by J. T. Lundy
I turned and ran and ducked down an alley behind the Hotel Duras.
“Arrêtez! Arrêtez!” Aceau shouted.
I later learned their next conversation went something like this:
Melanie: It was that monk’s fault. He ran away.
Aceau: Yes, you are correct.
Melanie: Can you take me to the hospital? I can’t move my neck.
Aceau: I will accompany you as long as you need.
I peeked into the hotel’s café. Eustace exited by the maître d’ stand holding a briefcase. He walked on the sidewalk toward Aceau’s office. We had guessed right. Eustace was going to try and visit Aceau first thing.
I sprinted down the alley. My robe weighed me down and shifted uncomfortably. The wooden cross around my neck kept flying up, hitting me in the face.
I reached Aceau’s office building and calmly opened the door. His office was at the end of a short corridor on the ground floor. He did not have a secretary. I walked by other professional-looking offices. My leather sandals clacked against the marble.
I opened Aceau’s door slowly. Stumpy paced in front of a large wooden desk.
I stepped in and closed the door. “Eustace is coming.”
Stumpy looked like he had a golf ball stuck in his throat. “Is everyone okay?”
I slapped him on the back. “Yes, yes.” I grabbed a pen and notebook and pretzelled myself yogi-like underneath the desk.
A knock sounded at the door.
Stumpy whispered down at me. His forehead glistened with sweat. “I don’t think I can do this. I’m not good at dishonesty.”
“It’s not dishonesty,” I hissed. “It’s a play, remember? Six Flags try! Now be professional—like Sebastian Cabot.”
Stumpy recovered somewhat, and he breathed in and swelled up into Mr. French. “Entre vous.”
I heard Eustace’s whine. “Bonjour. Parlez-vous English?”
“Oui. I speak very good English, but I’m just in the process of leaving. Could you come back next week?”
“I’ve come all the way from the United States on a very important matter. I want to claim St. Sebastian winery as my inheritance.” Eustace rambled on explaining all the details about my legal transgressions and his claim.
“I will need to see proof of these allegations against Monsieur Barnes,” Stumpy said. “But I’m afraid you have caught me at a bad time. I’m leaving for a holiday at this moment.”
“Where are you going?”
“Bordeaux.”
I kicked Stumpy in the legs and wrote on the notepad, “No. Far Away. Like Nice.”
Unfortunately, Stumpy thought I meant Bordeaux was too far away, and that he should go somewhere nice.
“Or someplace nice, like my mother’s right here in town.”
“Perfect. I don’t want to ruin your time off, but it’s vitally important. Could we meet on Friday afternoon? I will provide you proof of everything you need, and we can notarize the inheritance.”
I wrote “no!” but showed it to Stumpy not knowing I held the letters upside down. They looked like “iou,” but with Stumpy’s occasional dyslexia he read “oui.”
“Oui. We can meet Friday afternoon.”
“You’re a dumbass!” I wrote.
Stumpy’s face turned red and he looked angrily at me.
“Something wrong?”
“No.” Stumpy paused. “I’m just pleased that a fine gentleman as yourself is inheriting St. Sebastian and not some selfish criminal.”
“I hope to do my part and be an active member of the business community.”
“That is admirable, sir. I’ve not heard good things about this Monsieur Barnes, and these new revelations you speak of are quite alarming.”
“He’s a lazy scoundrel.”
“A disgrace to his family, no doubt.”
“Yes, he is a shame to his family name. Even his own lawyer has forsaken him.”
Hammersmith has turned against me? Wait, what?
Stumpy stretched out his legs and ground his wingtip into the side of my head. “An embarrassment to his friends, too, I’m sure.”
“He has no decent friends to call his own. I hear only some moronic childhood buddy will put up with him.”
Stumpy stood up, kicking me in the shin. “You speak a tough truth. And at that I must wish you good day, sir.”
“Friday afternoon, then.”
I heard the door shut, and I crawled out from under the desk.
Stumpy and I stared at each other and decided not to get into it.
“There’s still time to return to the accident. Text Melanie that we’re good. Now let’s switch costumes.”
Stumpy stared at me blankly.
“Come on. You’re the registered driver and I don’t have a passport. You’re going to have to take the heat.”
“Can’t we just leave?”
“No. They’ll come looking for you at the vineyard and we don’t want the sisters involved.”
“I don’t look like you.”
“All monks look the same to people.”
Stumpy gave in and we swapped costumes.
“But I have hair.”
Two gendarmes worked the accident scene. Stumpy introduced himself and presented his license. “I ran to get help and got lost.”
“You’re an American monk?”
“Yes. I’m on a pilgrimage to Lourdes.”
“Une clé,” I shouted. I held up Aceau’s keys and the oversized suit jacket fell down my forearm. I motioned where I had found the keys on the street and handed them to the gendarme. I stood off to the side as they took down Stumpy’s information.
A taxi pulled up and Aceau got out. “The woman is fine. The woman is crazy.” He walked up to Stumpy and the gendarme. I patted my beard down to make sure it was sticking. “The ambulance stopped and she jumped out and ran away.” Aceau looked at Stumpy. “You’re not the same monk.”
Stumpy leaned into Aceau and whispered. “I rented this car. If you want the insurance to pay for your car’s damage, then I am the same monk.”
“This is the monk,” Aceau said. “God help me today.”
Both cars still functioned, and we were able to drive. We circled around and down a side hill to a small park. Melanie sat at a picnic table smoking a cigarette. She ran to our car. “Now, that was more fun than being a nun.”
CHAPTER 17
When we were almost back to St. Sebastian, we passed a stopped car where two unmarked country roads intersected. A woman stood outside the car holding her cell phone to the sky like she was searching for a signal.
“That was Laura!” Stumpy said.
I slammed on the brakes. “You’re messing with me.”
I looked in the rear view mirror. “That is Laura.”
“Who is Laura?” Melanie asked.
I backed the car slowly toward Laura. “Laura is my ex-wife.”
I stepped out of the car and waved. “Hey.” My mind swirled. Laura was supposed to be an ocean away. I had hardly thought about her since arriving in France. But now here she was. I immediately began to worry about the possibility of Laura and Jacqueline meeting. Oh, jeez, oh my. I felt slightly nauseated.
Laura looked at me, concerned, possibly even frightened. Then I remembered I was disguised. I pulled my beard down and lifted my hat. “Bonjour!”
Laura waved wildly and ran to me. She looked happy. We hugged.
“My God, you’re bald. And why are you wearing a beard?”
“It’s a long story.”
Laura looked around. Grape vines lined the roads and spread out as far as we could see. The sun beat down and the dry air was pure. “I feel like I’m in heaven.”
A tractor pulling a wide wagon full of hay approached.
“We better move. Follow me to St. Sebastian.”
I got back in the car, and we drove home.
“What’s your ex-wife doing here?” Melanie asked.
“I’m wondering the same thing,” I said.
>
Stumpy shifted in his seat and looked guilty.
“Stumpy?”
Silence.
“Wait, what! You invited her here?”
“I didn’t invite her; she just came.”
“And why would she do that?”
Silence.
“Stumpy?”
“She emailed me.”
“And?”
“I couldn’t help it. She hurt you so bad.”
“So?”
“I told her you were in love, okay? I wanted to brag about you … to show her—you know—that you could do it.”
I ran my hand over my bald head, a new experience for me that was becoming addictive. “Oh, Stumpy.”
“Laura said she ‘had to see this for herself,’ but I didn’t think she meant right away. I never believed she’d actually come over here.”
“Well, believe it.” I ran my hand over my head again. That couldn’t be the whole story. Laura had to be up to something.
We arrived at the house and stood in the driveway. Stumpy introduced Laura to Melanie. Laura had a suitcase and a traveling bag. My stomach did a panic clench. “Where are you staying?”
Laura looked taken aback. “Don’t you have room?”
I should have known better, but it was a hassle to argue with Laura. “Okay, sure, fine.”
Laura nodded, satisfied. She was in control. She blurted out, “Now why are you two dressed up like idiots?”
“Actually,” Stumpy said. “We’re wearing each other’s costumes. They look more natural reversed.”
Laura put her hands on her hips. “Really?”
“They’re disguises,” I said. “Eustace is here and we’re hiding from him.”
“That explains everything.” Laura held up her hands like she was trying to stop a bus from running her over. “But with you two, nothing surprises me, and I don’t even want to know. Are you going to show me this place or not?” She nodded her head toward the abbey. “Nice neighbors you’ve got there by the way.”
We walked into the house. Laura gave herself a tour without asking.
“She makes him not a man,” I heard Melanie whisper to Stumpy.
My face burned. That’s not true, I wanted to say, but I kept quiet. Did people really think Laura controlled me?
Stumpy and I changed out of our disguises.
Actually, maybe Laura’s arrival was an unintentional blessing. I had planned on calling her in an attempt to smooth-talk her into lending me the eighteen grand I needed, but now, in person, I’d be able to give her the whole presentation. She’d find it much more difficult to reject me face to face, or so I hoped.
I poured Laura some wine. “I’ll show you the vineyard.” I grabbed a glass of the good juice for myself and walked with Laura out to the patio and into the vines. “So what are you doing here?”
She pulled at a vine leaf. “Tom and I haven’t been getting along so well.”
“Oh.”
“His bond trading hasn’t worked out this year.”
“Derivatives in the dumps?”
She didn’t say anything.
“Losing-money Tom not as appealing as making-money Tom?”
“Fuck you, Jason. You have no idea what I’ve been going through. We haven’t made a mortgage payment in six months. I used all my miles just to get here.”
My hopes deflated. Laura wasn’t going to lend me a dime. “Fuck you, Laura. Like I’m supposed to feel bad about you and Tom.”
Laura stopped and looked at me. Her face softened. I thought she might cry. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just needed to get away.”
“Here. Have some more wine.”
“Thank you.” She laughed nervously, which was not like Laura at all.
“What’s wrong, Laura. Why did you really come here?”
“Well.” She paused. “I’m divorcing Tom. I was wondering if you could lend me some money?”
Man, I didn’t want to get messed up with Laura and her problems. “Bad idea, Laura. Go home and reconsider.”
“No need. I’ve decided.”
“You’ll look bad. Love ’em and leave ’em Laura, that’s what they’ll say.”
“Fuck you, again, Jason.”
“Fuck you, again, Laura. I’m in need of the hard stuff myself.”
“Oh,” she said, her hopes deflated. “I should have figured, but with this vineyard and all …”
“Yeah, well.”
Laura and I walked back to the house and I filled her in on all my troubles.
“Did you know your aunt’s lawyer went out of business?”
“Out of business? Hammerhead? He’s my lawyer too. No wonder he hasn’t returned my calls.”
“He just up and left town. You know Sheila worked for him. Now she’s stuck without a job.”
Damn. I was going to need Hammerschmuck to deal with the court one way or the other. I tried to put on a man-with-no-troubles face. “Oh, well. C’est la vie.” But then I got scared. “You didn’t tell Eustace we were here, did you?”
“I don’t ever see Eustace.” She gave me a look that said she was not a gossip. “And no, I didn’t tell anyone. Stumpy told me not to.”
We sat in the main room. Stumpy and Melanie sat on the couch. Laura and I sat in opposite-facing end chairs. Two bottles of wine and four glasses sat on the coffee table in front of us.
Melanie drank more than her share. Stumpy opened up another bottle. Melanie continued her course and was the first overboard at the makeshift party. Stumpy had never seen her drunk, and I think it unnerved him.
The doorbell chimed.
Laura opened the door and there stood Betsy in her American Airlines uniform with a rollaway suitcase. One look at her height told everyone in the room she was Stumpy’s guest.
Betsy held out her hands toward Stumpy like she wanted him to run to her and give her a hug. “Online form! You scored a ninety-six percent—the highest ever—we are basically a perfect match.”
Melanie put her arm around Stumpy’s neck and called out to Betsy. “Back of the cabin, missy. First class is full.”
Betsy looked Stumpy and Melanie over and was not deterred. “Ah, you have a date I see, Neil.”
“Neil? Who the fuck is Neil?” Melanie said.
Stumpy seemed distressed. “Uh, Neil’s my real name.”
Betsy walked primly across the room, unconcerned with the other passengers. She stood in front of Stumpy. “Sorry to barge in, but I just had to tell you. Continue your date; I’m not the jealous type. I know we are destined to be.”
Melanie looked hurt and worried. “Why didn’t you tell me your name was Neil?”
“Because, because, Neil’s my name for like official stuff and when I’m in trouble. You didn’t have an online form.”
Melanie stood up. “Because I’m not running an escort service!”
Betsy ignored the jab and talked to the rest of us in the room. “The fact that Neil wants to be a pilot sealed the deal for us.”
“Pilot?” I slapped Stumpy on the shoulder and whispered into his ear. “Two women who like you at the same party.” I laughed at Stumpy’s uncomfortable good fortune. “You’re going to be a jet-fighter ace.”
Melanie smacked her wine glass down. “Another pour, Sommelier Stump.”
Laura pushed her iPhone into the Bose player and turned on some Europop music. “Let’s dance.” She twirled and danced alone.
I poured Betsy a glass of wine and brought her a chair.
Stumpy looked confused.
“Someone dance with me,” Laura pleaded.
“Neil can break-dance,” Betsy said.
Melanie held up a bottle of wine. “He’s a freaking American superhero.” She poured herself some more wine.
God forbid that Stumpy ever fly a plane, but he could break-dance.
Betsy started to dance. She and Laura swayed together and made up their own routine. They held their arms out and motioned me forward. “Dance, Jason!”
I
stood and backed up. “No way.”
Melanie jumped up, grabbed Stumpy by the arm and pulled him toward her. “He’s my date. Show us what you got, Neil.” The three women danced around Stumpy. He looked bewildered and confused. I thought it hilarious.
“Dance!” Betsy and Laura said.
“Dance!” Melanie said.
Stumpy looked at me for help. It was too much fun. I threw a pillow at him and hit him in the gut. I jumped up on the coffee table and started dancing, flailing my arms around. “Come on, Stumpy. Dance. Six Flags try!”
Stumpy was confused, angry, and happy. He began to dance. He danced like a madman—as if dancing would solve his dilemma.
The ladies clapped and urged Stumpy on.
He jerked and twisted and then broke it down, spinning around on the floor like a chubby top.
“Wooh!” I yelled and kicked my legs. I couldn’t stop laughing. I spun around and started throwing couch cushions. It felt exhilarating. A wine bottle crashed off the coffee table and shattered. A pillow hit me in the side of the head. I spun around and did a pro-wrestler jump onto the couch.
The music stopped. I looked up. Before me stood three angels looking fierce as devils: Sister Claudette, Sister Lucia, and Jacqueline.
They stood staring in shock. Only after a pause did Sister Lucia relax and smile. Stumpy stood up between the three women, his shirt soaked in sweat.
“This house has gone through many changes,” Sister Claudette said. “But never did I expect it to turn into a brothel.”
“Matthew! Mark! No!” I had never seen Sister Lucia so upset. The dogs were greedily licking up the spilled wine.
“Just some communion for the little saints,” I said as I walked around the room. “Sisters, you’re overreacting. We’re only having a little party. These are our friends, Betsy and Laura.”
Jacqueline would not take her eyes off me, and she looked hurt. She raised an eyebrow. “That explains everything then?”
“Is this Laura, your ex-wife Laura?” Sister Claudette said.
Jacqueline’s mouth fell open. “Wife?” She let out a gasp.
“A long time ago—a big mistake for both of us,” I said. “Right, Laura?”
“Yes, a big mistake,” Laura said.
