them as I puffed upward. By the time we reached the top, I was dizzy, but Catherine took my arm and led me across the open space toward a lower crenellation around the edge of the tower. Looking down made me twice as dizzy.

“Look,” said Catherine, nudging me forward. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” I echoed, wishing her hand was still on my arm. No matter how wonderful the view, I intended to back up before I fell over, and I nearly did. I heard Charles de Gaulle give a deep-throated woof, his toenails scrabbling across the stones, and then a thump and a shriek from Catherine. When I turned, she was on the pavement, the dog standing over her.

I hurried toward Catherine as Albertine came into view. “He got away from me,” she gasped. Catherine tried to give the dog a shove, and he shoved back until his front paws were planted on her midriff. “Charles, what do you think you’re doing?” Albertine called. “Off!
Non!
” She used the last of her strength to reach us. The dog didn’t move until she arrived and dragged him away. Catherine, meanwhile, shouted, probably curses, into his face.

“I can’t imagine what got into him,” said Albertine. “He’s supposed to be protecting Carolyn, not knocking down members of the faculty. “Shame on you, Charles! Can’t you tell an academic from a terrorist?”

Catherine staggered upright, not appeased in the least. “Look at my outfit! I can’t go to the conference in torn, dusty clothes. Since I’ll have to go home and change, this will be the end of our tour.” And she strode off toward the stairs.

Albertine and I took our time because we weren’t up to anything else. “I don’t like standing on top of towers,” I said. “It’s scary.”

While I was
eating with colleagues in the Galerie du Cloitre, a long, narrow area with arched windows, Albertine Guillot and my wife marched in. “Jason, you forgot to leave me money or a credit card,” said Carolyn.

“I shared our euros yesterday,” I replied and made introductions.

“Well, I don’t even have enough for lunch, and we’re going shopping.”

Much to my chagrin, several of my colleagues repressed chuckles. “My credit card’s in my name, Carolyn, but I have some cash.”

Albertine eyed me as if I were an abusive husband. “I’ll take your ATM card,” said my wife. “We have the same PIN.” Beaten but worried, I complied. “We’re going to Hiely Lucullus tonight with the Guillots,” she announced and left with my card.

Albertine smirked and added, “Hiely is somewhat expensive, but it has wonderful food. Adrien and I will come by at eight.” Then she followed Carolyn, leaving me to worry about what the shopping expedition and the dinner were going to cost me. Because my lecture was scheduled for that afternoon in the Herses Notre Dame, which held 230 people, I needed to put financial matters out of my mind. Unfortunately, I was also troubled because Carolyn had noted Mercedes’s presence at the table. The girl had plopped herself down uninvited, but I knew Carolyn was taking it amiss.

Albertine chose our lunch venue, Venaissin on Place de l’Horlage, and she wanted to sit outside. It hadn’t warmed up at all, but they had heaters, the chairs were comfy and padded, and we could look out at the beautiful square. I had a lovely Provençal vegetable soup with
pistou
, and Albertine had Croque Monsieur, over which she outlined her plan to wean my husband away from his student.

“She was at his table again, which is not proper. Of course, she cannot join us tonight, but tomorrow is the tour of the palais and, in the evening, the banquet. No doubt she will attend both. Therefore, we are going shopping to buy clothes that will divert his attention from her to you.”

“I really shouldn’t spend too much,” I murmured, breaking off a piece of French bread.

“Indeed you should. A beautiful dress and elegant shoes. A man who is tempted to stray must pay the price that will bring him to a proper appreciation of his wife.”

“What do you mean by elegant shoes?” I asked suspiciously.

“High heels. Why do you favor such boring shoes? When we have chosen your outfit for the banquet, you will be the most beautiful woman in the hall. Your husband will not be able to look away from you.”

That sounded good, but I did mention that high heels hurt my feet and made me taller than Jason, which he wouldn’t like.

“Sometimes pain must be endured for the sake of fashion, and your husband will learn to tolerate your height. Jacques has adjusted to Victoire’s.”

“But they both have lovers,” I protested. I didn’t want to attract a lover. I wanted my husband back. However, Albertine was determined. She paid our bill, which was high, although we were only eating lunch. Then we found an ATM, and I reimbursed her while getting cash for myself. Flush for shopping, we went off to a street with no cars and many lovely shops.

Of course, she insisted that I take the black dress, which was beautiful but quite revealing. If the weather didn’t warm up, I’d freeze at the banquet. How could they adequately heat a huge hall with high vaulted ceilings? The skirt was long and split in front, but not long enough to cover my ankles, which meant, according to Albertine, I had to have shoes that flattered said ankles. Soon I was wobbling around in spike-heeled, satin sandals. My ankles did look good, but the shoes hurt dreadfully.

I hadn’t worn heels since college, much less heels this high. When I complained, Albertine said, “Get used to them. Practice in your room. I do hope you have something dashing to wear tonight. Something that will go with those shoes. They are
très chic.
”

“If I wear them tonight, I’ll be crippled by tomorrow,” I groaned. “And what if I fall down?”

“One must take chances and make sacrifices for love,” said Albertine, and told the saleslady to wrap up the purchases and include a pair of sheer black hose. When I saw the bill, I had to go back to the ATM for more money. At least Jason wouldn’t realize what I’d spent until after we flew home.

On the other hand, if the terrorist came after me tonight or tomorrow night while I was wearing the heels, I’d have no chance to escape. My only comfort was the thought that a banquet involved a lot of sitting. And I’d be sitting at dinner tonight, but I certainly hoped Hiely Lucullus was close to the hotel. “Are you picking us up in your car tonight?” I asked hopefully.

“It’s not that far,” said Albertine, shocked that I’d even ask. Well, she wouldn’t think so. She was the woman who’d trudged all over the fort and up into the tower wearing heels.

I was so glad to get into my nice, comfy flats and return to the hotel, where I lay down and put my feet up on Jason’s pillow. Of course, I should have been out exploring Avignon, but I didn’t even want to put on those miserable but flattering heels and start practicing. What I wanted to do was go to sleep, and I did. I’d practice later.