Queen of the Trailer Park (Rosie Maldonne's World Book 1) (8 page)

20

They tiptoed out of the trailer, and I blubbered for a minute or so. Lisa’s and Emma’s chins started to wobble, and I knew they were about to join me. Sabrina’s face was all twisted up and she was breathing heavily. Simon was holding Pastis completely upside down and had started gathering up string to tie his paws to the bag I’d just packed.

I had to pull myself together and face my responsibilities as head of this family. I gave my nose a good blow and said to no one in particular that I was through with my mini breakdown. When I got outside the trailer, my bag bursting at the seams, I repeated myself. “OK. Breakdown over. Let’s go.”

“Where?” they both asked at the same time, each man hopeful for his own reasons.

“To the hotel.”

We had to cram the duffel bag and the folded-up stroller into the trunk of Gaston’s Jaguar. It’s a bitchin’ ride, but it has to be said that there’s not much room in the trunk. Still, I didn’t like to criticize—I was happy we had some wheels.

All four scamps got into the back seat with Pastis, who was making a meowing sound none of us had heard before. It sounded like he had his neck stuck in a door or something.

Poor little thing. It was the first time he’d been inside a moving vehicle.

Jérôme said his good-byes, but Gaston insisted he join us for dinner. He gave way in the end. We said we’d meet up at the Brasserie de la Piazza a half hour later. I’d thrown a mini tantrum and said I didn’t want to eat at the hotel restaurant. I’d already been humiliated in that joint, and I had no intention of going through that again. Breakfast in my suite. That’s as far as I’d go when it came to eating food in that place.

“We’re going to be passing in front of my house. You’ll be able to see where I live. It could come in useful,” said Gaston.

He made a detour and took a quiet road. There was never much traffic down there. It had an ancient stone wall running down one side and a small stream on the other.

He stopped in front of an old wrought-iron gate. The thing was falling to pieces. It had been devoured by weeds. Just behind it you could see a magnificent driveway, bordered by palm trees, leading up to what looked like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. It was all nestled in stunning parkland. You could just see the abandoned factory a bit farther away. The whole thing gave me an incredible sensation of peace.

“Is this your place?” I asked stupidly.

“That’s what I just said,” he replied.

“Smartass,” I murmured, but I was still impressed.

The huge garden looked like the ideal setting to park my little house on wheels. I was sure I’d feel safe enough there. The problem was, it wasn’t my place, and I wasn’t going to ask him if I could move there. I’m far too independent for that.

He started up the engine again. We were off to the hotel.

Before heading down to meet Jérôme, we checked into our suite.

You had to see the place. First off, a bellboy took my crappy duffel bag and the stroller to my room as if he was carrying Madonna’s wedding dress or something. Honestly, he shot off out of there, looking all snooty. This was true class.

I entered our massive room. It had a bed at least six feet wide and a huge living space with a TV and minibar. There were two more doors leading off to other rooms. One went to an enormous bathroom. You’d have to leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind you if you wanted to find your way out again. The other door took you to a smaller bedroom. This one didn’t have a sitting area, but there was another minibar and an office corner. It had two massive twin beds.

“Wow! The babies are going to get lost in here! This is crazy. It must be at least two years since I last slept in a real bed.”

Madness. Everything had gone wrong. The trailer had been ransacked, Véro had vanished, baba Pierre was gone . . . It all weighed down on me. All of it.

The first thing I did was to swipe anything and everything I saw lying around. I started with the soaps, shower gels, shampoos, and tubes of toothpaste in both bathrooms.

Then I gathered up some of the towels. I only took one of each size because we’d be needing some while we were there. I finished off with some peanuts, tissues, an ashtray, and two minibottles of Martini vermouth.

Gaston watched me, stunned. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

“Provisions for the war.”

The cubs and I jumped onto the bed, bouncing on it like it was a trampoline. We were having a ball. Even Pastis was loving it, scratching away in the sandbox that the bellboy had brought up for him—after receiving a hefty tip from Gaston.

There was a knock at the door. The bellboy carried in two cribs. Amazing service.

As he was setting them up, Gaston sat down in one of the armchairs, smiling, watching us without saying a word. You could see how happy he was. All five of us were in fits of laughter.

“I gather you like the place?”

“Not at all,” I answered in the best snobby voice I could muster. “I don’t think we have enough room here.”

“Do you know who I’m going to call?”

“No idea,” I replied as I changed the twins’ diapers.

“I’m going to call up some realtors. I’ve decided I’d like to buy you a house. You need one, am I right? You can’t spend the rest of your life in this hotel.”

I can’t explain why, but this just sucked the joy right out of me. I felt winded.

He was going too far. I didn’t understand his intentions. Surely he didn’t want to sleep with me?

“Umm . . . Gaston . . . You don’t have to do that. It would never work between us.”

Now he was the one who looked winded. “Oh, Rosie, no! There’s nothing like that between us!”

“Cricri.”

“Of course, Cricri. You need to understand. You’re not like the others, right? Well, accept the fact that I’m not either. I’m bored out of my mind, that’s what it is. The life of an outsider, it was great, always living in the fast lane. But I’ve grown sick of it all. When I met you and your children the other day, it felt like an electric shock. It woke me up. I want to move, create havoc, stir things up a little. I need a spring cleaning. And I need you for that. It’s an honest exchange and nothing more.”

I grumbled, “Well, start out by communicating properly. I never get what you mean. It’s been like that from the start.”

He burst out laughing. “It’s all part and parcel of the job. But I’ll try harder, I promise. So, are we agreed? It’s all fairly straightforward, isn’t it?”

“Gaston, my mother always taught me to be careful around guys who say stuff like this. I’ve been there and bought the T-shirt. What are you playing at here? Santa? Or some fairy-tale hero? Because I don’t believe in either.”

Sabrina pulled at my sleeve. “Mommy? You’we wong, Mommy. Faiwy taleth are weal. Thanta too. If you don’t bewieve in them, you’we thtupid.”

I looked at my sweet Sabrina and thought of all the cash I’d reeled in by some sort of divine intervention. It was still waiting for me.

I smiled and kept my mouth shut.

Gaston took advantage of this. “She’s right, you know. They do exist. I’m living proof of that. Listen, if you like, we can forget about the house. But please don’t stop me from spoiling you and the children.”

Sabrina jumped up onto his lap with a satisfied, proprietary look on her face.

I wanted to protest, my instinctive suspicion resurfacing. Habits are hard to break. “No, wait, Gaston . . .”

But he wasn’t listening. He asked if I was ready to go meet Jérôme.

I put the twins into their stroller, with Sabrina and Simon holding onto either side. We strode out of there like kings, with Gaston bringing up the rear and picking up the key to the suite on our way out the door.

21

I ordered spaghetti Bolognese for the children and carbonara for me. Jérôme had only tomatoes and mozzarella.

“Are you on a diet?” I joked.

His face flushed. I wasn’t expecting that and regretted my remark.

“I’m always careful about what I eat,” he muttered, uneasy. He turned to face Gaston. “So, what’s your line of business?”

I didn’t hear Gaston’s answer over the scamps clamoring for me to give them some breadsticks. I gave in, to keep them occupied while we waited.

I was in a reflective mood. I had a whole host of things on my mind.

The first thing, of course, was Pierre and what had happened to him. Also, Véro—where could she be? Who was Djaïd? How did Alexandre fit into this? And what about Michel, Simon’s dad?

I could have asked Jérôme, but for some reason I didn’t want to in front of Gaston.

I also wanted to know why my trailer had been gutted. Was it really about the envelopes? Had they tracked me down and were now trying to intimidate me to hand over the dough? Now there was a thought. But I wasn’t going to give up all this money anytime soon. Who would?

I’d begun to get accustomed to the finer things. Doing my grocery shopping without adding it all up in my head as I went. Scarfing down
pains au chocolat
. Deciding, without the slightest hesitation,
Hey, I’m going to buy a couple of cell phones. I don’t want any more trouble making calls.

I wasn’t following Jérôme and Gaston’s conversation. I was too busy watching the nippers. I didn’t want them spilling too much food off their plates. It wasn’t easy. Apart from Mickey D’s, they weren’t used to eating out.

And now look where they were. In the space of just two days. How weird life can be. You never know what it has in store, do you? Did this mean that Saint Expeditus had listened to my prayers? And not just listened to them, but actually done something about them?

Saint Expeditus was my mother’s favorite saint. Apparently he’d saved her own mother—Ruth, my Jewish grandmother. Jews don’t usually pray to Christian saints. My Grandma Ruth was the exception. Saint Expeditus had protected her when she arrived in this village aged just twenty-two, after an exhausting journey across France. She had references to show to a family with whom she was hoping to find work. But when she got there, they’d disappeared.

She went inside the church seeking shelter from the rain. As my mother tells it, it was raining buckets that day. Ruth knelt down in front of the statue of a saint. Everyone else was doing it, and she didn’t want to stand out from the crowd. She didn’t know what she was doing, so she just moved her lips, making it look like she was praying. It was him. Saint Expeditus.

She lifted her eyes to get a closer look at the statue and saw what looked like a Roman centurion. He was young and handsome with a little skirt on and a red cape. The whole works.

She thought,
Oy. What am I supposed to do now? I’m really down on my luck here. I need to find a way out of this mess fast.

She couldn’t have been in a better place. Expeditus happened to be the patron saint of pressing causes. He got things done today and not tomorrow. It was thanks to him that everything turned out OK for her. That very same day, as she left the church, she bumped into some guy looking for “escorts” for his nightclub. Things were going well for him, and he didn’t have enough staff.

From then on, her troubles were over.

She eventually took over the club and then sold it all when she had my mom. She invested all the money into small studio apartments, which she rented out to friends of hers who were still turning tricks.

Unfortunately, when she died, we found out that none of the property was in her name. This was an old Jewish habit she’d gotten into to stop the Germans from showing up and taking everything from under her feet. This meant that my mother had to start from scratch. But that’s another story.

So, Saint Expeditus had always had a good rep in my family. When I really felt like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel, I lit a candle for him. The best thing about him is he’s a fast mover. He
expedites
things—there’s no hanging back with this one.

At least, that’s what Ruth always said. As far as I could see, if I really thought about it, he’d never done a thing for me. Until then. Obviously my causes had never been pressing enough. But this time, he’d gotten back to me. I must have said the right words, because I’ve lost count of how many times I’d asked him to fill my shelves in the past.

And now not only had I found a pile of dough, but I’d gotten myself a new buddy who was rolling in it and wanted nothing more than to spoil me and the tots. This was certainly a first. Plus, I had personal police protection. Nothing to sneeze at.

I was in my own dream world when I suddenly heard a couple of interesting snippets of the conversation. They were talking about the mayor, Victor d’Escobar, and how he wanted to knock down the old railway station.

The old station?

That’s where I lived.

“What are you talking about?”

The two of them jumped in their seats.

“Why so twitchy? Did you forget me or something? I’ve been sitting right here. What’s this story?”

“I read about it online,” Gaston explained. “They’re going to raze the old station and build a casino.”

22

The news hit me like an avalanche. How could I be so naive? Ever since I’d gotten us set up in the trailer, I hadn’t given another thought to where we’d be sleeping from then on. I had my own little pad. A real one. It was all mine. No rent.

We felt like we’d moved up in the world. I’d become used to having something of my own. And like any self-respecting classy broad, I thought it’d be mine forever.

I’d heard something about them renovating the station, but nothing about destroying it.

“Raze it? But . . . I thought they were going to convert it to a library?”

Jérôme continued. “Nothing’s been officially announced. For the moment, these are just rumors.”

“How do you know about this? I suppose you guys are in on the act? I smell bacon.”

His face reddened. “I just know it, that’s all.”

“What about my Caravelair?”

With a hint of sarcasm that didn’t suit him at all, he said, “So you think a library would tolerate you camping out by their front door, but not a casino. Is that it?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I could have come to some arrangement with them . . .”

“In any case, you don’t even have a trailer any longer,” said Gaston, in the softest voice imaginable.

“I don’t have my old trailer, but I’m going to be getting a new one, a much bigger one. Tomorrow!” I exclaimed, then bit my lip, scared to death I’d let on about my secret funds.

Jérôme threw me a funny look, then made like he was helping Sabrina cut her spaghetti.

Gaston offered me an indulgent smile like I’d totally lost my marbles. He said kindly, “That’s a wonderful idea! I’d never have thought of that! Is that the best way of helping you all? Buying you a new trailer?”

I whispered to myself, “I didn’t say
you
were buying it. I said
I
was . . .”

But nobody could make out what I was saying, so I stared him straight in the face and said, “Sure, Gaston. You win. I accept.”

Anything so they wouldn’t guess that I had a fat wad of cash waiting for me back home.

We finished our meal in silence. Gaston was beaming, his smile stretched across his face. Next to him, Jérôme looked more like Gollum. So much so that the kids didn’t want to walk next to him on the way back to the hotel.

He went his separate way at the next corner.

We entered our hotel feeling like royalty, and Gaston said goodnight to us and left with no further fuss.

I decided to have an early night after putting the babies to sleep. Each had his or her own bed. Incredible.

I fed Pastis, who’d taken refuge on the top shelf of the closet. I treated myself to a deliciously hot bath, opening one of the miniature bottles of bubble bath I’d stolen earlier.

What an unbelievable day.

Just as I was about to sink into dreamland, my thoughts turned to Pierre again.

As I started dropping off, I told myself that nothing was easy. It was a harsh world out there. All that money simply falling into my lap was about as crazy as it gets. Just when I could have finally been happy, could have made the most of life without all the usual shit, the worst went and happened.

It was something we don’t ever dare to imagine. Not even in our worst nightmares. A child disappearing in mysterious circumstances.

I pictured teeny Pierre in fits of giggles, playing with his toy cars. The images were on a loop—I couldn’t get them out of my mind. But I must have finally fallen asleep.

There I was, in my humongous bed, having sordid dreams about two guys at the same time. I couldn’t see their faces, but I knew who they were. Jérôme
and
Gaston.

I woke up with a start. It’s ludicrous how in dreams you can do the wildest things. Things you’d never imagine. They often have nothing to do with how you feel in reality.

It was clear that it had been quite a while since I’d last shared a bed with someone.

Jérôme, I could understand, but Gaston? That was madness creeping in. Out of the question.

Jérôme was gorgeous through and through, with his toned body. But he was a bit of a dork. And a cop. That was pretty out there as far as I was concerned.

If I was honest, though . . . I could see I’d fallen for this cop. I had more than a tiny crush going on.

At least he didn’t wear a uniform.

Maybe we could go somewhere with this?

As I drifted back to sleep, I remembered the stuff about the casino.

I needed to find out as much as I could about it, and I needed to do it fast.