Читать книгу Colette - Michelina Vinter - Страница 8

After their long train ride, they arrived in Oakland, California. The city was just a few miles from San Francisco, but it appeared to be a world away. As Colette exited the train station, she was shocked to see the poverty surrounding her. This was nothing like what she had read about in the various magazines her father had sometimes brought home for her mother. None of the glamour that had been described for her shone through here. This was not the California she was expecting. On top of that, Oakland was enjoying the advances of the nasty summer weather that San Francisco often experienced. Indeed, the weather was its usual summer day fog with temperature competing with a cold winter day in Paris. Colette had not expected this kind of climate at all. She had assumed that San Francisco was like the rest of California, which had been described to her by her teachers as being close to the French Riviera or even Morocco. And obviously this was neither. But in spite of that surprising turn of events, she welcomed the coolness that surrounded her after the tiring heat she had experienced day in, day out in New York.

She followed her husband to the taxicab that would take them home, and she prayed that her new place was far away from the destitute landscape she was now staring at. The houses were decrepit masses of peeling paint. Weather-beaten wooden shingles barely hung on the roofs, and children wearing rags were playing in water-filled potholes in front of their homes. The women were sitting on their front porches, disinterestedly watching their broods, probably wondering how they were going to feed them that night. Some held babies who appeared to be peacefully sleeping, unaware of the difficulties of life.

Colette felt instant relief when the cab left the area. And to her surprise, after a few minutes ride, the car stopped in front of a small yet quaint house. The street was quiet, and all the houses appeared well kept and nicely decorated. Obviously, this neighborhood had not been as touched by the Depression as the one she had seen by the station. Her husband took her hand and walked her to the white house with the beautiful rosebushes on each side of the door.

He opened the front door, and said, “Welcome home, honey. This place is now yours.”

Colette looked around and decided that the residence needed a woman’s touch. It was dark and stuffy. The interior was clean but lifeless. And soon she found out that Mrs. Pearce, the housekeeper, was responsible for the spotless environment Professor Walker was living in. Unfortunately, as kind as the old woman was, she did not have a taste for decoration, and thus that job had been left to Adam. And the result was as expected: functional, somewhat comfortable, but extremely ugly. As the woman of the house, Colette would have to change all that, and fast. Her sanity and well-being depended on it. She would have to get flowers from the garden. At least that would quickly add a touch of color to the austere décor. But that would have to wait.

Adam had taken her straight to the bedroom, where he had demonstrated the comfort of his home. They had both fallen asleep soon after, exhausted by the trip and the efforts they had just exerted.

Colette woke up feeling sticky and in need of a bathroom call. She got out of bed and started looking for the appropriate room. On the way, she found Adam’s study with all the books he had accumulated and the papers he was working on lying here and there, sometimes on his big mahogany desk, sometimes on shelves, and even occasionally on the floor. This room was definitely not as clean as the rest of the house. Maybe Adam had declared it off limits to the poor woman in charge of maintaining order in his house. Or maybe he was just a very quick worker and could make a mess in his office as rapidly as he could have orgasms in bed.

***

The next few days were just spent going from one house to the next, meeting all of Adam’s friends and colleagues. Colette felt like a monkey at the zoo. She was the object of so much scrutiny that she sometimes wanted to go home and hide in her room for the next few months. Besides, she was not sure she liked these people. They drank too much, were too loud, and sometimes too friendly. She had had to fight off the advances of the English department dean and the groping hands of Professor Henri Williams, Adam’s best friend. But day after day, her husband insisted on going to these parties. And soon enough it was time to return all the invitations and host their own.

Colette could finally do something she enjoyed. She was going to make them all her favorite dishes and hoped that at last they would take the time to actually get to know her. So she asked Mrs. Pearce to show her where she could shop for the ingredients she needed. The older woman graciously obliged. Colette had liked Mrs. Pearce instantly. The old woman was a widow and had not been blessed with children. So she took her role as Colette’s advisor very seriously.

Their first stop was at the butcher shop, and once again Colette was surprised. The meat was not prepared the same way as it was in France. She could not recognize any of the cuts she was used to. So she spent some time discussing her dinner plans with the very knowledgeable butcher’s wife to determine what her best options were for her planned dinner. By the time she left the store, she was relieved to have met this wonderful woman who was so eager to help, and she was happy with the purchases she had just made.

Their second stop was at the small grocery store just a block from her house. Mrs. Pearce introduced her to the owner’s wife, Rosie. The young woman had a friendly smile and a strong, honest handshake. She looked people straight in the eyes, while her own eyes reflected all the kindness and decency she carried inside. Colette liked her instantly. She made her purchases and promised to come back very soon for a longer chat. Rosie was the first person who seemed to really care about Colette’s thoughts and opinions. She had not undressed her with her eyes, nor had she asked her where she had bought her clothes or how much she had paid for them. And that was greatly appreciated.

The third stop was at the bakery. Yet again, Colette was in for a shock. There was no French bread, no baguette, no pain de campagne, only some strange-looking dinner rolls and a mushy loaf of bread. The dessert, she realized, would have to be homemade because there was no decent fruit tart around.

So she rushed home and started cooking frantically. Dinner was ready to serve on time, the dessert was cooling in the pantry, and Colette had even had time for a quick bath and a change of clothes before all the guests arrived. Mrs. Pearce could set the table before she went home, and Adam could entertain his friends for a few minutes alone if Colette needed extra time to get ready. She wanted to look beautiful for her husband and make him proud.

And proud Adam was. The dinner was a success. Colette was a fine cook, and French cuisine was already considered one of the best in the world. The guests were enthused by the meal, the setting, and the hostess. One of them even commented, “Those little pastries are just like little bites of heaven.” Colette held her tongue as she watched the woman scarf down most of the platter, but she thought, “Watch it, lady, soon these little bites of heaven are going to be hell on your hips.”

Yes, the hostess of the day had pulled it off. She looked magnificent in her semiformal cocktail dress, and for once she actually had some intelligent conversation regarding world events and the slow recovery from the economic fiasco the United States and Europe had experienced.

When the guests finally left, Adam retired to his study while Colette tidied up the living and dining room. She was taking the garbage out in the dark when she hit what felt like a brick wall, nearly knocking her off her feet. Fortunately, the brick wall had strong arms and hands that steadied her before she preceded the refuse into the trash can.

“I’m so sorry,” the wall said,” I was not expecting anyone here at this time of night. My name is John. I’m your next-door neighbor and a student at the university. Well, actually, I will be starting next week.”

Colette looked up and saw that her talking wall was none other than a young Asian man about her own age.

And with a big smile on her face, she replied, “My name is Colette. I am Professor Walker’s wife. It is very nice to meet you, John. If you will forgive me, I will extricate myself from this rather smelly situation. But I would love to continue our conversation in full daylight and by the rosebushes, if it can be helped. I am sure it would be much more agreeable to both of us.”

John laughed at her introduction and promised to take her up on her offer as he watched her retreat into the darkness.