The Man of Their Lives Page 16

  “Here,” Frédéric told him, “you can give it back to me on Monday.”

  Richard caught the gym bag Frédéric threw his way. Dismayed, he watched the scooter slalom its way out of the parking lot. If Romain ever learned about this, such drama would erupt. Unlocking his moped, Richard swore to himself that he was going to keep his mouth shut.

  * * *

  Alix had reacted amazingly fast to the movie score. The sheer violence and anguish that emanated from the music startled her. If Frank James hadn’t claimed that he was thrilled by Louis’s work, she would’ve been worried. But since the director was satisfied, all was well. On the other hand, when she heard the recording Louis had made in his hotel room, her gut told her that this would be a hit. Her instincts, when it came to commercial success, were near-infallible. Obviously, the music that Louis had heard in the L.A. clubs had inspired him to write a piece that was at once happy and languid—unlike anything he’d written before. Composing it had probably helped him let go of the stress of working with Frank. His talent shone, especially in two melodies; the simplest one seemed both very new and totally familiar. After listening to it three times in a row, she knew it by heart and so did her assistant.

  As soon as Monday morning arrived, Alix rushed over to Louis’s record company. She literally barged into the CEO’s office and forced him to listen to the tape right then and there. After that, everything progressed rapidly, just like she’d anticipated. The only caveat: they had to make the record and put together a large-scale promotion campaign before summer started. That very evening, Alix was in Notre-Dame-de-la-Mer, where she convinced Louis to orchestrate his melody with the briefest of delays emphasize the melodic line of the symphony, and give the song a sophisticated sheen. At first amused by his sister’s insane enthusiasm. Then reticent, he talked about the project with her for a while. Supercharged and triumphant, she was ready to move mountains, convinced that they had a huge hit at their fingertips. Louis ended up accepting the project, grudgingly. He wanted to use a pseudonym for this pop song, but Alix was outraged and made it out of the question. Like it or not, she said, Louis was a popular composer. Some of his movie scores had made it onto the charts, so why deprive himself of this kind of recognition now? On the other hand, the pseudonym might be useful, if not necessary, if one day he did manage to finish that mysterious opera of his! In that world, no one would take the name Neuville seriously.

  Though resentful, he conceded that she was right. He’d already had success, along with the critics’ scorn. When he finally did produce a classical work, he’d have to do so anonymously, as absurd as that paradox might be.

  On Wednesday, Louis agreed to book a recording studio. He would need thirty-eight violins, eight cellos, six basses, twelve brasses, six wind, three percussion instruments, one harp, and one piano--a total of seventy-five musicians. Twenty minutes later Alix told him everything was set.

  Alix was in a bad mood when she saw Francine had come along to the recording studio. She’d managed to take the day off and couldn’t wait to attend a recording session with Louis. They had lunch together before making it to the studio. Louis seemed both pleased and amused when he saw the big-time studio and all those musicians for what he kept calling “my little ditty.”

  First he went over the musicians who were taking their places. Then he came back to Francine and asked her whether she wanted to sit in the recording booth or the studio.

  “I just don’t want to be in the way,” she said. Alix’s persistent glare was making her uncomfortable.

  “Sit close to the orchestra,” Louis decided for her. “It’s going to be more interesting for you.”

  The technicians were ready and the record company executive was pacing behind the consoles, obsessing over how much this session was going to cost him.

  “Alright,” Louis said, calmly. “Let’s begin rehearsing. It should be smooth sailing. We’ll start recording after the break.”

  He sat Francine at the back of the studio, near one of the percussionists. Then he signaled Alix over to the lectern.

  “Are you sure about this?” he whispered.

  “One hundred percent. And I’m not the only one. Remember, I’m not financing this. It’s going to be great, Louis. It’s going to sell everywhere in the entire world. You’ll see, it’s going to be bigger than the Lambada!

  Louis shrugged, vaguely upset by the comment and overwhelmed by what his sister was making him do.

  The producer’s voice came out of a loudspeaker: “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Neuville.”

  Session musicians didn’t come cheap so there was no time to waste. Alix stepped out of the studio, the door closed, and a red light went on.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Louis said, “you all have the score in front of you... Ready?”

  Francine looked at Louis, who’d just taken ahold of his baton. She heard a series of weird and plaintive sounds as the musicians tuned their instruments. Then complete silence. A few bars were played and then Louis cued the violin section on his left. Francine observed him with great curiosity. The man behind the lectern was different from the one she knew. He was more authoritative, distant, focused, and very decisive. Fascinated, she watched his every gesture, ignoring the musicians.

  “No!” Louis said, stopping the orchestra once again. “You need to ease into the piece, not stomp into it. Okay, let’s start from the beginning, if you will.”

  His eyes scanned the musicians, and he said to one of the flutists, “You, I can’t hear you play.”

  Silence, another attempt.

  Even when played in bits and pieces, with the many pauses and instructions from the conductor, the melody remained lovely. Joyful, it made a listener feel like dancing or singing. Francine wondered how long the rehearsal was going to last, when Louis would finally be satisfied. Behind the producer’s window, she could see Alix chatting enthusiastically.

  “Okay,” Louis said. “Let’s take it from the top., okay? Maybe a little bit faster, but not too much.”

  Louis hadn’t even glanced at her since the beginning of the session, which made Francine began to feel abandoned in her corner of the studio. What was she doing there anyway, a mere spectator in the background, unable to appreciate the work being done right in front of her? While Louis hadn’t looked her way, the same could not be said for Alix, who’d given her several exasperated stares. Unlike Francine, Alix had good reason to be here. She looked after her brother’s career as though nothing in the world mattered more. Worse than a mother or a rival lover, his sister had been an enemy from the start.

  “Thank you,” Louis said when the orchestra finished the piece. “Let’s take a twenty minute break, and then I think we’ll have no problem recording the piece.”

  Louis put down his baton and walked towards Francine.

  “Rehearsal isn’t exactly a thrilling sight, is it?” he said.

  “No, I think it’s great! And I like the music so much.”

  “Even after listening to it for ninety minutes?”

  His voice was very soft when he talked to her, nothing compared to the way he was addressing the musicians.

  “Let’s get a cup of coffee,” he said.

  “So?” Alix said, coming their way. “Are you satisfied with the results?”

  “Yes. It’s an excellent orchestra.”

  “I told you. The head of the record company said he wanted the best musicians for you. It’s going to be huge, Louis!”

  “Well, we’ll see... You’re so confident, but I don’t see what’s so amazing about this music. It’s such a simple song...”

  Alix rolled her eyes and grabbed her brother’s arm.

  “What if you sat down for five minutes?” she said.

  Her body language and overall attitude indicated that, to her, Francine simply didn’t exist. Louis was close to getting angry.

  “Not now,” he said, wrenching his arm free.

  Hurrying away from his sister, he escorted Francine ou
t the door, paying no attention to Alix’s deep sigh.

  Once in the hallway, they patiently waited behind the other musicians standing in line before getting two cups of piping hot coffee.

  “Let’s walk, okay?” he said. “I don’t feel like sitting down.”

  They ambled to the other side of the hallway, coffee in hand.

  “So,” Francine said, “do you enjoy conducting?”

  “I love it. But it depends on the quality of the musicians. Sometimes it feels like an uphill battle. In Eastern Europe, where I often record, the musicians are great, but they have mediocre instruments. On top of that, I need a translator so that the musicians understand what I need from them. It’s a bit of a pain.”

  Louis was eager to introduce Francine to his world, a world she didn’t know. She saw him glancing at his watch, then at the studio entrance. He smiled at a group of three women who’d been staring at him for the past few minutes. They came over and one of them, a tall brunette, said, “It’s always a pleasure to work with you.”

  Francine recognized one of the violinists.

  “Thank you,” Louis said.

  “This recording, what is it? This summer’s blockbuster? I didn’t know you were composing songs now.”

  They broke out laughing. Still tanned from his trip to California, Louis was irresistible to these women, especially since he was a prestigious conductor, as well as a successful composer.

  “I think we have to go back,” one of the young women said.

  “You ladies go ahead,” Louis said, leaning against the wall. “I’ll be right over.”

  After they left, Francine tried to crack a joke. “Like your sister says, you make all the women swoon...”

  Louis put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said.

  With a smile, he took Francine’s empty cup and tossed it in a garbage can.

  “We have to go back. I hope you don’t find this boring? Maybe you should sit in the booth this time, for a change.”

  She agreed. Alix’s presence would be painful, but she would have a different view of the musicians and could observe the technicians while they were recording. Louis took her to the booth, then went back to the studio and his lectern.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” the producer said into his microphone.

  Standing at the booth’s window, Francine scrutinized the musicians’ faces, which were all turned to Louis. The red light came on. A few seconds later the music started.

  “The more I listen to it, the more I love it,” Alix said behind her. “It’s the kind of song you never get tired of.”

  Francine knew that this comment was intended for the record company executive and not for her. She didn’t turn around, and stayed busy watching Louis conducting the orchestra with fluid and precise movements. At the end of the piece, he remained frozen for an instant.

  “Great take,” the producer said.

  “No,” Louis said. “Let’s do it again.”

  Louis gave the musicians a few instructions, and silence followed. Francine looked at the technicians doing their thing at the consoles. Alix and the record executive were watching like hawks. Louis simultaneously oversaw a crew of seventy-five with a master hand, and yet was a pawn in a machine that was most interested in the bottom line. Independent, maybe, but nevertheless the prisoner of the system. Louis was full of contradictions, difficult to read, and very guarded because of his vulnerability—Francine had grasped all that in a short amount of time. How was she going to manage to be part of his life? For him to need her, and not only at night? So she could help and support him, as she knew he needed.

  The musicians rose to their feet and went over to shake Louis’s hand. In the recording booth, everyone seemed elated. The executive patted Alix’s shoulder, and the technicians began putting away their things while whistling the chorus. Francine moved away from the window, surprised that the session was already over. The booth’s door opened, and there was Louis.

  “We have to go somewhere to celebrate!” Alix said.

  “I can’t,” her brother said. “I’ve got to go home.”

  He’d promised Francine that she’d be back in time to have supper with Romain. He was sorry to have missed Frédéric’s fencing match, and he didn’t want to leave the kid alone that evening too.

  “Okay then,” the executive said. “But let’s meet up sometime next week. We still have things to talk about. And, again, bravo!” And he left the booth.

  Alix was irate. “You can’t always skip out on important people like that and hope to be successful,” she said. Then she turned to Francine, whom she’d ignored all afternoon, and added, “You are going to have to let him do his thing once in a while!”

  “Louis is a grown man,” Francine replied sharply. “He does what he wants.”

  Louis thought he might have to intervene, but Alix was once again all smiles.

  “Don’t drive too fast going home, and give Frédéric a kiss for me,” she said. “I’ll be there late afternoon tomorrow.”

  Without giving Louis a chance to say anything, she rushed out of the booth to catch up with the executive.

  * * *

  Antoine shot an angry look at a group of students hanging out on a patch of grass, passing a joint around. Ten years ago, such a scene would have been unimaginable. Kids today didn’t even bother to hide that they were smoking weed, not even in front of their teachers. The new principal had declared he was going to clean things up, but he’d failed just like his predecessors. The whole mentality need to change, Antoine thought. Parents needed to be educated just as much, if not more, than the teenagers.

  Over time, Antoine had become bitter. As a young man, he’d been an enthusiastic union leader but years later only disillusion was left. The the school board ‘s directives were often contradictory, sometimes downright absurd. It was, as though the powers-that-be had no clue what was really going on inside the school walls—overcrowded classrooms, poor supervision, ever-changing programs, and a lax mood that resulted in high dropout levels and low test scores despite the teachers’ best efforts. Early on he believed in giving every student the same opportunities, but eventually he’d concluded that equality existed only in the sense that drugs were available to all.

  In the teachers’ lounge, only Francine was there making photocopies. Putting up a detached façade, he uttered a quick hello and took a peak at what she was photocopying.

  “Jules Supervielle?” he said. “Bet your students aren’t too crazy about that one.”

  His tone was always paternal when he addressed his ex-wife.

  “What do you mean?” Francine said. “It’s original, lyrical, with plenty of tender moments. I don’t know why kids wouldn’t like it.” She wondered why she’d felt the need to justify herself.

  Antoine observed her as discreetly as possible. What was different about her? A bit more self-confidence perhaps. Or maybe there was a glow of happiness about her, which brought back memories he wanted to avoid.

  “Is everything going okay?” he asked meekly. “Romain is not giving you any problems?”

  “None. He’s doing well in class. He’s a pretty happy kid…”

  “What’s that he’s doing tomorrow? I’ve heard…”

  Francine shut the photocopier and spun around, facing Antoine.

  “He performing with his band at the Bonnières community center.”

  “Oh yeah. That music of his. So I’m guessing he’s still wasting all his time on that?”

  “Only his free time. It doesn’t impede in his school work. As long as he’s doing well in class, I don’t see why we should say anything about his playing music.”

  She’d used the pronoun “we” to include him in that parental decision, as a a gesture of goodwill and to make him agree with her. She gathered her things in a hurry. Talking about Romain with Antoine made her nervous.

  “Romain asked me to go to that concert of his, but I don�
�t know…” he said.

  If there was one thing that she’d never, ever put up with again, was him manipulating her. Back when he’d played Pygmalion with her, it had taken her a long time to recognize that all he wanted was to keep her under his thumb. What did he know about her and Louis? How was he going blame their relationship if Romain ever did anything wrong?

  “You’re not sure you want to go or you can’t go?” she asked as diplomatically as possible.

  “Well, on one hand I think he’d be happy if I did go, but on the other I don’t want him to think that I’m okay with him wasting his time like that.”

  “It is not a waste of time for him, Antoine. He’s serious about it.”

  “Playing the guitar and making a fool of himself on stage?” Antoine shouted.

  “If that’s how you see it,” Francine said calmly, “you’d better stay home.”

  She had to brush against him in order to get out the door. He watched her walk away, upset that she still managed to make him lose his cool.

  * * *

  Louis downshifted and the engine roared as the Alfa Romeo entered the ramp.

  “You’re just as insane as your sister!” Tom said.

  They were coming back from Bonnières, where Louis had attended Romain’s last rehearsal. He’d given the band some advice, which Romain and his friends had gladly taken even though they were almost out of their minds with fear. Francine had stayed there, volunteering to feed the boys before tonight’s show, though they probably wouldn’t be hungry. Louis suspected that she didn’t really feel like going to Neuville House to put up with Alix and Frédéric’s growing hostility towards her.

  “Those kids are so psyched,” Tom said, holding on to the dashboard. “I hope they’re going to get a good crowd.”

  “Their buddies from school will be there. And it’s a pretty small venue.”

  As expected, Frédéric had announced that morning that he wasn’t going to attend this pseudo-concert. Louis had decided to ignore his son’s predictable mood.

  “Are you going back this afternoon?”

  “I have to, if only to thank the mayor for letting us use the hall.”