The Virgin Blue (37 page)

‘So Mathilde called you,’ I began feebly.

‘Yeah. God, she talks fast. I didn't really understand why you couldn't call me yourself.’

I shrugged. I could feel tension gathering in my stomach.

‘Listen, Ella, I want to say a couple things, all right?’

I nodded.

‘Now, I know this move to France has been hard for you. Harder for you than for me. Me, all I had to do was work in a different office. The people are different but the work is similar. But for you, you don't have a job or friends, you must feel isolated and bored. I can understand that you're unhappy. Maybe I haven't paid enough attention to you because I've been so busy with work. So you're bored and, well, I can see there'd be temptations, even in a little hick town like Lisle.’

He glanced at the psoriasis on my arms; it seemed to throw him momentarily.

‘So I've been thinking,’ he continued, getting back on track, ‘that we should try and start over.’

The waiter interrupted him to take our order. I was so nervous that I couldn't imagine eating anything, but for form's sake I ordered the plainest pizza possible. It was hot and close in the restaurant; sweat formed on my forehead and hands. I took a shaky sip of water.

‘So,’ Rick continued, ‘it turns out there's an easy way to do that. You know I was in Frankfurt at meetings over this housing project?’

I nodded.

‘They've asked me to oversee it, as a joint project between our company and theirs.’ He paused and looked at me expectantly.

‘Well, that's great, Rick. That's great for you.’

‘So you see? We'd move to Germany. Our chance to start over.’

‘
Leave France
?’

My tone surprised him. ‘Ella, you've done nothing but complain about this country since you arrived. That the people aren't friendly, that you can't make friends, that they treat you like a stranger, that they're too formal. Why would you want to stay?’

‘It's home,’ I said faintly.

‘Look, I'm trying to be reasonable. And I think actually I'm being pretty good about it. I'm willing to forgive and forget this whole thing with – you know. All I'm asking is that you move away from him. Is that unreasonable?’

‘No, I guess it's not.’

‘Good.’ He looked at me and his goodwill momentarily slipped. ‘So you're admitting something happened with him.’

The hard knot in my stomach moved and beads of sweat broke on my upper lip. I stood up. ‘I have to find a bathroom. I'll be back in a minute.’

I managed to walk away from the table calmly, but once I reached the bathroom and shut the door I let go and vomited, long gasping retches that shook my whole body. It felt like I'd been waiting to do it for a long time, that I was throwing up everything I'd eaten in France and Switzerland.

Finally I was completely empty. I sat back on my heels and leaned against the wall of the cubicle, the light set into the ceiling shining on me like a spotlight. The tension had been flushed away; though exhausted, I was able to think clearly for the first time in days. I began to chuckle.

‘Germany. Jesus Christ,’ I muttered.

When I got back to the table our pizzas had arrived. I picked mine up, set it on the empty table next to us and sat down.

‘You all right?’ Rick asked, frowning slightly.

‘Yup.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Rick, I have something to tell you.’

He looked at me apprehensively; he really didn't know what I might say.

‘I'm pregnant.’

He jumped. His face was like a television where the channels changed every few seconds as various thoughts passed through him.

‘But that's
wonderful
! Isn't it? That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Except –’ The doubt in his face was so painful that I almost reached across and took his hand. It occurred to me then that I could lie and that would solve everything. That was the open door I was looking for. But I was never good at lying.

‘It's yours,’ I said at last. ‘It must have happened just before we started using contraceptives again.’

Rick jumped up from his seat and came around the table to hug me. ‘Champagne!’ he cried. ‘We should order champagne!’

He looked around for the waiter.

‘No, no,’ I said. ‘Please. I'm not feeling well.’

‘Oh, right. Listen, let's get you home. We'll go now. Do you have your stuff with you?’ He glanced around.

‘No. Rick. Sit down. Please.’

He did, the uncertain look back in his face. I took a deep breath.

‘I'm not coming back with you.’

‘But – isn't that what this is all about?’

‘What's all about?’

‘This dinner. I thought you were coming back with me. I've got the car and everything.’

‘Is that what Mathilde told you?’

‘No, but I assumed –’

‘Well, you shouldn't have.’

‘But you're having my baby.’

‘Let's leave the baby out of this for a moment.’

‘We can't leave the baby out of it. It's there, isn't it?’

I sighed. ‘I guess so.’

Rick gulped the last of his wine and set his glass down.

It made a cracking noise against the table. ‘Look, Ella, you've got to explain something to me. You haven't said why you went to Switzerland. Did I do something wrong? Why are you being like this with me? You seem to be implying something's wrong with
us
. That's news to me. If anyone should be upset it's
me
. You're the one running around.’

I didn't know how to say it nicely. Rick seemed to sense this. ‘Just tell me,’ he said. ‘Be straight with me.’

‘It happened when we moved here. I feel different.’

‘How?’

‘It's hard to explain.’ I thought for a moment. ‘You know how you can buy an album and be obsessed with it for a while, play it all the time, know all the songs. And you think that you know it so well and it's special to you. Like for instance the first album you ever bought when you were a kid.’

‘The Beach Boys.
Surf's Up
.’

‘Right. Then one day you just stop playing it – not for any reason, it's not a conscious decision. You just suddenly don't need to listen to it anymore. It doesn't have the same power. You can hear it and know that they're still good songs, but they've lost their magic over you. Just like that.’

‘That's never happened with the Beach Boys. I still feel the same way when I listen to them.’

I brought my hand down hard on the table. ‘God dammit!
Why
do you do that?’

The few people in the restaurant looked up.

‘What?’ Rick hissed. ‘What did I do?’

‘You aren't
listening
to me. You take the metaphor and mangle it. You just won't listen to what I'm trying to say.’

‘What
are
you trying to say?’

‘I don't think I love you anymore! That's what I'm trying to say, but you won't listen!’

‘Oh.’ He sat back. ‘Why didn't you just say it, then? Why did you have to drag the Beach Boys into it?’

‘I was trying to explain with a metaphor, to make it easier. But you insist on looking at it from your perspective.’

‘How else am I supposed to look at it?’

‘From
my
point of view! Mine!’ I rapped on my chest with my knuckles. ‘Can't you ever look at things from
my
point of view? You act so nice and easygoing with everyone, but you always get your way, you always make people see it from your point of view.’

‘Ella, do you want to know what I see from your point of view? I see a woman who's lost, directionless, doesn't know what she wants, so grabs at the idea of a baby as something to keep her busy. And she's bored with her husband so she fucks the first offer she gets.’

He stopped and looked away, embarrassed now, realizing he'd gone too far. I'd never heard him be so frank.

‘Rick,’ I said gently. ‘That's not my point of view, you see. That is most definitely
your
point of view.’ I began to cry, as much from relief as anything else.

The waiter came over and silently cleared away our untouched pizzas, then placed the bill on the table without being asked. Neither of us looked at it.

‘Is this – change in your feelings temporary or permanent?’ Rick asked when I'd stopped crying.

‘I don't know.’

He tried again. ‘This album thing you talked about. Does it ever change back? You know – do you ever get reobsessed with it?’

I thought about it. ‘Sometimes.’ But never for very long, I added to myself. The feeling never really returns.

‘So maybe the situation will change.’

‘Rick, all I know is that right now I can't come back with you.’ I could feel tears gathering behind my eyes again.

‘You know,’ I added, ‘I haven't even told you what happened in Switzerland. And in France too. What I found out about the Tourniers. A whole story. I could tell a whole story – filling in some gaps here and there. You see, it's like this whole different life is going on with me that you don't know anything about.’

Rick pinched his nose at the top of his brow between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Write it down,’ he said. He glanced at my psoriasis again. ‘Right now I gotta get out of here. It's too hot in here.’

When I got back Mathilde was still up, reading a magazine in the living room, her long legs propped up on the glass coffee table. She looked up at me inquiringly. I flopped down on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

‘Rick wants to move to Germany,’ I announced.

‘
Vraiment
? That's sudden.’

‘Yes. I'm not going with him.’

‘To Germany?’ She made a face. ‘Of course not!’

I snorted. ‘Tell me, do you like any other country besides France?’

‘America.’

‘But you haven't even been there!’

‘Yes, but I'm sure I'd love it.’

‘It's hard to imagine going back. California would seem so alien.’

‘Is that what you're going to do?’

‘I don't know. But I'm not going to Germany.’

‘Did you tell Rick you're pregnant?’

I sat up. ‘How did you know?’

‘It's obvious! You're tired, food bothers you, though you eat a lot when you do eat. And when you're not talking you look like you're listening to something inside you. I remember it well from Sylvie. So who is the father?’

‘Rick.’