FORGET FRANCE

LEVI

I stare up at the ceiling with the crumbling face of the woman who looks like my ex-lover. I turn my head and inspect the clock on my bedside. It’s early. Too early to be awake and sober, but here I am. I get up, take a piss, and head into the kitchen. Margaux is already in there accompanied by Dog. She’s making bread and other pastries that likely won’t be eaten. “Morning, monsieur.”

“Morning,” I say.

“You wish to eat this morning?” Margaux’s been more and more terse with me since Brie and Ash left. As if it was my fault that Ash had to go home to the band, and Brie went because she’s mourning the loss of her father. As if I’m the one who drove her away. Maybe I did? Maybe I’m destined to be alone forever because I’m unlovable. Is that it though? I mean, women seem to fall in love with me just fine, but no one ever wants to stay. I’m not sure why that is. Maybe I have more mummy issues than I first thought.

“Actually, I think I’m just going to eat on the plane. I’m going home.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here, M. Rehearsals are due to start in a few days. It’ll take me that long to get home.”

“But, monsieur. The chateau? Dog?”

“Listen, I don’t wanna sell this house, but I can’t be in two places at once. Until I figure out my next move, I’ll need someone here to look after it.”

“Oh, monsieur, my heart weeps.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s not pretend you’re not ecstatic right now. This big old house alone with Dog? No one to interrupt your soap operas?”

“But what about Mademoiselle Kagawa?”

I sigh. “What about Mademoiselle Kagawa?”

“Levi—”

“She left me. Remember?”

“Yes, but the heart does strange things when confronted by grief.”

“If she wanted to come back, she would have already. She would have picked up the phone or showed up on my doorstep. Her father died, and she blames me for missing out on the last few weeks of his time on earth. I can’t do anything to make that right, because it isn’t right.”

“You know, she didn’t have to stay,” she says quietly, kneading the dough on the counter. “You didn’t twist her arm.”

“She stayed for the money. Anything we had was tainted by that. Story of my life, right? I’m always chasing women, but none of them are ever chasing me.”

“Well, even though you’re often drunk and foolish, make me forty years younger and you couldn’t keep me away.”

“I knew you wanted me, you saucy little cougar.” I wrap my arm around her waist and draw her closer. She’s so short that her head rests under my armpit, and I squeeze her tighter as she struggles and curses me in French. When I set her back on her feet, she straightens her apron and glances up at me with tears in her eyes. “I’ll be back. It’s not forever.”

“What about Dog?”

“Margaux, I know he’s your dog.”

“What?” Her eyes are round with surprise. “What are you talking about?”

“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, remember? I figured it out a month ago, what I didn’t know was why?”

She slaps the dough down on the counter and wipes the flour from her hands on her apron. “I was afraid master would send him away.”

“Nah, he may be a mangy mutt, but he’s the only thing that got me through the hell of being alone.”

“You weren’t alone, monsieur, not really.”

I smile, because it sure as hell felt like it—feels like it. I’m right back where I started. Different pussy, same scenario. At least Brie isn’t marrying one of my other bandmates. So, I guess, that’s progress. “You wanna find me a flight and drop me at the airport?”

“Of course, monsieur.”

“I’m gonna miss you, Margaux.”

“I’ll miss you too, boy.”

I bend and pat Dog on the head, and then I climb the stairs, and walk the hall back to my room where I throw a few basics into a duffle bag. All my shit is still in my Sydney apartment, and if it’s not, then I’ll just start again. There’s nothing there worth anything. I have the shirt on my back, and a bank account brimming with cash—that’s all I need.

Forget women.

Forget France.

Forget everything that isn’t music, because she’s the only mistress who’s always been there for me when no one else was.