Chapter 5
Note to myself:Avoid accepting Manille”s evening propositions in the future.
Especially during the week. We”d promised ourselves we wouldn”t drink and go home before three in the morning. We drank ourselves into a stupor. Manille left accompanied, while Charlotte and I returned at around seven a.m. to change. Even with an extra-strength dose of caffeine, I don”t think I”ll make it through the day.
I would have been better off teleworking like Manille. Cécile”s presence on the premises changed my mind. There”s no way she”s going to reproach me for being unprofessional or call me a slacker. So, despite this day being likely to be as complicated as a math theorem, I”ve got to hang in there.
Slumped against the back of my chair, I let my head fall back. My eyelids feel heavy, but before I can drift off into the arms of Morpheus, the door slams shut with a deafening noise. My headache becomes more painful as Cécile enters my office.
Her explosive arrival had the merit of boosting my energy. Well, let”s say the stress coursing through my veins gives me this energy. Sitting opposite my manager, I fidget with my fingers, awaiting her orders. She starts to speak but stops, her eyebrows furrowed, lips tightly pressed together, and her eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes me intently.
“You look awful. What have you caught?” she asks, taking a few steps back.
“No, I”m fine.”
She arches an eyebrow, unconvinced.
“Everything”s fine, Cécile. The wake-up call was just a bit rougher than expected, but nothing to worry about.”
My manager glances at me again before letting out a sigh. “You”d better be. You have to go to a reception venue for a visit this afternoon and there”s no way you”re going like that. You might frighten the bride and groom.”
I nod. “Do you need me to give you the address?” I ask, taking out a Post-It note.
“No need, you”ll go alone.”
With my hand suspended in the air, I watch her. I blink, surprised by this dream that”s far too real to be true. I pinch the back of my hand, but nothing changes. I”m not asleep. Strange as it is, it”s not an illumination.
I furrow my brow. What if it”s a trick? She”s probably trying to make a fool of me, before telling me she”ll take care of it herself. There”s no way my manager could have said something like this without an ulterior motive. As the seconds tick by, a lump forms in my stomach. For her part, Cécile continues to stare at me, eyebrows furrowed. She hasn”t moved a muscle.
“Is this a joke?”
“Do I seem like I”m joking?” She sighs.
“Typically, you don”t allow me to do anything alone.”
“I can”t make it, so I”ll leave it to you.”
Cécile starts to leave, but I call her.
“Does it mean I”m ready?”
She arches an eyebrow, scanning me from head to toe. “Let”s not exaggerate, Florence. You”re only going for a visit.”
What she doesn”t realize is, in my eyes, this is a huge opportunity. In a few months, the vacant venue will be brimming with life and love. There will be a lot of steps and stress sessions before we get to the big day, but in the end, it will all be a bad memory. It will be swept away by the happiness of the couple who believed in us for their big day.
“Thank you,” I say, with a chuckle at the corner of my lips.
Cécile rolls her eyes, but I think I see a mischievous gleam in them.
“You”d better not miss, unless you want a firsthand tour of the exit from this agency, courtesy of me.”
She”s smiling, but I”m sure she”s not joking. The trail of goosebumps covering my skin confirms I need to be on my guard.
Can she get rid of me?
That”s a question I don”t want to know the answer to. Without another word, she leaves my office, slamming the door. Once alone, I rummage through my beige bag, retrieve an aspirin, and swallow it. With my head against my seat, I observe my workspace, waiting for the meds’ effects to take effect.
My office is spacious, well-lit, and equipped with windows. Upon reflection, I realize I could have made improvements with a bit more determination. My focus on showcasing my skills led me to overlook this detail. There is much to reconsider regarding privacy. Passersby using the central corridor can easily observe me since the broken blinds, intended to be repaired by Manille, remain unfixed.
Two blue velvet armchairs sit opposite my white table. A gray sofa is behind, which I use as a bed when I”m working overtime. The floor is covered with a beige carpet in harmony with the walls. Here, everything is in its place. There”s not a speck of dust, not a single object lying around either. I ensure it remains this way, particularly when the volcanic Cécile or my sunny Manille pass by.
I calculate how long it will take me to get to Lyon. At three p.m., I have to meet the couple in front of the ceremony venue we”ve chosen, so I might as well go now. I pay for a train ticket, collect my belongings, and take the train to Gare de Lyon.
I arrive at Cuvage Dural a few minutes before the couple, giving me time to get to know the owner, Monsieur Pecot. He”s one of Cécile”s long-time suppliers. He”s a retired man in his sixties. He”s traded his salt-and-pepper hair for a shaved head. An imposing beard now covers the lower part of his face. His appearance is rougher than the last time I saw him, but he exudes the same kindness and sympathy as always.
“Hello Florence! I”m surprised to see you here without Cécile.”
And so am I. Even if my manager thinks it”s nothing, I”m delighted to finally be able to prove myself.
“There has to be a first time for everything. Anyway, don”t worry, I”ve got everything under control.”
“I don”t doubt it. Cécile would have stayed with you if it had been the case.”
I smile, maintaining a bit of caution. She might be setting a trap for me. My worries won”t dissipate until I”m back in Paris. Meanwhile, I”ll be vigilant about all the details and steer clear of any clumsiness.
We chat for a few more minutes, before Arthur and Magali arrive. Monsieur Pecot makes a point of being present during the visits. He tells the story of this charming golden stone building in the heart of the Val d”Oingt countryside. Future brides and grooms have appreciated his investment, and this is confirmed by the smiles on the faces of my short-lived clients.
“Did your parents get married here?” asks Arthur.
“That”s right. This place has been in my family for decades. I was able to marry the love of my life, as were my children. Today, I”d like to keep alive the joy of welcoming other couples who want to get married.”
“That”s kind of you, Mr. Pecot.”
“Refer to me as Albert, and a bit of happiness is always welcome. In any case, I”d be delighted to host you at my home.”
“Can we go round?” the excited bride-to-be asks.
The pensioner smiles broadly as he asks us to follow him. He shows us around his estate. We pass a large field where birdsong can be heard. It”s the perfect place if they want to have their secular ceremony outdoors. There”s nothing better than the sound of life in the background. The petanque court catches the groom”s eye, and he decides to play a mini-game with Albert. This relaxing moment manages to take the pressure off me, enough so I”m not as tense as a string.
Before entering the reception hall, we pass a small, sunny outdoor area with two large, open awnings capable of accommodating several guests. As we walk across the gravel, I appreciate my decision not to wear heels. In general, I find it challenging to stand on my own two feet. Wearing basketball shoes, I”m confident nothing can go wrong. I don”t completely dismiss the chance of accidentally hitting a pole.
The bride and groom take a few photos and we enter the hall. It”s large enough to accommodate around a hundred people. All is white, and despite the lack of decoration, a warm atmosphere pervades the place. The floor is tiled with coral tiles, their slightly old-fashioned appearance blending seamlessly with the room”s overall aesthetic. There”s a small kitchen and a couple of bedrooms upstairs for those who can”t get straight home after the party. This place is exceptional, and I”m not the only one to think so, given the reaction of the engaged couple. They seem fascinated by the place and its history. When it”s all over, I”m left alone with the couple, while the owner returns to his duties.
“So what do you think?”
A pang of anguish inserts my chest.
And if they didn”t like it?
They can pretend in front of Mr. Pecot to avoid hurting his feelings. He was so invested, lying to avoid breaking his heart would have been necessary. That said, the place is beautiful. It has a natural feel, which I liked immediately. But my opinion doesn”t matter. I”m not the one getting married. The purpose of my presence is to lighten their load, guide and advise them, but the choice remains theirs. What”s more, it”s not my contract, but Cécile”s. When I get home, I”ll have to take care of the rest. When I get home, I”ll have to report the events of this meeting to her.
She warned me what would happen if I failed. I have no idea whether she was joking or not, but one thing”s for sure, I don”t want to know.
“I love it! It”s so beautiful, I can picture us there with our families and friends,” Magali enthuses, clapping her hands.
“Especially since there”s still the decoration to do. With the bohemian theme you”ve chosen, you can hold the ceremony outside in the field,” the future groom replies.
“Exactly. I think we”ll definitely choose this place.”
“Take your time. It”s important to talk things over before making a decision.”
“Thank you, Florence. Shall we send you our answer next?”
“Yes, or Cécile. We remain at your disposal.”
The couple nods, reassured. They need to remember we won”t insist on them doing anything they don”t want to do. Their happiness and peace of mind are our priority. It”s important to present a positive front and demonstrate their marriage is in good hands.
“Can we go round the room again?” Arthur asks. “I”m not sure about the capacity.”
I nod, but notice the frown of his fiancée, who seems to disagree with him.
“Do you think so? I think there”s enough room. What do you think, Florence?”
Stress is creeping up on me. How I deal with the situation is likely to influence the rest of my day. From what Cécile tells me, the fiancé is the more difficult of the two. This is in contrast to Magali, who could say yes to any place Cécile presented to them. Incidentally, they put my manager”s nerves on edge. So, if I can get them to choose this building, she”ll be proud of me. Well, proud enough not to regard me as a nobody anymore.
“Don”t worry. There”s plenty of room for your guests. The hall can accommodate over a hundred people. In your case, we can set up ten tables for eight guests each. If you”re still unsure, we can go back for another look, but I can assure you the capacity is good. I have pictures of a previous wedding where there were over a hundred guests, and everything went perfectly.”
They ask me if they can see them, and I proudly hold up my phone. It”s a good thing I spend my time taking photos at the weddings I attend. Despite the evidence of the predisposition being sufficient, I offer them another tour of the room. I”m as convincing as the salesman who persuaded me to buy calendars when I already had some. My efforts pay off because I seem to convince them a little. After more than an hour of visualizing the location of the decor, I leave the couple to catch the train to Paris.
Once at the Gare de Lyon, I head for Amour Passionnel in the 15th arrondissement. I would have preferred to go home and email Cécile a report, but she was anxious to see me. Arriving at the agency, I”m glad the weather is still fine, and a few people are still present. I quickly greet my colleagues and hurry to Cécile”s office. Thanks to the large windows, I can see the redhead on the phone. Her pale skin is marked by annoyance. The roll of her eyes makes me wince. This conversation is boring the hell out of her, and I”ll be collateral damage if I go home. With a lump in my stomach, I glance toward the exit, hoping to slip away before she notices me. But before I can escape, I hear my first name:
“Florence!”
I tense up as a drop of sweat rolls down my spine. I open the door. Cécile beckons me to sit down and keep quiet while she finishes her conversation.
“Of course I”m all right. You don”t have to worry about me, Léandre.”
I play with my hands, not knowing what else to do with my ten fingers. My gaze wanders to the décor in her office. A shelf is placed near the large window. In it are several trinkets and photos. There are pictures of her husband, Léandre, as well as of the couples whose unions she has organized.
“What”s up?”
I”m snapped back to reality by the sound of Cécile”s voice. She”s leaning on the table, her expression exuding boredom. It”s a familiar sight, one I”ve grown accustomed to. My manager”s cold, slightly annoyed tone throws me off for a moment, despite her attempt at appearing supportive. She clearly wants me out of her office, and honestly, I agree with her. Unfortunately, I can”t leave just yet.
“As you asked, I was in Lyon.”
“Did everything go well?” she asks, without looking up from her file.
I take a deep breath and dive in. My voice a little uncertain, I tell her all about the visit. Mr. Pecot”s investment and the couple”s doubts about the room”s capacity. When I”ve finished, Cécile watches me stoically.
A long silence falls between us. I can hear my heart pounding against my ribcage. Clutching my fingers isn”t enough to calm the growing stress in my stomach. A quick glance toward the door reminds me I have an escape route if needed.
“Did they agree to take this place?”
The couple”s words come back to me. They seemed thrilled but didn”t accept. They need time to make their choice. I can understand that, but I have no idea whether Cécile considers it a failure.
“No, it crossed their minds. But, as I mentioned, they genuinely enjoyed it. Magali would have undoubtedly agreed on the spot if Arthur hadn”t intervened.”
I”m surprised there was no stutter in my voice. It”s a good start. My joy is short-lived, as Cécile places her pen on the table. In extremis, I wrap a shield around my heart in anticipation of what she”s going to tell me.
“Don”t worry, she could agree to anything. It just proves that men can be as invested in their wedding as women.”
I nod.
“Monsieur Pecot told me you were more professional than last time.”
A smile comes to my lips.
“After all, the last time he saw you, you fell into the wedding cake. So it”s a good thing you can stand on your own two feet.”
Ouch.
My smile immediately fades. I don”t answer because there”s nothing to say. It was certain she wouldn”t forget the cake episode. I blamed myself for my clumsiness, and no matter how much the girls reassured me, it wouldn”t leave my mind. I did appear as the biggest idiot that day. Fortunately, the bride and groom didn”t take it badly, or I”d have been in trouble. Mother”s friend or not, élise wouldn”t have been so forgiving.
“All right, then. You”re free to go.”
Is that all?
I”m not moving. She turns her attention back to her files. I watch her, not knowing what to do. We remain silent and I wait anxiously for her to say something else. Her phone brings her back to our reality, and she looks up at me.
“Florence, I”ve got work to do.”
I get up with what little dignity I have left and head for the exit. As I”m about to leave, she stops me.
“They emailed me to say they approved the place. Well done.”
My lips pursed, I hurriedly closed the door and went to my office, overjoyed. The weight on my shoulders lifts as I collapse into my chair. I”ve been through a lot with Cécile, but this is the first time she”s ever congratulated me or said anything nice at all for that matter. With one hand over my mouth, I stamp my feet on the floor as I dial my neighbor”s number. It takes a few seconds before he answers. As soon as he picks up, I begin. “Cécile complimented me.”
I tell him what happened, smiling broadly.
“All right.”
He doesn”t share my excitement. Clearly, my neighbor doesn”t realize what a feat this is. I”m so excited I could jump out of my chair at this small achievement.
“Do you realize what a big deal this is?”
“Mostly, I realize she treated you right. And it”s surprising you get excited over something normal.”
The fall from my little cloud is brutal. Sad as it is, he”s right. Cécile was being normal with me. Nothing incredible, and yet I still feel like celebrating this mini victory.
I am pathetic.
“Oh.”
He sighs. “I”m sorry, Florence. It makes me sick you”re so happy about it. You deserve so much more after all the effort you put in. I don”t know what”s keeping her from seeing what a hard worker you are.”
“Do you think I”d have a chance to have a wedding?”
“It”s not about luck; it”s about hard work. In your case, there”s no doubt about it. It will come sooner than you think.”
I nod, knowing he can”t see me. He has the right words to help me get back on track.
Is he consistently right?
I doubt it, but it”s good for morale. Considering my tendency to brood on various occasions, a little ray of sunshine is better than nothing.
“Thanks, Corentin.”
“It”s a pleasure, Florence.”
We exchange a few more words before I ask the question that”s been on my mind. “When will you be back?”
“Monday.”
“Is everything all right?”
There”s a silence. Maybe it”s silly, but I worry whenever he”s around his father. Whenever he returns, my neighbor is in a foul mood and turns as cold as an ice cube. I have no idea about what his father does to him, but I don”t hold him close to my heart.
“Let”s say I can”t wait to get home.”
The situation isn”t promising. He”s clearly avoiding discussing it, and I”m not going to pressure him. We all have our secrets, mine included. Sometimes there are things we”re not ready to say, or things that take time to reveal themselves.
“You know I”m here.”
“I know, Florence. I can count on you.”
My heart skips a beat. He”s more stable than I am and yet he knows I”m someone he can count on. He knows even if the anxiety gets to me, I”ll do anything to be there.
“Of course you can. My door is open if you need me.”
“Don”t tempt me too much, or I might leave.”
There”s a noise behind him and a few seconds pass before he returns. I notice immediately his tone has changed. His voice is colder, harsher, even more distant, and it breaks my heart to hear him like that.
“I have to go, Florence.”
“I miss you, my lawyer.”
I need to tell him. A little voice whispers to me he needs those words. In my imagination, he would smile. In real life, he says these words and it”s enough to warm my heart.
“I miss you, Florence. Every hour. Every minute. Every second.”