The Double Rose (9 page)

Chapter 9

Reasoning and Raspberry Sauce

Paris, France

Friday, 13 July

The mystery of Paris never faded for Marie. Her family roots ran deep into the land, drawing her into the beauty of its heritage.

Marie snatched a half-opened bud from the vase of exquisite red roses Madame Gest had sent to her room at the Ritz. She savored its aroma as she strolled to the window, and then peeked between the lace-curtains.  Looking far into the distance, past the bright city lights, she wondered what was waiting for her in the country.

Her contemplation was interrupted by the theme song to “Jaws.”
What did people do before ringtones and caller ID?
She ignored Josh’s call again and settled into a plush, velvet loveseat across from a marble fireplace to spend the rest of the evening in quiet meditation.

Saturday, 14 July

“Oh my chérie, my meal was delicious. It is a shame your father could not have joined us. Why don’t we splurge and treat ourselves to one of those delicious-looking pastries?” With wide, eager eyes Sophie pointed to the dessert cart laden with temptation.

“Mmm. Have you ever known me to turn down chocolate in any form?” They both laughed with the carefree nature of little girls.

Marie did not know what the pastry was called. It did not matter. Snug in a corner of a quaint, little Paris café with her mother, she devoured a culinary masterpiece dripping in melted white chocolate, with rivers of tantalizing, red-raspberry sauce streaming over the sides. It was paradise on a plate.

A creepy ringtone interrupted their special moment—again. Marie responded to it with absolute indifference.

“Whose ringtone is that?”

“Josh Ryan.” Marie raised an eyebrow. Original paintings from local artist covered every available space on the walls. By diverting her eyes to admire them, Marie also hoped to divert a conversation about Josh.

“Oh, Marie.” Sophie spoke her daughter’s name with the same disapproving tone parents tend to use when they are not pleased with their offspring. “Why don’t you pick up for him? He has called three times this morning. It may be important.”

“I know what he wants,” she said as she stuffed the last drop of chocolate-covered raspberry sauce into her mouth, still trying to avoid the subject.

Sophie delicately wiped the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, then sat back against a padded chair, sighing in disapproval. “What is so terrible that you will not receive his call?”

Marie knew her mother's persistence would eventually gain victory over her reluctance to answer. She decided to spare them both and answer. “Well, when I went to visit him in the hospital, he said some astonishing things to me
 . . . now brace yourself, Maman. This will probably shock you, but Josh Ryan claims to be in love with me.”

Sophie erupted with laughter and a fling of her head.

“What is so funny?”

“Darling, everyone knows Josh Ryan has been desperately in love with you since he was a little boy,” Sophie replied rather matter-of-factly. “He used to admire you quietly from a distance while you loudly ignored him every possible chance.”

“Maman!” Marie did not veil her indignant attitude toward her mother’s consistent defense of Josh.

“Well, I am sorry, chérie, but it is true. You have always been blind when it comes to Josh. You never would give him a chance to explain anything. He has grown into a fine man, and for what it is worth, I think the two of you would make a good match if you can come together in a healthy balance.”

The respect Marie had for her mother outweighed her outrage over the daring suggestion of a romantic future between her and Josh. Marie mustered all the patience she possessed to respond calmly. “You know perfectly well that I am waiting to meet the man in my double rose dreams. Besides, Josh is a male chauvinist. He is so hyper-masculine.”

“Marie, that is utter nonsense.” She shook her head as she added a pinch more sugar to her hot tea. “The problem is not Josh. The problem is that there is something in you that is threatened by a strong man.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Marie looked down at the table, obviously agitated. She shuffled the few dirty dishes containing remains of chicken crepes and honey-wheat crumbs.

“Even with all the advantages you have had, you still grew up in a world that is reeling from an identity crisis. I mean, look at all the nonsense coming out of the entertainment industry, TV, movies, books, magazines—it is all the same. Men are usually depicted as pathetic fools, afraid of their wives, and incompetent. They always do everything wrong and with the wrong motives. It is so unfair.”

Now it was Marie’s turn to sit back in her chair. She folded her arms, looked her mother square in the eyes, and let out a faint whimper. “Maman, is this going to turn into one of your lectures?”

“Yes, chérie, I believe it is.”

This was not the answer Marie wanted, but definitely the one she expected. She had learned from a lifetime of maternal lectures that her mother was usually right but never gave her sermons at a time that was convenient for Marie.

“Society needs strong male and female role models, which are sorely lacking in the media. Even the female role models,” Sophie waved to get the server’s attention, “are ridiculous: surrogate masculinity, competing in ways that society once condemned men for, the devaluation of motherhood and marriage. Heaven knows we don’t want to turn the clock back to the dark days when women had no rights, no respect, were considered the property of some man, and never encouraged to do anything more with their lives than run a house and care for children.”

The server delivered the check to their table, refilled their empty teacups, and removed the dirty dishes. Marie smiled, wondering what the young man thought about their controversial conversation.

Squeezing a fresh lemon wedge, Sophie spruced up her tea, stirred and then tapped the rim of the dainty teacup with the spoon.

“I do not see what any of this has to do with me thinking Josh is a male chauvinist.”

“My point is equality must never be equated with sameness, my chérie.” Sophie sipped her tea, then, with tenderness, addressed Marie’s question. “Misogyny is a mindset that many people have, but Josh is not one of them. You misinterpret his confidence because you are threatened by his strength.”

Marie attempted to digest her mother’s words.

“It is tragic that men have been devalued in order to elevate women, and equally tragic that many women have allowed themselves to be defeminized in order to feel equal to men.”

Her mother’s words pricked Marie’s conscience.

“Josh adores you. He respects you. He thinks you are intelligent, capable, and talented. According to his mother, your strength and intelligence are the very qualities that he considers attractive. He is not threatened by your strength as so many men would be.”

Marie shifted in her seat. Nothing made her more uneasy than talking about Josh Ryan, except, of course, talking to Josh Ryan. “Okay, maybe I have been too harsh on Josh,” Marie conceded, “but right now, however, his attention makes me uncomfortable and I cannot change that.”

“You are the only one who can. Many women dream of having a man who will honor them as Josh has honored you this last month. He is a remarkable man—strong, brave, confident. He demonstrated he was exceptionally responsible by how he handled the problem with completing the Events Center in time for the grand opening.”

* * *

Sophie opened her small white purse, pulled out her wallet, then turned her cell phone back on.
Six missed calls, all from Geneviéve.
Sophie quickly opened her wallet to locate a credit card. “Above all else, Marie, his love for you is so powerful that he was willing to risk his life to protect you. I hope more men will follow his example. You do not have the right to expect a man to be less than he is any more than a man has the right to expect a woman to be less than she is.”

Sophie’s phone rang. “Geneviéve. How are you, chérie?”

“Maman, I am not well. What are you doing?”

Sophie detected trauma in Geneviéve's drained voice.

“I just finished lunch with Marie. Hold on for a minute.” Sophie handed Marie the check. “Please pay this, and I will meet you in front of the café.”

Sophie rose from her seat and exited the cafe. “Geneviéve, I'm back. What is wrong?” Geneviéve uncontrollably sobbed from the other end of the line. “Take a deep breath, darling. Now, try to tell me what has happened.”

“Derrick . . . left . . . me,” her words tearfully spurted.

“Oh,
chérie
, I am so sorry!” Sophie closed her eyes for a split second as she brushed her brow. She knew this day would come sooner or later, but it was an unpleasant realization nevertheless.

“He was out all night.” Trauma resonated through her voice. “He strolled in the house midmorning and casually announced that he wanted a divorce. He has been having an affair for two years! Now he wants to marry her, but, of course, he has to divorce me first to do it.”

* * *

It was obvious to Marie that something serious had happened to Geneviéve. In an effort to give her mother privacy, she prolonged paying the bill by striking up a casual conversation with the handsome, middle-aged maître d’, who wrongly assumed she was flirting with him. It caused her slight embarrassment, but no real harm.

Sophie paused from pacing to signal Marie.

“Give Darren a call. He will get you in contact with the right people. I know it is hard now, but you and the kids are going to be okay. You will! I love you. Good-bye,
chérie
.”

Anxious, Marie asked, “What has happened?”

“You will find that it is not always pleasant to be right.” Sophie slid her cell phone back into her purse. “Derrick has left her. He has been having an affair for two years and now wants to marry his mistress. I gave her my attorney’s number. I am sure he will hook her up with a capable divorce lawyer.”

“Oh, Maman! So many painful things have happened to our family lately that it is hard to understand.” Marie's heart ached for Geneviéve, but would she believe Marie's compassion was sincere after all the conflict they shared?

“I noticed a bridal boutique a few blocks down. Let’s walk over to it while we talk.” Sophie locked her arm around her daughter’s. “It isn't hard to understand, chérie.”

The sidewalk was crowded with pedestrians listening to a street musician. Sophie smiled at an elderly gentleman masterfully playing Beethoven’s
Symphony No. 9
on his antique violin as they joined the street-side assembly. His music peacefully drifted over the small crowd like a comforting arm reaching out from heaven. But not all felt its balm—Marie’s anxiety and fear created resistance to its power.

“Challenges and trials are usually the result of our choices or someone else’s choice that affected us. When your sister was a teenager, she was rebellious.” As her mother spoke, Marie’s vision scanned the passersby and shops, trying to find a purpose to this earthly life they shared. “It all began when she started ignoring family rules by getting involved in chat rooms when she was thirteen. The more she rebelled, the easier it became for her to disobey.

“She did not care when we warned her that her relationship with Derrick was unhealthy and a poor match. After they eloped, I did everything I could to support them in a successful marriage, but she has spent fifteen years reaping the consequences of her self-destructive choices.”

A short pregnant woman, holding the hand of a little girl accidentally bumped into Marie and excused herself. Suddenly, one of Sophie's sermons finally penetrated Marie's understanding, and she realized Geneviéve had been so focused on the exuberance of her youth that she could not see where she was heading. She had made many bad choices
 . . . but she also made some good choices. Geneviéve needed a compass and a lot of love to help her get back on course.

“But Geneviéve is a good mother, and I think she did tried to be a good wife,” Marie said.

“Yes, I agree, Geneviéve matured quite a bit
after
she married, particularly after Jared was born. But she was unequally yoked in marriage by her own poor choice, and she felt the effects of it every day.”

Everywhere Marie looked she saw something that reminded her of love. Beneath a classic black-and-white-checkered awning stood a bakery with elegant, decorated wedding cakes on display in the front window. The floral shop next to it emanated romantic scents from beautiful fresh flowers. They passed a young couple sitting on a park bench holding hands as the woman laid her head on her husband’s shoulder and talked—obviously in love.

Talk of a soured marriage sharply contrasted the beautiful streets of Paris. Its atmosphere, with all its intrigue, didn’t hold the same wonder for Marie as it had before lunch. In spite of the beauty she saw everywhere, a dark cloud seemed to be pressing in on her world.

“The person who cares the least controls the relationship and he certainly controlled theirs. But, Marie, if we are wise, our trials will be like the irritants that polish the pearl inside the seashell. The learning is in the journey.”