Chapter 2

I’m sitting at my desk as usual with three computer screens to check that my latest system works perfectly. I’m lying back and stretch my shoulders in my armchair. I’m still alone in my office. It’s a bit too early for the rest of us.

I like my office. Large, lots of space and surrounded by windows so my team and myself can see each other. That’s great.

I’ve bought this former carpentry workshop lying in a backyard and converted it into offices for my video game software company. Everything works fine so far. Our products are already selling well on steam and we’ve been able to hire a young assistant--Marjorie, a warm young lady full of life, always in a good mood--who takes care of the reception, the accounting and personnel management. A pearl.

My office has the advantage of being clear thanks to its large windows and Marjorie, finding the space too bare, immediately brought in huge green plants going up to the high ceiling like in a greenhouse. Then, realizing that she had complete freedom for the decoration, shes’s created semi-circles in this large landscaped space with soundproof separations around tables and armchairs, all lit by a huge lampshade swaying at the end of a high curved rod, very fashionable that year.

These kind of spaces allow for more intimate meetings. We’re mostly dealing with freelance graphic designers. They like, when they come over, to use them to exchange their ideas away from other’s eyes and ears. Many appreciate these havens of tranquility, like big cocoons in which they can withdraw to dream up new ideas, the silence being often more conducive to let one’s imagination run away.

Others can let off steam around a table football that’s standing next to the kitchen beside its refrigerator, coffee machine and tea kettles.

In this very young atmosphere, my room is just separated from the others by a window that can be completely dark by a simple system of metal shutters. I’ve also called on sound specialists so that once the door is closed, no sound can break through. In the same way, no projectile can cross it.

Without being paranoid, I prefer to be cautious and don’t underestimate the opponents Samy and I are about to tackle. Better safe than sorry.

Still working, I’ve hardly seen the time flying by and didn’t see Marjorie arrive, until the internal phone rings and when I answer, Marjorie briefly tells me:

‘A visitor for you.’

‘Bring him in,’ I replied just as briefly.

This is probably the job interview. I’m surprised. I thought my appointment was later on.

I need to delegate more and more in order to boost our sales. A sales manager is not a luxury, especially when it comes to getting into Asian markets. A knowledge of the language seems vital over there. I look forward to meeting this French-Japanese visitor. Behind my computer I’m sitting at a long table to the right of the office door, on its side so I don’t see my visitor enter.

‘I hope I’m not disturbing you? Otherwise I can come back later.’

My heart suddenly accelerates. This voice… I would recognize it among all.

Slightly stunned, I close my eyes for a second but then pull myself together. I manage to turn around and put a broad, forced smile on my face.

Emma is standing there in front of me, in a simple pair of jeans, still fragile and pale with her long curly hair that frame her thin Italian Madonna face and emphasize her azure blue eyes.

I stand up to kiss her and use this moment to gently breathe her delicate perfume that is so much connected to her. Her hair has a special smell, recognizable among all. This scent certainly exerts a magical attraction on me and has in any case the power to make me lose my focus at every meeting

‘Do you want some coffee?’ I offer to hide my sudden embarrassment.

‘If you have time but I don’t want to disturb you. If you have…’

This is the moment Marjorie, curious of course, chooses to enter with two coffees on a tray. Marjorie is like that; friendly, curious and considerate. Her instinct probably whispered in a corner of her head that this girl is someone special.

And this is bloody true.

She also recognizes, under Emma’s relaxed and discreet pace and the simple but classy clothes, a well educated person in the way of presenting herself I’m sure.

For an observant eye Emma has the kind of style that evolving in an easy environment undoubtedly provides; indifferent to the effect produced on others.

And Emma's gentle-dreamy yet fragile side goes straight to Marjorie’s heart. I can see that in the way she comes in and looks at Emma.

‘I thought you may want some...’ she begins.

‘So kind of you Marjorie,’ I exclaim relieved. ‘ You’re always thinking of everything. But we’ll go out to take it easy. Bring one to Samy instead. He must need it with his current project, and have the other one yourself’, I add with a charming little smile.

‘Samy is not here yet . But, ahem... what about your appointment? He'll be here in ten minutes...’, Marjorie replies embarrassed.

‘I count on you to make him wait. Play a game at the football table with him, it will relax him... ‘ I say, having regained my usual sense of ready reply.

‘And let him win, OK? ‘, I add with a wink

‘Come on, let’s go out quickly to avoid meeting him. We're going by the rear door’

I say, grabbing Emma by the arm and putting on some sunglasses.

At the back of the room there’s a heavy curtain hanging over a security door that leads to rue Clauzel, perpendicular to Rue des Martyrs. I lift it and we go out.

This exit is also one of the reasons that made me buy these premises. I have carefully prepared another exit because of the dangers I’m about to face.

Once outside, Emma and I walk to the end of the street and arrive in a small square, where the surrounding cafes have put tables, wicker seats that are just waiting for us to sit down, in a soft and natural shade under the long, reassuring and peaceful branches of a big plane tree . A small paradise in the 9th arrondissement. I love this place.

‘What a surprise, gee. How did you find me?’ I begin.

‘Guess,’ she says, laughing a little embarrassed.

‘My mother, of course. But it doesn’t matter, I'm glad to see you again.’

I feel I’m blushing because of my clumsy beginnings, so I go on: ‘Tell me all about you.’ I say clearing my throat.

‘What have you been doing, where do you live? How long are you going to stay in Paris?’

The questions are rushing as much on my lips as in my head.

I’m feeling stupid to overwhelm her so much but I want to make up for lost time before she disappears again.

‘Where to start? It’s been a while... I passed an English degree in San Francisco and I just returned to Paris for a while, for a few months or maybe more. Family stuff to settle. After that I don’t know much more.’

‘What do you mean? No ties to the US? Nothing that calls you back there?’ I ask full of a sudden hope.

‘No nothing, really,’ she answers quietly and in a tone of boredom.

Hearing this, I feel relieved and I’m sure she can see it in my eyes.

Emma is observing me now, and I can see she‘s relaxing a bit. I know I always had this effect on her since childhood. She’s watching my sober but well-cut black jeans, my light blue polo, neither classical nor modern, neither in nor out fashion.

‘You haven’t changed much. Still the same. I see no sign of brands on your clothes. You don’t follow the fashion do you?,’she asks with a glimpse in her eyes.

‘Nope? What for?’ I reply bored

‘I know how much you always hated these signs of belonging imposed by the brands. Remember ? You used to say this funny French expression; "mouton de Panurge". I like this French reference and I’ve learned at university what story it comes from. It was written to express that one stupidly follows the others and then dies, like the sheep in Pantagruel’s story…’ she explains suddenly very talkative.

‘All these brands, supposedly synonymous of class originally, don’t really mean anything anymore.’ she sighs. ‘They’ve lost their ‘raison d'être’, their mainspring to be unique, exclusive and stylish. They’re part of the world of quantity at the expense of quality, of novelty, of the unexpected. I guess you want to be different, and likes it that way.’ she concludes with a charming smile..

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‘You’re so right about me.’ I shrugs. ‘Remember at high school when we saw the performance of Robin Williams in the Dead Poets Society movie? I then claimed I also will be ‘’The Captain of my destiny’,’ so I’m still trying I suppose,’ I add humbly.

‘That’s exactly what I like with you. You’re so right up in your boots, calm and cool. Everything seems so simple, so clean, so easy” she sighs again as if she’s regretting something.

‘In high school, whenever I was anxious before an exam, you knew how to help me cool down and relax. You used a simple trick. You made me imagine bigger problems until the current ones lost their intensity. Everything usually ended with a big laugh. I missed that a lot you know.’ she adds in a lower voice.

Sitting in the sun, I’m smiling at her and when I put down my eyes and see her arms, I want to run away and wish she hadn’t come to see me.

I notice her scars in the hollow of her arms that are the proof that her addiction has worsened. But I pretend not to pay attention to it and go on with our conversation.

‘Tell me a little about your life over there.’ I manage to get out.

‘What do you want me to say? That San Francisco is a city true to its reputation. People are special there. Many ecologists, vegetarians, foreigners, artists, junkies, students, intellectuals, late sixties, communities of all kinds and so on.’

That makes me smile: I recognize the way she always had to tell a story. She just throws everything out, in a jumble, mixing everything and let the other one sort it out himself or herself.

‘I see.’ I nod.’ Ok. And what made you go there?’ I ask and immediately regret the question.

I can suspect the answer and prefer not to know if she has met someone important there. At the same time, I think that if this was the case, she wouldn’t be sitting with me at this moment enjoying a green tea in an Indian café under a Parisian sun in the shade of a plane tree.

‘I just wanted to go abroad after high school. Life with my parents was no longer possible. You know what I mean: when they lived together, evenings and weekends were difficult: hearing them arguing about everything and nothing. So you imagine life at home during the divorce! Quite unbearable with their coldness and resentment. Then I was accepted by the University of San Francisco and a year followed another year. It was also easier to stay in the same place for a while, to land somewhere finally’.

I personally believe that her choice was motivated by her drug addiction and that she chose a place where the joint is something banal and common, even legal, a place where it will be easier to meet other junkies like her.

There is a slight tension suddenly between us.

This is so often the case when things are left unsaid. You restrain yourself from speaking the truth. And you go on instinctively on much safer ground with daily matters.

That’s exactly what I do now, asking her: ‘And what brings you to Paris then? Do you want to resettle here?’

My heart is suddenly beating faster at the idea of her possible return to the capital,

the idea of being able to see her more often, to suffer more also.

‘Yes maybe. I wanted to go home, I never really adapted over there you know...

Never felt like I really belonged there. Here I feel more comfortable, I understand the codes better and I may have the opportunity to work for a translation company here, so why not. You know with a Master in English I don’t have much choice, except being a teacher and that's out of the question.’

This last remark makes me smile. I can’t actually imagine the sweet and frail Emma facing a class of thirty excited and often unmotivated teens.

‘And what about you?’ Emma goes on. ‘‘What are you doing? Things seem to work well for you,’ she nods smiling. ‘You have set up your own company. What are you selling?’

‘Video games and other similar software. We’re happy.’ I say leaning back in my seat. It’s going well, lots of expansion’.

‘Yes, I saw that.’ she nods impressed. ‘I really like the place you chose, the atmosphere is very cool, and you can feel it right away. And "we" I guess means Samy and you?’

I know she always considered Samy as her rival, the one who helps me whatever happens, a little doggy-like for many friends who haven’t seen Samy’s real abilities and capacities. The guy is so brilliant! His shyness, like those old grandmother's quilts, cozy but heavy and voluminous cocoons, is just a way to protect himself.

‘Yes, we’re working well together. Both of us are persistent, we are really on the same page. It's great to have one hundred percent trust in your staff. I realize that it's the hardest in a company. Knowing who you can count on or not. As we’re still at the beginning of our adventure, we really have to believe in it and not look for the immediate profits. We’re trying to build on the long term.’

‘Yeah that's great. And I don’t want to make you miss your next appointment...’

‘Don’t worry, he can wait. It's still one of the privileges of being your own boss. You manage your own time and others think that if you're late it's because you’ve got a good reason.’ I explain with a smile.

We’re laughing together at this last remark and find for a brief moment that old time complicity we used to have.

'Well, if someone in the team asked me for a free afternoon to meet a childhood friend he hasn’t seen for ages, I would give it to him or her of course. But this time I’m the one who can’t. I can only give you an hour. But I was thinking... you could maybe do some translations for us?’

Barely said, I immediately regret my proposal. Too risky for both of us to display link or connections.

Fortunately, she declines the offer, pulling a face while answering.

‘No, I know nothing about video games or so. It’s better to be an expert in the field you translate, that's how it works. Literature is my speciality and I’ll see an editor soon that my father has contact with.’

‘Oh ! I see ! By the way, is he still sitting at the City Council?’ I ask interested.

‘No.’ she exclaims with a sudden anger in her voice. ‘He’s been sitting up in the Regional Council for several years and that's also why he had no time left with his current job. So my mother had enough. They broke up by consent. She left for the French Riviera, nothing very original. But she never knew how to be original, right ? She only follows the fashion, the opinions of others... well, enough about them ! They aren’t very interesting in the end.’ she summarizes.

I feel some pity for a short while. I know how much Emma felt lonely and abandoned throughout her childhood and adolescence.

Nobody ever to follow her to school or pick her up at the end of the day, no one to take her to the parties or pick her up at the end of a show or a movie. Never a movie together as a family. Nobody ever to help her with her homework or ask her questions about what she’d be learning that day. Nobody ever to share the recent news or the novel being read.

Some banknotes in a large Chinese vase had replaced her parents, who believed that their only daughter would manage her life and they just had to ensure her material welfare. They used to boast about the fact they were raising their daughter by respecting her and treating her as a responsible and autonomous adult.

Therefore she didn’t have the right to a nanny or an au-pair who can sometimes wonderfully replace a missing mom. No. They had opted for what suited them.

They entrusted a company of babysitters whenever they had social gatherings outside. It was so convenient for them: a phone call, no follow-up, no commitment on both sides so no possible attachment.

The story about nanny or super au-pair girl taking care of you in affluent bourgeois families, that is just an illusion, good for novels or TV series that sell you a dream...

Moreover Emma had been fed on cult TV series like "The nanny named Fran". She loved the hearty Jewish New Yorker who ends up marrying her boss.

She also loved "Friends" and their world full of Joe with his "How're doing?” and with people around who are like brothers and sisters, like the two fingers of the hand, friends for ever, to life and death.

Even the housekeepers didn’t stay long in the house, quickly tired of the unremitting criticism of her extremely obsessive mother, eternally dissatisfied.

And yet she was unable herself to hold the house properly or to offer a meal worth eating without the help of a cook or a caterer.

Emma had no brother or sister with whom to share a piece of happiness or , laughter or a pack of candies. Not any pet to share her misfortunes with, to fall asleep or play doll with. For her fussy mother a pet was out of question. Hair would be all over the house, on sofas and carpets. And even her father, who was otherwise an internationally confirmed negotiator, hadn’t managed to make her change her mind on buying a four-legged companion. He had tried on several times when Christmas was approaching but her phobia of cat’s or dog’s hair was a final and decisive argument.

My childhood was the opposite. Always supported by a very present, very close family, between two loving sisters, a mother present but not invading, a calm and serene father. I therefore choose to change the subject.

‘Anyway, I'm happy I dared to start my own company. It's a lot of work: you’re thinking of it morning, noon and night, weekend included, but I love this life style.

TV and a cushy life, it's not my thing you know. The only problem is that I spend a lot of time locked up.’

She’s encouraging me by a nod and her complicit smile, so I continue:

‘I’m aware I’m living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, but I often only enjoy it in the early morning. I love to change my mind by walking around Paris at night. Its magic always works for me. I refill my batteries. I love the Tuileries garden and the Eiffel Tower, I don’t get tired of seeing them… Didn’t you ever miss it? It must seem a little old and conventional to you?’

I stop short, suddenly realizing that I haven’t spoken that way to anyone since she left.

I’m thinking: ‘My god, what a strange hold she still has on me’. I missed her more than I thought, more than I would care to admit.

Answering my last question she utters quietly: ‘No, I’m not surprised. I always knew that you would do something with your life, that you wouldn’t accept a humdrum life like I do.’

She’s bowing her head, looking down. I guess she’s now feeling guilty for never confessing her addiction to drugs, the only thing she’d never shared with any of us.

‘Don’t talk nonsense.’ I say with a deep voice. You don’t have a humdrum life either. You’ve had the courage to go abroad, it's not always easy I guess and it's not given to everyone.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t feel very useful, you know. Who is interested in literature nowadays? It's pretty narcissistic in the end. You’re in a fantasy world and you’re creating another one over the readings without ever facing real life. It’s kind of an escape from life, letting time go by. And time, I’ve plenty of it.’

‘No, it takes everything to make a world. And why don’t you go to the humanitarian? It would suit you. Go to Africa or India. You could be happy there I think…’

‘No, I'm not worthy of these movements. You need to be selfless and I’m not, I’m afraid. Only you believe in me, and see what’s good in me... I don’t feel I deserve that trust…’ she sighs.

I’m staring at her intently, wishing with all my soul the confession that isn’t coming, which is digging this gap between us, that bloody secret that is spoiling our relationship.

I would like to calm her down by admitting that I knew her secret, but by fear to put my current business and plans in danger I don't dare talking.

‘Well, but I'm sure you'll find what you like in Paris. Anyway it's already great that you're here, we can see each other more often. Even if just like today, between two appointments. But why not... make a movie, let’s be crazy? It’s been ages for me.’ I add laughing.

‘ Well, yes with pleasure.’ she nods with a large smile. I'll let you know when. I should probably let you go now,’ she replies, obviously relieved to see the conversation continue on a more impersonal course.

Time to go back for me.

I glance quickly at the bill, take a note out of my pocket and pay. I help her get up. We walk back to my office where my potential sales manager is waiting for me.

Such a pity that the special opportunity to be 100% honest with each other has passed and we missed this reunion somehow.

Too much absorbed in their emotions, they also didn’t pay attention to the guy who just left the opposite terrace. He had been there all the time, watching them enjoy unsuspectingly their tea in the sunlight.