I Looked for the One My Heart Loves (10 page)

15

After putting on a
dressing gown
, Anne went to the kitchen, where her husband was having breakfast.

“Did you get home late?” he asked.

“Around midnight.”

“I tried to wait up for you. But I was too tired.”

In a few sentences, Anne told François about her evening.

“It was fun to get to revisit our childhood.”

François gave her a puzzled look.

“I forgot to tell you! Alexis Messager was a friend of Bernard's. You shook his hand in Brussels, when we were at the Expo.”

“I don't remember. But how did he wind up doing work for the gallery?”

Not feeling like talking about it, Anne was relieved when she heard the alarm go off in the children's room.

In the middle of the afternoon, Anne was on cloud nine. Trying to contain her joy at feeling so alive, she double-checked the asking price of all the pieces with Amanda.

“I think we're all set,” Amanda said when they were done.

“If I may …
The Lovers
. . . You could ask for more.”

“The two sketches?”

Anne nodded.

“At the risk of not finding a buyer?”

Anne remained silent.

“I told Monsieur Marcellin that I was going to sell them for him, remember?”

“You could buy them.”

“At that price? You've lost your mind! Especially since I'm the one who sold them to him in the first place years ago!”

The phone rang and Anne took the call. When she came back to the sketches, she noticed the two little red dots on the labels signifying that
The Lovers
had been sold.

“You win,” Amanda said. “I wrote out a check to Monsieur Marcellin for the price we came up with.”

Amanda greeted her guests with her usual grace. Ever since she had started working for the gallery, Anne had envied her employer's social skills.

By seven o'clock, getting to the buffet was difficult with the number of guests. Flutes of champagne in hand, art specialists and collectors were chatting away. Anne was asked about many of the pieces for sale.

A regular customer of the gallery was hesitating between two Yves Tanguy paintings.

“I should just flip a coin,” she said, laughing.

Anne thought about telling her to think about it for a day or two, but she knew that there was a fine line between real enthusiasm and a whim.

“You're not the only one eyeing them,” she said, waiting to see what effect those words would have on the woman.

“Really?” she said.

The sale was concluded in the next few minutes. With satisfaction, Anne put away the check and then stuck a red dot next to the painting she had just sold. Since the beginning of the evening, she had felt as though she was two people in one: the first was conscientious and professional, while the other had her eyes riveted on the entrance. The evening before, she had told Alexis that the atmosphere would be best around eight. Now she regretted having said that.

Finally, he showed up! Stuck with a German customer, a huge fan of Salvador Dalí, Anne couldn't go over to greet him. She waved at Agnès for her to come over. She had been hired to hand out flyers of the exhibition.

“Alexis is here. Can you take care of him?”

“If I knew what he looked like, I would!”

“He's over there, next to the poster. The one with the brown jacket.”

Still talking with the customer, she watched them shake hands. No doubt Agnès remembered that they had known each other as kids. Anne couldn't wait for the German to stop talking to her. The noise level in the gallery was growing by the minute. Some women who had drunk too much champagne were laughing too loudly. One of them spilled her glass on her friend's dress. Amanda saw it and intervened right away. Everything was taken care of. Anne was considering taking advantage of the diversion to go over to Alexis when her husband showed up.

“I managed to leave the office early,” he said. “I wanted to surprise you.”

François rarely came to the gallery's openings. He didn't care much about art. At first, Anne had been hurt by this, but soon she accepted it. This time, though, he had decided to make an effort. How could he have known that tonight, of all nights, she didn't want him here?

“That's so nice of you,” she said with a forced smile.

Realizing that she had no desire whatsoever to see Alexis and François in the same room, she felt a pang of guilt. What exactly was she afraid of? That Alexis would see her as a married woman? He already knew she was married. …

“Anne! Finally!”

She would have recognized the smoker's voice among a thousand others. It belonged to an artist whose work Amanda wanted to highlight. During the Bolshevik Revolution, Serge Sakalov's parents had fled Russia and settled in the Parisian suburb of Meudon, along with many other refugees. His father worked on an assembly line in the Renault factory, while his mother was a seamstress. At the age of nineteen, Serge left his parents' modest house to live with an older and more affluent woman. Unable to ever say no to him, she bought the art supplies he asked for and paid for his drawing lessons. Having some talent, Serge would have made it in the artistic world were it not for his unpredictable temper. He made a lot of enemies because of it. He and Amanda had recently crossed paths. The man was no longer young, but Amanda liked what he painted when he wasn't either stinking drunk or in the middle of a depression. This evening, he had managed to stay upright. Not for long, Anne thought. In the meantime, she dreaded his crude jokes.

“Good evening, Serge,” she said, trying to keep at a distance.

But, as usual, the artist took Anne in his arms and planted a kiss on both her cheeks.

“How come I never see you at my studio?” he asked. “How come you never tag along with Amanda when she visits me?”

“Who'd keep an eye on the galley?” she said.

Then she saw Alexis looking her way. She gestured toward him to let him know that she would come over to see him soon.

When she finally did, she said, “So sorry it took me so long!”

“That's all right. Agnès kept me company.”

“Okay,” Agnès said. “I have to hand out more flyers.”

“I'm glad I came yesterday,” Alexis said. “It's almost impossible to see the paintings with this crowd.”

As Amanda approached them, Anne introduced her to Alexis.

“I'm sorry I couldn't be here yesterday to greet you,” she said, shaking Alexis's hand.

“Anne explained everything,” he said.

As they began chatting, Monsieur Marcellin and his wife walked into the gallery.

“We didn't want to miss out on this,” the attorney told Amanda. “Your openings are always a huge success!”

“Not as much as in the old days.”

When she had first started, Amanda asked the artists to furnish their own paintings on opening night. Things had changed since then. …

“They're the ones who used to own
The Lovers
,” Anne whispered to Alexis.

“Used to? You already sold the two sketches?”

“Madame Kircher bought them herself. They still don't know.”

Anne was about to add a few details when she spotted François walking toward her.

“My husband,” she told Alexis, who didn't say anything.

“François, this is Alexis Messager. He's the one who invited me to dinner last night.”

“You must've had a lot to say to each other, after all those years.”

“We didn't only talk about the past,” Alexis said.

Anne didn't like anything about this encounter. And she didn't like the hand that François put on her shoulder, or the condescending tone he took when asking Alexis for the reason for his trip to Paris.

“I was curious about Madame Kircher's gallery and art collection,” Alexis said.

“You're lucky to be knowledgeable about art. I, for one, know nothing about it.”

Alexis noticed Anne's look of embarrassment. Until now, he hadn't given much thought to the man she had married. She talked so little about him! Since last evening, he had been trying to connect the little girl he had known with this woman at once familiar and foreign to him. Well read, sophisticated, elegant, she corresponded to the view he had of Parisian women. His eyes lingered on her black dress that showed little cleavage, her Greek inspired jewels, her kitten-heel shoes.

“I'm going home,” François said. “If I don't leave now, I'm going to miss the beginning of the game.”

He turned to Alexis and added, “After a long day of work, I like to watch a little soccer on TV.”

Anne fetched some chairs for the Marcellins and then offered them some champagne.

“Only if you'll have some with us,” Monsieur Marcellin said.

“In that case, I'm going to ask Monsieur Messager to join us.”

As soon as the photographer hired for the event was free, Anne called him over.

“Please take a picture of us,” she said.

She saw that Madame Marcellin was holding her husband's hand. How could they smile knowing that this was probably the last exhibition they would attend together? Anne felt overwhelmed by such serenity, such self-control. The camera's flash snapped her out of her reverie. For the photo, Alexis raised his glass in her direction. …

Invited to end the evening at Amanda's, a few people went up to the apartment. Alexis was among the chosen ones, so Anne cursed the caterer for taking so long to gather his things and leave.

As soon as she walked into the apartment, the two cats jumped out of the closet where they had taken refuge to rub themselves against her legs. Laurel wasn't thrilled at having to share his cushions with strangers. Adding to his distress was Roland, Amanda's godson, who was a vet. As soon as Laurel saw him, he began to hiss, with Hardy imitating him.

Anne knew Roland. He had attended the opening only because he figured he had to. He didn't care for the arts and had never tried to hide that fact. On the other hand, he was a very kind man. Any time Amanda needed comforting or help with anything, Roland was there for her. This evening, he had come with his wife, Caroline. … The two of them were chatting with Alexis when Anne entered the dining room.

At the end of the meal, Caroline sat at the piano. Knowing that Amanda loved The Beatles, she began to play “Strawberry Fields Forever.” Some of the guests gathered around her to sing the chorus. Alexis and Roland, who both knew the lyrics, joined in. Hesitant at first, Anne also started to sing. Once the song was over, Amanda asked for another. Caroline complied with “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

At three, some of the guest began to feel tired.

“I'm operating on two dogs today,” Roland said. “I have to go to bed if I want my hands to be steady.”

“But you had a good time?” Amanda asked him.

“I haven't seen him so cheerful in a long time,” Caroline said, buttoning her coat.

As she picked up her handbag, Anne was getting ready for the goodbyes. Down on the street, Alexis was going to bid her farewell. He would take the plane back to Montreal later in the day. And everything would go back to normal. She listened to him thank Amanda for everything.

“You should thank Anne! Without her, we never would've met.”

“You're right!”

As Roland was asking Anne if she wanted a lift, Alexis walked to her and said, “If you feel like some fresh air, I could walk you home.”

“Why not?” she said.

Halfway to Anne's house, Alexis said, “If I'd stayed another day, I would've asked you to take me to Montmartre. With you, I wouldn't be afraid to go back there. Maybe next time.”

“When do you think you might come back?”

“As soon as I get another professional gig.”

After crossing Avenue de l'Opéra, Anne slowed her pace. In a few minutes, they were going to reach her apartment building. Then Alexis would go back to his life. Time would pass, erasing what had brought them together. She was tormented by the thought that he would disappear for good or that something terrible would happened to him without her ever even knowing about it.

“Are you going to keep in touch?” she asked.

“I swear!”

She shuddered. How could she believe him after he had forgotten about that promise he had made when they were kids?

In front of the door, he caressed her cheek.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“A little. What about you? You have to sleep a bit before heading for the airport.”

“I don't feel like going to bed. When I'm happy, I need to walk.”

Taking Anne by surprise, he kissed her on the temple and, without looking back, walked away.

16

Had Anne not been
so busy
with her daughters and work, she might've felt overwhelmed with sadness. She was obsessed with Alexis's absence. Trying to hide her state of mind, she forced herself to chat with François, accepted that he was the one taking her in his arms. But her thoughts were always elsewhere, on a different continent. She did mention Alexis to Amanda and Agnès, though. Amanda went on and on about how great he was, while Agnès said she had found him very attractive.

“Is he married?” she asked.

“He is,” Anne replied.

Since her separation, Agnès was on the lookout for an adventure.

“I've only had one man in my life,” she said. “At thirty-seven, that's nothing to brag about!”

Since she would soon be entering the workforce, Agnès imagined that her existence would be filled with exciting encounters that would erase years of frustration and boredom.

The day after she started working, Agnès happened to see a student protest. On Rue Soufflot, police cars were parked in front of the stationery shop.

“Cops came out of them, wearing jackboots and helmets,” she told Anne. “Then they marched toward the Sorbonne to evacuate it.”

That May 3 marked the beginning of an upheaval that spiraled out of control. Day after day, the Quartier Latin was the site of demonstrations against capitalism, the establishment, excessive consumerism. On May 6, Agnès saw barricades going up across the street. This was followed by violent clashes between the police and protestors, as well as many arrests. Schools and universities were shut down, and students were marching in the streets all over the capital. The Parisian unrest soon spread to other towns in France. Nantes, Strasbourg, Lyon, and Toulouse saw additional clashes between police and students.

In that highly charged atmosphere, Agnès moved into her apartment on Rue des Feuillantines. Her place was small, but only a few minutes from work. She gave her son the only bedroom and set up a sleeping alcove in the living room for herself. Anne offered to put up Agnès's son until everything was unpacked and organized in the apartment. Agnès's only complaint was that there was no phone in her new place. There was so much demand that a line wouldn't be installed for at least two years.

After Anne had supper with the three kids, she sat in front of the television and watched images of the rioting. The news anchor said that the tension was particularly high on Boulevard Saint-Michel. He talked about the barricades on Rue Gay-Lussac, which Agnès had to cross in order to get home. As the days passed, Anne had begun to support the protestors' cause. Even though the rebellion slowed down business and prevented potential customers from coming to the gallery, she thought that the students' claims were justified. At the end of the news broadcast, she went over to Isabelle and Aurélie's room to kiss them good night. Then she headed for the office, where Thomas was about to lie down on a cot. He had his favorite comics with him. Since his parents' separation, the boy hadn't said a word about it, and Anne hesitated to bring up the topic. He seemed more relaxed since he no longer lived with his father. But surely this was a facade, and Thomas must have been worried about living in a new place with a mother who, instead of taking care of her family and her home, was now working.

“You turn off the light at ten, okay?” Anne reminded the boy before kissing him on the cheek.

“Can I listen to the radio?”

Knowing that he loved rock music, she said yes.

Lying on the living room couch, Anne let herself daydream. Since Alexis had left, she was trying to find moments of peace and quiet so she could think about him without being disturbed. Twice, she had gone back to “their” bistro, and she'd sat at “their” table. That's where she had looked at the photos of the opening. A courier had brought pictures to the gallery in the morning, and Anne decided to wait for lunchtime to give them a look. She was moved seeing Alexis in conversation with Amanda, with Agnès, with other people. In the pictures taken with the Marcellins, he was looking at her with an affectionate smile. In the background was Magritte's couple. Suddenly, it dawned on Anne! Why did she love those sketches so much? That woman and that man with their faces covered by cloth? Did their representation take her back to December 1939, when two little ghosts had stood onstage?

The realization bewildered her. And so she had kept in her memory an image that only now came back to her. She remembered how she had urged Amanda to buy the sketches back from Monsieur Marcellin, and how relieved she had felt when her boss agreed. What would happen now that she was in contact with Alexis again? Since returning to Montreal, he had written the gallery a thank-you letter. To Anne, he had sent a postcard of the lake where he spent his summers. If she had been lucid for just a minute, she would have accepted that pipe dreams had no place in either of their lives. And so how much time would it take for her to heal, to not suffer from his absence anymore? A tangible fact kept tugging at her. Not once had she missed François since he had left for Japan. Days were passing without her thinking about his return, and the two times he had called, she had handed the phone to her daughters. Through the opened window, she could hear the laughter of people leaving the restaurant next door. What was Alexis doing right now? For him, the afternoon was coming to an end. What did he do with his weekends? In reality, she knew little about him. Only what he had told her. Anne had read and heard that you couldn't love someone whose true nature you didn't know. Otherwise, you only projected your own desires or fantasies onto that person. But what she felt was not love at first sight or some sexual attraction. Rather, she had the impression that an invisible force was creating a powerful bond between the two of them. Did Alexis feel the same way? Nothing in his behavior had indicated that he felt anything but friendship toward her. Sure, he had asked her to dinner and walked her home from Amanda's, but wasn't she the only person he knew in Paris? As for his wife, he had said almost nothing about her. Out of modesty? Because he wanted to protect his privacy? Anne wondered how she was. Was she beautiful? Was she brilliant?

The following day, the newspaper headlines were all about the riots that had broken out overnight. Twelve-foot high barricades had been dismantled by the police. Demonstrators and police officers had both been injured. Dozens of cars were set on fire. Toward the end of the morning, Agnès showed up at Anne's with her arm was in a sling.

“Mama!” Thomas said when he saw his mother injured.

“It's okay,” she said, kissing him. “It's nothing.”

To Anne, she explained, “The shop's window was smashed. Shards of glass all over the place! On the street, cars were flipped over and set on fire.”

“What happened to you?”

“I slipped and twisted my wrist when I hit the ground.”

When they were alone, Anne asked, “Were you with the protestors when you fell?”

“Yes. But I don't want Thomas to know about it.”

Until she fell, Agnès had been taunting the police along with the students and other demonstrators. As she told Anne about the insane night she had lived through, her eyes shone with pride.

“Just make sure you don't get arrested. It wouldn't sound so good during the divorce hearings. …”

In the afternoon, the unions joined the students in calling for a general strike in two days.

“Nothing is going to stop them,” Amanda said.

Since the opening, the gallery had made several major sales. Those transactions would have to make up for the sluggish business because of the explosive circumstances.

“Some people I know are getting scared,” Amanda continued.

Anne's in-laws were among those who thought a revolution might result from the events.

“Thank God we live away from that craziness!” her mother-in-law said.

When the factory workers went on strike, the old woman worried for her son, who was soon coming back from Tokyo.

“They shut down production at the Renault plants,” she said.

As Dassault Aviation also went on strike, François wound up in the middle of the unrest. The workers abandoned the production lines, so they were playing cards and pétanque.

“I just hope they don't take you hostage,” Anne said.

“I'm not the one they're eyeing,” François said.

Traveling in Paris and elsewhere in the country was becoming more and more difficult. In addition to a shortage of gas, train and subway workers had stopped working. Every segment of French life was soon impacted: the postal service, radio, television, the trash collectors. By May 20, some ten million people were on strike. … The business community feared that the French franc was going to collapse. Friends of Amanda tried to transfer some money abroad, but it was too late!

It was against that background that Monsieur Marcellin died. Though she had expected the news, Amanda took it badly.

“He was a friend. A real friend! I didn't know how to say to him that I was going to miss him terribly. We should tell the people close to us how we feel about them. They should know how much they mean to us. …”

The funeral was held at the Basilica of Sainte-Clotilde. Anne was unable to pray during the ceremony. On the other hand, she noticed how truly sad the people around her seemed to be. Expressionless, Madame Marcellin sat straight in the first row. Seeing her so frail, so dignified and so lost, Anne felt her throat tighten. When the bells began to toll, Anne walked outside the church. Many people crossed themselves as the casket went by them. The pallbearers then put it in the hearse. Doors slammed. The hearse's engine started, and Anne felt Amanda's arm around hers.

“Let's leave,” she said, “before people come to talk to me.”

As they took a side street, Amanda said, “I need a pick-me-up. Let's go to a bistro.”

The first one they spotted was on Boulevard Saint-Germain­. Sitting on the terrace, they were soon deafened by police cars speeding past with sirens blasting.

“There's some more fighting,” the waiter said as he brought Anne and Amanda their cognacs.

“Why don't we go check it out?” Amanda said.

Thirty minutes later, they were at the intersection of Boulevard Saint-Germain and Boulevard Saint-Michel. The smell of smoke filled the air.

“Move along,” police officers ordered. They stood in the way of journalists and onlookers.

Amanda, not one to be told what to do, led Anne toward the Musée de Cluny. A crowd was shouting on Rue des Écoles, and the police fired tear gas at them. Their faces filled with tears, Amanda and Anne tried to move forward. The street was strewn with paving stones and burned-out cars. Slogans were painted on the buildings' walls: “Power to the Imagination.” “Summer Is Going to Be Hot!” “It Is Forbidden to Forbid.” All the stores were closed, as well as the cafés and restaurants. About a hundred yards down the street, a group of hyped-up students were marching, holding large banners.

“We should head back,” Amanda said with a cough.

It was almost impossible to breathe now, and the crowd grew louder. More people were pouring into the street. Since Amanda couldn't run, Anne grabbed her by the arm and forced her to press her back against a building's facade. The group of students was fast approaching. Their faces masked by scarves, they no longer tried to throw rocks but were running away from the riot police who were after them, armed with batons. Two students were caught and dragged to the sidewalk, kicking and screaming. Police officers slammed the cuffs onto them, and then shoved them into a paddy wagon.

Amanda would have insulted the riot police if Anne hadn't stopped her.

“What a bunch of bastards,” she muttered. “Roughing up kids like that …”

François was far from having the same view of the situation. Exasperated by the strikers at Dussault Aviation and the difficulty getting to and from work, he was furious at the “scumbags” paralyzing the entire country. The fact that he was still jet-lagged from his trip to Japan didn't help matters. At night, he was tossing and turning in bed. Pretending to be asleep, Anne wondered if she was going to be able to spend the rest of her life with him. For the first time since they had married, she had difficulty imagining a future with François.

As weeks went by, the social unrest settled down. After seemingly losing control of the situation, General de Gaulle dissolved the National Assembly, and elections were planned for the end of June. Parisians who supported the president organized a gigantic march down the Champs-Élysées. François was there and came back home galvanized. With his colleagues and friends, he had sung “La Marseillaise,” hoping that the Communists and Maoists would accept defeat. Slowly, things settled back to normal in Paris. Gas stations were supplied, and public transportation got going again. More than anything else, what pleased Anne was that the postal service was back on track. Finally, she would be able to communicate with Alexis. She mailed him an envelope containing the photos taken at the gallery. …