Bad Marie Read online

  “I do.”

  Marie did not believe him. But even knowing that it was a lie, she would have preferred that Benoît had not divulged this bit of information. Ellen was going to win again; she always won, even though Marie wasn’t in competition.

  Marie always lost. Ellen went to graduate school. Marie went to a medium-security correctional center. Benoît Doniel, however, hadn’t been a contest. Marie did not want Benoît because he belonged to Ellen. She wanted him because of the baguette sandwiches. She wanted him because of the sex in the afternoon. She wanted him because of Virginie at Sea. Because of Virginie at Sea, the book that had soothed her soul through six years of prison. It had been her favorite thing in the entire world. He had written that. Marie was awestruck with the idea that an actual person could do that. This was not about revenge. Marie needed Benoît Doniel. She loved him.

  And he needed her. He loved her.

  That’s what Marie decided.

  Someone had to make the decisions. In Marie’s last relationship, Juan José had taken the initiative, robbing the bank, asking her to run away with him. Benoît seemed to require help.

  “It’s funny,” Benoît said, staring straight ahead, breaking the long silence. “That you chose to come here today.”

  “Why?” Marie said, though she knew exactly what was funny. “Funny how?”

  Two sea lions shot up from the water. Caitlin clapped her hands.

  “Look, Marie, look!”

  “Sea lions,” Marie said.

  Marie pressed her hands against the tank and Caitlin did the same thing.

  “Sea lions,” Caitlin said.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Yes,” Caitlin said, and then she started to scream. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  It was the one thing that Caitlin would do that Marie did not like. Scream. Marie shook her head.

  “Quiet, Caty Bean.”

  The sea lions disappeared back underwater. Seconds later, they sprang up again. One sea lion landed on the large rock formation in the center of the pool. The sea lion arched its back, and then seemed to change its mind, slipping back into the water.

  “Why is it funny?” Marie asked Benoît again, forcing him to talk to her. They had had only that one actual conversation, really, in the kitchen, when he told her about his dead sister. “Tell me. Why?”

  Benoît Doniel pushed his swoopy hair out of his eyes.

  Marie ran her fingertips over her earrings. They were small good hoops, Ellen’s earrings. She had been robbing Ellen all along, every day, from the cheese and the whiskey to the kimono and the earrings. She had slipped more than one twenty-dollar bill from Ellen’s wallet.

  Still, Benoît did not answer the question.

  Caitlin began to run around the circumference of the tank, chasing down the swimming sea lions.

  “Maybe,” Marie said, finally, speaking for him, because she couldn’t wait anymore. Because they were running out of time. Today would be the day Ellen came home from work early. At some point it would actually dawn on her that Marie really was not to be trusted. Ellen had been right about that.

  “Maybe,” Marie said again, looking at Caitlin, who had stopped running and was pressing her hands against the glass tank. “Maybe you think it’s funny we are here because you wrote a book called Virginie at Sea. A beautiful book about an angry girl in love with a sick sea lion. She visits the sea lion whenever anything goes wrong in her life. She visits the sea lion when anything good happens in her life. She loves the sea lion more than anyone or anything. And now, here we are, in the midst of a major crisis in your life, looking at sea lions.”

  Understanding began to dawn on Benoît’s face. Marie had always liked this face, even before they had met, from the photo on the back cover of his book. The swoopy hair in the eyes. The mischievous expression. Marie opened her backpack and pulled out her weathered copy of Virginie at Sea, never returned to the prison library, the paperback cover laminated, the spine tagged with a yellow call number.

  “Maybe you should sign this,” she said. “Before I go.”

  Benoît took the book from Marie’s hand.

  “Look at this,” he said. “Mon Dieu. You have this. I had no idea. You read this? You did? Thank you. I don’t believe this. You always surprise me, Marie. Oh my God. Marie.”

  Marie loved the sound of Benoît Doniel saying her name. He had turned it into something special. Her name became something French.

  “I love this book,” Marie said. “This is my favorite book of all books. Virginie at Sea.”

  “It is?” Benoît said. “You love it? Vraiment? You do?”

  “I do.”

  “I didn’t know. I had no idea.”

  “I’m telling you now.”

  “This is crazy,” Benoît said. “I love my wife.”

  “That’s what you said.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t.” Marie reached for Benoît’s hands. “You are scared. You feel guilty. You feel affection for Ellen. Gratitude. I understand. You might have loved her, a long time ago. Not anymore. You love me.”

  “This is covered in plastic,” Benoît said, removing his hands from Marie’s, putting the book against Marie’s cheek. “The book. Why?”

  “I got it from the library. When I was in prison. They laminated the books to protect them.”

  “They have copies of Virginie at Sea in American jails?”

  Marie had thought it was a miracle, too. To have found a book that made her so happy, night after night, in her prison cell. She could not explain, either, how life had led her straight to him, Benoît Doniel, the writer, the actual person, and also to Caitlin, wondrous Caitlin, who had resumed chasing the sea lions.

  Marie took Benoît’s hands again. This time he let her.

  “I don’t love my wife?” he said.

  Benoît was waiting for Marie to answer. Instead, she kissed him. Hands in his hair, body pressed against him. In the zoo, in front of the sea lions. And Benoît Doniel, who might or might not love his wife, returned this kiss with equal force.

  “Look!” Caitlin screamed.

  They pulled away from each other. Benoît blinked. There was a sea lion in front of them, on top of the rock, arching its head up to the sun, which was coming out from behind the clouds.

  “You remind me of my sister,” Benoît said.

  “Nathalie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nathalie, who killed herself. I remind you of her?”

  “Yes. Oui. You do. I wrote the book for her.”

  Marie liked that very much.

  “Your sister,” she said, intrigued by the incestuous undertones of this statement. He had lost his sister, but in her stead, he had found Marie. Eventually, Benoît would come to understand that their lives were inextricably bound. Ellen might have been good for him at one point in his life, what he had needed, just as Marie had once needed jail, the freedom to rest and to heal. He might even miss her, but his wife was not what Benoît needed.

  Marie kissed him again, this time gentle and slow.

  She could hear Caitlin running past.

  “I am a sea lion,” Caitlin said, pushing the air down with her arms as she ran. She had grown used to Benoît and Marie kissing.

  His sister. Marie reminded Benoît Doniel of his long lost sister. Marie was Virginie. She was the love of his life.

  Benoît packed Caitlin’s things. Her favorite toys. Her favorite clothes, her favorite books, her DVDs. Caitlin had many favorite things. Benoît also had his books. His CDs. His clothes. He packed four matching suitcases and Caitlin’s stroller. Marie put together a carry-on bag with things they would need on the plane.

  “Nice luggage,” Marie noted, nodding at the four full suitcases.

  “A wedding gift,” Benoît said.

  Marie’s belongings still fit in the backpack she had arrived with, even with Ellen’s red kimono and various other small objects: earrings, silver bangles, lavender bubble bath.

>   What they were doing was not illegal. Caitlin was Benoît’s child. They all had passports. Marie was not sure if it had been her idea, running away, or Benoît’s, or if it was her idea that she had implanted into his head.

  “Paris,” Benoît said.

  His eyes lit up with a crazy, manic, frantic glee. “There is no city like it. No other place compares. Nathalie used to tell me I could not survive anywhere else. We are going to Paris.”

  Benoît checked his wallet.

  “I don’t have the tickets,” he said. “The plane tickets. I don’t have them.”

  He had ordered them on the phone.

  “E-tickets,” Marie said. “They’ll be at the counter.”

  Marie was stunned by the déjà vu. The leaving fast, the ridiculous thrill of leaving everything behind. This time it was slightly more complicated. Marie was traveling with juice cups and diapers, organic string cheese. A child. A stroller. This must be a sign that Marie was growing up.

  “We are going to Paris!” she said, picking Caitlin up and spinning her around, faster and faster, until she fell down on top of the bed, taking Caitlin with her.

  “This will all end badly,” Benoît said, closing the last suitcase, but he was grinning. Caitlin’s silky-smooth hair was in Marie’s mouth. Her nose was running. Marie wiped it with the bottom of her T-shirt. They would still watch TV together, and they would take baths and go for walks in the afternoon. But in Paris. There were beautiful gardens in Paris, walks along the Seine. There was delicious food to be eaten.

  “It will, you know?” Benoît said.

  “No,” Marie said. “I don’t know that.”

  Juan José had ended up dead, hanging from a bedsheet. She had last seen him at the courthouse; they had both been wearing prison uniforms. She was sent in one direction, he in the other, and that was the last time she had ever seen him: handcuffed, looking down at the ground.

  She twirled a strand of Caitlin’s hair in her finger. She touched the tip of Benoît’s beaky nose. It was a nose that belonged in Paris.

  “Maybe,” she said. “It won’t.”

  They took a taxi to the airport.

  They had dinner at the McDonald’s by the gate. Already, Ellen’s rules had become irrelevant. Caitlin ate her first cheeseburger and was overjoyed.

  “I like it!” she said, licking her lips. “I like it. I like it!”

  Caitlin was equally pleased with her french fries.

  She also liked the plastic action figure that came in the box, a figure from a new movie neither Marie nor Benoît recognized.

  Benoît’s cell phone first started to ring in the McDonald’s.

  “It’s Ellen,” Benoît said.

  Marie nodded.

  Benoît did not answer.

  The phone rang again in the magazine shop, and then it rang again in the boarding area, while Marie read to Caitlin, pretending not to feel anxious about Benoît, who was nervously pacing. He had lit a cigarette and been asked by a police officer to put it out.

  “I’ll talk to Mommy?” Caitlin asked, reaching for the cell phone.

  “No,” Marie said, “Mommy is still at work,” and she kept on reading. “Look, Caitlin. The teddy bear is still missing. You turn the page for me, okay?” and Caitlin turned the page.

  Benoît didn’t answer the cell phone, but he checked the caller ID each time it rang, a fresh wave of distress clouding his features. Marie did not ask who was calling because she did not need to. The plane could not board fast enough. Why was he so surprised? What did he think would happen? That Ellen would come home from work and not notice that they were gone? That she would do nothing? Oops, no family. Of course she would be unhappy. Of course she would call. They had decided to leave, to go to France. That was the choice they had made together, in front of the sea lions. Benoît only had to turn off his cell phone, but he could not seem to do it.

  It was not until they boarded, after the airline attendants asked that they fasten their seat belts and turn off their electronic devices, not until the plane began taxiing down the runway, that he listened to his messages.

  Marie held Caitlin’s hand as the plane took off.

  “Loud,” Caitlin said.

  Marie agreed.

  Outside the window was the Atlantic Ocean. Marie stared down at the massive body of water beneath them. Ellen’s phone calls had not stopped the plane. They were in flight, on their way to Europe. Marie had never thought she would make it there. Everything that Marie could possibly want was hers. Messages on a cell phone could not touch her. Benoît put the phone away. He rearranged the airline blanket over Caitlin, who had fallen asleep, her blond hair matted down on her tiny, perfect face, a smear of ketchup on her cheek.

  “She says she’ll have you arrested for kidnapping. She says that this time you’ll never get out of prison. She’ll make sure you rot in jail for the rest of your life. She says she has called the police. There is a warrant for your arrest. She says that this is the biggest mistake that I have ever made and that I will regret it, but not to worry. She says she’ll forgive me.”

  “She’ll forgive you?”

  “That’s what she said.”

  A woman in the row behind them tapped Benoît on the shoulder with a sock-covered foot. It was a striped sock, dark blue and turquoise.

  “C’est toi, non?” she said, her voice a playful whisper. “Benoît Doniel? Oui. Benoît Doniel. Benoît Doniel.”

  Marie watched as Benoît did not respond to this voice. He looked at Marie.

  “Je sais que c’est toi. Je le sais. Je le sais.”

  Marie watched as the unidentified foot kicked him again, this time with more force.

  “She knows you,” Marie said.

  “Merde,” Benoît said.

  The woman with the striped socks got out of her seat and came over. She crouched in the aisle next to Benoît Doniel and put her hands on his face. She kissed both cheeks, and then she kissed him long and hard on his mouth.

  “Who is that?” Caitlin asked.

  Marie shook her head.

  “She has long hair,” Caitlin said.

  The woman’s blond hair went down to her waist. Marie suppressed the temptation to pull it. When the woman was done kissing Benoît, she put her head in his lap and started to cry.

  “Benoît?” Marie said.

  Benoît rubbed the top of the crying woman’s head. He looked at Marie.

  “This is Lili Gaudet,” he said. “I have not seen her in a very long time.”

  Marie nodded.

  The woman lifted her head, crouching still in the aisle, wiping the tears away from her eyes. They were unusual eyes; the lids came down as if she might be part Asian. Only then did she notice Marie.

  “You have not heard of me?” she said.

  Marie shook her head.

  “Should I have heard of you?”

  “I am an actress,” she said.

  “I’ve been in prison,” Marie said.

  Lili Gaudet blinked.

  She said something to Benoît in French.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  “You live in New York,” she said. “I was just in New York. My film was at the Tribeca Film Festival. They ate hot dogs, the audience, watching my movie.”

  “How awful for you.”

  “You must have known I was in New York.” She looked back at Benoît. “Read about me in the newspaper?”

  Benoît blinked.

  “I didn’t know, Lili.”

  Marie did not like the way Benoît spoke her name. The intimacy with which he said it.

  “Is this your wife?” Lili Gaudet asked Benoît. “I heard that you were married. And who is this? Is this your little girl?”

  “I am a big girl,” Caitlin said.

  “Excusez-moi. Is this your big girl?”

  “Oui. Caitlin. Elle a presque trois ans.”

  “Ta petite fille.” The French actress beamed at Caitlin, more tear
s welling in her eyes. “I have looked for him,” she said to Marie. “Je l’ai cherché et cherché. All these years. I have looked for him.”

  And then, she started to weep. She fell into the arms of the airline attendant who had been hovering right behind.

  Benoît unbuckled his seat belt.

  “What are you doing?” Marie said. “Don’t.”

  But Benoît stood up from his seat. He tapped the airline attendant, who transferred the burden of the French actress into his arms.

  “The lady is crying,” Caitlin said, excited, pointing.

  Even worse, there were tears in Benoît’s eyes.

  “I looked for him,” the French actress said to Marie, speaking over Benoît’s shoulder. “And I looked. For years, I looked. I called his grand-mère, but she would not tell me. He did not want to be found. Mon coeur etait battu. Comprends?”

  But then she smiled.

  The French actress had a spectacular smile. With her arms wrapped around Benoît, she projected a deranged happiness. She appeared almost retarded in her delight. Marie was appalled.

  “I love this man,” Lili told Marie. “I love Benoît Doniel. Je suis très heureuse to see him again. Comprends?”

  She kissed both of Benoît’s cheeks again. His hair hung in his eyes.

  “I want Elmo,” Caitlin said, grabbing Marie’s arm.

  “I don’t know where he is, Caty Cat.”

  “I want Elmo.”

  Marie was glad to have a reason to interrupt the French actress’s moment of rapture. “Do you know where it is, Benoît? Caitlin’s Elmo. Did you pack it?”

  “It’s in one of the suitcases.”

  “I want Elmo,” Caitlin said.

  “It’s checked, Caitlin,” Marie said.

  She took a stuffed rabbit from the bag.

  “Voilà,” Marie said.

  Caitlin shook her head.

  “No.” Marie stroked the soft fur of the rabbit’s floppy ears. She liked the rabbit.

  “Who is talking to Daddy?” Caitlin said.

  Marie turned to look. She did not know what word to use: bitch, cunt, French actress. Instead she shrugged her shoulders.

  “I want a cheeseburger,” Caitlin said, her voice rising. “I want Mommy. Where is Mommy?”

  “Mommy is at work, Silly Bean,” Marie said.