As I walk with Jacques into Emporium Galorium, I realize it’s been almost exactly a month since we started officially dating, and three months since we started having sex. It’s deep into autumn already, and I’ve been spending most of my extra money on decent clothes for the weather. The summer wear from the US that I brought just won’t suffice, since the even the jeans are too light to manage against the damp cold.
I look over my shoulder and grin at Jacques, who’s carrying his guitars and amp into the building right behind me. I’ve gone to every Quatre Pistoles show since Jacques and I started dating, and I have to admit that even if I wasn’t having regular and incredibly mind-blowing sex with the band’s guitarist, I would love them anyway.
Most of their shows are split pretty evenly between covers and original songs, and Jacques has been badgering me for weeks to help him find some more American bands to cover. In spite of the fact that French radio standards require a certain amount of French-language music per hour, there’s a powerful hunger for American rock music throughout the country.
Tonight, they’re going to play a song I love: “Hearts of Love” by the Crocodiles, which isn’t exactly a new song, but it is one that suits the band’s sound perfectly, and that isn’t as well-known in France as it used to be. Certainly, it beats the hell out of the half-dozen covers that all the other French bands seem to want to play.
I watch Jacques carry his gear up to the side of the stage, where he and the rest of the band will be setting up in the next hour for their set. Jacques kisses me quickly, reaching around to give my ass a quick squeeze and I let out a surprised squeal before heading off to the bar to grab a drink.
Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Hélène come into the bar, and groan. I was less than pleased to hear that Jacques and the others refer to her as Crazy Hélène, but after a few months of seeing how she acts, it’s hard to consider her as anything else. She’s fixated on the band, and all its members, and apparently hates anyone who is involved with them on a personal level.
I’ve overheard rumors—now that I can speak French better, and can definitely understand it better—that she’s actually been involved with some of the members of the band and had sex with them. Every time she’s seen me at a show, since Jacques confirmed that we’re dating seriously, she’s given me dirty looks. A few times—though I can’t prove it—she’s even sabotaged me in little, annoying ways: telling guys that I’m a slut who is just begging for a chance to cheat on Jacques, or who wants a threesome with him with any interested guy, or putting drinks on my tab. Stupid shit like that.
She’s never done anything that anyone can point to as a reason to call the police, or to force the bar owners to ban her from attending their shows, but everyone is just waiting for it to happen.
So, when she makes her grand entrance tonight, I try to make myself scarce. If she hasn’t seen me yet, I’m not interested in her provocations. I decide to just stay close enough to Jacques that I can bail him out if Hélène tries to corner him for a chat-up attempt, but not so close that I’m the recipient of the stink-eye all night. There will be enough of that later.
But when Hélène spots me, she actually does something I wasn’t expecting: she comes straight at me, smiling. “Nora, I hope that I haven’t ruined all possibility of a relationship between us,” she chirps.
“What?” I stare at her in nothing short of shock at this particular opening.
“I know I’ve been a total bitch to you,” Hélène says. “And I know that that was really fucked up of me.”
“Oh, really? What brought that to your attention?” I’m looking around for Jacques, feeling weird about the fact that Hélène is talking to me like this.
“I just wanted to become friends, is all,” Hélène says. “I know I’ve been awful, but I can see that we’re now going to be involved in each other’s lives for a long time to come, so I wanted to be the bigger person and make amends.”
For a long time to come? I don’t know what she means by this; I’m only going to be in France for another nine months, unless something changes drastically. I have a master’s program waiting for me back in the States, after all.
“Right, sure,” I say.
“Will you please accept my sincere apology?”
I think about it. What harm can it possibly do? Maybe it will even help Hélène drop her fixation on my boyfriend and force her to find someone else.
“Sure,” I say. “I accept your apology.”
She leans in and we kiss each other on the cheek, and as soon as Hélène walks away, Jacques is right there.
“What the hell did she want?”
“She wanted to apologize for treating me like garbage,” I say.
Jacques raises an eyebrow at that, and I don’t blame him.
“Well, maybe this is going to be a good thing,” he says.
“We can only hope,” I mutter.
Jacques gives me a quick peck on the lips and heads back to the stage to finish their sound check before tearing into their first song. A few songs into their set, Hélène and I even start dancing together. In the back of my mind, I notice that she’s only drinking Diabolos—which have no alcohol—and I wonder at that.
“I’m so glad that you agreed to be my friend,” Hélène says over the roar of the music blasting from the bar’s PA system.
“I’m happy that you are feeling peaceful,” I yell back, not knowing what else I even can say to something like that.
“It’ll be nice that we can talk about Jacques now, you know? It’s great,” Hélène shouts.
I raise an eyebrow at that and notice that I’ve stopped dancing.
“I don’t know what you might have heard about me,” I say hesitantly, “but I keep my personal life pretty private.” I haven’t even shared any big details with Jess; I’m certainly not about to share them with Hélène, of all people.
“No, no, I mean, we can talk about him as someone we have in common,” Hélène says. “I mean, after all, if you and he are serious...we’re going to be part of each other’s lives, you and I.”
I can’t help but stare at her.
“I mean, I understand that you’re a fan,” I say slowly.
“Oh, more than just a fan, honey,” Hélène tells me, looking earnest, still swaying her hips to the music. “I just found out that I’m pregnant, and the man I was with most recently...well, it was Jacques.” Hélène beams at me brightly. “So, you see, I was thinking that since he’s going to be the father of my child, and you and he are so serious together, you and I should become better-acquainted.”
She keeps talking, but it’s like I’ve lost all fluency that I spent three months gaining. I just stare at her and shake my head.
“You’re pregnant?” I look her up and down. “Jacques and I have been dating for a month, and seeing each other for three months.”
“Yes, I’m six weeks pregnant,” Hélène says, still smiling. “I missed my period and went to the doctor, and he confirmed it.”
I stare at her.
“Six weeks?” I shake my head. “There’s no way. Jacques and I were seeing each other.”
“I hope you don’t think you were exclusive then,” Hélène says. “I mean, sure, once the two of you started dating seriously…” she shrugs.
“No, he wasn’t seeing anyone. And if he was, he would have told me,” I say.
It’s like deja vu; it’s like the moment I found out that Ethan was cheating on me.
“Why would he? It’s not like you two were serious,” Hélène shouts. “Besides, he and I have a history.”
My whole body goes numb as the music stops, and I can’t even listen to her anymore. Jacques comes to say hello to me, stepping down from the stage while the band takes a short break, and gives me a kiss, but I can barely bring myself to return it. I’m nauseated, but it has nothing to do with any of the alcohol I had to drink.
This is why you made a pact not to date anyone for six months, I remind myself. This is why you made a promise to yourself not to get involved with someone: because you have no idea how to pick people to date. No wonder Jacques acted exactly like Ethan. You haven’t learned a damn thing.
I pause for a moment before telling Jacques that I got a phone call from my parents and I need to go home and find out what’s going on. In reality, I just can’t stand the thought of being around him after what Hélène told me. I rush home on foot, almost running through the streets of Rouen, and all I can think about is that I can’t even stand to be in the same city as him.
I text Claire, even though I don’t think there’s any way that I’ll get a hold of her at the odd hour it will be back in the States.
She texts back immediately. If you need somewhere to crash for a while, you can definitely stay here, she says, in response to my long, rambling message regarding what I’ve just learned.
I look at my credit cards and think about what I’m doing. Part of me wants to confront Jacques, and another part of me just wants to run. Living in Rouen has been fairly cheap for me; I’ve paid off my entire line of credit on my cards in three months. I could put a plane ticket on my account fairly easily. But do I really want to go back to the US? I still have nine more months on my visa.
Do you really want to stay and watch Hélène give birth to your boyfriend’s baby the month before you leave?
That decides it for me.
I go online and buy a one-way ticket back to America.