had breakfast and were working on dessert. Each other.” I got it all out in one breath, before I lost my nerve or took off my shoe and nailed him with the heel.
“Amanda, don’t jump to conclusions.” Andre shook his head as if I were a child.
“What conclusion would you jump to if you found me half-naked with my legs wrapped around another man? Escaping a rabid rat population?”
“We once had a rat in the storage closet,” Andre mused.
“You were fucking her, Andre. You were fucking the chef standing up in broad daylight.”
Andre drank his lemonade. He put his hand on my arm. Usually his touch sent an electric shock through my body. I willed myself not to react. I would not give in to his charm.
“Amanda.” He circled my waist with both hands.
“Andre, I saw you and you saw me.” I pulled away. I was shaking so hard I wanted to sit down, but our kitchen was too narrow for a table and chairs.
“Amanda, I am a fool and I am sorry. Ursula was crying, she was homesick and I was trying to comfort her. She has never been so far from home. We got carried away. It was nothing.”
“You were fucking her! That’s not nothing, that’s everything!” I would have taken off my heel and hit him, but then he would have been taller than me.
“It is nothing. You are everything. It will never happen again.” He pulled me to him and nuzzled my neck. I felt the warmth of his breath and his wonderful smell of cologne and fresh bread. On Tuesdays he baked bread, we ate fresh bread every Tuesday night.
“Has it ever happened before?” I asked carefully, not moving out of his embrace.
He stepped back as if I had physically wounded him. “What do you think? Of course not! She was just homesick. I will fire her immediately. We will advertise for a new chef.”
“You said it’s impossible to find a chef in America who knows how to bake fondue.”
“I will cover all the shifts until we find a replacement. Nothing is more important than you. I’ll find an old ugly chef, one with a hump on her back and a wart on her nose.” He kissed my cheek.
“Andre, I know about all the others; about Bella and Angie, your whole harem. I don’t think even a wart on her nose would stop you. You are a serial adulterer and I want a divorce.”
“What are you talking about?” Andre asked. He was very calm; his green eyes were wide and innocent.
“I’m talking about you using La Petite Maison as a brothel since the day it opened. It is your restaurant, of course, at least sixty percent of it.”
“You are mad, Amanda! Who told you these lies?”
“Stephanie, your silent partner, finally spilled the beans. I am furious with her for not telling me sooner, for letting me be a fool for Max’s whole life!” I could feel the tears start again. I pushed them back. I couldn’t show any weakness or Andre would be on me like a bear with a honey pot.
“She made it up, Amanda. Who do you believe, Stephanie or me?”
“Why would she make it up?”
“She is jealous of you. She has that boring old husband who thinks a fun night is solving a Rubik’s cube.”
“I thought you liked Glenn.”
“I like Glenn, but I don’t have to sleep with him. She’s always wanted to get in my pants. She’s trying to get back at me for rejecting her.” He stroked my hair. For one second I faltered. What if Andre was telling the truth? He started kissing my neck and I closed my eyes. But I flashed on the image of him entwined with Ursula, her tall, lean body pushing against his, his hands on her breasts. I opened my eyes and pulled away.
“This is ridiculous, Andre. I saw you. Whether it happened before, dozens of times before, is beside the point. I can’t live with an adulterer. I want you to leave.”
Andre went into the living room and sat down on the low chocolate brown sofa. He kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs. “I don’t want to leave,” he said.
“Well, you can’t stay.” I followed him into the living room
“Amanda, don’t jump to conclusions.” Andre shook his head as if I were a child.
“What conclusion would you jump to if you found me half-naked with my legs wrapped around another man? Escaping a rabid rat population?”
“We once had a rat in the storage closet,” Andre mused.
“You were fucking her, Andre. You were fucking the chef standing up in broad daylight.”
Andre drank his lemonade. He put his hand on my arm. Usually his touch sent an electric shock through my body. I willed myself not to react. I would not give in to his charm.
“Amanda.” He circled my waist with both hands.
“Andre, I saw you and you saw me.” I pulled away. I was shaking so hard I wanted to sit down, but our kitchen was too narrow for a table and chairs.
“Amanda, I am a fool and I am sorry. Ursula was crying, she was homesick and I was trying to comfort her. She has never been so far from home. We got carried away. It was nothing.”
“You were fucking her! That’s not nothing, that’s everything!” I would have taken off my heel and hit him, but then he would have been taller than me.
“It is nothing. You are everything. It will never happen again.” He pulled me to him and nuzzled my neck. I felt the warmth of his breath and his wonderful smell of cologne and fresh bread. On Tuesdays he baked bread, we ate fresh bread every Tuesday night.
“Has it ever happened before?” I asked carefully, not moving out of his embrace.
He stepped back as if I had physically wounded him. “What do you think? Of course not! She was just homesick. I will fire her immediately. We will advertise for a new chef.”
“You said it’s impossible to find a chef in America who knows how to bake fondue.”
“I will cover all the shifts until we find a replacement. Nothing is more important than you. I’ll find an old ugly chef, one with a hump on her back and a wart on her nose.” He kissed my cheek.
“Andre, I know about all the others; about Bella and Angie, your whole harem. I don’t think even a wart on her nose would stop you. You are a serial adulterer and I want a divorce.”
“What are you talking about?” Andre asked. He was very calm; his green eyes were wide and innocent.
“I’m talking about you using La Petite Maison as a brothel since the day it opened. It is your restaurant, of course, at least sixty percent of it.”
“You are mad, Amanda! Who told you these lies?”
“Stephanie, your silent partner, finally spilled the beans. I am furious with her for not telling me sooner, for letting me be a fool for Max’s whole life!” I could feel the tears start again. I pushed them back. I couldn’t show any weakness or Andre would be on me like a bear with a honey pot.
“She made it up, Amanda. Who do you believe, Stephanie or me?”
“Why would she make it up?”
“She is jealous of you. She has that boring old husband who thinks a fun night is solving a Rubik’s cube.”
“I thought you liked Glenn.”
“I like Glenn, but I don’t have to sleep with him. She’s always wanted to get in my pants. She’s trying to get back at me for rejecting her.” He stroked my hair. For one second I faltered. What if Andre was telling the truth? He started kissing my neck and I closed my eyes. But I flashed on the image of him entwined with Ursula, her tall, lean body pushing against his, his hands on her breasts. I opened my eyes and pulled away.
“This is ridiculous, Andre. I saw you. Whether it happened before, dozens of times before, is beside the point. I can’t live with an adulterer. I want you to leave.”
Andre went into the living room and sat down on the low chocolate brown sofa. He kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs. “I don’t want to leave,” he said.
“Well, you can’t stay.” I followed him into the living room
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