Bennett Sisters Mystery, Volumes 1-2, page 34
“Enough already,” Annie said. Francie opened her mouth to say something and Annie wagged a finger at her. “Stop. This stops now. I shouldn’t have yelled at you guys yesterday. I think I may have opened the floodgates of bitching. I apologize for that. We were doing so well before that.”
“No, we weren’t,” Elise said, pouting.
Annie glared at her. “Yes, we were. We were having a helluva good time.”
“We just weren’t talking about it. It’s good to get things out in the open.” A tear escaped Elise’s eye.
“Is it?” Merle murmured.
“You guys go back to the other house.” Annie shooed Francie, Elise, and Gillian out the door. “We’ll see you at dinner. We’re going to that truffle restaurant at 8 -- what’s it called?”
“Les Saveurs,” Merle said.
“Meet us there. We’ll talk about our plans then.”
Merle retreated to the sunny garden and sat down in her favorite place on the wall under the acacia tree. She felt limp. Her worst nightmare come true, the sisters finally get to go on a grown-up trip together and find out they can’t stand each other. Maybe they should all just go home and pretend this never happened.
Yesterday, with Pascal, drifted into her mind, how calm and peaceful to be with him again, as if they’d never been apart. He didn’t tell her anything about his year, the wife he’d left years before, his parents, his work as a policeman. After recapping the criminal histories of the villagers, he was quiet. He was just there. The constant barrage of talking, feelings to be tiptoed around, the petty grievances of her sisters were wearing her down. It didn’t feel like a vacation, it felt like one long Thanksgiving dinner.
Would Pascal come to dinner tonight? He said he would but now she wondered if she should put him off. No outsider deserved this family mess.
Annie joined her on the low, bumpy wall. “That damn Gillian. She started this.”
“Stace and Francie gave it a good go.”
“I shouldn’t have lost it yesterday. I wanted all of us to have a good time on this trip, to really enjoy each other’s company.”
“We are, Annie.” Merle took her hand. “We will.”
“Gillian’s attitude is poisonous. Like she enjoys pissing us off. What’s her deal? Do you know anything about her besides she works with Francie?”
Merle frowned. “She’s from Colorado, I think. Why?”
Annie looked up at the sky. It was impossibly blue. “You know how sometimes I get vibes about people? The ones I’ve been getting from Gillian worry me. Her aura is brownish which means negativity, distractions. I heard at Ward and Baillie they call her ‘The Girl in the Empty Dress.’”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s there but not there. Secretive. What’s she hiding?”
“Did you ask Francie about her?”
“That went nowhere.” Annie got up and sighed. “Is it Oh-Wine-Thirty yet?”
Stasia stepped outside when Annie went in for refreshments. She hung onto the back of a metal patio chair, looking sheepish.
“Are you okay?”
Merle nodded. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m sorry I lost my temper. We can change the dates. It might cost some money but of course we can change the reservations.”
“We should just go. Take the hell off.”
“You mean it?” Stasia sat on the wall in Annie’s spot. “I really want to get out of here. Your little town is sweet and all. Mostly.” She laughed. “But I love walking through the countryside. I didn’t think I’d love it but I do. It makes me feel like a kid, walking to school on trails through the woods, looking at the flowers, watching the birds. It’s kinda magical.”
Merle took her hand. “It is. Let’s do it.”
Stasia frowned. “You think it’s okay to leave Tristan with those cows?”
“I think he’s safe. Why, did he say something?”
“I just don’t like Gillian. She’s such a -- a beeatch, as my kids say.”
“Do you know anything about her background?” Stasia shook her head. “Forget about her. She’s not going to ruin our vacation. We won’t let her.” Merle put her arm around her shoulders, feeling the tension there. Odd, and so right, to be reassuring her older sisters.
Stasia relaxed. “Where’s Pascal? He’s coming to dinner, isn’t he? And if I haven’t said it already, what a hottie. I totally get your little thing last summer.”
“He’ll be over soon. Try not to drool.” Merle squeezed her sister’s shoulder and looked at her watch. “Come on. Time to change.”
* * *
At six everything was peaceful in the garden. Merle had changed into a skirt and tank top, using the lavender pashmina she’d brought for the plane as a shawl as she read her novel. Annie was still getting ready after collapsing for a short nap. Stasia sat across the green metal table in her sun hat. She loved the countryside but was deathly afraid of wrinkles. ‘TBB’ is what Elise called her: tall, blonde, and bossy. But right now she sipped her Pinot Gris and stared wistfully at the sky.
Tristan poked his head out the back door. “Mom, Pascal’s here. And guess who he brought with him?”
She swiveled to see Pascal in a black dress shirt and jeans, his hair damp, talking over his shoulder to someone. She set down her book, pulling the shawl tight. What was this? She barely had time to think and there he was.
James.
“Oh, crap,” Stasia whispered. “I forgot about Jimmy Jay.”
Pascal clapped the other man on the shoulder in a friendly way. Merle felt whiplashed. How did --? Why was--? James carried a small red backpack and wore wrinkled khakis and a blue polo shirt with heavy underarm stains. He was six inches shorter than Pascal, rosy from the heat and a little fleshy. Mostly bald, in wire-rim glasses, he was laughing at something Pascal was telling him when he stopped in his tracks, gazing at the garden the way everyone did the first time.
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s patootie. Look at this marvelous place.”
James -- Jimmy Jay to her sisters -- retained his South Carolina drawl even after twenty years in New York. He worked at one of the white shoe law firms Merle solicited for Legal Aid. His firm had been very generous to their pro bono program. They’d been dating, if that was still the word for middle-aged people who went to dinner and the theater together, for three months.
Merle kicked herself into action. “James. How good to see you.” She gave him a quick hug, blinking at his body odor. “I thought you were coming on the 25th.”
“I know. But here I am, in all my James Jeremy Silvers the Third-ness!” He lifted both arms wide as if estimating the size of a very large fish.
Pascal stared at him, dumbstruck. Stasia snickered behind her hand. This was one of James’s favorite lines, a way to introduce his proud name and lineage. He always laughed afterwards, like he was awkwardly doing now, as if it was a joke. He was so childlike, like the undersized backpack dangling on his finger.
“Here you are,” Merle said.
“I found him wandering in the streets,” Pascal explained. “No French so no one would help him.”
“Such a friendly little village,” Stasia said.
“I rescued him from the clutches of the new gendarme who either knows no English or pretends.”
As they poured wine all around, James explained that he had messed up on his ticket dates. His ex-wife used to make all the travel arrangements and now that he was on his own the Internet had tricked him. “I know I put in the right dates but --” He shrugged helplessly. “Oh well!”
“You can come hiking with us tomorrow, James,” Stasia suggested. “We’re off to the east, to see the River Lot.”
“Hiking?” He laughed nervously.
Merle shot Stasia a look. She ignored it. “Merle is going. First thing in the morning.”
“You’re leaving?” James looked actually frightened. His travel ordeal must have involved more screw-ups than ticket dates and getting lost in Malcouziac. Merle had an impulse to fling him over the back wall.
“We’ll see. We weren’t expecting you, James.”
“And we have plans. Reservations,” Stasia added.
“Oh, don’t change what y’all are doin’ for me,” he said, still with the scared rabbit look.
Pascal, a step behind him, gave Merle a mischievous smile. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he said. He moved closer to her, draping his arm around her shoulders. His voice was low and full of heat. “We have so much to catch up on, blackbird.”
Merle was reaching behind his back to pinch him when Annie arrived in the garden.
“Oh, Laws. It’s James.” Around James she spoke with a low-country accent she’d gotten from some Nicholas Sparks movie. He didn’t seem to notice. Her sisters mocked James mercilessly behind his back, and to his face. Merle had brought him to a Mother’s Day brunch. Her mother thought he was just grand. Love those southern manners, she cooed.
Annie threw her arms around him and welcomed him to the village. “What a surprise.”
“I’m early,” James squeaked. He seemed smaller, deflated from his grand ‘here I am.’ He eyed the Bennett girls with new skepticism. Maybe it had dawned on him that they were teasing him. He was so far out of his league.
He ran his hand over his lips. “Can a thirsty traveler get another drink?”
* * *
They were a large group at dinner, sitting in sections. The younger girls sat at the far end of the table from the older ones, placing the men between them as a buffer. Just as well, Merle thought, she wasn’t done being mad at Francie and Gillian. Pascal sat next to Tristan, Albert next to James. On Albert’s other side was another newcomer, a young priest in his roman collar who was visiting Malcouziac, tall, a bit scrawny. Father Cyril was a former student of Albert’s who now did a circuit of villages without their own priests. He seemed to be charming Francie and Elise.
Everyone had something made from black Perigord truffles, the delicacy of the area. Truffles shaved onto pasta, omelets with truffles, an enormous single ravioli stuffed with truffles and mushrooms, some sort of mashed celery root with truffles and a poached egg, almost anything imaginable. Très cher, bien sûr. Merle didn’t have it in her, none of them did, to think about the cost tonight. Despite all their squabbling, everyone looked happy, even Gillian. Maybe they were wrong about her. Maybe she just needed a good French meal.
The two priests got up when Albert saw someone across the room. He introduced Father Cyril to several people before they rejoined them at the table for coffee and dessert.
James drooped closer and closer to his plate through dinner, his eyelids heavy. Pascal offered to walk him back to his hotel. James struggled to his feet and waved. He didn’t bother speaking, or kissing anyone. The mood lightened, the younger girls laughing at something. No doubt at the expense of ol’ Jimmy Jay.
Merle didn’t care. She liked James. He was kind and thoughtful, like a sweet uncle who gives you presents. She laughed into her napkin at that thought and sipped more wine. She was a little buzzed. Annie said something about jet lag, ‘that despicable Yankee invention’ in her low-country accent; Merle almost spit out her wine.
“So, Merdle,” Stasia said, leaning close so that only Annie and Merle could hear. “How is Jimmy Jay in the sack? We’re all dying to know.”
Merle swatted her. “None of your beeswax.”
“Come on, spill. We’ve got bets on the size of his -- what do they call it in the South?”
“His pecker,” Annie offered. “I’ve got ten bucks on three inches.” She looked at Merle thoughtfully. “You haven’t done it, have you? I don’t blame you. He’s a pathetic little turd with no doubt a tiny little johnson.”
“Annie!” Merle felt her color rise.
“You haven’t? Really?” Stasia threw up her hands. “My bad.”
Annie said, “What is he doing here anyway? He got his dates mixed up? I’ve never heard such a crock of shit. His hotel too? I don’t think so.”
Merle felt her face burn. They were right of course. James was genteel and polite, he gave her cheek kisses and held her hand to help her out a taxi. And that’s all. She didn’t think of him that way. What was she thinking, all these months, that suddenly she’d be attracted to him and everything would be fabulous? What the hell was she going to do with him here in France?
“Look what you’ve done,” Stasia whispered. “She’s going to cry.”
Annie set her hand on Merle’s arm. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll get rid of Jimmy Jay.”
Did she want to get rid of him? Or did she just want to get rid of all of them and have some peace and quiet? She smiled at her two favorite sisters. That wasn’t it.
“It’s not James. It’s all this bickering,” she said. “And I’m not going to cry. It takes more wine than this.” She held up her tiny wine glass and downed the last of a decent rosé.
“Then let’s get out of here,” Stasia said. “First thing in the morning, like you said. Leave Gillian and Francie and James and the fucking dog and hit the road.”
“I want to. But I can’t now.”
“Jimmy Jay,” Annie said.
Merle nodded. “But you guys go. Have fun. Take Gillian and Francie if you can.”
“That’s not likely,” Stasia said. “Are you sure? I hate to leave Gillian with you.”
“Are you kidding? Merle’s the only one who can handle her,” Annie said. Merle began to protest when she saw Annie smiling. “Pascal’s back.”
Stasia squeezed Merle’s hand. “There. Things aren’t as bleak as all that. You’ve still got the hottie.”
Chapter Nine
* * *
Lawyrr Grrl
Where a woman can grrowl about the legal profession
* * *
BLOG ➪ The Cluster F**k
Tagged EVERYTHING!
Posted June 20
* * *
You’ve been there, I know you have. The lawsuit that winds into a sticky gob of legal mumbo-jumbo, the negotiation that lasts seven days and seven nights while you exist on bad coffee and stale Twinkies, the simple case that peels like an onion into layers of misdeeds, lies, and malfeasance.
Yes, womyn, we can call it the Cluster Fuck. No ** required.
And so our little vacation in paradise-land has come to this: sister against sister, screaming matches, boyfriend against boyfriend, guest against host.
And I’m having a teensy meltdown. I warned you, didn’t I? But I didn’t see it coming until this morning. It was a late, boozy night after a crazy, boozy day. But we were rolling with it, most of us. After a long, delicious dinner we went back to our host’s lovely abode. Her garden is the center of the universe, as far as I’m concerned. It smells like heaven and actually glows in the moonlight. If you stay in it too long, sparkles fly out your ass.
Well, it would fun to give it a try.
As I was saying, we gathered in the garden, sated and happy after a three-hour dinner. Two priests came with us. One is retired, a neighbor, the sweetest man in the world. The other is fortyish, hunched over with a bald spot, but warm and friendly in that weak-chinned way. The young padre had some of the sisters spinning with laughter. He was new to our circle but we welcomed him in with all our platonic grrlish charm.
Another new man came along, one sister’s boyfriend, a local guy. I should say, one of her boyfriends, because a paramour from back home showed up today too. Yes, three new men in our Sisterhood Circle! This boyfriend back home, let’s call him Homer. He went to dinner with us but he left early. We thought he’d gone to bed, exhausted from his long trip. A collective sigh of relief. Two boyfriends at dinner is one too many, as I’m sure you’re aware from your own adventures in romance-land.
Anyway, we’re hanging in the magical garden around midnight, and the boyfriend from back home suddenly re-appears. Homer is stumbling, unsteady from sleep or jet lag or wine, who knows how he found the house in the dark. He lurches over to my sister and puts his arms around her, smacks her hard on the lips, and declares: ‘I need you. I want you. Come back to the hotel with me. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.’
Then he starts to cry.
My sister stands there frozen with embarrassment and shock. She obviously doesn’t want to go back to his room. Not only is he acting weird, he’s an ass-hat. (Also a lawyer -- redundant?) Local beau stiffens up as if to fight for her honor. She says she’ll handle it while trying to pry Homer off her neck.
Homer babbles like a four-year-old idiot. Somebody asks if he’s sleepwalking, he’s that crazy-talking. Plus he is wearing pajamas. Blue stripes. And grandpa slippers.
I may have looked away for a second in embarrassment because the next thing I know, the young padre has jumped into the fray. He’s trying to pull Homer off my sister. Homer spins, takes a swing, punches the nice young priest in the nose. Blood flies. Padre windmills back, catching Homer under the chin and sending him flying.
It was all quite thrilling.
Until, of course, everyone had to be cleaned up, sent home, and given a talking-to.
And then the morning comes. As it always does, whether you’ve got too many boyfriends, gone too bed too late, had too much to drink, or want to the world to go away.
I am going walking today. Snap decision. Some of the sisters want to stay behind, but this menagerie of boyfriends, priests, dogs, and sisters is over the line. I usually embrace chaos, you know? That’s why I’m a lawyrr. I love a hot mess. Then I can create order, put all to rights, find a speck of common sense in Crazy Land and build a case for rationality. But I went to bed last night and pulled the sheet over my head. I’ve had enough.
I don’t know what will happen here today, but I’ll be in the woods, pulling ticks off my scalp.
Sayonara, bitches.
Chapter Ten
Merle woke with the sun already streaming around the shutters, making golden stars on the peach walls of her bedroom. Annie was gone, her pillow cold. Merle looked at her watch. Eight o’clock already. She groaned, the headache that was yesterday pounding in her skull. Had James really thrown his arms around her and cried? Had he slugged that nice priest, Father Cyril? Today was going to be awkward. Maybe she’d just go back to sleep.
