The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles (20 page)

“Tonight’s no night to catch anyone’s eye,” said Shirley. “They’re all staring at their feet.”

“You think he’ll look at me, the man in the duffel coat?”

“If he doesn’t, then he’s got shit for brains.”

“Can I ask you a question, Shirley? It’s kind of personal. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, come on, Jo. Just ask.”

“All right, here goes. Why don’t you have a man in your life?”

Joséphine regretted the question the second she asked it. Shirley jerked her arm free and strode quickly ahead.

Joséphine ran to catch up to her.

“I’m sorry, Shirley, really. I shouldn’t have asked, but you’re so beautiful, and seeing you by yourself, I—”

“You’re not going to get an answer on that one. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Another blast of wind hit them, and they hunched over, clinging to each other.

“This is scary weather,” Shirley muttered. “You’d think it was Judgment Day!”

“You’re right. They could put in a few more streetlights, too, don’t you think? We should write city hall.”

Joséphine was saying whatever came to mind to change her friend’s mood.

“Okay, I have another question, a more ordinary one. Why do you wear your hair so short?”

“I’m not answering that one, either.”

“But that isn’t a nosy question!”

“No, but it relates directly to your first question.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry! I’ll stop talking.”

They walked on in silence, Joséphine wishing she had kept quiet.

Lost in thought, Jo didn’t notice that Shirley had stopped, and she bumped into her.

“Want me to tell you something, Jo? Just one thing?”

Joséphine nodded.

“Long hair can get in your way. You can think about that—”

Out of nowhere, three young men rushed up and grabbed their purses. Joséphine took a hard punch in the face and yelped. When she touched her nose, she felt blood.

Shirley erupted in a volley of English curses and raced after the three punks. Joséphine watched dumbstruck as Shirley unleashed her fury on them. In a blinding flurry of elbows, kicks, and punches, she knocked the three sprawling to the ground. One pulled a knife, but she sent it flying with a roundhouse kick.

“Had enough, or you want some more?”

The three boys were rolling on the ground, clutching their chests, as Shirley picked up the purses.

“You broke my tooth, you bitch!” muttered the biggest.

“Just one of them?” She kicked him in the mouth again.

He screamed and curled up in a ball to protect himself. The other two got up and took off as fast as their legs could carry them. Moaning, the one still on the ground started crawling away on his elbows.

“You fucking whore!” he muttered, spitting blood. Shirley bent over and grabbed him by his jacket collar. Forcing him up onto all fours, she methodically began to strip him. Piece by piece, she ripped off his clothes until he was down to his underpants and socks, and lay huddled on the sidewalk.

“Why’d you attack us, you scummy piece of shit? Because we’re two women on our own, is that it?”

“It wasn’t my idea, m’dame. It was my friend who—”

Shirley slammed his head against the ground. He started yelling, swore he’d never do it again, would never again attack a woman alone. Holding an arm up to shield himself, he staggered to his feet and went to pick up his clothes.

Shirley shook her head. “You’re going home just the way you are. In your socks and shorts. Now beat it, you little arsehole.”

He took off without another word. Shirley waited till he was gone, then bundled up his clothes and tossed them into a Dumpster. She straightened her blouse and pants and brushed off her coat.

“Fucking toe rags!”

Joséphine gaped at Shirley, stunned by the violence she had seen her unleash.

Shirley shrugged. “That’s also part of why I don’t have a boyfriend. Clue number two.”

She leaned close and inspected Joséphine’s bloody nose, then pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and dabbed at it. Jo winced.

“It’s okay. It’s not broken, just battered. It’ll be black and blue tomorrow, though. You can tell people you ran into the door on your way out. But not a word to the kids, okay?”

Joséphine nodded numbly. She wanted to ask Shirley where she learned to fight like that, but didn’t dare. Her knees were wobbly, and she suggested they stop for a minute so she could collect herself.

“Sure. Don’t worry about it. That was your first fight. You get used to it after a while.”

“I need a drink. My head’s spinning.”

In the lobby of their building they found Max Barthillet sitting on the stairs by the elevator.

“Um, I don’t have my key, and my mom’s not home yet.”

“You can wait in my flat. Go leave your mum a note.”

Jo and Shirley got into the elevator.

“It’s Christmas Eve, and I don’t have a gift for Max!” said Jo. She looked at her nose in the elevator mirror. “Goodness gracious! My face is a mess.”

“Jo, when are you going to start saying ‘shit,’ like the rest of the world? I’ll slip him some money in an envelope. It’s what the Barthillets need most right now.”

Joséphine took the presents down from where she’d hidden them on the top shelf of her closet and went to get the girls, who
hooted with laughter at their mother’s clumsiness and swollen nose. Ringing the bell to Shirley’s apartment, they could hear Christmas carols. Shirley opened the door with a big smile, and Jo had trouble recognizing the avenging angel from earlier in the evening.

Hortense and Zoé squealed when they opened their gifts. Gary jumped for joy when he unwrapped the iPod Joséphine had bought him. “This is so cool!” he exclaimed. “Mum didn’t want me to have one. You’re the best, Joséphine.” He leaped up and hugged her, mashing her nose.

Zoé was gazing at the Disney movies and the DVD player. Hortense was in shock. Her mother hadn’t bought some discounted, crappy computer; this was the latest Mac. And Max Barthillet was staring at the hundred-euro bill Shirley had slipped into an envelope with a little card.

“Wow! Thanks for thinking of me, Shirley. That’s why Mom’s not around. She knew you were having a party and didn’t say anything, so it would be a surprise.”

Joséphine held out her gift to Shirley: an early edition of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
with the John Tenniel illustrations. She’d found it at a flea market. Shirley gave her a black cashmere turtleneck.

“To strut your stuff in Megève.”

Joséphine hugged her, and for a moment Shirley relaxed in her arms. “We two make quite a team, don’t we?” she murmured. Jo hugged her tighter.

Gary had taken over Hortense’s computer and was showing her how it worked. Max and Zoé were absorbed in the Disney movies.

Joséphine had been dreading this party because of Antoine’s absence, but it was going better than she could have hoped. Shirley had trimmed a Christmas tree and decorated the table with holly, cut-out snowflakes, and gold paper stars. Tall red candles flickered in wooden candlesticks. It looked like a dream.

They uncorked the champagne and devoured the turkey with chestnut stuffing and the chocolate-and-coffee
búche de Noël
(a secret Shirley recipe). When dinner was over, they pushed the table aside and danced.

Gary did a slow dance with Hortense as the two mothers watched, sipping their champagne.

“They look cute,” said Joséphine, who was a little tipsy. “See that? Hortense didn’t need much convincing. I even think she’s dancing a bit too close to him.”

“Because she knows he’s going to help her with her computer.”

Jo playfully poked Shirley in the ribs, and Shirley yelped in surprise.

Jo wished she could stop time, just take this moment of happiness and preserve it in a bottle. Glancing out the window, she saw stars in the sky and raised her glass to them.

They were leaving Shirley’s when Christine Barthillet came to fetch Max. Her eyes were red, and she claimed she’d gotten dust in them as she was stepping off the Metro. Max showed her his hundred-euro bill, and she thanked Shirley and Jo for taking care of her son.

Jo had trouble getting the girls to settle down. They were bouncing on their beds and squealing with excitement about leaving for Megève in the morning. Zoé wanted to check her
suitcase for the tenth time to make sure she had everything she needed. Joséphine finally managed to cram her into her pajamas and stuff her into bed.

In the bathroom, Hortense was washing her face with the expensive cleansing lotion Iris had bought her. She turned around to Jo. “Mom . . . all those presents. Did you pay for them?”

Joséphine nodded.

“Does that mean we’re rich now?”

Joséphine burst out laughing and sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“I’m doing some extra work, translations. I got eight thousand euros for that biography of Audrey Hepburn. With any luck, I’ll do many more of them.”

“So we’ll have plenty of money?”

“We’ll have plenty of money.”

“And I’ll be able to get a cell phone?”

“Maybe.”

“And we’ll move?”

“Do you really not like living here?”

Hortense frowned.

“I’d like to live in a nice neighborhood in Paris,” she said. “Meeting the right people is just as important as getting an education, you know.”

Hortense looked beautiful in her camisole and pink pajama bottoms.

“Honey, once I’ve earned enough money, we’ll go live in Paris. I promise.”

Hortense dropped the cotton makeup ball and threw her arms around her mother’s neck.

“Oh, Mom, I love it when you’re like this, all strong and decisive . . . By the way, I like your new cut and highlights. You look really pretty!”

“So you do love me after all?” Joséphine made an effort to sound light, not needy.

“I love you so much when you’re sure of yourself. When you act all pitiful and sad, it bums me out. Worse, it scares me. I feel like we’re not gonna make it.”

“Hortense, honey, I promise we’re going to make it. I’m going to work like crazy and earn lots of money, and you’ll never be scared again.”

Joséphine wrapped her arms around her daughter’s soft, warm body. This moment—this very moment—was the best Christmas gift ever.

The next day, Jo, Zoé, and Hortense were gathered on Platform F at the Gare de Lyon, waiting to board the Lyon-Annecy-Sallanches train, which was due to leave in ten minutes. Joséphine was looking every which way, hoping to see her sister and little Alexandre. Instead she glimpsed a couple down the platform.
Oh, no
, she thought. It was Marcel kissing his secretary Josiane, then fussily helping her aboard the train.
He looks ridiculous! You’d think he was transporting the crown jewels.

To distract Zoé and Hortense, she sent them ahead to look for car 33, which fortunately was at the front of the train.
Dragging their suitcases and checking the car numbers they passed, the girls moved away from Marcel and Josiane.

Jo turned around and spotted Iris and Alexandre in the distance, racing toward them.

They all plopped down in their seats as the train started to move. Hortense carefully folded her down jacket and put it on the coat rack. Zoé and Alexandre started vividly describing their respective Christmas eves. This annoyed Iris, who snapped at them.

“They’re going to grow up to be morons, I swear . . . God, Joséphine, what happened to you? Your face is a mess! Have you been taking judo? You’re too old for that, you know.”

As the train started, she pulled Jo aside.

“Come on, let’s go grab a coffee.”

“Now, right away?” asked Jo, worried that they would run into Josiane and Marcel in the dining car. Then she remembered that Marcel was spending Christmas with his mother in Paris, and wouldn’t be on the train. Reluctantly, she got up and followed Iris. She was missing her favorite part of a train ride: the moment when the train passed through the outskirts of Paris, picking up speed as it flashed through a landscape of row houses and little suburban stations.

At the dining-car bar, Iris kept stirring her little plastic spoon around in her coffee. She looked gloomy and tense.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m in deep shit, Jo. Really deep shit.”

Joséphine said nothing, but thought that Iris wasn’t alone.
I’ll be in deep trouble too, in about two weeks. On January 15, to be exact.

“And you’re the only person who can help me.”

“Me?” Joséphine was astonished.

“Yes, you. So listen to me and don’t interrupt. This is hard enough to explain.”

Jo nodded.

Iris sipped her coffee and turned her violet-blue eyes on her sister.

“You remember the story I made up that night, about pretending I was writing a book?”

Joséphine nodded again. Iris’s eyes always had the same hypnotic effect on her. She would have liked to ask Iris to turn her head away, but Iris kept staring into her sister’s eyes.

“So guess what? I
am
going to write a book.”

“Hey, that’s great news! I’m surprised that—”

“Don’t interrupt. Believe me, I need all my strength to tell you what I’m going to say next.”

She took a deep breath, then exhaled sharply.