by Alice Quinn
I headed back to the kitchen. “That girl watches too much TV!” I said.
Pastis jumped down from my neck onto the table. He sat opposite Bintou and started a staring contest with her.
“Tell your pet to stop gaping at me like that. It’s giving me the willies.”
Pastis suddenly turned away from her and hissed in the direction of the terrace. At the same time, a massive crash could be heard coming from outside. Sabrina and Emma ran out onto the balcony.
“What now?” I asked.
They came back indoors, giggling like goons.
“Nothing, Mommy,” squeaked Emma. “Two cars bumped into each other. An askident.”
“God, another accident. People drive like morons around here. Pastis, stop giving Bintou the willies with those big greens. Say, would you like a piece of chocolate to go with your coffee?”
“No, thank you,” she grunted, striding out of the room. Weird.
I got the curtains out of the dryer. It was time to get some ironing done now. It took a fair while.
I went into the office. Bintou was lying down on the couch. I stopped, mouth agape.
“What are you doing there? What is it you need my help with?”
She thought for a moment before responding. “Actually, I was wondering what I was going to talk about this morning. It turns out, you’re right. I’m doing very well right now. I don’t think I need any more therapy!” She gazed at me and a look of joy flashed across her face. “You’re incredible. You really are the best. I’m going to tell all my friends about you.”
So I’d done it. I’d sent this nutter over the edge.
She stood and started searching through her purse. I assumed she was hunting for cash so she could pay me.
“Stop with all the histrionics, Bintou. We made an agreement, didn’t we? I’m not allowed to take your money. I don’t have the right. What sort of misfit do you take me for? You’re such a stickler! A stubborn ass! Imagine if I was going around saying I was a real MD, but I don’t got no degree in medicine. Get it?”
She clearly didn’t get it. “Then how am I supposed to pay you? It’s important to me. I thought you were just joking yesterday! If you don’t pay your psychiatrist, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work. That’s what I’ve heard. Do you want my watch?” She handed over a stunningly delicate pink-and-gold wristwatch.
“Um, no, thank you. That jewelry doesn’t look very shock resistant. I don’t think I could wash the pots with something like that on. And who even wears a watch these days? Don’t you have a cell phone?”
She was getting antsy. “But, but . . .”
“Do you really want to do us a favor?” I asked. “Keep making meals for us! I don’t even have time to shop for food these days, let alone cook the gosh-darn stuff. Plus, I have a teenage boy who needs feeding now.”
“Yes! That’s it. Like we agreed already. I’m fine with that idea. It’ll help stop the crazy. In fact, this is a way of my therapy continuing, right? I love your method. All right, in practical terms, how should I go about it?”
“Go down the street, turn right, and you’ll come to a real nice bakery. Get a ton of croissants and pains au chocolat and anything else you think the dolls might like for their after-school snacks. That’ll all need to be bought fresh every day. For lunch, you’ll have to go to the supermarket and buy what you need for your own recipes. Like I explained.”
“Meals from my homelands, right? So, today it’s going to be a stroganoff. Do you think that’ll be fine? Natacha, my grandmother’s maid, used to make it with beef. We ate it a lot when I was younger. I still remember how she did it. And for anything I can’t remember, there’s always the Web. It’ll be perfect.” A soft expression crossed her face. She had calmed down. “Marvelous! Of course! I’m so grateful to you, allowing me to do the shopping for your family and everything. OK. I like the idea of being a cook for a while. It’s fun. Madame Maldonne, you’re very kind. Oh, look at the time! I’m supposed to be cooking for you and it’s nearly the afternoon already! I have to get to the market now.”
She ran out of the apartment in her shiny Gucci moccasins, wide-cut Hermès scarf, and sweet little cream Chanel coat, carrying a chic Vuitton purse.
I’d have to tell her again about the Madame Maldonne thing. I couldn’t handle it.
31
I’d been so busy scrubbing the place down like there was no tomorrow, I hadn’t even noticed Bintou had returned. But suddenly a smell from the kitchen teased my nostrils.
“The beef stroganoff is ready! Everyone come and sit down!” shouted Bintou.
And that’s what we all did. Laroche, Bintou, Sabrina, Emma, and me. The meal wasn’t the biggest of successes, but Pastis was a fan.
In the afternoon, I asked Laroche to help me put the curtains back up on the windows. It was one hell of a job. I hoped I was well paid!
It was just as I was hanging off the top of the stepladder that a phone call—the phone call that, unbeknownst to me, could change my entire existence into the love story of the century—came through.
I scurried down, with no clue that destiny was knocking, and snatched up Rachel Amar’s landline.
A voice. OMG! His voice!
My Linus Robinson.
“Yes, hello, Rachel Amar?”
I closed my eyes, then opened them again. I was imprisoned by my own anxiety. This was a desperate situation. I had to try and hide how worried I was. Turmoil. Inner-conflict central! Who am I? What should I do? Am I her or am I me? My voice took on a military tone.
“To whom am I speaking?” I barked. (I mean, who even talks like that?)
Bintou was now in the office and was watching me with her mouth agape.
I paced in circles, shaking my hand at her, trying to shoo her out of the room, making silent angry faces (or at least trying to). This was an extreme show of emotion for me. I was shitting bricks.
Bintou hooted. “Are you sick or in love?”
“Shhhh!” I answered, pointing to the telephone, my ear, my mouth, the sky outside . . .
Linus Robinson started speaking again but much more hesitantly. “I’m, uh, Robinson. Linus. I left you a message a couple of days ago . . .”
“That’s right,” I replied in a dry, meanish voice. “Exactly. Of course. Linus Robinson. You left a message. I remember.”
“Yes, um . . .” continued Robinson. “I wondered whether . . . I’m in France, you see. I’ve come for a book fair . . .”
“Yes, you said so in your message.”
“Please excuse me. I’m repeating myself,” he muttered.
I felt pity for him. He didn’t know whether he was coming or going.
“No, no. It doesn’t matter . . .” I said. My sudden change in mood must have made him feel braver.
“I was thinking, seeing as our current fields of research are similar in nature, maybe we could . . .”
As soon as “fields of research” were mentioned, I felt a cold wave rush over me. This was supposed to be a conversation between two psycho peeps at the top of their game. I needed a wake-up call. A bucket of ice water over the head might have done the trick.
“Our research, hmm . . .” I tried to buy some time.
“Yes, I wouldn’t mind talking about your thesis, the one on crim—”
“No, no. Let me stop you right there,” I said. This little game had to end. It couldn’t possibly go anywhere good.
No, Maldonne, you’re cracked! Why would you do such a thing? screamed one of the little voices inside my head—the reasonable one, the one my brain listened to, on occasion. What are you going to do here? Think about it! This guy thinks you’re a shrink. You’re not a shrink! Say he did wind up falling for you . . . it wouldn’t be the real you.
Wow. It was all getting a bit complicated for my sorry excuse for a brain. The bossy voice continued. Stop it with this charade! You’re treating people who are sick! People who need to see a real psychologist! Now, that’s one thing . . . But this man
you’re falling for actually thinks you’re something else. It’s too risky. You’re going too far. There isn’t a single good reason for you to carry on this game you’re playing.
Oh yeah? Well, I’m sick of being unhappy all the time, I replied with the few brain cells I had left. They were childish brain cells, but they were mine. I want to meet him, touch him, see if he likes me too. If he’d be capable of falling for me.
Oh! OK! So, just to sum things up here, you’re doing all this for love? You’re like a spoiled kid who wants more candy. You know that nothing good can come out of being so impulsive, so reckless, right?
OK, you’re right! You’re right! Maybe nothing good can come out of this, but I do have one good reason! I looooooovvvvvve him!
Of course you do! Some guy you’ve never even seen! You know what? You could get in a heap of trouble here. A bigger heap, I mean! I’m talking serious difficulties.
That’s enough! I’m not a total loser, you know. And I’m not stupid either! I know this doesn’t look too hot. I know I shouldn’t pretend to be someone else. It’s identity theft or fraud or something, right? But I’m doing it for the right reasons! For romance!
Come off it! Aren’t you sick and tired of these hopeless romances yet? They never amount to anything serious.
Yes, I know. This is more than ridiculous. It’s impossible that anything could come of it. Firstly, he’s going to know pretty much straight off that I’m not a real shrink. So if I’m not her, it won’t work. But then, if he liked me and he knew I wasn’t her, that would be great. What if he couldn’t tell whether I was her or not? But I’m NOT her! It would mean he loved her, not me. Even if he liked my body, it would still be her he loved. And that would be worse—he’d love her soul because he wouldn’t have seen her body. Unless he liked my personality too. I don’t know what I’m talking about now. I’m getting lost here. The easiest thing would be to just stop all this crazy bullshit . . .
Linus Robinson continued on his end of the line. “Oh, but yes, I insist. I think both our subjects are very . . .”
I tried to resist, to grow up some, to not give in to my addiction. “No! I’m not the one you—”
“This polemic is so interesting, and yet, it all seemed so self-evident! You must allow me to insist on speaking with you in person.”
“In person?”
“Yes. Why don’t we meet?”
“Well . . .”
Too late. My imagination was on fire.
I could already see myself flying out of my little mediocre life into the arms of this guy for one minute, one hour, one evening of absolute happiness, where I could feast on him—a tête à tête with Linus Robinson himself, my idol, the star I could never quite reach, the dream, the most gorgeous, kind, intelligent man . . . maybe on the planet?
Bintou was listening in and seemed to be quite enthralled with just my side of it! Laroche was next to come into my . . . um, the office.
Bintou attempted some kind of sign language to let him know that something important was happening, and they both went extra quiet so they could concentrate on eavesdropping.
“I imagine you have a very busy schedule,” Linus Robinson continued, “but maybe, just maybe, our meeting will allow us to explore the paths untrodden . . .”
“Yes. It could well be . . . uh . . . ummmm . . .” I stuttered as I battled images of us having cocktails served with crushed ice. Oh wow! Linus. Ice melting . . . Finally, I managed to pull myself together enough to utter (in the harsh voice I’d used at the beginning of our call), “I can’t schedule a meeting with you right now . . .”
“It doesn’t matter; I’ll call you back. Speak to you again soon.” And he hung up. No hanging around with this one. I imagined he knew how to sail his ship through stormy waters! He came across as being all shy, but Linus Robinson knew a thing or two.
I was in shock. The good news was that I hadn’t had to make any decisions one way or the other. So I couldn’t blame myself for a thing.
“Why didn’t you tell him you were the maid?” asked Laroche. “Is he getting some sort of special treatment?”
“Oh, he isn’t a patient,” I answered, lost in my thoughts, not paying much attention to what I was saying.
“Oh, I see!” He smirked, rolled his eyes, and marched out of the room.
“So? Who is he?” asked Bintou, evidently on pins and needles.
The tears came. Out of nowhere, but boy did they come. “It was Linus Robinson. He’s amazing. And me? I’m just a big fibber. I was so excited to talk to him and I don’t know how it all happened. I told him I was Rachel Amar.”
“Oh, don’t worry! You’ll tell him the truth next time!”
And that one little innocent sentence led me to make my big decision.
“No.”
“What’s that? No? No to what?”
“Rachel’s the one he likes. The one he admires. For once, I’m going to do my own thing here. I’m not going to tell him that I’m not her. I know what I know. I’ve lived the life I’ve lived. And this life has taught me some shit. I’m always far too honest. This time, I’m going to do what needs to be done.”
“But you’re the one always saying we have to be ourselves, that staying true to ourselves is the most important thing.”
“Bintou, do as I say and not as I do. I’m going to apply the rule of the ends justifying the means. And I have one hell of a good reason.”
“Is that so? What’s your reason?”
“It’s between my therapist and me, actually. My self-therapist. I’m not actually seeing a shrink. If only I had the money! So I take care of my own brain, you know?”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Well, this is where I’m at: I need to start learning to say ‘I.’ I need to say ‘me.’”
“How’s that?”
“Like this: I love him. I want him. I desire him. He’s for me.”
“Makes sense, I suppose,” concluded Bintou as she left the office. “By the way, where I come from, we have a proverb: The zebra’s shadow has no stripes.”
32
I sat down (well, I almost collapsed). The tsunami of lust had taken away all sense of reason, reasonableness, and reasonability from me. Are those all words?
I’d forgotten everything my mother and grandmother had taught me about female honesty, how important it was for a woman to have a frank attitude, to be independent and strong and earth shattering and all that stuff. I was ready to do anything, even lie to myself, for just a few minutes with Linus Robinson—who I’d only ever seen on-screen. All I wanted was to have him gaze into my eyes with desire and admiration. But I was under no illusions! My time with Linus Robinson wouldn’t last any longer than a few minutes.
That’s when I remembered my mother’s song from that morning: the Blondie classic! Cover me in kisses . . . Blah, blah, blah . . . Call me!
Amazeballs! I think that meant my mother wasn’t dead set against this whole plan. At least, that was how I was choosing to read it. Or did she know he wasn’t going to call me? Maybe that was it? Whatever it was, I felt protected by her.
My mother had always been on my side. As long as something made me happy, she was up for it. I think that’s what makes a happy mother. A mother is only as happy as her saddest child. I’ve heard that somewhere. That means that if I am sad, my babes will be sad? Or if they are sad, I will be? Well, that goes without saying. I had to go meet this guy. Someone would wind up cheerful, surely!
Someone rang the doorbell again. Ever since I’d agreed to replace Véro, I hadn’t ever heard as much doorbell ringing in my life. She hadn’t told me that the job would be answering the goddamn door all day like a butler. I was supposed to be maiding, or whatever the official job title was!
I headed out of the office, but Bintou had managed to get to the door before me. Again. She opened up and the electrical-repair nitwit stepped in. Easy as pie. Not so much as a hello. He had a big bandage on his nose, his ankle was wr
apped up in more bandaging, and he had what appeared to be a plaster cast on his knee and another around an elbow.
As soon as he set eyes on Bintou, he started acting up. He looked her up and down and said in a sarcastic but weak tone, “Oh, it’s Aunt Jemima!”
Who speaks like that in this day and age? I was going to tell him that he needed to watch himself, but Bintou got there before me. Except she kicked him in the face rather than have a word with him about his attitude. He collapsed. Wham! Straight down on the floor. That’s Thai kickboxing for you!
He didn’t see it coming. How could he have?
She managed to push him (with her foot again, so let’s call it a kick) to a corner of the hallway so he wasn’t blocking the front door.
“Is this guy a kamikaze or what? It takes him a long time to catch on, doesn’t it?”
I hesitated. My instinct was to help this inanimate man lying in a heap on the floor. But he’d asked for it, and I had other fish to fry.
Pastis turned up. He must have known I was thinking of frying some fish.
So it was true what my kids had seen the day before. Bintou had given the guy a good beatdown and they’d witnessed it.
I went back to the office with Pastis. He sat on my knee while I cleared my head and got over the trauma of the phone call.
It was then back to the spring clean of the century. I tackled every single doorknob in the place. I made them all shiny and new.
The alarm on my cell went off. I’d set it to remind myself to fetch Lisa. Whether you’re a shrink, a maid, or an unemployed woman receiving government aid, there’s always the school run. We’re all equal when it comes to picking up our little darlings.
As I headed toward the door, I tripped over Electric Boy. His leg was sticking out a little too much. It was hard to get past him. He could have done with a few volts up the ass to get him going again.
As I checked to see if he was still alive, I had the slightest feeling of worry for the poor fella. But screw that. I was going to be late!
