LACKING VIRTUES (17 page)

“Sure, why not? I’m good at delegating. Listen, I’ve got a proposition. Why don’t we follow the wisdom of my daydreams and have a drink on the terrace?”

“I’d love to, Steven, but – ”

“But what?”

“A lot of people have been watching us.”

“They should. We’re more interesting than anyone else around here. If they want to watch us drink a beer, what’s the big deal?”

She snapped her towel at him and laughed. “For someone who wants to be President of France, Monsieur, there’s a lot you don’t know about this country. If you and I sat on the terrace of this establishment and had a drink, I’d be the talk of the club for months. ‘My God, did you see them?’ ‘Scandalous, the way she’s hanging out with that American.’ ‘You don’t suppose she’s seeing him without her father knowing?’ ‘She could make that poor man the laughing stock of France.’  Steven, I tell you, these people are incurable gossips. Malicious, too.”

“Laughing stock of France for having a beer with an American? I guess I don’t get it. Maybe I’m not ready for the presidency. Anyway, how’s this for a solution? What if we meet far from here where the gossips don’t congregate? Is there such a place within a radius of, say, one thousand kilometers?” 

She handed him back his towel and smiled. “Would it surprise you if I said, Yes, there is such a place and yes, I’ll meet you there.”

“Mainly it would delight me. I don’t have a lot of friends here.”

Nicole reflected for a moment. “Have you ever been to the harbor at St. Jean-Cap-Ferrat?”

“No, but I’m sure I can find it.”

“Good. There’s a café where the fishermen go. We won’t have to worry about gossips.”

“You’re on. What time?”

She glanced at her watch. “Tonight, before dinner. Six o’clock.”

***

This August, as every August, the city of Nice swarmed with gorgeous women. Whiling away the sweet fragrant evenings in town, Steven had studied the passing female droves with the critical eye of a connoisseur, and he had been very impressed. But the instant Nicole stepped into the café, the beauty of the city’s women paled by comparison.

She wore a white cotton sun dress, gold hoop ear rings and leather sandals whose straps climbed her ankles in a provocative crisscross pattern.

She pushed her sunglasses up on her jet-black hair and glanced around for him. He was about to stand and wave but thought better of it. He sipped his beer and looked off in another direction.

When she approached, he could feel her nearness like a charge of static electricity. She smelled good, too, some new fragrance he didn’t recognize. “Nicole. You made it.”

“Hello, Steven. Of course I made it.” She sat before he could pull out a chair.

“Something to drink?”

“Sure. A kir.”

“A kir? I doubt they know what it is.”

“You’re right. I didn’t mean to be a snob. I haven’t spent a lot of time around working people.”

“You could join the plebeians like myself for a beer, you could have an apéritive or I could get us a bottle of the white wine some of these guys here are drinking.”

She laughed. She didn’t seem nervous in the least. That was a bad sign, he thought; it probably meant she wasn’t planning to let their evening go past drinks. She said, “The local white will be fine, Steven. I’ve had it on sailing trips before. I rather like it.”

He flagged the waiter and ordered. “Sailing trips?” he asked.

“Yes, my Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Robert . . . you know, Jules and Luc’s parents . . . used to dock their boat around the other side. We sometimes went on day trips to Italy. This café would supply the provisions.

“Sounds very pleasant.”

“It was – when my father didn’t come.”

“You don’t seem to have a lot of good things to say about the man. Why is that, Nicole? Did he really treat you badly, or was it just the normal thing between kids and parents?”

The wine came and they drank a toast.

“Steven . . . “

”Yes, Nicole?”

“I know you saw him that night in the restaurant. But you didn’t recognize him, did you?”

“What?”

“I mean, you don’t know who he is?”

“I know he’s your father.”

“He’s also the French Minister of Industry.”

“You mean that right-winger the conservative parties had to take into their coalition?”

“Yes, that’s exactly who I mean.”

“You’re kidding?” 

“I am not kidding. If he knew I was in a café drinking wine with you, he’d have a stroke. He’s based his entire political program on hatred of foreigners, and he puts Americans at the top of the list.”

“Maybe he’s right. There are Americans I hate, too. But why are his politics your concern? You’re not a child. Isn’t it your own business who you sip wine with?”

“My father’s a very controlling man.”

“Does he know you voted socialist?” Steven whispered.

Nicole turned ashen. “How did you know that?”

“Hey, relax. It was a joke.”

He broke out laughing. It took her a while, but once she got going, she laughed loudly enough to attract a few smiles. Steven looked at her adoringly. It was hard to believe he was getting paid for this.

“Would you have voted against him as a little girl if you had had the vote?” he asked when she finally stopped laughing.

“Yes. He hasn’t been a father to me.  All he cares about is politics. When my mother died – that was a long time ago when I was in second grade – he sent me to a convent school. I didn’t get out until last year. Time spent at home was miserable because of this nasty housekeeper my father relied on to raise me. She’s still with us. In fact she’s here in Nice.”

“We’ll pay her a masked visit some dark night. She sounds like she could profit from a good practical joke.”

Nicole turned serious. “We can’t, Steven. She’d know who was behind it. She’d wring my neck. Worse, she’d tell my father about you. She knows we’re friends. The town grape vine links the club directly to Françoise.”

“I learn something every day,” Steven said. “Today I have learned that friendship in modern France can be dangerous. Well, let’s be sensible. You are the only pleasant thing to happen to me this summer. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Thank you, Steven. Anyway, that’s my life in a nutshell. The only fond memories of my youth are of the summers spent in Fontainebleau with the caretakers of my father’s country home and vacations with Uncle Robert’s family. Otherwise it was the convent school or home in Paris with my father, which was worse. I’m still living at home now even though I attend the Sorbonne. Father won’t have it any other way.”

“This is awful, Nicole. Why don’t you run away? What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m just beginning to realize that my life is mine and I have the choice – no, the obligation – to do with it as I want, not as he wants. You must think something’s wrong with me for having taken so long to arrive at the obvious.”

Steven refilled their wine glasses and snapped his fingers for another bottle. He mouthed the word “oysters.” The waiter nodded and smiled.

“I don’t think anything’s wrong with you. You were basically in prison for eighteen years. It takes a little time to figure out how to handle freedom. You’re going to do great.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes. And I’m glad I met you before you were any further along. You wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”

“That’s not true, Steven. I was immediately drawn to you the night I saw you in the restaurant. It would have been the same no matter when or where it happened.”

“Really?” 

She shook her head, laughed and put a hand on his arm. “It’s the truth. Steven, I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you like this. It’s no big thing for you, but it is for me. I envy you for being so . . . so uninhibited. Your family must have been wonderful.”

Steven glanced at the second bottle of wine and smiled with approval at the plate of oysters. “Go ahead, help yourself,” he said. “You may lose your appetite when I tell you about my own ordeals growing up. They can’t rival yours for sheer horror, but they were pretty bad.”

She took an oyster and let it slide down her throat. Steven had to look away. He hoped talking about his family would throw cold water on his desire.

He sampled the oysters, which were fresh and delicious. He tried to keep his mind on his words. “You should have heard the things my parents said about other human beings. Not in public, mind you. They put a lot of stock in being socially correct. But when they talked about Jews or blacks or homosexuals in private, they sounded like a band of ignorant skinheads.

“And that was only the tip of the iceberg. They were prejudiced as hell against everyone who was different from them. The people I admired, like certain writers and athletes, were at the bottom of their human trash heap. They went out of their way to remind me.

“They had a plan for my life and couldn’t have cared less whether it was what I wanted or not.
They
wanted me to practice medicine in Connecticut, or at least go into law or, at
very
least, into my father’s business. So what am I doing at the tender age of twenty-seven? Playing tennis – and drinking wine with a beautiful young woman in the south of France. I’m not complaining. Don’t get me wrong. If all those unpleasant years are responsible for my being here with you, they were worth it.”

She seemed amused and genuinely surprised, and even blushed a little. “Thank you, Steven. That was a nice thing to say. I would never have guessed you rebelled against your family.”

“I
really
rebelled. Look at me. If I were a loyal son of the American bourgeoisie, I would be drinking coke.”

They laughed together. He would have loved to take her in his arms and tell her the world was crazy, and that nothing but friendship made any sense. Above all he would have loved to forget his assignment for Sophie. This girl was something special. When his secret got out and she rejected him, he was going to feel like a horse had kicked him in the stomach. Was there any way he could live up to his bargain with Sophie without deceiving Nicole?

What if he did something drastic and told her the truth? No, he couldn’t do that. She would be gone. How could he blame her? If the price of honesty was no more Nicole, he couldn’t pay it.

Trying to get his mind off the half dozen things that were tormenting him, he raised his glass. “To our rebellion against the mental tyranny of our parents,” he said.

Suddenly she was crying, and he wasn’t sure why. She looked around warily, then took his hand under the table.

“Steven, I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispered.

“Hey, you’re not alone. Whatever it is, it’s all right.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “I don’t mean my coming here. I mean, what I’m doing with the rest of my life. I never rebelled like you did. I’ve waited too long to become an adult. Steven . . . I’m a virgin.”

“Excuse me?”