A French Song in New York Read online

  The fact that she could not find a job in a law firm did not help matters.

  Uselessness filled her days.

  The most infuriating downside about being back in New York was in having to deal with her in-laws, Alan and Irina Lewis.

  Though she loved her husband with a passion, she often found herself wishing that the people who had raised him lived on an entirely different continent than hers.

  Not two blocks away.

  The Lewises dined every Friday evening at Cynthia and Daniel’s apartment and reminded the young couple with a relish bordering on obscenity that the apartment was not theirs.

  Alan and Irina had lent them one of their Manhattan apartments while the newlyweds searched for their new home. The apartment had a view of the Empire State Building and all the latest appliances. It was comfortable, though not homey.

  The Lewis’ kindness did not come without strings attached. That was one lesson Cynthia had never learned from her loving parents, who gave without expecting anything in return.

  Her in-laws dropped in whenever they felt like it, which turned out to be frequent.

  How the Friday night dinner ritual had come about, Cynthia did not know. She remembered having invited them once, but could not recall renewing the courtesy.

  That Friday evening, she sat at the dinner table, her attention focused on a single drop of red wine rolling down Alan’s glass. Of little consequence, the drop’s trajectory was nevertheless more interesting than her father-in-law’s boring conversation.

  Alan Lewis was a man who prided himself in giving advice that its recipients never asked to hear in the first place. Though he despised James Baldwin for his success and secretly wished to work for Soulville Records again, he was fond of Cynthia as a daughter-in-law. He saw her as a woman who would increase the family fortune once she found a job in a prestigious law firm. She was from a notable background, but even if she had come from a humble family, he would have still considered her a suitable match for his son. The sharp intelligence she wielded like a sword was worth at least two houses in the Hamptons.

  He’d always thought that talent, not wealth, was the real cause for discrimination between human beings. The poor but talented possessed the means to achieve success.

  Poor but talentless was the worst fate.

  As he sat across from her and played with his wine, tilting it from side to side, he shaped Cynthia’s future like a glassblower manipulating molten glass.

  “Don’t you agree, Cynthia?” Alan asked, once he’d finished discoursing.

  Cynthia coughed and sat up straight. “Sorry?”

  “Don’t you agree? You should consider applying for corporate law firms.”

  “I’m not interested in corporate law. You know I want to help people.”

  “You’d be helping people. Consider big firms like Mendez & Larry. They’d make more money. That will enable them to hire more people and that’s good for the American economy.”

  “You know what else is good for the economy? Peace,” Cynthia stated calmly. “International human rights lawyers participate in world peace.”

  “They work many hours without making much money. Corporate lawyers, now they work a lot, too, but you know, they make a ton. You’re going to have rent to pay once you two move out of here. We’re going to want to rent this place out again soon.”

  “Thanks for being so gracious about lending us your apartment,” Daniel put in. He moved his vegetables from one side of the plate to another with a fork he held loosely between two fingers. “Don’t worry, we won’t overstay our welcome.”

  He spoke to his father, but looked at his mother.

  Mrs. Lewis sipped her wine.

  “Cynthia,” Alan continued, “you’ll have to find a job eventually. You can’t let Danny pay for everything.”

  “I have savings,” Cynthia said.

  “How long will that last?”

  “Dad!” Daniel’s fork screeched across his plate.

  The noise pulled Irina Lewis out of her daydream.

  “You have to establish your career now,” she said. “Before you start having babies and going on maternity leave.”

  “Oh, maternity leave,” Alan raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You’re not saying you’re married during interviews, are you? If they think you’ll be popping out babies soon, no good firm will hire you.”

  “Alan, sweetie, if she doesn’t want to work right away, she can start having kids now. The market might be better in two or three years and she can find a job then, when her kids start going to school.”

  “Oh hush, Irina!” Alan snapped. “What do you know about the market? You haven’t worked a day in your life.”

  Irina Lewis pursed her lips, opening them only to take a sip of wine.

  “I don’t want kids,” Cynthia said.

  “Not now, but soon enough.” Irina erased a smudge of lipstick from her glass.

  “I don’t want them. Ever.”

  Appalled, Irina brought her hand to her face, smearing lipstick on her right cheek.

  “Darling, darling Cynthia.” She choked on the word ‘darling’, but repeated it stiffly. “Darling. Shouldn’t you have discussed this with my son before you married him?”

  “She did,” Daniel intervened.

  “And you agreed to this?” Irina cried out, eyes bulging. “You’ll let her?”

  “Let me?”

  “Mom, we discussed it before we married. Neither one of us wants children.”

  “I’ve never heard you say such a thing!” Irina spluttered.

  “You’ve never asked me. Or her. You just assumed—”

  “Assumed a married couple would want to have a family,” Irina’s knuckle whitened as she grasped her glass.

  “We have a family,” Cynthia said. “Each other.” Daniel smiled with love at his new bride and took her hand underneath the table.

  “Danny, if your wife doesn’t have children, she’s free to leave you whenever she wants. With children, she’s trapped. Why do you think we had you so soon after we married?” Alan joked. Irina glowered, but instead of replying to her husband’s demeaning joke, she redirected her anger at Cynthia.

  “You’re one of those women. Those selfish women!”

  “Because when you had me you did it for the good of humanity?” Daniel asked sarcastically.

  “You want your career to be everything.” Ignoring her son, Irina’s eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Let her,” Alan said. “Kids cost time and money. Sorry, Dan, but you’ve got to hear this, even if you’re my son. If Cynthia doesn’t have children, she’ll spend all her waking hours at the firm and make partner in no time.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a dazzling career. But that’s not what I want. If that were the case, why would I shirk from a corporate law job? I don’t plan on spending my life in a Wall Street skyscraper. I want to help people. We both do. Children, adults. Anyone. And we want to travel while we do so.”

  “God, you’re stupid! People marry; they have kids. That’s what they do. And if I don’t have a grandchild, what will I do?” Irina’s bottom lip shook as did the wine glass she held with a slipping grip.

  “How does my not having children affect you?” Cynthia asked. “Kids annoy you as soon as they cry.”

  “You complain about how hard I was to raise, though I was a perfect angel,” Daniel laughed.

  “Mothers always complain about their children. It doesn’t mean we don’t love them.”

  “You said pregnancy was torture,” Daniel added.

  “I never said such a thing. It was the best time of my life! All that vomiting and weight gain. I mean, sure, it wasn’t great all the time, but, well, everyone agrees it’s a woman’s most beautiful state. Besides, I was looking forward to being a grandmother. My friends brag about their grandchildren nonstop though they’re dreadfully ugly. I just wanted a chance to show mine off. Your children would look so cute. Please reconsider.”

 
; “You already get to brag about your amazing son,” Cynthia said weakly. “Or you could find something you love and do that. Brag about yourself.”

  Cynthia looked at her stomach. When had her body become the object of such contention?

  The last time was when she was thirteen. She’d bought her first bra in a Victoria’s Secret store. All the women of the family had their say.

  Aunt Pearl had argued Cynthia needed a padded bra. Her mom said bras enslaved women and that she did not wear any. Prim Aunt Loretta had said Cynthia should wear a corset.

  While they argued, Cynthia had bought a pretty training bra, dark blue with daisies. She’d handed the cashier her allowance and that was that.

  From then on, she’d decided nobody would make important decisions for her.

  She’d later chosen her schools, her career, her husband, and not according to her parents’ wishes, but on the strength of her conviction.

  However, she found it far easier to challenge her loved ones than these people she barely knew.

  She wanted to stand on the table, kick the wine glasses, and defend her decision. She would not live to regret it. Cuteness and giving meaning to Irina’s vapid life were not sufficient reasons to have a baby.

  Her own life had meaning.

  Why was it that she remained tongue-tied when she needed to brazenly voice her will before all?

  What a terrible lawyer she would be!

  If only Jazmine or Maude were sitting next to her. Or even Ben! They knew her! Jazmine would tell Alan off without hesitation. Maude would murder Alan with just one look. Ben would joke about Irina’s drinking.

  Unfortunately, like the wine drop on Alan’s glass, Cynthia’s journey among her in-laws was a solitary one.

  As she lamented the absence of her allies, Cynthia’s phone buzzed.

  “Excuse me, I need to take this,” Cynthia said.

  Relieved, she went to the kitchen and read the text message she’d received from Jazmine.

  Going to Jason Taylor’s party tonight with Maude. We NEED you. Ditch the in-laws and join your sistas!

  Cynthia muffled a laugh.

  It was just like Jazmine to guess when her sister could not evade a place she did not wish to be.

  Daniel entered the kitchen with dirty plates and placed them in the sink.

  She watched him. What would he think if she told him she’d rather find herself in a magnitude 8 earthquake than spend another minute with his parents?

  “Cynth, you okay?” he asked, turning away from the sink to face her.

  Her gaze drifted from the dishes to his face. She opened her mouth, closed it once more, and opened the door to the dishwasher.

  “I’m so sorry for my parents, really.” Daniel took a dirty plate from her hands and put it in the machine. “I wish I could disown them.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Ask your parents if they’ll adopt me.”

  “Then we’d be brother and sister and our marriage annulled. Think of all the gifts we’d have to send back.”

  “Guess I’ll stay a Lewis then.”

  Cynthia squeezed her phone against her chest.

  “Who was that on the phone? Or did you pretend to get a call just to leave the table?” Daniel grinned, indicating the latter constituted a justifiable excuse.

  “Jaz wants me to go to some party. I was about to tell her I can’t make it tonight.”

  “You should go.”

  “I can’t let you stay on your own with these two. Remember ‘for better or worse’.”

  “I managed over two decades before you came along. I can handle them for the evening. Just find a good excuse and get out of here!”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me. I’ve never loved you more.”

  “Good to know. I should add, ‘I never want to see your face again!’”

  “You certainly won’t see my face again on Friday evenings.”

  “I promise I’ll tell them to stop coming over. Soon. But not tonight. One problem at a time. Find an excuse to get out of here. Maybe you could say your cousin’s sick?”

  “Or my sister got into a fight?”

  “How about: Victoria called and asked you to bring her back her favorite platter.”

  “Nah, Alan knows Dad’s the cook. But you’ve got something there. Um, maybe ... oh, I know!”

  Cynthia dashed into the dining room.

  “I’m sorry, I have to run. My dad just called: he’s learned some important news about Soulville and needs my legal input.”

  Alan’s interest showed in his beady eyes. Any trouble at Soulville was good news for him.

  “News about Soulville? What is it?”

  “Can’t say. It’s confidential. Lawyer-client privilege,” Cynthia said smugly.

  “Of course, of course. I guess we’ll see you next Friday.”

  “Sure, I’ll be happy to brrrbromelfi,” Cynthia mumbled the rest of the sentence. She darted out of the room before her eyes betrayed the relief and joy she could never have the talent to hide.

  Chapter 5

  THERE WERE PARTIES and there were Jason Taylor parties.

  The first time Maude had met Jason was in his Beverly Hills mansion. Back then, she’d just finished her first tour. That evening, she’d also learned that Alan Lewis was about to make her life steer in a direction she’d never anticipated.

  This early September evening was different.

  Jason Taylor’s career had taken a turn.

  He no longer played in vampire movies. In fact, he never appeared in movies at all.

  He was now known for a serious, brooding role in a Netflix series that had won many awards and garnered praise from critics and viewers alike. Few understood what the series was about. Jason’s character, Dusty A. Riggs, was both a killer and a savior, a saint and a savage, and a womanizer with the heart of a virgin.

  All agreed to say that the show was ‘outstanding in complexity’, ‘deep and troubling’ and, basically, not for the simple-minded.

  This newfound respect allowed Jason Taylor to evolve among the cultivated and artsy elite of New York comprised of Ivy League student directors, actors, and screenwriters.

  He’d replaced the mansion with a Brooklyn penthouse on Bridge Park and organized screenings once a month of student films and auteur films to debate.

  Jason Taylor’s screening soirées were the perfect place to meet the next Steven Spielberg in the making.

  Maude, Cynthia, and Jazmine were ready for the challenge.

  During the elevator ride, Jazmine reminded her sisters of their mission.

  “Maude, don’t fawn over famous actors.”

  “I don’t fawn! Much.”

  “I’d have thought you were used to seeing celebrities by now.”

  “Famous singers, yes. But seeing the person you watch every week on your screen, that is something else entirely. Do you think Chris Lemming will be here tonight?”

  “Psah, what if he is? You’re in a relationship, remember!”

  “Doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate the beauty of a god put in mortal form,” Cynthia sighed. “I love him in Zombie Squad.”

  “Superheroes and zombies,” Maude squealed. “What’s not to love? Wouldn’t Jason look great as a zombie?”

  “Too bad he’s into serious roles now,” Cynthia said.

  “You two, stay focused.” Jazmine snapped her fingers under their noses. “There are many student filmmakers here this evening. Jason will have spoken to them about me. Maude, your role is important. People take you seriously in this industry. Cynthia, you’re the smart one, you’ll understand all their pseudo-intellectual gibberish. Sell me. Make me look fab. Got it, sistas?”

  “How much will you pay us for talking you up?” Cynthia asked. “It’s not an easy task.”

  “Nothing. We’re getting nothing in return, but she’s acting as if she’s the boss.”

  Jazmine grinned. “Sorry, girls! You know I appreciate this.”

 
; “I’m not sure I do,” Cynthia said with a pout.

  Jazmine blew a kiss in the air, turning resolutely to the elevator doors as they opened.

  “Ready Jazzettes?”

  The Jazzettes were ready.

  “Great to see you again, girls!” Jason cried out in welcome. “Come on in!”

  His appearance had not changed much. He was still tall and lean with smooth, dark skin and a stylish afro. He’d lost muscle for the characterization of Dusty. A. Riggs. The character was not one to enjoy simple pleasures such as going to the gym.

  Maude glanced at her cousin as she greeted her ex-boyfriend. They’d still make a beautiful couple. The makeup department likely didn’t spend much time on Jason before the cameras began rolling.

  “We’re about to start the screening of The Egotist and the Petrichor.”

  Jason led them across the penthouse, past the wine room, gym, master bedroom, and into the living room containing a home theater.

  “What is petrichor? Is that English?” Jazmine mumbled as they made their way in.

  “If I don’t understand, I can just say English isn’t my first language,” Maude giggled.

  “What’s my excuse?”

  “You could make out with Jason Taylor if the movie’s boring.”

  “Don’t start. This is a professional meeting. I’m not getting back together with him.”

  “Humpf,” Maude snorted. It was her way of declaring that Jazmine was making a big mistake.

  The three girls greeted Jason’s friends. Two of them wore fake, large-rimmed glasses to enhance their thoughtful expressions.

  The two Baldwin girls sat on a vacant sofa and Maude took a seat on the floor at their feet on a cushion.

  Thus started the longest film of their lives. Little action or dialogue appeared for the first half of the movie. There was rain, sunlight, and several other elements necessary to human life on Earth, but very little life in itself.

  Maude fought to keep her eyes open, but soon found the fight a futile one and gave in to slumber. Jazmine yawned profusely.

  Once the movie ended, the clapping woke Maude with a start.