The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles (37 page)

“Oh, man, you have no idea how shaken up I am. What can I say? It’s taken us so long, I’d given up hope.”

She was suddenly seized by a terrifying thought.

“Oh, God, I hope the baby stays in there! They say you can lose it during the first three months. Can you imagine how heartbroken Marcel would be if I screwed this up?”

“Hey, stop talking like that! You’re pregnant!”

Ginette poured Josiane a cup of coffee.

“You want a sandwich with that?” she asked. “You have to eat for two now!”

“I’d eat for four if it makes the baby come out all nice and chubby. I’m almost forty, Ginette! Can you believe it? Is this a miracle, or what?”

Ginette smiled and patted her friend’s arm. “I know, Josie, I know. The best part of your life is about to begin. Marcel’s gonna treat you like royalty.”

“He’ll be so happy, he’ll go bananas. In fact, I gotta be careful how I break the news, ’cause his heart might burst.”

“Oh, come on! With all the exercise he’s getting, I’m sure his heart can take it.”

Josiane returned to her office, powdered her nose, and was just putting her compact away when she heard Henriette Grobz’s distinctive footsteps on the stairs.
God, the way that woman walks!
she thought.
The Toothpick clamps her legs together so tight, the insides of her thighs must have calluses.

“Good morning, Josiane,” said Henriette, much more sweetly than usual.

“Good morning, Madame Grobz. How are you?”

What the hell is she doing at the office at the crack of dawn, all gussied up?
Josiane wondered.
And what’s with the sweet talk? She must want something.

Henriette began hesitantly.

“Josiane, I want to ask you something, but it must remain strictly between the two of us. I don’t want my husband to know. He might be annoyed that I’m going around him on a matter that concerns the business.”

Henriette took a snapshot from her purse and held it out to her.

“Do you recognize this woman? Have you ever seen her at the office?”

It was a photo of a gorgeous, busty brunette. Josiane glanced at it and shook her head.

“No, not that I can recall.”

“Are you sure?” Henriette asked. “Here, take another look.”

Josiane took the photo and studied it—and got a shock. A grinning Marcel was standing next to the brunette, his arm around her waist.

Henriette noticed the change in Josiane’s expression.

“So, do you recognize her?”

“No, it’s just that . . . Would you mind if I make a copy of this?”

“What for?”

“I want to see if it matches anything in our files.”

“All right, but don’t leave it lying around. I know Monsieur Grobz is in Shanghai, but I wouldn’t want him to come across it when he returns.”

Josiane put the snapshot facedown on the Xerox machine and studied the back of the photo. There was a neatly drawn little heart and, in Marcel’s handwriting, the words “Natasha, Natasha, Natasha.” Josiane gulped. She couldn’t let the Toothpick see that she was upset.

“I’ll take a look in the files later,” she said. “I may have seen that woman once before. It was here in the office, with your husband. I think her name was something like Sasha.”

“Natasha, perhaps?”

“That’s it, Natasha! Listen, Madame Grobz, I’ll check, and if I find anything of interest, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Josiane. That is very sweet of you.”

“It’s my pleasure, madame. I’m at your service.”

She gave Henriette her most obsequious smile and walked her to the door.

“Can I trust you not to tell Monsieur Grobz anything?”

“Not to worry. I know how to keep secrets.”

“You’re very kind.”

Yeah, well, I’m not going to be so kind with that fat son of a bitch when he gets back from China
, thought Josiane as she sat down at her desk.
That’s it! No more red carpet for that bastard when he shows up, fresh from a jog and all hot and bothered. I’ll show that two-timing prick!

She took her pen and jabbed it through Natasha’s beautiful eyes.

“Pull over right there!” Hortense ordered, pointing at the corner.

“What if I don’t feel like it?”

“You want to keep going out with me, or not?”

“Hey, I was just kidding. Of course I do.”

“Well, if Mom or Zoé sees me with you, it’ll be all over.”

“But your mother doesn’t know who I am. She’s never even seen me.”

“Yeah, but she knows me, and she’ll make the connection. She may be slow, but she can put two and two together.”

Bruno Chaval parked the car and turned off the engine. He put an arm around Hortense’s shoulders and pulled her to him.

“Give me a kiss.”

She gave him a quick peck and reached for the door.

“You can do better than that!”

“Quit bugging me!”

“You didn’t say that earlier when you were waving my credit card around.”

“That was earlier.”

He buried his face in Hortense’s long hair, inhaling the smell of her skin and perfume.

“God, you drive me crazy!” he murmured. “Don’t be mean. I can’t help myself. I want you so badly. . . . I’ll buy you anything you want.”

Hortense rolled her eyes. What a drag Chaval was. He even took the fun out of shopping!

“It’s seven thirty. I have to get home.”

“I have two invites for a Galliano party on Friday night. Want to go?”

Hortense’s eyes became as big as saucers. “John Galliano, the designer?”

“Himself. I can take you, if you like.”

“Okay. I’ll make up some excuse so I can go.”

“But you have to be really, really nice to me.”

Hortense sighed and stretched, like a bored cat.

“Always conditions! If you think that turns me on, you’re—”

“I’m sick and tired of this shy virgin routine, Hortense!”

“Listen, I’ll sleep with you if and when I feel like sleeping with you. And right now, there’s no way. Get it?”

“Well, at least you’re direct. I’ll give you that.”

Hortense grabbed a big white Colette shopping bag from the
backseat and got out. She strolled down the sidewalk like a fashion model. Chaval watched her go.
What a bitch!
he thought.
She’s driving me crazy.
The way Hortense’s soft lips parted when they kissed made his blood race, and that darting tongue of hers . . . He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat.
That little cunt is making me as horny as a three-balled tomcat.

Our little fling’s been going on since June
, he thought.
No girl ever treated me this way, ever! Usually they worship the ground I walk on. This one polishes her shoes on my trousers, smears lip gloss on my seat cushions, and sticks old chewing gum in my glove box. And when she gets pissed, she pounds the hood with her Dior handbag! What have I done to deserve this?
Chaval inspected himself in the rearview mirror.
It’s not like I’m the son of Frankenstein. I’m a good-looking guy with lead in his pencil, but she doesn’t even care enough to take a picture of me!

He sighed and switched on the ignition.

As if she could read Chaval’s mind, Hortense turned around just then, her luxuriant hair swinging just so, and blew him a kiss.

Guys are so easy!
she was thinking.
They’re such pushovers. When they get the hots, they park their brains at the door. Even the really old ones, like Chaval. He’s thirty-five and can’t live without sex, goes around begging for it like a dog. Still, he probably has lots of experience. Should I sleep with him? I don’t really feel like it, but if I don’t, he might lose interest. I want to make it with someone I care about, at least a little. Especially the first time.

At her building, Hortense ducked into the superintendent’s supply closet to change out of her sexy clothes before she went
upstairs. She traded her miniskirt for a pair of jeans, pulled on a big sweater over her belly-baring T-shirt, and wiped her makeup off.
Here I am, Mommy’s little girl again
, she thought.
She’s so clueless!

Hortense shoved a tub of floor wax aside to hide her clothes and noticed an unfolded newspaper with Aunt Iris’s face on the front page. The headline read, “Before and After: A Star Is Shorn.” Just below it were pictures of Iris, first with long hair, then with her Joan of Arc crew cut. Hortense gave a low whistle of admiration.

She was about to head upstairs when she realized she was still carrying the big Colette bag with the Prada jacket. After a moment’s thought, she carefully cut off the Prada label and saved it. She would tell Joséphine that she’d bought the jacket at the flea market the previous week.

Antoine scowled at the huge crocodile sprawled on the grass in front of them. They had stopped the Jeep in the shade of an acacia tree, and he watched the animal basking in the sunshine, its skin glistening and its eyes half closed.
What do you think you are?
he asked in irritation.
A leftover dinosaur? A walking handbag? Why are you taunting me with those sleepy yellow eyes? Isn’t it enough that you’re making my life a living hell?

Antoine’s problems at Croco Park were getting worse. He had been forced to host a team of scientists who came to the plantation to study crocodile blood with an eye toward creating new antibiotics. Crocodiles are immune to nearly everything, it turns out. When they get hurt, instead of getting infections, they grow
scar tissue and go on their merry way. Some compound in their blood gives them a very robust immune system. Antoine had to feed and house the scientists, and find work space for them. It was another moneymaking scheme for Mr. Wei, and another headache for him.

Also, the crocodiles were proving highly unreliable: obese and picky. They would eat nothing but chicken or human flesh. Anything not to their taste they left to rot in the sun. Worse, Antoine had discovered that the females the Thai suppliers shipped were almost all menopausal. Not exactly a recipe for fruitful multiplication. The output of the leather goods factory had slowed, and the meat canning had dropped by half.
With my luck
, he thought,
the only money to be made from these damned reptiles will be mass-produced antibiotics, and there I’m screwed, because it isn’t covered under my contract!

That evening, as Pong silently served them dinner, Mylène announced that she’d sent a proposal to Mr. Wei and was thinking of going into business with him.

Antoine’s shrewd boss was quick to spot an opportunity. The moment he heard about Mylène’s boutique, he called and offered to become her partner. Together, they could launch a line of beauty products called Belles de Paris. Wei suggested having the packaging manufactured in France so they could put “Made in France” on the labels. This would guarantee success in the Chinese market, he said.

“Have you signed a contract yet?” Antoine asked.

“No, but we’re nearly there.”

“You never told me about this!”

“Yes I did, lovey, but you didn’t listen. You thought it was some tea party for little girls. Well, there’s a lot of money to be made.”

“Did you get any legal advice before drafting the contract?”

“During my last trip to Paris, I went to see a business lawyer on the Champs-Élysées who specializes in this kind of thing.”

“How did you find him?”

“I called Josiane, your father-in-law’s secretary. She’s very nice, and we got along really well. I told her I was calling on your behalf.”

“And so?”

“She gave me the name of someone they use, and I called him. Since I was referred by Marcel Grobz, he agreed to handle my case. He even took me out to dinner. We went to a Russian cabaret near his office.”

“Mylène, I can’t believe you did that! You used Chief’s professional connections without even knowing him? For all you know, he hates you.”

“Why should he? I never did him any harm.”

“Have you forgotten that I left my wife and two daughters because of you?”

“I never asked you to leave them, Antoine. You did that on your own. And you’re the one who got me involved in this whole Kenya thing!”

“Do you wish I hadn’t?”

“No, I have no regrets. I loved you so much, I would have gone anywhere with you. It’s just that I need to keep busy. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing. I’ve always worked,
ever since I was very young.” She looked at Antoine with unnerving candor. “Please don’t be mad, lovey. The cosmetics thing is just something for me to do. Plus, you never know. If it doesn’t pan out, Mr. Wei will be the only one to lose money, because I haven’t invested anything. And if it does work, my little business will make lots of money and you can be my manager.”