by John Brooke
“Damn!” in English, slamming his fist against the floor to break the fall. “Good, Vivi...just great,” rolling back beside her. He holds it up: “You made me break one of the ears.”
“Good, yourself!” snapping it out of his hand and dropping it in the waste basket beside the bed. The famous ears now rest atop a pile of damp tissues and used condoms, things Jimmy would rather not look at, let alone risk touching. “I am not interested in your cheap toy... This girl you talk about, I don’t know her.”
“Come on, Vivi. You know the rules.”
“Je m’en fous.“ I don’t care. She gets up, squats over the bidet, pees, turns on the hot water and begins to wash herself. Which means Jimmy should leave.
“It’s just a hat, for God’s sake...a game!”
“No.” She begins to dress. “I am not here for games.”
“Voyons, Vivi...” Get real, girl. “...of course you are.” Jimmy retrieves the ears. He puts on a smile and offers them again. “I mean — we’ve been having some real good fun, you and me. Like pals, right? I’m starting to feel you’re my friend... Here, just put it on for Jimmy and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
“The goddess doesn’t want your mouse around here.”
“Goddess? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Rien...” Never mind. “Can you please leave me alone now?”
“Vivi, this is the most famous mouse in the world!”
“Va-t-en, Monsieur Jamms.” Go away.
“Hey...”
“Now.”
“What is this shit? I paid good money. You make me very sad, Vivi...” Stomping out, shirt and coat over his shoulder.
Well it makes her sad too. Has she lost a loyal regular? A good-looking one, who’s more her age and also kind of fun. Who was nice in a way no one else was when Colette died. Is her attraction to Jimmy the reason she feels she needs to draw this line? She knows it’s wrong. She’s finding the attraction difficult — it leads to affection and it’s not easy forbidding herself to like someone, to learn to let him touch her body without letting him touch her heart... It seemed so easy at the beginning... A hat? Flossie says it’s part of the job. Just do it and don’t think twice.
Oui, oui, oui, Vivi knows the rules. She’s having trouble with the rules.
Whatever happens in your life there, don’t lose track of yourself. Ondine has told her this. After Colette, Vivi knows she must believe it. So why does she have be some Annette? ...Stupid hat! And you probably shouldn’t have said that to him — about the goddess — either, my girl... Oh oui, the mistakes are piling up.
Is she eating too much? Flossie says Dorise’s cakes are for the pleasure of their clientele...
And the girls are telling her Flossie’s not pleased that she’s been leaving her nightly sip of Maeve untouched. But who needs it? ...For the goddess? After hearing Ondine’s story, Vivi had to tell Ondine, “There are so many drugs. It’s nothing new. There’s no green sky, no glittering sea.”
Ondine (crying again) had agreed. “You’re right: Maeve belongs to Sein and nowhere else.”
But Maeve’s here. She lives in Mari Morgan’s. It’s almost like she’s Flossie’s friend.
She wishes she could talk to Flossie, but Flossie is not... What? Not who Vivi first thought she was. Not who Colette always said she was...
Oh là là. Why is this happening? ...Heading down the back stairs to the kitchen, nothing to do now — Jimmy paid for all night, feeling hungry, angry, mostly worried. Flossie’s going to have my ass. Vivi finds herself some food, some milk. Pushing the lever under Céleste’s belly, she slips through the wall to visit Ondine.
3.
It’s been almost a month now. Vivi had been out back one morning, hanging sheets on the line to dry in the September sun...when Ondine came walking up the alley with another old woman. “This is my sister.” Vivi could see it. Hear it too: Ondine’s sister looks at Vivi and mutters, “What are you doing with your life?” Then she hugs Ondine and walks away. Ondine goes in the back door and straight over to Céleste. Dorise almost faints. Ondine tells her, “You have to help me. She’s got someone watching me. I can’t stand it... How does this work?” pushing and prodding at Céleste’s belly. Dorise hurries to help her. The wall opens. “Let me stay in here.” “But what will Flossie say!” “She owes me this...” Vivi and the other girls had gathered, watching the two women standing in the musty chamber. Who would ever want to? Like living in a tomb. But there was a chair...and candles to read by, cushions to lie on. They heard Ondine murmur, “Yes...this will be my room again. It’s only right.” Then Louise had appeared and shooed them away.
Ondine hasn’t budged. It has to do with Manon, obviously, though no one dares ask. Flossie has told them, “Just say you haven’t seen her, and mean it...like with a client.” Vivi’s prepared to do that for Ondine. It does not seem right that Ondine would be in trouble. What could an old woman ever do? She had tried to help Manon, hadn’t she? ...But that Inspector has not been in to bother anyone.
And in a month the room Flossie calls “our sanctuary” has been transformed. In Vivi’s first days and weeks in the house it had been lonely...scary! sitting in there in the dank stillness, staring at a wispy stream of smoke and trying to think about the things they said she was meant to think about. Goddess things. Now it’s Ondine’s work room, brighter, cluttered with a bit of life, and the best place to sort through the problems that come with trying to get along at Mari Morgan’s. This room is becoming second nature, an inevitable part of each day. Vivi believes this is the thing Colette imagined. The good thing. Vivi feels it... It’s not Flossie, it’s Ondine. With Ondine there, behind the wall with the goddess, it makes everything different.
I am the knot in every weave.
I am the glow on every ridge.
I am the queen of every hive.
I am armour for every heart...
Someone’s always in there with her, with something to fix, some time to spare. Josiane was there twice on Tuesday; Vivi knows because so was she. “I know the verse now...” Taking the red book from her pocket (...don’t know if I understand it, not sure I ever will; but I think I have it in my head). She had to wait yesterday morning while Ondine and Sophie discussed something. Something major; Sophie was wiping away tears when she finally came out.
Even Louise, last Sunday morning, sharing a cup of tea. Vivi had joined them... She had backed out, not wanting to disturb, but was invited so she got a cup, sat and listened. Louise was smiling as she related long-ago demonstrations of impossible piano exercises. Smiling? It was almost tears. It was the edge of affection. It was something Vivi hadn’t seen in Louise before that moment: “...just impossible for a seven-year-old girl to get right. She showed me, over and over — the upright face, perfect posture. I think I was too proud of her to concentrate... I never learned. She was trying so hard. Too hard, daring me to match her... But she lost me, as soon as I was old enough. When I was sixteen, I hated her for all that pressure. I left. Then I lost her. What a shame, the things we waste ...”
“Go and see her before the end.”
“No...too late. No point.”
“You have to.”
“I can’t...”
Talking about her mother. Hearing it...seeing it, this is good for Vivi’s heart.
Tonight Vivi goes in to see Ondine, to try to tell her about Jimmy her American client, the problems he brings to the situation.
Dorise is there tonight. She’s singing. Some refrain...strange words:
Ahès, breman Mari Morgan
E skeud an noz, d’al loar a gan...
“What’s that?”
“Bretagne...my mother used to sing it to me.”
The one who lived out on that island. Who had just died... “What does it mean?”
“Oh, something like...from this time forth, the enchantress sings to the moon.”
“Mari Morgan.”
“Yes.”
That Dor
ise would sing! A little voice, pure and light. Dorise appears fully now, a woman living far beyond the boundaries of those pinched shoulders, that starched white smock. Vivi sees a lifetime shaped by the smile shaping the singing of the song.
She thinks, Ondine told me I would see something that would help me believe.
A small revelation for a girl from the housing projects...
And Ondine hums too.
4.
Later on, the place is still. They’ve all gone up — for the second time, to sleep. Hungry again, Vivi goes back downstairs for another look at Dorise’s apple strudel. But: Don’t want to eat too much! Flossie had been quite clear. I’ll work it off, Flossie, I’ll work it off... Vivi eats her strudel and gulps a glass of milk. She whispers a second goodnight through the wall to the old woman hiding in the room behind Céleste.
There’s a shuffling and scrabbling at the top of the back stairs...a clinking sound behind it. Jimmy Jamms comes lurching down and sprawls on the kitchen floor, practically at her feet.
“Jimmy...what happened!”
Flossie follows close behind, her nightgown falling open. All she has on under it is a velvet choker with a tiny bell. It’s the first time Vivi has seen Flossie’s well-kept body. Colette’s — loose and chalky at the end — flashes clear in her mind’s eye as Flossie grabs Jimmy under his arms and hoists him up. “Don’t stand there,” she hisses, “get the door!”
Automatic, Vivi rushes to open the back door. Flossie drags Jimmy. He passes right under her eyes...looks up at her but does not see. Vivi has seen that before, too many times back at the HLMs. He’s out of his mind. Really out of his mind. “Oh, Jimmy...” Hurrying after.
Flossie leaves him lying by Erly’s trash. “Shh!”
“But — ”
“Leave him!” Flossie takes Vivi by the wrist and pulls her back into the house.
“But what happened?”
“He came into the bar causing a big scene...wouldn’t let it go, so I took him up and gave him his money’s worth... Stupid man.” Flossie pauses to catch her breath. She sighs, energy draining, massaging herself below the eyes. “What are you doing talking to clients about the goddess, Vivi? Why can’t you just do your job? We don’t need problems like this. The clients...the other girls, no one wants to see it.”
“You hurt him...” Pulling the door open.
“He’ll survive...” Pushing it shut again; “just forget about him.”
“But I care about him!”
“No you don’t. You do not care about a man like that.”
“How do you know what I feel!”
“Shush! I don’t want to hear any more about it...is that clear?”
“Flossie!” pulling on the door; tears beginning, “...you hurt him and it’s my fault. I have to do something...“
“No!” Flossie’s hand clamps down on her wrist once more.
“Leave me alone!” Vivi rips free. “...you’re worse than my mother!”
Flossie steps forward and slaps her face. “No!” Then twice more. “I’m not! Never say that to me again. Your mother was nothing but a feeble fool!”
“No!”
“Yes,” says Flossie. So coldly. It’s a fact. “Now go to bed...and get it straight, Vivi.”
Next morning, when Vivi goes in to talk to Ondine about it, she finds Louise holding still while the waistband on a pair of leather slacks is adjusted. Both women are dismayed to see the swelling around her mouth. She tries to lie — because of Louise. “One of my clients...having trouble at work.”
Louise says, “She didn’t mean it, Vivi. Try to forgive her... Flossie feels everything is her responsibility... She loves you.”
Flossie loves her? She dares to ask Louise, “What did she do to him?”
“It wasn’t her — it was Maeve. Flossie is not a bad person. She’s got things on her mind.”
Like what? ...But don’t ask!...not your business. Something from before your time...
Ondine holds her peace, working away with her pins.
And Vivi works that night, sore mouth and all.
16
Voices of Mari Morgan’s
“Bonjour, Flossie.”
“Salut, Inspector. It’s been a while.”
“Yes. A lot of loose ends...taking me every which way.”
“So I understand.”
“And now Ondine Duguay.”
“Ondine? Is she all right? We haven’t heard a word in weeks.”
“Missing.”
“No!”
“We have to talk.”
“Of course. We’ll sit in the bar.”
The place is tranquil, coming up noon on a Sunday morning, but things are bound to pick up after lunch. In the course of her ongoing relationship with her “cousin” Myriam the junkie hooker, Aliette has learned that Sunday afternoons are the busiest time of the week in the pute trade. Men tend to get restless, lonely — whatever you want to call it.
“Can I offer you anything...a beer?”
“You never give up, do you? Friends is a fantasy, madame.”
“A guest is a guest, Inspector.”
“I suppose it’s true... A beer would be nice.” Flossie goes behind the bar...returns with a mug full of brew for Aliette, a Scotch on the rocks for herself. “Merci...day off?”
“No, but it’s still Sunday. Chin chin...”
“Chin chin.”
Flossie faces the inspector’s eyes. “So: Ondine.”
“How long since you’ve had contact?”
“Seven...eight weeks. Since Colette, as a matter of fact. It happens like that. Then suddenly we’ll have a load of things for her to do.”
“She was at the funeral?”
“Yes.”
“You talked?”
“Not too much.”
“Not too much?”
“Nothing much to say...we’re more or less strangers now.”
“But Vivi...the other girls; I was given to understand she talks to them, teaches them about...uh — your ways.”
“I suppose she does, a little — I mean as far as it goes,” shrugging; “Ondine is old. One’s point of view evolves a bit. Or at least one hopes so.”
“I understand.” Aliette sips her beer. “It’s just that you were so intent on protecting her.”
“Her good name — of course. But if Ondine has done something to implicate herself...well, I can’t be responsible for her actions.”
“Nor her beliefs.”
Flossie swishes the ice in her drink. “No.”
“No, I guess you couldn’t.” Quaffing again; “...this is good beer.”
“Dorise made it.”
“Dorise has a talent.”
“We think so.”
“How is she?”
“Getting along...her mother died. I think she feels guilty for not going out for the funeral...”
“It’s such a long way. I think if she went, she’d never come back.” Flossie nods. Aliette takes another sip. Mmm! “I was out there. I went to see her just before the end. You never met Angélique?” Flossie smiles a sparkly non. “She drank a lot...”
“She was ninety-two. Can’t do much harm at that age.” Smile holding fast.
“It seemed she was very fond of this stuff she calls Maeve.”
“Ah... Well, Maeve is a different story.”
“So she was saying... Herméné Dupras touched on the laughter element here amongst his angels but he forgot to mention Maeve. It could have saved me a lot of time.”
“Herméné has his priorities. As long as he gets there he doesn’t care how. Herméné doesn’t even know Maeve has a name.”
“That fits. My colleague Claude Néon thought he was out on a date with Céleste.”
“Poor Claude...” Flossie allows a hint of a giggle to come breathing through. “A nice man. We had some fun. Erly found him sleeping it off in the ally. I gather he wasn’t quite up to it.”
“Was it really fun?”
“He
was laughing.”
“And for you?”
“Me? Oh, all I did was sit on his face...you know?”
“Yes, I think I do... Well, there’s no law against that,” she muses.
“No. Perfectly legal. Fun too...if you can find the right face.”
Aliette is inclined to agree. In fact the inspector has to bite her lip as she pictures it: Flossie descending, Claude’s nervous eyes looking up, dancing around the way they do... “But you gave him a drug that left him practically catatonic. That’s not legal at all. Why would you do that? Doesn’t seem very smart, given the circumstances.”
“I’m not too worried.”
“He’s the Commissaire.”
“Exactly. He has his priorities too.”
“You know your men, Flossie... But why?”
“He came snooping around, pretending to be helping you. That bothered me.” Flossie swirls the ice in her drink and grins. “Look at the bright side. When your Commissaire first walked in he was thinking he wanted Louise. He might not have survived that at all.”
“Ah...” The bright side according to Flossie. “Yes...well...” slowly tasting more of Dorise’s beer; “...but things are fitting, Flossie. At long last I think I’ve got most everything I need.”
“Good.”
“Apart from Ondine, there’s only one piece missing.”
“What’s that?”
“You. What’s your story, Flossie?”
“But I told you: I was working and I can prove — ”
“You misunderstand. Your story. Why you are the way you are. Your excuse...you know?”
“Mmm...does it matter?”
“I think so. Especially if Ondine’s doesn’t any more.”
“I only work here, Inspector.”
“No...you live here. Remember you told me that? Why would you throw a stone at an old man in a gold and white nightgown? Perhaps we should go back and start again there...”
Flossie’s smile becomes less so. She looks down at her drink. “I would have got him. I’m a good shot...if it hadn’t been for the glass bubble, I would’ve got him. He knew it too. Right in the head...” Meeting the inspector’s eyes again: “Can you imagine what would have happened?”
