by Alice Quinn
“Unless I have awesome arguments.”
“Of course, if they hold up.”
“A hundred and fifty grand. Do you think that’ll hold up?”
“What do you mean?”
“A hundred and fifty grand’s worth of bribery. What do you say to that?”
Her eyes were shining. “I’d say that was a pretty strong argument.”
“OK then, ciao! It’s going to be hard having to wait until Tuesday, but there you go.”
Just as I was turning toward the door, I heard a voice shouting, “Hey, Rosie! Rosie!”
I turned back to look. Ismène. I laughed.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Fine. You?”
“OK. Do you work Saturdays?”
“No. I just came to check something in a file. It was bugging me.”
“You’re a hotshot.”
“It’s crazy, I know. I can’t help myself. Are these your little ones?”
“Yes. Sabrina, Simon, Emma, and Lisa. They’re not all mine, but it sure feels like it.”
“Do you want to go for a drink?”
She walked ahead of me without waiting for my answer, taking both Sabrina and Simon by the hand.
Her ride was in the parking lot. A 1960s turquoise-and-yellow Renault Floride convertible.
“Wow! Now that’s what I call a car.”
We tried to fold the stroller and fit it in the trunk, but it was worse than the Jaguar. We had to leave the trunk open and tie it down with some string.
The little ones were excited in the backseat. The roof was down.
“You’re lucky it’s not raining,” she told us, “because I can’t put the top up anymore.”
“Where are we going?”
“To a friend’s place.”
We ended up at a kind of hostel just outside of town. It had a pool and a restaurant. The kiddos were in seventh heaven. There were swing sets and all sorts of adventure games there.
The owner was at the front desk. A real tomboy: short hair with blonde highlights, tasseled moccasins. As we arrived, the two women gave each other a kiss. There was another chick at the back in a little kitchenette. A lumberjack type, hefty, with a checkered shirt. It was a real sight.
We sat down around the pool. It was gorgeous. A divine setting. Paradise for the babies.
Just another day for us in paradise, like in the Phil Collins song.
The wind brought a chill. Luckily, I had a sweater in my purse. It had a very low neckline and was full of tiny holes, but it came in handy.
Ismène smiled at me. “We can grab a bite to eat, or we could just have a drink and I’ll take you back. Where are you living these days?”
“At the Hôtel de Provence.”
She whistled. “Fuck me! You don’t let yourself go without, do you? I thought you were a social-services case?”
“I am. But I met a guy who . . .” I let the sentence trail off.
“Ah, I see,” she said knowingly, as if it went without saying that I’d be doing tricks to keep a roof over our heads.
I got angry. There was no reason to—after all, I shouldn’t have given a damn what this woman thought of me. But I couldn’t help it. It did affect me.
Between her and Jérôme, people seemed to read me as a hooker.
I turned away. I didn’t have to sit there and justify myself. My grandmother actually had been on the game. And so what?
Whatever. She wouldn’t have believed me if I’d explained that it wasn’t what she thought.
“And this guy . . . he’s the one who bought you the new trailer too?”
“Yes.”
“Make the most of it while you can. You’re cute! So, have you made any decisions? About what we were talking about?”
“Licorice and cotton candy?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
40
At least the conversation was back to something interesting. I was just about to tell her what I’d decided to do at city hall on Tuesday when something weird happened.
A girl showed up and planted her ass down in front of Ismène, who was sipping her drink while waiting for me to continue.
I lifted my head to see who it was. She looked like a supermodel. Long, dirty-blonde hair, a red-leather outfit and dramatic makeup. Next to her, I looked like an ad for Evian water.
Weirdly, Ismène didn’t lift her head to look at the girl, didn’t even bat an eyelid. She acted like she hadn’t even noticed that a tall, leggy blonde was blocking her view. She carried on talking to me.
“Yes. Any idea how we’re going to put a stop to all this?” Midsentence, she muttered to the girl, “You need to get the hell out of here now, understood?” It took me a good minute before I grasped that her words weren’t directed at me.
The girl immediately understood which of the sentences was intended for her, and she screamed, “You think you can just send me packing like a dog? Is that it?”
She slapped Ismène across the mouth so hard that Ismène wavered on her seat. Her eyes teared up. But she showed no other reaction. She simply continued to pretend to see nothing, as if the other girl didn’t exist. The blonde started to cry.
“Ismène, look at me! Why won’t you at least look at me? I exist, you know!”
“I’ve seen enough of you,” said Ismène, showing no expression. “Just fuck off, Anne. Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”
The girl let out a second bloodcurdling scream and threw the table into the air, causing our drinks to spill all over the place. The table rolled over to the pool and fell in with a huge splash. Fortunately, the only person swimming was at the other side.
“Hey! Watch it! There are little ones here!” I said.
Oh boy. I sure shouldn’t have bothered.
“You! Shut your mouth! Slut! Stupid bitch! This has nothing to do with you! Take your stupid yard apes and take a hike! You don’t belong here, OK?”
She didn’t have time to add any more insults, because just then two more chicks showed up, security-guard types, and managed to move her away from us.
The boss had her say. As she walked past them, she said, “You went too far, Anne! You could have hurt someone! Just go home.” And to Ismène, “What did you do to her now?”
“Nothing! She’s off her rocker! She came over and laid into me.”
I thought I’d add my two cents’ worth. “It’s true. I’m a witness. She didn’t even look at her the whole time.”
“Listen, Ismène. You know I have a lot of respect for you, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t always bring me these hysterical girls. They always screw everything up.” She eyed me suspiciously. “Shit! You could at least change your style now and again.”
The little ones had followed the whole scene with great interest, and the twins were peeing themselves with laughter.
“Sorry,” Ismène said to me as soon as the manager had walked away. “We shouldn’t have come here. It’s bullshit. I thought it’d be nice for the kids.”
“It is nice for them. Look how much they’re enjoying all the chaos here.”
We sat quietly for some time before I just couldn’t hold back any longer. “I thought you preferred the intellectual type.”
We both burst out laughing.
Ismène didn’t want to stay and have dinner there, so she took us back to the hotel.
As we passed the reception desk, I had the idea of asking them if we could have dinner brought to the suite. What an inspiration. I didn’t want to make the whole gang eat in their restaurant again, but it would be fine upstairs. The tots would be more relaxed and they could act up as much as they liked.
I invited Ismène out of politeness, but she refused. Her mind seemed elsewhere.
“I’ll come up for a drink,” she said, “then I�
�m out of here. You can tell me what it is you’re planning to do.”
I ordered hamburgers and creamed carrots for the children, and we headed upstairs.
Ismène stayed longer than expected. We drank a fair amount of pastis. They brought up the meal, and I fed the rug rats. We continued chatting, enjoying our drinks and peanuts.
I found myself talking to her about the money. Was I some kind of moron or something? Luckily, I wasn’t so drunk that I let slip where I’d hidden it. Even so, what a halfwit, trusting someone I’d only known for a couple of days.
41
After a few drinks and a burst of confidence, I’d gone and let the cat out of the bag.
“Mom, can we play thome befowe bed?”
I said yes. Tomorrow was Sunday, after all. What harm could it do? They all raced around like crazy creatures, jumping on any furniture in their way. Pastis was very excited by this new game, though still a little worried, following their every move with his eyes. Eventually he settled down on Ismène’s lap, his paws tucked under his body. He looked like a hen laying eggs.
When she asked me about my plan of action, that’s when I made my blunder.
“And . . . what is it you want to do, exactly?”
I spat it all out. It somehow just escaped. “I’m going to go straight to city hall and throw the money right in their faces.”
Oops.
“What money?” she asked.
I knew I’d said too much, but it still didn’t stop me. It’s like that when you’ve got a secret. You open up the first valve and it all comes flowing out.
“Um, well . . . The cash I found. A hundred and fifty grand. Maybe it isn’t bribery money. It could have nothing to do with it. But that’s not my problem. I’m going to show them all the money and tell them I know it’s hush money.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“I have the cash. That’s fucking proof enough, isn’t it?”
“No,” she whispered, suddenly sober. “That’s not enough. We have to be able to prove it’s the Mafia who wanted to give it to the mayor.”
“What if it’s not true?”
The children were quiet now, playing dress-up. Sabrina was the princess. She was wearing a piece of lace across her shoulders. I don’t know where she’d got it from. She was strutting around the room with a glittery headpiece on; she’d made it herself out of a necklace she’d taken off one of her dolls.
“What do you want?” continued Ismène. “To save your skin? To have your shiny trailer in front of the new library? Why not screw things up for the mayor anyway? This one’s a real corrupt old bastard. Even if we’re not sure about this money shit, believe me, there’s plenty of other stuff I am sure about.” She paused. “There is another possible scenario . . . You’ll get your ass kicked and the casino will go ahead. You’ll find yourself rotting away in public housing while His Majesty adds another wing to his pool house.”
“He has a flying pool house? Imagine that.”
She rolled her eyes. “An extension to his pool house! He’ll be making it bigger.”
“I understood. I just wanted to see what you’d say. You don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you?”
She stood up. “This is no time to be making jokes.”
“Look, explain something to me, would you? What’s in it for you? Why are you doing all this?”
“I’m doing it for the greater good. I was born in this town—well, almost. And I hold out hope that someday there’ll be a genuine human being, someone worthy of the name, who’ll run for mayor and perform their duties properly.”
“Where were you born?”
“In Port-au-Prince. I was two years old when my parents arrived here. It feels like I was born here.”
“Do you think you might have had too much to drink?”
“I’ve had less than you. Tell me, were you just making all that up? About the money?”
Annoyed, I opened my purse, pulled out the bills I’d shoved in the bottom of it the other day, and threw them all in the air.
There were hundred-euro bills everywhere.
Her eyes widened, then she closed them and gulped. There was a long silence before she opened them again and finally said in a whisper, “OK. I believe you. Awesome. I’m out of here. I’ll think it over.”
“Think what over?”
“How we’re going to prove that this is bribery money meant for that stupid prick. I’ll call you as soon as I think of something.”
“We have until Tuesday morning.”
“Exactly.”
She leaned in to kiss me on my cheeks. For some reason, I fumbled. I gave her my right cheek at the same as she gave me hers. We both laughed and started over. Our lips touched by accident, and I turned scarlet, suddenly having flashbacks of last night’s dream. She looked uncomfortable too but acted like nothing had happened. She headed out, looking like the Queen of Cool, without even stopping to say good-bye to the munchkins.
I shouted, “OK. Bedtime, everyone.”
“Nooooo!” they replied in unison.
I’d need a hell of a lot of energy and my wits about me if I was to get through tonight’s bedtime ritual: pajamas, bathroom trips, toothbrushing, and tucking in. Even in her pajamas, Sabrina didn’t want to take off her tiara.
After an hour, they were sleeping like little angels—it was the only time I could ever really call them that—and I put myself to bed with a plate of their leftovers. I turned on the TV so I could switch off my brain and not have to think about anything.
42
After a game show followed by a very long commercial break, I caught the news. A huge photo of Véro was plastered across the screen.
The news anchor said that any person who could provide information on Véronique Lambert, the mother of Pierre Lanoux, who had been kidnapped under dramatic circumstances, was to report to the police.
They were clearly getting nowhere with the investigation; otherwise, why would the cops have had to call on the media?
I tried to piece the whole story together in my head.
Monday morning, Véro’s boyfriend, Alexandre (real name Luc Berger), was out with Pierre.
At some point, Simon had hidden under a table and seen an ogre crying. Mommy ogre was in the habit of eating babies, apparently . . .
Véro had also been in tears. She’d had a fight on the sidewalk with Michel.
She’d felt helpless and had left the stroller, with Pierre still inside it, in the middle of the sidewalk.
As I thought about it all, I realized the story was even more confusing than before.
Just then I heard the cricket singing from my cell. I picked up.
“Cricri, it’s me.”
“Véro!”
Her voice was distorted, slurred, slow, hesitant—but I recognized it all the same.
“Yes.”
My body tensed. Véro. I had to be careful not to frighten her. My heart was pounding. Find the right words. I have to find out where she is.
“Have you taken something? What have you taken?”
She snickered, then hiccupped. It sounded like a sob.
“Where are you? Everyone’s looking for you. I just saw your photo on TV.”
“That’s why I’m calling you. I don’t want you to worry. And I want to know how Simon’s doing. He’s still with you, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but I don’t know for how much longer.”
“I’m going to write a letter. I’ll send it to child services, the police, and the papers.”
“Saying what?”
“That you get custody of Simon if something happens to me.”
“What do you think might happen to you? Where are you?”
I heard a strange noise. This time it sounded like she was choking. Or maybe just crying.
�
�Véro!”
“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what’s happened, but . . .”
“But what?”
Another sob, this time louder than the others.
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid, OK?” I said.
“It’s too late, Cricri. I’ve already done everything stupid in the book . . .”
She hung up.
Through the miracle of modern technology (and all the money I’d spent on the new phone), the number she’d called from appeared on my small screen.
I called Information and requested the address of that phone number. Five minutes later I had it: the Midi Health Insurance office, 43 Boulevard du Maréchal Juin.
Of course. That was the last place she’d worked. She’d had a two-week cleaning contract with them. But what the hell was she doing there at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night? It’s closed on Saturdays.
She must have needed to hole up for a few days. She’d had to find some sort of hideout, an abandoned house or an empty office. That place is huge.
But what was she doing about food? And washing?
These thoughts were all irrelevant.
What was actually going on? Why wasn’t Véro with the cops trying to get her son back?
I called the number of the Midi Health Insurance office. It rang for what felt like hours and never went to voice mail.
My friend the cricket started singing again. What now? At this hour? Could it be Véro again?
It was Jérôme. My cutie calling me in the middle of the night? I felt flattered.
“Hi!”
“Hey, stranger,” I said.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m about to go to sleep in my lovely big bed. You?”
“I’m in the parking lot outside your hotel looking at your bedroom window.”
My eyes went to the window. “What for?”
“I’m thinking. Thinking about you. I’m watching over you. Protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From everything. From yourself.”
Oh. “I see. OK, good night.”
