Chapter Text
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?
-copyright Mary Oliver, from the lovely poem The Swan, which the title also comes from.
They used to say he was like a swan - calm, graceful on the surface and paddling up a frenzy were no-one could see. Laurent disagreed with that notion at the time. He disagreed with most things at the time. But now, waiting in another grey reception area for another soul-destroying job interview, he might have been able to see the comparison. Outwardly, he was poised and professional (and mature enough to admit that his looks and expensive suit gave him an advantage in that department.) Inside, he was god damn dervish. His heart was racing. His mind was sprinting. What if they asked questions he hadn’t prepared? What if he insulted the interviewer? (that one had precedent.)What if he ripped his trousers when he sat down? (Laurent did like to wear his clothes fitted. It was a genuine concern.)
What if they asked about the gaps in his CV?
He wanted to take out his phone, if not to text Auguste then to look at the reassuring messages his brother had sent earlier. But fiddling on your phone when you were nervous was fine before a class, not before an interview. Laurent breathed, slowly, but not as deeply as he would have liked. He didn’t want the people who already worked here to think he was a heavy breather before he even got an interview.
He needed this job. He needed any job, really, where he could call himself a practicing lawyer. Almost two years had lapsed since he passed the bar and Laurent had never really worked in any legal capacity. He hadn’t worked much at all, really. If he didn’t use his law license soon, itwould be cease to be valid. And after what happened last time, well, he didn’t really think taking the exams again was a good idea.
Then the perky receptionist was calling his name. “So sorry for the delay,” she said. “You were scheduled to interview with Mr.Varenne but he was delayed in court.” Typical. All this time and effort for nothing. “But one of the partners from head office is here and he’s waiting for you just through these doors. Don’t worry. Torveld is very nice.”
“Thank you,” said Laurent.
-
Torveld explained he normally worked alongside his brother in the head office but he was in town temporarily because of this class action the firm was working on. Had Laurent heard of it?”
“Yes,” Laurent said. “I’ve been following it, actually. The amount of violations in the public documents alone were a shock. I can’t imagine what happened in back rooms.” Laurent had done his research, and he could tell Torveld was impressed. Once Laurent knew that, it was easier to answer questions about his degree and his summer internships and his conflict solving skills. The receptionist had told the truth. Torveld was nice. Laurent thought that maybe he had a shot at this position after all.
Torveld glanced through Laurent’s resumé again, eyebrows knitting together.
“It’s been a couple of years since you passed the bar,” he said.
The bones in Laurent’s chest fused together. “I had a three month position at the city council this summer.” Focus on the positive.
“Before that…?”
Laurent had been here before. He had networked and canvassed and interviewed for more prestigious firms than this. The gap looked bad. It made him look lazy. Yes, they couldn’t discriminate. But they could and would hire the more experienced candidate. He took a sip of water. He let the framed family photo on the desk catch his eye. Not Torveld’s — he was a bachelor — perhaps nieces and nephews? Laurent had researched the firm, too. These cherub-cheeked children were probably the offspring of his brother Torgier.
Laurent had answered this question in various ways over various interviews. He’d embellished — said he was traveling or pursuing some personal goal like writing a book. The dates could not be fudged. He’d been honest and the interviewer had nodded sympathetically. He had not gotten the job. He couldn't be angry about any of it. Even if he'd had some physical illness, no company wanted to hire someone who might go sick again.
“Well,” Laurent said. His eyes strayed to the framed photo again. The younger child wasn't old enough to hold its own head up. That was all the time he could buy before the pause would be a definite sign he was stalling. What the hell. He wasn't going to get this job anyway. Might as well nip the awkward moment in the bud. “It was difficult for me to pursue work at the time. You see, I was at home with the baby.”
“Oh,” said Torveld. “Well, it’s never too late to get back into the workforce. Tell me…what was the most challenging part of working at the city council?”
-
Auguste called him right after the interview. Laurent wondered if he was a bit weird to be so relieved to hear from his brother.
Not like that.
Just…he was meant to be an adult. He was closer to thirty than twenty now and there were possibly job opportunities in other places. But Laurent liked living near his brother. It was important to have a support system. It wasn’t weird, they assured him, especially when he had lost his parents at such a young age.
“How did it go?” Auguste asked, brightly. Everything he did was bright.
“Hard to tell,” Laurent replied. “I won’t hold my breath.”
There was no reason this interview would be different than any of the others. There would be no offer. So there was no need to feel ashamed for the lie about the baby that did not exist and most likely would never exist for him. Yes, it was wrong to lie in interviews. It was wrong to co-opt a very real struggle for women in the workplace.
(Though posing as a woman had gotten him out of trouble before.)
It wouldn’t matter anyway. He’d never get that job.
“Don’t be so defeatist,” Auguste said.
“I’m not.” Laurent was waiting on the curb for his Uber. “I’m…trying really hard, you know?”
“I know. So…dinner tomorrow night?”
“It’s not like I have anything else to do.”
“Laurent.”
“I heard it.” The defeatist tone. “I’ll be over at five,” he said. “You’re both terrible cooks.”
-
Planning a meal, doing the grocery shopping, sending out applications and going for his run took up most of the next day. It was quite amazing how you could stretch things out when you were unemployed. Laurent had once spent an entire week re-organizing his bookshelves and he didn’t even have all of his stuff out of storage yet. He arrived at Auguste’s house at four thirty, which was realistically far too early for any kind of dinner invite. But whatever. They were family. Laurent lived here for three months before he got his own apartment. Auguste would have kept him living there permanently, if it was up to him.
He still had a key. But both cars were in the drive so he knocked rather than let himself in. Kashel, Auguste’s wife, answered the door. Her eyes were red and her face was puffy.
“Is this a bad time?” Laurent asked, automatically. “I can go…”
“Jesus, Laurent. We invited you. Come in.” she said. “I just got my period.”
“I’m sorry,” Laurent said. He really was. Auguste and Kashel had been trying for a baby for a long time. There had been a couple of miscarriages before Laurent moved here. It was tough for both of them. And Laurent now knew more about his sister-in-law’s menstrual cycle and his brother’s sex life than anyone ever should. He wouldn’t say it was the entire reason he got his own place but it was part of it. Ovulation time was…noisy. Their attempts at conception were numerous and spirited.
For poor Kashel, every period she got was stabbing reminder that she had to go longer without being a mother.
“That’s our last round of IVF for a while,” she added. “Our insurance won’t pay anymore.”
“I’m really sorry.” Shit. Maybe Laurent should have stayed living here. What he paid in rent he could have contributed to their insurance bills. God knows what his own premiums and bills had been and Auguste just took care of it. No, he cut himself off. He was not responsible for anyone else’s life. “If you want to pay out of pocket,” he began. “I can…we can.” Laurent and Auguste’s inheritance was basically all tied uptogether. They’d never divided it up. It would have hurt. And they were both fiercely independent, preferring to fend for themselves where possible rather than relying on their parents money.
“I know that,” she said. “You don’t even have to say it. I need a break. It hurts too much.”
“Can I be totally crass and offer you this very nice red wine I brought?”
Kashel threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.
Laurent froze, for a second. He was emphatically not a hugger. But Kashel was surprisingly strong, and she was his family now too. He hugged her back, opened the wine and started cooking. In the back of his mind, there was guilt of the lie at the interview. It had been wrong to invoke some fictional baby when his brother was suffering like this. He focused on chopping the onions instead. He was good at that.
Maybe he’d become a chef when the lawyer thing didn't work out.
They ate early because it seemed important to fill the evening.
“This is really good,” August said.
“It’s just lasagne,” said Laurent. He could taste too much basil.
“Best lasagne that’s ever been cooked in this kitchen.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be hard.” Laurent was smiling as his phone began to buzz. It was rude to answer at the dinner table so he was planning on the silencing the call when he recognised the number on screen. “It’s the law firm from the other day.”
“Answer it!”
“Right. Hello?”
“Hi, Can I speak to Laurent please?”
“This is Laurent.” His cheeks were getting hot. He could feel Auguste and Kashel looking at him.
“Hi, this is Torveld calling from Patras and Patras. I’ll get straight to the point, Laurent. After reviewing all the candidates, we’ve decided to offer you the associate position.”
“Are you serious?”
“I assure you I would not joke about something like this.”
Laurent was aware of Auguste and Kashel, mouths agape, and then the fact he was being quite rude to his … his new employer. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just in shock. Thank you for the offer.”
“Do you need time to think about it?”
“No!” That was Auguste.
“No. No, I do not.” A job. Finally a job. “I’d be delighted to accept. Thank you.”
“Excellent,” said Torveld. “My assistant will send you your contract and arrange your induction. Welcome to the team, Laurent.”
“Thank you for the opportunity.”
“You are very welcome.”
Laurent put down the phone. Casually, he went back to his dinner. It was fun to fuck with Auguste sometimes.
“Well?” Auguste was literally on the edge of his seat.
“I got the job.”
“He got the job!” Kashel pushed back her chair and enveloped Laurent in the second hug of the evening. Then Auguste was wrapping his arms around him, too.
It was nice.
Laurent hadn’t felt what it was like to make someone proud in a very long time.
-
His first day was a blur. There were countless slideshows about company policy and the correct way to lift boxes. A short third year associate named Jord showed Laurent the ropes. The work, he was confident of. But the copy machine terrified him and he vowed never to touch the coffee maker. His first assignment was to review documents relating the big class action case taking up all the firm’s time. They were normally more of a probate and slipping in the supermarket kind of firm so it was a Big Deal for all involved. A group of local residents had taken a case against a developer who appeared to use some not pleasant (and hopefully not legal) means to convince them to sell their homes for way less than market value. Laurent’s brief time in the city council gave him so knowledge of planning applications and that now seemed more important than his very expensive education.
He didn’t mind the work. That kind of detailed analysis always appealed to him. And he didn’t have to speak to anyone. Win all round.
He came home the first day, with the feeling like all he wanted to do was crawl under his covers and never get up. But he did get up. He was so proud of himself for getting up. There was time when that was too much for him. He worked hard and relished the challenge. It was all going so well, until Friday came and Torveld ‘just popped down’ to doc review to check on some papers. His way of saying hurry the fuck up. He made cheery small talk with everyone and of course asked Laurent how he was settling in.
“Great,” said Laurent. “We’ve gotten everything related to power and energy covered today.”
Torveld smiled. “And how are you settling in?”
“Oh, good, I hope.” Flashing a smile back. Laurent did know how to be charming when he had to be. “Jord showed me around. It’s good to work with someone who just gets to the point.”
“You got everything sorted with HR?”
“Yep. Nowhere has as meticulous contracts as a law firm right?”
“Any childcare issues?”
Laurent nearly choked. There was nothing in his mouth but air but he nearly choked all the same. The fake baby was back to haunt him.
“No,” he said. “That’s …no. Well, unless you count showing Orlant there how to work the coffee machine.”
“Hey!” It had happened the other way around.
“You do know once you pass your three month probation you get better benefits, too?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Someone appeared at the door then. It was Jord. “Torveld! I’ve got motions back for you to look at,” he said. “And the intern took your car to the cleaners.”
Torveld looked embarrassed. “I wouldn’t normally have an intern do that kind of work,” he said. “But there’s a damn kid in my motel building that keeps egging my car. It’s the second time this week and I can’t go to the court with eggy car now can I?”
Eggy car. Was this really the best legal mind in the city?
“Kids these days, eh?” Orlant offered.
“My nieces are terrors. It’s all ahead of you, Laurent.” With a clap on the shoulder that took Laurent by surprise. “Have a good weekend, folks.”
“You too.”
“Kid?” Orlant asked, over the top of a paper file.
“It’s complicated.”
Laurent was so fucked.
-
Sunday afternoon, Auguste insisted Laurent come over for the last usage of his grill this year. Incinerating meat was as far as Auguste’s cooking skills went. Laurent was oddly intrigued to see how he would feed himself all winter. Most likely, the local takeout places got a revenue boost. Laurent tried to get out of it. But Auguste knew his social life was non-existent and reading was not an acceptable excuse to his brother. So he made a bomb pasta salad and took an Uber to Auguste’s house at the required time. There were quite a few cars already there. Apparently August’s Last (grill) Stand was quite famous among his friends. Laurent had met them all individually over the last months but it was quite another thing to have them all there at once. He’d have to bring his A game, in terms of socialisation, so Auguste didn’t worry. And it would take him days to recover from the interaction.
It was good to distract Kashel though. She was still down about the failed IVF attempt. She was like Auguste — thrived in a large group. But for all the cheery smiles, the warm way she ushered Laurent into the house and praised his salad and made jokes with their many friends, both of them were hurting deeply. Laurent had to be mindful of that.
He absolutely could not tell them he invented a fictional baby to woo an interviewer and now said fake baby had come back to bite him on the ass.
Kashel’s friends were nice. They decided to accept Laurent into their fold on first sight. Him talking football with the boys was never an option and he didn’t really mind. It was less effort to talk Housewives with them than stats with Auguste’s bros. Laurent accepted a beer and felt himself relax. This was a casual get together. Kids in the yard. Boys at the grill. Women at the wine. Normal. He didn’t need to make it something big in his head.
And Auguste casually dropped into conversation here and there that Laurent had finally acquired a job. There was congrats, and more back-slapping, which were nice and strange. And it was easier to join in conversation when you too had work in the morning and a boss and other such adult things.
It was easier when Auguste was proud.
Laurent ate. He drank beer. He helped Kashel’s friend stage an arty insta shot in the yard. He listened, with equal amounts disgust and fascination, while another explained the complicated Kardashian-Jenner-Chyna-Tyga family dynamic. He’d been unemployed for some time. There wasn’t much about trash television that he didn’t already know. Somehow, in the centre, he had formed opinions on each and every daytime tv host and it still a struggle not to argue about them online or in public. It had been normal once. The time he’d introduced everyone there to Jeremy Kyle caused debate for at least three weeks.
Most men his age had zero opinions on such things and Laurent was furiously determined to avoid living up to any stereotype — gay, unemployed, former resident of a ‘centre’ so elite the gates had no sign and its treatment programmes had no website.
He stepped outside to see if Auguste needed any more help or maybe just for air. The back yard was empty now. Just the lingering smoke and falling leaves remained.
No.
It wasn’t empty.
There was a child.
Laurent blinked. Twice. Three times.
He hadn’t drank that much. He wasn’t on any medication. There was no earthly reason why he should be hallucinating a baby in Auguste’s backyard. Not just any baby. A baby that looked like him. Fair skin, white blond hair and piecing blue eyes. All of Kashel’s friends and their various broods were as dark as her.
“Hello,” he said, rather too formally. The child was splashing among the leaves as if they were water. He was about to take step forward when a man dashed around from the side of the house.
“There you are,” he said (to the baby, not Laurent.) “How’d you escape so quickly, buddy?” He scooped the child into his big arms. He was tall, large all over, and extremely handsome. Men like him did not exist in towns like this. Men like him mostly existed in Hollywood movies about ancient wars, where the star had personal trainers, chefs, surgeons and Adobe Photoshop. He smiled at Laurent, friendly. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I promise I don’t usually let my kid run wild like that. He made a run for it while I was getting his pacifier from the trunk. You’re Laurent, right? I’m Damen.” Shifting the child to one arm, so he could offer his hand to Laurent.
Christ, he was strong. Laurent was glad he had made it a personal goal in life to perfect a strong handshake of his own.
“Hello,” he said. Shit. Say something else. Damen would think that was the extent of his vocabulary. “He’s …he doesn’t look like you.”
Damen laughed a little. “I get that a lot. You wouldn’t believe the amount of people who told me I should get a DNA test when Theo was born.”
“Cute name,” Laurent said.
“After my father.” Damen was smiling down at Laurent. Theo said something and Damen popped the soother in his mouth.
He could pass for mine.
It was a ridiculous thought, a ridiculous chance to take. But Laurent could see little other choice.
And he’d always been partial to a good ruse.
“Damen,” he said. “I know this sounds weird but is there any chance I could briefly borrow your baby?”