By the time he got home from work that day, Chloe had already received her invitation, and she wasn’t happy about it. She saw it as an attempt to buy her off. Unlike her mother, Chloe had grown up wanting for nothing, and so was impervious to bribery.
Jeff couched the trip in different terms, saying that he thought Francis might have been trying to make things up to them, yes, but also that he was probably seeking healing, and wanted to take them as far away as possible from any reminders of what had happened. Chloe asked him if he believed everything her father said. He said he didn’t, of course not.
“Good,” she said, “because we’re not going.”
That was how he learned he’d been invited as well.
How was he going to break the news to Francis?
In the end, he didn’t have to. Alison and Chloe had their daily phone call, and somehow Alison convinced Chloe that the trip could be a good idea, a starting point for genuine healing. The fissures were still there, still simmering with molten lava, but with relation to Chloe, it seemed, Francis and Alison were trying to find a way forward together.
And so it was they found themselves bound for Val d’Isère.
54
Jeff had never been to Europe, had barely ever skied, had never flown first class. He didn’t have the clothes for the trip, so Chloe took him shopping. He’d never spent so much on clothes in his life: a chic ski suit, a fancy sweater, long underwear, a hat, gloves, and an insanely expensive pair of après-ski boots. Everything went on Chloe’s credit card, the bill for which went to Francis. Jeff couldn’t tell whether this level of spending was standard or meant to be retributive.
Either way, he felt what he’d felt upon first encountering the prices on the artworks in the gallery. People had this kind of money, and they existed among us, but on a different plane. Chloe had come down to his plane, even downplayed her ability to spend, but now that they’d been together awhile, she clearly felt less self-conscious about it. Still, he wondered about their future together. Who would bridge the gap, and in what direction? It was far harder to go down than up, but he doubted he could ever provide for them even a tenth of what her father had.
A town car took them to the airport, and they met Francis and Alison in the first-class lounge. Jeff had flown Southwest a bunch of times to Northern California and back, and they didn’t even assign seats. This was another universe. He didn’t think he would ever get used to it. Or, to be accurate, he refused to get used to it, even a little bit, knowing—or believing—that he had only temporarily entered this world of wealth and luxury.
In the lounge Francis and Alison sat next to each other, both clearly uncomfortable about being there, being together, and facing Chloe. Chloe made it clear to Jeff that she wasn’t speaking to her father and wasn’t going to start. Jeff tried to make small talk, but each attempt sputtered out miserably. Francis fetched drinks for himself and Alison. Chloe opened a magazine. Jeff was caught between trying to enjoy his surroundings and feeling utterly awkward about the situation.
It was better on the plane. Chloe and Jeff were seated next to each other, and Francis and Alison ended up a few rows ahead of them. The seats were wide and comfortable. When reclined, they were completely flat. It was a night flight, and Chloe and Jeff talked for a little while after the cabin lights went down. She told him that she respected her mother’s wishes, but that she already knew that coming on the trip had been a mistake.
“If I could jump out now,” she said, “I would. And I hope you’d join me.”
“Of course,” he said.
Her mother wanted her to do what she had done, which was to forgive and move on, to preserve the relationship, the family, by sweeping her father’s actions under the rug. But she wasn’t her mother, and she wasn’t subject to the same panic, the same need to paper over the cracks. Her mother didn’t understand her perspective. She didn’t see how Francis’s behavior had branded Chloe at school, how people were spreading rumors about her, having a good laugh at the situation, at her.
“You know what she said, when I brought up the fact that Astrid was a student?”
Jeff waited for her to continue.
“She interrupted me and said graduate student. She was already parroting my dad.
“And then there’s the matter of the show. Did he promise her a show? Is this how the gallery works? Is this how he and my mom got together in the first place? How many women has he done this to? His eye, his eye, everybody’s always talking about his eye. But is it an eye for art or for ass?
“He’s a dinosaur. A disgusting should-be-extinct T. rex of a man.”
Chloe wiped away her tears, blamed the altitude or the oxygen for her outburst, and took Jeff’s hands in hers.
“I need to know,” she said, “that you’re with me. One hundred percent.”
“One hundred percent,” he said, leaning across the wide space between their seats to kiss her wet cheeks.
55
In Val d’Isère, Francis had rented a chalet, complete with a butler and a chef. The little village was unlike anything Jeff had ever seen, tucked into the bottom of ski slopes that seemed to disappear into the sky. It was a far cry from the handful of day trips he’d taken with Emilio and Mark, to ski iced-over trails on Mount Baldy. Francis told him, proudly, as if he owned the place, that you could take any American resort, say, Vail, and lay it over Val d’Isère, and it wouldn’t come close to covering it. He had taken this tack, magnanimity, as they entered the chalet, the butler bringing their bags in from the van, but neither Alison nor Chloe was interested, and so it fell to Jeff to play audience once again. Chloe wasn’t happy about it, he could tell, but he didn’t really have a choice. Francis continued to monologue about how he’d found this particular chalet, how it had been difficult to book, how there was a storm coming in and the snow was going to be incredible. He repeated this one down the hall to Alison. She responded with a noncommittal uh-huh.
Chloe still hadn’t said a word to her father, and Francis was painfully aware of it. He pulled Jeff aside and asked him how things were going. He had expected her to be a little more receptive based on the reports Jeff had given him. Jeff said that he was pretty sure she’d warm up to him after a few days away. It had been hard while they were all still in Los Angeles. An encounter with nature, far from home, would bring her back around, he was sure of it. Of course, he wasn’t, but he felt he had to keep Francis happy. It was possible, anything was possible.
That evening, they were going to go into town to a small restaurant where Francis had made a reservation, but Chloe begged off, claiming jet lag. Besides, they had a chef at the chalet. Alison suggested that she and Francis could go alone and leave Jeff and Chloe to settle in. Francis wasn’t particularly happy about this, thinking he’d already won Alison over, more or less, and wanting to press Chloe into forgiving him as well. It seemed that this was his only mode, applying pressure until he could get what he wanted.
Francis and Alison left eventually, and on the way out the door, Francis gave Jeff a slight wink, with his drooping eye, an unmistakable signal that Jeff should work on Chloe on his behalf. Chloe saw it, and as soon as the door was closed, she asked Jeff what the hell that was about.
He confessed then that he had been reporting to Francis, that he had been telling him that he’d been making progress, that he was sure Chloe was on the verge of speaking to him again.
“How could you say that,” Chloe asked, “when you know I’m not?”
“Will you never be?” he asked.
This was the wrong thing to say.
“You promised,” she said, “that you were with me, one hundred percent. How can you be reporting back to him?”
“I just want peace,” Jeff said.
“That ship has sailed,” she said.
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