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these places had closed down already or had been sold to straight peop<strong>le</strong>,<br />
as the gay owners were dying of AIDS. But Mike Parsons looked his<br />
same old self, bald, tanned and effeminate, chatting away just for the<br />
sake of dotting the conversation with French words such as “ma chérie”,<br />
“garçon”, “magnifique” and “Tout va bien?”. Now that the Duplantiers<br />
had bought a flat in the area, Maureen, paradoxically, felt like a French<br />
tourist in Sydney, and Mike treated her like one.<br />
When Jill entered the shop, in search of a birthday gift for her<br />
eldest stepdaughter, she recognized Maureen’s metallic but seductive<br />
voice, even before she could see her face, as she was turning her back to<br />
the door, admiring some Art Deco paraphernalia. She had always hated<br />
Maureen, although it remained unc<strong>le</strong>ar to herself whether it was for her<br />
perpetual baby-doll face and figure, for her exaggerated 16 e arrondissement<br />
manners, for her close association with Sylvie, for the very real, surprising<br />
beauty of Clotilde, for the liaison that some ill-intentionned friends had<br />
rumoured between Joël and the young girl, or for the obvious failure of<br />
Jean-Pierre’s wife to achieve the demanding BCBG standards that Jill<br />
herself had been successfully polishing for years. What would she do if<br />
Maureen talked to her, in Austral English most probably? (“Oh, hello,<br />
Jill! How nice to see you after all these years! Isn’t it fun that we all meet<br />
in Sydney again! Why don’t you have dinner with us some time? Come<br />
with whoever you are with, it will be a p<strong>le</strong>asure.”) Actually, she could<br />
not or should not ask herself what her reaction would be, Maureen, that<br />
pretentious chatterbox, wasn’t worth straining one’s mind.<br />
Jill pretended that she was impatient and in a hurry, she <strong>le</strong>ft<br />
the shop before Maureen, in a rapture with her daughter’s tiny ears and<br />
large earrings, had put a name on her face, or so she thought.<br />
Jean-Pierre was going to stay two more weeks in Australia, he<br />
had some business in Canberra. Maureen and Clotilde wanted to return<br />
to Paris for the beginning of the school year: since it was “l’année du<br />
bac”, it was out of the question that the girl could miss out on the first<br />
classes. Clotilde was a very good student, she wanted to follow on her<br />
father’s steps and do a “prépa” for Sciences Po the following year. Un<strong>le</strong>ss<br />
she preferred to study Arts-Law or Government in Sydney. Joël had an<br />
Australian girl friend by now, but Clotilde was still very attracted to him,<br />
and, at their ages, you never know what to expect, not to mention that, if<br />
Joël took after his father, I hope not, he would be torn between the two<br />
continents for quite a whi<strong>le</strong>. A manner of speaking, two continents are<br />
not enough for that poor Jacques: there was that beautiful woman from<br />
the islands, Jill, whom she, Maureen, had pretended not to recognize.<br />
Too bitchy. It would be embarrassing, when they had invited her with<br />
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