The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles (36 page)

“What would you like for your birthday?”

“An atomic bomb.”

“Name three contemporaries you hate the most.”

“Me, myself, and I.”

“What are you capable of doing for love?”

“Anything.”

“What is art to you?”

“It gets me through the day.”

“What do you like the most about yourself?”

“My long black hair.”

“Would you sacrifice your hair for a cause?”

“Yes.”

“If I asked you to sacrifice your hair now, would you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Bring me some scissors!”

Iris didn’t flinch. Looking into the TV camera with her big blue eyes, she showed no sign of apprehension. It was 9:30 p.m., and half of France was watching the variety show
On ne peut pas plaire à tout le monde.
Iris had answered the rapid-fire questions, and made the most of the interview. The host’s assistant now brought out a pair of scissors on a silver tray. He picked them up and came over to Iris.

“Do you know what I’m about to do?”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“You’re going to let me do this, and you agree not to sue us, right? Say, ‘Yes, I swear.’”

Iris held up her hand. “Yes, I swear,” she said, very calmly.

The host showed the scissors to the TV camera. The audience held its breath. Then he took Iris’s glossy black hair, spread it over her shoulders, and made the first cut. There was a dull creak, then a sound like ripping silk. The host took a hank of hair, turned, and held it up like a trophy. The audience gasped. Iris didn’t stir. She sat up straight, eyes open, a faint smile on her lips. The host lifted more hair and cut it. The other guests on the show instinctively pulled back, as if they wanted no part of this ritual execution.

Now the silence was total. Between each snip, the director showed reaction shots of stunned members of the studio audience.

The show host was now hacking at Iris’s hair like a gardener trimming a hedge. The ratings were going to go through the roof.

At last, he put the heavy scissors down triumphantly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Iris Dupin has just proven that fiction and reality are one and the same, because—”

He paused for a roar of applause, as the audience released its pent-up nervous tension.

“Because in Iris Dupin’s debut novel, she introduces us to Florine, a twelfth-century woman who shaves her head rather than submit to a forced marriage. It’s called
A Most Humble Queen
, and it’s published by Éditions Serrurier.”

Looking radiant and serene, Iris ran her fingers through her ruined hair. What did a few inches of hair matter? Tomorrow
A Most Humble Queen
would be flying off the shelves. Every bookseller in France would be begging Serrurier to rush-deliver thousands of copies. Eyes downcast, she savored her triumph. Then she gravely bowed her thanks, gracefully slid down from her stool, and went offstage into the wings.

Talking on her cell phone, the book’s publicist smiled broadly and gave her a thumbs-up: You did it!

“That was a knockout, darling!” she cried, muffling the phone with her hand. “You were fantastic! Absolutely fabulous! Everyone’s calling—the newspapers, radio, the other stations. They all want you, darling!”

Joséphine, Hortense, Zoé, and Gary were in Shirley’s living room, gathered around the television.

“Are you sure that was Aunt Iris?” Zoé asked worriedly.

“Of course it was.”

“Why did she let him do that to her?”

“To sell books, silly,” said Hortense. “And they will! Everybody’s going to be talking about this! What a great idea! Think they planned it ahead of time, Shirley?”

“Nothing your aunt does surprises me. But I have to admit, that was pretty amazing!”

“It sure was!” Gary said. “I’ve never seen anything like it on television. Except in a movie, that is. I saw the Joan of Arc thing, but that was just an actress, and she was wearing a wig.”

Zoé looked at her mother, who’d remained silent. “That’s awful, Mommy! I’m never gonna write a book, ever! And I never want to be on TV!”

“You’re right, it’s awful,” Joséphine managed. Then she ran into the bathroom and threw up.

“Show’s over for now,” said Shirley, switching off the television. “But stay tuned! This is just the beginning, if you ask me.”

The toilet flushed, and Joséphine came out, looking pale.

“Why’s Mommy sick?” Zoé whispered to Shirley.

“She’s upset at seeing your aunt behave the way she did. All right, everyone go set the table and I’ll serve the chicken. I almost forgot it was in the oven. Good thing Iris was the first guest on the show. Otherwise we’d be eating free-range charcoal!”

Gary stood up and went into the kitchen. He was almost
seventeen, on the verge of adulthood. Longish black hair framed his face, highlighting his green eyes and even white teeth. He had broad shoulders, and his voice had changed.

Joséphine still wasn’t used to how tall Gary had grown. When he came back to Courbevoie in September, she’d hardly recognized him. Now she admired his natural grace.
Maybe he really is some sort of prince
, she thought.

“I don’t think I can eat a thing,” she mumbled, sitting down at the table.

Shirley leaned close. “Pull yourself together,” she whispered. “Or they’ll wonder why you’re so upset.”

During their vacation, Shirley had told Gary that Joséphine had written the book, and made him swear not to tell a soul. She knew he could keep a secret.

The two of them had spent a wonderful summer together: two weeks in London, then a month in Scotland, in a manor house a friend loaned them. They went hunting and fishing, and took long walks in the hills. Gary spent most of his evenings with Emma, a young woman who worked in the village pub. One night he came back wearing a satisfied grin.

“Well, I did the deed!” he announced.

He and Shirley drank a toast to this new stage in his life.

In the evening when Gary was out, Shirley lit a fire in a great hall lined with hunting trophies and Highland antiques, and curled up with a book. She’d spent some nights with her lover, who came to the house a few weekends. They met late at night, in the west wing of the manor house.

Now Shirley caught Hortense looking at Gary appraisingly as he set the table, and felt a surge of pride. He wasn’t an eager young puppy anymore.

Hortense has changed too
, thought Shirley.
She used to be merely pretty; now she’s dangerous—sexy and unsettling. Jo is the only one who hasn’t noticed; she still treats her like a little girl.

Shirley basted the chicken with pan drippings, relieved to see that it was nicely browned and crisp. She set it on the table.

“Didn’t the book come out awfully fast?”

“The publisher moved it up to get it into the fall catalog,” said Joséphine.

“He must have been pretty sure it would sell.”

“And sure of Iris, too. Looks as if he was right.”

“Any news from the Barthillets?” Shirley asked, eager to change the subject.

“None, and that’s just fine with me.”

“Max isn’t a bad guy,” Gary said. “He’s just a little lost. Of course, with parents like his, he didn’t get dealt much of a hand. He’s herding sheep for his dad now. Probably not a lot of laughs.”

“At least he’s working,” said Hortense. “Hardly anybody’s able to get jobs nowadays. I’ve decided to major in theater. It’ll be a help, later on. Speaking of which, Mom, I need to subscribe to some magazines. I have to keep up with the trends. Yesterday a friend and I went to Colette; it was so cool!”

“No problem, honey; we can get the subscriptions. And what’s Colette?”

“A super-awesome store. I saw the cutest Prada jacket there.
Kind of expensive, but beautiful. I’d stick out in Courbevoie, but it would be perfect when we’re living in Paris.”

“What? You’re moving?” cried Shirley, dropping the chicken leg she was eating.

“That’s not even close to happening,” said Joséphine. “I’d have to make a lot of money first.”

“That might happen sooner than you think,” she said, glancing toward the TV.

“Shirley!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that this is upsetting news. You’re my family. You guys are all the family I’ve got. If you move, I’m coming with you!”

Zoé clapped her hands.

“That would be so great! We could get a big apartment and—”

Joséphine interrupted: “Hey, calm down, everyone! We’re not there yet. Eat, girls, or it’s going to get cold.”

The chicken was delicious, and Shirley was explaining how to buy a good free-range chicken when she was interrupted by a ringing cell phone.

No one moved to answer it.

“Is that your phone, Gary?” Jo asked.

“No, it’s in my room.”

“Is it yours, Shirley?”

“No, that’s not my ringtone.”

Joséphine then turned to Hortense, who wiped her mouth with her napkin and said calmly, “It’s mine, Mom.”

“Since when do you have a cell phone?”

Jo couldn’t understand how Hortense had replaced the one Carmen found in her jeans.

“A friend lent me his. He has two of them.”

“And who’s paying the phone bill?”

“His parents. They’re loaded.”

“Well, you’re going to return it right away! I’m not at all happy about this, but I’d rather buy you a phone myself.”

How can Mom afford to be so generous?
Hortense wondered.
Maybe she’s started a new translation. In that case I’d better ask her to raise my allowance.
There was no hurry, though. For the time being her boyfriend was buying her whatever she wanted, but when the day came and she dumped him, she’d be happy to have a little money saved up.

It was October 1, a day Josiane would remember for the rest of her life. She was the first one in the office, and she ran upstairs to the bathroom to use the pregnancy test kit that she’d bought at the avenue Niel drugstore. Her period was late: she should have had it ten days ago!

Every morning, Josiane had been getting up feeling anxious. She would lift her nightgown, slowly spread her legs, and examine the little white cotton patch on her panties. Nothing! She put her hands together and prayed that this was it: a baby Grobz in blue or pink booties.
Little angel, if this is you, I’m gonna give you a beautiful place to live!

She waited ten minutes, sitting on the toilet and reciting every prayer she knew, praying to God and all the saints, her eyes raised to the ceiling as if the skies would open up. Finally,
she looked at the test strip: Bingo! A bubble of joy burst in her chest.

She let out a triumphant yelp, jumped up, and raised her arms to heaven. Then she sat back down again, overcome with emotion, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m going to be a mommy!” she said over and over, rocking and hugging herself. Tiny pink and blue booties danced before her eyes. Then she ran to pound on Ginette’s office door.

“It’s a go! The baby’s here!”

She pointed to her stomach.

“Are you sure?” asked Ginette, wide-eyed.

“I just did a test:
pos-i-tive
!”

At the thought that she would soon be holding her baby, Josiane started bawling again. Ginette took her in her arms.

“Come on, kiddo, relax. This is good news, isn’t it?”