Third Time’s the Charm

The school called Elizabeth’s mother after they caught her and a friend smoking in an unused classroom. Her mother didn’t lecture her about health or morality during their long walk home–she’d long ago exhausted everything there was to say–so Elizabeth assumed she was free to go to her room. One look back into her mother’s horn-rimmed stare halted her on the bottom step.

“How many times?”

“Only once.” Elizabeth immediately regretted the lie. “Twice.”

“Once is a whim.” Her mother held up a single finger. “Twice is a pattern.” She added another finger, and then a third. “Three times is a habit, and nobody breaks a habit.”

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Years later, Elizabeth stepped off a bus at a country club in the Virginia suburbs. She wasn’t the only one who had arrived on the bus, but nobody else walked up the crushed marble path to the grand entrance. All the others shuffled to the servant door around the side. On her first visit, the concierge had insisted on directing her that way as well and, had Henri not been there to vouch for her, she might have spent a shift washing dishes.

This time, the concierge smiled and waved her in without bothering to check the invitation she withdrew from her purse. Elizabeth knew the route, down this hall and past the cafe, her footfalls vanishing in the fine carpet, until she reached Henri’s private smoking room.

He sat in a dark leather chair facing a fireplace. No fire burned, of course, not in the oppressive Potomac summer heat, but Elizabeth knew Henri liked to discard his butts below the andirons. His face crinkled into a smile at the sight of her, causing his bulldog jowls to jiggle and his bushy eyebrows to jut upwards. He reminded her of a grandfather, although he had assured her he had no children. Henri reached out and tapped the chair next to him. Elizabeth sat, clutching her purse tightly to her lap.

“I worried you would not come today.” He brought his cigarette back to his plump lips and took a long drag.

Elizabeth had not been sure she would return either. Things had changed since their first meeting, when Henri had returned her missing dog. She had been so grateful; she had no husband and few friends, especially not at work. Her dog was the center of her social life. She had invited Henri in for coffee. He represented a French defense company, he had explained when she asked about his accent, in town seeking NATO contracts. Their conversation had been pleasant but formal. At the end, he had handed her a hundred dollar bill and told her it was to fix up the fence, so her dog did not escape again.

“I need to ask you a question.” Elizabeth opened her purse. Henri leaned forward, his eyes fixated on her hands, but leaned back when he saw she had only withdrawn her cigarettes.

“I am as open as a book to you, my darling.” Henri retrieved his lighter. He struck a flame and held it out to her. “You may ask me anything.”

Despite their many conversations, Elizabeth knew very little about Henri. Their initial visit had been followed by more coffees around her kitchen table and more hundred dollar bills: for household repairs or groceries or medical expenses. While he had always been polite and attentive, he excelled at steering talk away from himself. She had noticed the only time he really lit up was when she mentioned her colleagues at the State Department.

“That day we first met.” Elizabeth paused to take a draw from her cigarette. “Did my dog really escape?”

“How do you mean? I returned him to you.”

At one of their kitchen table conversations, Henri had mentioned how useful it would be to know who worked with her. Some of her coworkers must hold great influence in the distribution of contracts, after all, and with that information, he could better direct his lobbying. Elizabeth had agreed to bring him a copy of a recent payroll ledger. Then, for the first time, he had asked her to join him at this country club rather than her kitchen table.

“Please don’t lie to me.” Elizabeth ashed her cigarette in the tray. “Did my dog escape, or did you let him out?”

At that first country club meeting, after Elizabeth had handed over the ledger, Henri had given her a Swiss bank account with a balance of five thousand dollars.

Henri did not answer her. After he had taken several long draws from his cigarette, Elizabeth asked more questions.

“What have you done with the documents I gave you? What company could think they are worth thousands of dollars?”

Still no answer.

“Are you really French? Do you have children? Grandchildren? Is your name Henri? Have you told me one true thing since we met?”

Henri flicked his butt into the fireplace. “Does it matter?”

“What? Of course it does.”

“My dear, look around you.” Henri waved his hand at the velvet-curtained window, at the golf course beyond, at Washington, at the whole United States. “Everything here is a transaction. Some are monetary, some are carnal, some are ideological. I have very much enjoyed your company while we do business, and I think you have enjoyed mine. The answers to your questions might upset our pleasant equilibrium. So, I ask again: does it matter? Or might I remain the French lobbyist who found your dog?”

Elizabeth reached into her purse again, this time withdrawing a tightly-folded packet of papers.

“I could set this on fire.” She held the packet in one hand and rolled her lit cigarette between the fingers on the other. If the two touched, what would Henri do? Jump from his chair or watch them burn?

“I don’t think you will.” He didn’t move.

“You’re right, my friend.” Elizabeth tossed the packet onto his lap. “You’ve become a habit. What should I get next?”