Little Death by the Sea by Susan Kiernan-Lewis Page A

to
her—was to help her keep her awful secrets for the rest of their
lives. And to continue to love her through it all.
    “She was such a sweet little baby,” Elise
said moodily. “I’ll be needing some stuff, soon, Maggie. I’m sorry,
darling. You’ll have to help me.”
    Maggie didn’t know what to say. Need her to
help kick the addiction or need her to help score some drugs? She
decided not to push it until the actual moment was upon them.
    “Gerard was...he became everything to me. I
don’t suppose you can understand that. Oh, especially since you
probably think he’s this terrible monster, but even if he were the
neatest, sexiest guy in the world, you still wouldn’t understand
throwing yourself totally into him, would you? Just devoting
yourself.” Elise sounded very satisfied with that phrase. “I was
devoted to him. And it felt wonderful, Maggie. Better than any
accomplishment. Better than painting something wonderful or feeling
like I looked beautiful or better, even, than when Nickie was born.
I’d never be able to explain it to you.”
    “He was like a drug.”
    Elise looked over at her.
    “Maybe you do understand. Yes, exactly. Like
a drug.”
    “And even when the drug turns bad, lets you
down, hurts you...”
    “Ahh, well.” Elise shrugged and set her
coffee mug down again.
    “How did you get here? To the States? Why did
Gerard bring you with him?”
    “I scored the money for the tickets. But
you’re right, he didn’t have to bring me. He could’ve taken the
money and gone without me. I think he was delivering me back to my
family. To your care.”
    “Maybe he thought he could humiliate you this
way. Or us.”
    Elise just smiled.
    “How did you score the money?” Visions of
Elise wheeling and dealing with nefarious underworld characters for
the price of cocaine and smack alongside Mediterranean piers and
ports sprang quickly into Maggie’s head.
    “I may not look like much to you now, Maggie,
I know. You have a memory of what I used to look like, I
suppose.”
    My God, she sold herself . Maggie
nodded to indicate she understood.
    “You really don’t want to hear where I’ve
been, do you, big sister?”
    The tears formed at the rim of Maggie’s
lashes.
    “Yes, I do, Elise,” she said. But her heart
whispered, no .
    “When I first met Gerard,” Elise said,
burrowing into a little nest of cotton throws and satin pillows
that studded Maggie’s plush couch, “I knew he would be my future. I
saw him on the Rue de la Paix . Can you believe that? You
know, the café where they say if you sit there long enough you’ll
see someone you know? Well, I saw him and I knew him. In my
heart.”
    Maggie settled back into her own chair.
    2
    Elise smoothed the creases out of her wool
skirt and looked again at the young man who stood watching her from
across the crowded outdoor café. She sipped her demitasse and
wondered, well? Is he going to come over or not? She knew she
looked very French yet with a certain piquancy that only an
American living-in-Paris-for-the-first-time can possess. After her
art classes were over for the afternoon, she’d taken to spending an
hour or so at the Café de la Paix with her sketchpad getting
ideas for her next canvas or for class assignments. She knew what
sort of picture she presented, with her golden blonde hair tucked
under a coal black beret, her sketch pad at the ready, and her
intense blue eyes (everyone always said so) scanning the crowds for
the next worthy subject.
    She’d known from years of drawing that
everyone wants to think you will want to draw them. Women pushing
baby prams always slowed in front of her as if to say: You want to
draw something, Mademoiselle Artiste ? Wait till you see me.
Or my baby. Elise had loved the thought of selecting and rejecting.
It was a game, a transaction of sorts and the whole world was open
to playing it with her.
    And he was not the first young man to stand
watching her, wanting to be noticed by her, to be