Chapter 2
LISA
Lisa’s mother held out her arms, expecting a hug.
As they embraced, Lisa caught an unfamiliar whiff of a heavy dose of French perfume.
This was a different scent than her mother usually wore.
Maybe this was French Lois Perry. Mom looked good, too, dressed in a black sheath dress and tall boots.
Her light blond hair was cut into flattering layers.
She’d put on a little weight, which she’d desperately needed.
The hollows in her cheeks had disappeared.
The last time she’d seen her, a breeze could have lifted her off her feet.
“Mom, you look ten years younger than the last time I saw you.”
“I lost one hundred eighty-five pounds when your father dumped me.” Mom laughed and clasped her hands together under her chin.
A joke about the divorce? This was not the mother Lisa had put on the plane ten months ago.
There was no edge to her voice. Her eyes twinkled with humor.
Did Paris transform bitter, middle-aged women into vibrant, glowing versions of themselves?
If so, everyone should put down their eye cream, fire their therapists, and move immediately to Paris.
“Let me take a good look at you,” Mom said.
Lisa inwardly winced and sucked in her stomach as her mother’s critical gaze swept her from head to toe. “Sweetheart, you look like a movie star,” Mom said.
“I do?” Lisa asked.
“You’re glowing,” Mom said.
Lisa touched her fingertips to her cheeks.
Praise about her appearance? This was most unexpected, as was her mother’s arrival at the hotel.
They’d agreed to dinner, not an impromptu visit in the lobby after Lisa had been out all day eating carbs and drinking wine.
She’d expected criticism about her bedraggled deportment, not a compliment.
Lisa hadn’t bothered with more than mascara and lipstick that morning.
She wore a knit cap over her medium-length blond hair and had bitten all her lipstick off during the interrogation by the plaid skirt gang.
In Hollywood, she felt obligated to always look her best in case the paparazzi snapped a photo.
Here, though, she’d woken to a great sense of freedom, much as she did in Cliffside Bay.
In Paris, she could be an ordinary girl out for a day with her husband and their best friends.
Mom turned to Pepper. “And here’s the beautiful bride, also looking like a movie star.”
“I know, right?” Pepper’s small, pouty mouth lifted into a smile. Her thick eyelashes were enhanced by perfectly applied eye makeup. She wore red lipstick that contrasted with her fair skin and wavy black hair. Pepper had not bitten her lipstick off during the onslaught. “I am a movie star now.”
“I just saw your film for the second time last night,” Mom said. “We didn’t get it over here until just last week. You were both remarkable.”
“Didn’t Pepper steal the show?” Lisa asked.
Mom shook her head. “You were equally brilliant.”
Pepper’s eyes shone with obvious delight. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. I was a wreck before the movie came out. Acting with Lisa and Gennie Banks was scary as hell.”
“You, a wreck? Have you gone soft on us?” Mom asked Pepper.
“It’s his fault.” Pepper pointed toward Stone.
Stone put out his hand for Mom to shake. “Good to see you, Mrs. Perry.”
“You as well, Stone.” Mom turned to Rafael. “How’s my favorite son-in-law?”
Surprise widened Rafael’s eyes for a split second before he hid it behind a bland smile. Although he was the only son-in-law, Lisa would not have predicted Mom calling him a favorite or any other praising adjective. Rafael, Lisa knew, would be of the same opinion.
There was only one explanation. Her mother must be having regular sex.
“Would you like to come up to the room, Mom?” Lisa asked. “We could have tea sent up.”
“No, I have to get to my art class, which is just up the street. I stopped by to say hello and to let you know I’ll be bringing a guest tonight for dinner.”
“A friend?” Lisa asked.
Mom flushed. “You could say that.” A giggle that could have doubled as a hiccup seemed to erupt spontaneously from Mom’s mouth. “Pierre’s everything all packaged up into one.”
“Pierre?” Lisa asked. Packaged up? What did that mean?
“Yes, Pierre.” Mom lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance. “You see, dears, I’ve taken a lover. Dress up for dinner. Pierre is very French.”
That evening, Lisa and Rafael arrived a few minutes after seven for dinner at a small bistro up the street from their hotel.
Her mother had suggested Barraud’s at seven and not to worry, she’d already made the reservation.
According to Mom, it was nearly impossible to secure a reservation.
You had to know someone, and Pierre knew everybody, so they would take care of everything.
Lisa, too stunned to ask any questions after Mom’s announcement, had agreed.
The bistro was located on the bottom floor of a brick building.
From what she could tell, there were residences upstairs, as dim lights behind curtains hinted at life behind the paned windows.
Lisa caught a glimpse of a man’s silhouette slouched behind one of the front windows, smoking.
The smell of cigarette smoke drifted down to the street.
Tall pots packed with flowers decorated each side of the heavy wood door.
“After you, sweetheart,” Rafael said as he tugged open the door.
As usual, he read her mind. “Don’t worry.
It’ll be fine. Whatever happens, we go back to the hotel together.
” He wore a dark blue suit and tie—the same outfit he’d worn to the Golden Globes when she’d been nominated for best actress.
He was a good sport about the public nature of her work.
He endured the Hollywood events and social obligations with his typical stoicism and had even grown accustomed to her stylist’s dressing him for public outings.
For a man more comfortable in jeans, he’d embraced his new wardrobe.
As long as they were back to normal when they were in Cliffside Bay, he was fine.
She had to admit, there was something about a man in a suit.
“You look really good in that suit.” She cupped his newly shaven cheek. “Thanks for doing this for me.”
“We’re a team.” Rafael brushed the side of her face with his fingertips. “You look beautiful tonight. And I’d do anything for you. Don’t ever forget that.”
Lisa wore a retro-style blue dress that matched her eyes.
Its full skirt and sleeveless top paired with a white cashmere wrap made her feel like Grace Kelly circa 1950.
Her hair was down; she’d taken the time to style it into loose waves.
She’d gotten so accustomed to someone doing her makeup and hair that she didn’t bother to do much when home, which made her out of practice.
They were now late because she’d spent too long trying to make herself perfect.
Lois Perry hated tardiness. She’d been a middle school teacher for too long to tolerate excuses.
She took in as deep a breath as she could, which was limited in the tight spandex she wore under her dress, and slipped past her handsome husband. Her stomach rumbled with nerves. Suddenly, she questioned her choice of attire. Did the dress suit her? Maybe she should have chosen one with sleeves?
Her mother’s criticisms from the past echoed through her mind. One side of your hair is flipped up and the other’s down. Don’t eat the bread, honey. Empty calories. When your plate comes, set aside half immediately and ask for a doggie bag.
They were greeted by a man in his sixties dressed in a black suit.
Without taking his eyes from a laptop screen on the lectern by the door, he barked out, “We’re full tonight.
” He spoke perfect English with only a twinge of French accent.
A large, round man, his presence seemed to purposely block them from viewing the inside of the restaurant.
In actuality, a red curtain concealed the dining room.
“I believe we have reservations,” Lisa said, immediately intimidated.
What if they didn’t? Had her mother thought to call?
“Under Lois Perry.” Elitism. She hated it.
She had a sudden longing for The Oar back home.
She imagined Sophie’s smiling face from behind the bar.
Their simple menu with real food for real people.
In the next thought—although it was still hard to fathom—she remembered that the only bar and grill in Cliffside Bay had burned down.
He looked up for the first time. His jowly face transformed from condescending to enchanted. “Lois. Yes, yes, you must be the daughter. The movie star. She didn’t exaggerate your beauty. I’m Barraud. Welcome to my establishment.”
Rafael wrapped his arm around her waist.
“You look like her,” Barraud said as he drew back the curtain. “I should have seen it right away.”
You would have, had you actually looked up from the computer.
The room was dark with too many tables for the small space.
Two servers in black ambled around the room, dripping with disdain and superiority.
Mom was already seated by the paned windows, which looked out to a small courtyard.
A young man sat next to her. Yes, young.
Like Lisa’s age. Surely this wasn’t Pierre?
Whoever he was, he stood as they approached and held out both hands. Dark curls draped haphazardly over his forehead. Scruff covered his swarthy, chiseled face. Eyes the color of an inky night sparkled in the candlelight. A gold band encircled his wedding finger.
Married? Who the heck was this?
“I’m Pierre.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed one cheek, then the other. “It’s lovely to meet you.” His French accent was thick. He smelled of cigarettes and a spicy cologne.
She couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Rafael was shaking Pierre’s hand.