Love In the Air

by James Collins

  I love him, I love him, and he loves me. Julia repeated the words to herself silently. They had a nice rhythm: I LOVE him / I LOVE him / And HE—caesura—loves me. Well done, Charlotte! she thought. To love someone and have him or her love you in return, wasn’t that what every person on earth wanted more than anything else?

  Charlotte sobbed for a bit and then took a couple of deep breaths, wiped her eyes and nose, and became calmer. “So you see, Julia, that’s why I had to talk to you. I knew that you”—Charlotte halfway glanced at Julia’s belly—“I knew that you would understand and would give me really good advice on what to do.” Charlotte sniffled; she uncrumpled her handkerchief, folded it, and then crumpled it again as she wiped her nose.

  After a few moments of silence, Julia spoke. “Why did Maximilien-Mar—, uh, Maximilien-Is—, Maxi—” She stopped short and asked, “Is he ever called anything else?”

  Charlotte looked at her blankly. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You know, does he have a nickname, some sort of affectionate diminutive?”

  “No …”

  “Right,” Julia said. “Well, in any case, why did he, your friend, why did he suddenly show up at the hotel? You said it had been years since you’d seen him.”

  Charlotte began to cry again, almost uncontrollably.

  Julia took a sip of mineral water and looked beyond Charlotte to the black windows. They faced east, and she had missed one of her favorite sights of the day, when the rich greens and yellows would emerge on the hillsides in this direction, as the sun set in the other one. The sun, it seemed, bleached the hills so their real colors could be revealed only as it ebbed. The sky would show streaks of yellow, red, and dark blue. There would be black outlines of the land and trees, and black smudges in the sky, and, of course, the rim of purple. But Charlotte had come, and she had missed it.

  Studying Charlotte, Julia reflected that some women were quite beautiful when they cried: their high color; the flashing, prismatic tears in their eyes; their swollen lips; their whole body and being vibrating with emotion like a taut, thrummed string. A man could fall for all that pretty hard. In contrast, if crying did not become a woman, and if she seemed to be falling apart rather than ascending to a state of pure feeling, then most men would instantly become irritated and impatient. In the case of patient Peter, though, she thought this likely was not true. That was fortunate, since Charlotte indisputably fell in the latter category. With her long, narrow face, she looked like a “tragedy” mask.

  When she regained some composure, Charlotte said, “I was going to get around to that.” She had to stop again before continuing. “You see, I called him.”

  This was interesting news, Julia thought.

  “I called him,” Charlotte repeated, “as soon as I reached Charles de Gaulle. I didn’t know whether the number I had for him was still good or even whether he would be in Paris. Then I heard his voice on the machine. I was actually shaking and wasn’t sure I could say anything, but I managed to leave a message. I told him where I was staying and told him to call me. I had thought about it for the whole flight, but I didn’t really know what I wanted or what would happen. It was one of those things. I had thought about it for the whole flight, but when I actually made the call, I was doing it on impulse.” Charlotte heaved a big sigh. For the moment, all her tears and all her sobs had been wrung out of her.

  “Now you’re going to wonder why I wanted to see him,” Charlotte said. “That’s a whole other part of the story. Oh, I don’t know what to think.” She held her head in her hands, then looked up at Julia, sighed yet again, and yet again wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “You remember the wedding, of course, and what happened. You remember Peter’s friend, Jonathan, the one who died?”

  Julia nodded.

  “Well, the situation is like this. Did you meet Jonathan’s wife, Holly?”

  “Yes, at the funeral.”

  “Okay. The situation is that Peter …” She stopped, gathered her strength, and forged ahead. “The situation is that Peter is in love with Holly and she is in love with him.” She looked at Julia, clearly expecting a shocked response to her bombshell.

  “Oh, Charlotte, you poor girl!” Julia said. “What’s happened? Did one of them tell you? Or did you discover … did you learn of it some way?”

  “No,” said Charlotte, “they haven’t said anything, and I haven’t stumbled across any evidence, and I’m sure that nothing has happened.”

  “Well, but, Charlotte,” Julia asked, “then how do you know? It might not be true at all.”

  Charlotte was silent. She pulled at her handkerchief and studied her hands as she did so. Finally, she spoke. “This is going to sound crazy to you, Julia, and a crazy thing to base a big decision about your life on. But I’ll try to explain.

  “The night before I left for Paris, Holly came over to cook dinner for Peter and me. She arrived before Peter had gotten home, and we sat and talked for a little bit. We had never really talked that way before, alone for any amount of time. I had always felt uncomfortable around her, but I found that I liked her very much. I couldn’t even tell you one thing we talked about. But I had this feeling of affection and closeness. I felt relaxed, you know? The way you do sometimes with certain people, when your nerves just go slack?”

  Julia nodded.

  “But the big point is what happened later. We had dinner, right? It was fun, and there wasn’t anything big that happened. At the end, Holly started talking about Peter and me, and describing what it meant to be in love, and she gave us a toast. She began to cry. It was the subject and how she talked about it, and also I thought she was crying about Jonathan. But this was no big deal, there wasn’t some huge emotional outpouring.

  “I went into the kitchen to make the coffee. That took a few minutes. While I was doing that, I happened to turn around and look back at Peter and Holly at the dinner table.” She paused and seemed to be reliving that moment. “And that’s when it happened. In that instant, I just knew it and it seemed so incredibly obvious that Peter was in love with Holly and she was in love with him. The way they were looking at each other, the way they were talking, I mean it was as plain as day. Anyone with half a brain would have known it all along. They’re completely in love. I’m sure of it. And I’m sure the reason she was crying was not because of Jonathan, but because of Peter, who was sitting right there, but married to somebody else.

  “So then why did I call Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore? Because … because … I don’t know! I was confused and I wanted to see him. I guess you could say that having discovered that Peter loved Holly, I wanted to rush into the arms of someone I knew loved me. I’ll admit to being insecure enough that that explanation makes sense. But it isn’t just that. Looking at Peter and Holly, and thinking about what Holly had said about being in love, I thought, I want that. I had this craving.

  “All this must seem totally ridiculous to you, Julia, absurd and crazy. You must think I’m insane to conclude that Peter and Holly are in love, based on no evidence at all, based on an impression. And you must think I’m completely silly to have reacted the way I did, and even more silly to be so upset about what happened. I’m sorry, but my emotions are going in a hundred different directions.

  “I feel so sad for Peter and Holly. Jonathan could get anyone to fall in love with him and marry him. But I wonder if all along Holly wasn’t actually in love with Peter. There’s another thing. Years ago, long before Holly even knew Jonathan, she and Peter sat next to each other on an airplane going to Los Angeles. The couple of times that Peter talked about it, he was very casual and kind of joked about how they had gotten crushes on each other. So—you see—he was so supercasual that I’m sure there was more to it.”

  “But, Charlotte,” Julia said, “if he had made a big deal of it, you would be saying the same thing!”

  “I know. Of course you’re right. But I’m still convinced. I think about them both being so near the person
they love but not being with that person. It’s heartbreaking, actually.

  “But then I think it’s all so ridiculous and all in my head! I think I am in love with Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore and that I always have been. But is that just some reaction? And maybe I’ve just managed to create a big emotional whirlpool that is based on nothing, and I should forget about it all and go back home and have my perfectly nice life. That’s what I wanted. I didn’t want all this kind of muddle and craziness. I had that with Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore before. What if I went back to him? If you asked me right now, I’d say that that was what I wanted to do more than anything. The last three nights were the happiest three nights of my life, I think. I know that it wouldn’t be like that always, and maybe it was the excitement of the situation and … oh, you can find a hundred reasons to dismiss it, but I know, I know …” Charlotte began to cry again.

  “But what about you and Peter?” Julia asked. “Aren’t you in love?”

  Charlotte thought for a moment. “Of course I love Peter, and I think he loves me. But, well, you know how it is, Julia, I wanted to marry Peter so badly because of who he is and because of who I am. Peter was safe. It is really hard for me to admit, but I always knew it. I knew that I was always more in love with him than he was with me and that I needed him more. And even for me, it wasn’t the same sort of being in love as with Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore. That’s what was good about it, actually.

  “Peter is so good. He would never leave me just because he had found somebody else. I’m sure of that. And, anyway, it’s obvious that he and Holly don’t have any idea how the other feels. If they really do feel anything. If he were free, though, which I could make him, then I think about what it would mean for him.”

  Charlotte looked at Julia with a hapless smile. “I’m so grateful to you for listening to me, Julia. I always thought that we understood each other in a way that others in the family never did.”

  “Yes,” Julia said.

  Charlotte sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said quietly. She remained silent for a while.

  “There are so many problems,” she said finally. “What if these feelings Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore and I have for each other are foolish and temporary, and why would I want to throw myself back into all that stuff with him? How would I explain it to my parents and the rest of the world? My grandmother. I’ll look so foolish. And then, on top of all that, there’s something else. I have no idea what we would do for money.”

  Money. Of course, Julia thought. Of course that would come into it.

  “I’m almost ashamed to admit to worrying about that. Money shouldn’t matter, should it? We could get by without money. But you can’t live only on love, can you? You’ve got to have some money. And maybe I’m a little spoiled, but I’m used to it.”

  Money. Julia listened closely to what Charlotte was saying.

  “Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore would never, ever live in the States. Right now he rents a room from a family in an apartment in Paris, but when he marries, he has always said he would move to the family seat. His ancestor received it along with the title from Saint Louis for providing boots for a crusade. They keep renouncing the title and then using it again. Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore’s father despised everything about it. Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore believes in it passionately. He’s a royalist. So he’ll insist on living in his castle, which is just a pile of stones in the middle of swampland. Nothing has been done to it since someone put in electricity in the 1930s. He says he has to take his place among his ancestors and that his heir must be born there.”

  Somewhere within her, Charlotte found more tears to shed.

  “How are we going to live, though? Nothing happens in that départment. Nothing. I don’t know what kind of job I could get, and right now Maximilien-François-Marie-Isidore lives on a tiny income. He objects to working for wages on principle. A nobleman! But even if he wanted to, there’d be no job he could get that would pay anything. He’s writing his poems, of course, which might earn a pittance, if he’d accept payment for them, which he won’t. To make the place habitable and then live there without starving—there’s no money for that. Oh, I don’t know how we’d do it.

  “I’ve tried to think of everything. There’s a town nearby that isn’t so small. Maybe I could give English lessons. Maybe there would be something I could do by computer and go to Paris once in a while. Philippe, my boss, he could help. Except that he’s hopeless about doing that kind of thing for anybody. And there are some French members of the AGSPF board whom I know. But getting any kind of job in France is impossible, and for me? An American? Even if I am allowed to work here because I’m married …

  “There’s my family, but my mother doesn’t have much except what my father sends her, and she wouldn’t be inclined to help out anyway, I know that. She’ll freak if I go through with this. And my father? God. I wouldn’t be surprised if he cut me off without one sou. And already he’s let drop how much the divorce is going to cost him. Oh! Please, Julia, don’t think I’m blaming you, or that I even believe him. I’m just saying that that’s his state of mind. So then my grandparents gave us gifts over the years that I’ve saved. And then I could sell everything I own.” She paused. “I’ve even thought about selling the painting.”

  “Oh, no! Charlotte, you love that painting.”

  “I do. But every once in a while I see that one of his things has been sold at auction. It’s not exactly Van Gogh prices, but it would be very helpful. It would kill me, but it would be helpful.” Charlotte grieved for a bit about losing her painting. Then she looked at Julia with a newly distraught expression. “Even with all that, though? Even with all that? What would it amount to? To improve the place and to live, and to … to have children. We want children. In no time we’d be broke.” Charlotte shook her head. “It’s impossible isn’t it?” she said. “It’s impossible. It’s all crazy, anyway. And it’s completely insane when you think about the money.” She raised her hands and then let them drop back down. “I give up. I’m going to go back to Peter and keep mum and have a decent life.”

  Charlotte put her face in her hands. She was spent, and she stayed like that for a long time.

  Eventually, Julia rose and touched Charlotte’s shoulder. “Come on, now, it’s time for bed. You’re tired and strung out from everything.”

  Charlotte nodded. They cleaned up a bit and went upstairs. After some embraces and cries from Charlotte that she wouldn’t know what to do were it not for Julia, Charlotte finally lay down and pulled up her covers. Instantly, she fell asleep.

  Julia, for her part, stayed up for a little while.

  So: money. In order for the four young lovers to be happy, it would require money. Well, guess what? Julia had a way to solve this problem! If she exploded Dick’s self-dealing, and thereby made Charlotte aware of her actual financial position, then there would be money. However, there would also be some potentially unpleasant consequences for Julia. Without any reason to placate her, with every reason to be vengeful, Dick would set out to screw her unmercifully. It was even possible, she imagined, that she could be implicated in his wrongdoing. Was this an outcome that Julia was really willing to risk? No.

  So it was settled. She would tell Charlotte to stay with her for a few days. (A few days! Had there ever been a greater act of self-sacrifice?) During that time, Julia would soothe and coddle her and quietly counsel her to choose safety and sanity; like a poultice drawing pus from a wound, she would draw out the emotion that had infected Charlotte. Some nights hence, as Charlotte gained perspective on what had happened in Paris, she would have come to her senses. She would look back on those three days of passion as a glorious memory but nothing more. It would all be over, without any mess, and without any added trouble for Julia herself.

  Despite Julia’s intention at this point to go to sleep, she found it necessary to continue to argue her case.
>
  Regardless of her own self-interest, she thought, the whole business was absurd. To think of Charlotte actually spending the rest of her life with this Maximilien-whatever-his-name-was. It was absurd. It was lunacy. And as for Peter and Holly, who knows? Maybe there was some yearning. Sure. It was very common for men to believe that they were in love with their best friends’ wives. Also, their mutual grief had thrown them together under highly emotional circumstances; it would be surprising if some strong feelings had not arisen between them. Of course, she remembered what Jonathan had said about them, and it was hard to doubt his acuity in a matter like that, and there was also this new information about the time they first met, which, sure, did seem to have the characteristics of a love-at-first-sight-type situation, but it was all pretty flimsy, wasn’t it?

  Julia tried, but she still could not quite make a move toward sleep. She tried hard: she didn’t want to think anymore, for she knew that any more thought would only subvert the position she had taken. She didn’t want to think about Charlotte; she didn’t want to think about Holly; she didn’t want to think about Peter. She didn’t want to think about whether and how much she cared about them and the duty she owed them (to Charlotte’s beau she figured she owed the same consideration that one owed any sentient being). She didn’t want to think about their potential happiness, and their pain. She didn’t want to think about true love, and the chance that they all might find it. But she couldn’t stop herself.