I Looked for the One My Heart Loves

by Dominique MARNY

  Alexis’s note and the shift of responsibility it expressed made Anne angrier. So she was the one to blame for what divided them! She tore the letter to shreds.

  Putting an end to a love story wasn’t so simple! If not for her gallery and the well-being of her daughters, she would have sunk into depression. She had to keep it together for the girls. And she had her commitments to her partner and the artists she was dealing with, as well as her financial responsibilities. Teeth clenched, she made it through the holidays and the end of Simonetta’s exhibition. At the beginning of January, Alexis sent her a letter, which she sent back to Vienna unopened. As weeks passed, she remained convinced that she had to protect herself. Even at the risk of living an existence without meaning?

  “You look sad,” Simonetta once said to her.

  “I am. …”

  “For reasons you don’t feel like talking about?”

  “Maybe one day, after the wounds heal. …”

  39

  Once Phil’s paintings were unpacked, Anne felt reassured. Benjamin had asked Phil to add his latest paintings to the ones Anne had seen in California. They were downright captivating. In two and a half years, the artist had achieved a stunning mastery of textures and colors. Now, Anne had to set prices for the works. This was no easy task, as Phil was an unknown in the art market. After many discussions with Benjamin, Anne chose to place Phil in the “promising talent” category. What she had to do now was create some sort of legend that would intrigue both critics and collectors. Without distorting the truth about Phil’s life, she added some romantic aspects to it.

  Mid-January, Benjamin arrived from San Francisco with Phil and Lizzie. For their first visit in France, Anne had booked a magnificent room for them in a hotel on Rue Saint-Séverin. The Kasavs had never before gone on such a long trip together. Dazzled by Paris, Phil almost forgot the reason he was there.

  “He discovered the greenhouses in the Jardin de Plantes,” Benjamin told Anne. “We might not see a whole lot of him.”

  “As long as he doesn’t set up his easel in there!”

  When she had time, Anne took her friends on drives through charming parts of the city that most tourists never saw. In those moments, she missed Alexis with devastating intensity. It would have been so wonderful to have him there with them!

  “I would’ve loved for Alexis to come to the opening,” Phil told Anne. “It’s because of him that you and I met. But he can’t leave Vienna because of his job. It’s a shame. …”

  “Yes,” Anne said, “and on top of that his wife is pregnant.”

  “His wife is expecting?” Lizzie said.

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Not a word.”

  When she dropped them off at their hotel that day, Anne felt miserable. How could she have pushed Alexis out of her life? Why couldn’t she disregard his wife’s pregnancy? And then she imagined Geneviève giving birth in just two months, and felt anger rise inside once again. To the point where she wondered if she was jealous because she wasn’t the one expecting her lover’s child.

  On opening night, Alexis sent a telegram to the gallery, wishing his American friends and Anne the very best of luck. Caught off-guard, she had a hard time keeping her emotions in check as she welcomed her guests. Contrary to the Simonetta show, this one was not a guaranteed success. Especially since Phil, intimidated, remained in the background. Fortunately, Benjamin took charge of things. With an approach much different than Amanda’s, he knew how to sing an artist’s praises. Still, the fact that Phil was an unknown, the size of his paintings, and the exuberance of his work, which was overwhelming to some, made Benjamin’s task difficult. At the end of the evening, only one small watercolor had been sold. That did not bode well for the coming weeks. Disappointed for Phil and anxious about her potential financial losses, Anne put up an enthusiastic front that didn’t deceive her husband.

  “You only sold one piece?” François said.

  “It was only the first night.”

  “But you always said that opening night was a barometer.”

  “It is! But I took a chance with Phil.”

  “A chance that might cost you a lot.”

  Anne remained silent. Had Amanda been right not to put together a show of the Californian artist’s work? On top of the transportation and insurance costs and the customs fees, Phil’s exhibition would cause the gallery to lose a significant amount by occupying the space for two months, and it would certainly damage the gallery’s reputation.

  François made another snide comment.

  “If you’re trying to get me to worry to death, you’re doing a good job,” Anne snapped.

  “I’m just saying …”

  “It’s not like your money is on the line!”

  “That’s right. I’m happy now that you didn’t want me to help you out.”

  “Why must you be so … petty?”

  “Petty … Finally, you come out and say it! That’s what I’ve become in your eyes. Petty!”

  “Not so loud,” Anne said. “You’re going to wake up the girls.”

  “Stop using them as a shield. Don’t you think they can see what’s going on between us? They’re not stupid!”

  “I’m not the one coming home late almost every night.”

  “That’s because of you! I don’t know what happened in your life, Anne, but for a long time, you haven’t felt anything for me except indifference, at best. If we didn’t have any children, you would’ve left me. Look me in the eyes. Am I right or not?”

  Unable to lie, Anne nodded.

  “Do you have someone else in your life?” François asked.

  “No,” she said, still looking at her husband.

  Anne would have liked to sit down with him and tell him that the crisis was over, and that everything was going to return to normal. But she knew they had no future together. She wished that her marriage had turned out to be happy, but someone else had crossed her path back when she was a child, some boy she had given her heart to. Tonight, she was all alone.

  “What are we going to do?” François said.

  “I don’t know.”

  Anne slowly walked to the bathroom. Everything had become too difficult. …

  For many days, the gallery was quiet. A few passersby stopped in front of the window and, sometimes, walked inside. But after a quick tour of the exhibition, they left.

  “This is a disaster, I’m afraid,” Anne said to Benjamin.

  “I know. …”

  “I still believe that Phil’s work is important.”

  “Me too, but maybe it just doesn’t coincide with what the French like.”

  “I feel sorry for Phil.”

  She sighed with relief when she saw him leave for a trip to Italy and Austria a few days later.

  “Think about your next show,” Simonetta advised her.

  Anne had decided to present the work of a young woman who was beginning to make a name for herself in Parisian art circles. Without being a disciple of Simonetta, Béatrice Rampal’s style was similar. Since she illustrated children’s fairy tales, the worlds she created were dreamlike and lush.

  “I don’t know anymore if Rampal was a good choice. I’m doubting myself these days. …”

  “You weren’t wrong about Phil,” Simonetta said. “He’s a great talent.”

  Just when Anne had given up hoping for any more coverage, an article came out in one of the city’s most read papers. Known for his uncompromising reviews, the critic lauded Phil’s work … as well as the gallery owner for having chosen to exhibit his paintings.

  “Is that really what he wrote?” Anne said to Benjamin, who was calling her with the news.

  Since they had first begun working together, Anne had admired her partner’s moral strength. Though the success of Phil’s exhibition was anything bu
t great, Benjamin never complained, never said anything negative. Now, though, he was ecstatic. And rightfully so! After that first glowing review, other critics wrote about the exhibition, and soon collectors began showing up at the gallery. One of them, a Spaniard, fell in love with watercolors that, he said, reminded him of his adolescence. He bought three large ones. That alone covered half the costs incurred to put together the show. By the end of February, seventy percent of Phil’s work had sold. That was when Amanda returned to Paris.

  Anne told her how difficult things had been at first.

  “I thought you’d been right all along,” she said, “and that I’d made a huge mistake.”

  Amanda, who had only seen photos of Phil’s work up to that point, said, “I’m glad you stuck to your guns. I hope that you signed this artist for a long time!”

  Anne nodded.

  “His next show is going to be at Benjamin Baxter’s. They worked out an agreement. If things go well in San Francisco, we can exhibit his future work in both galleries.”

  Delighted with her house in Mougins, Amanda was cutting her ties to Paris more and more. But she still got a thrill out of discovering new talent.

  “I spotted an artist you might like. I just love his work.”

  “He lives in Paris?”

  “No, Antibes. Not very far from where I live. You should go down to the Riviera to visit him.”

  As Benjamin was getting ready to go back to California, Anne realized how much she would miss him. Though her partner had made his own private life for himself in Paris, they regularly saw each other for nonprofessional reasons. Smart, creative, fun, tireless, Benjamin never ran out of ideas. He took Anne to restaurants, shows, and nightclubs, introducing her to his friends, all charming and eccentric.

  “I’ve had it with love stories that end badly,” he told her one time. “I don’t want to be disappointed or get hurt anymore.”

  Uttering those words, he watched for Anne’s reaction. Without being certain, he figured that Anne had recently experienced an affair that had collapsed. Her eyes no longer sparkled the way they had, and she had lost her appetite. Plus, she was losing herself in work and distractions. It was in such stark contrast to the energetic and confident woman he had met in San Francisco. Not wanting to pry into her private life, he tried to reach out to her.

  “Know what?” he said, “I’m doing just fine by myself. Nobody to contradict me, to bug me …”

  “And nobody to wow you, to give you wings …”

  “If the wings’ feathers eventually turn into lead, I’d rather not have any.”

  “Once you’ve had wings,” Anne said, “it’s hard to live without them.”

  “Maybe I’ve never flown high enough,” Benjamin admitted. “In fact, I never was very good at choosing my lovers. I wanted them young and green.”

  “So you could control them.”

  “No doubt! But it was a mistake. They always had the last word. …”

  As planned, Phil and Lizzie didn’t return to Paris before flying back to the States. But over the phone, Anne did ask Phil about Alexis. They had seen each other in Vienna. Since the telegram he had sent on Phil’s opening night, Alexis had remained silent. Had he flushed her out of his heart and life? She kept having contradictory thoughts and feelings. Either she hoped he would die and go to hell, or she wished she could run into him on a street corner. Sometimes she told herself she was glad he had forgotten all about her so quickly, other times she thought she would be able to forgive him for everything.

  She welcomed Agnès’s visit. Since her friend had remarried, the two of them had rekindled their old relationship. Without confiding in her completely, Anne talked about her rocky marriage.

  “It’s my turn now to go through some rough times,” she said.

  “Is François having an affair?”

  “Probably. But things are more complicated than that. I’m bored when I’m with him, and he’s just as bored with me. And neither of us feels like trying. …”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but Isabelle and Aurélie talked to Thomas about it. They’re afraid you guys are going to get a divorce.”

  Anne let out a sigh.

  “Shouldn’t you two try to reassure them?” Agnès said.

  “We’d be lying to them if we did.”

  The revelation made Anne want to talk to Simonetta. She was still spending a lot of time with the girls, and surely she would know what they were thinking.

  “They told me that both of you were extremely busy because of work, and that you had less time for them. On the one hand, they’re glad because they can have their friends over to an apartment where no adults are checking up on them. On the other hand, they feel neglected by their parents.”

  Seeing Anne go pale, Simonetta quickly added, “Of course, if you were always there, they’d say that you’re on their backs. …”

  “Well, there’s a middle ground between those two extremes,” Anne said.

  “You’ve always worked …”

  “I know, but I used to be more available to the girls.”

  “In a little while, it’s going to be the other way around. They’ll be leaving the nest.”

  “Come on!”

  “Well, Isabelle is going to be fourteen soon. Aurélie is eleven.”

  “That’s what I mean. This is when I should be closest to them. Especially since Edith only works for us part-time now.”

  “If you’d like,” Simonetta said. “I can help out. I can do their homework with them. Hang out with them at home.”

  “I don’t want to take advantage of—”

  “What else do I have to do? I don’t have a family and—”

  “Why did you refuse to meet that cousin of yours who wanted to see you?” Anne interrupted.

  “I want nothing to do with anyone named Lorenzetti.”

  “But it’s your name!”

  “I almost changed it!”

  In a low voice, Simonetta continued, “What I’m going to tell you now, I’ve told no one before. … I was Aurélie’s age when a cousin of my father’s raped me. … On a summer night, he came to my room … and he said he’d hurt me if I told anyone about it. But the next day, I went to my mother. Not only did she not believe me, she convinced my father that I was some sort of compulsive liar. They sent me away to boarding school. … That’s where I began to draw and paint. As an adult, I took some art classes. … Then I began working for the theater and the opera. As soon as I met Luigi Giancarlo, I fell in love with him. We spoke the same language, and the fact that he was gay made me feel secure! I was totally satisfied with this platonic relationship … until the time he began criticizing my work. I decided to quit everything and leave for good. …”

  “Why would you punish yourself this way? He was the one who turned on you.”

  “I was guilty of not being tough enough, of not having understood that you can’t count on people.”

  “People in general, or men?” Anne said.

  “You have a point …” Simonetta said.

  “But don’t you see that you let your father’s cousin dictate your life? He destroyed you by preventing you from leading a normal existence.”

  “Maybe … But at the same time, he’s the one who fostered that artistic rage inside me. If not for that tragic event, I never would have been able to imagine those bedrooms that were featured on stages all over the world, those bedrooms that I created in order to forget the one where I was raped.”

  40

  Young Béatrice Rampal’s show was fairly success­ful. The result was the same for an artist who created otherworldly crumpled paper sculptures. But in order to establish her reputation, Anne now had to exhibit the works of an artist of Simonetta’s stature. Remembering what Amanda had told her about the painter she had found in Antibes, she decided to go dow
n to the Riviera and take a look at his work.

  The trip would take place while Isabelle and Aurélie were off improving their knowledge of English at a school in Sussex. When Anne came up with the idea to send the girls to Great Britain, she figured that François would be against it. But she was wrong.

  “I’m all for them going to that school. But what about the rest of the summer? Have you thought of anything?”

  They had always spent the month of August together.

  “I was waiting to see what you felt like doing,” Anne said.

  “I’m not going to be free this year. I have to go back to Guiana.”

  His words confirmed what she had already known. She would have had to be blind not to see that François had fallen in love at the end of winter. In a few days, he had changed, looking spry. He whistled little tunes all the time and was more patient with his daughters, even indulging their whims. He had bought himself a bunch of clothes, and he was thinking about trading in his car for a slicker model. …

  Anne went to La Palette almost daily. Little by little, she had become friends with many of her fellow gallery owners in the area, who invited her to their openings, visited her gallery, or asked her for advice. Sometimes, men courted her. For the first time in her adult life, Anne was by herself. She could have had affairs, but she didn’t feel like it, especially with men in her profession. Now that summer had almost arrived, she could see lovers strolling down the street, and her solitude grew more intense. Since her breakup with Alexis, she hadn’t gone back to their room. One evening, though, after closing the gallery for the day, she finally decided to unlock the door and walk in. A newspaper dated the day they had walked around the gardens of Versailles lay on the table. Next to it were the records they had enjoyed. Words and bursts of laughter came to her ears. So many happy moments, and now this feeling of amputation, this void that would never be filled. If she could go back in time, would she act differently? Would she try to save what they had built together? She hesitated a second, and then opened the jewelry box and spilled its content on the floor. Then she sat down and for a long time gazed at the souvenirs and read the letters. She hadn’t heard from Alexis since Phil’s opening. How was his life now that he had a second child? The school year would soon come to an end in Vienna, just as it would in Paris. What would he do during the summer?