A French Star in New York (The French Girl Series Book 2)

by Anna Adams

  “God, I hope they will. Honestly, I don’t care if people like Lindsey Linton or Alan Lewis or Lexie Staz hate me. But I do want my family to love me.”

  “Maude—” James tried to interrupt, but to no avail.

  “—Uncle James, you have no idea what this means to me. I’ve grown up so lonesome, deserted by everyone. Now I have a family with rituals, traditions, and birthday dinners,” she gushed, her eyes lost in a daydream.

  James sighed. Maude had no idea and wasn’t ready to hear about the downside of family—the craziness that accompanies it. Especially on his wife’s side. He’d never believed the grass grew greener on the other side. His family may have quirks, but on his wife’s side, the grass was in a crazy shape.

  Chapter 2

  The pleasure of coming home far exceeded Maude’s anticipation. It had never been a pleasant experience in Carvin when it meant sleeping in the basement.

  But on a glorious end of August day in New York, coming home was a delightful treat Maude cherished. From running in the kitchen barefoot, to witnessing the uncanny scene of her aunt, cookbook in hand, trying to make an elaborate “Coming Home Dinner” that would pass James’ critical palate’s test. To hugging an impatient Ben in the middle of being taught that “boys need to learn how to cook, too instead of expecting women will do it for them.” Twelve-year-old Ben thought he’d rather have anybody, male or female, cook for him if it allowed him to enjoy his last days of freedom before school started.

  Maude and Jazmine abandoned Chefs Baldwin, senior and junior, to the joys of homemade cuisine and went up to their room to unpack. Jazmine’s side of the room lay in a pitiful state. Designer clothes, magazines, shoes, and bags toppled out of her closet, strewn over the floor like the remains of a fashion battlefield.

  “Cynthia should be back any minute. She’ll flip when she sees your mess, Jaz. Don’t you think there’s enough drama going on with this whole Soulville business?”

  “Ahh, Cynth will be so doped on her yoga high and green tea, she won’t mind a little mess. As for Dad, we’ll hear from him soon enough. Ugh, help me find my charger in this crazy mess. My battery’s been dead since yesterday.”

  “Speaking of phones, how come you had Jason Taylor’s last night?”

  Jazmine’s face crumpled into a teasing smile before recounting the details of her meeting with one of Hollywood’s finest.

  “Emotionally unavailable?” Maude asked intrigued. “Why did you say that?”

  “Because I’m not interested.”

  Screening her cousin’s face with attention, Maude noticed shades of discernible pleasure mixed with a shadow of guilt. It could only mean one thing.

  “Are you and Jonathan seeing each other?” Maude asked, trying to leave the slightest hint of reproach out of her voice. Theirs had been a beautiful tale of Beauty and the Geek, until the geek had broken Jazmine’s heart by going out with another geek.

  “It’s not what you think,” Jazmine reassured.

  “What am I thinking?”

  “I know he has a girlfriend, and I would never overstep that boundary. Don’t forget I was raised by a feminist: female solidarity first and foremost.”

  “Then what is it?” Maude insisted.

  “They haven’t been getting along lately,” Jazmine admitted. “And we’ve have been connecting, music-wise,” she added.

  “Isn’t that how it always starts?” Maude wondered with a sigh. Working with Matt had been one of the best experiences in her life, even though their collaboration had started on a string of French invectives.

  “I need to tell you something,” Jazmine blurted. “Matt’s thinking of leaving Soulville. And also, he’ll be here tonight. He’s always been invited to our ‘Coming Home Dinner.’ I didn’t know how to tell you.”

  Her mind fell into a whirlwind of confusion. Matt leaving Soulville? For good? They were supposed to work together on his upcoming album. Or had she been foolish enough to think things could remain amicable in spite of the scandal?

  “He doesn’t want your relationship marred by awkwardness between the two of you so he thought it would be best if . . . ”

  “If he just left,” Maude completed, a dry lump forming in her throat. “Well, maybe he’s right,” she added with a stiff smile.

  “Jazmine Rachel Baldwin!” Cynthia greeted as she appeared in the doorway. “Did a tornado just pass through our room or what?” Cynthia, hunched under her heavy camping backpack managed to greet her sister with the glare only elder sisters possess. Stems from the leaves she’d slept on stuck out her dark natural hair and streaks of dry mud wrinkled her brown skin. She hadn’t properly showered in days, yet felt fresh as a flower.

  Irritated at her sister, but nevertheless happy to see her and Maude, Cynthia went against her inner nature and abandoned her backpack in a forlorn state to hug the two girls. The two sisters, as different as night and day, resumed their bickering and order in the universe was promptly restored.

  Maude tiptoed out of the room to take a stroll along the Hudson River.

  The beauty of the city still amazed her. Not a Monet. No ponds, flowers or rustic artistry. New York was more of a Picasso, a city teeming with geometrically dazzling beauty. Having grown up in a small town, she appreciated feeling deliciously small. The buzzing excitement contrasted with the monotony of her French life.

  Peering in the depths of the Hudson, she wanted to open her arms wide and kiss mad Manhattan.

  A Big Apple? No.

  A tear of honey on the edge of a sword. She could taste the sweet golden bliss all the while knowing the risk of scraping her tongue on the tip of the sword was high.

  She’d forgotten to grab an umbrella on her way out, but when warm rain dampened her curls, she welcomed the friendly droplets amid a heavy summer air. The sky was squeezing lemon pulp, and Maude would be damned if she didn’t open her mouth wide to taste the lemonade.

  “Enjoying your coming home, huh?” a familiar voice said.

  Was it he whom she hoped to see? It couldn’t be anyone else, but the only boy she had ever opened her heart to. Maude turned and allowed herself to smile. Matt stood before her holding an umbrella in one hand and a French baguette in the other.

  Her something French.

  She didn’t know if her joy stemmed from beholding the holder or the object held but suspected it was the former.

  “Where did you buy that?” Maude asked.

  “Come on, Maude. You must know by now that you can find bits of France in New York.”

  A veil of blankness covered Maude’s face making Matt laugh. She never ceased to surprise him. And to amuse him endlessly as well.

  “Mind if I join your evening stroll?”

  “Not at all,” she lied. Having him near her reminded of what she would soon lose.

  He offered to shelter her under his umbrella. Although the romance of the situation didn’t escape Maude, she shook her head. After living sixteen years bent under Carvin’s cold, raspy rain, teaspoons of warm raindrops were treats she wouldn’t shield herself from.

  “I heard . . . ” she started at the same time he said, “I saw . . . ”

  They both stopped in awkward anticipation.

  “You first,” Maude offered.

  “I saw recordings of your tour,” Matt said. “You were amazing, even in Atlanta where the acoustics weren’t great.”

  “Ugh, you noticed, huh? I wanted to walk off stage. There I sat with one of the most delectable grand pianos I’d ever seen and the worst acoustics ever.”

  “Don’t worry, your performance remained solid,” Matt reassured her.

  She would miss him, she knew. He always gave such great feedback. And had gorgeous eyes, but that was beside the point.

  “You’re thinking of leaving Soulville,” Maude said in a whisper as soft as the evening breeze’s whistle.

  Matt stopped walking, unsure of whether he’d detected a hint of sadness in her voice.

  But Maude conjured a smile a
nd continued, “I guess change is good. No one wants to spend their entire life in one place.”

  “Right,” Matt acknowledged. He tightened his grip around the crook handle of his umbrella until his knuckles became white.

  “And this cool producer in LA wants to help me produce my album.”

  “LA,” Maude repeated. So far? She wouldn’t even get to see him for Baldwin family dinners anymore. “LA is gorgeous. I wouldn’t hesitate a minute if I were you,” she chirped, wanting to kick herself.

  “I’m glad you liked it. There are some sick parties over there,” Matt observed. Great. He’d just reminded her of his wild past, a sure way to alienate her once more. As if the Lindsey scandal hadn’t been enough to remind her of his paparazzi-filled life.

  “You’ll have a lot of fun over there I’m sure,” she declared. “I’m starving. If you’re not going to give me some of that baguette, we’d best be heading back.”

  They walked in silence, the occasional glance escaping their mutual reserve. Just before they went in, Maude turned to Matt.

  “Do you think we can still be friends?” she asked.

  Matt leaned his head sideways, thoughtful. Wanting more than friendship seemed unrealistic now she’d made clear what her intentions were: a normal boyfriend and a more or less normal relationship, whatever that even meant. Asking her for anything other would be selfish. If friends were all they could be, he’d rather live in a world with her as a friend than in a world without Maude Laurent altogether.

  “I’d love that,” he answered after a moment.

  When they entered the living room, Maude and Matt found the entire Baldwin family, handcuffed in grim silence. James’ spirits were drooped with exhaustion; an agitated Victoria marched around the living room moaning like a vengeful ghost; and the children’s faces were carved in a mask of shock.

  “What happened?” Maude asked.

  “Alan took over Soulville,” James answered. “He’s the new CEO.”

  Alan and Soulville in the same sentence were grammatically incorrect with no James in it. That much, Maude could think. As for the rest, she’d just shut her brain. She’d turn it back on tomorrow when the sword in her mouth would allow her tongue to taste the honey once more.

  Jazmine’s eyes were fixed on the street as if James’ news meant that’s where they would end up. They would be poor. The knowledge settled down in her heart, and she couldn’t shake the idea away.

  Poor meant homeless. Homeless meant street. And she knew how that went. She’d seen people living on the streets of New York. She’d seen the street living all over people. Sometimes she’d been charitable, sometimes she’d been in a hurry. Never had she been generous enough.

  Cynthia squeezed Jazmine’s hand. There was always a way. A legal way. They could find a loophole that would untie the knot her insides had shriveled into. Alan would go down, because that’s what the Law was for. To bring Alan down.

  *****

  “I want out, Alan,” Maude stated in the calmest tone she could muster.

  James’ former office crumbled under the weight of bad taste. Alan, as recent self-appointed king of Soulville, sought to dissolve every trace of his predecessor and thought the expensive frills he’d redecorated his office in would do the trick.

  Alan had been the one to set up a meeting with Maude. She nevertheless decided to take this opportunity to tell him she would be leaving with James Baldwin.

  “I’m afraid that is not an option, Ms. Laurent,” Alan answered with forced affability.

  He could be as pleasant as he liked with the singer he owned. He would make sure she understood that. She was too precious to lose.

  “You have a contract with us, you see.” Alan always said unequal contracts were godsend and wrongly attributed to the crossroads demon, an amateur who supposedly promised wealth and fame in exchange for one’s soul.

  “I signed because I wanted to work with James and Soulville. I never wanted to sign with a Glitter Records wannabee.”

  Alan smiled a smile that he seemed to have taken out of a file and plastered on his sun-tanned face like a sticker. Smiling was all there was left to do when everything he’d fought for had fallen into place with just a little nudge on his part. With James gone, and Mark under his thumb, Soulville would finally undertake the aggressive strategy it should have implemented years ago.

  “Soulville will never be Glitter. It will outshine Glitter Records in no time, and for that, I need you.”

  Using the word “need” represented nothing but a formality for Alan. In need, needy, needs, needful. Those words were food for the feeble. Need was a void he had filled years ago, ever since he’d walked out of his father’s house in Queens and decided will would scratch need out of his dictionary.

  “Use someone else, I’m leaving.”

  “And what will you do. Sue us?”

  “I’m sorely tempted.” But the lump in her throat told her otherwise.

  “You’re a Baldwin, and Baldwins hate lawyers. And all the base press that will bring your image. I know you, Maude. You hate scandal. You gladly ran away from New York when a few harmless rumors involving you and Matt surfaced. You have to trust me, Maude: our interests are one and the same.”

  “Really? Tell me about these imaginary interests we seem to share, because mine involve James Baldwin.”

  “You want to be a star.”

  “I want to be an artist.”

  “Fame.”

  “Respect.”

  “You want adulation.”

  “I want recognition.”

  “Tomato, tomato, I told you we had the same interests. I’ll give you all you want and more.”

  Maude sensed “more” would be more than she wanted or needed.

  “James made you a sensation, a rising star. With me, by the end of the year you’ll be a star that outshines all the others. International stardom, adulation. Your world will be turned upside down. But first, you have to let me do my job. I’ve called a personal friend of mine. She should be here any minute now___.”

  “Hello, Uncle Alan. I hope I’m not too late.”

  Maude whirled around just in time to witness the entrance of the longest legs she’d ever seen.

  When Adrianna Florandini walked inside a room, she expected the walls to tremor with admiration. The never-ending legs, the luscious black cascade of hair she spent hours straightening, impeccable posture, her size-zero frame. Not one curve, not a single piece of fat. Holding her straight, aquiline nose in the air as if it belonged there, she expected all around her to stare admire and envy.

  So when Maude Laurent’s eyes showed admiration, but no trace of envy, Adrianna Florandini knew something was terribly wrong with the pretty but uncouth girl.

  “Hmm, I see what you mean, Uncle Alan.” Adrianna circled around Maude boring holes in Maude’s shorts and tank top. “She’s no ugly duckling, but not groomed in the least and far, oh so far, from what we need her to be.”

  Maude had no idea by which standards Adrianna regarded her. She may not be a model, but hadn’t Star Buzz praised her “girl next door look”?

  “You will need to lose at least ten pounds.”

  “I’m just 123 pounds!”

  She’d just attained a more or less normal weight after having been starved her entire life.

  “I’ll take care of public relations as well as posture, hair, makeup, weight, and exercise. Do you exercise?”

  “Does P.E count?” Maude asked.

  “So you do nothing. We need to get you ready before your upcoming cameo in that teen movie.”

  “Movie? What movie? I can’t act!” Maude exclaimed as she followed Adrianna and Alan out of the office. She’d played a leaf with no line in the Autumn Festival in third grade and had managed to ruin the play.

  “And that guest appearance in Living with the Livingstons.”

  “Haha,” Maude crossed her arms. “I’d rather die than appear in that TV reality show.”

  Adri
anna waved off Maude’s protests and led her to Matt’s creation room.

  “Unless your plan is to strengthen the muscles in my hands, I don’t see what Matt’s creation room can . . . ”

  Maude’s voiced trailed off as Adrianna opened the door. She nearly fainted at the sight of the transformed room. Sofas, piano, and guitars couches had disappeared, chased away to be replaced by exercise equipment: butterfly, treadmill, and ellipticals. Nothing music related whatsoever.

  “What is all this? Where will I practice my piano and my voice?”

  “Another room’s been prepared,” Alan explained. “Your new voice coach, Eliza Tate will train your voice from now on.”

  “Eliza who? I don’t need her. I’m Ms. Tragent’s student. Her only private student, remember?” She wouldn’t trade Ms. Tragent for anything. This Eliza Tate was nobody in comparison with the renowned soprano, who was as selective as she was disagreeable to her students.

  “I’ve sent a note to Ms. Tragent on your behalf. You will be giving up the classical aspect of your career. You’re a pop star now, Maude. It’ll be just pop from now on.” Alan looked at his watch, registering the time Maude’s musical world crumbled around her.

  “We expect you here at eight o’clock each morning. Oh, Adrianna, have you contacted Mrs. Cartwright?”

  “Who’s that?” Maude asked.

  “Your tutor. You won’t have to go to school anymore. Isn’t that every teenager’s dream?” Adrianna threw at her before leaving her to admire her new torture chamber.

  Maude went over to the butterfly machine fly where her piano had once stood and sat on the edge on the seat, shoulders slumped.

  “Every teenager’s dream,” Maude repeated, her voice crushed by the machine’s shadow looming over her head.

  *****

  Seventeen. That’s how old she was. Or how young.

  Didn’t matter, she would meet her family. She would be like everyone else who celebrates their birthday with family. No matter that kids her age preferred to celebrate with friends. Maude wanted family and cared for little else. She wanted ties giftwrapped in a common name, nurtured by common ancestors, melted in the same thick blood.