Goodbye, Janette

by Harold Robbins

  She smiled. “Are you always so formal when you come to a lady’s apartment?” she asked, speaking in English now.

  “Habit,” he answered. He held up his glass. “Santé.”

  They clinked glasses and sipped. “You can sit down now,” she said, crossing to the couch and sitting opposite him.

  He sat down carefully as the chair was fragile and might break under him. It was deceptively comfortable and he sank into it. He swirled the cognac in his glass and sipped at it again.

  “Dinner was lovely,” she said. “I really enjoyed it.”

  “You didn’t eat much.”

  She laughed. “I have to watch my diet.”

  “Why? You look perfect to me.”

  She laughed again. “That’s why I have to watch it. Every ounce I swallow turns into a pound on me.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “I did, really.” Then she too was silent.

  He sipped at his cognac again. “I suppose I’d better finish my drink and go,” he said. “I have to be at work early tomorrow.”

  “Johann,” she said. “I’ll be going back to the States next week.”

  He nodded slowly. “I thought you might be. When do you plan your next trip back here?”

  She met his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back. At least not for a long time.”

  He felt a sinking feeling in his chest. “I’m sorry, Heidi. I’ve come to look forward to your visits.”

  “I am too,” she said. “But only because I’ll miss you.”

  He was silent again, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

  “I’ve been coming to Paris every third month for two years now, Johann,” she said. “And each time we see each other. Lunch, dinners. I can’t count how many times. I know how you feel about me, yet you never say anything. Never. Why, Johann? I don’t understand, why?”

  He took a deep breath, meeting the hurt look in her blue eyes. “I’m forty-six years old, Heidi. Seventeen years older than you.”

  “Sixteen,” she said quickly. “I’ll be thirty next month.”

  He didn’t smile. “I’m a serious man, a respectful man. I’m not a playboy who would have a casual affair with you. I like you too much.”

  “I’m not a child, Johann. I’m a woman. And a divorced woman at that. Don’t you think that I have feelings too? And desires?” She shook her head. “But you never said anything. And you still haven’t told me why.”

  “I have responsibilities, heavy responsibilities,” he said.

  “I know about that,” she said. “Janette and Lauren. I haven’t been deaf and you’ve certainly talked enough about it. But does that mean that you cannot have a life of your own? Or a family of your own if you should want it?”

  “They have no one but me to protect them. I made a promise. First to von Brenner. Then to Tanya. I can’t go back on my word.”

  “I’m not saying you should go back on your word,” she said. “I’m only saying that you’re entitled to have a life of your own, that’s all.”

  “Heidi,” he said.

  She heard the pain in his voice and rose from the couch. She sank to her knees in front of him and looked up into his face. “I love you, Johann, Do you love me?”

  “Yes.” The words tumbled from his lips. “Yes, I love you.”

  “Then, for God’s sake, kiss me,” she cried. “You know in all of two years, you never even once kissed me.”

  He leaned down toward her as her arms went up around his neck, his mouth searching her soft lips and tasting the salt of her tears.

  ***

  She found a place to park, jumped her car onto the sidewalk and got out and locked it. She smiled, pleased with herself. That was one of the advantages of a mini—it could be parked anywhere.

  It was a little after eleven o’clock at night but in La Coupole it was high noon. The theaters were just beginning to empty and already the brasserie was jammed with people. She pushed her way through the crowds waiting for a table and went to the back of the restaurant. There was a table in the far corner that had everything but their names on it. From seven in the evening on, one or the other of their crowd was always sitting there. They had an unspoken rule that until two o’clock in the morning whoever was at the table could not leave until someone came in to take it over. If it was empty for even one minute, it would be gone, and then they would have to stand in line like the rest of the crowd.

  Marie-Thérése and Françoise were sitting at the table, Coca-Colas in front of them, staring at Jean, whose head was resting on his folded arms on the table, his untouched pastis next to his elbow. She bent over and kissed both girls on the cheek, then straightened up. “What’s the matter with him?” she asked.

  “He’s out of it,” Françoise said in a disgusted voice. Jean was her boyfriend. “Some Moroccan laid a cube of black hash on him. I took two hits and was a high as a kite but he wouldn’t quit until it was almost all gone. I don’t know how he even made it to the table.”

  “Asshole,” she said, sitting down next to him.

  The waiter appeared as if by magic. “Bon soir, Janette,” he smiled. “What’ll it be tonight?”

  “Bon soir, Sami,” she smiled back up at him. “I’m hungry tonight. I’ll have a hamburger au cheval, frites and a beer.”

  “Right away,” Sami said, disappearing as magically as he had come.

  She looked around the restaurant. “Anybody around?”

  “Nobody.” Marie-Thérése shrugged her shoulders. She looked across the table at Janette. “Where have you been? Your eyes look funny.”

  Janette laughed. “It’s just the light in here. It always takes me a few minutes to get used to it.”

  “Don’t give me that shit,” Marie-Thérése said. “I know you. You’re on something.”

  Janette felt good, strong and full of energy. She laughed again, patting the shirt pocket over her breast. “Coke,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “And I’ve got enough here for all of us.”

  Sami came back to the table and put her hamburger and beer down in front of her. She began to eat voraciously. “I’m starved,” she said between mouthfuls.

  “I don’t get it,” Françoise said. “I heard coke was supposed to kill your appetite.”

  “Nobody told me,” Janette said, picking up some of the frites with her fingers and dipping them into the mustard before placing them in her mouth. “As soon as I finish we’ll get out of here and go over to my place.”

  “What about Jean?” Françoise asked.

  “The hell with him,” she answered. “Let him sleep. They’ll throw him out in the morning.”

  “I couldn’t do that,” Françoise said hesitantly. “He’d never talk to me again.”

  “You wouldn’t be missing anything,” Janette said. “I’ve never heard him say anything that made sense.”

  Françoise was beginning to get angry. “You don’t like him because he won’t jump when you snap your fingers.”

  Janette stared at her. “I don’t like him because he’s stupid,” she said flatly. “And I have no patience with stupid people.” She wiped the last of the egg yolk from her plate with two frites and pushed the empty plate away from her. She held up her hand for the waiter. “I’m getting a coffee and then I’m going. Either of you like anything?”

  “No, thanks,” Françoise answered. She glanced at Jean. “I’m getting worried. I can’t sit here all night with him.”

  Sami did his magic act. Janette wiped her fingers with her napkin and handed it to him. “Two double espressos and another napkin, please.”

  “Right away,” he said, clearing the plates away from in front of her. He was back in a moment with the coffee. He put one down in front of her and looked around the table questioningly.

  “It’s for him.” Janette gestured at Jean.

  Sami looked, then shrugged his shoulders and put the coffee down. He began to turn away but Janette stop
ped him.

  “Check, please.”

  Sami flipped open his little order pad, made a note with his pencil, then tore out the sheet and gave it to her. “Thirty-eight francs,” he said.

  She gave him a fifty-franc note. “Keep the change.”

  Sami smiled. “Merci, Janette.” Then he was gone.

  Janette gulped her coffee and put the empty cup down.

  “How are you going to get him to drink the coffee?” Françoise asked.

  “Easy,” Janette answered. Casually she picked up the pitcher of water from the center of the table and poured it over Jean’s head.

  He came up sputtering, knocking his books from the table. He shook his head groggily. “Merde,” he muttered.

  Janette gave him the napkin and pushed the coffee toward him. “Dry yourself and drink your coffee, sleeping beauty.”

  He rubbed at his face with the napkin. “What did you do that for?”

  Janette laughed. “Your girlfriend was worried that you might sleep here all night.” She got to her feet. Marie-Thérése got out of her chair. Janette looked down at Françoise. “He’s awake now. You can come if you like.”

  Françoise looked at Jean, then up at her. “I think I’d better stay.”

  “Suit yourself.” She turned away. “Let’s go, Marie-Thérése.”

  They left so quickly that they pushed right past a young man who was coming toward the table. He stopped at the table, looked after them, then sank into a chair. “What’s with Janette?” he asked. “She almost knocks me down and then doesn’t even say hello.”

  “I think the dike bitch is in heat,” Françoise said snidely. “She couldn’t get Marie-Thérése away from the table fast enough.”

  “Just my luck,” the young man said. “Do you think if I went after them, they’d let me watch? I’d love to see them get it on.”

  “Me, too, Michel,” Jean said, suddenly awake. “Let’s all go after them.”

  “You sit there and drink your coffee,” Françoise said angrily.

  ***

  “Where have you been all night?” Marie-Thérése complained as Janette backed the car onto the road. “You told me you would be there at nine o’clock.”

  Janette flashed the headlights, then cut out into traffic, ignoring the squeal of brakes and the blaring horns behind her. She gunned the car into the center lane, then turned left at the corner past the restaurant without signaling in order to beat the traffic light, which was just beginning to change. She double-shifted into third and settled into the wide boulevard at a steady sixty kilometers.

  “You are high,” Marie-Thérése said. “You’re driving like an Italian.”

  Janette didn’t answer. She switched on the radio and the music of Europe I flooded into the small car.

  “You know how Sami hustles,” Marie-Thérése said. “I drank so many Cokes I’ll be pissing mud for a week.” She took out a package of cigarettes and lit two, passing one over to Janette. “You still didn’t tell me where you were.”

  “I told you I was going up to the office to see Johann,” Janette said.

  “The office closes at six o’clock. You didn’t get to the restaurant until after eleven.”

  “You’re worse than a cop,” Janette said. She stopped for a traffic light and looked across at her friend. There was a hurt look on Marie-Thérése’s face. She dragged on the cigarette and put the car into gear as the light turned green. “If you must know the truth, I ran into Jacques Charelle on the elevator leaving the office and we wound up at his place.”

  Marie-Thérése’s voice was shocked. “How could you, Janette? Wasn’t he your mother’s—?” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  “Lover?” Janette laughed. “Of course he was. But he wasn’t the only one. She had others. So what difference does it make?”

  “You’re too much,” Marie-Thérése said. “He gave you the coke?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How is it?” Marie-Thérése asked. “I never had any coke.”

  “Neither did I until tonight,” Janette said. “But it’s great. It really gets you up there.”

  “Did he know that you never had any?”

  “Of course not. And I wasn’t about to tell him either. I just acted as if I had it all the time. I watched how he did it and then copied him. As a matter of fact, I think that the only reason he gave me some coke to take with me was to get rid of me. Otherwise he was afraid I’d be there all night.” She glanced over at Marie-Thérése. The tears were rolling down her friend’s cheeks. “Now, what the hell is the matter?”

  “I don’t understand you, Janette,” Marie-Thérése sniffed. “I love you and I can’t make love with anyone but you. You say you love me but you can make love with anybody.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you it’s not the same thing?” Janette said in an annoyed voice. “Making love and fucking are two separate things.”

  “Not for me,” Marie-Thérése said.

  “I don’t get it,” Janette said. “We’ve made love with others many times together.”

  “That’s just it,” Marie-Thérése said. “We were together. Sharing each other’s pleasures. But the idea of you coming to me second just to finish off the night because you didn’t get enough and you’re still horny doesn’t appeal to me.”

  Janette was angry. “If that’s the case, why don’t I just drop you off at your place?”

  “I think maybe that’s the best thing to do,” Marie-Thérése said lightly.

  They didn’t exchange another word until Janette pulled the car to a stop in front of Marie-Thérése’s house. Marie-Thérése sat for a moment, then turned to Janette. “I love you,” she said. “But you always find new ways to hurt me.”

  Janette didn’t look at her, just kept staring through the windshield. “I have nothing to do with it,” she answered. “You invent ways to hurt yourself. Next time, if you don’t want to hear the truth, don’t ask questions.”

  Marie-Thérése got out of the car. She looked in at Janette. “I’ll feel better tomorrow by the time I see you at the Université.”

  “You won’t see me there tomorrow,” Janette said shortly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve quit the damn place. I’m going to work in the office tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, no, Janette.” Marie-Thérése’s voice was almost a wail. “What will I do if I can’t see you every day?”

  “Get used to it. We all have to grow up sometime,” she said flatly. She reached across the seat and pulled the door shut, then pulled the car away from the curb leaving Marie-Thérése still standing there.

  “Stupid cunt,” she muttered angrily. For a moment she thought of going back to La Coupole. She could always find someone there. But then she changed her mind. She had had enough of a man’s hardness for one night. What she wanted was the softness and sensitivity of a woman. Abruptly she slammed on the brake, then threw the car in reverse and shot back to where Marie-Thérése was still standing in the street, crying.

  She stopped the car and pushed open the door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Get in.”

  ***

  “A hundred million francs a year,” Maurice said. “That’s what’s in it for us if we get that fucking Nazi out of there.”

  Jacques stared up at him. His head was still fuzzy with sleep. It was after two o’clock in the morning when Maurice woke him up with a telephone call. And he had been too punchy to tell him he would see him in the morning. Besides, it probably wouldn’t have done any good because Maurice was calling from the lobby downstairs. “Excuse me a minute,” he said, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to splash some cold water on my face. For a hundred million francs a year I want to be awake.”

  He padded in his bare feet into the bathroom, turned on the light and closed the door. He put his hands on the sink and leaned on it, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked awful. Like death warmed over. That bitch never wanted to stop. He couldn’t rem
ember when the last time it was that he had four climaxes in almost as many hours. And for the fifth time, he was happy that he could just manage to achieve an erection. By then it didn’t seem to matter to her whether he had an orgasm or not. He doubted that she even knew the difference, she was so into her own.

  He turned on the cold water and splashed his face and neck. It helped a little but not that much. Slowly he dried his face. The demanding bitch. She wasn’t at all what he had expected when he saw her in the elevator at the office. He had grown used to mature women, to more considerate and gentler affairs.

  Still, there was that scent of sexuality about her that reminded him strongly of her mother, and that was what had led him to ask her home for a drink. It would be amusing, he had thought, having made lover to the mother, now to make love with the daughter. It wasn’t until later that he realized she had had the same thought.

  She had her car outside and she drove them to his apartment. It was when he asked her what she had been doing at the office that she had told him she was going to work there beginning tomorrow morning. And all the while, as they talked about what she planned to do in the office, when she shifted gears her hand managed to brush lightly along the side of his leg. He shifted uncomfortably as his erection began to press against his trousers.

  She noticed it and laughed. “If you take it out,” she said, “I’ll shift both gears at the same time.”

  He smiled. “You won’t have to, we’re there already.”

  On the way up in the elevator, she looked at him. “My mother liked you. I heard her speak of you often.”

  “I liked her too,” he said.

  She nodded as the elevator doors opened and silently followed him to his door.

  ***

  He stared into the mirror. He still felt awful. Thank God for the cocaine. At first he had hesitated about using it. The French were about twenty years behind the times. When it came to la drogue they were horrified, no matter what other excesses they were into. But apparently she had done it before. Quite a bit from the way she had him putting down lines for her.

  A little now wouldn’t hurt, might bring him up so that at least he would know what the hell Maurice was talking about. Fortunately he always kept a spare vial in the medicine cabinet. There was no way he would put down a line in front of Maurice. He was too French.