Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal (28 page)

He gently lifted the book off her.

She woke up. “Oh!”

“What was it about this page that put you to sleep?”

“It wasn’t the book.”

“Yes, it was.”

“No, it wasn’t. I love your book. It’s, well, it’s not exactly a page turner. It’s a page
wallower.
So much detail!” She added a harder edge to, “Which doesn’t add up to an easy read.”

She swung her legs around to stand. “I’m going to the beach. I have to cool off.”

“Don’t move.”

He returned carrying a stack of old leather-bound books. Tapping the top one, he said, “You want to see
wallowing?
Read this! All seven volumes of Marcel Proust’s
À la Recherche du Temps Perdu.
” He slowly repeated the title.

“Looking for the time that is missed?”

Brightening, he said, “Close.
In Search of Lost Time.
Or as you say in America,
Remembrance of Things Past.
”

“I know that title.” Eyeing the stack, “It’s
that
long?”

“When you finish my book, take a look.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Now in a better mood, he said, “I’ll take you to
L’ile de Porquerolles.”

Heading to her cottage, she said, “I can go by myself, thank you.”

“I’ll make us a picnic. You did an excellent job getting me started on my memoir.”

“We can’t stay long. You have work to do.”

“I’ll be editing what I’ve written. That’s work. What a good team we make.”

She paused before heading to her cottage. “That’s what Nelson says.”

He stopped himself from saying “A team would be deciding to buy this property together.” It wasn’t her money. And what did he know about being part of one?

28

Truth

As the ferry left Marlaison for the popular island getaway, Didon stood on her hind legs against the side and let the wind whip around her face and ears. Jean-Luc pulled his long gray hair that was blowing in every direction into a ponytail on top of his head. He fancied he looked like a samurai. Attired in white linen pants and a matching shirt with the sleeves rolled up, it was an elegantly offbeat look that always proved a winning combination with the ladies.

Until Alyce giggled and wouldn’t tell him what was so funny. Finally he got it out of her.

“With your hair like that, when the wind hits you look like a giant smokestack.”

There was just enough of a breeze to make it easy to stay on the island for a long time, though he wasn’t sure if he could take it for long. He walked in the opposite direction from where he and Colette once parked themselves, but it was useless. He looked out at the sea and saw himself hanging onto the side of her bright yellow float as she lay on her back, bobbing up and down in the surf, a tiny pool of water filling her bellybutton.

“Look at the color of the water!” Alyce cried, as she settled on the beach towel he’d brought along. “It’s almost the same as the sky.”

Her comment startled Jean-Luc. Colette had offered a similar observation.

The beach was neither crowded nor deserted. Many of the women had discarded their tops. Alyce did not. A pungent combination of sea, suntan oil, and sweat mingled in the air. After making herself comfortable on a large towel, she took a big sniff.

“It’s a little funky.”

“Funky,” he repeated with her American accent. “A splendid word I should use more often.”

He made a mental note to jot it down in his notebook. Wait. It was in the suede bag that held the gun she used to shoot the boar. Did she find it?

She interrupted his thought with, “Oh, no. I think you should use words like pissiated more often.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever that word was in the first paragraph of
The Horse.
”

“
Inspissated.
It means dense.”

He grabbed the old green beach umbrella he’d dug out of his garage and managed to refrain from ramming it through her head.

Very sweetly she said, “Why not just say dense?”

“It is my duty to elevate the reader.”

She blithely slathered on tanning lotion. “Sure you’re not just showing off?”

With great force, he lodged the wooden umbrella pole in the sand right next to her left arm, making her jump. “You are giving me horripilation.”

“And what is that?”

“Making my skin crawl. Goose flesh.”

“You know, that’s actually a cool word. I take it all back.”

He settled on his towel a few feet from her. Didon curled up on a special cushion he’d put down for her so she wouldn’t get too hot on the sand. He took a deep breath to dislodge the mistake he now thought it was to come back here. Then Alyce had the audacity to open his book to the last page and start reading.

“Hey!” She rubbed her head where he had just thwonked her with his foam sandal.

“At least do not do such a thing in front of the author!”

While she read, Jean-Luc went over what he had written the last two days. After awhile, he glanced at Alyce. She was utterly entranced by his words. There is no greater high for a writer than to witness that. Anytime he heard her chuckle he had to know why. He found it interesting what made people laugh. Often it wasn’t anything he intended to be funny.

Looking over at her again later, she was in such a rapturous state that a dewdrop of drool had formed at the left corner of her mouth. He felt a sharp spasm in his stomach as he forced himself not to laugh.

She wiped her mouth and checked the time on her phone. “Okay, I need to take a break.”

“An excellent idea.”

He pulled out pâté, baguette slices, radishes, tomatoes, anise-flavored butter cookies, and the apricot-rosemary iced tea that she loved. They didn’t say much as they ate.

Refreshed, she tackled the rest of the book.

He prayed to his Muse to guide him. His thoughts kept returning to Colette under the same umbrella Alyce was now beneath, Colette running her fingers through his chest hair, his inability to cry. Really cry. It was as though his tear ducts had been severed.

Alyce cried for him.

“The horse died!” she sobbed.

As she delicately blew her nose into a napkin, he said, “It is
fiction.
”

“You’re such a good writer. It feels real. How could anyone want to put a happy ending on it?”

There was hope for her yet. “Do that again.”

“What? Read it?”

“No, blow your nose. You are not a little sow at all. You are an embarrassed geisha. A fragile orchid of beguiling femininity.”

She gave him a look like he had two heads. So much for the geisha.

He coached her on how to do a Japanese titter with one hand lightly over her mouth. “Look at me for a split second… more intensity… more!… that’s it! Now look down quickly. Again… Perfect! Next you should go to Japan for three months.”

She seemed to be mulling it over and he was surprised to find himself wishing he hadn’t put the notion in her head. “I should warn you, it is an extremely difficult language. Much harder than French.” Not true.

“Oh,” she seemed dismayed. “Never mind, then.” She stood up. “I’m going for a swim. Ow!” She began to limp. “I have a cramp in my foot.”

“I can take care of that. Sit back down.” He had never failed to seduce a woman with his world-class foot massage. “Lavender scented lotion is best. Our sunscreen will have to do.”

As he began to work it into her feet, he admired her pink toenails.

“Are you kidding?” she said. “I need a pedicure desperately. I went into a nail salon and they said they didn’t do them. At first I thought they didn’t want me as a customer because I wasn’t chic enough, but there were no big chairs you sit in with the tub at the bottom for your feet. Then I saw women stretched out in elevated lounge chairs, like they were at the dentist’s but they were being manicured. Now,
that’s
the way it should be. Anyway, I must have gone to four places and they were all manicures only. I couldn’t believe it. Finally, a woman I thought was being nice opened a phone book and wrote down the address of where I could get a pedicure. I took an expensive cab ride there only to discover it was a
podiatrist.
”

Jean-Luc roared. “You did not ask for a pedicure
esthéticienne.
What a funny story, Al-
ees.
Why did you not share it?”

She pulled her face into a cruel smirk. “Gee, maybe because I felt like a complete idiot? Why didn’t they just tell me—ooooooh! That feels great.”

He stayed there until he felt the tight rubber band of tension in her release, then slowly moved up her muscular calf. He had her now. Her sleepy eyes opened. All he needed was the right verbal key and the door of resistance would swing wide open.

She pushed his hand away. “Even if I weren’t engaged, that hair of yours.”

“Perhaps you are afraid of me?”

She ignored him. “I’m going for a swim now.” As she got up, she said, “I’m so happy Isabella will be here later.”

She seemed unusually preoccupied when she returned from her swim. She then went for a long walk. When it was time to pack up, Jean-Luc said, “You seem subdued, Al-
ees.
I would think Nelson buying the property would have you deliriously happy.”

“I’ve been feeling weird lately, Jean-Luc. I think it’s because I have to let the
loirs
go. And the reality that my life is about to radically change.” She looked at him straight on. “And I’m worried about you, how your life is going to go.”

He handed her the picnic basket, much lighter now, as he grabbed the umbrella and their tote bags. “Are you sure you might not be pregnant?”

He couldn’t see her eyes through her sunglasses but noticed her jaw tighten. “That, too. I never went back on my birth control pills after my panic attack. Nelson was all for it.”

An ax lodged in his chest.

He tried to sound upbeat. “You will be a great mother.”

Her smile was not as trouble-free as it should have been. He was sorry for declaring his love to her now. Sorry for saying she was in desperate fear. He should never have intruded on her Cinderella dream.

They were silent on the ferry to the mainland. He often saw her biting her lip.

They hadn’t driven far in the car heading home before she said, “I have a confession to make. When you and Pauline went out to dinner, I was looking for something to write on when I was at your computer. I found a large metal key and wondered what it opened. At that point I knew Nelson was interested in your place and thought I’d just look around to see how many rooms there were. Really, I didn’t snoop. But I should have asked you.”

He never suspected she went in there. “And what did you see?”

“The key opened the door that was locked upstairs. Before I could turn the light on, you came back. It looked like something was painted on the walls but I couldn’t see much except a big white oval. I did see a photo, though. Half of one, that is.”

He said nothing.

“The room was repainted and the photo gone when all of us looked later. Then, when I was walking in the woods one day, I saw a headstone. A new one. Jean-Luc, if I’m going to live there, I’d like to know if something, well, out of the ordinary happened. I need to stop wondering. I’m sure my imagination has made it worse than it is.”

He pulled on to the shoulder of the road they were on and turned off the engine. He did not look at her as he took off his sunglasses and set them on the dash.

“Al-
ees
, I am sure your imagination has not let you down.”

Seeing how distressed he was, she fished out a bottle of water from her bag.

He took a sip, handed it back, and reclined his seat so he could stare out at the topaz sky. He placed his elbows on the armrests, crossed his hands in his lap. He easily organized the story in his head. He had retold it mentally a thousand times.

“The royalty checks were growing smaller each year. I tried to give up writing and make a go of the vineyard. There was a jazz singer named Margot who played the South of France in the summer. She’d flirted with me for years. There was something about her that told me to stay away. When she approached her late 30s, I was living with Nicole, a travel writer.

“Margot possessed an incomparable radar, for she would call every night Nicole was away to see if I wanted company. Finally I said yes. The affair with Nicole was on the wane. She no longer checked in with me every day when on the road. More than once I called her in the early morning and she did not answer.

“Margot’s intense focus on me naturally appealed to my ego. I was very careful about using protection. A condom is more than a barrier to pregnancy and diseases. They create an emotional wall as well. I could not take care of a family so I willed away the desire.

“When Margot and I finally made love, I reached for my protection. She stopped me. She said,
It would be too painful to have you inside me. Could we leave that out?
Did she mean physically or emotionally painful? Had she been raped? In love? I was too drunk and aroused to question her. I released on her stomach, went for a tissue. She said, “I’ll do that in the bathroom.” I rolled over and fell asleep. Little did I know she scooped up my sperm and placed it inside a device that was like a miniature turkey baster.