Amande et Lisle

We were camping in France one summer a few years back, the camp was almost empty, the weather was pleasantly warm. A caravan pulled into the site and parked up close to the services block. A middle aged French couple got out and immediately started cleaning. She, in a bikini, washed all the clothes in the sink while he took everything out of the caravan and scrubbed it. By the end of the day they had washed and dried everything and all the stuff was back in the caravan spotless. The next morning they started on the car and the outside of the van. He was on the roof with a brush and pail of water, she washed and polished the car, hubcaps, tyres everything. We just watched, they were friendly enough, we all smiled and waved and said hello. When they finished on the car and van they started on the plastic camp furniture, those white chairs and tables that are everywhere. They scoured the campsite for stuff to clean. We left bewildered. What, we wondered, could be the explanation for this behaviour?
This story became the first of a series of 'what happened?' which we used as topics for 'Write Club'; our local writing group. In this case we wondered what happened before they arrived on the campsite.

Amande et Lisle

Amande poses himself at the table, takes a deep breath and waits. Lisle, washing up brush at the ready, pushes back a stray strand of hair and looks up at Louis. Louis crosses his legs and leans back on his chair, glances round at the rest of the crew making sure they're ready, and mutters "Dominic! Dominic, already in position holding the camera intones "Quiet please. Ready. And action!
Lisle and Amande start acting. She has stubborn stains which won't come off in the dishwasher. Amande doesn't care because he is a man, but his interest is aroused by her bobbling boobs as she struggles to clean the dishes (she's wearing a bikini). Dominic zooms in on Amandes leery attention then pans left to the animated boobs then back to Amandes lascivious gaze. Through the door comes Marie, the next door neighbour, carrying a shopping basket. She asks what's going on as Amande pretends to read the newspaper. Lisle explains her difficulty and Marie solves it with a dip into her shopping bag to reveal her recently acquired pack of Dishoscrub tablets especially formulated for Lisle's particular problem. No more frustrating scrubbing. Lisle is delighted and immediately starts loading the dishwasher. Dominic pans right to catch Amande displaying his beaten-by-the-system look for which he is famous and well-paid in this small world of household products advertising. It's a wrap.

Amande sighs as he fold his newspaper and puts it down on the table. This is earning a living. A good living. It must be six, maybe seven, years since he started working for Disho. He had auditioned for this series of commercials during a slack period after the network had decided to elbow his frustrated-at-home-husband sitcom at short notice. He had character-acted his way around the cleaning activities of a number of tele-femmes. Lisle had been brought in after Michelle, the most recent, had gone off to do a real soap, so to speak.
Amande likes the money but actually by now he's got enough to last a while and he had thought of doing something more interesting, theatre perhaps. Then the sudden appearance of Lisle put his plans on hold. Everyone has noticed the chemistry between them, the electricity and, let's face it, the biology. Amande is frankly obsessed by her, for somewhere in the depths of his soul he is grabbed by the sight of this woman cleaning.
In between commissions he plays tennis, reads books, has short term relationships, visits clubs, watches films and so on, but nothing does it for him quite like the few minutes he has spent watching Lisle, in her bikini, scrubbing, buffing and polishing, her surprisingly youthful butt waggling as she expends elbow grease, sweat beading on her lovely neck, her determination to rid her life of grease and grime projected onto the life contours of her Audrey Hepburn features.
Fate could not have conjured a more ironic contradiction for Amande. Back at his second story flat in Toulouse he requires not one but three cleaning ladies to keep up with his slovenly life-style. Within hours of being rendered clean and tidy he is capable of creating what amounts to an installation of anti-hygiene. He hates housework and even the thought of lifting a broom or wringing out a dishcloth fills him with loathing. However he knows he should act quickly and build upon the attraction that has been developing between himself and Lisle during the past few days but he could not think of inviting her into his appalling living conditions. He walks across the tarmac to his car and sits for a moment holding the wheel. He reaches up and turns the rear-view mirror and looks at himself. "You dickhead! he says and starts the engine.

Lisle heading home, having completed the small amount of work that would keep her going for the next month, is stuck in a traffic jam on the edge of Toulon, she pulls on her cigarette and flicks the ash into the ether. It lands on the hub of the steering wheel, disintegrates, and drifts slowly onto her lap. She doesn't notice. She is thinking about Amande. She has known him for what? Four days. They have exchanged polite conversations but she doesn't really know much about him. She would like to know him better, but how? Attractive middle-aged men are rare and though she knows there is definitely something between them she doesn't want to appear too eager. Ah well! The traffic moves and she takes the off ramp to the suburb where she rents her two bedroom detatched house. She pulls into the drive, drags her shopping out of the car and unlocks the front door.
Pushing the door open she struggles into the hall. To a casual observer it resembles an indoor landfill site. To Lisle it resembles an indoor landfill site, but she's used to it so it doesn't bother her. Well actually it does bother her but not as much as it would bother her to clean it up. She, like Amande, hates cleaning. The work she does for disho pays the rent but she hates the scrubbing bit. She roots out a tumbler from the kitchen floor, rinses it out, pours herself a brandy and lights a fag. Stepping over empty cartons, plastic bottles and carrier bags she wends her way into the living room pausing to glance at herself in the hall mirror. "Still pretty fit she thinks, then cancels the thought remembering that without her glasses she is only seeing the airbrushed version. "Well still the right shape! She says out loud, picks up her bag and slumps onto the newspaper strewn sofa only to find herself being indecently assaulted by a champagne bottle aided and abetted by an empty yoghurt pot and accompanying spoon.
She slings them onto the floor and fag in mouth starts to rummage in her bag. She immediately encounters Amandes newspaper which she must have absentmindedly picked up in the studio. The newspaper is folded back to reveal a half complete crossword. "This she thinks. would be the lamest of all lame excuses But nevertheless she allows herself to daydream.
She would phone him casually. " I picked up your newspaper by mistake and noticed you hadn't completed the crossword she would casually muse "I thought you might have liked to complete it, and since it takes so little effort to make a phone call, but if it doesn't matter I'll throw it out, by the way how did you think the shoot went? Lame lame lame! Pathetically lame!
Two brandies later and a few rehearsals, she picks up the phone.

Amande, feet on the coffee table, roots around through empty pizza trays, beer cans and newspapers on the floor with his free hand until he feels the phone. He puts it to his ear only to discover congealed cassoulet juice on the earpiece which he wipes off on his cardigan. "Amande Delacroix he announces in his best 'this-could-be-a-job-offer' actors voice.
"Oh! Er! Amande this is Lisle¦¦Lisle Depardieu¦¦¦from the studio.
Amandes brain goes into cortical shock
"Lisle¦! He chews the name out and instantly visits every corner of the universe of reasons why she would be calling him.
"I picked up your newspaper after the shoot by the way what did you think¦¦..about the shoot, I mean¦Er. Good wasn't it (Jesus on a moped! What was she doing) Lisle puts her hand over the mouthpiece and takes a deep breath.
Amande, meanwhile, has retaken control of his mouth but not his brain. "Lisle! How nice to¦¦..Um! Yes a good shoot I think¦Um! Dominic is¦Er¦very good! Amandes brain come back online but in grainy black and white. "And Louis too¦.he's¦..Er ¦good! (Merde on toast!)
A millennium passes then they both speak at once. I wondered since you obviously hadn't finished the crossword¦¦. "Well anyway¦¦Disho is a¦¦.!. "And I wondered if¦. "The crossword! Well I¦Because a phonecall¦... Hadn't finished it but¦¦...
They both shut up and Amande realises that she merely wants to return his newspaper so that he can complete the crossword. She's a clean and tidy person who wants to tie up loose ends. It's obvious!
And an opportunity.
"Er! Well I was wondering what happened to the newspaper, and I do like to finish the crossword. He lies trying to sound in control. "Perhaps I could come over and pick it up¦say¦tomorrow?
"No Need. Says Lisle quickly. "I'm in Toulouse tomorrow . I'll just drop it in.
" Wouldn't dream of putting you to the trouble. Amande rejoins, an octave higher than he would have liked. Sweat is suddenly streaming down his face at the thought of this woman, for whom cleanliness is obviously important, entering the squalor he knows and¦..I'll come over to yours¦¦perhaps we could have lunch?
("Lunch! A date! Here? Arghhh!) Lisle, broiled in brandy, slews through delight, terror, anticipation, panic and despair before alighting on desperation. "Nooo¦Er¦.No¦.Er¦.No need really. she slurs. "Just remind me of your address and I'll see you at¦.say¦..midday?
("Shit in a basket! She's determined to catch him in his unhygienic underwear!). Amande, in a moment of creativity, rediscovers the concept of bluster and wades in. "Well actually¦..tomorrow¦.er¦.I was thinking¦of¦er¦.going out and ¦er¦. (Doing What? Exactly?) " Oh! Er¦! He mops the sweat from his face with what a tiny despairing piece of his brain recognises as yesterdays Y fronts. He peers desperately around and spots through the window a caravan parked in the drive next door. "Er¦take the caravan¦.and¦..er¦.do a bit of caravanning ("Merde!Merde!Merde!)
("Caravanning?!) Lisle suddenly becomes lucid. He's inviting her to go caravanning. Weird! Interesting! She swills a mouthful of brandy and as it burns down her gullet she metaphorically holds her nose and jumps. "OK. Where shall we meet?
Amande, eyes glued to the caravan in the street, underwear in hand, fascinated and appalled by his own disintegration finds himself intoning. "Aire de Dijon? On the D143? Twelve thirty?
Lisle, by now alcoholically confident, replies. "See you there. (Ooh La La! A date, and no danger of him discovering her dangerous secret, as long as she doesn't slip up tomorrow.)
Amande puts down the phone, puts down his underpants and looks around. At least she wasn't going to see his appalling living conditions. He roots around in the debris until he finds the yellow pages and searches in the index for caravan sales.

At 11.30 the next day Amande, poorer by 1200 euros, pulls onto the D143 with his new caravan in tow. This was madness but exciting too! He drives into the Aire di Dijon at 12.35 and looks around. Lisle has cunningly hidden her filthy old Renault behind some trees and is seated at one of the picnic table reading Molier. Amande is smitten. "Mon Dieu! What a woman! he thinks, "So attractive, so intellectual¦so¦clean!
"Bonjour Madame! he shouts through the window. "Lets go caravanning
Lisle closes her book and jogs jauntily across to the car. "What a lovely clean caravan! She says, offering her scrubbed up credentials for inspection.
"Not as cleans and I would have liked! Amande replies, with his biggest screen grin, "Needs a bit of polish n'est pas?
"Oh! I'd love an opportunity to bring it up to scratch she returns with a smile so wide it renders his heart into a quivering blob.
"Well maybe¦ he hazards "¦we should look for the first possible chance to bring it up to your obviously high standards?
Lisle, her smile cast in concrete (" if this is what it takes¦) "I hate dirt! Don't you? She jumps into the passenger seat and they drive off.

Finis