I returned and told Keith about my conversation with my mother.
“Move in with me. My trust fund can support us both.”
“My parents would send the gendarmes if I did that. We have to do something, though. I’m not moving back to France.”
“I hope this doesn’t interfere with our trip to Roskilde.”
I flopped onto the sofa and let out a big breath. “I got a job at the Academy’s gift shop today. I can’t go.”
Keith stared at me in disbelief. “You have to. I perform so much better when you’re there and this show is important.”
“I have to think of my career and this job will look good on a vitae when I graduate.”
“It’s a job at a fuckin’ gift shop. It’s not like you were commissioned to repaint the Sistine Chapel.”
“Even Michelangelo started somewhere. Besides, I have a couple days off after you leave. I should go talk sense into my parents.”
“That’ll be fucking effective. You’re choosing them over me.”
I glared at him. “I’m choosing me and my future. Doesn’t anyone care what I want?”
“It’s a nothing job. You can do better. Come to Roskilde.”
“I can’t. My job starts day after tomorrow.”
“You’re abandoning me in my time of need.”
Before I could answer, the phone rang. It was Aimee. “She says it’s important.” Keith handed me the phone.
“Aimee, what’s up? Aren’t you still in France?”
“Yes and your mother just called me, saying I’m enabling your relationship with Keith. Now my parents insist I return to France. I think I convinced them otherwise.”
“How? I’ll use your strategy.”
“They decided it wouldn’t be good for me to transfer. They tried convincing your parents to keep us together, but they want you away from Keith.”
I sighed. “Are you coming back soon?”
“My Parents are buying me a plane ticket in the morning. I said I wanted to find a summer job like you.”
I hung up and filled Keith in. “I really need to go down,” I insisted.
“They may keep you there –- hold you prisoner or something,” Keith argued.
“They won’t hold me prisoner,” I assured him. “I wish I was eighteen now.”
Keith sat next to me ad stroked me. “Go with me to Roskilde,” Keith insisted again.
“I said I can’t. Now drop the subject or I’m spending the night at my place.”
He dropped the subject for the moment, but brought it up the next day, and day after.
My job finally began, giving me relief from Keith’s badgering. It was far from challenging, but I was part of the art community.
Keith left in a snit, but I missed him anyway. As I walked to my job, all I noticed were the cafés and the record stores we frequented. Everything reminded me of Keith.
I loved the girls I worked with, Lily and Emma. They were students at the academy but a year ahead. I confided in them about my parents interfering with my love life.
“I’d be miserable too if my parents kept me away from the love of my life,” Emma sympathized.
Lily agreed. “I think everyone loses sight of what love is after they’re thirty.”
At that point an older couple came in. They were from New York.
“I hope to see New York City someday,” I said. “My boyfriend is in a band. When we’re married I’ll tag along if his band plays there.”
“You’re awfully young to get married,” the woman said.
I scrutinized her. She looked about sixty.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?” she asked.
“I’m eighteen soon.” I got a bit defensive as I wrapped and bagged her purchases.
She took the bag and smiled. “I wish you the best of luck.”
When she left, Lily whispered to me, “See, over thirty, no sense of romance.”
I stifled a giggle.
When I returned home, Keith hadn’t called.
Aimee tried reassuring me. “Maybe the festival is still on and he can’t find a phone.”
I sighed. “Anyway, I have the next two days off and I’m visiting my parents, so I won’t be here when he returns.”
“I wish I could go with you. We’d be a stronger force together, but I won’t have time off from my job until Wednesday.”
“I wish that too,” I lamented.
The following morning Keith still hadn’t called.
“If he rings I’ll call and let you know,” Aimee promised. “Maybe he was up late partying and is sleeping in.”
The thought of him partying with other bands shot a pang of jealousy through me. I felt guilty it had. Then another fear struck. There could be drugs. Could he resist? I didn’t share my fears with Aimee.
The one-hour ride to Brighton gave me time to anguish. Did the concert go well? Did the tape sell? Did they get a recording contract? There was a one-hour wait for the hovercraft so I grabbed a bite and went to paint the famous Brighton Pier. It was a gorgeous day — bright and warm, yet inside, gloom devoured me. I painted, listening to the seagulls screeching, the waves slapping the beach, the bustle of tourists and children playing. My painting barely dry, I stashed it and caught the hovercraft just as the door closed.
“You timed that to the wire, miss,” a hovercraft employee said.
I smiled weakly and darted past others to find a seat. I took out my tape player so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.
A bus, then a train dropped me in Paris. Everything reminded me of when I was here with Keith. I caught the Metro to Gare St. Lazare and used a call box to check for messages. There were none. My heart sank. My train was called, so I clutched my bag and joined the queue. I listened to Keith’s new tape again. It rivaled the Clash’s records. I was sure Joe Strummer would approve. As the train gained speed, the ornate buildings and cafes of Paris were soon replaced by the rolling green countryside of rural France.
I arrived in Brest just after six. My father flagged me down. We greeted each other with a huge embrace.
“Brigitte, my darling, it’s good seeing you again.”
The car ride was short, but my father crammed in many questions about my new job. He didn’t mention my moving home, nor did he mention Keith. I tried answering, but my mind was on Keith, wondering where he was and why he hadn’t called.
We sat down to dinner. Having not eaten since Brighton, I was glad for the bouillabaisse and hot bread.
I glanced at the clock and knew Aimee was home. “Has Aimee called?”
My mother raised her eyebrows. “Is she supposed to?”
“Um, well no, but she said if I didn’t let her know I’d arrived safely, she’d call.” I was impressed I came up with a response so quickly.
“I am glad you give her that courtesy,” my mother said.
I let that remark slide and went to the other room.
“Keith’s back in London,” Aimee said. “He came looking for you and was bummed you were in France. He won’t call you there.”
“He shouldn’t,” I responded. “I’m not bringing him up if they don’t.”
“He said he’d wait to hear from you.”
I finished my conversation and returned to help my mother with the washing up. “It looks like a lovely sunset,” I remarked. “I must paint it.”
“Do not stay late,” my mother said. “We will talk when you return.”
I gathered my materials and headed out. First I headed into town to find a call box. I inserted my card, punching Keith’s number so fast I thought my fingers might catch fire. He answered on the first ring.
“I hoped it was you.” He sounded relieved and not at all guilty for worrying me.
“I’m at a call box and haven’t much time on my card. Why didn’t you call?”
“I couldn’t. I was at the festival ‘til past midnight. We did an autograph session and sold nearly a hundred tapes. But that’s not the best part. Elvis Costello is the headliner and though he isn’t scheduled to play until the last day, he came backstage to meet some of us up and comers. I fucking jammed with Elvis Costello!”
“I don’t believe it!” I squealed. “He’s one of my favorites!”
“I know. I told him my girlfriend worships him and he said he’d be delighted to meet you some time.”
“Now I wish I went. But you could have called this morning.”
“Ryan woke us too late. I went straight to your place when I got back, but Aimee said you were visiting your parents. When do you come back?”
“I’m flying in tomorrow around six. I’ll call Aimee and she’ll call you.”
My time ran out before we could say goodbye and I felt disappointed. I hurried to the beach to paint the castle ruins on the sea with the setting sun in the background.
I was much more jubilant when I returned just after dark. My parents waited in the living room and my jubilation dissipated. I felt like a naughty girl getting home after curfew. I wanted to tell them about my conversation with Keith –- how he got noticed by Elvis Costello, but dared not. I doubt they knew who Elvis Costello was anyway. My father spoke first. “Brigitte, darling, your mother and I feel you should come home for the summer. You can return to London in the fall.”
I dropped my satchel onto the faded rose-colored carpet and stood, stunned. “I don’t believe you’re saying this.”
“I do not like your relationship with this lad,” my father continued.
“It’s my life and you’re stomping on my dreams!” It took all my strength not to get emotional.
“That is not true,” my mother argued. “We always supported your dreams to become an artist. But you are so focused on Keith, you are not focused on your studies.”
“I’ve missed Keith’s shows because I had to get up early for school and spent days away from him to concentrate on finishing projects. All my tutors say I’m doing a bang up job for a first-year student. Why would you take that away?”
“We are not taking anything from you,” my father insisted. “We just ask that you spend the summer in France. If after that you still feel the same way about Keith, we will be here to pick up the pieces when you learn we were right.”
“Mon dieu!” I yelled. “This is like a Jane Austin novel! I am in love. Can’t you see how happy we are?”
“Ma Cherie,” my father continued. “This lad is unstable and surely using some substance.”
“You’re wrong. He isn’t unstable or taking drugs.”
“You are lovely to always see the best in people,” my mother added. “But you cannot fix everybody.”
“He is beyond repair,” my father continued. “I saw him in the garden from our window after you were in bed and I doubt it was a cigarette he smoked.”
“Because he’s a rock star you think he’s a drug addict.”
My father continued. “You can attend that program your mother found in Tours. You live in an old cast . . .”
“I looked into that program. But I have a job, in case you’ve forgotten. The people I work with are lovely and I’m making connections with the art community.”
My mother sighed. “I cannot let you throw your life away on this young man.”
“You can’t make me leave. Aimee’s parents are letting her stay.”
“Aimee is not distracted by a young lad,” my father added.
“Oh, I see. She’s a good girl, not cavorting with boys of ill repute.” This time I couldn’t control my anger.
“You always had a fascination with that punk rock. You cannot see the big picture.”
“No, Mama, you’re not. I’m going to bed. I have work day after tomorrow and need to get back to London at a decent time tomorrow.”
“We still want to see your grades. If they are less than exemplary, you’re on the first plane home,” my father said.
“I told you they don’t give grades. And if you withhold support, I won’t call when I’m in hospital half starved because I can’t afford to eat!” I stormed from the room.
I didn’t sleep well. I’d never quarreled with my parents before.
I wasn’t a morning person, but since I hadn’t slept, rose at the crack of dawn, gathered my art supplies and went to paint the sunrise.
I considered calling Keith collect and asking him to buy me a plane ticket so I could be gone when my parents woke. As I watched the boats in the harbor bob up and down, their tall masts bobbing, looking ghostly in the morning fog, I couldn’t shake the depression now overwhelming me. The sea gulls screeched and soared above me as they searched for their breakfast and it reminded me how hungry I was getting. I finished my watercolor and headed back home. It was nearly ten.
“Where were you?” My mother sounded panicked. I wondered if it was an act.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered. “So I went painting.” I sat at the kitchen table and poured some tea.
“You might have left a note. I thought you were swept out to sea.
“You can’t keep me under glass just to look at,” I responded. “I have a life.”
My father seemed anxious to change the subject. “We thought we could go to Paris today. That always was one of your favorite things. You can catch a 6:00 flight from Orly.”
“That sounds lovely,” I lied. My father acted like everything was rosy. I’d have to get word to Keith I was arriving an hour later. “Could you at least get me another phone card? I promise I’ll call when I get back to London.”
“We can manage that,” my father answered.
Although Keith wasn’t spoken of again, the remainder of my visit was strained. My father got me a phone card at the airport so I couldn’t call Aimee until just before my flight. She promised she’d call Keith and thankfully understood the code I spoke since my mother stood next to me. I was sure she did that on purpose.
“Call the minute you return,” my mother reminded as my flight began boarding.
I promised, gave my bag a hoist, and slipped my headphones on. I got on the plane feeling sad. Why weren’t they happy for me?
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
