The French Girl Read online

  Giselle put her arm around me and beamed. Many of the women shook my hand as Giselle introduced me to them. The women were of all different ages. Some were dressed up and some were dressed very casually.

  “I’ll be damned,” a very large woman carrying a bottle of beer said as she approached. “How the hell did you pull this off, Giselle?” she asked gesturing towards me with the bottle. She was nearly as tall as Jean with very short, nearly buzzed dark hair, and green eyes. She wore a purple t-shirt that was stretched across her wide frame that read, “Join the Lavender Parade” in big letters across the front.

  “Etoile,” Giselle said, “this is Susan Weatherby. Susan teaches with Jean.”

  The woman switched the beer to her other hand and extended it to me. I shook it and then a young, thin, blonde woman with a string of beads tied around her long, straight hair came over. She was wearing elephant bellbottom jeans with a macrame belt and a roach clip dangling from it. She stood next to Susan Weatherby, who wrapped her arm around her. Susan drew her in and said, “This is Star Mathers. She and I met a couple of weeks ago at a rally in Boston.”

  Star nodded up and down many times and said, “What a groovy pad you have.”

  Giselle winced. “Thank you. This is my cousin, Etoile. You and she share the same name.”

  “Huh?” the blonde girl said.

  “Etoile. It means ‘star’ in French.”

  “Far out,” she said looking at me.

  Giselle shook her head. “If you will excuse me, I need to get some things from the kitchen. Come along, Etoile. You can help.”

  “Is that her, Giselle?” I asked as soon as we were inside the kitchen. “Is that Susan the woman you do not like?”

  Giselle handed me a tray of appetizers and said, “Sshh. Please, Etoile. Take this tray out and offer them to people.”

  Before I took them out, I tried one. It was delicious.

  “What is this, Giselle?

  “Quiche Lorraine.”

  I popped it in my mouth and let the flavors melt. “And that?” I said pointing to another.

  “Chicken croquettes. Now go on and let everyone else try them before you eat them all up yourself.”

  Giselle grabbed several bowls and filled them with Cheeze Its and Bugles and set them around. I wove through the crowd and offered the tray to everyone. The women were all very nice and asked me about school and what I liked to do.

  “I like to read and swim with Jean.”

  Jean, who had been leaning against the fireplace sipping a glass of wine, came over and patted me on the shoulder, but many times that night, I saw her eyes search the crowd until she found Giselle, at which point she would break into a smile.

  Giselle went out and came back in with Jean’s new Kodak Polaroid camera and gestured to Eppy. Eppy carefully positioned Jean, Giselle and I by the fireplace and took several pictures of us. We all watched as the image slowly appeared on the small square of paper, Jean and Giselle with one arm around each other, their other arms on either of my shoulders.

  “Looks like your average American family,” Susan Weatherby said in a loud voice causing everyone to break out in laughter.

  Giselle circled around offering drinks and making conversation. Occasionally, she and Jean would end up side by side. At one point, Jean bent forward and whispered something into Giselle’s ear that made her blush.

  “It’s an outrage,” I heard a loud voice say and everyone turned to Susan Weatherby, who was standing, beer in hand, addressing a group that had gathered around her. “Two hundred thousand sisters and brothers march through the streets of San Francisco and this chick Anita Bryant gets more air time than all of them combined.”

  Many of the women shook their heads.

  “Robert Hillsborough is stabbed just steps from his own home and the four kids declare they’ve killed him in Bryant’s name, yet the media is more interested in covering her singing career. This is 1977, for God’s sakes. We’re supposed to have made progress.”

  Susan Weatherby stabbed at the air with her beer bottle as Star came and rested her hand on her back. “They can’t catch the Son of Sam, they can’t get a handle on this supposed energy crisis, but two hundred thousand voices are silenced in an instant by the media. And meanwhile, on the home front, our very own myopic Dr. Batchelder continues his lectures to the hundreds of eager and impressionable young minds about the sinking moral decline of society in general, and the campus in particular. I have it on good word from a student that he went so far as to drop the line, ‘sex, drugs and rock and roll’ in the same sentence as ‘moral ineptitude and other perversions of the sordid type.’”

  Many of the women shook their heads.

  “I do hope you’ve all remembered to keep the orange juice boycott going.”

  I glanced at Giselle who just that morning, had served me a large glass of orange juice with my breakfast.

  “It’s the only power we have,” Susan continued, “to hit them in their pocketbooks and make corporate America understand we are a force to be reckoned with.”

  Giselle broke away from Jean and brought a tray over to the group gathered around Susan Weatherby.

  “Would anyone care for hors d’oeuvres?” she asked.

  “And unfortunately for us, Betty Friedan continues to warn of the Lavender Menace,” Susan went on. “This chick should be afraid alright. When she cuts us off from the National Organization of Women and tries to segregate our rights from women’s rights, she’s waging battle. Our only recourse is to continue to infiltrate the bastions of conservatism to make our voices heard.”

  “It sounds as if you are going to war with all this infiltrating,” Giselle said as she offered the tray around.

  Susan Weatherby was clearly annoyed at having been interrupted mid-stream. She glanced up and down at Giselle for a moment.

  “This IS war, Giselle.”

  “Have you not heard the new slogan, “Make love not war?” Giselle asked and some of the women snickered.

  “Perhaps it’s not as apparent to you, the well-kept wife, that we are indeed at war,” Susan retorted.

  I saw the flash in Giselle’s eyes as her comment sunk in. Some of the women awkwardly cleared their throats. Jean immediately withdrew from the group she was with and went quickly to Giselle’s side.

  “I think what Giselle is trying to say, Susan, is that…”

  “That she’s clueless?”

  Giselle’s shoulders stiffened and she searched the crowd for me. She saw me standing there, watching the exchange, and clenched her jaw tightly.

  “Not true, Susan, and not appropriate,” Jean said nodding towards me. “It’s a difference of opinion. Surely you can tolerate a difference of opinion without making it personal?”

  “It is personal,” Susan said. “That’s the whole point. It is personal to each and every one of us who has to live segregated from society because of the lifestyle choices we’ve made.”

  Giselle broke away from Jean and came towards me. “Come along, Cherie, it is time for you to go to bed. Say goodnight to everyone.”

  The women all said goodnight and several patted me on the back as I moved through the crowd. Eppy gave me a small hug and whispered in my ear, “You are a very lucky girl.” I nodded and went up the stairs.

  “Come on, I will tuck you in,” Giselle said as she had every night. I could not imagine going to bed now without her saying good night to me.

  Giselle shook her head and tucked the sheet up around me.

  “Do not mind them,” she said.

  “She said unkind things to you, Giselle.”

  “She does not mean it that way. Besides, Jean says she is very jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of us. Of Jean and I because we will be together forever and she has never had that in her life.”

  “But that woman, that Star girl…”

  “She brings a different person each time.”

  “Oh.”

  “It is alri
ght. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. The world would be very dull if everyone saw things the same way, non?”

  Her words reminded me of something.

  “Giselle?”

  “Oui?”

  “Jean took me to the attic today to get the books and I saw your paintings. They are very good.”

  Giselle squeezed my knee.

  “Merci, Cherie, but I am afraid they are not that good.”

  “You should sell them. Jean thinks so and I think so.”

  “I do not think it would be fair to ask someone to spend their money on those.”

  “But they really are good, Giselle. I especially liked the one of Madame Duvais’ shop.”

  She gave a little laugh.

  “You like that one?”

  “Very much, yes.”

  “Then would you like to have it?”

  “Oh yes!”

  “I will ask Jean to bring it down and you can hang it in here if you like.”

  “There was another one of Cote Nouveau. It had an old boat in it.”

  “La Camelia.”

  “Yes.”

  “That was my father’s boat before he stopped fishing and became a businessman.”

  “But I thought you left Cote Nouveau when you were just a young girl?”

  “I did.”

  “Then how did you paint the picture when you were grown up? Did you go back?”

  Giselle smiled. “Non, Cherie. I painted it from here,” she said tapping her head. She leaned forward and laid her chin on my knee. “We carry memories with us all of our lives, Etoile. Some are good and some are bad. I have tried to remember the good memories like going into Madame Duvais’ shop with all of the different kinds of cheese and the candy counters. She always gave me extra candy. She was a very kind woman.”

  I could not imagine Maman ever thinking of Madame Duvais as being kind.

  “Do you ever want to go back?”

  “To Cote Nouveau?” she asked sitting straight up. “I do not plan on ever going back to Cote Nouveau,” she said rather abruptly.

  “But why not?” I asked.

  “I…I just do not. I must get back to the party now,” she said as she kissed me on both cheeks. “Good night, Cherie.”

  ***

  In my dream that night, I was walking along the seashore of Cote Nouveau when I stumbled upon La Camelia, Giselle’s father’s boat, lying lazily on its side. There was no one else in sight as I walked all around the half-buried vessel. Tracing my hand along the wooden planks, I let my fingers slip through the holes on its side to explore its inner parts. I could see a little light shining through the other side and I cautiously avoided the ragged edges of the splintered wood as I reached in. Something suddenly grabbed my hand and yanked it back.

  I was abruptly awakened by the sound of raised voices. I sat up for a moment and tried to remember where I was. Many times I woke up in the night thinking I was back on the sofa in Cote Nouveau. I tiptoed out of bed and crept down the hallway towards Giselle and Jean’s room. Their door was partially tipped open and I could see their reflections in the long mirror as Giselle took off her earrings and placed them in a box.

  ***

  “I agree she was rude,” Jean said.

  “Rude?” Giselle said. “That is an understatement, Jean.”

  Jean began to unbutton her chambray shirt and paused. “I know and I’m sorry. I realize you don’t see anything redeeming in her, but she really is a brilliant lawyer and an excellent teacher. She has such energy in her classroom. Her students are so engaged….”

  “Oh I am certain they are engaged. And what is up with those girls? What in heaven’s name do they see in her, Jean?”

  “I’ll be darned if I can figure it out, but she’s with a different one every week.”

  “Well I hope they are all having a good time,” Giselle said, “because it will be short lived, no doubt. I am sorry, Jean, but I do not think she and I will ever be friends…”

  Jean came over and stood behind Giselle as she began to slip off her necklace. Jean pulled her hair back, leaned down and kissed Giselle in the small of her neck. I watched as Giselle shut her eyes and leaned back towards Jean, who slipped her arms around the waist of Giselle’s dress.

  “I don’t care if you’re ever friends with her as long as you’re always friends with me,” she said as she nestled her head in Giselle’s neck.

  “Jean…” Giselle said very quietly.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that dress?”

  “Only a hundred times.”

  Jean drew her closer to her. “Can we be very good friends right now?”

  “Shut the door,” Giselle said.

  ***

  The next day, Jean went up the attic and dug out the Cote Nouveau painting and hung it on the wall across from my bed. That night when I went to bed, I somehow felt I had both a happy Maman and a kind Madame Duvais watching over me. Still, there was something strange about the painting that I could not quite figure out…

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Look,” I said catching up to Winnie. “My mood ring is dark blue.”

  Winnie took my hand in hers, studied the ring and announced, “Etoile, that means you are in a very romantic mood,” she said giggling. I quickly pulled my hand away and felt my cheeks redden.

  “I think it means I was chasing you too hard around the playground.”

  “And you still cannot get me. Catch you on the flip side,” she said taking off ahead of me. She had long legs like Jean. I tried to catch up with her but stopped abruptly when Dale Batchelder emerged from behind a tree and blocked my way.

  “Chasing after your girlfriend?” he asked, his eyes pinched against the sun.

  I turned and ran the other way back towards the school. Winnie saw me and came running up beside me, throwing her arm around my neck the way she always did and tugging at me.

  “How come you stopped chasing me?” she asked.

  “I just did not feel like it anymore. It is too hot.”

  Winnie punched me in the arm. “Don’t be such a spaz,” she said.

  “I am not a spaz,” I said frowning.

  “You are a spaz,” Winnie said as she broke away from me and headed towards another group of girls near the brick wall of the school that were playing “Miss Mary Mack.” Winnie had tried to teach it to me but for some reason, I could not get the coordination down of when to slap left and when to slap right. I wondered if Jean or Giselle knew how to do it. Disappointed, I walked slowly back into the school to find a book to read.

  The classroom was empty as I rummaged through my desk. I pulled out my copy of The Hidden Staircase and noticed a small slip of paper sticking out of the end that I had not noticed before. I took it out and unfolded it thinking perhaps Giselle had slipped me a note, which she sometimes did wishing me a good day or saying how much they loved me.

  I unfolded the paper and quickly read the word clumsily scribbled across it and felt my stomach immediately flip into a knot. Just then, the bell rang and the other students began to filter back in. I turned to see Dale Batchelder watching me. He sat down in his seat and began gnawing on the end of a pencil, all the while staring at me. I looked at my mood ring which had turned nearly blood red and knew it probably matched my cheeks.

  My legs could not keep up with the rest of my body as I flew down the long driveway towards Stone Cottage. Giselle was stooped over the vegetable garden wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, a sleeveless blouse and a long skirt. She looked up as I sailed past her.

  “Hello, Cherie. How was school?” she asked, but I ignored her and ran straight to my room. “Etoile!” I heard her call after me. I climbed the stairs, shut the door and rummaged through my closet until I found the small blue bag. Opening drawers, I realized I had far more now than when I had originally arrived and that I would take only what was absolutely necessary.

  I heard Giselle’s feet on the stairs and a small tap on the door.

 
“Etoile?” she said. “May I come in?”

  I did not answer her. She opened the door anyway and stood there looking at me with a look of great concern on her face.

  “Etoile, what is wrong?” She spotted the blue bag and her mouth parted. “Etoile, please answer me.”

  “I want to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Back to Cote Nouveau.”

  Giselle crossed her arms. “Why?”

  “Because…because I do not belong here.”

  “Of course you belong here. We are family.”

  “I want to be with other family. I want to go and find Anais,” I said as my stomach squeezed even tighter. I ignored it.

  “Etoile,” she said as she came forward and placed her arm on my shoulder, but I pulled away.

  “Do not touch me!” I shouted. “I do not want you to touch me!”

  “Etoile, please tell me what is wrong!”

  “Why can’t you just be…” I began to say.

  “Be what? Be what, Etoile?”

  I slammed the drawer shut.

  “Normal!”

  She took a step back, folded her arms back across her chest and studied me for some time before asking, “What has happened?”

  I continued to ignore her as I shoved several Nancy Drew’s that I had not read yet into the bag. I did not think Jean would mind. Giselle came towards me and spun me around.

  “Etoile, what is wrong?”

  I was not planning on answering her, but I saw the look of concern on her face and realized that I did not want her to worry about me when I was gone. Without a word, I walked over to my bed and dug out the book with the slip of paper still sticking out and handed it to her.

  Her shoulders stiffened as she read the word and folded the slip of paper back up.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “It was left it in my book at school.”

  She slipped the paper into her skirt pocket. “And you understand what this word means?”

  I nodded.

  “I am so sorry, Etoile.”

  “I do not want to go back to that school.”