Chapter 8 #3
“I think so. I love him. I just wish we had more time to figure it out. We’re getting married in five months. I wanted to wait years, but his parents pushed him to get married.”
“You used to go to France a lot,” he remembered.
“Let me know if you come to Europe, and come to see me in Berlin,” he said, as the clerk handed him his order.
It looked like a big one, a six-foot square canvas.
Another clerk brought her order and they left at the same time.
Fred looked at her seriously one last time on the sidewalk with their packages.
“Don’t rush into anything, Felicity. Think carefully.
Your art will still be important to you twenty years from now, maybe this guy won’t be.
And don’t let him push you around about what he wants.
What you want matters too. He’s no more special than you are.
I’ve always thought you were very special, and a fantastic artist. Don’t let him try to convince you otherwise.
You’re an artist. That’s an important mission and a gift.
Don’t waste it on a guy who doesn’t understand. ”
“That’s good advice,” she said, thoughtfully, and he hugged her. But she also didn’t want to lose Taylor, she loved him.
“Auf wiedersehen, Fraulein,” he said with a grin. “I’m practicing for Berlin.”
“Have fun!” she said, and waved as she walked away, feeling jealous of his freedom to pursue his art wholeheartedly.
Running into Fred felt like destiny as she thought about it that afternoon.
What he had said was meaningful. It felt like it was too late to question if Taylor was the right guy, with the wedding five months away.
It was set in stone now, with deposits paid, and the reception at the Met.
She’d just have to make it work and teach Taylor how important her art was to her.
But it wasn’t just about her work. Lately, since they got engaged, he seemed to be more commandeering about everything, even sex.
He wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it, and she was the lesser being, the handmaiden who was supposed to give it to him and make all his dreams come true, even erotic ones.
What about her dreams? When she didn’t want to make love, he either teased her into it, forced the issue, or overrode her objections with charm.
It didn’t feel like an equal relationship anymore.
It was Taylor’s way or no way, or his parents’ way, never hers.
That had to change. She felt braver now that she’d run into Fred.
It had been providential, and she knew he was right about her art.
She was glad she’d seen him. He validated her feelings of commitment to her art, and, more important, her as a person and a woman.
She believed that Taylor loved her, but she wasn’t as sure that he respected her.
Fred’s words of advice had hit their mark.
* * *
The weather had been terrible in January, ever since Dominique had gotten back from France.
She was working on her show for Fashion Week, nothing was going right, and she was weeks behind.
Everything felt like a struggle, and she was wrestling with a design on the drawing board in her office, trying to correct it, when the intercom line on her phone buzzed.
Her assistant was out with the flu, and she had a temp for the day, who said there was a man on the phone whose name she couldn’t understand and who was speaking either German or French.
Dominique picked it up, and waited to hear what they had to say.
It was a doctor at the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris calling for her.
“Yes, this is she,” she said, as her heart beat faster.
She prayed that something terrible hadn’t happened to her mother.
She could have had a heart attack or a stroke, and at her age, everything was serious.
“What happened?” she asked him in French, since she was bilingual.
She was anxious to know the worst, and terrified at the same time.
“Your mother had a fall on the ice, and broke her ankle quite badly. We’re going to do surgery in a little while and put a pin in it.
We can send her home tonight, but she says she’s alone at night, and I’m not comfortable releasing her with no one to take care of her if she has a problem at night.
” Dominique knew that her housekeeper left at night, which had concerned her for years.
Her mother didn’t mind being alone. But this was exactly why Dominique worried about her, in case something unexpected happened.
And Marie-Aurélie had refused to exchange her maid for a live-in.
She thought it would be intrusive. “She says she has a friend who can stay with her,” the doctor added.
“Are you at ease with that? Your name is on her emergency papers, and I wanted to check with you, given her age. She’s quite clear and coherent, and rather feisty.
She says she wants to go home, whatever you say.
She’s refusing to spend the night.” In fact Marie-Aurélie had been very grand with the doctor and told him he couldn’t detain her, he wasn’t a policeman, this wasn’t a jail, and she had committed no crime. He liked her spunkiness and spirit.
“Is she in a great deal of pain?” Dominique asked, both worried and relieved. At least it wasn’t worse, but a broken ankle was painful. And thank God Marie-Aurélie hadn’t hit her head.
“We can help her manage the pain with meds. She assures me she won’t be alone, and her friend will stay with her.
” Dominique didn’t ask who the friend was, it didn’t matter as long as she wasn’t alone.
And she was grateful the doctor was being so careful.
She could just imagine the fuss her mother was making, demanding to leave.
She could be very grand when she chose to be.
She hated hospitals and didn’t want her independence curbed or challenged by anyone.
“I suppose it’s all right if a friend will stay with her.” Dominique hoped it was true. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make sure someone picks her up.”
“She says she’s already organized it. We’ll send her home with a wheelchair after the surgery, in case she’s still a little groggy.
She can use crutches after that. She has to keep her weight off that foot for a few weeks.
We’ll give her all the instructions when we discharge her.
She’s actually a lovely woman when she’s not furious,” he said, laughing, and Dominique smiled.
“I’m sorry if she’s giving you a hard time,” Dominique apologized.
“I deal with much worse every day.”
“Can I speak to her?” Dominique asked, still worried.
“I’m afraid I’m not in her room, and there’s no patient phone in the emergency area where she is.
Our cell reception isn’t good. I’m glad I was able to reach you.
” He gave Dominique his name and number and she wrote it down.
“We should have her home in three or four hours if she does well with the anesthetic, and she should stay in bed today, until she clears the anesthetic out of her system. We don’t want her falling again. ”
They hung up and Dominique glanced at her watch.
It was ten in the morning in New York, four in the afternoon in Paris, and the doctor was estimating Marie-Aurélie would be home by eight p.m., which would only be two in the afternoon in New York.
Dominique thought about flying to Paris.
She had an important meeting the next day she couldn’t miss, but she could go the day after, which would get her to Paris on Thursday.
It might be a good idea to check on Marie-Aurélie, Dominique realized.
Her mother would say she was fine even if she wasn’t, and with the housekeeper only there by day, the nights were a real concern.
And the housekeeper had a family of her own at home she had to take care of at night.
Dominique wondered who the friend was who would be staying with her at night.
She decided that the wise decision was to fly to Paris and not to warn her, and make sure that she was managing well and not at risk.
She called Air France and made a reservation for Wednesday in the late afternoon, which would get her into Paris at dawn on Thursday morning.
It was a challenge but she could take two days off, come home on the weekend, and be back at work on Monday.
It was a juggling act but she owed it to her mother, who had always been there for her.
And there was no one in Paris Dominique could call on to help her.
She preferred to see the situation for herself.
She called her mother late that afternoon and Marie-Aurélie answered, said she was already at home, and sounded groggy and half asleep.
She said that her friend was with her. Dominique promised to call her in the morning. Marie-Aurélie thanked her and hung up.
* * *