Bad Marie by Dermansky Marcy

Author:Dermansky, Marcy [Dermansky, Marcy]
Language: rus
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
Published: 2010-06-09T18:00:00+00:00

They left their unpacked bags in Lili Gaudet’s apartment in the best neighborhood in Paris and went to the restaurant down the block, where Marie ordered the first thing she recognized on the menu, the steak frites, which she loved. Marie drank the delicious red wine Benoît ordered and she ate her steak, charred on the outside, red on the inside, drizzled with a thick pepper sauce, and she marveled at herself, sitting in a restaurant in France, eating delicious steak.

Ruby Hart was still in prison. Juan José was still dead. Marie’s mother was simmering in the same old, ugly house she’d lived in for the past thirty years. Marie was in Paris. The French bread was just as good as Benoît Doniel had promised it would be.

At the restaurant, the French actress resumed talking in French, talking talking talking, but Marie did not feel jealous. In fact, she felt relieved. Marie did not want to talk. She did not want to explain herself. She did not want to understand what had once happened between Lili and Benoît or know what they were saying to each other. She did not want to know. She wanted to eat. She wanted Caitlin to eat. In a strange way, with the horrible French actress commanding all of Benoît’s attention, Marie was alone again with Caitlin. They had been happy together, before Benoît.

“Hi Caitlin,” Marie said.

“Hi Marie,” Caitlin said.

“Hi Kit Kat,” Marie said.

“Hi Marie,” Caitlin said.

“Everyone speaks French in France,” she told Caitlin.

Caitlin reached for a french fry off of Marie’s plate.

“This is called a frite in France,” Marie said.

“Frite,” Caitlin echoed.

She ate it and then she reached for another.

Marie drank her wine. Caitlin drank her milk. Instead of chocolate pudding for dessert, they ordered the chocolate mousse.

“This,” Marie said, “tastes better.”

She enjoyed her dinner, despite the fact that Benoît Doniel had abandoned them. The French actress had taken him, brought him over to the bar, introduced him to the bartender and a woman with short hair wearing a red blouse and blue jeans. Marie watched Benoît kiss the cheeks of these people.

“Daddy is over there.” Caitlin pointed.

Marie nodded.

“Mommy is at work.”

“Your Mommy works hard,” Marie said. She looked into the almost empty bowl of chocolate mousse and ate the last spoonful.

When the waiter returned, Marie ordered a whiskey and another chocolate mousse. She asked for these things in English and the waiter understood.

When the bill came, Lili Gaudet paid.

“I am very rich,” she told Marie, leaning over to get her wallet out of her purse, flashing the thin straps of her black camisole beneath a shapeless gray sweater.

Back at her apartment, while Marie got Caitlin ready for bed, the French actress continued to talk. She had Benoît Doniel cornered on the edge of the leather couch, with no choice but to listen, her skinny arms waving wildly. At some point, Marie realized she had reverted back to crying. She was, clearly, hysterical, and she was also waiting for Benoît to react. Marie wondered if Lili Gaudet might suffer from some sort of acute mental condition.

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