by Linda Kepner
• • •
A bird chirped outside the bedroom window and Bishou woke. Beside her, Louis slept soundly. The sun was starting to rise. Bishou slid out of bed, slipped on her robe, and crossed barefoot to the bedroom door. She opened it quietly.
She heard a gentle creak on the stairs. There was enough daylight now for her to see the figure creeping quietly up. She stepped into the hallway, slipped the shoes out of his hand, and set them outside the door of the guest bedroom.
Bat’s eyes were as good as hers. She had not surprised him. He let himself be drawn over to the airy, open stairwell, and stepped out onto the landing with his sister.
“Were you laying for me?” he asked in a very low tone.
“Not really. The birds woke me up.”
“Me too. I told her I’d better go back upstairs, or the boys would miss me.” He paused, leaning against the railings. “You shocked?”
“Truthfully? No. You’ve always liked little women, brother.”
Even in this light, she saw his smile. “Yeah, she’s tough, but she’s still a dainty little Parisienne.”
“She’s had to fight her way in the world, just as we have.”
“Mmph.” It was a gentle sound of agreement. “She just took my hand and pulled me into her bedroom, and I didn’t exactly say no.”
“I never thought you were celibate, brother.”
“At home, I am.” Bat felt in his pockets, found a cigarette, and lit it. “The day you spent with her made all the difference, you know. She said she feels normal and human again.”
“I’m glad,” said Bishou softly. “She deserves better than what she got.”
“And bed is a nice place to talk,” her brother concurred. “She’s never had a regular man, and she’s devoted to work.” He looked down at Bishou. “She’s older than I am. But man. She knows what she wants from me.”
“And you gave it.”
“Yeah. I did.” Bat gazed into distant fields. “You know, when I first saw this house in daylight, I liked it. It reminded me of Nam. The best lady-houses were houses like this.”
Bishou almost laughed. “You mean this house reminded you of the Southeast Asian bordellos?”
“Oui.”
“I suppose it makes sense. French colonials started estates out there, too, and then went home and left their houses behind.”
“Mm, oui. And the best madams bought the best houses. Of course, they’re now kinda run-down, but at least they try to stay elegant. And they have to like you before they let you in.” Bat blew out cigarette smoke. “They were dainty, tiny ladies, sometimes speaking a little French, not much.”
This was a side of Bat’s life she hadn’t thought much about.
“Louis knows his stuff, doesn’t he? About sex.”
“Oui.” She found it difficult even to speak to her brother about it. “He apologizes for being rough, but he’s not, really. I can take it.”
“I’m trying to be gentler with Adrienne, but hell. I lose control. And y’know? For all her prudishness and put-ons, she can handle me just fine.”
“What’re you going to do when you go back to America?”
“Not an issue. We’ve already agreed to have fun together while we can. We’re all going up to Paris after this. The boys will have Celie’s old bedroom, and I’ll sleep with Adrienne. We’re going sight-seeing.”
“She’s coming back from an exotic island trip with a sexy American boyfriend,” Bishou smiled.
She could see Bat’s white teeth in the dim light. “A little moral support, too. She took off like shit shot out of a cannon, and now she’s going to have to see if she’s still got a job.”
“You’re good at moral support, brother.” Her arm was around his waist.
Bat smiled down at her. “So are you, little sister.” He took a puff. “I was wondering if you’d admit the sexy part. Not about me, about you. After all, nous sommes les jumeaux.”
“We are the twins,” she agreed.
“She knows you’re faithful to Louis, and him to you. You’re family. Me, she figures I have girlfriends all over the world, and now she’s the one I visit when I come to Paris. She’s got no problem with that. She’s got a life of her own, too.”
“So maybe this will all work out for the best,” Bishou murmured.
“I think it might,” Bat agreed.
They turned their heads at the sound of a man’s voice, calling from the Dessants’ bedroom.
“I think you’ve been missed,” said Bat. He leaned over and kissed her. “Hey — thanks.”
“Hey — thanks,” she returned, and went back inside.
Louis was sitting up in bed, watching her as she closed the door. “Were you outside?” he asked quietly.
“Non. The birds woke me up, and Bat too. We were standing on the landing of the stairs.”
“Viens.” As she came toward the bed, he said, “Non. Undress.”
She obliged, removing her robe and setting it on the chair. He reached out for her as she climbed onto the bed. He was warm. There was still a slight scent of men’s cologne as he nuzzled her neck and wrapped his arms around her naked body. He sighed in her ear, “Ma belle femme.”
“Ah, oui,” she sighed. Immediately, he slipped off his pajama bottoms and rolled her on her back. He slid atop her and made himself comfortable there.
He kissed her throat. “Ah, oui.”
The best madams had the best houses, Bat had said. And they had to like you before they let you in.
• • •
The white convertible followed the old gray Ford to the airport. Bat let his brothers and Adrienne off at the terminal. Bishou and Louis helped unload the luggage from the Ford’s trunk. Then, Bat drove off to return his car to the rental area.
Etien and Denise Campard pulled up, too, to wish them farewell. They stood and waited for Bat to walk back to join them, and went inside to the Air France desk. Louis stepped over to the counter and bought the four tickets, while they waited on the sidelines. He returned, and gave Bat three tickets, Adrienne one. “The next flight leaves for Orly in half an hour,” Louis told them. “We were just in time.”
“I’ll write when we get home,” Bat told Bishou. “Maybe you’ll get a postcard or two from Paris, though. I haven’t really thought out how long we’ll stay. But I’m starting to get worried about Dad and Maman.”
“I know,” said Bishou.
Bat put his arms around her, drew her close, and kissed her lovingly. “You’ve done some right things, but this is the rightest thing you’ve ever done, little sister. This is gonna be good.”
“I think so, too. But I’ll miss you all.”
Louis was holding Gerry. They both had tears in their eyes. “Little brother,” Louis said to him, “never forget that this is your home, too.” He also reached out and patted Andy’s shoulder. Andy was trying to act too mature to cry, which was futile when every other member of the party was weeping.
As the boys said goodbye to the Campards, Louis reached out to Adrienne. She nestled in his arms, weeping too. “I am so glad you came,” Louis told her. “I am so glad we could end this nightmare.”
“Aussi,” she sobbed quietly. “I will — I will return when I am a godmother. That I have promised Bishou.”
Louis smiled through his tears. “Bon, we will see you then.”
They saw them onto the plane. Louis’s arm was wrapped about Bishou’s shoulders, and Etien’s around Denise’s. They saw the boys wave goodbye. Then the plane taxied down the runway, and took off for the north.
Louis wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Then he looked down at his wife. “Bien, back to life as usual, hein?”
“I guess so,” Bishou admitted. “Regular old married life.”
Etien also blew his nose. “Who would ever have thought I would be sorry to see that harpy leave? But with you and Bat and the boys joking with her, she was a lot of fun.”
“We have healed so many of the old wounds,” said Louis. “Yo
u and I have worked very hard, mon ami, to come full circle. A beautiful wife for me. Happiness for you. The business intact. Living the lives we were meant to live.”
“That’s true.” Etien, standing beside him, gazed off in the direction the airplane had taken. “I know you tell me never to worry. But this is the first time I feel I can take you at your word. I am going to go home, and — not worry for a change.”
Chapter 15
Bishou entered the Arts & Humanities building, and the front office. “Bon matin, Mesdames!” she greeted the secretaries.
“Bon matin, Dr. Dessant!” they replied, equally cheerfully. Mme. Ellis came over to the counter.
“Well,” said Bishou to her, “do I have an office, or even part of one? Or am I just here for a meeting?”
Mme. Ellis smiled. “You will be sharing an office with Dr. Castelle. Allow me to show you the way.” She led Bishou down another corridor, to a door with a frosted glass panel. It was unlabeled.
Mme. Ellis tapped on the door. They heard, “Entrez!” She opened the door to show a small room, almost filled to capacity by two desks shoved against two bookcases, with a window off to one side.
Pierre Castelle turned to look at her. “Ah, Dr. Dessant! Welcome to our spacious suite.”
“Thank you.” Bishou turned to the secretary. “Thank you, Mme. Ellis.”
“You’ll need desk supplies — scissors, tape and so on,” said the secretary. “Do drop back in a while to tell me what you need.”
“Thank you. Let me get a little organized, first.”
Mme. Ellis left, closing the door behind her.
Pierre Castelle said wryly, “I think this used to be the janitor’s closet before it was willed to the least senior members.”
Bishou smiled. “No, janitor’s closets usually don’t have windows.”
“Good point. I will say, I have been in here by myself for a year, and I don’t know how well I’m going to take to a roommate.”
“We will adjust.” Bishou set her bag and purse on the desk. “Can I make some suggestions?”
Pierre shrugged.
“If we put the bookcases along the back wall, and abut our desks in the middle, it will feel more spacious and will also give us wall space to hang pictures and our diplomas.”
“Well thought.” He stood. “All right, let’s do it. I could use the exercise and the mental challenge.”
They started shoving furniture around and hunting for outlets. Pierre emptied his bookshelves so that he could move them more easily. He grinned and admitted, “I feel like a freshman again.”
“No, you’re a second-year. I’m the freshman,” Bishou laughed. “Here, let’s turn the desks this way. You get the side with the window, you’re senior member.”
“La la la, it’s good for something,” he grinned.
Soon they had the furniture moved. Bishou helped him reload his bookcase.
“Don’t you have books?” he asked.
“Not with me. They’re still in America. I might ask someone to send my personal notes, but I don’t know what else I will bother to ship.”
Pierre stared at her in surprise. “You really came here cold, didn’t you?”
“Mm, oui. I hadn’t made any concrete plans to stay.”
“Merde de merde. And now you’re teaching freshman literature, and you’re married.”
“Come on, you’ve been a grad student. You know what it’s like to be an academic nomad.”
Pierre laughed, and looked at the walls. “No picture hooks, nothing. We don’t even get our names on the door. At least it doesn’t say ‘Janitorial staff only.’”
Bishou opened the ancient metal desk that had been assigned to her, and slid a carton of Dessants in the drawer.
“What are those, cigarettes?” Pierre asked.
“Non, bribes.” She pulled out her silver-framed photo of Louis and put on her desk.
“Votre mari?” Pierre asked with a grin.
“Yes. Are you married?”
“Not exactly. I live with a Parisian student who attended université with me.”
“You don’t have her photo out.”
“We don’t believe in that kind of thing. I hate to be rude, but it is rather bourgeois, isn’t it?”
“Oh. Perhaps you’re right. I could probably make up a convincing argument if I weren’t so in love with the man I married.”
Again, Pierre grinned. “I will provide a nice Paris travel poster for the wall.”
“That sounds good.” Bishou slid her purse into the drawer. Another drawer contained keys to the desk. “I presume our office door doesn’t lock.”
“It locks, but not well,” Pierre said. “I had to jimmy the lock a couple of times when I forgot my keys.”
Bishou put a box of Dessants in her pocket, then locked her desk. “When do we meet? I forgot.”
“Eleven, in the Dean’s office,” Pierre replied.
“I will see you there, then, if not before.” Bishou slid the cigarettes into her tote bag. “I want to wander around a bit.”
“All right, à toute à l’heure.” Pierre sat at his desk again, and began reading the book he had placed there.
Bishou wandered down the hall, toward the back of the building. Eventually, she found what she wanted — the janitor, a Creole man easily in his forties. “Bonjour, monsieur.”
He regarded her curiously and cautiously. “Bonjour, Madame. What may I do for you?”
“Do you perform all the chores for this building? Because I need a favor.” She reached into her bag and pulled out four or five cigarettes.
He smiled, and held out his hand. Bishou dropped the cigarettes into his palm. “What do you need, Madame?”
She explained about the posters and picture frames they wanted to hang, and actually wrote down what she wanted painted on the glass door.
“I need to get special tools to put nails in the concrete, Dr. Dessant,” said the janitor, whose name was Leon. “They might have some in one of the other buildings — let me go ask. And I’ll do the painting tonight, after everyone has gone home — so the paint can dry.”
“Small and neat,” she reminded him. “We are the most junior teachers here. We don’t want trouble.”
“Small and neat,” he promised. “It will be nice work. No other professor will be jealous.”
Bishou thanked him, then went back to see the secretaries. They provided her with a pad of paper, some envelopes, a desk blotter, paper clips, a few pens, and some tape. She carried them back to the office.
Pierre looked up from his book. “It’s about that time.”
“Where do we meet?”
“In the conference room just off the Dean’s office.”
Pierre led the way down the hall, through the secretaries’ domain, to a second door next to the Dean’s office. Other men were already gathered at the big table there. It looked more like they were getting ready for a round of poker than for an academic discussion. “Ah, Dr. Dessant,” Dr. Rubin greeted her. “I see you are finding your way about.”
“Merci. I have a good guide in Dr. Castelle,” she replied, pulling up a seat to the table.
“I haven’t shown her the faculty lounge yet,” said Pierre with a grin, “because I fear they will expect the woman to make coffee every morning — and I fear her response.”
Dr. Rubin actually chuckled. “That will be your next hurdle, Dr. Dessant. Right now, though — let’s discuss the schedule.”
He might as well have said, “Let’s deal.” Dr. Rubin had little index cards, which he dealt to various professors when they volunteered to teach certain courses, and they all kept lists of who had agreed to what. Mme. Ellis, the secretary, sat at one side and took notes. Seven or eight o’clock was not considered an unreasonable hour here, since the University, too, honored the afternoon siesta, everywhere called the “closure,” from noon to two. Some classes started at seven in the morning — not an issue for Bishou, who avoided late courses, since she had
a husband to go home to, and Pierre had expressed a preference for afternoon and evening time slots.
As expected, she ended up with the Introduction to World Literature sections. However, since they had a large number of university applicants this year, and Dr. Rubin had just managed to have a graduation requirement of at least one Literature course accepted by the university, there were four sections. Bishou volunteered for them all, and then jockeyed for time slots. She ended up with two Monday-Wednesday sections, an early Tuesday-Thursday section, and one Wednesday-Friday section, and was satisfied.
Pierre Castelle stared at her. “Mon Dieu, the same thing four times. I’d lose my mind. Makes me glad I’m keeping the Writing Lab open — I was almost tempted to offer it to you.”
“The sections are not exactly the same thing,” Bishou said defensively. “It depends on the type of student in the class. It won’t take me long to find out which are the drama and lit students, which are the science majors, and which are the jocks, and adjust accordingly.”
“What about textbooks?” asked Dr. Rubin.
“My sister-in-law at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France tells me that Yohannan’s Treasury of Asian Literature has been translated into French. It’s available as a paperback, and not very expensive. I can use that for readings, or at least as guidelines, for the Eastern literature. I may find a similar sampler of Western literature, or I may end up putting some books on reserve at the library.”
“I want to see some ethics and philosophy woven into that, too,” said the Dean. “Do you feel up to it?”
“Of course I do, or I wouldn’t have offered,” Bishou replied.
“Merde!” said Dr. Robert, “you have taken on a gigantic task.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Bishou replied seriously. “I want them to think about perhaps becoming lit majors, too.”
Some of the other professors looked disbelieving, but Dr. Rubin sat back, satisfied. “You’ve struck off my meaning exactly, Dr. Dessant. That is why I have worked so hard to make Introduction to World Literature a required course. These students must have some acquaintance with true scholarship, and this may be the only chance we get at them, before they go off into sports coaching or organic chemistry or nursing or pre-law or pre-med, or whatever. You don’t get scholarship off the football field.”
