All About Yves (6 page)
Jane Francis took a deep breath and sighed. “I'm not upset,” she said. “But it would have been nice if someone had let me know. You scared me half to death.” Actually, she was upset. Though she complained about being overworked, Jane Francis loved her life and her job and she didn't need anyone else horning in on her territory. But Yves was such a nice, polite boy she didn't want to hurt his feelings.
"I'm sorry,” Yves said. “You're right. I should have waited in my room until Marco told you about me. I just didn't want anyone to think I was a slacker who stayed in bed all morning. I'm an early riser. I'm up at the crack of dawn and ready to work."
Jane Francis crossed to the coffee machine and opened the lid. He seemed like a decent kid, but she wanted to set the ground rules. “Let's just get a few things straight,” she said. “This is my kitchen and I take care of things in here. I don't know what Marco has in mind for you, but you'd better just wait until he wakes up to find out.” Then she pointed to the kitchen table. “Now go sit down and I'll make your breakfast. You look like you need a good meal. You're skin and bones."
"Ah well,” Yves said. “I never eat in the morning. I don't eat lunch either. I only eat one meal a day. And I never snack."
"One meal a day?"
He nodded. “I used to be overweight as a kid and I watch everything I eat. I don't want to get fat again. I'd rather be dead than fat."
Jane Francis reached for a bag of expensive coffee beans and started measuring them into the top of the coffee machine. “I think that's just ridiculous,” she said. “You're a young man. You need nutrition. But what do I know?” She never understood why these young people starved themselves to death. She was about twenty pounds heavier than she was told she should have been, and she felt wonderful. She didn't like this starving business. Marco had never dieted a day in his life. Marco had always been able to eat anything he'd wanted to eat without gaining a pound. “Will you at least have a cup of coffee?” she asked.
He smiled. “Yes,” he said. “I'd love a cup of coffee, black."
The next few weeks were interesting. Frazier was busy with the new project in Atlanta, so he spent most of his time down there. Marco was still busy with the TV show and he spent most of his time either at the studio or at home. In the beginning, Marco started giving Yves little projects to do. He'd ask him to work on correspondence and he'd send him on errands all over town. At first, Jane Francis didn't mind the arrangement at all. With Yves doing the little things she'd always done, she had more time to focus on details she normally would have put off because she didn't have the time. The leaky faucet in the kitchen sink was finally repaired; all the silk rugs were picked up and sent out to be cleaned. There was even time now for Jane to read a few pages in a book at night.
But as the weeks passed, Jane Francis noticed Yves was taking on more and more responsibility. He started to organize Marco's social appointments and he went out of his way to have interesting meals from exotic restaurants delivered to the house. He was there at Marco's side to cater to Marco's every desire and whim. He did things for Marco Jane Francis would have refused to do based on principle. Marco, Jane knew, could be needy and spoiled, and if someone didn't bring him back to reality he tended to wallow in self indulgence. The more attention Yves gave Marco, the more Marco drifted into his fantasy quasi-royalty world. Jane Francis knew Marco couldn't help the way he was. He'd been accustomed to getting whatever he wanted all his life and he didn't know any better. Thankfully, he was also a decent man. And there had always been people like Jane Francis around to keep him in check.
One afternoon, while Jane Francis was speaking on the phone with Marco's publicist, Yves practically yanked the phone out of her hand and took control. Jane just stood there with her mouth hanging open while Yves told the publicist Marco was too busy to come to the phone and he'd take the call next week when he had more time. Marco was in the room, lounging on the sofa and eating handmade bon-bons. It was Saturday and his calendar was blank. He just didn't feel like talking to the publicist, and he told Yves to take care of it for him.
When Yves hung up, Jane Francis put her hands on her hips and said, “That was an important call about the project in Atlanta for Home Value. You could have spoken with him.” Her lips were pinched and she was frowning.
"Nonsense,” Marco said and pouted. “It's the weekend and I don't feel like talking business today. I just want to eat my bon-bons and relax right here.” Then he pointed to an empty glass on the coffee table and said, “Yves, would you please get me something else to drink? This candy is making me thirsty."
Yves ran up to the coffee table and reached for the glass. “I'll get you an ice-cold lemonade, Marco, with a straw. I bought straws yesterday because I thought it would easier for you to drink. I'll be right back."
Jane watched him pick up the glass and leave the room. When he was gone, she folded her arms across her chest and said, “Why don't you see if he'll get down on his hands and knees and scrub the toilet with a toothbrush with his left hand while he gives you a foot massage with his right hand? He seems so willing to do anything you ask, I'm sure he won't mind."
Marco waved her off. “Don't be jealous, Jane Francis,” he said. “I still love you, too. He's just a good, responsible guy who loves his job. And I work hard. I deserve to be pampered once in a while. You never bought me straws."
"Well, excuse me, your highness,” she said. “I'll start cutting the crust off your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches if you wish.” Then she curtsied.
"Don't be droll,” Marco said. “I have a headache."
Jane Francis shook her head and turned. She knew how far she could go with Marco, and as an employee she didn't want to overstep her bounds. On her way out of the room she said, “If you need me, I'll be in my bedroom planning ways to make your life better than it already is, your highness."
The extra free time Jane Francis had wouldn't have been a bad thing, except she kept noticing little things. Peculiar things that bothered her. The more she grew to know Yves the less she understood him. Yves had a few quirks Jane didn't mention to anyone. One night while Yves thought everyone was sleeping, Jane Francis saw him sneak into the kitchen and devour an entire roasted chicken. He scooped it into his mouth with his fingers, forcing large chunks of chicken down his throat. He hardly chewed. His eyes were wild and he took deep breaths through his nose. It looked as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal in months. Then he ate a bar of cream cheese, a half dozen bagels, a container of leftover macaroni and cheese, and half of a large chocolate cake.
He didn't know Jane was watching him devour this food. She was standing in the dark hall near the kitchen doorway. When he was finished, he wiped his hands and his face with paper towels and turned off the lights. Jane stepped into her own room so he wouldn't see her. When it was safe, she followed his footsteps to the powder room in the front hall. While she stood outside with her palm pressed to her throat, he was inside the powder room leaning over the toilet throwing up everything he'd just pilfered from the refrigerator.
Jane Francis kept this to herself, along with other things she'd seen and heard. She figured it was none of her business and she wasn't a gossip. But then something happened one night at the TV studio and Jane had to say something to Marco. They'd just taped another reality show. They were in the dressing room and Marco was removing an expensive outfit he'd just worn on the show. It was from Frazier's new collection.
"You were wonderful, Marco,” Yves said. “I almost cried when I saw you show those models how to walk down a runway in this outfit."
Jane furrowed her eyebrows and listened. The outfit was one of those outrageous couture deals no one would have worn in public. The jacket was soft amber suede, with extra wide lapels, and flared out at the hips. The black slacks were skintight, see-through nylon/spandex that resembled pantyhose. The boots were three-inch stacked heels that looked more like women's shoes than men's shoes. Jane Francis knew this was the type of dramatic outfit male models wore during fashion week to impress the critics and journalists. It was all about effect, and as uncomfortable as any outfit could get. The see-through pants were so tight they rode up the crack of Marco's tight little ass.
"You didn't get the right size thong, Jane Francis,” Marco said, removing the jacket. “It's so tight it's cutting off circulation to my balls."
"It's the same size I always get,” Jane Francis said. She was lying. She'd given him a thong too sizes too small because she was annoyed at him for letting Yves take over his life and so many of her responsibilities.
"Well, I should let you try it on for size,” Marco said, adjusting the waistband of the thong.
"If I tried to pull that little thing up around my fat ass it would split in three different places,” Jane Francis said.
This made Marco laugh. He was removing the high heeled boots and he almost fell over the dressing table chair.
Yves reached out to balance him. “Are you okay, Marco?” His right hand was on the small of Marco's back and his left was on Marco's flat stomach.
"Yes, I'm fine,” Marco said. “But I'll be better once I get out of this thong."
"Do you like the new pillows, Marco?” Yves asked.
Jane Francis stared at a couple of animal-print pillows on a small love seat and pressed her lips together. Since Yves had started working for Marco, he taken it upon himself to accessorize the dressing room in the TV studio. He'd polished the floors himself, he'd rearranged the furniture, and he'd repainted everything in the same shade of taupe. Yves claimed that when a room was monochromatic, it was more relaxing. And he wanted Marco's dressing room to be a peaceful, uncomplicated place to be. He even filled small vase on Marco's dressing table every night because he knew how much Marco loved fresh flowers.
"The pillows look wonderful, Yves,” Marco said. “I love them."
"All you need is a red light and a massage table,” Jane Francis said. She knew Marco couldn't have cared less about how his dressing room looked.
Marco gave her a look. Then he yanked off the black tights and tossed them on top of the suede jacket and the high heels. This was work. Marco didn't care about Jane Francis or Yves seeing him in a tight thong.
Yves bent over and picked up the discarded clothing. He pressed the clothes to his chest and said, “I'll take these out and hang them up, Marco. I don't want them to get ruined. They're so beautiful."
Jane Francis's eyes opened wide.
"You do that, Yves,” Marco said. “I'll get dressed."
When Yves stepped out, Jane Francis said, “Are you sure about this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did you forget about Rebecca Braun?” Jane Francis said. “She's the one in charge of your wardrobe and she doesn't like it when someone else handles the clothes from the collection. The last time it happened it took three days to calm her down. She takes her job very seriously and she's the one responsible for all those clothes. If something is missing, it's her fault."
Marco stopped moving. “You're right. Would you go after him before Rebecca finds out? I can't go out like this. I'm half naked.” He smiled. “If those young camera guys see me like this there's no telling what might happen."
"Oh, get over yourself,” she said. “We all have assholes."
Then she stomped out of the dressing room and turned to left. But she didn't have to walk far. Yves was standing at the edge of the set, all alone, staring into a full-length mirror. He was wearing Marco's suede jacket and the high-heeled boots, posing and dipping with dramatic moves as if he was a model walking down a runway.
Jane Francis cleared her throat to get his attention. Yves stopped moving and turned in her direction. His face dropped and his eyes widened.
"I was only trying it on for a moment,” he said. “I just wanted to see how it looked and felt. I didn't mean any harm. Please don't tell Marco or anyone else."
Jane Francis smiled. “C'mon, kid. Let's go back into the dressing room. I think it would be a good idea to just let Rebecca Braun take care of these clothes.” It was hard to get mad at such a sweet young man, even if he had quirks about food. The look she'd seen in his eyes had been absolute fear. Though she was rough on the outside, Jane Francis had a soft heart. “Don't worry. This is our little secret. Besides, you look cute in the jacket. You could be a model yourself if you wanted to."
"Ah well,” Yves said. “I'm afraid I wouldn't be a very good model. I'm a simple guy with innocent dreams. I don't have the personality to be a model, and I'm not nearly good looking enough. But thank you for the compliment."
Up until those last few comments, Jane Francis had been on Yves's side. But when he spoke about himself in this self-deprecating way, as if he were nothing but an awkward, worthless slob, she couldn't help question his motives and his sincerity. She'd run across both men and women with low self-esteem and poor self-images. Most of the time, they had good reason to have poor self-images. They weren't attractive, they had no talent, and they had to learn to make due with the cards they had been dealt in life. But there was one thing she'd never run across. In all her years working in and around the fashion industry, Jane Francis had never met a young man as good looking and smooth talking as Yves Marisano without his own personal agenda. And those agendas had nothing to do with simple, innocent dreams.
On the night of Marco's and Frazier's fifteenth anniversary, Marco went to bed alone as if it were any other night. Frazier was down in Atlanta again, but he was flying home the next day and they were throwing a big anniversary party in the penthouse. They'd never been able to legally marry, so the anniversary they celebrated each year to recognize their relationship was in honor of the first day they'd met. They'd discussed doing a commitment ceremony several times over the years, even though it wouldn't be legally recognized, where they'd take vows and exchange rings. But after the first ten years it seemed kind of amateur to them. Their relationship was strong; the love they shared was what kept them together, not a ring or a piece of paper. So they decided to wait until gay marriage was recognized as a legal union. If and when that ever happened, they'd be the first ones in line to get married.