Second Chance (6 page)

“Sissy?” she asked, stifling laughter.

“
Oui.
Sissy, to have filters on the cigarettes,
n’est-ce pas
? But I think women will want them more, and health issues will make them — more prominent, that is the word I want.”

“You might have something there.”

“I have been thinking about it all through this conference.” He made a note on his page with the cigarette drawing. “But machines must be modified, and I am not sure there are any French manufacturers making what we need for a filter cigarette. Then there is the promotion and marketing. I am not sure Etien is brave enough to risk it.”

“Are you?” she asked.

“I take risks.”

“Suppose it doesn’t work?”

“Then I look stupid. Not for the first time. But it is my name on the package, not Etien’s.”

“You’re very brave.”

For the first time, she saw a smile touch both Louis’s eyes and lips. “
Non
, I am stubborn. And, as I said, it is my name on the package.” He leaned back in his seat, stared toward the roof, and sighed. “I might be wrong. If I am, I take responsibility for my mistakes. Not for the first time.”

“Do you have to consult with the rest of the Dessant family, like so many of these tobacco families do?”

“There is no family,” Louis Dessant said. “I am the last.”

“Oh,” she apologized, “I’m sorry. I was rude.”

He patted her hand. “
De rien
. The Campards inherit everything if I die childless, which, right now, is the case. The cigarettes will last much longer than the Dessants did.”

They had circled the small plantation, Dr. Gardiner pointing out things like a tour guide. Then they left the plantation for the highway. Louis turned to look out the bus window. “This feels so comfortable. Not like on an airplane, so cold and sterile. I don’t like being cold. And I like to know there are people around me.” He quoted a line from a French poem, something she did not recognize. “‘Which has killed more people, passion or loneliness?’”

“I don’t know that quote,” she said.

“Modern. I read it somewhere, I don’t remember, but it stuck with me.”

No wonder
, she thought.

“I think we have one more plantation to visit. Then we will go back to campus.”

“Maybe you want to stay awake,” said Bishou. “We’re going up into the mountains.”

“These are the Appalachian Mountains,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“That’s correct.”

“Where are the Smokies?”

“Great Smoky Mountains? You’re looking at them. The Appalachians have a different name in each state.”

“What are they called, in your region?”

“White Mountains in New Hampshire, Berkshires in Massachusetts, Green Mountains in Vermont. I’ve seen them all, at one time or another.”

“Ah, you said. Hiking.” He pronounced it as the French had adopted it, hi-KING. “Do you miss the mountains?”

“Not really. Being with my family was more important.”

“I understand.” Louis smiled.

They visited one more tobacco plantation. Now that Bishou knew what Louis was thinking, she could see his focus on cotton and the filters. However, it was definitely a two-way communication, because the hosts and Louis’s fellow travelers wanted to know just as much about the tobacco business on his island.

By the time they got back to the university campus, darkness had fallen. As they left the bus, Louis asked, “You teach tomorrow morning, do you not?”

“Oh, yes. I should have reminded you. You’re on your own for the first session.”

“
D’accord
. Now I will know to expect it. I will see you for the second?” he inquired.

“Yes, I’ll see you then.”

“
D’accord
. I am going out for dinner with the others, and will see you in the morning.
Bonne nuit
.”

“
Bonne nuit
.”

All the riders had faded into the distance before she heard someone call her name. “Miss Howard?” The bus driver walked toward her, carrying a white jacket.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Is that Mr. Dessant’s jacket?”

“Yes, Ma’am. He forgot it. Can you give it to him tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she said, but her hands were already loaded with her purse and tote bag.

“Wait,” said the driver with a grin. He wrapped it around her shoulders. “There you go.”

“Thanks. If he should ask for it, tell him I’ve got it.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Back at her apartment, she draped the jacket over an easy chair. The off-white jacket was as clean and neat as Louis was, smelling a little of cologne, a little of tobacco smoke. In dismay, she realized that the only way she could carry it around tomorrow was the same way she did tonight, by wearing it, because she would have the same load in her arms.

Louis Dessant had on a fresh shirt, no jacket, and was taking his coffee break sitting with some of the other men on the wall of a planter in front of the Conference Center. Louis stood and smiled as Bishou hurried over to them.

“Sorry,” she panted, setting down her bag. “By the way, I’ve got your jacket at my apartment.”

“Ah.” Louis continued to stand after the other men sat down again. “You will sit, also, and I will bring you coffee. Fair is fair.”

“Oh, no, thanks. I can — ”

One eyebrow raised, a warning hand came up. “
Asseyez-vous
, Mademoiselle.”

“
Oui,
Monsieur.” She sat down.

He went to get her coffee.

Gray Jackson chuckled. “He’s a gentleman, all the way through.”

She nodded. “It’s very disconcerting. I’m used to dealing with college students.”

All the men laughed.

Vig said, “I never thought about us spoiling you, Missy, but I guess we are.”

“You are. It will be dreadfully difficult, going back to teaching undergraduates.”

“I’m gonna say what Louis says, that I’m glad I came to this conference,” Vig said. “I’ve learned a lot, not only about tobacco and research, but about colleges. Now I know how to get in contact with the researchers, and I’ve talked to a lot of the new blood. Some of ’em have some good ideas — even tobacco farmers from other countries, like Louis. Y’know, he takes it all the way from the seed to the carton. A lot of ’em don’t, and don’t know how.”

There was a mutter of general agreement.

“For me,” said Bishou, “it was more about the university. I knew EVU runs on tobacco money, but I never really knew what that involved. Now I do.”

“There should be a required film about that,” said Gray. “You hear so much about student riots and all, and they’re biting the hands that feed them.”

Bishou shook her head. “It’s like having your own teenager in the house, except there are a couple thousand of them. You never know which way the cat is going to jump. You just have to keep your eyes open for a chance to teach them something they’re willing to listen to.”

“Spoken by the girl with three brothers.” Gray toasted her with his coffee, and winked.

“Well, that’s true.” Bishou looked up as Louis reappeared, with croissants and two coffees on a tiny tray. “Where did you lift the tray? I expected you’d have them in a napkin.”

“I asked the cafeteria ladies. They gave me a tray.”

“Cafeteria ladies don’t give anything to anyone,” she said suspiciously.

“I was humble,” he replied, looking up with a deerlike expression in his brown eyes.

Again, the men laughed. Gray said, “You just blindside all the ladies with that French sex appeal, Dessant.”

“I won’t pretend I don’t know what that means,” said Louis. He sat and put the tray between himself and Bishou, and then broke up a croissant. “But I don’t think I have it, or my life would have been much easier.”

One of the cafeteria ladies came around with a box for their garbage. She gathered up the little tray, too, with a smile at Louis. The men went back inside, grumbling about the forthcoming lecture, sounding like elderly college students. “Can’t make me worried about what I don’t know yet,” Vig rumbled, and Louis glanced at Bishou in amusement.

However, the Future of the Tobacco Industry included filter cigarettes, and got their full attention., After the session ended, they broke for lunch. The wives joined their husbands.

As they started to cross the campus, Bishou told Louis, “Save me a place. I’ll go get your jacket.”

Sukey said, “Why don’t you go with her, Louis, and get your own jacket?” She was rewarded with suspicious stares from both Louis and Bishou, which she ignored. “We’ll save your places. Git.”

As they walked toward Bishou’s apartment, Louis said, “Madame Hanson has her ideas.”

“She certainly does, doesn’t she?” Bishou agreed. “Why didn’t you argue her out of them?”

“She is one of those women to whom it is easier to say ‘
oui, Madame
,’ and just do it. I noticed you did not argue with her either.”

“I think you’re right,” said Bishou. “As much as I like her. She’s definitely ‘my way or the highway.’ ”

He chuckled. “I had not heard that rhyme before, but I understand it completely.”

As they walked up the path to Garrison Apartments, Dessant observed, “This is not a dormitory, is it?”

“No. These are apartments for graduate students. My assistantship pays for over half of my expenses here, including this — a very good deal. In some places, one only gets half-tuition, and must pay almost double rates for everything else.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Graduate students are in no position to argue.” She pulled out her keys, unlocked the big glass front door, and ushered him inside.

Marie Norton was in the lobby, with the mailroom door open, sorting mail. “Hi, Bishou.” She looked carefully at the guest. “I’m Mrs. Norton, resident here.”

It was a hint for an introduction. Bishou obliged. “Marie, this is Louis Dessant, from the World Tobacco Conference. Monsieur Dessant, Madame Norton, our manager.”

“How do you do, Madame,” said Louis politely.

“Oh, my,” said Marie. “As in Dessant Cigarettes?” She laughed at their stares. “I did my junior year abroad, Bishou, don’t you remember?”

Bishou laughed. “I totally forgot. Yes, as in Dessant Cigarettes.”

Louis smiled, too. “My name precedes me.”

“Is this your first trip to America?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, welcome. What brings you to Garrison today?”

“The bus driver from yesterday gave me Mr. Dessant’s jacket to return to him, and I ran out of hands this morning,” Bishou explained. “I said I’d return it during the lunch break.”

The resident apartment door was open, and they heard a baby begin to cry. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Dessant,” said Marie Norton with a smile. “Welcome to EVU. Anything we can do to help, let us know.”

“Thank you,” Louis replied and followed Bishou up the dark, carpeted stairs. In the stairwell, he murmured very quietly, in French, “I don’t have to leave fingerprints, do I?”

Bishou chuckled. “No, but she is good security.”

“I trust your word on that. She is young, for this job. I heard a baby.”

“
Oui
. Her husband is training at the law school. He studies, and she provides them a place to live while they start their family.”

“Whew. That is a grand commitment, much to do at once.”

“Certainly it is,” said Bishou. “I have true respect for her.”

Bishou unlocked her apartment door and ushered Louis inside. He stood and looked around him — the first time she could recall seeing him move his head as well as his eyes — at the bulging bookshelves, the tatty couch, the desk and typewriter.

“So this is your nest? I should perhaps not come in further,
hein
?” He saw his jacket, hung over the back of her desk chair, and lifted it. “What is this?”

She looked, too. “Uh, oh. Did I get lipstick on your collar?”

“It looks red,” he agreed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll get some lighter fluid from my bedroom. Wait here.”

She stepped into her bedroom and opened a few drawers, searching for the lighter fluid. She found the bottle and started back toward the living room, just in time to hear Louis speak.

“
Oh, mon Dieu
,” he groaned, then collapsed on the floor with a thud.

• • •

Bishou stood paralyzed for a moment. Then she ran to the door, opened it, and shouted, “Marie!
Marie
!”

Then she knelt beside Louis and gripped his shoulder. “Monsieur Dessant. Louis! Wake up.
Levez-vous
!”

Marie was at the door in record time. “Bishou, What happened?”

“I don’t know!” She looked up at Marie with wild eyes. “I stepped away to clean a spot off his jacket, and while I was out of the room he just fainted.”

“Let’s get him up on the couch,” said Marie.

Bishou took hold of his shoulders and Marie grabbed his feet. Manhandling was something she could do. Between them, the women got him up onto the couch. Marie slipped off his shoes while Bishou undid his tie and collar. He was still unresponsive.

“Oh God, oh God,” said Bishou, “I just expected to hand him his jacket, and leave.”

“I’m going downstairs to call Emergency Services,” said Marie, who had the only telephone in the building other than a pay phone. “Last thing we need is for one of the conference attendees to have a heart attack here.”

“Heart attack?” Bishou gasped.

“You stay with him, honey, while I call the doc.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Bishou scribbled on a paper on her desk. “Here’s a name — Gray Jackson, he’s one of the coordinators for the World Tobacco Conference. He was meeting us at lunch. Call the Barrington dining rooms and tell Gray what’s happened.”

“I’ll do that,” she agreed. “We don’t need university trouble.”

“Amen,” said Bishou anxiously. She was glad that Marie left the door open for Emergency Services to find them when she went downstairs This was a university emergency, all right. She sat on a wooden chair close to the couch, the one on which she had hung Louis’s jacket, and clasped his hand. It was ice cold.

What made her glance at her desk, she did not know. She saw the papers, half out of the express envelope, and suddenly realized what happened. He had been standing there, waiting for her to get the lighter fluid. He saw an envelope on her desk, papers sticking out the end. The words printed on it were French. Out of curiosity, he pulled the papers out — and saw his own portrait and that damned article. She’d only gone weak-kneed when she saw them. He had fainted.