Chapter 23 Jean-Paul
Chapter 23
Jean-Paul
Jean-Paul’s back in the kitchen, and for a fleeting moment the laughter and conversation have him believing that everything will right itself again. That talk with Renée on the morning she found him sweeping up the glitter was catastrophic. Their investment. Their savings. All of it. Wiped out.
After the initial shock wore off, Renée’s accusatory eyes had found his. “You can’t be serious?” Her skin was as white as the paper with the incriminating numbers.
“How could this happen?” Her voice trembled. “How could you let—”
He hadn’t heard the rest. You. She had blamed him, something they swore to each other they’d never do. At some point, she threw the antique duck they purchased the day they made the investment against the wall, missing his head by an inch, the pieces scattering across the floor. And he lived with that guilt, because even though they’d made the decision together, and even though Bluebird had royally screwed them, he was supposed to protect her from something like this.
And just as they’d dealt with disappointment in the past, they forged ahead. Renée pointed her finger at Bluebird and its employees, and he pointed his finger at himself.
He preheats the deep fryer for the beignets. The lesson with the young girl has him thinking about life after the inn. If he had a kitchen full of students as eager and interested as she, he could make a lucrative business out of it. He reminds himself to share the idea with Renée.
The water on the stovetop begins to boil, as he chops eggplant for the ratatouille. Lucy sits at the head of the table, her leg elevated as the doctor ordered. The ankle is broken, and she’ll have a cast for the next six weeks. Despite the injury, she insisted they stay, and she appears to be in decent spirits while she sips a club soda.
There are few secrets at the De La Rues’ table. By the time the first glass of wine was poured, whispers were circulating about Cassidy Banks’s bottle of oxy.
He’s glad to see that despite Lucy’s fall, the group is in a festive mood. They returned from the hike refreshed and hungry, though Rosalie and her mother remain at odds. The girl he was with earlier today doesn’t resemble the one seated at the table tonight. She still wears the dark, broody look, straight out of the Addams Family, but the girl who asserted herself in the kitchen, tasting, focusing on flavor, was in her element. She glowed. The girl seated at his table beside her mother does not.
Tonight, Rosalie has the seat adjacent to the cooktop, and her eyes follow his hands as he punches out the centers of the beignet dough they prepared earlier. When he asks her to slice the green apples to stuff inside the dough to fry, she jumps up.
“Careful with that,” Penny warns. Cassidy barely notices her daughter wielding a sharp knife. She plunks her empty wineglass on the table for Renée to refill, but his wife takes her time, and when she reaches Cassidy’s side, he watches as she makes her signature move, dropping a handful of ice cubes in her glass.
“Did you just put ice in my glass, Ms. De La Rue?”
All heads turn, and there is no sound except for the sizzling of the beignets, their sweet aroma filtering through the air. Jean-Paul guesses Cassidy wants the wine more than she wants an argument, so she lifts the glass to her lips.
The quiet breaks up after Cassidy gulps down her not-yet-watered-down wine in one single swig, and Lucy, trained in navigating awkward lulls, directs an innocuous line of questioning at Leo. “What’s the most fabulous destination you ever visited?”
He peers at Penny. “French Polynesia.”
“Bucket list,” says Sienna. “Tahiti and Bora Bora are a dream.”
“It’s beautiful,” Penny flatly answers.
He listens in, Rosalie by his side. Simone plates the crispy filled dough.
Leo grabs his phone off the table and slides through his gallery, flipping through pictures of what Jean-Paul imagines is a turquoise ocean, thatch-roof bungalows, and close-ups of the couple smiling into the camera. The picture he holds up for them all to see is just that. Jean-Paul steals a glance at Penny and Leo smiling for the camera, their tan bodies blended together in a tight hug.
“I saw that picture!” exclaims Lucy. “It was on the cover of People .”
Leo drops his head, as though he’s embarrassed by the attention.
“My players have made multiple covers,” Adam brags.
Jean-Paul turns to Rosalie, gesturing at the table. “See how they’re talking and eating and enjoying themselves? We’ve created this. You’ve created this. Now go sit and enjoy yourself too.”
She smiles. No, actually, she beams.
“What do you think is behind our fascination with celebrities?” Sienna asks.
“It’s this ideal people hold themselves to.” Lucy lifts her glass of water for a sip. “And we’re fascinated because we’re innately curious and want to connect with people who appear to have these perfect, better lives.”
“It’s a myth,” Penny says.
The table quiets. Jean-Paul isn’t surprised at Penny’s candor. It’s a quality he admires about her.
“We’re just like everyone else,” she adds.
“She’s going to tell you I fart and poop like the rest of you,” Leo jokes, taking a bite of the beignet. “This is incredible, Jean-Paul.”
“Thank my assistant. She had a hand in it too.” He smiles in Rosalie’s direction.
“It’s a lot more exciting to fart in a luxury suite in Bora Bora than the suburbs of New York,” Adam says.
“That’s never stopped you before,” Sienna says, playfully poking Adam.
“When it comes to celebrities,” Lucy says, “think about it. You have these larger-than-life people. We watch them take over screens ... we fall in love with them a little bit. Then we put them on these pedestals. So it makes sense to want to get beneath the surface, to bring them down to earth ... our earth ... so they’re more like us.”
“Then why the backlash when people find out we’re just like them?” Leo asks. “That we’re human ... and we make mistakes. It seems unfair that I should get ruined in the tabloids for a mistake my costar made.”
Penny sets her glass down, resting her chin on her hands.
“You’re a public figure, Leo, so you’re held to a higher standard,” Lucy replies. “When you chose that life, you knew the expectations and the consequences to bad behavior.”
“Okay.” Penny brings a napkin to her lips. “I think we get it.”
Leo argues, “I think this is an important conversation.” And then he addresses Lucy. “You just said people want to humanize us. Didn’t you just say that? And then we become human, and we’re still the enemy? If I’m so relatable now, why did my last movie bomb?”
“Leo, you can’t choose this life and then parse out the parts you don’t want people to see,” Penny says. “And so we’re clear, since we’re all obviously invested in this story ...” True, Jean-Paul agrees, because no one moves. No one says a word. They all stare with pitiful, probing looks on their faces. “This happened to me,” Penny continues. “I didn’t ask for our personal life to be plastered in the news for every gossipmonger and hater to feast upon. I didn’t ask for any of it, not even the ridiculous perks.” She eyes Leo when she says this. “Because they’re meaningless, and they change people. The people you love. The people you once trusted.”
Jean-Paul feels the tension rise and fall. You could hear a pin drop as Penny speaks, and he notices how Leo stares at his plate. He doesn’t miss the look that passes between Lucy and Henry either. It’s the first time the two seem aligned since arriving, a private uh-huh moment that has him convinced he’s witnessed something big.
Penny continues, “Our kids didn’t ask for it either. And none of you know what happened. None of you can ever understand the scrutiny we’re under ... what we’ve been through. There’s so much more to us than what you see in the news.
“And you ...” Penny gestures toward Leo. Poor Leo, Jean-Paul thinks. “I can’t sit here while you play victim, as though losing fans hurts worse than losing me.” She then surprises Jean-Paul and the rest of them by hopping off the stool and storming from the room. He thinks he might be the only one who sees the giant tear that slips down her cheek.
“You should go after her,” Cassidy says.
“I think she needs some time to sit with her feelings,” Lucy says. She looks at Leo. “You both do.”
“Isn’t that the point of throwing a tantrum?” Adam asks. “For attention? For someone to chase after you?”
“You know nothing about Penny,” Leo snaps at Adam.
“It could be about attention,” Lucy begins. “When you’re pursued, there’s momentary validation, but it doesn’t get to the core of the issue, the void that needs filling. And to be fair, I don’t think this is what Penny’s doing.” She turns to Leo. “I think Penny’s genuinely hurt. I think she’s been holding it in for some time.”
The knife slips from Jean-Paul’s hands and clangs as it hits the floor. Bending to pick it up, he hears the regret in Leo’s voice. “Nothing hurt worse than losing Penny.”
Jean-Paul signals Renée and Simone to assist him in serving the beef Wellington. The tender meat is garnished with greens and lathered in a mushroom mousse. He’s proud of his work. He hopes the flavor adds some comfort to the uncomfortable conversation.
“Do therapists have their own therapists?” Cassidy asks Lucy.
Lucy chuckles. “Some do, but the rest of us like to think we’re flawless specimens.”
Which initiates chortles and a discussion on Harrison Ford in Shrinking . He and Renée watched the show and enjoyed it.
“In my experience,” begins Adam, his arm resting on the back of Sienna’s chair, “therapists are more fucked-up than some of their patients.”
Jean-Paul looks to Lucy for her reaction, and he’s happy to see she waits to reply until she finishes chewing. He just saved a choker last week. “That’s a broad generalization,” she says. “What are you basing that on?” Then she apparently changes her mind. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
“Hey. He’s only kidding, Luce,” says Sienna. “Right, babe?” She twists in her seat and places a palm on Adam’s scruff.
“I wasn’t kidding.”
Sienna tilts her head and whispers something Jean-Paul assumes is a reprimand. He knows how to multitask. He could prepare a four-course meal while picking up on every nuance. The vibrations that mean a lively evening, the whispers that spin a fine tale. Renée joins his side, asking if he thinks she should check on Penny. He cautions against it. From what they know of Penny, she needs time to sort this through. He whispers, “Being here with him can’t be easy.”
“I agree.” And then: “And by the way, my intuition about last summer is correct.”
“Shh,” he replies.
She brushes him off with a wave. “They can’t hear me over all the chatter. Something’s going to boil over this week, and it’s nothing in your pot.”
“Don’t let your imagination get the better of you.”
“Imagination pagination.”
He hands her his glass of wine, and she takes a sip.
“Maybe we’re getting too old for this.”
The defeat in her eyes stops him. She passes him the glass.
Swallowing the worry, they step back and watch the show. Henry’s describing the universe as a metaphor for life, how we’re all made of stars and an energy that pulls us near and far, how the final frontier means possibility, facing the unknown. Leo looks as though he’s trying to make sense of the idea, as if any of it will bring Penny back. “The sky is a canvas for our imagination,” Henry continues. “The stars are dreams and goals, and the constellations are the connections that shape our story. When the universe speaks, you need to listen.”
Jean-Paul falls inside Henry’s words. Aren’t they all just dreamers? Aren’t they all just people yearning for sunshine, to touch a piece of the moon?
But then he adds, “Unfortunately, there are disruptions. Like comets. And supernovas. You heard about the Tasmanian devil, right?”
They shake their heads.
“It’s a star that died in a rare, intense blue-light explosion, and instead of fading away, it re-energized, baffling astronomers by shooting flares into the sky. They had never seen anything like it before. The point is, we don’t always know what’s heading our way. Or”—Henry dips his head—“if we’ve lost something for good.” He turns to Jean-Paul. “We should have dinner under the stars.”
“You’re cute when you get all romantic,” Adam teases his friend.
Jean-Paul likes the idea. They don’t dine on the patio enough, and this group might need the sky to guide them.
“I don’t much follow the stars and planets, but I do enjoy a sexy show on Netflix. Has anyone seen Sex/Life ?” Cassidy asks.
At the mention of the steamy show (likened to mommy porn, featuring Adam Demos’s oversize appendage), Rosalie gets to her feet. “Mother! Why?”
“Rosie, you need to lighten up. I watch Modern Family and Grey’s Anatomy too.”
Renée catches Jean-Paul’s eye, and he wipes his hands on the dishtowel and comes around from behind the island.
“Renée and I watched Sex/Life . We rather liked it.”
He isn’t sure what he’s doing, intervening, but Rosalie backs down.
“Really?” she asks, surprised and somewhat pleased to know that her mother isn’t the only freak in the room. He makes sure Rosalie can read his expression: You should go a little easier on your mother .
Rosalie’s eyes search the floor, and “Sorry” falls off her tongue, as though the word is the enemy, a word she wants to dispose of but is unsure how.
The momentary lapse in conversation comes to an end with Renée replenishing Adam’s wine as he name-drops some famous athletes in one sentence. Henry doesn’t comment, but Jean-Paul swears his face reads, Here we go again .
And when Adam sees that he’s got everyone’s attention, he throws back another gulp of wine and shamelessly crows about his chumminess with these athletes. How they play golf together. How he was invited to a certain someone’s fiftieth birthday party in Vegas, then took a jaunt on a 150-foot yacht in Miami.
Jean-Paul has learned to tune people like Adam out. And he believes the rest of the table has tuned him out too. Sienna sits perfectly still beside him with a static look he can’t decipher. She’s smiling, as she often is, but when he peers closer, the vacant eyes are a giveaway. She’s either cringing inside or dazed by her husband’s mind-numbing self-importance.
“Where’d you go to college?” Rosalie asks Adam.
Adam drops his fork and knife. “You don’t need college, Marilyn.”
“My name’s Rosalie.” Then she stops. “Wait. Did you just refer to me as Marilyn Manson?”
“Who’s Marilyn Manson?” Cassidy asks.
“College is for amateurs,” Adam responds.
“Adam,” Lucy begins. “That’s not at all true.”
“Where did you go?” Rosalie asks again, a little more confidently.
Jean-Paul has to hand it to her. She knows which button to push with the man who dropped out of college.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks, staring directly into Rosalie’s eyes.
“I don’t really care who you are, but I can vouch for your pretentiousness, and I’m guessing it’s your deep-seated insecurity that makes you act like one of the biggest blowhards I’ve ever met in my entire life. And I’m not even sixteen.”
Jean-Paul bites back a laugh. He feels like a proud uncle watching Rosalie come to life.
“Rosalie Banks!” Cassidy shouts.
She turns to her mother. “You’re all thinking it. I’m the only one brave enough to say it.”
Jean-Paul waits for someone to argue. Nobody does. They just drink and wipe crumbs from their lips that aren’t there. Except Cassidy. She’s managed to push her food around the plate, faux eating, not taking a bite.
Adam turns to Cassidy. “You let your daughter talk to adults like that?”
“Show me the adult,” Rosalie says.
Renée approaches Rosalie and drops a hand on her shoulder. Jean-Paul notices the young girl’s body slacken with her touch.
Adam can’t help himself. “You know something, Rosalie—”
Jean-Paul can’t let this go on in his kitchen. “That’s enough, Adam.”
“Let me finish.” He turns to Rosalie, and Jean-Paul waits, prepared to pounce. Adam tells a story of how he grew up with nothing and worked his way through school. “Heck, I didn’t even know my mother. And when I got to college, all those kids were partying and playing and cheating their way through exams and finals—”
“I wasn’t doing any of that,” Henry says.
Adam ignores him. “I was passionate about sports. About players. I dug around. I made contacts. And maybe I finessed a bit to get what I wanted ...” He turns to Henry. “Stars and constellations, you said it yourself. I made up a few stories, because I had a goal. And I was focused. And I worked harder than any of those frat boys collecting degrees they’d never use. I made sure I was in the right place at the right time. And guess what? I didn’t need college because I’d already succeeded. I had a job, and I was supporting myself.”
Sienna beams with pride.
Rosalie gulps her soda.
They all look on, perhaps seeing Adam in a different light. “So if I want to flaunt that success”—he pauses for effect—“I’ve earned the right.”
Rosalie claps. “Pompous. With a side of motivational speaker. I’m impressed. But just so you know, when you drop names like that, it reeks of insecurity. Just my observation.”
“Okay.” Jean-Paul claps. “Enough entertainment. Time for dessert.”
Renée joins him as they take the Grand Marnier soufflé out of the oven, noting its golden crust and melted chocolate middle. She whispers in his ear, “Hard shells and soft centers. You know how to match the menu to the guests. I love that about you.”
He squeezes her bottom in response. “And I love this about you.”