La Coiffure
Annie spent the following day at the Liberal Arts Abroad offices. The students were on winter break. Mary was still away and there was no one to interrupt her, for which she was grateful. By the end of the afternoon she was totally discouraged. She’d forgotten what a huge task it was to prepare the transcripts, made all the more discouraging because some of the necessary documents appeared to be missing. She’d had a terrible time keeping her mind on her work, and when she heard the neighboring church bells ringing at six, she knew she couldn’t stand it another minute. It would be good to get out to God House, to see Daphne and forget about her job for a while.
On her way home she’d stopped at Saint-Eustache church. She loved the beauty and grandeur of Notre-Dame Cathedral, but it was Saint-Eustache that lured her for reflective moments in her largely secular life. She walked up the center aisle of the nave, now fairly empty, only a few people in the pews. The building revealed years of love and abuse: stained-glass windows in need of repair since the Second World War, the stone floor worn and gritty from tired feet, and the soot-darkened walls reaching for the heavens. Pigeons fluttered high above, trespassers in the sacred space. Annie breathed in the smell of ancient stone, burning candles, and a faint odor of incense.
She sat down in one of the creaking rush-seated chairs lined up like pews. Her thoughts mingled with the hushed voices and low murmured prayers of those around her. The architecture, a glorious mix of Gothic and Renaissance, rivaled that of Notre-Dame, but unlike Notre-Dame, which was constantly encroached on by tourists, this was a hardworking place of worship, a truly comforting church, that embraced all who entered. Writing the poem about this church had eventually brought her to Paul Valmont and the chance to write many more poems.
Saint-Eustache was Wesley’s favorite church. Annie bent her head and folded her hands in her lap. How could she and Wesley, happy for so many years, suddenly feel so differently? Or was she the only one who had changed? Certainly people survived career changes and moving to new places. She knew that. But there were other factors too. There was Daphne. “You’ve got to do what’s right for you, Annie. You don’t go anywhere in life without taking a few risks.”
Annie considered Daphne’s life. Could she live like that, in a world free of husband or family? Perhaps after some time apart, she could be more patient with Wesley; maybe she would feel better about moving and setting up a new life in Washington.
A dark figure in layers of rags shuffled by, mumbling to himself. He smelled of urine and the sickening ripeness of the unwashed. Honestly, what was she worrying about? Annie got up and looked at the rose window high above the nave. Barely visible in the evening darkness, there it was, a forgotten jewel right before her eyes, offering her a glimpse of peace.
Annie couldn’t see. Her eyes no longer worked. The blackness was fierce, confusing. She tried to push her hair off her face. Then the sharp noise, where was the noise? She needed to find it. She was suddenly awake. The phone, on Wesley’s side of the bed, was ringing. She must have been dreaming. She crawled across the covers, pushing aside magazines, notebooks, typed manuscript pages, and a pot of herbal tea on a tray. Her legs were tangled in the sheets. Something clattered to the floor. She found the receiver.
“Annie?”
“Yes,” she said. Her mouth was dry, sandpapery. It must be the middle of the night. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and reached for the light. Two in the morning. She’d been dead asleep. “Wesley, why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?”
“Sorry, sweetie. We just got back from dinner. You’re never there when I call.”
She tried to think. What did he mean by that? He hadn’t left a message. He continued on, animated, explaining some kind of long complicated brief, something he had done for the Washington law firm. It had gone well. He had brought in a new client. The senior partner was due back from Hong Kong next week. He was the last person that Wesley needed to meet—a final formality.
Annie tried to focus on what he was saying. It was evening in Washington. She tried to imagine Wesley in his hotel room, seated on the edge of a vast bed, a room in dull shades of maroon and brown. For a moment she couldn’t even picture his face. She sat up further. The tray with her cup of tea had overturned onto the rug.
“You woke me up,” she mumbled into the phone. What was he talking about?
“The firm isn’t as big as Wilson & James, but it’s right for me. The other partners are terrific.” He sounded like a stranger. “Please try to understand how important this is for me.”
“I know it’s important. I’m glad you like it. Wesley, it’s late.” She tried to clear her head. “Did you get my message? Valmont wants me to write the poems for the book.”
“I don’t see how you’re going to have time to do that. Once this is definite, I’ll need to be here full-time. We’ll need to find a place here, sell the apartment—”
“You said we didn’t need to move right away.” Now she was totally awake.
“Look, Annie. There will be other opportunities.”
“You mean not write the poems for Valmont?”
“I didn’t say that. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“I’m leaving early for God House. I’ll be there for the rest of the week.”
“Why are you going out there?”
She looked again at the clock. It would be difficult to get back to sleep. “I plan to work. Daphne said I could have the days to myself. It’s where I need to be right now. No interruptions.”
“I was at the office all day. All I have to do is finish the transcripts for Mary.”
“That’s a huge job. How are you going to do that and write poems? Listen.” He sounded businesslike, as if he were talking to a young associate in his law firm. “I think you’re taking on too much.”
“I’ll be able to get it done.”
“I don’t know.”
“You …” She was furious. What did he have to do with this? “Wesley. This is my job, my life. I don’t need your advice. For that matter, I don’t want your advice.”
“You don’t need to get so angry. For Christ’s sake, I only called to tell you about this job. I thought you’d be happy for me. It’s going to change everything for us.”
It already has, she thought. “Look, in case you’ve forgotten, it’s the middle of the night.”
“We need to talk, Annie.”
“We’ll talk when you come back.” She tried to regain her composure. “This is not the time for this.”
“Annie—”
“Please, Wesley,” she said quietly. “Good night.” Annie put the phone back in its cradle and bent down to pick up the teacup and pot still on the floor. Thankfully, the pot hadn’t broken. The cup looked fine, but when she ran her finger around the rim, she felt a jagged edge where it had chipped.
Annie closed her eyes. The pressure of a passing train thundering toward Paris seemed to suck the air right out of the railway car where she sat. Once past, she listened to the steady rumble as they shot over steel tracks. Her train carried her in the opposite direction, and at midmorning it was almost empty. She shared the compartment with a young mother holding a sleeping infant. She looked tired but content, and she held her baby close in her arms, rocking with the gentle rhythm of the train. Annie opened her book and tried to read. She didn’t want to sleep, fearful of missing the stop for Villandry.
She looked out the window. The high-speed train created a monotonous gray ribbon of landscape, making it impossible to focus on any particular scenic detail. When she awoke that morning, her fury at Wesley had been replaced by sadness. She watched the young mother across from her. The baby slept deeply and the mother periodically kissed the top of the downy little head.
She remembered her own pregnancy. She and Wesley had planned to have children one day, but it had happened sooner than expected. She had worried about Wesley’s reaction to her news.
She’d left the doctor’s office on a glorious October afternoon. The results were conclusive. She was healthy and she felt wonderful. She had gone to find Wesley in the library. She would never forget that day. The sky was an intense blue, and the leaves of rich crimson, bold yellow, and gold sailed to her feet. She hurried along the sidewalk by the Charles River. The water glimmered with an intensity of almost unbearable beauty. A day of pure magic.
She ran up the endless marble steps of the library and headed to the place where he usually studied. She found him at a heavy oak table, books and papers piled high about him. She was out of breath. Her heart fluttered in her chest. He smiled when he saw her, took off his glasses, leaned back, and stretched.
“What’s up?” He whispered. “You look funny.” He grinned fully, the dimpled smile she loved.
“I can’t tell you here.” She panted.
“Shh.” Someone hissed from the next table.
“Write it down.” He pushed his notebook across the table to her. She scribbled the news and slid it back. Wesley looked down at the pad. His hair was longer then and she couldn’t see his face. He looked up and, with his lips sealed, motioned for her to follow him. He led her out the door and into the stairwell to the stacks below. Then he turned, pushed her gently to the wall, and gave her the deepest and most passionate kiss ever.
Annie descended from the train carrying a flower-printed duffel bag in one hand and clutching her worn leather briefcase in the other.
Knowing that her poems and photographs were inside renewed her confidence. The very weight of the bag gave her a sense of purpose. She loved the intensity of this project. It was so much more interesting than working on one poem, then another, sending them off, then waiting months and months for a response.
Although it was still early January, the air was fresher in Villandry, and Annie thought she detected a hint of spring in the brisk wind and almost cloudless sky. She’d forgotten how a blue sky could lighten her spirit and lift the worry from her heart. She turned off the main street lined with small shops, a post office, and a real estate business, all closed for the noon hour, and began the short walk toward God House. The buildings grew farther apart and the street turned into a country road. The sidewalk became a gravel path. Her comfortable brown walking boots crunched on the pebbles. She avoided the puddles that had so recently been icy reminders of winter. Under her green loden coat she wore jeans and the new black sweater. Her stride became longer and more relaxed as she neared her destination, enjoying the walk.
Turning into the drive at God House she heard Daphne’s car come up behind her.
Daphne opened her window and called out, “Well, my timing is off. I’d meant to get you at the station.”
Annie leaned down and spoke through the open window, “I never told you my exact arrival time. How are you?”
“I’m great. I figured you’d be on this train or the next. Hop in. I left a pot of Berthe’s soup on while I fetched bread from the village. Let’s hope I haven’t burned the house down.”
Annie came around, tossed her things into the backseat, and got in beside Daphne for the last few hundred feet up the drive. The car smelled of old leather and a fresh citruslike perfume she didn’t recognize. Daphne’s thick hair was tucked behind her ears, and she wore the same baggy pants and sweater that Annie remembered from her last visit.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Daphne said. “You’ll have plenty of time to work. It’s just you and me, and we don’t have to answer to anyone. No guests, and Berthe has gone to her sister’s house in Aix.”
Annie smiled. She did feel better. The image of the mother and baby on the train remained with her, and she wondered what her baby, her Sophie, was doing now. Daphne drew the car to a stop in front of the house. The old gray walls looked warm and inviting, less imposing than on her first visit.
Annie followed Daphne up the front steps. The black-and-white floor, the peach walls, and the antique chest were now all bathed in a softer light, infused with sunshine. Today there was a round pot of rosemary sitting on the chest. Annie brushed her hand across the spiky branches, releasing the pungent fresh scent.
“Nice, isn’t it?” Daphne said.
“Rosemary for remembrance. It always makes me think of Aunt Kate. She had a dear little herb garden just outside the kitchen door.” For a fleeting moment Annie regretted having sold the old house in Vermont.
They pulled off their boots in the hall and hung their coats on the pegs under the staircase. This time Annie savored the familiarity of it all.
“Go ahead and put your things upstairs while I go and serve the soup.”
Annie went up to her room, the one she had recently shared with Wesley. She looked at it with new eyes; the walls covered in the pale pink floral paper and the fabrics of cream-colored taffeta were so distinctly feminine. She hadn’t thought of this on their last visit. Other than the library with its leather sofa and mahogany desk, God House had clearly been decorated with the comfort of women in mind.
She stood at the window and looked down at the garden and the river, now glimmering in the sun. This room, now hers alone, felt like a sort of sanctuary. Deep down she must have needed this space. Suddenly she wanted to cry. She was relieved to be away, and yet she wondered if it could solve anything. She brought her hand to her face and could still smell the rosemary on her fingers. Aunt Kate wouldn’t have accepted this kind of brooding.
Annie got her brush out of her bag, swept her hair back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, and fastened it with a tortoiseshell barrette. She frowned in the mirror, noting the circles under her eyes and the fine lines around her mouth. She needed a good night’s sleep, though she knew it would only go so far.
Daphne had set the table in the glass room off the kitchen, and a large bowl of vegetable soup steamed at each place. There was a basket of freshly sliced bread and a dish of grated Parmesan cheese on the table beside it. Daphne carried a bottle of red wine in from the kitchen and poured some into their glasses. The soup was thick and delicious, and in no time Annie was in a better mood. The wine brought color to her cheeks, and when they finished eating, they agreed on a big walk along the river. Annie started to clear the dishes but Daphne pulled her away. “Come on. The sun is out now. We can do these later.”
Later, as the afternoon ebbed into evening, they sat sipping tea by the fire in the library. Annie felt refreshed from their long walk in the fresh air and stimulated by Daphne’s questions and ongoing enthusiasm for the book. She couldn’t quite fathom Daphne’s interest, and she was somewhat surprised by the intensity of such a recent friendship. They seemed to have reached a kind of understanding that usually took months or even years to develop.
“Wait until we take the river walk in the spring,” Daphne said. “The banks will be covered with daffodils.”
“Who knows where I’ll be then.” Annie set her cup down and drew her feet up under herself on the sofa.
“You’ll be right here, writing more poems for Paul’s book.”
“You forget. Wesley’s off in America, probably accepting a job there as we speak.”
“And you’ll drop everything here to go and play loving wife?” Daphne tilted her head and raised her eyebrows in a bemused expression.
“Of course not.” Annie was vaguely annoyed, though she knew Daphne was teasing. “I’m sure I can manage to do the poems. Besides, I don’t have to follow right away.”
“You use the word follow. I’m not sure I see you that way.”
“Just how do you see me?”
“I see you as a lot more than a dutiful, obliging wife. As a matter of fact, I think I see you more clearly than you see yourself.”
“And how is that?”
“Well”—Daphne paused and appeared to consider this thoughtfully—“for one thing, I see you as someone ready to get rid of a lifetime of restraints. I know it’s a cliché, but I think you are just about to hit your stride. You’ve told me how you miss your mother, how you never knew her. Well, I have a feeling you’re a lot like her. I think you’re going to discover all kinds of things about yourself. Maybe you’ll laugh”—and here Daphne did laugh—“but I think I’m the one who came along just in time to help you. I view it as my job to get you there.”
Annie found this a bit presumptuous. “I’m glad you’re so interested, but—”
“Look. Just think about it.” Daphne took another sip of tea and got up. “Listen, have a little rest. I’m going to make a few phone calls. We can talk about it later over a drink.”
Annie wasn’t sure she wanted to continue this conversation at all, though she was sleepy and decided to stay right there by the fire for a nap.
When she awoke, the room was dark, the only light coming from the glow of the coals dying in the fireplace. Sitting up, she was overcome with a sense of peace, an enveloping stillness. She was aware of her own breathing, the ticking of a clock in the hall, and distant sounds coming from the kitchen. Rather than clicking on a light and getting up to help out, like her usual efficient self, she remained perfectly still and watched the fire in silence.
“Well, you’re awake,” Daphne said. “I’m going to rev up this fire and pour some drinks.”
Annie still didn’t say a word. She stretched out her legs, rested her head on the back of the sofa, and watched as Daphne added logs and poked the coals. The fire obediently burst to life.
“You look happy,” Daphne said, turning around.
“Oh, I feel so much better. Sometimes there’s just nothing like a nap.”
“How about a whiskey?”
“Remember what we talked about. Just try one.” She went over to a shelf in the bookcase where several crystal decanters were lined up with a tray of glasses. She poured the dark, honey-colored liquid into a heavy, short glass without ice. Then she poured a second one and came over and sat on the sofa at Annie’s feet. She handed her the drink. Annie reached out and lifted the glass to her lips. The whiskey felt vaguely hot as it went down, but not unpleasant. She quite liked the aftertaste.
Daphne came around to the back of the sofa and picked up Annie’s ponytail, giving it a brief tug.
“Have you ever thought of cutting it?” Daphne asked, and came back to the sofa. Annie was too astonished to answer. Her hair, while not a particularly exciting shade of pale brown, was thick and in summer took on golden highlights from the sun. She knew Wesley liked it long, and she’d never bothered to do anything different with it. Daphne was looking fixedly at her. Annie took another sip of whiskey.
“Don’t be shocked. You’ve got lovely thick hair, and I think it could be great cut in layers, boyish but longer.” Daphne took a sip of her drink and reached over to Annie, unclipping the barrette. “I could do it, you know. I mean cut your hair. I did it all the time in boarding school. The girls thought I was very good.” She drew her fingers through Annie’s hair.
This time Annie took a big swallow of the whiskey. Some voice, which did not sound like her own, said, “Fine, do it. I’m totally sick of what I look like.”
Daphne laughed. “You mean it?”
“I do.”
“Okay, bring your drink. Let’s go up to my bathroom. I’ve got scissors there.”
Annie followed Daphne up the stairs, into her room and the bathroom beyond. She thought again of the afternoon when she had brought Daphne her tea in that old-fashioned bathroom, spare and functional with a claw-footed tub and two large porcelain sinks side by side. A huge mirror in a mahogany frame covered most of the wall above the sinks. Daphne pulled a wooden chair out into the center of the bathroom. It scraped loudly across the tile floor.
“That’s a gorgeous sweater, but take it off and put this over your shoulders.” She handed Annie an enormous white bath towel. Annie, with a surge of excitement, felt like a young girl about to do something that might get her into trouble. She set her drink down on the edge of the sink and pulled her sweater over her head to expose her pale winter skin and small breasts. She shivered. At least she was wearing one of her nicer bras. Daphne got the scissors from a drawer and picked up a heavy clump of hair on the top of Annie’s head.
Annie heard the snap of the scissors as Daphne made the first cut. She shut her eyes.
“Okay?”
Annie kept her eyes closed and merely nodded. A sense of abandonment came over her. It was like the time she had gone skinny-dipping with Wesley in the pond behind his parents’ house in Connecticut. She remembered the delightful sensation of the water caressing her body and the fear of someone discovering them totally naked in the hot summer sun. Now she imagined her head becoming lighter as Daphne cut hunk after hunk of her hair.
Daphne’s fingers were cool and firm on her scalp. Periodically, she pulled both hands through Annie’s hair before reaching for another clump. Eventually, she picked up the comb and drew it through, cutting small bits and the ends.
“I’m not opening my eyes until you’re done,” Annie said. “Would you hand me my drink, please? I think I’m beginning to like whiskey.”
Daphne laughed softly and kept cutting. Gradually her work slowed and she pulled the towel off Annie’s shoulders, brushing off the lingering remnants of hair. “Done,” she said, and stepped back to admire the results.
Annie opened her eyes slowly. She stood and stared into the bathroom mirror. The face looking back amazed her. Annie’s thick hair was suited to the many layers and curled gently under. Daphne had tucked the short pieces by her face behind her ears. The final effect was young and French-looking, making her features seem more distinct, her eyes bigger, and her mouth fuller. Annie expected the illusion to disappear, but the vision smiled back at her. Daphne handed her the black sweater. She pulled it over her head and tucked the sides of her hair behind her ears as Daphne had done a few minutes ago.
Daphne stood behind her. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks, Daphne. It’s wonderful. I can’t believe in all these years I’ve never thought of changing it.” She looked into the wastebasket where Daphne had tossed the hunks of hair. The hair didn’t look like her own but like that of a stranger.
“It’s really more you, very sexy too.”
“I wonder what Wesley will think.”
“He’d be crazy not to love it.” Daphne gave the towel a final shake. “Now let’s go down before the chicken in the oven is all dried up.”