I Looked for the One My Heart Loves

by Dominique MARNY

  “What are you talking about? Of course I want to see you.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll be in town in the middle of the afternoon.”

  “In that case, let’s meet up after the gallery closes. Remember that café next to the Comédie-Française?”

  “I’ll be there at seven.”

  As soon as she hung up the phone, Anne began to shake. What was Alexis going to say to her? Would he take the opportunity, while he was in France, to tell her that it was all over between them? For the rest of the day, Anne took on various chores that required no concentration. Amanda had an appointment with her doctor and didn’t come back to the gallery. Anne closed it by herself.

  Once home, Anne was careful not to display her inner turmoil. François asked if she had news concerning his mother, and then he sat in front of the television. Isabelle and Aurélie were in their bedroom, finishing their homework.

  “Thomas isn’t here?” Anne asked.

  When the boy finally walked into the apartment, Anne followed him to his room.

  “Who gave you permission to come in so late?”

  “I lost track of time. …”

  “Look, Thomas. Next time you come in late like this, you’re going to have to talk to your mother about it. I don’t think she’d be thrilled. I told your mom I was going to look after you. … I made a commitment to her. Do you understand the position you’re putting me in?”

  With a frown, Thomas nodded his head.

  “Of course,” Anne said, “you haven’t done your homework.”

  “Not all of it.”

  “You’re going to have dinner with the girls, and then you get to it.”

  “I thought maybe François could help me with my math.”

  “That’s up to him.”

  While Anne prepared dinner, Isabelle walked into the kitchen.

  “Thomas came in late,” she said, “because he was playing guitar with some of his friends.”

  “I have no problem with that, as long as he gets here on time. He can play his music all day long on weekends.”

  As she talked about her godson’s schedule, Anne thought about her own. What excuses would she come up with to explain being out of the apartment these next few evenings, and maybe even next weekend? Foreign art collectors in town for the week? That sounded pretty good.

  Just before going to bed, she told her husband about it.

  “The timing of it isn’t good,” François said, “with my mother being at the hospital.”

  “What does one have to do with the other?”

  “Well, you won’t have time to visit her.”

  “She’s your mother, François, not mine. You’re the one she wants to see.”

  “What about my father? We should be having him over for dinner. You know, force him to get out of the house.”

  “You can still do that without me.”

  Alexis was pacing in front of the café. When he spotted Anne on the sidewalk, he hurried over to her and grabbed her hands. He looked right into her eyes. His were bright and feverish, and she imagined that hers were just the same.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said, guiding Anne toward the café.

  They took off their coats and sat in a booth, face to face.

  “I feel guilty for being so quiet for so long. But I had to think things through. There are things you don’t know about. I’m no superman, you know. I was lost.”

  “And you’re not lost anymore?”

  “Let’s just say that I can see things a bit more clearly.”

  The waiter showed up and they both ordered a glass of port. Then they gazed at each other, trying to imagine what the other was thinking. They reached across the table, and their fingers intertwined.

  “Why did you have to go to Lyon?” Anne finally asked.

  “My aunt died last year, and she named me her heir. I had to sign the succession papers.”

  “Is that your aunt who lived in Evian?”

  “That’s right. She left me her house. I don’t think I’m going to keep it. It reminds me too much of the exodus and the war. But let’s talk about you …”

  “Oh, there’s really not much to talk about.”

  This was not the time or the place to tell him that he’d been in her mind every waking moment since she had left California.

  “You have time?” he asked

  “The entire evening.”

  “Let’s go somewhere else, then.”

  Outside, he hailed a cab. Without asking where he was taking her, Anne snuggled against Alexis. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she took in his smell. She kept her eyes shut during the entire ride. It was so easy to forget about everything and just go along with him.

  They stopped on a street in Montmartre, in front of a green gate with peeling paint. As soon as they stepped into the building’s entrance hall, cut off from the outside world, they fell into each other’s arms and kissed passionately. Then Alexis showed Anne to the elevator, which took them to the top floor. Without turning on the light, he guided her to the inside of an apartment and picked her up. She heard the floor crack under his feet before he set her down on a bed. Quickly, they undressed and, still in complete darkness, touched and caressed each other. No words came to their lips as they reunited. Just like drug addicts in need of a fix, they lost all contact with reality.

  As they lie next to each other, breathless, Anne felt she was right where she belonged. It was so obvious to her she shivered. Alexis turned to Anne and took her in his arms, kissing the side of her head. A bit later, he turned on the bedside lamp.

  “Where are we?” she asked, looking around the room.

  “I told you about a friend of mine who works as a theater stage manager …”

  “Yes. That’s where you stayed last time you were in Paris. …”

  “This time, I wanted to be free. He knew of an actor who didn’t mind subletting his apartment while he was on tour.”

  Wrapped in blankets, they walked around the place, a two-room apartment with a tiny kitchen and an even smaller bathroom. Mismatched furniture, crooked lamps, and frayed carpets gave the place a bohemian look. Books and scripts were piled up everywhere. As for the few closets, they were filled with clothing and filing cabinets full of photographs.

  “Let’s see if there’s anything fit to eat in here,” Alexis said. “I’m starving.”

  They found some pasta, a can of tomato sauce, and some crackers. And a bottle of cheap red wine.

  Alexis arranged everything on an overturned crate.

  “I found some candles and matches,” Anne said.

  Sitting on the floor, they clinked glasses. Everything was so natural between them, it was as though they’d never been separated. Was it because they still hadn’t talked about tough issues? Tacitly, they agreed to concentrate on the present moment.

  “You’re more and more beautiful,” Alexis said.

  “You’re not half bad yourself.”

  Something had changed in her lover’s face. His expression was more intense, darker, deeper.

  “I almost forgot!” he said.

  Alexis ruffled through his backpack and retrieved a large envelope, which he handed to Anne.

  “For you! I had them developed after you left. …”

  The envelope contained photos taken in Carmel and Sausalito. They brought back happy memories.

  “I won’t take them home tonight,” she said, handing them back to him. “I have a safe at the gallery. I’m the only one with the key.”

  It was late when she got out of bed, where they’d made love once more.

  “I have to go home. …”

  “I’ll take you there.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find a cab.”

  “We’ll find it together. When can I see you again?”
>
  Alexis’s voice was filled with worry.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “I’ll pick you up at the gallery for lunch.”

  “No. Amanda doesn’t know you’re in Paris. It’s better that way. Let’s meet in Place du Marché Saint-Honoré. As for the evenings, I’ll get away somehow. …”

  The following day, Alexis was waiting for her in the café they had chosen.

  “What did you do this morning?” she asked.

  “I made a lot of appointments,” he said, without looking her in the eyes. “For work. I’m going to ask for a transfer. I won’t get it for the next school year, but maybe the one after that. I made the decision after you left last night. If the international department sent me to a school in Italy, or Spain, or Denmark, we could see each other more often. What do you think?”

  “I never would’ve dared to suggest that. …” Anne muttered.

  Looking uncomfortable, Alexis said, “Anne … There’s a major problem in my life. And I can’t keep it from you anymore.”

  “What is it?”

  “My wife, forgive me for bringing her up, suffers from depression. I didn’t know about her condition when I married her. After Guillaume’s birth, she’d jump between euphoria and despair. That’s why I couldn’t just leave her. Not only would she be incapable of living by herself, there’s no way she’d be able to look after our son. I wanted to tell you about it last summer, but …”

  After a moment of silence, he added, “I’m not making this up. It’s the way it is. …”

  “I believe you.”

  Did he realize that by explaining the situation to Anne, he lessened her jealousy toward her rival? She never would have dreamed that they were experiencing such turbulence.

  “She’s being treated, I suppose,” Anne said.

  “Yes. But whenever she starts feeling better, she stops taking her meds.”

  “Is your son aware of her condition?”

  “When he sees his mom shriveled up in bed, silent, he knows something is wrong. The doctor told me that it was best for me to explain things to him.”

  “Is he with her now?”

  “Geneviève is in Canada. With her parents. It’s her haven. As for Guillaume, he’s on a school ski trip to the Sierra Nevada.”

  28

  If Alexis was trapped in a situation that overwhelmed him, Anne was also struggling. Coming up with believable excuses for being out every evening wasn’t easy. And she wanted to spend the upcoming weekend with her lover. She kept searching for an alibi. She didn’t want to involve Agnès since she would ask questions. But she did have three other friends she had remained in contact with from her days at the École du Louvre. François knew that Anne sometimes went to the movies or the theater with them. Why not tell him that she and her friends wanted to go to Bruges for the weekend to visit some museums? When she felt satisfied with her story, she picked up the phone and called her husband at the office.

  “François? Are you very busy?”

  “Well, you know … But I do have time to talk to you.”

  “Christine and the gang are driving up to Bruges …”

  With stunning ease, she went on with her lie.

  “This weekend!” François said. “But I haven’t seen you all week!”

  “I know …”

  “You really feel like going?”

  “I might not get the chance to go again.”

  Anne had the unpleasant sensation of asking her parents’ permission for something.

  “How long would you stay?”

  “From Saturday to Monday. Amanda gave me a day off.”

  “If you really want to go … go!” François said, sounding upset.

  As she hung up, Anne had to stifle a cry of joy.

  She planned on meeting up with Alexis after going home to kiss her daughters and get changed for the evening. Edith was going to stay with them until François returned from work.

  “Where are you going?” the girls asked.

  “Very rich and very boring art collectors are in Paris for a few days. I have to hang out with them.”

  “They’re old?” Aurélie asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “I thought that to be rich you had to be old.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “That means I won’t have to marry an old man to have a lot of money and jewelry. …”

  “Aurélie!” Anne said, horrified.

  Behind the wheel of her Austin, Anne couldn’t help but smile as she recalled what her youngest daughter had said. At the end of a short drive, she found a parking space. Walking the last few yards between her and Alexis, Anne was overwhelmed with joy, to the point where tears filled her eyes.

  As soon as she walked into the apartment, Anne saw that Alexis had prepared for her visit. The woodstove was burning. Colorful flowers were arranged in a water jug. New candles had replaced the ones that burned out the evening before.

  “Champagne!” said Alexis, opening the fridge.

  “Wow!”

  As Alexis filled their glasses, he said, “You’re never going to guess what I did this afternoon.”

  “Tell me all about it.”

  “I went to the Louvre, the ancient Egyptian wing.”

  “Did that bring back memories from your first visit?”

  “Not really. But I did have a great time.”

  Alexis took Anne in his arms, kissed her neck, and smelled her perfume.

  “I feel ready for Montmartre,” he said.

  Until Saturday, they made sure not to go where Anne might meet someone she knew. They saw The Umbrellas of Cherbourg in a movie theater on Rue La Fayette that often featured old classics. They had dinner at the Coupe-Chou and went to a jazz concert at the Caveau de la Huchette, both spots in the Quartier Latin. The hardest part was letting go of each other at one or two in the morning, when Anne headed home. Alexis didn’t ask Anne about her life with François, but she saw the sadness in his eyes every time he walked her to her car.

  At last, Saturday came, and she set her small suitcase down on the floor.

  “You’re going to have to put up with me for the next forty-eight hours,” she said.

  He helped Anne take off her coat and said, “It’s so wonderful that you managed to get away.”

  They decided to put on a record. Gypsy songs, violins, balalaikas filled the room where they lay.

  “Sorry,” Alexis said. “I’m afraid this bed isn’t very comfortable.”

  “Who cares?” she said.

  She didn’t add that she would have been okay with a blanket thrown on the floor if it had come to that. Far from scaring her, the realization showed her how attracted she was to this man who had taught her the mysterious alchemy between lovers, the harmony between two bodies, two living beings. Many times, she had read magazine articles warning against devastating passions. But though she did burn for Alexis, she was only afraid of one thing, that she wouldn’t turn him on enough.

  A downpour woke them up in the middle of the night. The rain was pelting the roofs, overflowing the gutters. Anne pulled the covers up to her chin. She loved the sound of the rain.

  “A few gusts of wind,” she said, “and it’d be perfect!”

  Eyes opened in the darkness of the room, Alexis simply enjoyed the feeling of happiness and well-being he was experiencing. What was it about this woman who made him forget all about life’s hardships? But past experiences had taught him to be prudent, and so he didn’t want to rush anything.

  Anne let Alexis drive to Montmartre.

  “You have to get used to driving in Paris,” she told him.

  They parked on Rue Joseph-de-Maistre. The rain had stopped falling early that morning, and the streets and sidewalks were now dry. Holding hands, they went up Rue Lepic, heading for Place
du Tertre. Alexis lit a cigarette. Looking at his surroundings, he was confronted with contradictory impressions. What he saw was at once familiar and foreign. But when they reached the bookstore where his father had worked, memories came back to him with an intensity that stunned him. Books were no longer sold in the shop, only souvenirs for tourists. But what he saw in the window weren’t miniature Eiffel Towers or the posters that were actually there, but the Victor Hugo and Jules Verne novels that his father loved instead. From that moment on, his memories obliterated everything else. His mother always used to decorate the front of the store with ornaments she made herself from cardboard, paint, and pieces of cloth. In the days before Christmas, Alexis had helped out at the store, gift-wrapping books on the long table that smelled of beeswax. Alexis relived those days, his throat constricted. Everything that he had forgotten, voluntarily or not, came back to the surface. Anne could tell how moved he was, and she remained silent.

  “Take me to where we used to play,” Alexis finally said.

  On this winter’s day, the square was deserted, apart from a few stray cats. Taking in the public benches, the fountain, the buildings’ facades, Alexis talked about Bernard and his other buddies, how they played marbles and soccer right there in that very square. Then he wanted to see his old school, and then the apartment building where he and his parents lived.

  “Was it in this yard that I made that promise to you?”

  “Yes. Next to that fence over there.”

  As the afternoon passed, they encountered painters selling their work on the sidewalks and a few tourists. Alexis insisted that they walk by Anne’s old building.

  “I need to see where you used to live.”

  After all the time outside they had gotten cold, and so they went to a restaurant and had crepes and hot tea. Then Alexis said he would like to see the Château des Brouillards.

  “My parents often talked about it,” he said. “It always intrigued me.”

  At the end of an alley stood an eighteenth-century stone house of modest dimensions.

  “I was expecting something more poetic,” Alexis said, “a more mysterious-looking building.”

  “Gérard de Nerval lived there for a while.”