Hidden in Paris (24 page)

If Annie was clear on one thing, it was that Mark and Lola needed to speak, and not about the weather. Silence in a marriage, Annie knew now, was the real killer. The assumptions one makes, the secrets one lets the other get away with, the slow creeping into one’s own role, the impossibility to change within the confines of non-communication were all part of that silence. How easy it was to play one role and one role only for an entire marriage, even when there was love. Especially when there was love. In her marriage to Johnny she had painted herself into a corner. Because she loved him so, she had not wanted him to see sides of her that he had not chosen her for. He had chosen her as a spouse, the mother of his children. He had chosen her for her independence, her lack of neediness. Indeed she had been the most independent, the least needy of wives. But only in appearance.

After she and Lola put the children to bed and cleaned the kitchen in silence, they went into the salon. It was after ten at night. Annie moved the logs around in the fireplace waiting for Lola to dial Mark’s number. But Lola wasn’t dialing. She was sitting stiffly on the couch’s armrest. The piece of paper with Mark’s hotel number was at the tip of her shaky fingers, and she was staring at the telephone as if it might any moment uncoil and jump at her throat.

“Aren’t you going to dial?”

“I don’t know if I can,” Lola said. She looked so white Annie wondered if she might throw up.

“Seriously, how bad can it be?”

“Bad,” Lola whimpered.

There was a master plan. Lola would not mention Paris since Mark assumed she was in New York and there was no advantage in telling him otherwise. Annie was to listen in on the conversation on the cordless phone for moral support. She’d help Lola be strong, level headed and firm. This was an excellent plan.

“You want me to dial for you?”

“Okay, you dial.”

Annie dialed, handed Lola the receiver, and picked up the cordless feeling perfectly confident about the plan. She began to feel some sense of alarm when she heard Lola give the Four Season’s receptionist Mark’s name and room number in the voice of a six year old. After an interminable silence and the sound of musak, a man’s voice on the line said: “Yes?”

“Mark?” Lola said in a minuscule voice. She looked like she might faint.

Annie was walking towards the living room with the phone against her ear when Mark uttered his first sentence to his wife in weeks. “Lola, where the
FUCK are you?
” This somehow was not what Annie expected. What had she expected? She realized in an instant she had no experience dealing with an abusive, yelling spouse. She had been the yeller in her marriage. Johnny was the quiet, calm one. She promptly came back to the couch, sat right next to Lola, and squeezed her free hand with her own. Lola’s eyes widened, filled with tears and she shook her head as if to say she wasn’t up to this. Annie sent her a look that said, “you’ll be all right.”

“Hi honey,” Lola said still in the smallest of voices.

“Give me your goddamn address,” Mark said coldly. “I’ll take a cab.”

Lola’s voice had turned plaintive. She sounded like a scared little girl. “I’m not--”

“Give me the address.”

Annie recognized from the adrenaline that suddenly pushed though her veins a sudden and unequivocal hatred for the guy. She wished she could soothe the stricken expression on Lola’s face, but how could she when she felt overwhelmed herself. Lola might have been right. It could be that bad.

Lola tried to speak: “I just wanted to say that--”

Mark’s voice came, cold, matter of fact. “You have nothing to say. You’re in no position. You listen to me Lola. I’ve run out of patience for your bullshit. Give me your address. I’m getting really pissed. Believe me, you don’t want to see me really pissed off.”

“I wanted to say,” Lola continued, “that I’m not...in New York.”

What about the plan! Lola wasn’t sticking to the plan! Annie wiped her sticky palms on her jeans. But as long as she said nothing about France...

“Then where the
fuck
are you?” Mark roared.

“I’m...in France, honey,” Lola sing-sang.

There was a silence, and Mark said and Annie mouthed in unison: “
What
?”

“Lia really likes her new school,” Lola chirped. On the line, there was a long silence. Annie could almost hear Mark’s brain gears making painful rotations. Lola timidly added, “she’s learning French so rapidly. And you should hear Simon!”

“Listen,” Mark said, his voice no longer containing his rage. “You can’t take the kids out of the country. That’s kidnapping. Is there another guy? That’s it? There’s another guy? Some sissy French guy with a fucking beret?” Annie found herself chuckling. This was playing out like a bad soap opera.

“No, of course, not,” Lola said.

“
Bull—Shit!
”

“Really, Mark, it’s just that...I had to...I needed to take some time off.”

“Some fucking time off what? Your life is loaded with time off. That’s all you fucking do, take time off, flee your fucking responsibilities.”

Obviously the guy had Tourette’s syndrome, and Annie wasn’t the most verbally scrupulous person. Lola swallowed and looked at her with despair. By now, Annie’s bloodstream was laced with adrenaline. She scribbled furiously and handed Lola a piece of paper, which Lola looked at, frowned at, but nonetheless read to Mark verbatim.

“Time off from your tyranny,” Lola read flatly.

“
My motherfucking what
?”

“Tyranny,” she repeated, rolling the word in her mouth like a piece of chocolate. She smiled at Annie. It must have felt good.

Annie smiled back, and they braced themselves with heads sunk in shoulders. But Mark stopped yelling.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. His voice was calm again. In fact, he sounded surprised.

“Well,” Lola stuttered, “It’s hard to say...” She looked up at Annie apologetically, and Annie sensed Lola was about to say something horrible in the vein of “you don’t buy me flowers,” if she didn’t get involved. There was no time, so Annie, figuring that her one advantage over Mark was that she was in the room and that Lola seemed to respond well to intimidation, looked at her with lightning in her eyes.

It worked. Lola swallowed and spoke fast. “You, you...put me down, you abuse me emotionally, you treat me like I’m an...idiot. You...scream.”

Another long silence, then Mark said, “Who’s coaching you right now?”

Lola and Annie had an identical silent nervous laugh. The guy was no dummy. Or else he knew his wife well. Annie had an unfitting jolt of appreciation for him.

“No one,” Lola assured him. His lowering his voice seemed to instill her with some form of strength. “I...had to leave because I couldn’t stand the abuse anymore.”

Mark had little he could say to that. “Tell me where you are, exactly.”

While Lola stuttered, Annie scribbled frantically on the pad and brandished it before her eyes.

“I have every intention to come back,” Lola read. “But if you don’t make some changes, this relationship is over. Think about that. I’ll call you tomorrow at the same time.”

“I’ll be back in L.A. tomorrow,” Mark said matter-of-factly. “I have meetings.”

Annie sliced her throat with the side of her hand.

“I’ll call you tomorrow at the same time,” Lola repeated like a robot, looking at Annie. And before anything could ruin this perfect moment, Annie tore the phone out of Lola’s hand and hung up for her. For an instant, they were stone-faced, a second later they were breathing a collective sigh of relief. Annie brushed her hand across her forehead. It was drenched in sweat.

In Althea’s room, a dozen canvases stood on the floor against every free inch of wall space. She kneeled next to a painting of a desolate urban land that reminded her of home. At the very bottom, lying on her side was the fragile silhouette of a small girl with blonde hair. How did this painting have anything to do with her?

Every night that week, long after the rest of the house had gone to sleep, Jared had tapped at her door. Each time she let him in and he apologized for being late, which made no sense at all. It took him a while to decide on a position. He moved her and she made herself like soft clay under his beautiful hands. Once he moved to his colors and started mixing, it was her clue to freeze in position. From there on, and unless he came to her and moved her again, she would not budge for hours. Her body as outwardly still as it was pulsating wildly under the surface. She kept her face still as well while her mind buzzed with a mix of euphoria and burning questions as to the whys of this.

Jared mumbled to himself in French and asked her dozens of questions per session in terrible English. Was she comfortable? Was she cold, hungry, thirsty, tired? But he asked her no personal question, and she told herself she preferred that. He sometimes spoke about his painting in French, saying “
tu comprends
” and she nodded yes. He did not enquire as to how much French she knew, and she did not offer the information, which might have then forced her to speak, something she did not want to do for fear of breaking the enchantment.

Sometimes Jared drew instead of painted: the back of her neck, her hand. Sometimes he mixed colors and looked angry. Sometimes he mixed color and did not or could not paint at all. After an hour, or five, Jared stopped. He thanked her. He seemed shy then. Apologizing, he left her room like a criminal, and Althea felt flustered and ashamed. But then, the following night, she’d hope he’d come, and he would, amidst the mighty smell of turpentine fumes that made her dizzy.

On the glass of her bedroom window droplets of condensation collected like a testimony to the unacknowledged heat their bodies generated.

Chapter 17

Annie and Lola closed the front door and descended the steps on a crisp morning that smelled of spring. Lola had done her share of crying and wringing her hands since the phone call to Mark, but this morning she was back to her own calm self and Annie wondered if she was witnessing an expression of Lola’s denial at work. Lola was barefoot in her Birkenstocks, a gross overestimation of the shy sun’s progresses. She was dressed for yoga in black leggings that made her slim legs appear even longer, and carried a rolled mat in a cotton bag. Annie held her grocery baskets the ten steps to the street and wondered if she too shouldn’t be barefoot and in leggings instead of in heavy boots and wrapped in that red poncho that made her look like a tent.

Together they walked down rue de Passy. Lola had found an English-speaking daycare willing to take Simon for a few hours every day so that she could take a yoga-teaching course. She had organized things to give herself free time, just like that. Annie had always lacked the ability to delegate. Besides, being a mother was what she did best. Perhaps the
only
thing she did well. So, Lola was from another Galaxy. She was an alien. And she was her friend.

The word dismayed her. Friend. A friend is someone you trust, and she somehow trusted Lola. She trusted her in the sense that she believed that Lola was absolutely benevolent towards her. Benevolent and admiring, which baffled her even more. Maybe this was not the kind of friendship where she would reveal her innermost thoughts. No, that was something she reserved for Lucas, the poor guy. Not that she told him everything either, but with Lucas she let herself be more vulnerable. With Lola, she was the grown up. The mother. Always the mother. She probably would have been The Mother with Lucas but he never let her. He let her feed him yes, but not mother him.

Lola was possibly the first woman friend she had made in ten years. How she mistrusted these Parisian women. How she mistrusted all women. And most men.

Annie tried to unbutton her poncho as they walked, looking for air, for more skin to air contact. “How can you go to yoga with what’s going on with Mark?”

“I can’t think straight when I don’t meditate. I have to de-stress first.”

“What I mean is that you’re putting Simon in daycare, and you’re taking a class. It’s like you’re planning your future here. But you know it’s not going to be that simple, don’t you?”

Lola gripped her mat. “You mean I should go back to him?”

No, Annie did not want Lola to go back. She wanted Lola to stay. But she had to wonder at her own motives. “I don’t know what I mean,” she said.

“France happened to me for a reason.” Lola said, walking. “I can’t just come back home as though nothing happened. I’m so terrible at making decisions.”

“You’ve made a decision if I ever saw one made. France didn’t just happen to you.”

Lola stopped in front of the door of the yoga studio and looked into Annie’s eyes. She always searched her eyes like that. It was unnerving. “So what do you think I should do?”

“Take action legally, not
illegally
,” Annie said. “Get some child support out of that
cretin.”

“You’re right,” Lola said feebly.

“You always say that I’m right, but you go on doing the opposite. Like yesterday when you told him you were in France. Now the shit is hitting the fan.”

Lola shuffled her weight. “You’re right that I
should
want a divorce.”

“Should, shmould.”

“But I don’t. What I want is for Mark to change. Back to the way he used to be. I know he has it in him. He was different at the beginning of our marriage.”

“Then give him an ultimatum.” What she wanted to say was “grow a backbone,” but she refrained.

“I can’t jump into things. People distribute ultimatums like chocolates. I’m different. I won’t give an ultimatum I’m not willing to follow through on.” Lola paused, then said, “and I don’t want to leave. Not yet. I’m happy here, Annie. I’m healing. Being under your roof is very healing for everyone. It’s good for me, it’s good for Lia, and it’s good for Simon. Just take a look at them. I leave Simon at a daycare for the first time in his life, and not a peep!” Lola put her hand on the yoga’s studio door and added “Even Althea is not poor little Althea anymore.”

“She isn’t?”

Lola smiled mysteriously “Looks to me like she’s in love.”

“What love? What’s going on?”

“Althea and Jared spend a whole lot of time together in her room.”

Out of the loop again
. Annie stepped onto the sidewalk. “What? I refuse to believe it.”

“Three hours yesterday. In her room.”

“What are you talking about? Jared has the hots for you.”

“Oh, come on,” Lola laughed. “First Lucas, and now Jared? You’re being paranoid.”

“To be paranoid I’d have to care. I’m just concerned about Althea.”

“She’s young, pretty, and has her life ahead of her.”

“I don’t know what he sees in her,” Annie said as she walked away.

Annie hurried down the street and after a few blocks set her straw bags on the sidewalk, removed the Poncho, made a ball out of it and stuffed it in one of the bags. Cool air billowed under her shirt, a button down flannel shirt that Johnny used to wear only on weekends. She had not imagined it would be so warm out today. Even the flannel shirt was too much. She stopped walking, set her bag down again, removed Johnny’s shirt and rolled it into a ball. If she put the shirt in her bag she would run out of room for groceries. She thought of tying the shirt around her waist. So hot. She held the shirt in her hand, looked around. There was a city trashcan. She picked up her bags, opened the trashcan and tossed the shirt into it.

Lola had spent the night rehearsing her future conversation with Mark, and rehashing the one they’d had. She felt utterly exhausted, utterly weak and confused. Still she went on as planned and took the first of a series of classes toward a yoga-teaching diploma. This was an accelerated program where she would be learning and practicing yoga for five to six hours each day. In just a few weeks she could get accredited to become an instructor. No matter where life led her thereafter, this diploma could not be taken away from her. This was the first time, probably in her life, that she was making a decision by herself, meaning without an agent, a manager or a husband’s advice—not even with Annie’s advice—to do something for herself with the grander scheme of things in mind.

By the end of the very first class, she felt somehow stronger, more empowered. Taking the class, she sensed possibilities for herself, and felt that she was closer to being able to finally take action. But the evening came, and the time to call Mark, and she felt weak again.

“Tell him what you want. Do you even know what you want?” Annie asked her.

Lola knew her plan had never gone this far. “I don’t want him. Not the way he is now.”

“Tell him. Set ground rules. He isn’t in front of you, so you can be a bit more aggressive.”

“Isn’t passive–aggressive good enough?”

Annie patted her on the back. Don’t worry, “I’ll listen in and help you.”

How to tell Annie she did not want that. She hesitated, “I’m pretty sure I’m ready to take sail on my own.”

“No, really, let me,” Annie said excitedly. “I’ll put some serious wind in your sails.”

Lola hesitated. “I’ll be... fine?”

“You were crumbling yesterday. You could not wait to cave in and tell him about France. Trust me. I’ll tell you exactly what to say.”

“To be honest, I don’t want to feel harassed from both ends.” Lola said. This might be the most insensitive thing she had ever said to another human being, but Annie only shrugged it off.

“Suit yourself. I’ll grab a shovel and start digging your grave in the backyard meanwhile.”

Lola’s hands shook wildly as she dialed her own phone number in Bel Air, a place where she’d lived eons ago, in another lifetime. There was one ring, and Mark picked up. “How are you doing?” she asked the instant she heard his voice, these being the only words she could utter.

“I’m doing,” Mark grunted from somewhere in the mansion, maybe the bedroom. Was the housekeeper coming every day now that she was gone? It would have been unnecessary. Lola could hear the TV in the background. Football it seemed.

“How’re the kids?” Mark asked. This could have been a conversation between them a month ago. She almost melted with joy at the normality of it all.

“They’re wonderful.”

“How well could they be doing, without a father?” he barked. How could she have responded without hurting him? But Mark spoke before she could. “The kids know I have a temper, big deal!” Something in Lola’s chest sunk. Mark knew. He knew. “How do you think I grew up?” he continued. “I got my ass kicked all the way to adulthood. If you think you’re doing them a favor by protecting them from real life, well you’re wrong! Life—I’m talking about real life, not the cocoon you live in—is tough as shit.”

“You make it tough,” she responded, picturing the thumbs up Annie would have given her for this.

“It doesn’t mean I don’t love my kids,” Mark said.

Lola felt her tears, irrepressible. “I know you love them,” she said softly, “and I know you love me. But you don’t show the love you feel.”

“Lia hates both of our guts equally, I’ll have you notice. And Simon—the kid isn’t missing a limb for God’s sake. They need a dad that’s a real man. Not some faggot French guy that...Are you fucking a French guy?” His voice rose. “Is that why you left? For a French guy?”

Lola was incredulous. “No, of course not.”

“So what’s the point? What is it you want, Lola?”

“I want...I need for things to change.”

“Like what?”

“I...I want to be a useful part of society, find a career.” She imagined Annie would want her to tell him, tell it to him like it was. “But mostly, I’m very...anguished by our marriage.” She waited for Mark to respond but he didn’t. “I’m so sorry, Mark. I need this time. I was losing ground. I was so...unhappy and confused.” Lola wanted to tell Mark how she felt free in France, boundless. How she cooked, ate, drank, laughed, flirted, explored Paris. How she felt light, playful, and happy with the children. Instead she said, encouraged by Mark’s silence, “Here, I’m discovering who I am and what I like, and even what I’m good at.”

His answer came, glacial. “And what might that be?”

Did he mean who she was or what she was good at? “I’m going through training right now,” she continued weakly, “to get certified, as a yoga instructor.”

“Certified at putting your legs behind your head? ”

This was precisely the kinds of remark she was leaving him for, but she let it pass, regretting immediately having done so. “I can be a yoga instructor in L.A. just as easily,” she said.

“And earn peanuts? Suit yourself.”

“I needed to be away from a materialistic lifestyle, the facade, the arrogance.”

“So you went to
France
?” Mark chuckled.

“My self-esteem was so low.”

“Don’t hold me responsible for your low self-esteem,” Mark said. “That came long before you met me, honey.”

Mark might be right about that. But he was certainly not innocent. Lola surprised herself and snapped. “Then why do I only feel low self-esteem when I’m around you?”

“You tell me.”

Lola took a deep breath, stared at her feet, at the wall, and said, “You’re a fault-finder.”

“
You’re
the fault-finder,” Mark retorted, “as you just proved. Only you’re a hypocrite.”

“I’m a hypocrite?” Lola said anxiously.

“You never said anything.”

“I was afraid that you’d stop loving me. I was afraid that you’d leave me.”

“So instead you leave me? What a joke.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It suits you to see yourself as victimized and me as the tyrant, but you constantly insinuate that I’m a bad father, a bad husband.”

“I never said that.”

“Oh spare me. I read it in your eyes.”

Lola was dumbstruck that Mark allowed himself to be so candid. “But I...”

“And sex,” Mark interrupted. He paused, “There’s always an excuse. Your libido.”

Lola’s shoulders relaxed suddenly. Sex, that time-honored weapon of conjugal life. “Maybe I was just resentful.”

“Well, I’m sure glad you admit it at last. I knew it was a crock of shit.”

“You know it’s not that I don’t love you.”

“What do you want me to do, Lola? You want me to crawl back to you on my hands and knees? You know me better than that.”

“We need to communicate.”

“Girlfriends ‘communicate.’”

Lola’s heart sank. “So what do we do?” she murmured.

“I’m not running after you, if that’s the game you’re playing. I won’t be waiting long. You’re not the only mermaid on Malibu Beach, as you well know.”

“Are you saying you want to see other...people?”

“Hey, not a bad suggestion! You know, try out a French guy.” He laughed nervously.

“There is no French guy.”

“After you’ve finished gut-wrenching communication with the perfect wimp of your dreams.”

“But it’s not what I want.”

“I’m what I am,” Mark said, “It’s my way...”