The Little Black Cigarette Chapter 2
Chapter 2: The Proposition
To read chapter 1: The Rendezvous click here
I made my way down the steps towards the garden, never taking my eyes off Cecile and the two men that accompanied her. She seemed more friendly with the larger of the two, lifting hair from her smiling eyes in order to look up at him. He stood at least ten inches above her already staggering 5 foot 9 frame. His clothes fit tight around his shoulders and arms, stretching the fabric severely, and he walked athletically, but with a retired reluctance in his posture. He was explaining something to Cecile, using his oversized hands comically in big gestures. She laughed, covering her eyes in order to invoke a sense of shame she should have felt at his words, only she didn’t and again she laughed, more energetically than before.
Behind them both, wrestling the rope attached to the boat into a cleat hitch knot, was a smaller man, both in frame and stature. But he wasn’t small. More sophisticated than his friend, and less colorful, maybe. There was a certain poignancy to his expression as he moved away from the boat. His dark hair, shaved finely on the sides but kept extra long on top, curled dangerously around his probing brows. In comparison to his friend, who sported a well trimmed beard, his face was freshly shaven, accentuating his unblemished, tight skin and troublesome lips. He placed a hand on his forehead to shield his gaze from the sun as he looked in my direction. A ring on his pinky finger caught a glare for a moment until, upon seeing me, he returned his hand to his pocket and rested where he was.
“Anna!” Cecile shrieked, running past him, towards me, embracing me immediately, “It’s so good to finally see you! Isn’t this great? Tell me you haven’t felt more joy?”
Her skin glistened youthfully under the afternoon rays, I had never seen her more beautiful. She grabbed my face with both her hands, squishing my cheeks into my lips playfully. Heavy emeralds dangled from her ears.
“Don’t ruin all the fun with such a tired face! Come, let’s go to the boat and cheer up!” She took off towards the boat, forgetting to take me along with her, her large companion followed protectively behind.
“You looked flushed, and rightfully so.” Pierre took one of my hands in his and squeezed it affirmingly, “I can’t imagine the morning you must have had. Feeling confused are we?”
Though I could tell he was French, his accent almost completely diminished when he spoke English. His hands were soft and intimate on mine, holding them close to his chest, looking down at my feet. I still had yet to speak a word.
“Oh those shoes! Those demonic things. How are you fending in them? You nearly bit my head clear off the other night complaining about what pain they caused you. You are a child in moments of pain. Wow, you must just be stunned,” He laughed and let my hands fall, tipping my chin up towards his and kissing me once on the forehead, “I can’t begin to explain how much I’ve missed you by my side, and it has only been hours!”
His right hand reached out and cradled the ruby around my neck.
“Stunned. Stunned is a way to put it. I think I’ve moved onto total acceptance. You are Pierre, right?”
“I will happily be whoever you want me to be,” he said while leading me to the boat, which was more precious close up than could be appreciated from the bridge.
Cecile, and the man who’s name I still had yet to acquire, took a seat in the back of the boat while Pierre helped me into a seat up front by his. She was still smiling and laughing without restraint at every utterance out of her friend’s mouth. I thought of how badly her cheeks must have hurt by then.
“So what is it that you do remember?” Pierre had casted us off into the water and we headed down river towards the Eiffel. I told him how I sparingly remembered my Friday night being spent drunkenly with Cecile, all the meaningless scenes from the bars, his hand reaching towards me by the water. He cackled at the idea that to me I was seeing his face, meeting him, for the first time. I went on to explain my morning, walking around the 8th arrondissement aimlessly, failing to piece together my thoughts. When I got to the book I found resting open in the office he interrupted me, turning to the lovebirds behind us, and commanded a cigarette. His hair lifting in the breeze that carried us down the river.
“Did you put it away?”
“I’m sorry?” forgetting for a moment what I had been saying, then quickly remembering, “Yes, yes I put it away back into the bookshelf.
“Good. Well I would love to explain the past few days we’ve spent together in the detail it demands, but I’m afraid we just don’t have the time. We’re just barely going to make our meeting as is. Boris! Hand me that box would you?” He reached back and took a small, gold cigarette case from the large palm of Boris. Then, opening it towards me so that I could see its interior filled with long, hand rolled, black cigarettes, he instructed me to take one.
“I...I don’t seem to have a light.” I stumbled over my words.
Putting the filter to my lips, I looked unsurely at Pierre while he flicked a lighter with a smile. I could hear Cecile’s excitement grow behind me.
“She will finally be feeling like herself again!” She howled out again in laughter.
I took a drag and pulled the rough black paper from my lips. The smoke tasted surprisingly sweet and I coughed slightly, putting it again to my lips, then taking it away to inspect it with my clouded eyes. This isn’t a cigarette at all, is it? Just as I went to speak, my gaze rested on Pierre’s. He reassured me it was all okay, whispering let it pass, it’ll all pass over you now. I leaned back in my seat, letting my heavy head rest behind me, and smoke covered my eyes until I shut them tight.
The smoke cleared and I was back by the Seine, though now my feet were dangling over its water. My dusty, black boots strapped to my feet, heavy heels pulling my drunken body towards the weak current.
“Careful you don’t fall in. Why don’t you come away from there?” Pierre looked down at me, smoking a cigarette, his eyes bouncing between the glimmering water and me.
“I’ve told her three times now, but she’s set on her position,” Cecile spoke now, clearly intrigued by Pierre. I could see Boris shadowing behind us, not making any noise but listening carefully.
“She gets like this,” she continued, “Practically invincible with a little bit of gin in the system. I had to chase her! Can you believe that? Chased her in these heels!” Cecile angrily motioned to the four inch platforms she was wearing.
“Oh please, you were laughing the whole way like a proper circus clown,” I rolled my eyes as I addressed her playfully. Pierre smiled out the side of his pressed lips.
“We are thinking of heading to a club a few blocks from here, sure could use some beautiful women to help us get in the door,” he winked.
“Judging by your bodyguard behind us, I don’t think you’ll be having an issue.”
Boris stepped forward as I mentioned him. I looked again at Pierre and his smug, pleased expression, and began to stand up. My head, heavy with alcohol, caused me to lose my footing, falling away from the railing and towards the water. I reached back with a hand hoping to find the railing, but Pierre flung towards me, tossing his cigarette to the ground where it sparked and went out in a puddle. Gripping my arm, he pulled me back safely to the rail.
“Looks like I’m not the only one needing a bodyguard tonight.” His confidence flooded each word as it exited his mouth like liquid velvet.
I gathered myself and climbed over the railing, taking all the focus I had left in me. Cecile was standing now as well, intermittently glancing in the direction of Boris.
“Anyway, the club is just over there,” he pointed in the direction of the 8th arrondissement, “I’ll have my car pulled around so you ladies don’t have to walk in those poorly constructed heels. Boris! Do you mind calling?”
“No, I think we can find our way walking just fine,” it was Cecile who spoke this time, looking at me sternly as if to warn me not to think otherwise. I followed suit.
“All is well then, we will join you!” Pierre looked at Boris as he spoke, Boris grinned approvingly and we started off towards the club.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Pierre quickened his step to match my rhythm.
“Anna,” I replied reluctantly, trying to appear bothered by his persistence.
“Anna,” he repeated it again under his breath, “My father had a friend named Anna when I was young, a Russian woman. Are you of Russian descent?”
“Can’t say I am. My last name is Sullivan, hardly Russian at all.” Why had I given him my full name? I looked around reluctantly for Cecile but she was preoccupied in her own conversation with Boris.
“Sullivan! Gaelic isn’t it? I believe it translates to one-eyed, or is it hawk-eyed? Anyway, I can’t remember. You don’t look Irish.”
“Red hair, blue eyes, I’m Irish enough.” I was taken back by his sudden interest in my heritage.
“You Americans,” he huffed, “haven’t you ever wondered--”
“No. No, I don’t do much wondering about my family.” My thoughts strayed to my childhood, the last time I saw my grandparents, my grandmother handing me an old story book Tales and Legends from the Land of the Tzar, its raised black lettering still felt soft under my cold fingertips in Paris.
“Well I’m Pierre, French of course. Though I don’t live here in Paris, I’m only passing through to see family and tend to some business.”
I remembered thinking I didn’t ask, but before I could say anything I heard Cecile gasp behind me.
“Oh! Oh I see now.” She seemed to be completely enthralled by Boris, “Wow, this couldn’t be a better feeling.”
I turned to find her smoking a thin, black cigarette. It looked like a twig in her hand, only noticeable by its orange butt and swirling tail of smoke. Her eyes were joyously lit up and she held onto Boris’s tree trunk arms like a child.
“Anna! You have to try this! It is simply unlike anything I have ever experienced, and with just a puff as well! What would happen if I smoked the entire thing?”
She timidly brought the twig back to her lips just as Boris intervened, grabbing it lovingly from her dainty fingers.
“No, no. We don’t need to be pulling you down from the ceiling tonight,” his voice boomed and echoed off the empty water to our left.
Boris looked in the direction of Pierre who gave him an approving nod, then, after taking one last puff himself, extended the small cigarette to me. I took it between two fingers, examining the rough paper rolled tightly into a cylinder, concealing its ingredients completely. It smelt floral, like a bowl of homemade potpourri.
“What is it?”
“It’s ash from Hell,” Boris said seriously.
“You first,” I motioned it towards Pierre.
“No, I’ve already had enough black poppies today, thank you.”
With a keen eye on Pierre’s anxious movements, I brought the unknown substance to my lips.
What happened next can only be described as an instant--a moment--spread out evenly across a minute that felt like an hour. The smoke evaporated warmly in my lungs, and I felt it move from my chest into my arms, then my legs, tingling every receptor with nothing other than pure, unadulterated bliss. Colors were tampered with in my eyes, but not in the way of any hallucinogen I had taken before. Light shimmered in silver and gold, like old money falling from the sky. Colors melted into different shades of black and white, changing my perception of Paris, ordering it by heat levels instead of shapes and structures. Pierre’s smile reached out and touched my skin, sharing his happiness with mine, then with Cecile and Boris, in flawless unison.
“And now?” said Pierre.
And now I was beginning to understand Cecile’s rapture.
We made it to the first club, walking briskly past a long line of finely dressed men and women. My feet didn’t feel connected to the ground, walking was better described as floating, so I floated behind Pierre and Boris. They greeted the men guarding the door as old friends might after a period of drought, then waited for Cecile and I to enter first. Pierre ushered me inside with an uninvited hand on my lower back.
We ended up with a table of our own in the VIP section. Pierre ordered oversized bottles of champagne which arrived on platters carried by unclothed women, corked with sparklers. Cecile pulled me out onto the dance floor where we swung carelessly until my feet tired and I returned to the table. Boris took my place and clasped his hands around Cecile’s innocently. I watched them twirl around and around in circles for hours from my bird's eye above them. Pierre was driving off a nosey man in a downward turned gamblers hat, who was muttering something in excited Italian. I reached for a glass of water from the table.
“Are you having a good time? I used to come here as a youth with all my friends from school, we’d pay off the bouncers to get in before the line. It’s funny--” He paused, giving a nod to the waving hand of a beautiful woman in a slim fitting black dress. “It’s funny to see the place now, not as upscale as my usual nights out in Paris as a man.”
I nodded along to his exhausting stories of high society galas, long anecdotes involving Count so and so's son, nights ending in cocaine filled penthouses overlooking the Eiffel, all things that I not only lacked interest in, but couldn’t relate to in the least. He interchanged his attention between the lively crowds of young drunkards and my uninterested presence, but continued to ramble on.
“You must be wondering why my English is so good?” He said suddenly. I hadn’t given it a thought until he brought it to my attention. “Well, I was sent off to an international school in Switzerland once I turned fourteen. It was nestled up in the Alps, completely isolated. I had learned a base of English in my primary education, of course, along with German, Spanish and Italian. But it was those long courses covered in snow that really polished my English. Completely fluent in three years! You wouldn’t believe it!”
He sort of trailed off when he noticed I hadn’t been listening much at all. I was watching his Italian friend, who after being practically shoved off by Pierre, was now discussing rapidly with two other darkly dressed men, also in gambler hats. His hands were up in the air, mimicking some sort of explosive conversation, while his two friends nodded slowly, peering our direction between breaths. Pierre caught my gaze and called to Boris with a quick, two-fingered whistle. Boris dropped his smile and escorted Cecile off the dance floor, returning to our table.
“You don’t seem to be having as much fun as your friend,” said Pierre.
“No, I’m having a fine time. Besides, she looks happy enough for the both of us.”
“Maybe you’ll enjoy something quieter? Let me take you somewhere else, somewhere more secluded.” I could tell the word he wanted to use was intimate, but opted out when he saw how purposefully I was sitting away from him.
“Oh, what a night! What a place! Anna, you must come out and dance with me again!” Cecile was yelling still, unknowingly of course that the table was much quieter than the dance floor.
“Actually, we’ve decided on a change of venue! Boris, could you call the car please? Ladies, feel free to finish up your drinks, I’ll just be a moment.” Then he walked off in the direction of the hushed Italian.
We ended up at Le Marta, sitting comfortably in a private room that seated six, hidden behind a bookcase. A private bar served us more champagne, a bottle of Dom Perignon, and we took turns smoking more mysterious black cigarettes. Boris kept the atmosphere alive, telling us awful jokes he learned while in the military. Cecile joined in with indecent tales from our travels around Europe the past year. I relaxed and settled into a quiet happiness, laughing mercilessly along with my new friends. Pierre stared at me bewildered as Cecile finished up an animated scene of how I talked my way into, then out of, stealing an old antique pipe from a rich man in Barcelona.
“You should have seen her then, much like she looks now, eyes glazed over with fanciful attention on this old arrogant man, who had no idea her hand was slipping into his breast pocket as he talked endlessly about his unruly wife! You really have a way, Anna.” She giggled into Boris’ shoulder, where her head had made a home.
“I think I came to love his wife after hearing all the tall tales he told of her.” I said.
“It sounds like I should be looking after my belongings much more closely,” Pierre said with a wink. He hadn’t spoken much since we left the club.
“Well, Boris!” he pushed back his chair, looking to make an exit. Boris was lost in whispers with Cecile. “I suppose you both are staying at a hotel?” He addressed me now.
“Yes, it is quite late. We should head back before the sun comes up and this all becomes a headache.” I looked at Cecile, who was pleading to stay with a desperate smile.
“Why don’t you stay here? The hotel has the most beautiful views in the morning. I’ll have a room made up!”
“I don’t--” I began before Cecile interrupted my dissent.
“I think Boris and I will have another drink here!”
“Ah, well it’s been decided then. Cecile, I’ll have the bartender bring you a key.” Pierre waved the host over and whispered something in his ear. He scribbled quickly on the back of the bill. “I have a suite here actually, if you are looking to leave the lovebirds alone for the rest of their night?”
“Oh I can find my way back to my hotel, I wouldn’t want to impose on your space. All my things are there anyhow.”
“Nonsense, I won’t stay here. I have a flat on the other side of the Seine, I’ll call the car and you can have my suite. Not a problem, really.” He handed me the case of black cigarettes along with the bill. “In the morning I’ll have a car come to pick you and Cecile up and take you wherever you like. But if you could, just stop by this address before you go.”
I read the address, written in beautiful cursive, 54 Avenue Montaigne. Without an answer he set a room key down in front of me, squeezed my hand tightly, and left. I quietly followed a few moments later, as not to disturb the playful whispers next to me.
The next morning I met Cecile downstairs at 8:00am. Running on only a few hours of sleep, we decided to share a black cigarette. I still felt drunk from the night before, and dirty from wearing the same clothes, even after a long shower in the suite. Though there was something quite lovely about the pale complexion both Cecile and I were sporting. The blood drained from our faces, normally a sickly look, was a peculiar radiance. It was as if we sparkled.
We stood outside waiting for Pierre’s car. Heading first to the address, then we intended to find a cafe open for American breakfast, which was a treasure hunt in Paris.
“Wasn’t Boris just the most genuine man? He left this morning in a hurry, but not without telling me what an absolute time he had. He said I would see him sometime today, I hope that isn’t a ploy.” She was detangling her hair with her long piano fingers, forcing it back into a tight high ponytail. The early Saturday sun lightened her cheekbones youthfully.
“I’m sure it isn’t a ploy, Boris doesn’t seem to be a man with any sense to do something like that. Pierre on the other hand—” Our driver pulled to a stop in front of us. As he came to open the door, I mimicked the address Pierre had written. He nodded in approval.
Boris and Pierre came strolling out of a tall steel door between the two buildings. Cecile gasped with excitement upon seeing Boris again, rolling her window down so he could see she was there. With a pleading look at Pierre, Boris quickened his steps to Cecile, reaching for her hands and flooding them with kisses. I smiled at Cecile’s infatuation.
“Is that a genuine grin I see fighting its way onto your face?” Pierre was already at my window on the opposite side. “They seem to have hit it off quite nicely last night. Are you hungry? I thought we would head to a cafe just a few minutes away.”
“I’m sure you have a busy day full of important meetings with high ranking officials, Cecile and I can fend for ourselves.”
“Not to worry! Boris and I are free until the afternoon!” He answered, blatantly ignoring my passive aggressive response. “Besides there is a favor I have to ask of you that will be better received across a table, after some espresso of course.”
Noticing that I was beginning to choke on Cecile’s feverish zeal, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. Pierre spoke to our driver and he and Boris followed behind in a car of their own.
Cafe Chic was nestled between a library and a spa only a few blocks away. The street was empty, as all the shops wouldn’t open for a few more hours, and the cafe itself seemed to be closed but we entered through the front anyway. Greeted by a young woman who was already occupied preparing for opening, we were pointed in timid French to a bundle of white leather couches in the back. Large tropical ferns grew out from the walls, pastel pinks and forest greens, gold carpet and scattered vases each holding a single rose. A freshly poured cappuccino sat next to a folded gloss place card that read Mademoiselle Sullivan. A flat white for Cecile, two double espressos for the men.
“What a treat!” Cecile said as she took her seat next to mine. “I can imagine this whole room filled with dancing couples! Very 1920’s. Anna, don’t you love it?”
I nodded in agreement and cozied up to my cappuccino.
“I’m glad you find it up to your standards, ladies.” Pierre took a more serious tone, “Now if I can just talk business for a moment,” He paused as if any of us were going to stop him, “I mentioned last night that I am here on business, which is in one sense true. But my father has been pestering me to attend a gathering tonight where many of his colleagues will be. He insists that I shouldn’t come alone, to keep his acquaintances from gossiping I’d assume. Anyway, Anna I’m hoping you’ll find it appealing enough to come along as my date. I can compensate you for your time as well, and I’m sure Boris would have no objections to spending another evening alone with Cecile.”
Boris glanced lovingly at Cecile, who snickered politely into her cup.
“You would compensate me for my time? So what, I am suddenly a hired escort?” I couldn’t hide my disgust.
“Sounds like a very important evening!” Piped Cecile, I kicked her angrily under the table.
“A very important evening is right,” continued Pierre, “And I’m sure you haven’t been traveling with any formal attire, so I’ve taken it upon myself to send for a dress. It wouldn’t be until this evening of course, so you would have the afternoon to continue exploring Paris with Cecile. The hotel has been paid out through Tuesday, and I will be staying at my flat, so don’t feel any discomfort in staying there a while longer.”
“You hadn’t received an answer from me, let alone even asked, and you’ve already found the time to buy me a dress?”
“Oh Anna! Would you just embrace the kindness someone offers you for once? A night in a fine dress sounds like more than compensation to me.” Cecile was holding Boris’s hand across the table, his big thumb caressing hers gently.
“What type of compensation?”
“Twenty thousand US dollars. Cash. I’ve already withdrawn it from the bank, I can bring it tonight when I pick you up from the hotel.”
Cecile choked on her coffee next to me.
“Twenty thousand dollars to be your date? Purely for the purpose of satisfying your father?”
Pierre affirmed.
“Anna that money would really cover--”
“You have a deal.” I reached my hand across the table and shook with Pierre.
“Magnifique!” Shouted Boris, slamming his paw-like hands to the table. “Let’s celebrate!” He reached into his breast pocket and took out a rolled Poppy.
“Not now Boris, let the girls celebrate themselves, we must be going. I’ll pick you up at 20:00 tonight!” He said goodbye to Cecile pleasantly before paying the bill and rushing out of the cafe.
Just as they were out of sight Cecile turned to me eagerly.
“I must confess Anna, I knew about the proposition beforehand.” she said apologetically.
“Well, that explains your blind support of the idea.”
“Just think, that type of money would cover your grandparents’ headstones! And what an experience! You know, Boris told me that tonight is much more than an intimate gathering of colleagues. There is some sort of gala for the opening of a hotel, La Marine something or other, all the papers have been talking about it! I bet there will be celebrities, oh and your dress! We have to go back to the suite and see if it’s already arrived!”
Underwhelmed by the fanciful description she was giving me, I drifted away from Paris. Sitting at my wobbly three legged desk in my college dorm room, receiving the call that my grandparents plane was lost over the pacific. Missed classes, letters of expulsion, fading memories of my grandparents’ smiling wrinkles and life-loved skin, clutching my book of Russian fairy tales as I battled insomnia every night. My medicine cabinet filled with empty prescription bottles, Cecile rummaging through my empty Shangri-la takeout boxes in search of my passport, dragging me into a cold shower. Finding myself clearly in a mirror for the first time in months, only to see that though I felt ten years older, I was still the empty shell of a twenty three year old. And now, almost a year to date, months of traveling hadn’t filled me with anything other than debt.
We arrived back at the hotel, taking the elevator to the top floor where I had spent the night. When I opened the door Cecile ran inside, inspecting each room and its undeniable charm. There was a rolling coat rack in the middle of the bedroom which hadn’t been there when I left that morning. Noticing it, I left the room and went out to the terrace to smoke. I could faintly hear Cecile calling out all the treasures she found. ‘Look at the lamps! Oh and these photographs! Are those real crystal? And the bathroom! Have you used the shower?’
I laughed at her simple happiness. She came out to the terrace with a disagreeable expression.
“Well, you didn’t look at it?”
“Why don’t you have a look for me.” I said without acknowledging her disappointment.
She left for a moment, returning with the entire coat rack, rolling it into the center of the sitting area where I could see clearly from the terrace. Slowly she unzipped the first cover, unveiling the heavy fabric inside.
“Woah. Anna! Anna, look how beautiful!” She didn’t take her eyes from the dress, unzipping the second covering and taking the silk gloves out in her hands.
I walked inside and sat down on a chair closest to her. She took the coverings completely off so the dress and its accessories hung alone in all their grandeur.
“It looks old, antique old. I could have sworn I saw something similar at the MET costume gallery. Do you remember that exhibit I went to last fall? I saw dresses just like this, all from the 1950s, hand made.” She was carefully inspecting the fashioned stones and pearls. “If I was an expert, I would feel confident that this was one of them.”
“I’d take your opinion over any of those haughty experts.” I said, grinning. I stood up and went to join her, running my fingers across the fine fabrics. I was intrigued by the evening. It would be shameful for me to admit aloud, but there was a childish excitement growing inside me from being around such wealth for the past twenty four hours. I promised Cecile we would spend the day treating ourselves to manicures, endless shopping and a light day drinking. Accompanied of course by our newest addiction, the little black cigarettes: Poppies.