A French Song in New York

by Anna Adams

  “Why would I take a risk when there’s certainty with Ira. I have a lot riding on this musical. Your student was great. Heck, even better than Ira. But she’s a no one.”

  “She’s not! I promise you, if you choose Grace, I’ll promote her like crazy. She’ll be in every tweet, every selfie I post.”

  “You never post selfies.”

  “I will now. Please, just consider, Julia let you down once already. How can you trust her?”

  “She had a scheduling conflict. That happens.”

  Maude bit back a retort. There was no scheduling conflict. Julia was a liar, but only Maude knew. She hesitated. Should she out Julia for Grace’s sake?

  Her reason triumphed and she tried another angle.

  “If you take on Grace, I’ll go on more dinners with Thomas, Matt and Lindsey and we’ll be super good.”

  “Ah, you already did that. Didn’t turn out so great. But that’s fine. No such thing as bad publicity.”

  “You don’t understand. Grace has nothing. She needs this shot. It could change her life.”

  “Maude, I like you, but seriously, I’m no Santa Claus.”

  Maude sniffed, miffed.

  “If you really want Grace in,” Mr. Soderline said after a pause, “there’s one thing you could do.”

  “I’ll do anything.”

  “You can write that French song I asked for.”

  Maude gulped.

  “I thought you’d found someone else for that.”

  “I did, but I’m not too satisfied. If you promise to write me a hit, I’ll hire Grace.”

  Maude closed her eyes. But really, she already knew her answer.

  “I’ll do it.”

  GRACE HATED LOSING.

  Yet, Ben was beating her in every fight. Her mind was not on video games.

  “Come on, you’re not even trying. I hate winning when it’s undeserved. Of course, when I win against Maude because she’s so bad at video games, I don’t mind. But you’re a champ.”

  “I’m no champ. I’m not going to win anything. I’ll probably lose against that stupid Ira.”

  “I thought you said she was nice.”

  “What does she know? Saying I’m lucky to have Maude as a teacher. I’ve never been lucky. Ever. I’ve never won at anything. I’m sure I could lose at the lottery even if I had all the right numbers.”

  “You’re dramatic, that’s what you are.”

  “Ben, I ... my mom. She doesn’t call often. I want to tell her that I made it. I want to call her and make her proud. Why is it so hard for me to make her proud, huh?”

  Tears poured from her eyes. Ben paused the game and went over to her.

  He took her in his arms.

  She lifted her head and he kissed her forehead with the affection of a brother.

  “You’ll get to call her. I know Maude won’t let you down.”

  “Even though I’m a real pain?”

  “You’re family. We stand up for each other.”

  “Ben, I don’t want to be your family.”

  “I know you’ve got your own. You haven’t been here long, but still, you’re family.”

  “I don’t want to be your sister. I want more. I want you!” She looked at him, her eyes pouring love, and it was Ben’s eyes widened with disbelief.

  Maude burst into the room and Ben pushed Grace away.

  “Grace! You’ve got the part!”

  Grace’s heart did a somersault.

  “No, no! If you’re joking, you’re dead to me!”

  “I’m not. I would never!”

  Grace turned to Ben prepared to hug him, then reconsidered.

  Maude took her into her arms and gave her a million kisses on the cheek.

  “I’m so happy,” Grace said, in a voice muffled by the embrace.

  “We’re starting rehearsals in January! Can you believe it? We’ve still got so much to do.”

  Grace eyes met Ben’s across the room. He shuffled, uncomfortable, and gave her a thumbs-up sign as congratulation.

  If he had not responded to her declaration, he would never give her the answer she longed to hear.

  It no longer mattered.

  She had the part of Lilac.

  She could call her mother.

  MATT AND MAUDE HAD written many songs together. Sad songs, romantic ones, fun ones. Many of the songs had turned into hits.

  All the lyrics had been in English.

  The two singers spoke French fluently, but English remained their working language.

  They found out early January that changing this habit was not a simple task.

  “The lyrics can’t be too complicated or else the audience won’t understand,” Maude whined.

  “We could limit the number of French words to a minimum.”

  “Or we could not write songs in French at all?”

  “Why are you so defensive about this? Haven’t you ever written songs in French? I used to, before I moved to New York. I’m rusty now, but I don’t hate it.”

  Maude turned the pages of her notebook furiously.

  “I have, of course I have.” She slumped against the sofa. “I didn’t think I’d ever have to again.”

  “You make it sound like it’s torture. French is a beautiful language.”

  “You want to hear the songs I wrote in French? They were pathetic. They were sad and depressing, okay?”

  Matt sat next to her.

  “Because of the Ruchets,” he realized.

  “Because my life was miserable. And I can’t write this song for Mr. Soderline. Want to hear the titles of my biggest hits? Larmes (Tears) was my all-time favorite. Ciel Gris (Gray Sky) went platinum. La Faim (Hunger) had a nice chorus: my stomach growling mostly. Cold, sadness, pain. That’s all I wrote about in French.”

  “This song is romantic. It’s positive. You’re telling the man that you love how you feel. There’s nothing bad about that.”

  “I feel like every time I think I’ve moved on, something reminds me of my childhood. Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t my childhood songs be about toys, Christmas, or summer?”

  “You’re Maude Laurent. It’s a part of you, but it’s not everything.”

  “Aren’t you frightened by this? It’s not too late, you know. You can still leave me high and dry if you can’t handle the madness.”

  “What you don’t seem to understand is that I’m not going anywhere unless you’re with me.”

  “Even if you have to follow me to the insane asylum?”

  “Even then.”

  “Might be sooner than you think because this song is driving me crazy.”

  “Good thing one of us has great ideas. I was thinking we could write the first verse in English and the second one in French with the exact same meaning so the audience doesn’t get confused.”

  “That could work!”

  “The chorus would be a bit of both. Listen, Violet is pouring her heart out to Lorenzo. I thought we could make it sound like a proposal.”

  “A marriage proposal? I don’t think they’re there yet.”

  “Hear me out.”

  Matt took his guitar and sang

  Je t’aime means I love you.

  Do you feel that you love me, too?

  Will ‘I’ become a ‘we’?

  Will you say non or oui?

  He stopped and said, “See, not too complicated. Non means no, Oui means yes and is pronounced the same as ‘we’. Simple and nice.” He scribbled in Maude’s notebook.

  An enraptured Maude wrapped her arms around Matt’s shoulders.

  “It’s beautiful. Nobody would say no to a proposal like that. Could you sing it again?”

  They sang the chorus. The chorus was then followed by one verse, then a second verse, until Maude was satisfied that this was the best French song she’d ever written.

  Chapter 16

  CYNTHIA’S UNHAPPINESS had reached unprecedented heights.

  Nothing, she decided, was worse than coming back from an
amazing weekend to find a forlorn cubicle the following Monday morning.

  That weekend, she and Daniel assisted a team of lawyers in building a case for a class action against Bosphorus, a company selling a pesticide causing pregnant women to give birth to handicapped children.

  Monday morning, however, she drafted a memo for a big company needing advice on how to circumvent tax laws, all the while staying within the confines of the law.

  For the last two weeks, Cynthia had not slept for over a couple of hours a night.

  “Cynthia, I read your memo,” Mrs. Mendez said, peering over the cubicle.

  “How bad was it?” Cynthia asked, expecting a tirade of criticism.

  “Not bad. Just not perfect. After you change what I underlined and commented on, it will be. You’re going out for lunch?” Mrs. Mendez asked.

  “No, I’m just going to have a sandwich from the vending machine. I brought a salad, but it’s too cold. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You were thinking I’d invite you to lunch if I heard that sad tale. You win, you’re having lunch with me.”

  “Oh no, I promise, I wasn’t fishing for an invitation.”

  “I know. I came to your cubicle with the intention of inviting you to lunch.”

  “I don’t want to be rude, but I have a lot of work.”

  Mrs. Mendez frowned and Cynthia squirmed.

  “It’ll be here when you come back.” Mrs. Mendez closed Cynthia’s file with a firm hand. “Nobody says no to me.”

  Cynthia nodded and gathered her things.

  Once they were seated in a Chinese restaurant, Mrs. Mendez ordered enough food to nourish a continent.

  Cynthia was too nervous to eat. She had no idea what she would say to Mrs. Mendez during the entire lunch hour.

  Luckily, at the fast pace her boss was eating, the meal would not last long.

  “You’re probably wondering how I eat all this and stay so thin?”

  “You throw up afterwards?” Cynthia suggested, before she’d thought thoroughly of what she was saying.

  Mrs. Mendez laughed a strong, guttural laugh.

  “Ten years ago, that answer would’ve been right. Not anymore. I have this incredible metabolism, though I didn’t believe that back then. I also work out a lot. When you’re in a position of power, you not only have to be strong, you have to appear strong as well.”

  Cynthia gazed at Mrs. Mendez’ broad shoulders and could tell the woman told the truth.

  “You don’t look very strong physically,” Mrs. Mendez added. “How you dare go about the world with such a frail figure, I don’t know. Your mind is strong. But your body is weak.”

  “I know how to defend myself. My mom made us take self-defense classes.”

  “Good. Never count on that husband of yours to defend you. Men have made us believe for too long that they were the strongest. In fact, most of them would be scared to death if they found themselves confronting an aggressor. They’d flee without looking behind.”

  “I doubt Daniel would do that. But, well, I was taught that a woman should know how to take care of herself in every way: financially and physically.”

  “Your mother must be an interesting woman. I find they are rare. But the women I get along with are the best people on Earth.”

  Cynthia ate silently.

  “What did you do this weekend?”

  Cynthia’s eyes shone as she explained the case she against the company selling harmful pesticide.

  “Of course, I can’t say who is involved in this case. Secret. But it was just so interesting and I felt useful. I met the children’s parents. Not all of them. But can you imagine? It was so awful the guilt they felt. They had no idea that pesticide even existed or that it could potentially harm their children.”

  “Why do you love hopeless cases so much?”

  “They’re not hopeless. Those people aren’t. And I like to bring hope.”

  “You mean, you like building their hopes up before dashing them back to the ground.”

  “You don’t think they have a chance?”

  “They have a chance of losing a lot of money they don’t have. Do you know how much these corporations make? What am I saying? We take care of their taxes and financial interests, of course you know how much they make.”

  “This is why knowledge of the law comes in handy. If we who know it can’t help those who don’t, why are we lawyers?”

  “I forget how young you are. That look of despair you have behind your cubicle makes it seem like you’ve been here forever.”

  Cynthia frowned.

  “But you haven’t,” Mrs. Mendez continued. “You don’t know this world like I do. Don’t you think I had your ideals when I started out?”

  “They’re not ideals. I mean, they are, but please, don’t use that word like it’s an insult. If people before us had not had ideals, we would have no rights at all neither in the workplace nor in our day-to-day lives. Someone’s got to do it!”

  “Why should it be you? Once I decided I didn’t have to be a savior, I felt free. Wanting to be a hero is the stuff of proud people. You want people to thank you, to celebrate you?”

  “All I want is to make more people happy.”

  “If that company goes bankrupt because of you, then the CEO commits suicide and leaves his wife, mistress, and kids to fend for themselves in this cruel word, would your client’s win make up for their suffering?”

  Cynthia thought for a minute before answering.

  “I don’t wish anyone to suffer. This isn’t a revenge plot. It’s a case. These are victims that require compensation for their suffering. A suffering they did not deserve and had no choice but to endure. The CEO knew this pesticide was nefarious. I don’t wish him any personal harm, but he must pay for this crime.”

  “You’re passionate and I admire that. But these people should have had more knowledge. Knowledge is power, I’m sure you know this.”

  “We can’t know everything. None of us do.”

  “I know enough to save my own self. I eat only organic foods. None of that genetically modified garbage and that fast food junk. I have a house in the countryside to avoid pollution. I don’t smoke and drink only occasionally. The things I don’t know, I pay for someone who does. This world is a battlefield. Those who don’t understand that shouldn’t come crying when hell breaks loose. Do you think I fear climate change? I’ve already saved up for my ticket to space for when that happens. It’s over fifty million dollars. That’s how rich I am.

  I’ll be the wealthy Titanic passenger who mounts a lifeboat while the ship is sinking, while the poor ones aren’t even allowed on it, even though there’s enough space for them. That’s how you prepare when you’re aware. You make enough money so that no one can harm you. Even if it’s the end of the world and your enemy is the very air you breathe. I’ll be the hero in those post-apocalyptic movies. The one who escapes it all with his wife, bratty son and teenage daughter. And you? Let me guess. You’ll be one of those extras who gets swallowed by the earthquake just as the hero jumps on the last spaceship for Mars.”

  Cynthia shook her head, dismayed.

  “I might not make it on the spaceship. But thanks to people like me who fight for those who don’t know, who can’t know, even those who don’t care, there might not be any need for that space ticket. And you get to keep that fifty million you’ve worked so hard for. Spend it on something else.”

  Mrs. Mendez laughed.

  “I like you.”

  Unfortunately, Cynthia could not say the same. She loathed Mrs. Mendez and was happy once she was back at her desk.

  Looking at the pile of work awaiting her, she sighed.

  She just might buy a one-way ticket to Mars if it meant leaving all this work behind.

  Chapter 17

  “I KNOW YOUR WORLD. It’s time for you to discover mine,” Jazmine told Dev. “I need you to be your charming self to help me convince Orga Sö to recommend my video on her YouTube chann
el.”

  “You don’t need her.”

  “Blaze has more views since I uploaded the first video you made of Mr. Nice Guy. But I need a bigger boost. Orga Sö does rock covers that have millions of views. She’s also got thousands of subscribers.”

  “Why don’t you just send her a message?”

  “I did. I sent her a message through Facebook and she never answered. She gets a lot of emails in a day. She’s doing a house concert at her place this evening. Very select, a small crowd. She’s livestreaming it. Haze got an invitation, but she hates Orga Sö. Says she’s fake. So, she gave it to me.”

  The concert was in full swing when Jazmine and Dev showed up.

  Orga Sö was not taller than the average ten-year-old girl, but had the energy of a fully charged Mac computer.

  Yet she stopped once Jazmine and Dev entered the room.

  “This is for someone very special who I haven’t seen in over three years, but who fate just brought back into my life. He’ll know who he is,” she stared at Dev until Jazmine turned to him.

  “You know her?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Dev winced. “I-I didn’t realize she went by that name now.”

  “How many names does she have?”

  “Her name’s Marnie Tuller. She’s my ex-girlfriend.”

  “The one who broke your heart at the same time I broke Jason’s, or some other girlfriend?”

  “First option sounds just about right.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I can’t believe she’s a YouTube star now. When I knew her, she was singing in bars.”

  “You have a fetish.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “You do. You like girls who are musicians. Rock musicians. Is that why you like me? Because I remind you of her?”

  “You two are nothing alike.”

  “But we’re both in the same room, looking at the same guy, and wanting to become famous rock singers.”

  “To be fair, Marnie was initially into dance and electro.”

  “I like those, too!”

  “Everyone likes electro.”

  “You know what? I think I’ll mingle a little. Why don’t you just catch up with Marnie. You must have so much to say to the love of your life.”