Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal (12 page)

They exchanged another flirtatious glance.

Alyce asked him to teach her insults in French that she could use on Jean-Luc.

“No, he will kick you out if you say these things.”

She considered his reaction to her use of the word twat. “I doubt that.”

“There is one term you must know, though it is not an insult.
Sieste crapuleuse.
”

She tried to figure out what he was saying. “
Sieste
sounds like siesta.”

“Good, good.”

“
Crapuleuse?
” She threw up her hands. “Loose crap?”

He shook his head. “No. It comes from
crapuleux
, which means crime.
Crapuleuse
is more, how would you say it? Villainous?”

“I think I’m getting it.”

“The Bad Boy Nap. What do you think happens during the midday break when the stores close? Everyone just goes home to eat lunch?”

She hated to admit it, but such a nap with Julien didn’t sound like a bad idea. If she really was going to be Mrs. Mansfield for the rest of her life, shouldn’t she have a
little
fun before sealing off all the exits?

Her birthday was tomorrow. She could ask the two German students to celebrate with her, but knew she’d end up going on about Nelson and missing him terribly. Or spend an evening with Liliane and her family and end up wishing she had what Liliane had with Simon but with Nelson. Perhaps she should consider Julien a present to herself. But that would lead to missing Nelson even more.

She threw her handbag over her shoulder. “I need to be going.”

Julien didn’t want her to leave. She stayed. Did she have anything better to do?

They shifted to the subject of his real mother, who drowned when he was 13. His stepmother-to-be zeroed in on his dad and never let go. She quickly became pregnant, they married, his cheating started.

“I feel more like a referee than a son.”

Alyce wondered what she would do if she married Nelson and found out he was unfaithful. Carmelita’s face popped into her head. Her only encounter with her was in the ladies’ room at the Manhattan mega-toy store F.A.O. Schwarz. Nelson was meeting her there to do a “switch-up” with Junior (after he plunked down $500 on various stuff she was sure the boy would have no interest in the following month).

Alyce recognized her from photos she’d seen at Nelson’s apartment. There was one of her and Junior done by a professional when his son was still a toddler. It was nicely framed and prominently displayed in his living room.

“I feel obligated to my son to keep it out,” he’d said.

She wished he’d put it away in between visits but said nothing. Wanting to come off as unthreatened, she said, “She’s pretty.”

He showed her another where she was more natural. She was grinning so much you could see a prominent gold tooth.

Sometimes Alyce put herself in Carmelita’s place. She wanted a better life and she took the only path she knew how to get it. Could Alyce blame her?

When Alyce saw her in the ladies’ room at the toy store that day, she put on a smile and introduced herself. Carmelita had the nerve to say, “I know you must be havin’ a good time with him because I taught him
everything.
”

Alyce refused to be intimidated. “Thank you. You did a great job.”

She kept coating her full lips with dark red lipstick. “That’s right, Annie.”

“Alyce.”

“What-evah. I stopped rememberin’ the names a long time ago.”

She flashed her metallic smile and turned on a spike heel, leaving Alyce holding her leather purse so tightly it was permanently damaged from sinking her nails into it.

“Al-
ees?
Are you listening?”

“Sorry, Julien. Lot on my mind.”

This time she got up to go for real.

“Julien, would you like to have dinner tomorrow night? It’s my birthday.”

“I would be honored to celebrate with you.”

“How about at my cottage? We can cook.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes to get a better look at his good fortune. “First, though, I have to see how Jean-Luc feels about it.”

“I will not be upset or surprised if he does not agree. I will take you out.”

“I’ll text you.” Flashing a smile, she said, “You’re so cute.”

“Dogs are cute. I am sexy.”

When she arrived home, she walked through Jean-Luc’s kitchen (no more walking all the way around the house through grass that hadn’t been cut in ages now that Isabella was gone) and spied dirty dishes on the counter. Better to get them out of the way before more joined them. She plugged up one sink, filled it with soapy water, and pulled on long yellow plastic gloves.

He appeared a few moments later looking annoyed. What was his problem now?

“Al-
ees
, how am I supposed to work when women cannot stay away from me.”

Good grief. What an ego. “Stay away from
them.
”

“Precisely. Why do they take it so personally?”

She slid some leftovers into Didon’s dish. “Once you sleep with someone, Jean-Luc, it’s pretty hard not to take things personally. Stay away from women
before
you—”

“I did! I told Pauline I was not interested and she persists in inviting me out.” He rested his index finger on his chin. “Where were you?”

Going back to the sink, she answered, “What are you, my father?”

In a low voice he snarled, “American she-devil.”

She wheeled around. “Your insults are like the birds that fly into the windows here and bounce off the screens.” She pretended she had just done the same and teetered with a stunned expression. “Boing! No harm done.”

“A most beautiful simile, Al-
ees!
” She thought he was going to hug her until he said, “If you weren’t from the United States, I might like you.”

“A man intelligent as you hating an entire nationality seems pretty dumb to me.”

“Mmmm,” he responded, as if he relished her harsh words.

She remembered one insult Julien taught her, held her right yellow-gloved arm out straight, slapped the soapy left one on the bicep and brought her right hand back sharply toward her face, sending water and bubbles everywhere.

“
Va te faire foutre.
”

His eyebrows arched. “Most women don’t tell me to fuck off until they know me better.”

“You really are pathetic.”

“That is true.”

“Incidentally,” she said, as she scrubbed coffee stains out of a cup, “I’d like to have a guest for dinner tomorrow. May we use your wonderful kitchen?”

“No.”

“So then you’ll cook for us?”

“Is it your lover Julien?”

“We’re
friends.
”

Reaching over her and the sink, he turned off the water and pulled off her gloves.

“Come, let’s have a glass of wine. And you will tell me why you are
friends
with Julien when you are supposed to be in love with Nelson.”

He set out a baguette, room-temperature brie, and insisted she try them together. She washed it down with two gulps of a local rosé that hardly tasted alcoholic.

“I came here to improve myself and get over Nelson, if he didn’t want me back.”

She went to cut another slab of cheese across its bottom and was stopped by the firm grasp of Jean-Luc’s hand.

“Please cut the cheese wedge from the side so it retains its shape.”

She stared at him a moment. “Is that a French thing, a Jean-Luc thing, or are you gay?”

She didn’t wait for an answer as she gulped down more of the cheese, baguette, and wine. Oh, that cheese. It had an earthy scent, and a taste that went from robust to almost burning her throat, and yet she could have eaten the whole wedge right there.

“Stop eating and drinking so fast!”

“Okay, okay.” She put her glass down. Between the wine with Julien and this, she was getting schnockered. “So I was sure it was over with Nelson but it isn’t over, so nothing is happening with Julien.”

“You are exhibiting remarkable restraint. I hope it works out with your Nelson.”

“So do I. How long were you and Isabella together?”

“Not long at all.”

“What happened?” She brought the yummy snack to her mouth and took a delicate bite instead of shoving it in.

“I did not love her and never would. It is as simple as that.”

Alyce wanted to ask him about the woman in the photo but couldn’t let him know she’d found it. “Jean-Luc, how many times have you been in true love?”

“I am not sure. Either countless times or never. Why?”

“I was just wondering who Colette was.”

He seemed to clench his teeth. “Why do you say that?”

“You know, your password on your computer.”

He rubbed his stubbly chin, as though thinking about whether to tell her something. “She was a dog I loved very much that died. Now I must work.”

“What kind of dog? Do you have a photo?”

“No! And never mention her again!”

She knew the French loved their dogs, but that seemed an extreme reaction.

“I will do the cooking tomorrow night as my birthday gift to you.”

Nothing like changing the subject. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” Another thought hit her as she turned to leave. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re afraid I’ll screw up something in your kitchen?”

He didn’t answer.

“And you need an excuse not to write?”

“That, too.”

As she made her way back to her cottage, she gazed again at the pool and wished she could swim in it. Perhaps Pauline would see to it that it was fixed.

13

La Vie en
Rogues

Alyce was surprised when Liliane poked her head in her classroom door and motioned for her to come out.

Once in the hallway, she said, “There is something you need to see.”

“Your timing couldn’t be better. We were about to do a conversation exercise.”

She thought they were going to her office but instead kept walking. When they reached the
pétanque
court, Liliane pointed in the air. Alyce leaned back. Written in white smoke against the pure blue sky:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALLY

SEE YOU SOON

XO NM

“Omigod! I can’t believe he did that!”

Liliane smiled. “Ah, to be adored by a man whom you adore in return.”

Alyce took out her phone and snapped photos. During the next break she couldn’t resist sending one to her sister, Chantilly. Her husband had never done anything that over-the-top.

Liliane gave Alyce a handcrafted birthday card from her two sons that put her on the verge of tears. She easily translated:
To Alyce who is getting better with her French. We love you, Stéphane and Benoit
.

Back home, Jean-Luc said to her, when they passed in the kitchen, “
Bon anniversaire
, Al-
ees.
You have a palpable glow today.”

She showed him photos of the skywriting.

He sniffed. “No imagination.”

She sniffed even harder. “Well, I loved it.”

Before she exited toward her cottage in a huff, he said, “I could use some help preparing dinner. You may consider absorbing my great culinary wisdom a birthday present, too.”

She was in too good of a mood to let his self-importance get to her. “But of course. Thirty minutes, okay?”

“
D’accord.
”

She returned to his kitchen showered, hair still damp, skin perfumed, but not, Jean-Luc noticed, sporting a seductive outfit. She had on jeans and a loose blouse.

“That is what you are wearing?”

“I told you, Julien and I are just friends.” She reached for a bowl of black olives on the counter and popped one in her mouth. “What’s for dinner?”

“An essential dish that even you could manage. A roasted chicken.” He produced it, uncooked, from the refrigerator. “It is from a neighbor’s farm. What is wrong?”

“It looks sick. A chicken is supposed to be yellow. This one is practically white.”

Mon Dieu!
She was the most culturally deprived woman he’d ever known. “This is what a real chicken looks like! Not some hormone-fed creature.”

He could not wait to tell this story to Liliane.

It got better when he showed Alyce what to do to before trussing it. “First rub sea salt inside the cavity and over the skin. Then cut a piece of ginger root and do the same. Again with half of a lemon. Now slice a lemon and slide the pieces under the skin, covering the breast. It will be infused with a lovely lemon flavor.”

He then showed her how to truss it with metal skewers and kitchen string.

“What’s the point of trussing, anyway?”

“To make the legs stay close to the body so it will cook evenly. Also to make it more attractive when you serve it.”

“Looks fine to me without all that bother. And what’s with the rubbing stuff on the inside of the chicken?”

He mimicked her. “What’s with the rubbing stuff?” Back to his normal tone, he said, “It makes it more flavorful.”

“But you don’t eat that part.”

“We will now speak only in French for as long as I can stand it.”

Taking out a bottle, he explained in his native tongue, “I am serving you something special for your birthday. Rosé champagne. It is made by blending a touch of red wine with a base of white before the secondary fermentation.”