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ANGER IS LIKE AN ISOLATED hot coal that burns red and bright then dies out.
Aria was furious during the following two days and evaded her mother by all means.
She played beach volley with her friends and would hit the ball a little harder than usual. She went sailing and would pull the sail with more strength than usual. At the Bar du Soleil, she would gobble up many more oysters than her usual share.
Lingering under different coats of outrage, sadness surfaced only as anger subsided. It appeared while she was on the beach and Florence walked by with Agnes and Viviane. They were laughing and not one of them saw her or cared about her. Aria excused herself from her friends’ table and took a walk on the beach.
She did not know with whom to talk.
Her father would be caught in a conflict of interest she did not have the heart to put him through. He would side with her and call Florence to give her a piece of his mind. The last thing she wanted was to cause an argument between two people who had not spoken to each other face to face in years. Aunt Mimi would just put it all up on the fact that Florence was ‘That Woman.’
The grim sky, gray and forlorn, stretched endlessly until it united with the ocean and one was left to wonder whether the white sailboats seen in the distance floated on water or clouds. Crashing waves held a tremendous allurement and she wished for just an instant that she could swim away into the horizon. Instead she sat. Seashells surrounded her, empty shells of clams and mussels lying like fallen butterfly wings. An empty wine bottle emerged from a heap of sand.
Aria took it, then put it back in its place. She had no paper, no pencil. She could not write down her fondest dream, put it in a bottle and send it in the ocean.
What was her fondest dream? One that would chase away the recurring nightmare she’d had the last three weeks with the faceless woman.
She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, Marie-Capucine stood inches from her.
They looked at each other in silence. Aria was about to get up and leave when Marie-Capucine spoke.
“We haven’t seen you at dinner for a while. Florence finally managed to scare you off?”
Aria glared and turned away to face the sea.
“Come on. You can be honest with me. I won’t judge. It’s not like my parents would win the Parents of the Year award.”
Aria turned back to Marie-Capucine with awkwardness.
“I don’t get it!” Aria cried out suddenly. “Why did she even bring me here if all she does is tell me what to do, how to talk, what to eat? She has no idea who I am!”
“And you think that’s true just because she became your mother recently? Children and parents don’t understand each other. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“What about Agnes and her mom?”
“They’re freaks of nature,” Marie-Capucine sat next to Aria cross-legged. “They have their own issues. Their bond is so strong because they’re both the butt of Richard’s jokes. Nothing is ever perfect.”
“Florence and I are far from perfect.”
“You expect too much. Looking for perfection in singing is one thing, looking for it in a human being is something else.”
“I’m not looking for a perfect mom. I just want her to be just a little bit more ...”
“Different. But you can’t change her. Just like she can’t change you, American girl. I can’t change my parents and I stopped trying a long time ago.”
Aria thought of the conversation she had overheard between Marie-Capucine’s parents and dug her heels in the sand.
“You can’t tell me that you’re happy with the way things are? Between your parents.”
“I just stopped caring. That’s my defense mechanism. It doesn’t have to be yours. You’re the sort of person who feels things way more strongly than the rest of us.”
“Excuse me for having a heart,” Aria said wryly.
“Don’t turn what I said into a compliment when it’s not.”
“Thanks.”
“Your pride is your biggest problem. Maxime said one mean thing last year and you went on this epic rivalry.”
“It wasn’t just one mean thing.”
“What if you hadn’t cared?” Margot went on, ignoring Aria’s protest. “Would your school year have been any worse for it?”
“I care,” Aria answered sullenly. “I can’t help it.”
Marie-Capucine shook her head.
“Florence, in her own twisted way, is trying. Now you can either mope around with the picture of the ideal mother running around in your stupid little head. Or you can accept who she is and wipe that pathetic frown off your face.”
“What about your frown?”
“It’s here to stay.”
Aria rose to her feet, but before leaving she bent down again next to Marie-Capucine and said, “Thank you.”
“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t want Florence as a mother either,” Marie-Capucine declared. “Maybe nature has a way of making us see that the grass isn’t greener on the other side. Because I’m positive you don’t envy me my parents either.”
*****
THE NEXT MORNING, ARIA sang Mon Coeur S’ouvre A Ta Voix in her hotel’s empty conference room when Florence walked in. Aria, who had not yet noticed her arrival, continued to sing.
Ah respond to love’s caress
Join in all my soul expresses
“Sing that again,” Florence interrupted. “But with a pretty legato this time.”
Aria executed and Florence nodded with approval.
“Better.”
Aria took a deep breath to resume where she had left off, but Florence spoke.
“Your father, despite his many qualities, is the sort of person to stop talking to a person for years if you disagree with him. I, on the other hand, cool off almost as quickly as I get angry.”
“I’m like you I guess.”
Relief appeared on Florence’s face.
“I wasn’t sure. That’s why I didn’t come to see you sooner.”
Aria nodded, folding her hands behind her back.
“I can’t apologize for letting your father raise you,” Florence said. “He did a wonderful job. My career was just taking off when I became pregnant. I wanted you to be adopted by a good family. I even found a great one with an adoption agency. But Miles said he wanted to raise you. I agreed only if our arrangement was similar to a closed adoption. You wouldn’t know my name or anything about me. He agreed to say nothing so I stayed in New York, though not with him, until I gave birth. You have to understand, singing was my deepest desire. Not all women dream of being mothers. I wasn’t ready. But last year, around October, I was curious and I looked you up. That’s when I learned you’d entered the Academy. I followed your progress from afar. I saw how much you loved music and, to be honest, you might not like this, but you reminded me a little of me. When Caroline told me you were going to get expelled, I knew I couldn’t let your career go down the drain. That’s when I knew I was ready to be in your life. I had to save you and I did. But I did nothing wrong sixteen years ago.”
“I know,” Aria replied.
“Maybe you think you know. Or maybe you’ll only understand this in a couple of years. Society looks down on a woman who does not have a strong maternal longing. It’s commonly thought that becoming a mother is a yearning all little girls have as soon as they play with dolls. It’s encouraged by made-up notions of a mother’s instinct or nurturing qualities we’re all supposed to possess. We’re abnormal if our other ambitions supersede society’s ideals of maternal bliss. Make no mistake, I am a happy woman. And I want to help you have the opera career you wish to have. Our early morning sessions, the people I made you dine with who are affluent in the opera world, all of that serves one goal. Your career.”
Aria nodded, her throat tightening.
“Viviane Villeroy may be a little meek at times, but she is the best costume designer the Opera de Paris has had in decades. Her husband’s a tool, but he’s a great orchestra conductor. Marie-Capucine’s parents are both excellent opera producers and Pierre-Henri’s mother, as nitpicky as she is, is a well-established composer. As for Anatole Andrieux, well, you know who he and his family are.”
“But I was wrong also,” Florence continued. “You’re obviously not a baby anymore. I can’t make you follow me everywhere like a little dog.”
Aria smiled at the thought of her mother owning a pet.
“I’m not here just to discipline you. I may have come off a little hard on that. But since you’re under my care I do get to set certain rules. Whether your father established the same ones or not. I just won’t burden you with too many uncompromising ones.”
“That’s fair.”
“I’m just not a person anyone really says no to. Except maybe Caroline. Sometimes.”
“She said no when you told her to stay away from me last Christmas.”
Florence nodded. “She’s the exception.”
“I’m not afraid to tell you how I really feel about something.”
“I see that. I honestly thought that I was getting to know you better as we sang together. But you’re right. There are other things outside of music. So in that spirit, I’m going to surprise you today.”
“Really?”
“Meet me at noon for our last day in Deauville.”
At noon, Aria thought she was not appropriately dressed for the occasion. Yet she had put on her best pants. As she walked near Agnes in a smart white dress and her impeccably dressed mother, she thought they had to know where the four of them were heading.
But nothing had prepared her for the Deauville Racecourse; its horses, its frenzy, its buzzing excitement.
The four had a fine lunch in a panoramic restaurant with a stunning view of the racetracks before going to the bleachers to watch the races. Each placed a bet on their favorite horse. Aria and Florence’s hearts beat as one for the beautiful dark Thoroughbred with a jockey wearing fluorescent blue and yellow gear. They yelled, encouraged and rooted together for Damascus. Thus, they found in each other mutual consolation when he did not come out first.
Finding themselves alone, while their mothers went to buy drinks, Agnes beamed at Aria.
“This is fun, don’t you think? You and me spending time together.”
“It’s nice,” Aria agreed.
“The only people missing are Maxime for me and Lucas for you.”
“Lucas broke up with me,” Aria answered. The reminder of Lucas disturbed her. She focused on the race.
“Such a shame. Lucas is very cute.”
“He’s single now if you want him.”
“Maybe I do!” Agnes said airily. “Maxime’s been different since he’s come back from New York. Restless. Ready to challenge the established order of things.”
“Isn’t he entitled to some misbehavior?”
“You don’t know Maxime’s family. They’re tight. Saying no to them is the worst betrayal. His sister learned it the hard way.”
Aria remembered her Aunt Caroline had mentioned it once when they were celebrating her sixteenth birthday.
“Didn’t his sister marry an American man?”
“Yes, she did,” Agnes nodded. “Of all the guys crazy about her, he’s the one she chose.”
“You can’t really choose who you love.” Her father probably wished he had never fallen in love with Florence Duchêne.
“Don’t be naïve, Aria. If you constantly stay with people like you, you’ll inevitably end up falling in love with one of them.”
“Are you in love with Maxime? Or did you just ‘inevitably’ convince yourself that you were?”
Agnes questioned her audacity with a wry smile.
“You asked me about Lucas, remember?”
“Fair enough,” Agnes conceded. “Maxime and I are a good team. That’s what we appreciate about each other. We’re both of equal social background and we sing great duets together.”
“You’re satisfied with that?”
“We can’t all be wrapped up in an epic love story. I don’t expect a guy to say I’m his everything. Or to think I’m special.”
Sadness welled up in Agnes’ eyes, but also calm resignation. Aria found her the most beautiful at that instant. Agnes had always appeared to her as a distant statue in a museum, grand but inaccessible.
“Come on, let’s ask our mothers to place another bet! I’m sure Damascus will win this time.”
Agnes laughed cheerfully. “Aria, not everything has to be about winning and beating someone. You’re one curious little creature. But I like you.”
Agnes said the compliment like she spoke of a fitting dress.
“You never would have liked me if I hadn’t been a part of your circle.”
“I would never have got to know you. I would not have known that I could like you. There’s the difference.”
Aria raised her eyebrows with amused perplexity.
“If you’re honest enough to admit that, I guess I can like you, too.”
Agreeing upon their twisted sense of likeness, the girls went down to greet the horses and enjoy their last day in Deauville.