French Kissing- Season Four

by Harper Bliss

  “How do you mean?”

  “Until I talked to Camille, I was pretty convinced I hid my homesickness well, until it turned out I didn’t. We all give ourselves away much more than we’d like to believe, Steph. That’s what I’ve taken away from that chat with Camille.”

  “Because Camille has time to notice these things about you. You actually spend more than the odd half hour together every other day.”

  “Camille has plenty of her own worries as well, believe me.” Zoya cleared her throat. “It would be ludicrous to compare Camille’s job with Dominique’s, but it hasn’t exactly been a bed of roses lately.”

  “What’s going on?” Despite her own worries, Steph seemed genuinely interested.

  “Harassment and homophobia at the CNRS.”

  “No bloody way.”

  “Oh, yes,” Zoya nodded. “We’re putting a file together.” She held her hands apart. “It’s this thick already.”

  “That’s unacceptable for a government institution.”

  “I would say it’s unacceptable for any workplace.”

  “Of course. I guess I’ve always been spoiled. This was my first job out of college. Can you believe that? I’ve been surrounded by lesbians my entire adult life, professionally and privately.”

  “You’ve lived the dream.”

  “I nearly screwed it up when I slept with Claire. But she was in more trouble than I was.” Steph shot Zoya a wink. For a split second, the Steph she’d first met a year and a half ago shone through.

  “Fascinating background information for the piece I’m about to do.” Zoya was doubly looking forward to meeting Claire Cyr now.

  “This can’t be mentioned on camera, of course.”

  “No, but it will be a nice titbit to keep in the back of my mind while I interview Claire.”

  “All jokes aside, I’m really sorry Camille has to go through that.” She paused. “I could talk to some people.”

  “We’re dealing with it. These hate crimes will not go unpunished, I can promise you that.”

  “Give me a shout if you need help.”

  Steph’s phone rang. She picked up. “We’re coming,” she informed whoever was on the other side and hung up. “Someone’s impatient.” She painted a smile on her face. “Let’s go meet the boss ladies, shall we?”

  The Barbier & Cyr founders were both stunning in their own way, but, because of what Steph had said earlier, Zoya mostly couldn’t keep her eyes off Claire.

  They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries and Zoya was glad she didn’t have a camera person with her, that they could keep this informal for now, and she could think a little more about the piece she wanted to make. She could change her angle from the agency that led Laroche to victory, to the agency led by two out lesbians that led Laroche to victory.

  “Let me sum up my bosses in a nutshell for you,” Steph said, glee in her eyes. Zoya could so easily see why Steph hadn’t wanted to give up her job when she became first lady. These were her friends, people she’d known long before Dominique Laroche came along, amongst whom she could just be herself.

  “Claire here is about to get married and has turned into the very cliché of a bridezilla. I hope to introduce you to her fiancée Margot some time, who is a grounded, quiet, and sane woman who chooses not to get carried away by marriage preparations.”

  “Félicitations,” Zoya said in her best French. She was always very grateful when French people wanted to speak English with her.

  “Don’t listen to anything Steph tells you about me. She’s not the biggest romantic Paris has seen.”

  Steph quirked up her eyebrows. “I guess that’s true. Either way, we’re very happy that Claire is off the shelf. For the longest time, we believed she was too high-maintenance to keep any decent woman, but it turns out there’s a sock for every old slipper.” Steph grinned. She was in her element.

  “The same could be said for you,” Claire offered, while tucking a blonde strand of hair behind her ear.

  “We’ll have to see about that,” Steph said.

  “Steph likes to aim high,” Juliette cut in. “She was never going to settle just for anyone. It had to be a right-wing candidate for the presidency.”

  This was what Zoya missed so much about being away from home. Easy camaraderie. Friends to crack jokes with when times were tough. Steph was in a bad place right now, but she still managed to jest with her friends, because that was what you did when you didn’t want to sit at home and mope. Humour between friends could solve so many things, and if not solve them, at least make them bearable.

  As Zoya looked over the three friends, she decided this was what she needed. A group of friends like this. Perhaps even a work environment similar to this. Maybe this was the place for her. She liked the vibe here and journalism wasn’t that far removed from PR. They were both a way of communicating, often massaging the truth to make it palatable for a big audience. Zoya had dealt with her fair share of spin back in the day. She felt a tingle in her belly and made a mental note to discuss it with Camille as soon as she got home.

  “These days, I would happily settle for any of your significant others who are not in the public eye.” Steph glanced at Zoya. “Juliette and her lovely wife Nadia have taken me in during these hard times of mine. Which means we drink a lot of wine in the evening. Juliette tried to cook beef bourguignon last night because she thought it would cheer me up, while it did anything but. Sorry, Jules, the meat was just a tad too black and dry for my taste.”

  “I did my best, but I was too rushed to put the love it required into my dish.”

  “That and you’d polished off the better half of a bottle of wine before you even started.”

  “Only because I didn’t want you to have to drink it all on your own. It was an act of friendship and you know it.”

  “Thank goodness you can now just order the most delicious beef bourguignon from an app on your phone and have it delivered to your home thirty minutes later. Don’t we live in a wonderful world?” Steph said.

  “I’m really pleased to meet you,” Zoya said, a rush of warm possibility making its way through her. “I’m still quite new to Paris and am always delighted to meet interesting, successful people like yourself.”

  “Steph tells us you were quite the success back in Australia. With your own TV show and all that. Was it hard to leave that behind?” Claire asked.

  “It wasn’t easy,”” Zoya said. “But love is more important.”

  “Wait until you meet Camille. Granted, she does have an MLR pedigree, but I think she’s outgrown most of it by now. Zoya has been a good influence,” Steph said. “You know what? We should all get together some time. Have dinner. I could do with a nice meal surrounded by my friends. It’s been too long.”

  Zoya spotted an opportunity. “You should all come to ours. I’ll cook. I won’t attempt beef bourguignon, I promise.”

  “She’s a great cook, so at least the food will be good,” Steph said, eyeing Juliette.

  They all agreed to the idea and after they had chatted for a while longer, Steph took Zoya aside, and said, “Let’s ask Aurore as well. I’ll be damned if I stop seeing her just because Solange bloody Garceau wants me to.”

  Aurore

  Aurore stood at Solange’s front door. She waited to knock. She was, frankly, still recovering from having received the invitation to meet Solange at her home in Belleville. She was expecting crisp whites and stark blacks, clean lines, and every square millimetre of space to be used in the spirit of maximum efficiency.

  As her hand rose to rap on the door, a snippet of the conversation she’d had with Camille in the Bois de Boulogne slipped through her mind. Camille had truly been barking up the wrong tree, she reassured herself.

  Aurore’s knuckles had barely touched the wood when the door swung open.

  “Come in,” she said. For once, Solange wasn’t dressed in her black and white uniform, but she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It made her look like a light versio
n of herself. Aurore believed she could deal with Solange Light better.

  Aurore was led through a small hallway into the living room where, in accordance with her expectations, everything was arranged just so, apart from a stack of papers in a bright pink folder on the coffee table. But, very much against her expectations, Solange’s living room was decorated with Scandinavian-style wooden furniture, a cosy rug and a dimly lit lamp. The only black and white objects in the room were the pictures of various European landmarks on the walls.

  “This is not what I had expected.” Aurore slipped out of her coat and hung it on the back of a chair.

  “What had you expected?” Was that a grin on Solange’s face?

  “Something very different than this. You have a wonderful home.”

  “Thanks. Pity I don’t get to spend that much time here.” Aurore was treated to an actual smile. “Can I get you a drink? Red? White? Coffee? Tea?”

  Aurore was taller than most women, and only now noticed the few inches of height Solange had lost by not wearing her trademark, impossibly high heels. In fact, she wasn’t wearing any footwear at all. A barefoot Solange Garceau. That was hardest to believe of all. As if, for the evening, Solange had taken off her armour.

  “Red, please.”

  Solange nodded. “Please sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

  While Aurore nestled in Solange’s plush sofa, and let her gaze wander around the living room, her eye fell on a framed picture of Solange and Dominique Laroche. Maybe Solange was so relaxed because Steph and Dominique were currently not living under the same roof. Maybe she had succeeded in one of her biggest challenges—driving them apart.

  But no, Aurore corrected her thinking. She should give Solange the benefit of the doubt. She had invited her into her home, after all. She doubted that was a courtesy Solange extended to many political enemies.

  “Here you go. It’s a 2010 Saint-Emilion.”

  Aurore quirked up her eyebrows. “Sounds like something for a special occasion.”

  “Maybe it will be.” Solange sat down in the corner of the sofa and drew one leg underneath the other. She was the very picture of relaxation.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to make me an offer that will be hard to refuse?” This could all be an act, of course. A way to throw Aurore off guard, butter her up, and get her to agree to something she would never consider agreeing to if regular Solange was sitting next to her.

  “No offers just yet. First things first.” Solange adjusted her weight on the sofa. “Will you accept my apology for leaving your flat the other day as though you had greatly offended me?”

  “I believed I did greatly offend you.” Aurore sipped from the excellent wine and glanced at Solange over the rim of her glass.

  “Well, maybe at the time you did. I was taken aback by your forwardness. That happens to me a lot.”

  “Apology accepted.” Aurore put down her glass of wine and fixed her gaze on Solange again. “How can I not when I’m being treated to such unforeseen hospitality.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you Solange Garceau’s twin sister? Am I being filmed with a hidden camera?”

  Solange gave a small chuckle. “I understand the confusion, but I don’t have a twin and I would never film anyone without their explicit consent.” Solange lowered her glance, then looked up at Aurore again. “I understand why it would feel like I’m putting on an act, and I guess I am in a way, but this is who I am when I’m at home. Which is why I invited you here. To show you a different side.”

  “Why?” Aurore didn’t meant to be rude, but she had to pierce through this facade so she could find out what the purpose of it was.

  “I’m trying to broker a deal. Can’t you tell?”

  “I got an inkling, but this is not how I imagined you brokering a deal.”

  “This is not just any kind of deal.” Her face tightened, revealing the other Solange. “Things are not good at the Elysée right now. The president is not, how shall I put it, in the best of moods now that Stéphanie has moved out. We’re preparing a state visit from a head of state she’s not fond of. And she’s faffing about regarding this bill. I can’t do much about Stéphanie or about the women-hating, farcical president of a friendly nation visiting, but I believe I can help with the bill.”

  “And you need my help with that.”

  Solange nodded.

  “Before we get down to business, can you honestly tell me you had no part in the president and Steph’s split?”

  Solange scoffed. “You know I can’t say that. I don’t know the details of the fight that broke them up, but I’m pretty certain my name was mentioned. Stéphanie and I… it has never worked.”

  “As I understand it, she apologised to you, after which you showed the president that video of me.” Aurore pursed her lips together. Solange may try to blindside her by sitting barefoot across from her and pouring a vintage year wine, and maybe it worked for a minute or two, but Aurore was beginning to see through it.

  “That’s true. I stand by the fact that the president should not be linked to a person engaging in such acts in a video that is freely available for anyone to see on the internet. But—”

  “Excuse me.” Aurore couldn’t keep her voice from shooting up. “To find that video, you have to explicitly look for it, open an account on some shady website, and put in your credit card details. It’s not as straightforward as typing in my name plus the word porn. There are hurdles, which you were more than willing to jump over.”

  “Of course, because it’s my job to protect the president.”

  “So you keep saying, and look how it turned out.” Aurore needed another sip of wine. “You cornered Steph. Maybe you got what you wanted all this time, only to realise it wasn’t really what you wanted. Maybe the president is holding you personally responsible for Steph leaving. Maybe that’s why I’m really here.”

  Solange shook her head. “I never wanted Stéphanie to leave. Contrary to what you believe, or what I made you and Stéphanie believe. I know she makes the president happy. She’s a royal pain in my ass because she never does what I advise her to do, and I do sometimes suspect she takes great pleasure in defying me—just for the sake of it—but any fool, even someone as bitter-hearted as me, can see they’re good together.”

  “Bitter-hearted… that’s quite a way to describe yourself.”

  “I know what my reputation is. Bitter-hearted is one of the nicest things being said about me.”

  “True.”

  Solange tilted her head, a question in her eyes.

  “I say things as they are. But before you ask me to give you a list of the things I’ve heard you being called, I refuse to let our conversation go that way.”

  Solange shook her head. “Trust me, I wasn’t going to ask you about that. It’s just that not a lot of people are willing to risk my wrath by speaking the truth. I suspect Stéphanie would, if she didn’t have to take Dominique into account. You’re the only one in a while…” Solange grinned.

  “Since I’ve arrived you’ve behaved like a pussycat so I really don’t think there’s that much wrath to face. I’m more worried about mentioning a certain word again and being promptly shown the door.” Aurore tried a chuckle.

  “I’ll give you that one.” Solange fell silent. Maybe she had to swallow her next remark.

  “For the record, I’ve come to know Steph as a very kind, very intuitive, very smart woman… with a massive chip on her shoulder.”

  “A chip in the shape of me,” Solange said.

  “Oh yes,” Aurore said. “Have you considered apologising to her?”

  “No.” Solange’s reply came quickly and clearly. “I can’t compromise my position.”

  “What position might that be?”

  “I need to demand a certain amount of respect, even from the president’s partner. Otherwise I can’t do my job properly.”

  “And you can now? While Steph and Dominique are at war—mainly because of you.”

 
“I get that you and Stéphanie have become fast friends and that you’ll keep on defending her, but I’ve done nothing wrong. And Stéphanie Mathis is not the reason I asked you here.”

  “Get to the point then, please. I’m not sure I’ll be staying much longer.” It had all been an act. Solange didn’t have a softer side to her, only a craftier, sly one.

  “Now you’re no longer in the right mood to hear my proposal.”

  Aurore fixed her gaze squarely on Solange. “I pride myself on not judging people and always giving them the benefit of the doubt, but you are a piece of work. I don’t like being played, Solange. If you’re not going to be genuine with me, there’s not much reason for me to stay.”

  Solange nodded slowly. “You really aren’t suited for politics.”

  “I never said I was. But this bill is very important to me, because the way things stand now, so many people are excluded from getting what they want and, more importantly, are being treated as second-class citizens.”

  “Okay, let’s talk about the bill.” Solange straightened her posture, removing herself from the more relaxed person she had wanted Aurore to believe she could be. “If it was anyone else sitting across from me, I would bluntly ask what they had to offer, but I know that’s not going to get me very far with you.” She grinned at Aurore. “Just being genuine.” She pushed her glass of wine away. “Many of us want the same thing. The president, Rivière, you, the socialists, the progressive wing of the MLR, Stéphanie. It’s just a matter of optics now. I know the president is willing to let her party members vote the way they want on this bill, but she needs some time to confer with Laroche senior and his cronies. And… to not give the socialists an easy victory.”

  “As you just said, I’m not very good at politics, so my simple suggestion is to just do the decent thing as soon as possible. These women have waited long enough.”

  “Both the president and Rivière could benefit from this. No one has to lose.”

  “I’m all ears.” Aurore was burning with curiosity.

  “What if… the president came on your radio show to discuss this very topic?”

  Aurore’s eyes grew wide. “Is this your idea or the president’s?”