Valerie couldn’t walk out on her job and come back to it three or four years later. By then, another senior editor would be in place, and she wouldn’t be it. And she had waited a long time for that.
“I’m not sure what Valerie will understand, or want to. All she’s going to hear is that it will impact her career and she’ll have to leave
Vogue,
to move to a miserable place everyone says is a difficult city to live in, with three young children. I’m not at all sure how reasonable she’s going to be. Maybe not at all.”
“Have more faith in her than that. She’s a smart woman, and the realities are pretty clear here, economically. If she wants a secure lifestyle in the future, this is it. And in any case, you have to tell her and work it out together, even if she doesn’t take the news well at first. She’ll come around, and maybe you can come up with some kind of reasonable compromise.” But she couldn’t see one, and neither could he. He would either have to accept their offer or not. And Valerie had to go with him or not. It was painfully simple,
painful
being the operative word.
They talked about it all through lunch, and she left him on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.
“Call me after you talk to her, and tell me how it goes.” Valerie was a sensible woman, and she loved Jean-Philippe. Whatever happened, Chantal was sure their relationship would survive it, even if it was turbulent at first, which she thought it might be. “I’ll be here for the next week, and next weekend I’m going to see Eric in Berlin,” her younger son. “I haven’t seen him since February, he’s been producing a new body of work, and he didn’t want to be interrupted. He’s getting ready for a show.” He was doing well, although his conceptual installations were too edgy for her, but he was one of the more respected emerging artists, and his pieces were selling well. She was proud of him, and enjoyed visiting him. He had been living in Berlin for three years, and the art scene there had been great for him. And he had a new girlfriend he wanted her to meet too. Eric included her in his life more than his brother and sister did, and they lived farther away. But even with him living in Berlin, she only saw him a few times a year. He was too busy with his art to see her very often, and only came back to Paris now for Christmas every year, when the others did.
She had raised very independent children, none of whom wanted to live in France. It was bad luck for her, as she said to Jean-Philippe. All three of them had an excellent work ethic, as she did, and were doing well, but they had found other countries better suited to them. Charlotte had been living in Hong Kong since getting her master’s at Columbia five years before and spoke fluent Mandarin.
And her older son, Paul, loved living in the States and had become more American than hot dogs and apple pie, with an American girlfriend there, whom Chantal didn’t like, but he had lived with her for seven years. Her youngest, Eric, was the last to leave the nest three years before, and they had been lonely years for her, a fact she confessed to no one but Jean-Philippe. Her children were talented and productive but had no time for her.
Chantal went back to her apartment after lunch with Jean-Philippe and didn’t hear from him for several days, which was unusual, since he called her frequently to check in. He had become her self-appointed family since her children had left. She had no siblings or parents, so her children and friends were all she had. She plunged into her writing for days and weeks at a time, and was currently writing a very serious script about a group of women in a concentration camp in World War II and their ultimate survival.
She suspected that the announcement of Jean-Philippe’s job offer had not gone over well with his wife, and she didn’t want to call him and intrude. She worked all weekend and was pleased with her progress, and he
“I’m not sure what Valerie will understand, or want to. All she’s going to hear is that it will impact her career and she’ll have to leave
Vogue,
to move to a miserable place everyone says is a difficult city to live in, with three young children. I’m not at all sure how reasonable she’s going to be. Maybe not at all.”
“Have more faith in her than that. She’s a smart woman, and the realities are pretty clear here, economically. If she wants a secure lifestyle in the future, this is it. And in any case, you have to tell her and work it out together, even if she doesn’t take the news well at first. She’ll come around, and maybe you can come up with some kind of reasonable compromise.” But she couldn’t see one, and neither could he. He would either have to accept their offer or not. And Valerie had to go with him or not. It was painfully simple,
painful
being the operative word.
They talked about it all through lunch, and she left him on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.
“Call me after you talk to her, and tell me how it goes.” Valerie was a sensible woman, and she loved Jean-Philippe. Whatever happened, Chantal was sure their relationship would survive it, even if it was turbulent at first, which she thought it might be. “I’ll be here for the next week, and next weekend I’m going to see Eric in Berlin,” her younger son. “I haven’t seen him since February, he’s been producing a new body of work, and he didn’t want to be interrupted. He’s getting ready for a show.” He was doing well, although his conceptual installations were too edgy for her, but he was one of the more respected emerging artists, and his pieces were selling well. She was proud of him, and enjoyed visiting him. He had been living in Berlin for three years, and the art scene there had been great for him. And he had a new girlfriend he wanted her to meet too. Eric included her in his life more than his brother and sister did, and they lived farther away. But even with him living in Berlin, she only saw him a few times a year. He was too busy with his art to see her very often, and only came back to Paris now for Christmas every year, when the others did.
She had raised very independent children, none of whom wanted to live in France. It was bad luck for her, as she said to Jean-Philippe. All three of them had an excellent work ethic, as she did, and were doing well, but they had found other countries better suited to them. Charlotte had been living in Hong Kong since getting her master’s at Columbia five years before and spoke fluent Mandarin.
And her older son, Paul, loved living in the States and had become more American than hot dogs and apple pie, with an American girlfriend there, whom Chantal didn’t like, but he had lived with her for seven years. Her youngest, Eric, was the last to leave the nest three years before, and they had been lonely years for her, a fact she confessed to no one but Jean-Philippe. Her children were talented and productive but had no time for her.
Chantal went back to her apartment after lunch with Jean-Philippe and didn’t hear from him for several days, which was unusual, since he called her frequently to check in. He had become her self-appointed family since her children had left. She had no siblings or parents, so her children and friends were all she had. She plunged into her writing for days and weeks at a time, and was currently writing a very serious script about a group of women in a concentration camp in World War II and their ultimate survival.
She suspected that the announcement of Jean-Philippe’s job offer had not gone over well with his wife, and she didn’t want to call him and intrude. She worked all weekend and was pleased with her progress, and he
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