Magic (21 page)

“Do I look like a secretary or a Greek widow in this?” she asked Xavier, feeling unsure of herself. He was wearing a new black suit, and a black Prada shirt she'd bought him, and looked very hip. She was worried that she looked like his mother.

“You look very grown-up,” he said diplomatically.

“Do you mean old?” She looked unsure of herself.

“Personally, I like your hair down, and skirts to your crotch, but I have to admit, in this crowd, you'll look appropriate.” It was not a high compliment, but it was true. She took her hair out of the bun, kept the dress on, put on her coat, and they left. It was a big festive holiday gathering at his partner's home, with everyone from the law firm and their friends, and a long buffet in the dining room, catered by an excellent catering firm that had provided delicious food. And their hostess was wearing a dress almost identical to Chantal's, so she knew she had worn the right thing.

Chantal found herself talking to a female lawyer she had met before, and got locked into a group of very interesting, very liberal women who were discussing the dire situation of women in the Middle East, and how that could be changed. She talked to them for almost an hour, before she stopped to get something to eat at the buffet, and went to look for Xavier, and was mildly surprised to see him talking to a sexy-looking redhead in a skin-tight white dress that barely reached her crotch. From the smooth outline of her hips, it was clear that she was not wearing underwear, and she was standing in mile-high black suede stiletto heels.

“Wow,” Chantal said in an undervoice, and wondered if she should leave him to it, and not look like an overbearing jealous girlfriend, so she engaged some other people in conversation and waited for Xavier to move on. He didn't. Instead, he and the girl sat down on the couch, and he was laughing heartily at everything she said, as she inched closer and closer to him, while Chantal watched but did not approach.

She waited an hour for him to break up the conversation with the redhead. Finally the girl stood up, took a card out of her handbag, and gave it to him, and Chantal saw him thank her and slip it into his coat pocket, as she walked away. Chantal waited a few minutes and then went over to him with a stern expression, and said she was tired and wanted to go home. They had been there for nearly two hours, and it seemed long enough to her, except that they usually stayed late at gatherings, and he looked like he was having a good time.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a look of concern as he put an arm around her. She was stiff as stone and walked out of his embrace.

“I'm fine,” she said icily. She got her coat, and a few minutes later they left. It was obvious to him that she was furious about something, although he had no idea what. He wondered if someone had been rude to her or if she'd just had a lousy time. He thought it had been a nice party, and there had been about eighty people there. It was a good group and had a festive feeling. The hosts had made a lot of effort.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her as they drove from the Right Bank to the Left.

“Wrong? No. Predictable, yes. Who was that woman you were talking to?” She hated the way she sounded but couldn't seem to stop herself.

“What woman?” He looked blank as he drove and then glanced at Chantal.

“The redhead with no underwear. You looked like you were having a great time together.”

“She's pretty funny. She's our new intern. She's a nice girl. And how do you know she wasn't wearing underwear?” He looked puzzled.

“I have eyes in my head.” She had no pantyline, but she wasn't going to stop to explain that to him. “How old is she?”

“I don't know—twenty-five, twenty-six—she's a law student. She wants to be a divorce lawyer,” he said easily.

“I'm sure she'll cause plenty of them,” Chantal said with a grim look as they got to her apartment and he parked.

“What are you so upset about?”

“Oh, I don't know—you spend an hour talking to a gorgeous twenty-five-year-old who crawls all over you while you laugh like a schoolboy. She hands you her card, and you slip it into your pocket. I'm nearly twenty years older than you are. What would be your first guess about why I'm upset? I didn't like the smoked salmon?”

“It was very good, by the way. The caterer was great,” he said, trying to change the subject, which only made Chantal madder. “And it wasn't her card. It was her brother's. He's an architect, and we need to do some remodeling at the office. She was recommending him for the job.”

“She could have given it to you at work. And frankly, I don't believe you. She may be a law student, but she looks like a Hollywood starlet, and she dresses like a hooker. I don't love that combination when she's crawling all over the man I live with and I'm old enough to be his mother and by some stroke of shit luck dressed like his grandmother tonight. Your partner's wife is twenty years older than I am, and we were wearing the same dress. Remind me to burn it.” He smiled at what she said. Even when she was angry, she knew how to make him laugh.

“Chantal, baby, please, I love you. I was just talking to her. It was harmless. I don't give a damn about her. And you could wear our bedspread, you're sexier than any woman alive.”

“I told you a long time ago,” she said, as they got out of the car and rode up in the tiny elevator in her building, “I don't want to be made a fool of or get my heart broken. One day you'll run off with a girl like her, and her age, and I'm not going to be left in the dust crying my heart out. If you're starting to look at younger women, Xavier, I'm done. I'd rather get out sooner than later if that's where we're headed.” He was shocked by what she'd said, although he had heard it before, and he realized now that she meant it. She was terrified of his falling for a younger woman and dumping her.

“I promise you, I'm not looking at younger women. I love you. I probably should have stopped talking to her, but I was having a good time, and I didn't want to be rude.”

“That's my point. The ‘good time' part. You have a right to do whatever you want, but I have a right to save my ass before you break my heart.”

“I won't do it again,” he said quietly as they walked into the apartment.

“I'm sure you will,” she said, walked into her bedroom, and slammed the door. And he heard her lock it a moment later. He spoke through it half an hour later, hoping she had cooled off.

“Do you want me to stay at my place tonight?” he asked politely, hoping she'd say no.

“Yes,” she responded through the door. And he decided not to press her about it. He left quietly a few minutes later, with a sinking heart. He felt badly that she was so upset and realized now how it must have felt to see him talking to the young woman. He wouldn't have dated her even if he'd been single. She wasn't his type. He always liked smart, intellectual women, not sex bombs. And the exchange had been entirely harmless, whatever Chantal believed now. She was in a jealous rage, but it was unfounded. He sent Chantal a text before he went to bed that night, and told her he loved her. She didn't answer, and he called her on her cell the next morning. She didn't pick up, and it went straight to voicemail. And when he got to the office, he nearly had a heart attack when Amandine, the cute redhead, told him she had called him at home. His home number in their roster now was Chantal's.

“I gave you the wrong card for my brother last night. I told him that you might call him, and he gave me hell. I gave you his old one—here's his new one,” she said, handing it to him and walking away. Xavier could just imagine the effect on Chantal when she had called. And he didn't want to send her a lengthy explanation by text or email. He would save it till he saw her that night. But he had a knot in his stomach all day. He never heard from Chantal, and he was worried that she was truly on the warpath now after the girl's call, which wouldn't have looked innocent to Chantal, no matter what he said.

He walked into the apartment that night, with a bouquet of roses in his hand, and felt like an actor in a sitcom. It was so trite as to be pathetic, but he didn't know what else to do. He was truly sorry he had upset her and made her jealous.

The only lights on in the apartment were in her study, where she wrote. The rest of the apartment was dark, which he didn't consider a good sign. And he tripped over a large suitcase in the hallway outside her office. She looked up with a stony expression when he opened the door and walked in holding the bouquet of red roses, which she ignored.

“Are you going somewhere?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, referring to the suitcase.

“No, you are,” she said coldly, but her eyes were two pools of pain. “I packed your things. It's over. I can't do this. I'm not going to wait for the other shoe to drop. I'm too old for you. I've been through enough in my life. You need to be with a younger woman, the redhead or someone else. I need to be by myself. I'm a hundred fucking years old, and you're thirty-eight. You need to find someone your age to play with.”

“Chantal…please…don't be ridiculous…I love you. You're the smartest, sexiest, most beautiful woman I've ever known. I wouldn't care if you were two hundred years old. Don't blow this out of proportion.” He was standing next to her by then, and had dropped the roses into a chair. He tried to put his arms around her, and she wouldn't let him. There were tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I love you too, and I want you to leave…now. That scene last night is exactly what I don't want to live through one day, for real. Me crying and brokenhearted when you fall in love with some girl half my age. You have to go, Xavier. I can't do this anymore.” He looked horrified. “It's over,” she said for good measure, in case he hadn't understood the suitcase and the speech.

“This is crazy.” He was near tears too.

“No, I was. Now I want to be sane again, and alone. I thought this could work. It can't. Last night reminded me of that. Please go, Xavier, this is too painful.” She was crying harder, and with a last desperate look at her, he left. And not knowing what else to do, in case she really meant it, he took the suitcase in the hall and left the apartment with it, feeling as if someone had died. He couldn't understand how such a small thing could turn into a big one. Everything had been perfect between them for six months, and now it was over, because he “might” fall in love with a younger woman one day. She could fall in love with someone else too, older or younger. Either of them could die. Anything could happen, or they could be together for the rest of their lives. And who knew who would outlive who? He could die young, she could live to be a hundred. No one could predict how it would turn out. It was insane to end what they had. Her idea of preventive medicine was very extreme, kill the patient immediately, in case he might die later.

He bumped down the stairs with the suitcase full of his clothes and books, and when he opened it at home, he found photographs of her in it, and set them on the table next to his bed, and on his desk, and put his clothes away with a heavy heart. He felt terrible about what had happened and what she'd done. He sent her a text that night, telling her how much he loved her, and there was no response. And when he woke up the next morning, he felt as though he had died. And Chantal was sure she had, but she was certain she had done the right thing. And she was not going to turn back. Xavier was history.

C
hantal's children came home for Christmas again, as they did every year. It was the only time that they were all together as a family. All three of her children were at home in Paris.

Eric arrived first, and spent a quiet evening with his mother the day before the others arrived. He was almost recovered from the accident, although the pin would have to be removed from his hip in a year when the bones were stronger and fully meshed. But he had been surprisingly lucky, and said the leg only ached now occasionally. It had been nearly two months since the accident, and he told his mother he was very happy with his mail truck and used it to transport his work. She was pleased.

And he was very disappointed, when he asked where Xavier was, to hear that Xavier wouldn't be with them, and he and Chantal had broken up.

“He's not here anymore,” she said, looking tense, and her son could see that her eyes were sad.

“You broke up?” She nodded. “That's too bad. I like him. Did he do something really bad?” He was worried and she shook her head, not meeting Eric's eyes.

“No,” she said honestly, “but he would have eventually.”

“Does that make sense?” He was puzzled by what she said. “Why not wait till he does?”

“I'd rather not. When you know how something is going to turn out, it's smarter to act accordingly.”

“What if you're wrong?” Eric was the voice of reason, despite his youth.

“Trust me, I'm not. And I don't want to talk about it,” she said firmly. Eric said nothing, but he could see how unhappy she was about it. He had liked that Xavier wanted to be with her in Berlin and was a support to her. He worried about his mother alone in Paris. Xavier had seemed like a good guy to him, and they got along well. He was sorry it had ended, for her sake. She had been alone for so long before she met him.

Paul's flight from the States arrived the next morning, and he and Rachel were at the apartment by eleven, while his mother and brother were sitting at the kitchen table, having breakfast. And there was a flurry of activity when the American contingent walked in, and Chantal was shocked by how big Rachel's belly was. She was six months pregnant, but looked as if she were having twins. She was huge, and Eric was impressed too as the two brothers embraced and Paul asked his baby brother where his girlfriend was.

“She's with her family for Christmas. Germans are very big on Christmas. I'm going back for New Year's,” Eric explained, and Paul said they were too. They were only staying for a week, and meeting Rachel's parents in Mexico for a week over New Year's on the way back to L.A. Her parents invited them every year, it was a tradition, at a fabulous hotel in Cabo called the Palmilla. Chantal couldn't compete with that, and was grateful to have them for a week.

Unlike his brother, Paul didn't ask where Xavier was. He didn't even think about it until Eric told him quietly that they'd broken up recently, and he was sorry about it.

“Is that a big deal to Mom?” Paul asked, surprised.

“I think so,” Eric said.

“I thought they were just kind of hanging out. It was bound to end, with him so much younger. Mom must have known that. He was never going to stay with a woman her age.” Paul dismissed the whole notion summarily, and hadn't really expected to see him again. He assumed it was either a brief summer romance or some kind of weird friendship so she didn't have to travel alone. He couldn't imagine it was a big deal to her, and she was used to being alone. He never noticed, as Eric had, that she looked upset, was quieter than usual, and seemed sad.

And shortly after they arrived, Rachel wanted to go shopping on the Avenue Montaigne. Her credit cards were paid by her father, and she loved shopping in Paris. She had slept on the plane so she was ready to go after they changed, and Paul went with her. And Eric wanted to see some of his friends and check out some galleries at the Bastille that showed his kind of work.

Chantal was alone at the apartment when Charlotte and Rupert arrived from Hong Kong. He was extremely polite, very British, treated Chantal like the queen mother, and said he hadn't been to Paris in years. Charlotte reminded her mother as soon as she arrived that she wanted to check out wedding dresses with her, and they didn't have much time since they were going skiing two days after Christmas, a passion of Rupert's, and they were flying back to Hong Kong from Zurich, so she was staying less time than her brothers. Chantal knew the drill, in less than a week they'd all be gone, but at least for now they were here, however brief the visit, and they knew Christmas was important to her. It wasn't the way it used to be when they were younger and stayed home for whole school vacations, but it still meant the world to her.

Charlotte and Rupert went out that afternoon. Chantal had made no plans while they were there, she never did, she wanted to be totally available to them. And she waited in the apartment for the others to return.

Paul and Rachel came back at six, laden with packages. She said she had found several “cute little outfits” that she could get into, a bag at Hermès, and some baby clothes at Baby Dior, since they knew it was a boy. Paul could hardly get all the bags into the elevator, and Rachel went to his boyhood room to take a nap before dinner. She was exhausted from shopping all afternoon. It gave Chantal an opportunity to talk to Paul, while Rachel was lying down. She found him in the kitchen, having something to eat. She talked to him again about getting a job before the baby came.

“You can't be supported by her parents,” she said firmly and he nodded.

“I'm going to pay for the baby. They're going to support her.”

“That doesn't bother you?”

“I can't afford her, Mom. Her father buys her whatever she wants.” Rachel was very spoiled. “I've been taking production jobs, and I've got some money put aside to support the baby. That's the best I can do for now.” It seemed to satisfy him, knowing he would take care of his son. And Rachel was well beyond his means, and had no desire to cut down what she spent for him. It seemed like an unhappy arrangement to Chantal, but Paul had made his peace with it, and living with a girl he could never support. As long as he could pay for himself and his son, he was happy.

Half an hour later Rupert and Charlotte returned. They hadn't bought anything, and Charlotte was anxious to shop with her mother the following morning. Eric didn't show up till eight, after gallery-cruising at the Bastille. Chantal made a big dinner for them at home that night, since she assumed those coming from far away would be tired and jet-lagged. She made a leg of lamb with garlic, one of their favorite dishes, with string beans and mashed potatoes. It reminded them all of their childhood as they ate dinner. It was delicious, and she had made a big salad and put cheese on a platter. There was an ice cream cake for dessert, which they had loved as kids. It was their favorite dinner.

She was putting the finishing touches on the meal when Charlotte glanced at Paul and asked in a low voice, “Is the boyfriend coming?” She seemed nervous at the prospect, and her brother filled her in in a low tone.

“Eric says it's over.” He sounded neutral about it, not sympathetic, since he hadn't taken it seriously himself.

“Well, that's a relief,” Charlotte said, visibly satisfied. “I wasn't looking forward to that. And he would have been ridiculous at the wedding if he's that much younger. I have no idea why she'd get into something like that in the first place.” Paul agreed with her. He had met him and liked him, but felt no great attachment to him. “She's fine on her own.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” Eric challenged her, annoyed. He had been listening to their exchange. “None of us are alone, why should she be?”

“She's had her life and kids. She doesn't need a man in her life,” Charlotte said, firmly convinced of it.

“She's fifty-five years old, not ninety. Don't you think it gets lonely without us? You guys only see her once or twice a year for a few days, and I don't see her a lot more. She's alone all the time. What if she gets sick one day? And why shouldn't she have someone to have fun with now?”

His brother and sister stared at him as though he were speaking Chinese. Not a single one of the concerns he expressed for their mother had ever occurred to either of them.

“If she gets sick, we'll hire her a nurse,” Charlotte said tersely. “She has enough money to pay for it. We'll put her in some kind of care facility when she gets older. She doesn't need a boyfriend.”

“You guys are all heart,” Eric said, angry at them. “She's not a dog that you can ship off to the vet, board, and have put down when she gets old. She's a human being. She took great care of us, and still does when we need her. Why can't she have someone in her life to take care of her? Most people are married at her age, or even have boyfriends. She should too.”

“Oh, for God's sake.” His sister rolled her eyes, and Paul looked uncomfortable. He hated discussing serious issues. He liked everything to work out easily, and her not having a man in her life was certainly easier for all of them. And they didn't have to deal with some guy when they came home. Eric thought Xavier was a good one, and he had never seen his mother as happy in his whole life, except when they were small. She had always been happy then, when they were home. In recent years, he found her sad at times and worried that she was lonely, and he felt guilty about it, although he wasn't about to move back to Paris to solve the problem. None of them were, which was the issue. Without them, if she had no man in her life, she had no one. And Eric worried about it.

“Well, I think it's much simpler that he's not here and we're not stuck with some stranger at Christmas,” Charlotte said petulantly.

“Rupert is a stranger. We don't know him,” Eric said, loudly enough for his future brother-in-law to hear him, and Charlotte looked as if she wanted to kill her outspoken baby brother.

“He's not a stranger,” she corrected him. “We're engaged.”

“Great. I'm happy for you. So why shouldn't Mom have a boyfriend?”

“What's the point here? She broke up with him, so obviously she didn't want him either. So what are we arguing about?” Paul asked them, and the other two backed down.

“It's a matter of principle,” Eric said firmly. “I don't think you two ever wonder if she's happy or okay or alone.”

“She's used to it,” Paul answered, “and she has friends.”

“Friends aren't the same thing. I was lonely as hell before I met Annaliese. Friends go home to bed with each other, not with you.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Eric, it's not about sex at her age.” Charlotte looked disgusted.

“How do we know? Maybe it is. Some women have babies at her age nowadays.”

“Shit,” Paul said in horror. “Imagine if she had a baby with some guy. That's all we need.”

“You are,” Eric, the devil's advocate, said, “and we all think it's okay.”

“I'm thirty-one years old. That's a big difference.”

“And you're not married. And if Annaliese and I ever have a baby, we won't get married either. We don't believe in it. So maybe we're a lot more ‘shocking' than she is, and whatever we do, she puts up with it and acts like it's okay. If we get married, if we don't, if we have babies, whoever we want to live with. She never gives us a hard time about it. So why are you two so determined to give her crap about what she does, and why do we all assume that she's supposed to be alone?” Eric was dogged in her defense.

“She must want to be alone,” Charlotte pointed out. “You said she dumped him.”

“That doesn't mean she's happy about it. She looks sad to me.”

“She looks fine to me,” Charlotte said staunchly. “We're going to look for wedding dresses tomorrow. That'll make her happy.”

“That will make
you
happy. What do we do for her?” The other two looked at each other and didn't answer. They didn't think about her that way. She did for them, but it never occurred to them to do for her, and Chantal never asked them to, nor expected it. She was a wholly undemanding person. And while they were thinking about it, she called them to the table, put red wine in a decanter, and served dinner. They all sat down, and a moment later they all dug into the delicious meal. And they agreed by the end of it, her cooking was better than ever. Dinner was superb.

“I'm going to gain ten pounds,” Rachel said nervously, “and I don't have a spinning class here.”

“It's good for you, and the baby,” Paul assured her. “You need to eat more.” And he thought she did too much exercise. Pilates, spinning, yoga, and she worked out every day. She had a great body, and worked hard at it, but now she was pregnant.

“Are you going to get pregnant right away?” Rachel asked Charlotte over dinner. Chantal listened to their exchanges with interest, but spoke very little.

“No, we want to wait a few years. We want to buy a bigger apartment, and maybe a small flat in London before we deal with babies, and I'm in line for a promotion. I don't want to lose that.” It sounded typical of Charlotte, and no one was surprised. She liked having everything planned and organized far into the future, and Rupert agreed. Paul was more haphazard, which was why Rachel was pregnant. It had been an accident, but now they were happy about it. And her parents had hired a baby nurse for her, who was going to stay for a year, so the baby wouldn't impact their life too much. They were relieved. Unlike Chantal, who had been married to a struggling writer, and had three children in five years and took care of them herself, with no help, and was under even more pressure when their father died a few years later, and she had to go to work at various jobs. None of them would have wanted to be in her position. They forgot the struggles she'd been through. She made it all seem effortless, and always had.