The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles (33 page)

J
oséphine was writing in the kitchen with the shutters closed against the heat. Her July deadline was approaching fast. Iris came every day to take Max and Zoé to the movies, for walks around Paris, or to the Jardin d’Acclimatation amusement park. The children’s school was being used for
baccalauréat
prep classes, leaving Max and Zoé at loose ends. Joséphine had made it clear to Iris that if she were ever to finish the novel, she had to have the apartment completely to herself, without worrying about what the kids were doing. Hortense was working at Casamia, but Zoé and Max needed to be kept busy.

“And I can’t let Zoé just hang out with him,” she said. “She’ll end up stealing cell phones or selling marijuana!”

Iris had been none too happy. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

“You figure it out. Either that, or I don’t write!”

Meanwhile, Christine Barthillet was pursuing her romance with Alberto. They would meet at sidewalk cafés but hadn’t slept together.

“Something’s going on, and I don’t know what it is,” she said. “Something weird. Maybe he’s impotent. Or maybe he’s mental. He can’t bring himself to make his move. And you know what? I’ve never seen him standing up! I feel like I’m dating a midget.”

“It’s romantic!” said Zoé. “He’s taking it slow.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have any time to waste. I don’t even know his last name! I’m telling you, I smell a rat.”

Joséphine had no time to waste either. She was dealing with scary Guibert the Pious, Florine’s fourth husband.

Guibert rides up to Florine’s castle on a big black charger. He is incredibly handsome, with long brown hair, a broad chest, powerful arms, and piercing blue eyes. When he preaches the Gospels in his deep, resonant voice, Florine feels a fire in her belly.

Guibert can recite the Decretum by heart and rails against sin in all its forms. He moves into the castle and imposes his rules on its occupants. He makes Florine wear sackcloth. “You claim to want to follow the Rule of Saint Benedict, yet you hesitate when I order you to sleep on the ground in a shift,” he thunders.

Florine eagerly drinks in his words.
This man has been sent to put me back on the path of righteousness
, she thinks. She obeys him in everything. Her faithful servant Isabeau becomes so fearful of Guibert’s fanaticism that she flees one night, taking the young count with her. Florine is left alone, with only a few terrified servants. But one evening, Guibert puts his arm around her shoulder and asks her to marry him. Thanking the Lord, Florine agrees. The wedding is sad and austere. On their wedding night, Florine slips into the conjugal bed trembling with anticipation.
But Guibert lies down next to her wrapped in his cloak. He has no intention of consummating their marriage. That would be to commit the sin of lust.

Guibert chops off Florine’s long golden hair and marks her forehead with two streaks of ash. He works her to exhaustion and makes her fast continuously. He demands that Florine tell him where she hid the gold that the king of France gave her. “That money is cursed,” he says. “Give it to me, that I may throw it in the river.” Florine resists. She doesn’t want to disinherit Thibaut the Younger. Guibert tortures her.

Florine has nearly given up all hope when Isabeau returns with a troop of knights and rescues her. Searching the castle, they discover a real treasure: the money Guibert stole from the widows he duped before meeting Florine.

Guibert is burned at the stake as a heretic, and Florine weeps to see the man she loved so much die in the flames. “He will go straight to hell,” says Thibaut the Younger, “as he so richly deserves.”

Whew!
Joséphine thought, mopping her brow.
It was high time he died. What a self-righteous creep!

So Florine is a widow again, and wealthier than ever.

She’s a bit like me
, thought Joséphine.
I’ll soon be richer, but I’m still lonely.
She hadn’t heard from Luca in ten days. She rubbed her back and sat down at the computer again. Florine had only one more husband to go—the last one, Tancrède de Hauteville.
This one will be Mr. Right
, she decided.
I want the book to have a happy ending, and I think I know how to make that work out.

Tancrède is a neighbor of Florine’s. He returns from a crusade
and asks her to marry him. She agrees, leaves the castle to her grown-up son, and goes to live with Tancrède in a cottage in the Poitou region. Their life is very simple: they pray, grow their own vegetables, and wear furs. They are happy, and love one another dearly. But one day when Tancrède is fetching water, he discovers a tremendous vein of silver ore. They will be rich! Florine is initially devastated, but comes to see her fateful, recurring wealth as a sign from God. She and Tancrède found a hospice for the poor, they have many children, and live happily ever after—The End.

At last!
Jo exulted.
All I have to do is write it. One last effort and I’ll be done, and then . . .

Then she would have to turn the manuscript over to Iris. She was dreading this. The book had become her friend. The characters spoke to her, and she listened, traveling with them along their path. How could she let them go?

So as not to think about that, she checked her e-mails. There was a long one from Antoine.

Joséphine was dismayed.
Oh my, Antoine is getting grandiose ideas again! He hasn’t learned a thing.

The e-mail filled Jo with such conflicting emotions, she just stared blankly at the screen.

Then she checked the time. Soon Iris would be back with the
kids, Christine from her date with Alberto, and Hortense from her job at Casamia. Good-bye, peace and quiet!

She closed the computer and got up to start dinner. The phone rang. It was Hortense.

“I’m going to be a little late, Mom. There’s a party at the shop after work. Don’t hold dinner for me.”

“How will you get home?”

“Someone’ll give me a ride.”

“Someone who?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure to find someone. Mom, sweetie, please don’t spoil my fun. I’m so happy to be working, and everyone seems pleased with me. I get tons of compliments.”

Joséphine looked at her watch. It was seven o’clock.

“Okay, but don’t be home later than . . .”

She hesitated. This was the first time Hortense had asked her for permission to stay out, and Jo didn’t know what was appropriate.

“. . . ten o’clock, okay?”

“Okay, Mom, don’t worry. See, if I had a cell phone it would be much easier. You’d be able to reach me any time, and you wouldn’t worry.”

Joséphine could picture the pout on Hortense’s face as she hung up.

Jo now sensed a new challenge looming: how to manage Hortense’s freedom. She smiled grimly.
Manage
and
Hortense
were two words that really didn’t go together. She’d never been able to manage Hortense. In fact, she was always amazed when her daughter did what she asked her to.

She heard a key in the lock. Christine came into the kitchen and plopped down on a chair.

“I finally got it.”

“What did you finally get?”

“His name’s Alberto Modesto, and he has a clubfoot.”

“Nice name, Alberto Modesto.”

“Sure, but a clubfoot isn’t nice at all. And I only noticed it ’cause I was clever; otherwise he would’ve gone on fooling me. So I get to the café, and there he is, all dressed up, turned out real nice. We kiss hello, and he says nice stuff about my getup. He orders a mint soda, gets me a cup of coffee, and we talk and talk. It’s nice, okay? After a while I tell him I have an appointment and gotta go. So Alberto kisses my hand! I get up and leave, but I go hang out at the corner and watch for him, and I see him go limping by. With his clubfoot. It’s like he’s got his foot caught in a toolbox. He limps, Madame Joséphine! He’s all lopsided!”

“So what? He has the right to live, doesn’t he?” Joséphine was shouting. “You know what? You make me sick! If it weren’t for Max, I’d kick you out! You live in my house, you don’t lift a finger to help. You don’t do a damned thing except troll for guys on the Internet, chew gum, and watch TV. And now you’re bitching because your boyfriend isn’t perfect? You’re pathetic, you know that?”

“Jeez! A person can’t even say what’s on their mind around here!”

“Listen, I’m swamped with work, and I don’t need this nonsense. Today’s June tenth. I want you out of here by the end of
the month. Max can stay until you get settled, but I’m never taking care of you again. You hear me? Never!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the picture,” mumbled Christine, sounding aggrieved.

Josiane watched as the Cortès girl entered the courtyard, and noted that she was right on time, as she was every morning. Hortense walked as elegantly as a fashion model. When she was on the job, she pulled her long auburn hair back into a ponytail. At the end of the day, she released it with a theatrical gesture, tucking the strands behind her ears, the better to show off the neat oval shape of her face, the glow of her skin, and the delicacy of her features.

Still, I have admit she’s a hard worker
, thought Josiane. Ginette had taken Hortense under her wing and shown her how they tracked inventory. She knew how to use a computer, so she caught on fast. Now she wanted to move on to something else, and was buzzing around Josiane.

“Who handles the purchasing?” Hortense asked, with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Bruno Chaval,” Josiane said, fanning herself.

“I’d like to work for him. Stock management I get, but it’s not all that fascinating. I want to learn something new.”

That damned fake smile
, said Josiane to herself.
She must think I don’t see though her. She’s got Ginette and René fooled, and the guys in the warehouse can’t even stand up straight when she’s around.

“Just ask him,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll take you on, but you better hurry. He’s leaving for a new job at the end of the month.”

Hortense thanked her, flashing another smile that left Josiane cold.
Bruno and Hortense—that’s gonna be interesting
, she thought.
Wonder who’s gonna swallow who?

She looked out the window to see if Chaval’s red sports car was there. It was, parked right in the middle of the courtyard, as usual. The rest of them could just find parking spaces as best they could.

While Hortense was learning the ropes at Casamia, Zoé, Alexandre, and Max were prowling the Musée d’Orsay. Iris had taken them early that morning, hoping the Impressionist masterpieces would help burn off some of their energy. She was sick of the hot, dusty Jardin d’Acclimatation with its screaming kids, long lines, and cheesy rides. Plus she had to lug around the tacky stuffed animals that the children won at the shooting gallery.

It’s high time Jo finished so I can get my life back
, Iris thought.
I’m tired of being around teenagers in heat. Alexandre is all right, but sweet little Zoé acts out all the time now. Max’s influence, I guess.