Goodbye, Janette

by Harold Robbins

  He took the vial and tapped two good snorts onto the back of his hand then quickly did one in each nostril. He felt it go right up to his head. He looked in the mirror as he returned the vial to the cabinet. He looked better already. His eyes were brighter.

  He walked back into the living room. Maurice was standing at the window, looking out. He turned as he heard Jacques enter.

  “At least I’m awake now,” Jacques smiled. “Forgive me, I didn’t ask if you would like a drink?”

  “If you have a whiskey?”

  “Of course,” Jacques said. “With ice?”

  “No, thank you. I developed a taste for it in England during the war. They drink it neat.”

  “Of course,” Jacques said, despite the fact that he preferred it with ice, American fashion. “It’s the only civilized way.”

  He poured a whiskey for Maurice and a cognac for himself. They sat down. “Santé.” They both sipped, and he waited for Maurice to lower his glass. “Now what was it you were saying about a hundred million francs a year?”

  Maurice smiled to himself. What was the saying the Canadians had? The Mounties always get their man. Money did it faster. “Janette was here from six ten this evening until eleven oh five. I assume that you didn’t spend all that time in conversation.”

  Jacques stared at him. “How do you know that?”

  “Since I’m the one who has been urging her to leave school and go to work in the company, I make it my business to know exactly what she’s doing. All the time.”

  “You’re having her followed?”

  Maurice nodded.

  “I don’t quite see what that has to do with all that money,” Jacques said.

  “You will when I explain it to you,” Maurice said. “She needs education, to be made aware of the potential of the business that is not being taken advantage of. In my own way, I have begun. You can add a lot more to that because you know more than I do about many aspects. Maybe when she learns enough she will take some action against the Boche.”

  “Even if she did, it might not work,” Jacques said. “She doesn’t reach her majority until she is twenty-one, and then Johann has all the years after that until Lauren reaches her majority. So that’s at least two more years until Janette can even question his decisions.”

  “It doesn’t have to be two more years,” Maurice said, looking at him. “Under French law, control of her estate automatically goes to her husband the moment she marries.”

  ***

  There was a knock at the door. Johann looked up from his desk. “Come in.”

  She came into his office, the tweed skirt falling straight across her hips, the man-tailored silk shirt and tweed jacket fighting a losing battle to restrain her full breasts. She came to a stop in front of his desk and looked down at him, smiling. “The six weeks are up.”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “Things are not as simple as I thought they would be.”

  He smiled. “They seldom are.” He picked up a pencil from his desk. “But you’ve done well. I’ve had nothing but good reports on your work. You’ve managed to ask all the right questions.”

  “I still have a great deal to learn,” she said.

  He looked up at her for a long moment. “Then you’ve also come up with the right answer.” He put the pencil back on the desk. “But don’t feel too disappointed. All of us have a great deal to learn.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to America with Maurice next week.”

  For the first time surprise came into his voice. “What caused that?”

  “I’ve learned enough to know that I’m not ready for that yet. When I do go I want to be able to project the kind of image the Americans expect from someone in our business.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he confessed.

  It was her turn to smile. “May I sit down?”

  “Of course,” he said, suddenly flustered. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think.” He watched her sink into the chair opposite him.

  It was almost as if she were picking up his thoughts. “Do I remind you of my mother?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Very much. Especially seeing you sit there.”

  She smiled. “I thought so. Many people have said that. I know they meant that as a compliment, but that’s one of the reasons I’m not going to the States just now. My mother never had to look French for what she did, but if I go to the States, I’d better look the way Americans expect a Frenchwoman to look or I’ll never be able to convince them that I represent the fashionable things of French life. Beautiful clothing, high fashion and good wines. I’m just not the type physically.”

  “What makes you think that?” he asked.

  “I’ve been going to the fashion shows with Jacques,” she said. “And I’ve seen what the American buyers look for and expect. And I’m not the type. I’m just too big. In every way, Shiki was right.”

  “There’s not much you can do about that,” he said.

  “To start with I can lose some weight,” she said. “Sixty-six kilos is too much, fifty-five is maximum for my height if I want to look right.”

  “You can also wind up very sick,” he said.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “There’s a clinic in Switzerland not far from where I went to school. They do some wonderful things and it’s all under medical supervision. Ten kilos less, and I can wear anything Shiki can throw on me.”

  “It’s not that important,” he said.

  “I think it is,” she said seriously. “If I’m going to be in this business, the main thing I have to do is look like I belong in it.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Have you told Maurice yet?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve told no one. Not even Jacques. You’re the first one to know.”

  “Jacques will be more disappointed than anyone,” he said. “He was planning to meet you in New York about a month after you got there.”

  “I know,” she said, smiling suddenly. She rose to her feet, the smile disappearing as suddenly as it had come. Her voice turned almost cold. “He had some stupid idea about taking me to Las Vegas and getting married. He said I wouldn’t need anyone’s consent there, being over eighteen.”

  He looked up at her silently.

  “He’s a fool, a fortune hunter,” she said.

  Johann still did not speak.

  “I’ll be gone for two months,” she said. “That’s how long the doctors at the clinic say it will take to get me in shape without damage to my health. No one will know where I am except you. I want you to get rid of him while I’m away.”

  “But I thought you—” He tried to keep the surprise from his voice. There were no secrets. By now the whole office knew about the affair she had been having with Jacques.

  Her voice was almost clinical. “He was using me just as he used my mother. I’m sure that she tolerated him for good reason. And so did I. But I have no further use for him. I have learned all he has to teach me.”

  “But he does an important job,” Johann said. “He will not be easy to replace.”

  “It will be very easy,” she said confidently.

  “I’m not that sure,” he said hesitantly. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “Of course I do. Do you think I would ask you to do something like that if I didn’t?”

  “Who?” he asked.

  She looked down at him and for the first time he saw the impenetrable hardness in the coal black of her eyes. There was a complete lack of expression in her voice. “Me.”

  He went deep inside himself for the strength he knew he would have to have. “I’ll take your suggestion under advisement,” he said. “I’m not convinced yet that you can handle the job.”

  For the first time there was surprise in her voice. “How can you put up with him? Do you know what he calls you behind your back? A Nazi, a Hun, a Boche?”

  He smiled slowly. “That’s not a valid reason. If it were, there wouldn’t be a single person in
the office left to work for us. I’m German. I don’t expect them to love me—just to do their jobs.”

  She thought for a moment. “What would it take to convince you that I can do the job?”

  “When you come back, you can go to work as his assistant.”

  She took a deep breath. “He’ll expect me to go on fucking with him.”

  “That’s your problem, not mine,” he said.

  She was angry suddenly. “I could say the hell with it and marry him!”

  Surprisingly, he laughed. “I can’t stop you,” he said. “But then you’d never get rid of him.”

  She was silent for a moment, then she too laughed. “Now I know why Mother chose you as she did,” she said. “We’ll do it your way, Johann.”

  “There’s no other way,” he said.

  “I still don’t want anyone to know where I am,” she said.

  “No one will know,” he said.

  He watched the door close behind her and sat there a long moment, then reached for the telephone and placed a long-distance call to the United States. While he was waiting for the call to go through he kept remembering the coal-black wall in her eyes. Someday it would be his turn. He knew that now. In a way, he had always known it.

  But there was no way he could turn away from it. Even when Janette reached her majority, there would still be Lauren to protect. If there were only a way to take Lauren out of it without sacrificing the child’s equity, he would feel free. It seemed, somehow, that all his life he had been paying debts to the dead. Maybe, now, it was time that he made an investment in his own life.

  ***

  She came out of the shower and wrapped the oversized bath sheet around her, then turned toward the mirror as she shook her hair free of the shower cap. It fell damply to her shoulders and she reached for another towel to rub it dry. In the mirror she saw the bathroom door behind her open. She turned around.

  Lauren was standing there looking up at her. The child’s blue eyes were dark and somber in her face framed by the golden ringlets of hair. She was silent, just staring up at Janette.

  Rubbing her hair with the towel, she asked, “What is it, chérie?”

  “Monsieur le Marquis is in the library. He would like to see you.”

  “Okay. I’ll be down in a minute,” she said, turning back to the mirror. In the mirror she could see that Lauren still waited there. Then tears welled up into the child’s eyes. Janette turned quickly and knelt beside the child. “What’s wrong, chérie?”

  “What is a half a sister?” Lauren asked, holding back a sob.

  “Half a sister?” Janette echoed. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “That’s what Monsieur le Marquis said you were. He said, Go tell your half sister that I’m waiting for her. He also said it was not polite to call him Monsieur le Marquis, I should call him Papa. I said that you don’t call him Papa and he said that was because he was not your father as he is mine, and that’s why you’re my half sister.” Lauren was really crying now.

  “Merde,” Janette said, taking the child and hugging her close. “Don’t you pay any attention to him, darling. I’m your big sister and that’s all there is to it. And you don’t have to call him Papa, because he’s not your father any more than he is mine.”

  “Then why does he say he is?” Lauren asked with a child’s directness.

  “Because that is what he would like to be. But he isn’t.”

  “Then who is my Papa?” Lauren asked.

  “Your Papa went away, just as my Papa did.”

  “Did you know my Papa?” Lauren asked.

  “No,” Janette replied. “But then I didn’t know my Papa either.”

  “Then why are we sisters? How do we know that?”

  “Because we have the same mother,” Janette said.

  “Did you know her?”

  “Yes, darling,” Janette said.

  “Why didn’t I know her?” Lauren asked.

  “She had an accident when you were still a baby,” Janette answered.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she?” the child asked. “Like our Papas?”

  “Yes,” Janette said gently. She kissed Lauren’s cheek. “But that’s nothing to worry about. We have each other.”

  Lauren pulled back and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Was our mother a nice lady?”

  “Very nice.”

  “Was she beautiful?”

  “She was one of the most beautiful ladies in Paris,” Janette said. “She loved you very much.”

  “Did she love you too?”

  Janette nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  Lauren thought for a moment. “I’m sorry I didn’t know her. Someday I would like to have a Mama.”

  Janette was silent.

  The child looked up into Janette’s eyes. “Do you think you could be my Mama?”

  “How could I be? I can’t be your sister and your mother all at the same time.”

  “I don’t mean for real, Janette,” the child said quickly. “I mean play mother. Just sometimes when the two of us are alone. We won’t tell anybody. Even if it’s just pretend it would be nice to have a Mama.”

  Janette thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But it’s just pretend, remember?”

  A radiant smile broke across Lauren’s face and she threw her arms around Janette, kissing her cheek. “Thank you,” she said.

  Janette hugged her tightly for a moment, then let her go. “Okay, baby,” she said. “Now off to bed with you.”

  Lauren kissed her again. “Good night, Mama,” she said and ran from the room.

  She turned back to the mirror and finished drying her hair, then brushed it and dressed slowly. It wasn’t until she was on the staircase that she suddenly realized that she had automatically put on the black brassiere and panties that Maurice always wanted her to wear.

  ***

  He was standing behind the library door when she opened it and did not see him until she closed the door. Before she had a chance to speak, he slapped her viciously on the cheek, knocking her backward to the floor, her skirt flying up over her hips.

  He stood over her for a moment, staring down at her, then abruptly thrust his hand between her legs. The black panties were soaked with moisture. He squeezed her pubis in a viselike grip, watching the pain contort her face as more moisture flooded into his hand. “Whore!” he said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. He straightened up and prodded her with the tip of his pointed shoe. “Whore!”

  She stared up at him silently as he walked away and sat down on a couch facing her. She took a deep breath and got to her feet. She could feel her legs still trembling.

  “Bitch!” he said in a normal tone of voice. “What kind of games are you playing with me?”

  Her voice was almost dull. “I’m not playing any games.”

  “I’ve made all the arrangements for America,” he said. “And now I hear you’re not going.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said.

  “You’ve changed your mind?” he echoed mockingly. “I thought you wanted to learn something more about your business.”

  “I’m bored with it,” she said. “Why should I work? It does all right. I have enough money.”

  “And you’re willing to let that Nazi continue to bleed you?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she turned and walked to the sideboard near the fireplace. She poured some pastis into a glass and added the water, shaking it gently until a milky-white cloud filed the glass. She sipped it slowly, turning back to him, feeling her strength return. “I’m just not interested that’s all,” she said.

  He moved quickly, the glass went flying from her hand almost before she realized he was upon her. She turned her face, trying to avoid being hit again, but not quickly enough. She crashed to the floor in front of the fireplace. Through pain-filled eyes she saw him approaching.

  She rolled over and grabbed a small iron poker from the stand. Gripping it with both hands, she rolled away fr
om him to her feet. Wildly, she swung at him.

  He spring out of the way just in time and the poker flailed through the empty air. He stared at her, almost in shock at the raw nature of her violence.

  She spat the words at him. “You touch me again and I’ll finish what my mother started!”

  “You’re crazy!” he said. “Just like she was!”

  “Get out!” she screamed, moving toward him. “Get out!”

  He fled toward the door and turned, looking back at her, his hand on the doorknob. “Listen to me,” he said. “I was only trying to keep you from losing everything.”

  “I’ll take care of myself,” she said. “Just keep away from me, this house, and my sister or I’ll kill you! Now, get out!”

  “Someday you’ll be on your knees begging for my help,” he said, slamming the door behind him.

  She stared at the closed door for a moment, then her legs gave way and she slumped onto the couch, the poker falling to the floor from her hand. She closed her eyes, giving into the pulsing waves of heat surging from her loins. Almost automatically she slipped her hand inside her panties. An orgasm swept through her almost as soon as her fingers touched her moist, swollen clitoris. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, then turning face down on the couch and burying her head in the arms, began to cry.

  ***

  Heidi saw him standing just beyond the railing as she approached the police at immigration. She waved to him as she pushed her passport through the narrow window. He smiled and waved back. It wasn’t until then that she noticed the small bouquet of flowers he held in his other hand. The policeman pounded her passport with his stamp and pushed it back to her. She took it and almost ran as she came through the railing.

  For a moment they paused awkwardly, looking at each other, then he proffered the bouquet almost shyly. She took it, then looked up into his face and went into his arms.

  His voice was husky as he whispered into her ear. “Until this moment I was afraid you would not come.”

  Her voice trembled between laughter and tears. “Until you called, I was afraid you’d never ask me.”