The Yellow Eyes of Crocodiles (48 page)

“Thanks, but I’m not interested. I’d rather be taking the pictures.”

After the shoot, Iris invited everyone over to the Hotel Raphael for a drink.

“I love the bar there,” she said. “Are you kids joining us?”

Hortense glanced at her watch and said that they couldn’t stay long. They had to get back to Courbevoie.

They walked over to the Raphael together. Capucine leaned close to the photographer and whispered, “Keep your camera handy. We’ve got to get some photos of the boy. He’s so gorgeous, it makes my teeth hurt.”

At the bar, Iris ordered a bottle of champagne. Gary and Hortense had Cokes. The photographer and the editor had a glass of champagne each, and Iris finished off the bottle. Soon
she was talking and laughing loudly, swinging her legs, and jingling her bracelets.

At one point, she grabbed Gary by the neck and pulled him onto her. They almost toppled over, but he caught her in his arms. Everyone laughed, and the photographer snapped some shots.

“This is so much fun!” cried Iris, draining her glass.

Hortense stared at her aunt in embarrassment. She gave Gary a let’s-get-out-of-here! look, and he got the message.

“We have to go,” he said, standing up. “Joséphine is expecting us, and I don’t want her to worry.”

Out in the street, Gary ran his fingers through his hair. He looked uncomfortable.

“Holy cow, what was with your aunt tonight? She had her hands all over me!”

“She was drunk. Forget about it.”

They got on the scooter and headed home.

For the first time in her life, Hortense felt something like pity. She was ashamed of Iris.
Mom would never have done that
, she couldn’t help thinking.
She wrote the book all by herself, but she doesn’t boast or make a spectacle of herself. I just wish she were tougher, and wouldn’t get screwed out of her royalties.

Suddenly Hortense had an idea. A brilliant one, if she did say so herself.

Three weeks later, Henriette was at the beauty parlor, waiting for her weekly peel and massage. Spotting Iris’s name in a magazine cover line, she found a two-page spread about her.
The article headline read, “The Author of
A Most Humble Queen
in the Arms of Her Page.” The subhead: “At forty-six, Iris Dupin goes out with a boy of seventeen, beating Demi Moore’s record.” A series of photos showed Iris leaning against a handsome teenager’s chest, with her head thrown back and her eyes closed.

Henriette snapped the magazine shut and hurried out of the salon. Gilles the chauffeur wasn’t there, so she dialed his cell and ordered him to come pick her up. She had barely put her phone away when she spotted a newsstand display rack given over entirely to a big photograph of Iris in the arms of her young lover.

When the car arrived, Henriette jumped into the backseat before Gilles could even open the door for her. She felt faint.

“Did you see your daughter, madame?” he asked with a big smile. “Her face is all over Paris. You must be so proud!”

“Gilles, not another word about that, or I’m going to be sick!”

She could feel a migraine coming on. Back at her building, she avoided the concierge’s eye and hurried up to her apartment.

Joséphine had gone out to buy bread, and used her moment of freedom to phone Luca. The children were taking up all her time, and she and Luca could only see each other during the afternoon, when the girls were in school. He lived in a studio apartment in Asnières, on the top floor of a new building with a terrace and a view of Paris. Joséphine had stopped going to the library; she now met Luca at his apartment.

“I’ve been thinking of you,” she said very quietly.

“Where are you?”

“Buying bread, as usual. Gary ate two whole baguettes when he got home from school.”

“Tomorrow I’ll serve you tea and cookies. Do you like cookies?”

At that pleasant thought, Joséphine closed her eyes, but was snapped out of her daydream when the
boulangère
asked her to take her bread and move aside so other customers could have their turn.

“I can’t wait to be with you,” she said, stepping outside. “Do you realize my days have become my nights lately?”

“So I’m both the sun and the moon? You flatter me!”

Joséphine smiled. Then her eyes lit on the photo of Iris and Gary on the newsstand rack.

“Oh my God, Luca! You’re not going to believe what I’m looking at!”

“Let me guess,” he said, laughing.

“Oh, no! This isn’t at all funny. I’ll call you back.”

She quickly bought a copy of the paper, and read it in her building stairway.

Philippe had gone to pick Alexandre up from school. Every Monday, he got out at 6:30 p.m. after his extra English class.

“I understand everything, Dad! Absolutely everything.”

Their new ritual was to walk home together, speaking English.
Children like regular routines
, Philippe thought.
They’re
more conservative than adults.
Holding Alexandre’s hand, he felt deeply happy, and he walked slowly to make the trip last.

Alex was saying how he’d scored two goals in soccer when Philippe noticed the photo of Iris on the front page of a tabloid at his usual newsstand. He quickly led them on a detour so Alex wouldn’t see it. When they got to their apartment door, he slapped his forehead.

“I’m such an idiot. I forgot to buy
Le Monde.
Go on in, son, I’ll be back in a minute.”

He went out to buy the tabloid and read it as he climbed the stairs. He stuffed it into his coat pocket, thinking hard.

Hortense and Zoé were walking back from school together. This only happened once a week, and Zoé used the time to perfect the detached and haughty look her sister used to turn men on. It didn’t come naturally to Zoé, but Hortense was working hard to teach her.

“It’s the key to success, Zoé-cannoli. C’mon, try!”

Zoé felt she’d become more important in her sister’s eyes since she’d revealed The Big Secret. Hortense was being nicer to her, and less nasty at home.
Almost not nasty at all
, mused Zoé as she squared her shoulders the way Hortense told her to.

That’s when they spotted the photo of Aunt Iris on the newsstand tabloid, with an inset photo of Gary and Hortense. They stopped in their tracks.

“We’re going to pretend we didn’t see a thing,” Hortense declared. “We’re staying out of this.”

“But we’ll come back and buy it when no one’s looking, right?”

“No. I already know what’s in it.”

“Oh, please, Hortense!”

“We’re staying out of it, Zoé. I mean it.”

Zoé walked by the newsstand without a sideways glance.

Feeling a little embarrassed, Iris decided to lie low for a while.
Did I go too far, sending the photos to the newspaper anonymously?
She thought it would be funny, that it would stir things up a little and get her back in circulation. But her mother’s reaction made it clear that she now had a scandal on her hands.

Iris, Philippe, and Alexandre were having dinner together, but Alex was the only one talking. He was saying he’d scored three soccer goals in a row.

“Before, you said two goals. You shouldn’t tell lies, Alex.”

“Two or three. I can’t remember exactly, Dad.”

At the end of the meal, Philippe folded his napkin and said, “I think I’ll take Alexandre to London for a few days, to visit my parents. He hasn’t seen them in a while, and it’s almost winter break. I’ll call the school to let them know.”

“Are you coming with us, Mom?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Your mother’s very busy right now.”

“Is it still the book?” Alexandre asked, sighing. “I’m sick of that book.”

Iris nodded and turned her head. She had tears in her eyes.

Gary asked if he could have the last piece of baguette, and Joséphine resignedly handed it to him. The two girls watched in silence as he mopped up the ratatouille on his plate.

“Why are you all looking so gloomy?” he asked. “Is it because of the pictures in the paper?”

They looked at one another in relief. So he knew!

“It’s no big deal,” he said. “They’ll talk about it for a week or two and then it’ll go away. Can I have some more cheese?”

“But your mother . . .”

“Mum? She would probably punch Iris’s lights out for doing that. But she’s not here, and she isn’t gonna find out.”