Chapter 1 The Rendezvous
It started in a rounded flat just north of Luxembourg Gardens, when my feet lifted out of bed and landed firmly on newly polished marble. Icy-cold, newly polished marble. I rocked to the balls of my feet and made my way down a sunlit hallway to, what my sleepy eyes made out to be, a toilet. I bit my lower lip as I tiptoed, dancing around the chance of making noise and startling whomever I might be sharing the space with. As I put my bare skin to the seat of a stranger’s toilet, I let out a sigh of relief.
If it was Monday, that would mean I was missing two days. Two days had gone by and I had no recollection, other than the faded stamps on the inside of my left arm. One newer one older. My head pounded every time I blinked, my eyes felt like dry rocks placed in hot water. I gathered my panties off the floor and pulled them up again around my hips, making my way back to the room in search of trousers. The air was thin and well circulated between the high ceiling, I could hear a fan humming somewhere in the flat. But whose flat was it?
I found my belongings folded nicely on an antique chair in the corner, who stood on four weathered Chippendale legs. I began to pick up each piece of clothing one by one, realizing that none of which were mine, but the sizes were correct. So I dressed myself with what was given: a pair of dark blue, fabric pants, accompanied by a cream blouse with an expensive shape. They both smelt new. I looked around for a jacket, anything to keep me warm from what was surely a chilly day outside. Hanging on a coat rack was a long, tan faux fur coat and next to it dangled a ruby pendant. Deep, bloody maroon. I cupped the ruby in my hands and pulled it closer to inspect it, (even though I would have no way to distinguish a real stone from a fake). It was heavy and dark, until it collected light on one of its many sharp edges and shot it back out. There was one bright diamond just above the stone, flirting with its gold chain. I unclasped the hook and eye and placed it around my neck so it hung in the center of my chest. At first I thought to leave the coat where it hung, but against my better judgment I took that too, draping it over my shoulders, carefully leaving the room.
Instead of following the hall to the bathroom, I veered left into an open room filled with morning light. Floor to ceiling French windows replaced the outer walls, one of which was open, leading me out onto the terrace. Cold concrete chilled my toes as I stepped past a pair of black Louboutin’s with a lightly worn interior. I slipped my bare feet into them only to find nylons bunched in the toes. I pulled those over my heels and retried the fit, parfait. I stepped out further, only to find I was on a roof, white stone surrounding me as I looked out over the iron railings. I could nearly see the pale blue water of La Seine from where I stood, the narrow streets snaked like a map below me. I walked to a corner to take a better look, only to find a table set for one. Flowers, potent purple irises, terracotta vase. A platter of croissants, enough to feed a large family, filled with chocolates, flakey butter and powdered almonds. A press full of coffee, steamed as if it had just been filled, but with no one in sight. I sat down at the chair in front of an empty golden plate, an envelope resting perfectly in its center. Addressed to Mlle Sullivan.
Anna, you must be well rested by the time you are reading this.
I hope you have found the clothes I’ve laid out for your day, it will surely be a beautiful one. If anything is out of sorts, call to Julia, she will happily attend to any miscommunications. As we discussed last night, I’ll meet you under Pont Neuf around 15hr. I will try to be on time if you promise to do the same. I’ve left the rest of your things in a bag by the door, don’t forget to take a key as you leave.
Looking forward to seeing your radiant smile once again.
Pierre
I snuck out the front door without staying to find out who Julia might be, considering I was already unsure who Pierre was. I was lucky enough the building had been upgraded with an elevator, unlike most Paris apartments I found myself in prior. I pressed the button for the ground floor and peered at myself in the mirrored walls. My eyes looked unfazed by the fatigue I was certainly feeling inside. My pupils, normal size. Skin, a little flushed, probably due to shock rather than my deafening headache. I looked…expensive. The ruby dangled on my neckline, catching every flicker of fluorescent light from above me. I reached for it and saw my hands were shaking, the croissants I managed to swallow hadn’t caught up with the coffee yet.
I oriented myself once I made it out to the street, it was quiet, being that the city wouldn’t start to wake up for a couple more hours. I headed towards Rue Bonaparte, I was familiar enough with the area to know it would link up with Boulevard Saint-Germain at some point. I could find a cafe to gather myself, or walk further and find fresh air by the water. It was 8:00 AM, plenty of time to unearth any sort of Pierre related memories.
I tried my phone, dead. I should find somewhere to charge it. Friday night shot to the forefront of my mind. Red wine at dinner, with Cecile. I was wearing my dirty black boots, I remember the uncertainty of walking with them on cobblestone to the bar. More drinks? Gin with lime, and shots of tequila for her. Where was she? We bought cigarettes at the last open tabac shop, which must have been around 1:00 AM if all the others were closed. Smoking by the water, my feet dangling over the stone edge. Don’t fall in, don’t fall in, don’t fall in. Cecile’s high, air cracking laugh. A man in a suede jacket asking for a light. Search for his face, come on, you can see it now. Dark hair, broad shoulders. I held my lighter out and he reached with his left hand, gold pinky ring. Vintage.
Apart from the scattered scenes of Cecile and I leading to the water, I had nothing. We must have been on the right bank, so how did I end up near Luxembourg Gardens nearly two days later? And where was Cecile?
I came to the entrance of Les Deux Magots, just opening its doors. I sat on a table under the heaters outside and asked the waiter if he wouldn’t mind putting my phone on charge for me. I scanned the menu, but nothing appetized me, my stomach was tearing itself into knots, a mix of alcohol and sudden nerves, so I settled for a cappuccino. My feet were aching from the heels, so I lifted my nylon toes out and put the shoes on the empty seat next to me. When the waiter returned with a hot cup of life I decided to sift through my bag for clues.
Lipstick, a dark matte burgundy. My passport, debit card, no wallet. A folded receipt, Le Marta, a bottle of Dom Perignon for a whopping 400 euros. Did I know no limits? An address written on the back, with a triangle. I looked at my wrist where the faded stamps still showed vaguely, enough to match with the receipt. 54 Avenue Montaigne. I wished desperately for my phone to be charged enough to type the address into Maps. I folded the receipt back up and put it back safely in my bag.
If I did in fact buy that bottle of overly priced champagne, surely there wasn’t much left in my account. Enough for a cappuccino. I’d have to catch the metro for a cheeky free ride, or go on foot to my unknown destination. Following the breadcrumbs of my mind was exhausting enough. Did the gold pinky ring belong to Pierre? I fiddled with the small spoon that accompanied my cappuccino and popped the small morsel of chocolate onto my tongue, letting it melt and stick to the roof of my mouth. Whoever Pierre was, he was right, it was a beautiful day in the city.
I stayed for another thirty minutes or so until the lone waiter brought my phone back sufficiently charged. Immediately I typed in the address, a thirty-six minute walk, a bit over twenty by metro. I looked again at the stilettos and decided to take the 12 to Place de la Concorde and walk the rest of the way. The jerking stop and go of the train unsettled my empty stomach, but when I exited out onto the right bank the soft breeze gave me a second wind. I checked the time, 10:53. Only a ten minute walk to the address.
Large ash trees sheltered me from the odd amount of sun that began to pound down on the boulevards. I found myself in the chic 8th arrondissement of Paris, strolling past upscale boutiques and quaint cafes.
I was trying Cecile’s number outside a Stella Maccartney boutique when I caught my reflection standing next to a display mannequin in the window, dressed almost identically. When the call went straight to voicemail, I put my phone back in my bag and stepped closer to the fiberglass woman before me. It was the same coat, and the shoes as well. I searched for a hanging tag, but remembering my retail days I knew I wouldn’t find one, they were all tucked out of sight. I was startled by movement in my peripheral.
“He was right, you know,” said an older man inserting a key into the boutique's lavish glass door. His heavy English accent cut through the French air. I could smell his overwarn cologne in the spaces between us and it struck me as familiar and calming.
“I’m sorry? Who?” I looked at the man, bewildered by his friendliness.
“Monsieur..Ah.. You were with him when you came yesterday! What is that child’s name? What a racket, I can’t seem to remember. Alexy’s grandchild! Proper gentleman, you know. He said the coat was made for you.” He slid open the door and stepped one foot inside while still facing my direction, “Would you like to come in? I have some diamond earrings that would certainly compliment that stunning necklace you’re wearing.”
I stood firmly put, turning the man’s words over in my mind. I grasped my bag where I had placed my phone, hoping to feel it vibrate from Cecile’s call.
“Sure, I don’t have anywhere to be for a while,” I said when I realized I had let the ungodly pause go on for far too long. I followed him up the two small steps inside.
“When you first arrived I thought you two might clean out our entire new line! But I see your choices suit you fine without the rest. Come look at these! Darling little things.” He scurried over to a glass box in the far corner of the shop and peered inside like a child above a pond, seeing his reflection for the first time. “Oh they are perfect!”
The stranger fiddled with some keys before finding the correct one, unlocking the box and sliding out a small pink, satin pillow. On the pillow sat two diamond pear cut earrings. They looked heavy in his hands as he held the pillow out for me to see. A wrinkled smile grew on his face as he watched my eyes trace the light bouncing around the earrings. They looked heavy.
“Here put them on!”
“No, really I shouldn’t. They’re lovely, but I shouldn’t.”
He set the pillow down and took the earrings in his hands.
“Your ears are bare, if only just for the day. I’m sure Monsieur Aymard, ah yes that was his name! Monsieur Aymard will accompany you back to the boutique later if you are worried!” Monsieur Aymard? I took the earrings in my hands and felt their real weight. “Please, I insist. They would look so becoming that you have no choice but to put them on and walk out of my store this instant!”
As I slid the friction backings off the earrings and placed them in my ears, my new admirer brought me to a mirror.
“Is that who I was with? Yesterday? Do you know him well?”
“Oh a sweet thing you are! Funny as well! They compliment your eyes.” The old man tucked my wind-teased hair behind my ears and rested his small hands on my shoulders. “Yes. Yes, you must take them. He will love them.”
Looking at myself I could barely see me at all. Dressed in money and lofty fabric, my movements swift and purposeful. He put away the pillow and box, adjusted my jacket and practically forced me back out onto the street. I forgot to ask his name, though I felt I should have already known by the warm manner he said goodbye.
Continuing my walk, I reached the address, at least I thought I had. The building was under construction, there wasn’t a door in sight that looked operable. I tried the short alley next to it, looking for any names on the mailboxes that fit with what I knew already. Louise Caron..Maribel Mullins..Boris Page. I shook my head with frustration and headed back to the street. I still had another chance, Le Marta wasn’t far from where I was so I headed there with hope they could tell me something I didn’t know already. It was beginning to feel like any information regarding the past few days would be unbeknownst to me.
Le Marta was found inside Hotel Barriere Le Fouquet’s. Standing outside on the street I could see straight through to the Arc de Triomphe. The hotel stood four floors high as a corner building, red awnings stretched out as if to say ‘royalty only.’ Two doormen in topper hats greeted me bonjour, mademoiselle, opening its pleasures to me as I walked inside. The air wafted into my face, lemon and tobacco. Red carpets, dark wood paneling, large sofas, soft lighting. Gold pillows, fringed lamps, black and white photos of celebrities.
“Hello, welcome.” said the young receptionist, I guess I didn’t pass as French. Her eyes were dark and peering, a mismatch to her painted smile.
“Hi, yes, is Le Marta open?”
Before the woman could reply, a man came out abruptly from behind the desk.
“Mademoiselle Sullivan! How nice to see you again! I hoped you would be back before the end of your stay. Your things are still safe upstairs. How very nice to see you, truly!” He turned to the woman, motioning her away, so she disappeared into the door behind them. Mumbling something in French he looked up at me again, waiting for an answer. “Ah yes, you must have forgotten your key the other night, you both left in such a hurry I couldn’t catch you outside! Where is Monsieur Aymard? Doesn’t matter now, I’ll take you to your suite.”
He grabbed a key from underneath the marble counter and held out his arm to me, realizing what he was reaching for, I took off my coat and followed him to the elevator doors.
“What a beautiful day in Paris wouldn’t you say! Oh what word had you used the other day? Enchanting. Yes, that was it. Enchanting day!” The stout man excitedly entered the elevator before me.
“Of course, a perfect day.” Enchanting didn’t sound like a word I would normally use. I was slightly disconcerted watching the finely dressed man hold and carry my newly acquired belongings.
He tapped the key against a sensor, lighting up the button for the top floor. We rose for a moment, and the doors opened to a magnificent entrance. Warm gold and grays flooded the space that reached out onto a rooftop terrace, with direct view of the Arc de Triomphe. Five separate rooms, all tastefully decorated with Harcourt photographs. Deep reds interrupted each room like misplaced color in film noir. Large, overfilled book shelves towered to the highest arch of the ceilings, and all the windows remained open, blowing the weightless white drapes into the room, silently giving shape to the wind. I felt like I had been opened up into a different class, and I stepped into it unsurely. The man hung my coat in a wardrobe just inside the door as I attempted to lighten my steps, fearful my feet might leave black soot imprints on the expensive rugs.
“I’ll have some champagne brought up right away!” And then he was gone. I checked the clock, almost noon.
The suite was arranged as if it were a high-end photography studio. Massive gold octobox lights acted as floor lamps, their size diminished by the high ceilings and floor mirrors. Black glass tables were filled with pink rose petals and macaroon towers. Grabbing a few macaroons, I moved from the sitting room into a joint office and dining room, one that seated eight comfortably. The office sat cater-corner to oculus windows, oeil de boeuf, where the busy L’etoile could be seen clearly, circling ‘round the Arc de Triomphe.
I went to the desk where an open book sat, its pages held by a large crystal paper weight. Removing the weight, I felt its silk hardcover, closing it slightly to read the title, Beyond Extravagance: A Royal Collection of Gems and Jewels. Opening the pages back up to where they were held, I was struck by the beauty of the photos before me. Royal Indian Jewels, sarpeshes, tiaras, pendants. I sat down on the wide office bench, noticing particular pages were marked with braided strings, I examined each one carefully.
The Shah Jahan Dagger, 1592.
Early 19th century inscribed imperial spinels.
The Arcot II, late 18th century.
The Taj Mahal Emerald, 17th century.
The Patiala Ruby Choker, 1931.
With my left hand holding open the thickly glossed pages in front of me, turning back and forth between the marked photos; my right hand inadvertently toyed with the large ruby dangling around my neck. The Al Thani Collection, so the book read. I knew nothing of royal Indian history, though I had an overwhelming familiarity of the photos before me. If this was my suite, certainly I was the one who rummaged through these books. Though, the stout man from the front desk had said Monsieur Aymard was with me when I last left the hotel. I was beginning to lose patience with myself.
I decided to search the bedroom, as the belongings I had left behind would surely be kept there. The color scheme found in the rest of the suite rightfully continued into the bedroom. Heavy red curtains opened to a king-sized mattress placed between two side tables, dressed again in rose petals. A freestanding closet was left slightly open, exposing the clothing hanging inside, I immediately went to uncover them. Two long beige fabric sleeves. I unzipped the first and found with impressionable surprise: a vintage haute couture ball gown, Dior. Soft gold, sleeveless silk, fashioned with heavy sequins, stones and simulated pearls, drenched in the glamor of the 1950s. The second cover held inside a creamy lace evening wrap delicately packaged around a velvet hanger. With it hung a matching pair of long silk gloves which I took in my hands, running the fabric through my fingers in remembrance. I slipped the appropriate glove over my right hand. The silk hugged my wrists, then my forearm and rested comfortably above my petite elbow. I stood in front of a tall gold framed floor mirror, feeling my memories fight to the forefront of my mind.
Crystal champagne flutes. Waiters dressed in bow ties and white gloves. Gold kitten heels on my feet chattering atop old wood floors. Romantically painted ceilings, dressed with oversized chandeliers, taper candles lit with warm flames. My right arm draped through a man’s navy blue velvet sleeve, my hand resting on his. Gold pinky ring. French, Italian, Dutch all spoke at high volumes as we moved through the crowd. Envious glances from women dressed as elegantly as I, adrenaline shooting through my veins like fresh heroin. I turn to say something to my escort, but hold my tongue as he introduces me to an older gentleman dressed in black with a fluffy white cravat tucked into a high gafton collar. His voice muffled, I misplaced his name, and suddenly I am back alone. Staring apprehensively into my own pale face once again.
I returned the glove to its place in the closet as I heard a knock at the door.
Must be the champagne I was promised.
I rushed myself to the door, peered through the peephole and found myself to be correct, so I let the excited man in once again. He placed the silver ice bucket into a stand just inside the room and pulled the bottle out, uncorking it masterfully with a sudden pop. While filling a glass, he peered at me as I sunk into one of the ivory armchairs.
“Do you have the time?” My voice cracked as I spoke.
“Yes let me see,” He wrestled with his coat sleeve, “Half past noon! Have you somewhere to be, mademoiselle?”
“Well, yes, in fact I do.” Though I had no real understanding of what it was I would actually be doing, I suddenly felt how hungry I had gotten.
“Super! I’ll have the valet call a car for you! It will be ready promptly. Enjoy your champagne, compliments of the hotel!” And he left.
As the door clicked shut I stood up abruptly, running back into the office space. Once again I flipped through the pages of the book, snapping pictures with my phone of the marked items. Then I slid the silk book into its volume cover and placed it back into the bookshelf. I retrieved my coat from the wardrobe and stumbled out the door, taking the elevator back down to the lobby. The same sharp looking woman who was somewhat reproachful before, smiled kindly at my presence and told me my car was waiting outside.
Ushered into the back of a black Mercedes sedan, I nestled into the leather and took off my heels once again. I asked politely if the back windows could be rolled down, seaking the fresh air. My head was pounding again.
“Where to, Ms. Sullivan?” The driver looked timidly at me through the rearview mirror.
I pretended to think for a moment, knowing I hadn’t a clue.
“Do you know of any cafes near Pont Neuf? I’d like to sit outside and enjoy the weather.”
“A beautiful day isn’t it! Uncharacteristic of Paris at this time,” He smiled gaily, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the hotel, “I know of an agreeable cafe, yes most agreeable!”
“Wonderful.”
I draped my hand out into the wind and let it dance between my fingers, thinking what really sounded wonderful was sticking my head out the window.
Where is Cecile? With a bit of concern I tried her number again. Straight to voicemail. There hadn’t been any evidence of her presence in my suite, which helped me conclude that she probably hadn’t been there. If we had gone our separate ways naturally there would be no reason as to why I hadn’t heard from her yet, and even more unsettling why her phone was still off. If she was safe, her phone would have been charged, giving her no reason to ignore my calls. I sent a text asking her to call me as soon as she received it, then I opened up my photos and began to examine the pictures I had taken of the book. The only descriptions of the images were the names and dates which I then typed into google, hoping to find any information that might help me arrange my memories.
The first link that popped up in my search for the Shah Jahan Dagger was a news article, Greatly Awaited Grand opening of Hotel de la Marine, Paris. I clicked and scanned the article viciously, stopping after only the first paragraph as it mentioned The Al Thani Collection. I read on attentively.
An intimate gathering is to be expected to view the royal Indian jewels ranging from the Mughal Empire period, to the British Raj and into the twenty-first century. The invitation-only guest list, that has yet to be released to the public, includes primarily the highest members of royal society, as well as jewel collectors from across the world. Following the impressive splash the collection made at Christie's much awaited auction last summer in New York, experts and admirers alike have been patiently waiting for the next opportunity to bid for the pieces. Though it has been expressed that none of the collection is for sale, it is rumored that Hotel de la Marine will be their new home.
The article included a link to the hotel’s website, which I clicked immediately. The announcement page came up first, with a headline GRAND OPENING SUCCESS, dated March 7th. It described in vague detail an accomplished night of wine and caviar interrupted intermittently by educational presentations of each artifact on display. I skimmed the list: Diamond Turban Ornament, Pen Case and Inkwell (devat-e dowlat), The Patiala Ruby Choker, the magic box of Tipu Sultan, The Imperial Spinel Necklace, The Mirror of Paradise, The Taj Mahal Emerald, Shah Jahan’s Dagger..the highly sought Arcot II diamond.
I stopped, having read enough, noting all four of the marked photos from my suite were named, and sighed with vexation. I returned to the home page and clicked on the images from the event. The photos were scarce, but clearly showed an extravagant ballroom filled with expensively dressed guests, chatting incessantly under large chandeliers and candle lighting. I frantically searched for the dress I discovered in my suite. There, hidden slightly behind a waiter, was my small frame, long gloves, lace wrap, arm and arm with a tall man who faced away from the camera. His navy, velvet tuxedo jacket fit tightly around his broad shoulders, and his gaze was towards the back of the room. I followed his eyes to a glass display case, but the photographer had been focused on the crowd rather than the scattered exhibits around the room. The zoom on my phone could only reach so far, and with irritation I gave up and set my phone down on my lap as my driver slowed to a stop.
To my disbelief we had parked in front of Restaurant Guy Savoy. As traffic slowed, angry drivers maneuvered around us, cursing our sudden rest in an undesignated area. Visibly unbothered, my driver turned off the engine and exited to open my door.
“Wait just a moment, I’ll let the host know you have arrived!” Before I could answer he scampered off towards the closed doors and disappeared.
I climbed out onto the curb, closing the door quickly so as not to be blamed for the commotion the parked car was causing on the busy avenue. The restaurant sat in direct view of Pont Neuf, as well as the flocks of Parisians walking across the bridge, seizing the golden afternoon’s light. Bouquinistes stood outside their green metal stands awaiting tourists’ gazes, happily keeping busy reading magazines or making jewelry out of metal wire. Scooters flew by in the bike lanes, taxis honked angrily at oblivious pedestrians, and the wind carried the faint memory of morning into the afternoon air. I had almost lost my place amongst them when a timid voice broke the melody of the city.
“Excuse-moi mademoiselle, we are ready for you.”
I turned to see a fresh faced man holding the door to an unmarked entrance open, awaiting my recognition. I smiled pleasantly and thanked my driver, informing him kindly that I wouldn’t be needing him anymore. The host reached for my coat, which I grappled with to take off, giggling nervously.
“Do you prefer the Belles Bacchantes Lounge or the Vert Galant? We’ve set a table for you in both rooms,” He asked seriously, as if he expected a well prepared response.
“Oh I really don’t have a preference, maybe somewhere next to a window? I’d like to watch the people outside.” He nodded in like-mindedness, inconspicuously hiding a smile, and led me to a table on the second floor next to a large window overlooking the Seine. There was no one else seated in the restaurant.
When I looked around, obviously discouraged, he told me pas de probleme, they had just finished their lunch hours, being that it was just passed 13:30.
“It is our very pleasure to open our doors for you, a friend of Monsieur Aymard is a friend of ours as well!” He practically skipped away.
I ordered an artichoke soup to start, followed by the duck confit, and ate happily enough in the room of empty tables. As the hour turned, I asked for a cappuccino to go and left with the bill comped by my friend with no face. I began to count the minutes until 15:00, attempting to distract myself with my perpetual habit of romanticizing strangers. Where I once felt worried, I was suddenly filled with an apprehensive anticipation. Only five minutes to 15 hour, I better make my way to Pont Neuf.
Confused about our exact meeting spot, I chose to stand in the middle of the bridge facing the Square du Vert-Galant, (a simple garden constantly full of happy souls drinking wine) which protruded out from underneath the bridge, splitting the Seine like a fork. The weeping willow tree at the garden’s edge was overgrown, its lazy limbs dangling delicately into the water below. Every so often a boat would cruise beneath me, rippling the water like a gently tossed stone.
Just as the top of the hour hit, a small, seventeen footer, vintage Chris Craft Sportsman glided towards the garden below. Lean lines of polished mahogany reflected onto the water as the soft rumble of her motor began to hit my ear. The three passengers on board were dressed in different shades of navy and beige, curiously matching not only each other, but the classic interior of their vessel. After docking directly below me, the driver stepped out onto the stone steps, his arm extended for the woman to steady herself as she followed. Searching for something in her hanging side bag without any luck, she dusted the front of her pants with both of her palms, rubbing them together afterwards in a familiar calmness. I know that calmness. I squinted into the sun, wrinkling my brows in careful attention. Cecile lifted her head towards the bridge, scanning the crowd. I smiled, I had found my rendezvous point.
Chapter 2 The Proposition
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.
Chapter 3 The Plan
Cecile insisted on helping me get dressed for the evening, well intentioned considering my lack of knowledge in the area. She carefully twirled and pinned my hair back away from my face, letting some blonde strands fall and brush against my chin and naked neck. We opted for no jewelry, partially because we didn’t have any, but also because we couldn’t imagine anything that could compete with the dress’s high standards. She spent some time trying on the newest editions to her closet we had purchased that afternoon, modeling them animatedly for me while I drank champagne and danced without restraint. I felt weightless. We decided on a simple maroon slip for her night out with Boris.
Five minutes before 20:00 I slipped on my silk gloves and kitten heels. My hands shook under the pressure I felt, held together by the tight fabric tapered around my bodice.
“Goodness, you have to pull yourself together. You’re beginning to sweat! Here,” Cecile handed me tissues and I dabbed the back of my neck, leaving two pressed between my armpits. She was fanning herself as well, we smoked one more Poppy and took the elevator down to Pierre and Boris.
Boris ran to Cecile as the doors opened, kissing her hands and cheeks in a bent-over, unconcealable fever. He rushed her out to a car, holding hands together, practically skipping. She yelled gaily over her shoulder, Bonne chance! I waved them off and stepped out into the beginning of my own night.
Pierre, hair freshly cut and shaved, was dressed in a deep navy blue, complimenting the soft golds and creams he dressed me in. His jacket, a soft velvet with black lapels matched his bow tie and fit snugly around his athletic frame. He was tasteful, calm, and for the first time I felt myself unable to draw my eyes away from him. He was holding a small briefcase to his side.
“How beautiful you look, all eyes will be on you tonight,” his voice was enchanting.
He took my gloved hand and led me out to the car, opened my door and held the bottom of my gown as I climbed gracefully inside.
“You wear the dress more than it wears you, absolutely stunning. But there is one more thing I’d like to add if you will let me?” He unlatched the briefcase filled with freshly printed American bills and pulled out a small elegant box. Inside was a ruby pendant, which he took in his hands and draped around my neck. It sat perfectly on my chest. I felt brand new.
He sighed with pleasure.
“It’s as if it was made for you.”
We drove down Avenue de Champs-Elysees towards Place de la Concorde, which had been closed off by police, but we were granted access and proceeded around the practically empty roundabout. Press had gathered behind temporary blockades as men and women were dropped off one by one outside the massive columns of Hotel de la Marine. When it was our turn, Pierre exited the car and walked around to open my door. I lifted my gown and stepped out into camera flashes and suppressed whispers.
“This wasn’t quite what I imagined from your description,” I said with a smile, not wanting to be caught scowling by any photographers.
“Just take the night as it comes and enjoy yourself. I know I’m enjoying every moment of you.”
We entered through a courtyard in the center of the hotel, if it could be considered a hotel at all. Pierre graciously told me its history, having its doors closed to the public for 230 years to date. The courtyard was covered by a glass ceiling, letting in the last of the remaining daylight. ‘The glass,’ Pierre went on, ‘was constructed to imitate a jewel, see how each of the panes redirects the light from outside?’ It towered above us as a pyramid, as if it was a massive chandelier multiplying the light. ‘It cost over three million just to be set in place, magnificent really.’ He was beaming. We moved through different ceremonial salons, each busy with guests and waiters carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks in quaint crystal. The walls were gilded and large chandeliers hung heavily above, ‘still preserved elegantly from the 19th century.’ We passed by a crowded terrace overlooking the Concorde and the Tuileries, I wished to stop but Pierre seemed determined to carry on.
Just as I was going to ask what the purpose of this gathering was, we came to the heart of the hotel. A 400 meter squared room, its floors dressed with Persian rugs beneath large glass showcases. Its ceiling, reaching far above our heads, was painted with pastel blues that were broken up by gold cornices. ‘Over 6,000 pieces of art,’ Pierre was entranced immediately, ‘The Al-Thani Collection. It was extremely controversial at first. Negotiations went on for what seemed like years, deciding which European capital would house the collection. Paris was decided, and they signed an agreement for twenty years. Twenty years the imperial jewels will be kept right here. How lucky we are to be here for opening night.’ Pierre approached a waiter, ordering us both ruby negronis which we sipped while weaving in and out of the crowd, stopping momentarily at each display.
Pierre seemed uninterested by most of the artifacts. Antique carpets, astrolabes, Korans and manuscripts, Persian miniatures. It wasn’t until we reached the jewels that he grew anxious.
We were stopped gazing at a Cartier devant-de-corsage brooch when a man approached us from behind.
“Splendid isn’t it? It shines as if it had just been set today.” The man, dressed in an ivory tux, inserted himself between Pierre and I. “Monsieur Aymard! What a pleasure.” He greeted Pierre with bezos as I stood by awaiting an introduction that never came.
“The whole collection is really quite stunning, I’m happy to see them finally find a home.” Pierre spoke monotonously, as if the man was a nuisance.
“And the crowd! What an impressive turnout. I’m sure you’ve seen that the Scalise brothers are in attendance.”
“Oh are they? I hadn’t noticed. I must find them and say hello, if you would excuse me.” Pierre left me with a squeeze on the hand, his acquaintance smiled at me salubriously and followed closely behind.
Left alone, I ordered another drink and found my way to a table of assorted cheese and fruit, away from the crowded middle walkways. I scanned the room in search of Pierre. Most of the men wore black, making it easy to spot Pierre’s ivory dressed friend which led my gaze to Pierre. He was greeting two gentlemen in gray tuxedos with maroon vests, one of whom I recognized as the agitated Italian from the club. They greeted each other familiarly and exited through a doorway at the back, out of sight.
“Exhilarating isn’t it? It’s quite a shock experiencing it for the first time.” A woman beside me said in a heavy English accent.
“I’m sorry?”
“All the people! So fashionably dressed like yourself!” I turned to her, as she apologized for her interjection, “I’m Elizabeth.”
I took her gloved hand in mine.
“Your face is the only one I can't seem to place. See over there? That is Count Bernard and his wife Alexandria, together they own most of the 8th arrondissement. And that way, the woman in the yellow gown? That is Christiana, her father is in business with the Spanish World Bank. And you? Who might you be?” Her judgment struck me unexpectedly.
“Oh, Anna Sullivan, I can’t say I’m the daughter of anyone. I came to accompany--”
“Yes Monsieur Aymard, I saw you both enter earlier. What a lovely pendant you are wearing! Quite the gentleman isn’t he?”
“I can’t say I know him well, but yes a gentleman of sorts.” I began to feel her presence was one of interrogation rather than pleasure.
“Well, I have known him for years and even I can’t say I know him well. That one is full of surprises you know, you never quite get what you might expect.” Her eyes narrowed. I simply nodded and brought my drink to my lips. “Anyhow, it was a pleasure to meet you! Truly, a friend of Pierre is a friend of mine, though a foe to many. Enjoy your evening, and stay away from the oysters, they might have you heading home early.”
And just as mysteriously she was gone.
I felt the weight of hundreds of eyes as I decided to distract myself with the displays again. A foe to many. And what does that make me? It felt like hours had passed since Pierre left me alone in a room full of strangers. I was out of place. Elizabeth was gorgeous, and confident as I watched her approach the Count and Countess. She smiled, throwing her long brown hair back from her shoulders as she laughed inorganically. She had the attention of every person she passed, and seemed taller than her actual height, gliding effortless as she walked. She was satisfied by our conversation, whereas I was left to ponder my company. My face started to grow hot as the room closed in around me. I needed air, and with Pierre still missing I hurried out of the room into a smaller salon where I had seen the terrace.
Instead of another negroni, I reached for water. I counted my breaths in hopes to slow them, as my psychiatrist had taught me a year earlier. Six, seven.. Boxes of my grandparents belongings being hauled to storage. Thirteen, fourteen.. Empty family room, for sale sign, scratched linoleum floors, a box of matches. Twenty one, twenty two.. Spilled vodka, ash stained jeans, Cecile’s voicemail. Thirty--
“There you are! I had begun to worry you’d been taken away by a charming prince of sorts!” Pierre rushed up behind me, placing his hand softly on my back. “Anna? Are you okay? You look flushed!” He took my glass of water and held it out for me.
“You left me, I know no one here and you left me for who knows how long, to talk to that man. You know I recognize him?” I was breathlessly forcing words from my mouth.
“Anna I’m sorry, it was only for a moment. I’m sorry to have left you like that!” He took my hand but I pulled it back away.
“And that Elizabeth--”
“Elizabeth! She’s here? What did she say to you?” He set the glass down. “Nevermind that, as long as you are okay.”
Pierre put his arms around me and brought me into his chest. His warmth calmed me for a moment.
“Let’s go, let’s leave. I’ve shown enough of my face tonight. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”
“I’m sorry, I’m better now. Really, I don't want to ruin the night. You should stay--”
“No, the night would only be ruined if I was not with you.” He called for the car and we left quietly.
Noticing I still hadn’t settled down yet from my panic at the gala, Pierre insisted on coming up to the suite to talk it over. While he was right, my uneasiness was no longer with him but with myself. I hadn’t put myself into high stress situations over the past few months with the fear I wouldn’t be able to handle them. With that in mind, I was disappointed that I couldn’t control my thoughts. I was disappointed I had ruined what could have been the most special night of my life, and I was even further disappointed that I had begun to care about such things as antique dresses, ruby pendants, and vile women named Elizabeth. When had I become so bothered?
Upstairs Pierre opened the larger French windows to the terrace and let the breeze in. He pulled a bottle of Bordeaux red out from the wine fridge and poured us both a glass. I finished it in two sips and poured another while he went to freshen up in the bathroom.
“You know I’ve been wondering,” I yelled to him in the other room as I made a home on the couch, “How much is this place per night? I’ve never stepped foot, let alone stayed comfortably, in such a beautiful room. Well, I can hardly call it a room.”
He came back with only his dress shirt on, the top few buttons undone so that his chest was able to breathe. His lightly tanned skin looked soft to the touch, I caught myself staring only to look away sheepishly.
“If you must know, the suite is twenty thousand a night. You pay mostly for the views I think.” He sat next to me on the couch, lighting us both a Poppy.
“Twenty thousand!” I grew red with embarrassment. I was so far out of my comfort zone that none of it felt imaginable. “How can you afford all of this? And tonight, the guests at the gala, they’re all people you know?”
“Yes I’m friendly with them all, well most. My father created a fortune selling and trading jewels internationally. It’s a family business of sorts.”
“Of sorts?” I had never heard of a family business with such liquidity.
“My grandfather owned a small jewelry shop in Paris from the 1930s until his death in 1963. He worked the shop alone, mostly cleaning pieces for clients and sometimes resetting old gems and stones. It was his craft you might say, he treated it like an art. Anyway, when he died suddenly my father had just been born and my grandmother couldn’t continue the business so she hired someone to care for the shop. When my father finally came of age he took over and expanded it into what you might consider a luxury empire, working closely with high end fashion conglomerates. My father is more of a businessman than an artist you see.”
“And you? What does that make you?”
“Incredibly lucky. I would be lying to you if I said I agreed with my father. There was beauty in what my grandfather did, the joy he got from taking something old and making it new again, maintaining its history and worth. You can still find people in Paris with fond memories of his kindness and hard work. He was a humble man and it was a shame I never knew him. But, as you have experienced, I enjoy the life my father created for my family.”
“It would be hard not to enjoy all of this.” I was surprised with the words leaving my mouth, finding I had grown fond of the man sitting next to me each time he turned his eyes on mine.
“Yes, very fortunate indeed. As a boy, I spent summers running around Paris searching for my grandfather’s old friends and business partners. I wanted to know more about where my family came from, and my father..well my father wasn’t around much and if he was he certainly wasn’t speaking about my grandfather.” He took a sip of his wine and poured another glass, topping off mine as well.
“One of my grandfather’s closests friends, Florian, was very sick when I started to spend time with him. We exchanged letters when I went away to school, he cared deeply about my academics, more than my own family did. Anyway, we grew close and he told me many stories about my grandfather, his interests and pastimes. In his last years Florian mentioned my grandfather’s growing obsession with a certain collection of which many missing pieces passed through the back of his shop. The last time I saw him he gave me a box that my grandfather had given him just a day before he was murdered in a mugging outside his shop.”
“He was murdered? Your father never told you?” I sat up from the slouch I had drunkenly fell into, taking off my gloves.
“Like I said my father isn’t much of the talking type. After Florian passed away a few days later, I opened the box and found different sections of jewelry that looked as if they had been dismantled from bigger pieces, you know smaller gems and diamonds that looked older than the city itself.”
“And the collection he had an obsession with? Was that the same collection--”
“The Al Thani Collection, yes. The same one we saw tonight. I confess, tonight was more business than pleasure.” He watched me intently as I processed what he was telling me. “That ruby you’re wearing, it’s one of the gems I found in my grandfather’s collection. I’ve been following the pieces my entire life, trying to put together my grandfather’s last years.”
I took the ruby in my hand, letting its weight rest in my palm.
“I have five others just like it. Some diamonds as well, emeralds that have been reshaped to hide their history. I’ve gathered that what was in that box from Florian was the payment my grandfather received for not only his craftsmanship, but also his silence.”
“You don’t think his murder was a mugging.”
“No. No, I don’t. From my grandfather’s private books I was able to decipher five pieces of the collection that surely passed through his hands. The Shah Jahan Dagger, inscribed Imperial Spinels, the Arcot II diamond, the Taj Mahal Emerald, and a Ruby and Pearl choker, all of which are the most sought after pieces on the market. Each has a broken history, they go dark in different years, resurfacing in completely estranged areas of the world.” He got up from the couch, pacing slowly in front of me. “I trust you. I trust you with intimate details that I haven’t shared before. I want to share them with you.” He stopped to face me, picking up the empty bottle of wine from the table. “Ah, we’ve finished it. Should I grab another?”
“Sure. I would really like to get out of this gown, give me a moment?”
“Of course, take your time.”
I left and realized all I had to put on was the slip I had been wearing beneath the gown, and the gown itself posed a problem being that it wasn’t meant to be taken off by the person wearing it. I rolled my eyes at the remembrance that Cecile had helped me before the gala. I was standing in the center of the room, arms stretching behind me hoping to find a fastener or zipper of sorts, when Pierre walked in.
“Darling, darling let me help you before you pull a muscle.” He walked slowly up behind me, putting my arms to rest with his hands on my shoulders. His fingers were warm on my chilled skin. He began unbuttoning my dress with a careful rhythm. With my back fully exposed, he brushed my hair away from the nape of my neck, kissing my naked skin just once before he left the room. I stood alone for a moment, pretending his lips were still there, before stepping out of the dress and hanging it properly.
When I returned I found him sitting on the floor, back resting against the couch with a heavy pour from another bottle of red wine. I sat behind him, placing his head on my lap with my legs brushing the sides of his arms. He closed his eyes, relaxing his neck so the weight of his head rested completely in my hands. I ran my fingers through his hair.
“What do you hope to find? Do you think the collection will lead to who killed your grandfather?”
“I know it will. For the past five years I have been tracking one man, trying to get close enough to ask him about my grandfather. The problem is he is a bit of a myth, only showing himself through whispers and headlines in the newspaper. We simply call him The Jeweller. He funds high risk heist exhibitions all over the world, and is the only man who people say knows where the missing pieces of the Al Thani Collection rest. He might even have them all in his possession. I’m not entirely sure he is a real person, he may even be a series of different people that all use the same pseudonym.”
“How do you begin to find someone without a name? Without a face?”
“You keep your ear to the ground. The best thieves are the ones you never hear about, yes? The ones that have never been caught. But at some point everyone must get caught, luck runs out eventually, even for the best gamblers. Are you familiar with the Antwerp Diamond Heist? From almost a decade ago?”
“Yea I think I remember seeing something on the internet about it, people say it was the greatest robbery in history.”
“The leader of the heist, Mr. Leonardo Notarbartolo, used to run one of the most notorious groups of thieves in modern history, they called themselves ‘La Scuola di Torino’ The School of Turin.”
“Italian,” I said, remembering Pierre’s not-so-pleasant friend that seemed to follow us everywhere.
“Oui, Italian. Anyway, when he was caught, Notarbartolo refused to give up the names of the four other members in his team, three of them were caught anyhow due to some uncharacteristic mistakes they made. They must have gotten too comfortable I suppose, never get too comfortable.” He took a sip of wine and patted my leg as if I needed the advice. “Notarbartolo did allude to his team being hired by someone he referred to only as The Jeweller, which at the time the investigators and public assumed to be the man’s occupation, but to anyone in the underground that was a direct name of the genius behind the heist.”
“Still, that doesn’t seem like much to go on. The man seems to be very good at hiding his identity.”
“Yes of course, I thought the same. But you hear stories, people see things, and sometimes details start to match up. There is an old underground folktale, about how The Jeweller used to sell opium hidden inside babushka dolls after the second World War, and that is how he gained his footing and developed his fortune. He is also known to give his hired men a five Roubles coin to put in their left shoe while performing a heist, an old Russian good luck charm. Between these stories and some digging myself, I’m quite convinced that The Jeweller is someone high up in Russian society.”
“How does a Russian get into business with, what did you call them? The School of Turin?” It was hard to keep all the details Pierre was giving me from fading into the alcohol soaked parts of my brain. I reached for a Poppy to help me sober up as Pierre went on.
“I wondered the same thing, so I decided to do some footwork on The School of Turin and Notarbartolo himself. Nortabartolo’s cousin, who they say is more like a brother of sorts, is next in line to be the head of the Sicilian mafia.”
I choked, causing me to go into a coughing attack of smoke. Pierre started laughing, squeezing my legs as he looked up at me joyfully from between them.
“Yes, I was surprised too! The Cosa Nostra! I had never imagined myself intertwining with such dangerous people. But they really are quite delightful, if they like you that is.”
“You’re friendly--the Italian mafia likes you?” I started laughing as the high hit me. None of it was real anymore.
“No! Not the entire Italian mafia! Just the Scilian syndicate, a smaller gang within the Italian Mafia. They weren’t at first, probably thought I was a snitch of sorts judging by my family name and clean past. But I earned their trust easily with some jobs I performed in Great Britain. That’s where I met the Scalise Brothers and that’s when things started really connecting for me.”
“So you aren’t connected with the Italian mafia, just with some of them,” I smiled down at Pierre, his hooded eyelids peering up towards me, “and you’ve done a series of ‘jobs’ for them?”
“Well I could open doors for them without drawing attention because of my family’s many connections in the fine jewelry market. So I would simply get friendly with important figures, and the Scalise Brothers would do the rest. Funny fellas actually, the Scalise Brothers. That’s who you saw the other night, the twitchy Italians in the gambler hats.”
“I can see how they couldn’t do the charming on their own.”
“Yes, pretty amatuer thieves to say the least, but they have a good family name. Their uncle was Jerry Scalise, the American who carried out the Marlborough Diamond robbery in the 1980’s, he was caught of course, but the diamond was never recovered. It was rumored he and his accomplice had mailed the diamond directly after the robbery to his sister in New York, and judging by the amount of money the brothers seem to throw around I think that may have been the case.”
“What brings the Scalise Brothers to Paris then?”
“Would you believe me if I told you they had never been and desperately wanted to see the Eiffel Tower? No? Of course not. Well we started running into a jam. People talk as they do, and many were starting to put together that my presence came before a lot of easily executed robberies, so in the middle of our last job we sort of just up and left. Getting out of England was the easy part, but unfortunately my charm left a hole that I couldn’t fill with logical answers. Elizabeth was my last mark and she is a lot smarter than I had been led to believe.”
“That explains the interrogation I experienced at the gala then.”
“Yes, and she was right to do so. We were going to rob her family of millions by the end of the month.”
“But why Paris? Where does the Al Thani Collection come into the equation?”
“Well Paris was easy for me to escape to, it is my home. But the Scalise brothers are here on business and they need my help. This job is the one I have been waiting for for the past five years, it’s the reason I got in with the Cosa Nostra in the first place. The Jeweller is making another move for the collection and he is using his old friends, the Italians, to do it.”
I got up from the couch and made us both a cup of coffee as the day turned. I don’t know what I had expected from a man like Pierre, I suppose there were assumptions made that categorized him inaccurately in my mind. The pompous way he spoke, his lavish lifestyle, even the way he wore his hair with a bit too much product, had all led me to write him off as a shoddy man with a trust fund. But the more he let me in, this facade faded away. I could see his troubled, broken childhood even amongst its luxuries. The disconnection from his family’s past he so terribly wished to mend. The naive assumption that finding answers would somehow make the emptiness fade away. Not only did I find a sort of empathy with his stories, I stumbled into an intimate bond with someone that I could only logically call a stranger. Lips that were once tight and stern, were suddenly lush and kissable. Touches that were once unwelcomed, became a desirable offense. My coldness towards him melted away and I was left with an emphatic need to give him anything; everything if it came to it.
“What is your plan? Actually, what is the Scalise Brothers’ plan?” I asked kindly, hoping he wasn’t beginning to feel he'd said too much.
“I never know their dealings, only what they need from me. That keeps me from getting into too much trouble if it comes down to it. I didn’t hear of this new job until Friday evening when I was approached at the club. But it will all happen tomorrow, their part as well as mine.”
“What are they asking you to do?”
“There is a private viewing tomorrow of the collection, reserved for those that made a hand selected list by The Qatari Foundation. I, of course, made the final list. Most of the collection will still be where we saw them tonight, in the former tapestry room in their display cases, but the more valuable pieces, namely the jewels, will be moved into a high security vault in the back of the hotel. The viewing will be held inside the vault. What the brothers have asked of me is to simply disengage the motion sensors just inside the vault.”
“Disengage motion sensors? During the viewing? How do they expect you to be able to do that!”
“Well they’ve given me a small spray bottle, made to look like a breath freshener, that will work to desensitize the sensor for a limited amount of time. I assume they will be making their move later that night, when the hotel has closed.”
“And they think you will be able to walk in and start spraying this unknown substance without any of the security becoming aware?”
“Well, darling, that is why you are going to come along. They insisted I bring a distraction, and seeing as we have already made a public appearance, bras et bras, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to accompany me.”
“Ha!” I handed him his coffee and joined him on the floor. “Is that the real reason I was brought along tonight?” I recalled Pierre’s satisfied expression when, upon leaving the gala, he said he had shown enough face.
“But Anna, this is where things will begin to get complicated. I need you for this, and I need to follow my directions exactly as I tell them. Any mistakes could be more than costly, for the both of us.”
It was then that I realized I was involved now whether I could help it or not, and I certainly couldn’t. There was fear in Pierre’s movements, as he leaned towards me taking my hands in his, only the fear wasn’t for him, it was only for me. I hung on to his every word. We fell asleep there on the floor, waking up to the early Parisian breeze as it danced timidly into the suite.
Chapter 4 The Heist
We parted ways around 8:00, planning to meet again in the late morning. The first thing Pierre asked me to do was to explain to Cecile what was needed of her, and while he was worried the information might prove overwhelming, I knew that Cecile would be thrilled to be involved. I called down to her room, and we met downstairs at Fouquet’s for coffee.
“Oh Anna, I know you must have had an incredible night, really, something out of a fairytale. But I must tell you mine was nothing short of unbelievable!”
“Unbelievable? Yea, yes of course I can imagine! And where did Boris take you?” Cecile looked younger than I left her last, ashing out her black cigarette, looking at me as if her world had been rebuilt overnight.
“Well I had assumed he would take me to some ritzy restaurant, you know like that Cafe Chic we went to for breakfast? I imagined feeling a bit out of place surrounded by so much gold and old bottles of wine. Oh I wouldn’t know how to act! I was preparing for the car to stop at all the top restaurants, you know me I looked up every single one in the city trying to prepare. But the car didn’t stop at a single one! We were dropped off in front of Pont de Bir-Hakeim, do you know it? The bridge just passed the Eiffel? And I won’t lie to you, I was disappointed at first. Oh Boris teased me! Laughed at my disappointment.”
“I can see you pouting now, just from memory.”
“Yes, pouting, but politely! It’s unfair to not tell a woman where the night is to begin, so I told Boris. He only laughed and brought me happily down to the water, and there waiting for us, with candles lit all around, was a small boat. Not just any boat! It was quite precious, made of this polished wood, if I knew boats I could explain it so much better!”
“No, you are doing just fine, I can imagine it now.”
“Anyway, Boris had a dinner catered to the boat, wine and cheese as well! So many different cheeses, I couldn’t possibly know their names. And we floated for hours, just up and down the Seine, looking at all the beautifully lit buildings. Boris was such a gentleman, always asking if I was okay and having a nice time, and I was simply having the best time in the world!”
I couldn’t help but think that while Cecile was having a hard time scraping a smile from her rosy cheeks, I was hyperventilating over the garden of tuileries.
“After we grew tired of the water, and I got a little bit of motion sickness, Boris insisted we go dancing! Can you think of it? Boris? His big muscly frame dancing? And he was wonderfully good at it! Lead me all over the many dance floors of the evening! I couldn’t tell you where we went, I was so blinded I don’t remember. It was the best night of my life, the best night.”
“I’m so happy to hear your disappointment was relieved. Your feet must be exhausted!”
“Oh yes, I took my shoes off around 1:00! Boris had to carry me back to the hotel. But, tell me! How was the gala! Did you see any famous people? Oh, I bet Ryan Gosling was there. Or Brad Pitt, did you meet Brad Pitt!”
“No, no. Unfortunately Brad couldn’t make it. But I will say the gala was underwhelming compared to your night of romance and we left early back to the suite.”
“Leaving early, on your first date! Doesn’t sound very underwhelming to me,” she winked, sipping her flat white mockingly.
“Oh nevermind that, there is something more pressing that we need to talk about. But you have to promise me you won’t make a scene. Can you promise that?”
She nodded, so I told her every word that Pierre spoke to me the night before, not leaving any detail out, just as Pierre had scripted.
“I suppose your night beats mine after all.” She pouted.
“I’m glad you’re taking it so well. Now listen, we have to meet Pierre and Boris in an hour, why don’t you go up and change and I’ll have the front desk bring the car around.”
“What, do you not like what I’m wearing now?” She flattened her overworn t-shirt against her chest comically.
“Just go change, and be quick about it would you? We have a lot to accomplish before tonight.” Cecile left, bouncing happily to the elevator doors.
I was glad to have her lightheartedness with me, and with her presence gone I began to sink into thoughts of how poorly today could go. Pierre had assured me that if we stuck to the plan, nothing could go wrong and I had believed him. He was confident in me, so much so that I thought he might have set his expectations too high. After the pressures of the night before, waking that morning tangled between his heavy arms I felt calm. So I reassured myself that as long as he was beside me, calm was all I could be.
We met Pierre and Boris outside a Stella McCartney boutique, its doors closed as it was Sunday. Boris and Cecile left towards Janssens & Janssens, a fabric store a few blocks away. Pierre knocked on the locked glass doors of the boutique, peering inside impatiently.
“I tell the man 9:00, knowing he wouldn’t be ready until 9:30, and yet! Here we are, waiting still.”
Pierre’s fidgeting was nothing more than nerves, I felt them too. I went to him and slid myself beneath his left arm and squeezed his side. With a heavy breath out, he took me in his arms, calmed, and thanked me with a kiss on my forehead.
An elderly man appeared, dressed fashionably with orange designer glasses perched on the bridge of his pointed nose. He rushed to unlock the glass doors, flinging them open at once.
“Ah Monsieur Aymard! What a pleasure! And who is this sweet flower? Ah, yes we are shopping for her today, a beautiful model for our new line! Come in, please come in.” He took my hand in his and kissed it. “Your name, mademoiselle?”
“Anna, nice to meet you?”
“Charles, feel free to call me Charlie, all the pretty ones do.”
“Nice to meet you, Charlie.”
He smiled, pausing for a moment as if he forgot why we had come.
“Well, have your way with the store! I’m just going to grab a few pieces from the back.” And he disappeared.
Pierre started pulling pants and blouses from the walls. Karli leather pants in black and nude. Aliya pants in a soft pink with the matching Iris jacket. An off the shoulder black knit jumpsuit. He was tapping his chin, switching his attention between my body and the walls of the boutique.
“All of these blouses are much too casual, they will only drown your beauty. I’ll have to have Julia go out and grab some others that are more suitable.”
“Too casual?” I gasped as I peeked at the price of the jumpsuit: 1,400 euros.
“Yes, much too casual. I hope he has the coat I wanted, we will be lost without it.”
As if hearing Pierre’s complaints, Charlie returned with a long fur coat draped carefully over both his arms.
“I won’t be putting this out until tomorrow, that should give you the day to be the first to wear it!” He handed Pierre the coat, motioning at me to try it on. “Oh how jealous Paris will be! You are absolutely stunning!”
I relaxed my shoulders under the weight of the coat.
“It’s perfect Charlie, really couldn’t have asked for more.” Pierre put the clothes in his hands down on a sofa, focusing all his attention on me.
Charlie guided me over to a full length mirror, patting my shoulders excitedly in our reflection.
“We’ll take all of these as well Charlie, if you could have them all sent to my flat that would be much appreciated.”
“Yes, of course whatever suits you! Lovely couple you are, you must send me a photo! Or come in once more before you leave again, Monsieur Aymard.”
“I wouldn’t think about leaving without a goodbye, mon ami. Thank you for your help.”
I smiled thankfully, giving Charlie a quick kiss on the cheek and we left the boutique.
Pierre and I took his car back to his flat, Cecile and Boris ran long at the fabric store which made Pierre a bit restless but they claimed to be finished within the hour. We took the elevator up to the top floor where Julia, Pierre’s maid of sorts, greeted us with hot espresso. The walls of Pierre’s flat were filled with massive pieces of abstract art, all shades of black and deep blue. I was captured by an acrylic painting in a small sitting area just outside his office while Pierre sifted through his messages.
“Ah, Pierre Soulages, my namesake. He is known as a leader in Europe’s Abstract Expressionism Movement, very inspired by Picasso. This piece is part of his Outrenoir series, as are the other’s found around my flat.”
“The texture is...confusing.” I say, not knowing how to explain my fascination with the black canvas before me.
“Yes! That is what I love. Light as I use it is a material, so he says, and truly it is. Sure his paintings are dark in color, a dangerous choice, but the real medium, the real genius, is how he uses different black textures as a reflector of light.”
“A wonderful namesake, Pierre.” I said lovingly.
“Yes, my mother was an angel.” He paused, staring blankly at the painting. “Anyway, come in here I have things to show you.”
I followed him into his office, the only dark room in the flat, which seemed to have only walls of windows. Along the back wall was a long, narrow console table holding red velvet trays on its top. We went quickly towards the trays, which upon my surprise, were showcasing jewels much like the ones we had seen briefly at the gala. Infact, if I had to guess they would have been the exact ones.
“These are my masterpieces. I’ve been setting them since Friday night when I left you at Le Fouquet’s. Do they look familiar?”
“Tremendously so. Are they real?”
“Real, sure. They are all jewels from my collection, though not as valuable as the Al Thani’s. To the naked eye they are perfect replicas, only under magnification and a keen eye of an appraiser would they be deemed fakes. The only piece that causes me some worry is the dagger.”
Pierre picked up the Shah Jahan Dagger, holding it delicately in his big hands.
“It’s the most valuable piece, marketed for over 3.4 million US dollars, so it must be perfect. The handle has given me some issues. The details are so intricate and without access to the original, I’ve had to make due with photographs and memory. The gala last night helped me clean it up some, but I can’t be sure how well it passes as authentic.”
He placed the dagger in my hands and I was surprised by its weight. I ran my fingers along the gold scrolling designs of the blade, which sat level in the steel.
“I see you’ve carried on your grandfather’s legacy so to say. This is incredibly impressive Pierre, I know that isn’t momentous praise considering I know nothing about fine jewelry.”
“Oh but you will, Anna. I may have my grandfather’s artistic capabilities, but I will never amount to his humility.” He kissed me on the cheek and returned the dagger to its velvet home. “I hope Boris and Cecile turn up quickly! We really need to start preparing, plus Boris promised to bring lunch and I’m starving!”
When the new couple finally arrived just before noon, we ate a fantastic spread of Greek food and went over every aching detail of the night. It wasn’t until 18:00 that Pierre finally cut us loose, sending Cecile and I back to the hotel for some much needed rest. We had two hours before he would pick me up and together we would head back to Hotel de La Marine for the second night of our adventure.
An hour before we were meant to leave, I dressed myself in black leather pants, a cream blouse Julia had so graciously picked for me, and a new pair of black stilettos. The fur coat was hung by the door. Hoping to calm my nerves I smoked a black cigarette and scanned the bookshelf for a light read. Without many English selections, I reached for the only familiar title on the shelf, Beyond Extravagance: A Royal Collection of Gems and Jewels. I flipped through the pages, filled with the Al Thani Collection, searching for the pieces Pierre had recreated at his flat. Their similarities were striking, it would be easy to mistake one for the other, so I told myself. I impulsively dialed Cecile’s room number, but after it rang for several minutes I gave up, hung up the phone and decided to have a glass of wine instead. She’s probably happily drifting down the Seine with Boris again, while I sit, moping nervously in my twenty thousand dollar suite. I couldn’t sit still and began to count down the minutes until 20:00.
Just before it was time, I grabbed the fur coat carefully and headed down to meet Pierre.
“You look lovely as always, a bit flushed if I do say so. Are you feeling alright? Here let me take the coat,” he said, reaching for the heavy fur and draping it casually over his arm.
“Yes I’m fine, I’m ready. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
We drove towards Hotel de la Marine, taking a different route as we would be entering through the back of the hotel from rue Saint-Honore. When we arrived we were greeted by two security guards who led us into the old tapestry room once again. The room still had its charm, even without the elegantly dressed crowd. Champagne filled crystal flutes were waiting for us on red dressed tables in the middle of the room. Pierre took two in his hand and gave one to me.
“Toi a pret ma petite?”
“Let the fun begin.” I said, confidently.
We were quickly joined by the rest of the guests. Pierre had discussed briefly who was to attend, and as each party showed up he whispered who each guest was. Padmanabh Jodhpar, royal prince of India. Prince Joachim and Princess Marie, Danish monarchy. Count Bernard and Countess Alexandria. Just before 20:30, a small Qatari man entered the room dressed in a long white thobe and ghutra, with accents of gold weaved through the agal. I remember Pierre mentioning our host for the evening was a very trusted man in the Al Thani family. Hamad.
“Wonderful to see you all once again. Just before we begin, there has been a slight change as our final guest was unable to make it. They have sent a replacement to view the collection for them. Please if you can wait a little longer, she will be arriving any moment.” Hamad left the room in a rush towards a salon along the back of the room, where the vault was surely kept.
Pierre looked at me, nodded, and then poked me twice sharply in the side. I began to giggle carelessly, growing louder as the room went quiet. I tossed my neck back while Pierre pretended to whisper something indecent in my ear. The Count and Countess began to peer in my direction and talk quietly amongst themselves, while the Indian Prince and Danish Royalty stared uncomfortably.
“I have to apologize, it seems Anna had a bit too much to drink over dinner,” he said to The Count and Countess, “Darling, please keep your rapture to a minimum.” He smiled graciously.
I reached for another flute of champagne.
“I think you’ve had plenty, don’t you?”
“Oh Pierre!” I giggled, nudging an elbow into the Indian Prince as if he was in on the joke, “He thinks this small glass of bubbles will do further damage. Well he would be wrong! Back in America,” I turned to address the Indian Prince, “I would compete in drinking competitions, do you know about these? Beer pong? Flip cup? Oh! And my personal favorite, strip poker!” The Prince’s face went from tensed to embarrassed as my hand fell on his royal shoulder. “You should have seen how quickly I won a game once everyone was down to only their skin! Might want to think about that for your next negotiation technique, it works without fail for Pierre!” I laughed again, louder this time, bending over in apparent seizure. The Indian Prince began to smile shyly.
“Anna, please!” Pierre said sharply, reaching for my glass.
“Oh you should relax, mon petit bebe! Besides, if I’m sipping on champagne I will be less inclined to talk!”
He let my glass be, shooting a loving smile towards me with only the squint of his eyes. I draped my arm through his, leaning on him with practically all my weight.
Just as I was about to further my act, Hamad returned to welcome our final guest. The security guards entered the room once again, followed by a graceful figure, her head facing downward, fiddling with her jacket, long dark hair swaying with her stride. Elizabeth looked up, giving Pierre a satisfactory grin.
“Hello Count Bernard, lovely to see you again. And Alexandria, just when I thought you couldn’t look more beautiful than last night! You’ve out done yourself, your dress is just stunning.” She greeted the rest of the party before making her way over to Pierre and me. Pierre gave me a light pat on the back, he didn’t seem worried that his old friend happened to turn up unexpectedly. I stepped forward as she approached, embracing her in an overly rambunctious hug, swinging her from side to side while her arms were trapped tightly beneath mine.
“Oh Elizabeth! I thought we might never cross paths again! Just as things were starting to get dry, here you are! Quite the happy surprise!” I felt myself overdoing it a bit, so I stepped back unstably. “Let me get you a drink!”
“No, that is quite alright Anna. I see you’ve been drinking enough for the both of us.” She rolled her eyes at Pierre and turned away from us to face Hamad.
“Well if everyone is acquainted, let us begin.” He turned and led us towards the back salon.
The salon was empty, besides a golden rug and a few chandeliers overhead that lit the walkway towards a large stone door on its back wall. I held tightly to Pierre’s arm, swaying every three steps or so. Hamad opened the stone door, followed by a steel, two paneled door which clicked and slid open after he entered a long code into its keypad. We all stepped inside, the door remained open behind us with the two security guards close by.
“Darling, isn’t that coat heavy and hot? Here allow me,” Pierre reached around my shoulders removing the fur coat and holding it in his arms.
“Thank you,” I said sweetly, kissing him on the cheek one too many times. Elizabeth gawped at us disgustingly.
“As you can see, we’ve laid out some of the more prized pieces of The Al Thani Collection for your viewing. Here, we have the Patiala ruby and pearl choker, which was once an ensemble of three ruby necklaces designed by Cartier for the royal family. It is a mystery as to why it was disassembled and left the Patiala royal family. It reappeared in 2000 on the Swiss market, many of its rubies and pearls are still missing.” Hamad went on to explain each piece in depth, all with broken histories.
“Those rubies look so familiar, don’t they Anna?” Elizabeth interrupted. “They are almost identical to that precious necklace you were wearing last night.”
I ignored her remark with a drunken hiccup.
Hamad continued his historical description of the 19th century Sarpesh, which held the name and birth dates of Jahangir and his son, Shah Jahan, on the attached inscribed spinels.
“The spinels date back over 200 years before being set into the sarpesh, no one is quite sure how the spinels left Shah Jahan’s possession, or who attached them to the sarpesh.”
When Hamad approached the Shah Jahahn Dagger I made my move. Crossing my right foot over my left, I tripped myself into Elizabeth, spilling my champagne down the front of her silk blouse beneath her jacket, shattering the flute on the stone floor of the vault. She screamed sharply as I held onto her in the small space of the vault.
“You indecent--you child!” She spat as the Count and Countess quickly approached to tend to her. The Indian Prince began to giggle, hushing himself with a hand over his mouth, he couldn’t pull his attention from the drenched woman. I stood calmly between Prince Joachim and Princess Marie, whispering apologetically to them, explaining how unpracticed I was walking in such high-heeled shoes.
“Please, Elizabeth, let me help you. I am so very sorry. My! It really has completely ruined your blouse! Please let me--”
“Get your drunk hands away from me before you make it worse!” She reproached, stepping out of the vault followed by The Count and Countess, who left with Elizabeth towards the restroom to apply water. Hamad followed behind them to settle the commotion. I glanced over at Pierr,e who was standing amongst the jewels, reaching slyly inside my fur coat where Cecile had sewn deep pockets. He moved quickly, replacing the jewels with his own. The Prince turned to follow my eyes, but I placed my hand on his shoulder asking if he would be happy to stabilize me while I adjusted my heels. I slipped my arm through his and led him to the Danish Royals, explaining to them how terribly I felt having caused such a commotion.
“Oh dear, it’s quite okay” The Princess said graciously, “We were practically at the end of the showing anyhow! Besides, my husband was beginning to complain over his hunger.”
I smiled, thanking her and the Danish Prince.
“I should really go apologize to Elizabeth again, would you mind joining me? She doesn’t seem to like me much,” I took her hand in mine, walking out of the vault, both The Indian Prince and her husband following behind. Pierre came along slowly, with my coat.
We reached the restroom just as Elizabeth and Alexandria were leaving it, her blouse soaked with water and champagne, still blotching the fabric with tissues. She scowled at my presence.
“Well! What an evening!” said Hamad, addressing the group as a whole. “If there aren’t any questions, we can gladly end the viewing here, seeing as some of us might be uncomfortable to continue.” He looked in the direction of Elizabeth apprehensively.
“Yes, the evening is absolutely ruined,” she said under her breath.
“I had a splendid time!” The Indian prince smiled, patting my shoulder, “Thank you for the invitation Hamad! It was a pleasure to meet you, Anna.” He squeezed my hand gently in his.
“Okay! If you would all be so kind as to follow me, I’ll escort you outside while the guards secure the vault.”
When we were finally safely back in the car, on our way to Pierre’s flat, he reached inside the coat and removed the Taj Mahal Emerald. It sat gently in his hand.
“Oh Anna, you were wonderful! Let’s get these back locked up in my safe. Then we must go celebrate!” he kissed my face all over, squeezing my cheeks between his hands. What a rush. I grabbed both his hands, moving them away from my face, looking up at him with my excited eyes. I leaned towards him, kissing him gently on his lips for the first time. He held me there, kissing me harder as if he had been holding back his infatuation all weekend. I felt my body finally give way to him.
He rolled down the windows and we smoked a black cigarette each, the smoke carrying out of the car, up into the forgiving Parisian sky.
Music from Pierre’s terrace flooded the streets below. Cecile and Boris were outside dancing like drunkards when we arrived with the coat full of stolen jewels. Pierre went straight to his office to lock them up, and I went out to the terrace to break the good news.
“Oh happy day!” Cecile rang out, grabbing my hands and swinging me out into the brisk air. She spun me around, her laugh getting lost in the tunnel of sounds. “And how were you? Just the best young actress in Paris, I’m sure of it!”
“She was superb,” said Pierre as he joined us. He handed Boris a cigar. “You should have seen the commotion she caused! Spilling champagne all down Elizabeth! She even made some new friends while doing it.”
“Elizabeth! That vile woman from the gala? She was there?”
“Yes, it was much to our surprise as well. She took the place of one of the invitees that couldn’t make it. Quite purposefully, I’d suppose.” Pierre puffed the cigar, taking a seat to watch the rest of us make fools of ourselves. Boris had brought out a bottle of Macallan Scotch, taking an expensive swig straight from the bottle.
“I hope you two aren’t too far ahead of us,” I said to Cecile, who was dancing alone now.
“You’ll have to do your best to catch up! Boris, pour some for Anna and I, s'il vous plaît. What a day!”
“Well girls hurry up, I’ve gotten us a table for 23:00 at L’Arc! We can drink on the way!”
I went to change into the jumpsuit Pierre bought for me earlier that day, placing the ruby necklace back around my neck where it belonged. At the club, Pierre had pre ordered six bottles of Cristal. From the garden terrace we could see the Arc de Triomphe brightly lit against the dark sky. Metallic bronze covered the walls. Cecile and Boris disappeared into the wave of bodies that filled the dance floor. Silver lights flashed in unison with the deep bass from the DJ booth. Champagne. Black Cigarettes. Pierre’s hands finding their way to my hips. Gold confetti. Fireworks. My hands unbuttoning his shirt. His lips, my tongue.
Leaving the club I glanced at the time, 4:30. A few miles away the Scalise brothers were triggering the motion sensor Pierre had not deactivated as they entered the vault. In a matter of minutes they would be taken away by police, caught red handed stealing imposter jewels from Hotel de la Marine.
Chapter 5 The Jeweler
When I woke I found myself blinded by the Parisian sun, blinking away the white light furiously until I could make out the hidden figure in front of me. Pierre, grinning widely from his seat at the front of the boat, reached out and brushed my hair from my face. I grabbed his hand and held it against my cheek. My memories, suddenly awakened by the black cigarette, were projected in front of me so that I could see things clearly. The four of us were floating down the Seine, towards a meeting with whomever Pierre hoped to be The Jeweler.
“What a trip that was.” I said, still adjusting to my surroundings.
“It is nice to have you back to yourself,” Pierre said lovingly, “I’d begun to worry you’d forgotten all our fun.”
“Fun, yes that’s exactly how you would characterize it.”
He chuckled and turned into the wind. We passed under Pont Alexander III, cruising by the many young couples sitting along the Seine drinking wine and smoking cigarettes. Their faces all looked the same from the water, effervescent figures dancing in the sun.
“What are in these little mysterious tubes anyhow?” asked Cecile, holding a black cigarette tentatively between two fingers.
“Opium mostly, but its potency is alleviated with other plants to help with the withdrawals. It’s quite the concoction, something I picked up from my time with the Italians. They move shipments of it across Europe, only to the highest rollers. It’s a bit of a pricey drug.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like it!”
“That’s the idea, no two clients call it the same thing. We’re almost there now. Boris, you and Cecile can take the boat, I’m not sure how long we will be so we can meet up back at the hotel. Has there been any news about the Scalise brothers?”
“Nothing from the press yet, though judging by the police scanners this morning I’m assuming The Qatari Foundation is doing their best to keep it quiet. I’ll keep checking in with my informants.” Boris had spread himself across the back of the tiny boat, his eyes were closed and Cecile was pressing her lips to his every so often.
“Well, they can’t keep it quiet forever. We just have to complete our business before it gets too hectic to move around in this city undetected.”
We slowed just before Pont D’lena on the right side of the bank. Pierre and I stepped out, sending a quick goodbye to Boris and Cecile, then we took the nearest stairs up to Avenue de New York. Warsaw Square was flooded with tourists pouring their way onto the green surrounding Fontaine du Trocadéro. People stopped abruptly in front of the fountain, taking photos or making a comfortable picnic on its grass. A child ran away from his mother, making a break for the water before getting scooped up and taken away crying. We had trouble moving through the crowd with Pierre’s black suitcase by his side. We were to meet inside the Cite de L'architecture in ten minutes, following instructions from Pierre’s mysterious client. We rushed up the steps, behind the fountain, and into the building on the right. Stone columns, masterful sculptures, and red walls. The museum was practically empty besides a guided tour that entered just before us. Pierre and I acted occupied by the intricate medieval architecture as we waited.
As the tour passed us for a second time Pierre was impatiently checking his watch, when a man peeled away from the crowd. He was tall, slim and well dressed. He held nothing, and dragged his left leg slightly behind him with a smooth limp. His boots clicked in the silence of the museum.
“It seems we are left alone,” said the man, his thick Russian accent clouding his words.
“It would appear so,” answered Pierre.
The man offered his hand, Pierre took it in his.
“That is a beautiful necklace,” the man turned in my direction. His mouth was cradled by frowning lines as he attempted a smile. “Not many have such a keen eye for precious jewelry.”
He took my hand and kissed it once.
“Pierre, I have heard so much of you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“All things are good until they are proven bad. I assume you are carrying something that is most valuable to my employer.”
“Who might that make you?”
“I’m just the eyes and mouth. Shall we walk?”
We moved upstairs where we would be less disturbed.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” the man addressed me again.
“This is Anna, my partner.”
“Anna?” The man was surprised. “Anna what a lovely name, what is your full name?”
“Anna Sullivan,” I said, unsure if that was information I felt comfortable revealing, but Pierre didn’t seem worried, he only smiled approvingly.
“Sullivan.” He tossed the name over his tongue slowly. “It doesn’t suit you. No, you’re much darker than a Sullivan.”
“Just as I told her. Now, Mr?”
“Volkov.”
“Mr. Volkov, should we proceed?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure you have brought an item for me, though I have a feeling my employer might want to have this meeting instead. It has just become increasingly more interesting. May I see it?”
Pierre unlatched the small case, lifted out a velvet pouch, and handed it to Mr. Volkov. He untied the drawstrings and peered inside, smiling as the light slipped into the dark pouch. The Taj Mahal Emerald sat safely between the fabric.
“I’m satisfied. Will you follow me? We can proceed with our business at a cafe nearby. My employer is waiting.”
He made a short phone call.
Restaurant Le Coq sat behind the museum, directly across from Passy Cemetery on Place du Trocadero. From outside I could see its light blue, glass sculpture which towered up from its center, reflecting powerfully off the mirrored ceiling. Waiters were hustling around its interior, filling wine glasses with water, and water glasses with gin. Filets of fish, basil soaked snails, and lightly fried shrimp filled my nose. Tables for two lined the room, with long couches placed in its middle. Mr Volkov led us through the middle towards a couch near the back. Glasses clinked, forks scraped plates, women laughed animatedly.
As we approached the couch, a woman could be seen facing away from us and towards the back wall. Her red hair was pulled tightly into a knotted bun, beneath a black netted veil which surely covered her eyes as well. Her right arm was spread across the back of a tan couch, diamonds dangled off her many bracelets, bouncing light between the mirrors and the massive ring on her third finger. A jade stone. Smoke was lifting into the air from her opera length cigarette holder and its sweet, familiar scent drifted into my nose.
Mr. Volkov brought us to the woman in black, sitting us in the two chairs across her table. She didn’t rise as we sat. I looked towards Pierre who was blinking in amazement.
“Anna,” he said quietly, though not addressing me but the woman before us.
“Pierre, what a handsome man you’ve become. Your father must be so proud.” She held her hand out for him to take in his. “And who is this lovely partner I’ve heard so little about?”
“This is Mademoiselle Sullivan, your excellency,” Mr. Volkov said, standing closely behind us.
“Anna,” I said, offering her my hand as well. She reached out, took it in both of her hands and squeezed it tightly. Her face was pained as she smiled. Her lips, painted with a dark maroon, were stark against her white skin.
“Anna, what a pleasure. Pierre, I am disgusted with you for hiding her from me.” Her look was serious.
“The world was hiding her from the both of us, but here we are and we must not fester with the past now.”
Anna’s eyes peered down at his intimate hand on mine.
“Yes, of course. Now I’ve been told you have something for me, may I see it?”
Pierre handed her the same velvet pouch he had given to Mr. Volkov. She didn’t open it, only felt its weight and shape in her palm and handed it back.
“I would like to congratulate you and speak briefly about our future if you’ll allow me,”
Pierre nodded along, never having been so quiet.
“The Italians have caused quite a ruckus as of late. Headlines! I’ve never seen so many headlines! And I’m sure we are both waiting for one more today. With that in mind, my business cannot be involved with such exposure, and I would like to present you with a proposition. Perhaps two, if this first one works to my liking.”
“What can I help you with?”
“I think we will be helping each other tremendously. As I understand it you have a long interest in the Al Thani Collection, but your true interest is in your grandfather. Am I correct to assume this?”
“Yes, family is very important to me, as I know it is to you.”
“Family is all that we have to rely on, my father taught me that. Blood is different when it is shared. Ah, yes thank you Volkov,” he handed her a small cup of black tea, “You can go now, I’ll be fine.” She took a sip before continuing, Mr. Volkov left out the front doors. “I have a lot of information about your grandfather, things I learned from my father, things I experienced myself. He was a good man, something I’m sure you already know. He worked closely with my father, they were dear friends. Your grandfather’s death troubled my father for some time.”
“His death has troubled me to this day.”
“And I hope to help you heal. But first what I need from you. I understand you have quite a collection yourself?”
“Yes, I’ve stumbled upon some pieces over the years. My grandfather left some with a friend of his who graciously passed them on to me.”
Anna nodded understandingly.
“I see. Florian was his name wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Florian. Did you know him?”
“More than I would have liked to. Anyhow, I have a collection as well and together with yours, and our new acquisitions, I think they would make quite the show. As a collector yourself, I’m sure you understand the importance of original condition and of history. I would like to return the Al Thani’s to their original state as my father had intended. You can help me do that, you have your grandfather’s gift as I understand.”
“I can’t say I’m as talented as he was.”
“Oh he is only being modest,” I interjected, “He’s wonderfully talented; a gifted artist. I’ve seen his work first hand.”
“I see you’ve made quite the devoted fan out of her,” Anna laughed, not taking her eyes from Pierre’s. “I have a warehouse, underground of course. We can use that as a starting point. I’ll have Volkov contact you with the details. Does tomorrow morning suit you? Of course it does.”
Volkov came back through the restaurant moving as quickly as he could manage with his bum leg. He whispered in Anna’s ear.
“It seems the Scalise Brother’s have created a commotion, won’t be long now before the papers get a hold of things. Do keep safe Pierre, but more importantly keep her out of harm's way. That’s a direct order from your new boss.” And with a wink of her heavily mascaraed lashes, she took Volkov’s arm and left the restaurant.
“Anna we should be leaving as well, it will be better to lay low for a while.”
“Are you worried the police will know you’re involved?”
“No, the Scalise Brothers would never utter a word, they live by the Omerta. It isn’t the police that will come after us. Now come on, gather yourself and let’s catch a taxi back to the suite, I’m sure Boris and Cecile are already there waiting.”
Us?
Cecile and Boris had let themselves into the suite and opened up a few bottles of wine before we arrived. Boris had three different computers running in the office, along with a police scanner and some sort of small portable generator. We found them outside on the terrace.
“Boris! Come here I need you for a moment. My apologies Cecile, I’ll have him back in a moment.” Boris and Pierre went inside to the office.
Cecile seemed unbothered, she stretched out on one of the chairs where I joined her, pouring myself a glass of wine. I finished it and poured another.
“That must have been some meeting!”
“He’s hiding something from me.”
“Who? Pierre? What else could the man possibly be hiding? He adores you, Anna. He--”
“He is hiding something.” I picked up a Poppy from the table and began to smoke.
“Did you meet The Jeweler? Who is he?”
“Not so much a he, but a she. A Russian woman, whom Pierre already knew and she knew him as well, from when he was a child.”
“A woman! Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“The Jeweler was her father, she’s taken over his business since he passed. I assume no one is aware of the change, being that there aren’t many that must deal with her directly. But Cecile,” I moved my seat closer so I could lower my voice, “She knew me. I know she did. The way she looked at me, the way she held my hand in hers. She was gentle and intimate. She seemed angry with Pierre, and not because he didn’t execute what she wanted. She was angry that I was there.”
“Anna, how could a Russian woman from the underground know you? It could be she is only worried you’ve been dragged into this mess of sorts.”
“It was her name.”
“Her name?”
“Her name is Anna.”
“Anna!” Pierre had poked his head out onto the terrace. “Anna, darling you need to gather your things. You too Cecile. We will be much more safe at my flat where I can control who comes and goes out of the building. Quickly girls, we don’t have time to waste.”
“When did we become so worried about our safety?” Cecile whispered to me, gathering up the glasses and empty wine bottles.
“Leave those Cecile, they can pick those up when we leave. Pierre is worried about the Italians. I think he’s expecting some retaliation for his double cross of the Scalise Brothers. I’m not so sure about all of this anymore, but we’re safer with them.”
“There you go again! Safety!” She stumbled inside, tossing her hands in the air. “And just who are these Italians, Pierre? Mario! Luigi?” She trailed off into the bedroom.
Pierre was snickering with Boris.
“We may have gone overboard with the wine!” Boris boasted from the office.
“I’ll go with her to her room and help with her things. When will you be ready to leave, Pierre?”
“Ten minutes. Meet you downstairs, ma cherie?” He kissed me long, his hands hard on my shoulders. I wanted to sink into his chest.
“Ten minutes,” I said and ran to collect Cecile.
Julia handed a note to Pierre when we arrived at his flat, and a second note she handed to me.
“These were dropped off a few moments before you arrived by Mr. Volkov.” she said politely.
“Yes, thank you Julia. Feel free to take a few days off, I won’t be needing you.”
Julia thanked him, gathered her things, and left quickly before Pierre could change his mind.
“I was under the impression that sweet French flower lived here with you,” Cecile joked.
I opened my note, Cecile peered inconspicuously over my shoulder.
Au Petit Suisse
20:00
Come alone
I checked the clock, if I was to make it on time I would have to change right away. I could walk to the restaurant from Pierre’s flat, it was only a few blocks away. I knew the restaurant well, it was a quaint little eatery, not many seats but very friendly service. I preferred its kitchen to those Pierre rented out entirely.
“Well, it looks as though I should be going.” I said.
“What? Where do you have to be now?” Pierre was bewildered.
“Anna has asked me to dinner. Au Petit Suisse.”
“Oh that charming little shack! You loved that place when we went!” Cecile hung on my arm, her charmed eyes smiling brightly at mine. Boris took her by the arm and left the room.
“Anna, I really wish you wouldn’t go. It will be dark soon, and the thought of you being alone with all this going on will make me sick. If you would let me come along—”
“I don’t think I have much of a choice, my note is a clear indication you are not to join me. Really Pierre, I will be fine. I just have to change quickly.”
I moved to his bedroom where I put my belongings.
“Anna, we can get a hold of her another way. I’ll send Boris to apologize for your absence. If you would just stay!”
“Pierre, this isn’t as much of an inconvenience as you are making it!” I was bothered by his persistence. He was jittery and shifted in his expensive boots like a child.
“Listen to me, Anna. There are things you don’t know, things I haven’t told you yet. And I haven’t told them to you because I don’t think you are ready to hear them!”
“I know you are hiding something from me, and I think it is my decision whether or not I am ready to hear it. Now I am going.”
He held onto my hand, bringing me closer to him.
“How can you know you are ready for something if you do not understand what that something is? The magnitude of it? Please, let’s at least sit and talk before you go. You must hear it from me first.”
“Whatever it is Pierre, I will hear it one way or the other. We don’t know what Anna wants of me. We can talk when I’m back.”
“There can be only one thing she wants, I’m sure of it.” He let go of my hand and sat defeatedly on his bed.
I ran my fingers through his hair, tilting his chin up with my skinny fingers. I kissed his pouting lips and grabbed my coat.
“I trust that you are thinking of me and me alone, Pierre.”
So I left.
The outdoor tables of Au Petit Suisse were filled with smoking customers. The heaters above the smoke clouds were buzzing faintly as I passed them into the dim restaurant. I saw Anna almost immediately, tucked away from the busy tables in the back corner upstairs. I climbed the small staircase and approached her. She was dressed more casually, in black satin pants and a rose blouse. Her makeup was lighter on her eyes than before. I could see her life on the creases of her face.
“Bonsoir, Anna.” She said in a delicately hidden Russian accent. I took her hand in mine and sat across from her. She poured me a glass of a partially filled bottle of red. “I’m glad my note reached you in time.”
“Yes, we arrived just after Mr. Volkov left I believe.”
“And how is Pierre? In good spirits?”
“He was a bit worried about me coming alone. I think the chaos of the day was getting to him.”
“Ah Pierre, a worrier like his father. I knew him briefly as a boy when my father inserted himself into Monsieur Aymard’s business. He was such an adventurous boy, always after some sort of mystery. I see that quality hasn’t left with his innocence.”
“Your father was a mysterious man himself, I've been told.”
“Oh he was many things,” she laughed fondly at her memory of him. “But yes he had many secrets. As do I.”
“I’m coming to find I’m surrounded by people with secrets.”
“Yes, I can imagine how exhausting it all is. I know I am exhausted by my own darkness. I hope to alleviate some of that in you tonight.”
“I don’t know how much you can help, we’ve only just met.”
“My dearest Anna. Don’t you see?” She placed a photograph on the table. It was of a young woman, long red hair wildly draped over her shoulders. In her arms was a small child, wrapped in blankets. She was smiling down at the child who seemed calm in her arms. Anna slid the photograph towards me and I took it in my hands.
“I don’t understand,” I said, looking closer at the photograph. It was dated in the corner, August 8th 1996, a year after my birth.
“You see that is the last picture taken of us together.”
“Of you and I? I don’t understand, my mother was not Russian. I am not Russian.”
“Yes of course, your last name is Sullivan. Your grandparents were Marie and Timothy Wilson. I knew them well, Marie was the closest thing I had to a mother. Only I knew her as Marie Harris, before she married Timothy. Even after they married Marie Wilson had always sounded forced to me.”
“How did you know them? My grandparents—”
“Marie raised me. My mother died shortly after childbirth, and Marie was my mother’s wetnurse. When I was a baby my father had no time to raise a child alone, and Marie stayed on as a nanny. She taught me everything I know today. I loved her very much.” Anna’s eyes welled shallowly with tears as she smiled. “And when I was with child, she became my daughter’s nanny as well, for the short time I had with her.”
“The child in the photo,” I began.
“The child is you.”
“I don’t understand, it simply doesn’t make sense. I was born in Chicago, my mother--”
“You were told what we decided was easiest at the time, though now I can see how terrible of a mistake it was. You are so disconnected from your past. I am so sorry for how lost you must feel. I am sorry for all of it, but you have to let me explain. Let me do my best to show you I was protecting the only thing I’ve ever loved.”
I held the photograph in my hand, it trembled between my fingers. My mother was dead, Grandma Wilson had told me so much. I remember the photographs she would show me in a small album she kept by her bedside. My mother, a healthy young woman dressed in lofty fabrics and fur hats. My mother, pregnant with me, playing cards with my father. My mother, just as beautiful as the woman in Anna’s photograph, had the same piercing eyes as the woman before me now. I began to cry helplessly, I didn’t know what to believe. When did my old life end and this one begin? I knew she wasn’t lying, I knew there was something connecting us when I first met her earlier that day.
“I can’t--I don’t know what questions to ask.”
“Why don’t you let me tell you from the beginning. From the moment I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep you safe.”
I stared at her through my glossed eyes.
“Your father Alexander was a sweet man, young and ambitious when he started working for my father. At the time my father was running opium from Russia throughout Eastern Europe and Alex was in charge of expanding it into the western countries. I would take trips with him to Spain, Italy, and France. We were young, but very much in love. Your father was a kind man. When I found out I was pregnant, he insisted I stopped going on long trips, for your sake. My father was very cautious of my safety at the time, and while I was generally rebellious, I could feel your life inside me and that was enough for me to settle. I stayed in Moscow while Alex spent longer and longer time away. The opium business was beginning to take off, we were moving shipments into every major city and eventually my father instructed Alex to pass it on to another family, so that he could distance himself from the distribution. It was safer that way, minimizing the connections. Alex relied heavily on the Italians and spent most of his time in Sicily. When the Italians took over Alex’s job for my father I thought he would come home. I waited and waited for what felt like years, and you were growing more and more everyday. The stress was bad for my health and the doctors worried, mostly Marie worried, about the birth. When you finally arrived, Alex hadn’t been heard from for six months. The longest six months of my life.” She took a sip of wine, her hands were shaking as she set the glass down so I placed my hand on hers to comfort her. “I never heard from him. Your father would never leave me, I know that. He would never leave us. And that is how I knew he would never be coming back. I don’t know what he got into, but my father’s business was very dangerous and Alex knew what he had signed up for, as did I. But when you arrived, Anna, you were my little treasure. Your face was so pale and innocent, so untouched by the darkness you were born into. I couldn’t let you live the life I had grown to hate in those years. So I had Marie take you away.”
“To the states?”
“To England at first, but yes to the states eventually. I kept in close contact with Marie. She would send photos and letters consistently, and I sent money to help as much as she would allow. She loved you as her own, I know that. But when she grew sick, you were only nine and Timothy was so overwhelmed. When child services came there were no legal records, nothing could prove that you were their own. Even your last name had been changed to hide you from people that went looking. That was our first mistake.”
“I remember them taking me away. I couldn’t understand how they could do that? Even when Marie was healthy again I couldn’t go back.”
“Yes, I lost track of you then. I couldn’t find what home they sent you to or where you were at all. You must understand my heartbreak, my constant heartbreak of you there alone.”
I remember my first home in Chicago. The Johnson’s had nearly eight foster children in the three years I was there. It was so easy to become unnoticed. Leave early, stay out late. I was only 13 when I decided to leave and never come back. I worked as a busser for a Chinese restaurant just behind the local high school where I met Cecile. Living in public housing alone. Cooking noodles with butter when I couldn’t take something home from the restaurant. The smell of chemicals wafting through the ventilation. It took two years for Cecile to convince me to move in with her family, already struggling to support their own children. I was a burden to everyone. No matter how many people I was around, I was always alone.
“All this time I thought I had no one left.” I felt anger sweeping over my memories.
“Yes, yes I know that must have been how you felt. But I was always searching. I had even gone to Chicago to visit Marie in the hospital when you were taken away. I lost you, Anna. I lost you and there is no excuse but you must know what is in my heart. I was always loving you.”
I put my head down as a waiter approached and handed us both menus. I wiped away the slow tears as I tried to read the glossy French before me.
“Do you like duck? They have a great canard confit, let’s both have that.”
I nodded and she sent the waiter away with our order.
“When you applied for college I was able to follow you again. I kept a close eye on your schooling, your many accolades, those short stories you published in your University’s journal! I was so proud, I am still so proud of what you have become. Your strength is just as your father’s was, an undeniable determination.”
“Why didn’t you come then? Why didn’t you come when they died? When I needed something, anything to hold on to. I had nothing.”
“You had Cecile, she helped you. But I’ll confess, I was scared of what you would think of me and all the confusion my presence would cause. I know I was wrong, I know that now at this moment. I can see your pain is just as mine is.” She reached out again to hold my hand and I let her.
“And Pierre, does he know?”
“Yes. I suspect he was searching for you just as I was. You see the memories he has of me from when he was a child were from while I was pregnant. He was young, but I knew the moment he saw me today he had remembered it all. He knew I couldn’t resist seeing you if he brought you along. You have always been my weakness, that is why I stayed away for so long. But now it seems he has brought you to me. It is better that it’s him rather than someone else.”
“Aren’t you angry with him?”
“I couldn’t stay angry with him long after seeing you. The thought of you has brought me so much despair over the years, and now so much happiness I’m unsure what to do with it.”
Our food was brought to the table. I could only stare at it, having lost my appetite.
“I don’t think I can eat either darling, don't worry. If you want I can take you back to Pierre’s, this has been a lot for the both of us.”
“I’m unsure if I want to be around him at all anymore.” I knew Pierre had tried to tell me what he was keeping from me before I left his flat, but that only angered me further.
“You must be upset, you have every right to be angry at us both. But I know Pierre is a good man, with a fine heart, and you won’t be safe anywhere else.”
I knew she was right and agreed to head back to the flat. We made plans to see each other the next day in the evening. She wanted to hear all she had missed, all the memories she had only watched from afar. I too wanted to know about her. Whoever she was, she felt as close to family as anyone had been before her. Leaving the restaurant I grieved the me that walked in naively just hours before.
Chapter 6 The Reconciliation
The flat was dark when I entered. It was well past midnight and only a single light was left on for me in the entry. I could hear Cecile snickering somewhere far in the dark. I went into Pierre’s office and grabbed a bottle of Macallan, leaving the whiskey tumblers where they were, and went to sit on the sofa in the dark. Pierre heard my movements and came out to the sitting room. He turned on a small floor lamp in the corner of the room. My makeup had smeared below my eyes, leaving them gray and morbid.
“She’s told you.” His voice was cautious.
I didn’t answer, instead I took a long swig from the bottle that was resting between my legs, with my eyes forward, away from him. I knew the moment I looked at him I would shatter. He came to my side, kneeling down by my knees.
“Darling, you must know--”
“Darling,” I said in a low mocking tone.
“Yes,because, you see, that is what you are to me. You have been for quite some time.”
“And how long exactly? A month, a year? How long have I been in your sights, just as your expensive jewels?”
“That is unfair, Anna. I only wish to explain how dear you are to me.”
“Unfair! Would you like to speak of what is fair? Tell me is it fair to play someone’s life as if it were a game? Moving me about like a pawn upon your chessboard!”
“I understand your anger, and your disgust with me. I too felt it the moment I met you.”
“The moment you met me is no longer a fanciful coincidence in my mind. Tell me, when was it first you saw me? Was it not the same moment I saw you? How long did--”
“It is true we did not meet out of pure luck. Yes, you are right to assume I placed myself in your path. But Anna, if I had known what you would be to me! If I had known I wouldn’t have involved you at all. You have become my weakness just as you are your mother’s.”
“I’m so happy you have another thing in common with her.”
Pierre stood, defeatedly. He paced the dim room, his slippered feet dragging along the wood floor. Though his presence was a bother to me, I was glad to not be alone. I just wished for him not to speak.
“Can you stop that incessant pacing?” I drank again from the bottle. Pierre came to me and took it from my hands. “Ah good, control your hostage.”
“Hostage! Is that how you see yourself!”
“I am nothing more than at your disposal. I have been. Where has my freedom gone, Pierre?”
“You are free, Anna. Everything I have done and will do is to ensure your freedom. You are my partner in this.”
“I ceased to be your partner the moment you sat me down before my mother like a treat before a dog.” I sat for a moment thinking. “You know, I bet you have a file on me. Just as you do The Jeweler.” I sprung to my feet and left for his office, taking apart the drawers of his desk, pulling the manilla files to the floor.
“Stop this! Anna, you have to stop now!” Pierre was yelling, rushing after me.
“I have to know! What do you have here? Ah yes, here it is!”
I opened a file with my name on its corner, spreading its contents across his desk. I stood before it, scrambling through photos and notes. Photos of me leaving my studio in Chicago bundled in a winter coat, two years before. Me, skimpily dressed in an American bar with Cecile for her birthday last spring. Me, entering Chicago O’Hare just months before arriving in Paris. Measurements of my body listed carefully on thick printer paper, my drink of choice, my bank account information, my university records. My life typed up simply in black and white for Pierre’s eyes to read and memorize.
“Anna, please!” Pierre came behind me, wrapping his arms around mine, holding my trembling body against his chest. I fought, swinging viciously from side to side but he only held tighter. “Please Anna stop!” He sat his face into the back of my neck, I felt his tears drip onto my skin, warm and desperate. I slammed my palms to the wooden desk, he let go and let me sink into the chair. I felt my tightened throat release and I began to sob into my hands. Pierre knelt to the floor, swinging the chair so that I would face him. He rested his head on my knees.
“You have to know how deeply I had fallen in love with you by the time we met.” Pierre raised his head and took my hands from my face. I felt my tears beeding down my hot cheeks. “Yes it was business, at first. At first you were nothing more than a piece of the puzzle. But Anna, the more I found the more I couldn’t separate you from me!” I looked into his eyes, more human than before. “I knew I should have pulled away, found another way to reach out to your mother. But I couldn’t. Once I knew you I didn’t want to know anything else.”
He reached out and wiped the tears from my lips.
“You offered me money.”
“I knew you wouldn’t refuse if I did.”
“And Cecile, Boris--”
“That was unexpected, Boris didn’t know about her. I couldn’t have known--”
He didn’t finish, only held my hands to his face. I began to cry again when I heard Cecile’s soft footsteps approaching from the sitting room. I quickly cleaned my face with my sleeves.
“What’s happened?” She said as she stepped tentatively into the office. Boris towered over her from behind, his face white in recognition.
“Boris, would you please make us some coffee.” I said, my voice was clear and calm. Pierre looked up at me amazed. I stood, leaving Pierre knelt on the floor, and moved into the sitting room where I turned on the remaining lights.
“What’s happened?” Cecile said again, more forcefully than before. Her voice was shaken and panicked.
I sat back onto the couch, lighting a black cigarette. Pierre came in from the office and sat on a lone leather chair in the corner. He put his face in his hands again while Boris returned with four steaming espressos.
“What has happened is I have been played like a fucking symphony.”
Cecile didn’t say a word, just took a seat next to mine on the sofa. She held a hot cup in her hands.
“Merde,” Mumbled Boris.
“Mais oui, Boris. Merde.” I sipped my espresso.
Boris went into the office and collected the photographs and papers I had sprawled across the desk. Placing them neatly into the file, he brought them back and handed them to Cecile. She turned each page slowly, examining its contents. All four of us sat in the quiet until she finished.
“Marvelous,” she said, dropping the file onto the glass white table. She folded her arms and leaned back, observing the wreck that was once Pierre.
“Cecile, you must know that Boris had nothing to do with this.” Pierre didn’t not raise his head as he addressed her.
“But you were aware, yes? Boris? You understood who Anna was?”
“Yes,” Boris said. His honest arms hung to his sides while he stood facing the terrace.
“He was only following orders.”
“Yes, orders. Okay well what are his orders now? What are all of our orders? Since we all seem to be at your beck and call.” Cecile was succinct in her criticisms. It was the first time since Friday evening that I felt her motherly protection again. “How did you track us to Paris?”
“We’ve been monitoring your passports and bank activity.”
“You followed us from the bar to the water on Friday. I remember seeing Boris.”
“Yes, it was all very purposeful.”
“Wonderful,” she said while standing and stretching her arms overhead. “Well, Anna. I think we should go to bed.”
“I’m sorry?” I looked up at her silhouette as it moved past Pierre then Boris.
“Yes, there is nothing left to do tonight but sulk and drink. I think it’s best you sleep before something is done that cannot be undone. Pick yourself up, now.”
I followed her towards the guest room, carrying the whiskey bottle along. We left Pierre and Boris in the sitting room and shut the door on the night.
I woke up in the guest room alone. On the bedside table was the pitiful, half-empty bottle of whiskey, which I could still taste on my breath. Cecile was out on the terrace with Boris having coffee, I could hear her voice in a mumbled anger. The silence of the morning was strange, like rain without clouds. I could feel it on my skin. I poured a cup and sat down alongside the couple, their attention on the food in front of them, I had deliberately interrupted their quarrel. My cup clinked loudly as I set it to the table, Cecile let out a sigh of displeasure, and Boris cleared his throat.
“And how are we feeling this morning?” Cecile said, rather cheerfully. She was doing a poor job hiding her discomfort.
“Less than satisfactory I would say. Lovely morning.”
“Don’t say it with so much excitement, you might feel happy.” She was looking at me but I refused to return her gaze, “I was thinking we could go shopping today, what do you say? Le Bon Marche?”
“Only if we walk, I can’t sit in another car driven by someone else.”
Boris left the table, heading to talk with Pierre I assumed.
Cecile turned swiftly in my direction.
“Anna, you must tell me about your mother. I know you didn’t want to talk much last night.. But my! There must be so many thoughts!”
“Yes, so many thoughts, yet none of them have been pleasant.” There was a dense, dark cloud that hung over my first moments with my estranged mother. Unfortunately, I felt that would never be lifted from my memory. It’s a wonder I hadn’t forgotten it all yet, with the way my mind seems to shelf dark things in my memories.
“They will be, though. They will be pleasant over time. Especially if you let me in.”
“It isn’t a matter of letting you in, rather the liberation of other heavy things I’ve acquired.”
Just then, Pierre appeared on the terrace. Cecile looked at him with obvious disgust, then stood cinematically.
“Anna and I are going shopping, so say what you would like but we are leaving shortly.”
“Yes, of course. Boris and I have to be at the warehouse anyhow.”
Cecile went inside.
Pierre poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the railing, looking down toward the street. He searched for something to say, opening his mouth for a moment, then deciding against it and sipping his coffee. Under his eyes hung dark pouches, of regret no doubt. His shirt was buttoned haphazardly, his hair was without product. I fought the urge I had to stand and take his face in my hands and kiss his sadness away.
“I should shower,” I said while pushing my chair back against the stone, it screeched terribly and Pierre winced.
“Anna, if you would just wait a moment. I know the last thing you want to hear is my voice pleading with you, so I won’t. You need time to think, understandably so, and I will let you do that. Have a wonderful time with Cecile, let your mind relax for the afternoon. We can talk this evening, then maybe listening to me won’t feel so dreadful.”
“I’ll decide if I’m up for a conversation later. Goodluck with Anna today.”
“Thank you. Please be safe today. I know it sounds like I am being overprotective, but you cannot understand what these people are like unless you experience it. I just wish for you to be cautious.”
“Of course.”
I wanted for him to reach out and grab me, pull me into him and kiss me hard. But he only stared intently at the street, so I left the terrace and the irritable awkwardness stayed with him.
I showered and gathered my things. By the time we left, so had Boris and Pierre. We decided to stop and have another coffee and pastry at Les Deux Magots before heading to Le Bon Marche. Boulevard Saint-Germain was busy with women carrying bags full of expensive clothes, and dirty men asking for cigarettes. I watched a woman step out of a taxi across the street from the cafe. Her white pants were iron-pressed and sleek against the Parisian gray. She fumbled gracefully out of the cab, her many bags falling from her hands due to the shifting weight inside. She stood above them with her hands on her hips, blowing her bobbed brown hair from her eyes. I smiled at life’s difficulties.
“You can’t stay mad at him forever, Anna. I’ve seen the way you look at him when he isn’t looking. You don’t look at things like that, let alone men. If we are being frank I would say you haven’t loved anything a day in your life.”
The woman gathered her bags, throwing her head back in the wind.
“That’s not true I loved Peter,” I felt Cecile’s eyes roll, “And I love you, Cecile.”
“Peter! Honestly, who could love Peter. With a name like that.. And I do not count, you’re obligated to love me, no one can help to not.”
“Sure, I loved him.”
The disheveled woman regained her sophistication while waiting for the crosslight to blink green. She was looking down at her phone, scrolling for something.
“You loved that he loved you and that was the end of that. There wasn’t an interesting bone in that boy’s body. Peter, ha!” Cecile blew smoke between her white teeth. It was nice to see her smile. “And now this man! This mysterious, dark, handsome man comes gliding into your life and suddenly you feel love! Real love, not Peter love.”
“Pierre did not glide into my life, he staged his entrance like a broadway show.”
The woman looked up from her phone and seeing the light had not turned, went back to scrolling. Her arms looked tired from the bags.
“I don’t care how he appeared, he is here now. And you have never been more infatuated, I would hate to see you give that up. The first real relationship in your life Anna, could you just imagine?”
“I imagine he must feel very satisfied in presenting it as such.”
“You are so hard headed. So what now? You are going to stay ceaselessly angry at him? That would become incredibly exhausting.”
The woman held her phone to her ear now, talking animatedly to someone on the other line. Impatient and distracted, she stepped out onto the street just as a taxi was screaming down the boulevard. I grabbed Cecile’s leg beneath the table just as a man seemed to come out of nowhere, pulling the woman back to the curb.
“Anna, please! You’re leaving marks! Are you still so angry?”
The woman thanked the man, who was dressed in a deep burgundy coat, his hat covering his eyes as he looked down at her, smiling kindly. She turned and walked across the street as the light went green. The man lifted his head, his eyes meeting directly with mine. I looked away at Cecile.
“Oh I’m sorry, just this woman.. No it’s nothing, nevermind. I’m not so angry as I am confused about what to do with myself.”
The man disappeared into a shop across the street.
“I can’t just suddenly feel at ease with everything that has happened, everything that Pierre had planned.” I continued.
“Well, you simply need to decide what your circumstances are.”
“My circumstances? I have spent the past few days in a predetermined timeline set by Pierre, only to find that while I have been living as an orphan, my mother has spent my life in luxury.”
“Yes but Anna, everything is predetermined in some way. There is only so much you can control.”
“That’s just it, I haven’t had any control. Control has been taken from me, and I’m beginning to feel it was taken long before this weekend.”
Cecile peered at me from behind her Gucci sunglasses that perched on the tip of her nose. It was clear she didn’t agree with a single utterance from my lips.
“You’re so worried about your loss of freedom that you haven’t thought about whether Pierre has encroached on your freedom at all.”
“Has he not? He pointed me in the direction he wanted, I feel like a well trained dog on a leash.”
“Pierre may have inserted a bit of influence, yes that cannot be denied. But you were still able to make decisions, were you not? You always have a choice.”
“I’m not sure I follow, Cecile.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t freedom merely the ability to choose? You blame the circumstances, you blame Pierre, you blame your mother. But it is you who is choosing to feel betrayed. I’m not saying you shouldn’t feel some sort of anger or discomfort, but Anna! Your freedom has gone nowhere unless you decide not to deal with it.”
She saw that I was still unconvinced.
“There are always circumstances, situations which we must navigate. But when you are presented with them you have to decide if and how you should act. You may choose to not to act at all, and some things require no reaction, like the fact that Anna is your mother, or that Pierre knew of you before you knew of him. These are things you cannot change, rather you can only accept.”
“That still leaves me bothered.”
“Yes, but what will you do with that feeling? How you feel is entirely up to you and your freedom of choice. It’s all perspective really.”
“You put that so simply it sounds like a lie.”
“And yet, there isn’t a dishonest bone in my body.”
I smiled and put my hand on hers in a silent acknowledgement.
“I suppose there is nothing I can do about my mother and Pierre. It is done.”
“Yes, it is done!”
“And I wanted so badly to crawl into Pierre’s arms, even last night when I returned from dinner. I wanted so badly for him to wrap me up and carry my sadness himself.”
“See! You love him! And can’t you also see how it has affected him as well? He does carry your sadness, Anna, and you didn’t even need to ask.”
“So I choose to forgive.”
“Choosing otherwise would be self destruction, even I can see that.”
I blissfully remembered Pierre’s skin against mine beneath his silk sheets. The way his lips disturbed my sanctity. Hot breath in my ear and cold fingers on my hips. Falling asleep between the crease of his neck and the comfort of his chest. You are more treasured than any jewel we saw tonight. Somehow his words meant something entirely different only a day later.
“Anna?”
“Sorry, yes self destruction. Should we go?”
“Oh please! My hands are so tired of being empty!”
We paid our bill. Upon leaving the cafe I glanced across the street, the man was smoking a cigarette outside the shop, his hat tipped towards the floor while the smoke lifted weightlessly above it.
Le Bon Marche was crowded, as it always seems to be, with window shoppers and high rollers alike. Its three floors were shelved between delicate lights and marble floors. Cecile moved instinctually towards the perfumes, spraying each on thin strips of card stock, waving them, then sniffing, sometimes with disgust. I watched the sales associates decide whether to approach her or not, confused if she was interested or simply enjoying the puerality of spraying each glass bottle. We moved on to the second floor, where Cecile threw different atrocious dresses into my arms for us to try on playfully. I watched her float between clothing racks, touching everything she was close to, making comments on its texture and color.
I had begun to forget about Pierre, and about my mother when we moved on to shoes. I sat on a blush bench, probably often occupied by bored husbands and tired children, holding the overwhelming amount of fabric on my lap. Cecile was looking at a bold pair of pink pumps when I was distracted by a man standing a few sections away from us. He seemed to be pretending to look through a rack of women’s coats, though not very convincingly. He kept his head down, with the collar of his black jacket raised above his chin. I watched him move slowly between the fabrics. Cecile moved onto a pair of open toe heels. The man was approached by another and he quietly left the area. His friend echoed his movements, and I suddenly recognized him. The smoking hero from the crosslight in front of Les Deux Magots. He weaved purposely towards Cecile, who was unaware of anything other than the dainty shoes in her hands. He was bold in his movements and I was immobile for a moment, but he kept coming closer.
“Cecile!” I said rather anxiously. “Let’s try some of these on.”
“But I really want to ask--”
“No, really.” I spoke softly to capture her attention, “We need to go to the dressing room, now.”
I took her by the arm and walked calmly towards a corner of the floor marked femme. Pushing past the line, we squeezed rudely into one of the small rooms and I pulled its curtain firmly closed.
“Anna! What has gotten into you?” Cecile sat on the only stool, looking up at me vexed. I was anxiously unlocking my phone and searching for Pierre’s contact. When I found it I pressed call immediately, but I had no service and the lines wouldn’t connect. You cannot understand what these people are like unless you experience it. I tried again, but there was no use.
“Cecile, I think we might have been followed. Those men, who were by the shoes, I saw one of them before at the cafe.”
“Couldn’t you just be paranoid?”
“I could, but I don’t want to take any chances, do you? I mean what are the odds the same man has appeared here, in the women’s clothing section?”
“It isn’t our place to judge!”
“Cecile, be serious! Pierre warned us this could happen, let’s just be cautious.” I took a breath and left the dressing room for a moment. Past the line of women waiting for a room, I could still see the man, walking in circles at the far end of the floor. I returned to Cecile.
“Okay, he is still there, but if we are quick I think we can slip out without him noticing.”
“Does that mean we are leaving the clothing?”
“Yes, Cecile.”
“Even the shoes?”
“Cecile!”
“Okay, okay! Let’s go then.”
We left the dressing rooms slowly, waiting for the man to turn his back, then walking briskly down the stairs to the first floor. We kept our heads down, not looking once in his direction, until we made it out onto the crowded street.
“Now what?” Cecile was clutching my hand as I dragged her down the boulevard. I dialed Pierre again, connecting this time. It rang twice before he picked up.
“Darling, I wasn’t expecting a call. I’m in the middle--”
“I think Cecile and I are being followed.” I interrupted.
“Where are you?”
“We just left Le Bon Marche. There was a man, well two of them--”
“Don’t worry about the details, I’ll come now. Get into somewhere dark, a pub or small cafe, and send me the address.”
I hung up.
We cut down a small side street, then another, and wandered into Le Nemrod. I pulled Cecile to the bar and sat her down. I sent Pierre the address and we waited with no sign of the smoking hero. I ordered us each a shot of tequila, I could tell by the paleness of Cecile’s face that she needed it. Her expression was apologetic, as if in this moment she would have been okay with my anger at Pierre. It is peculiar how fear can change one’s perspective. We tossed the shots back in a continued silence, I checked the door nervously over my shoulder until I saw Pierre’s dark sedan pull up out front. I left some coins at the bar and we left, climbing safely inside the car.
“Are you two alright? Did they follow you to the cafe?” Pierre was visibly worried, his forehead glistened slightly with perspiration.
“I don’t think they did, but I could be wrong. I knew there was something off about that man, the moment I saw him.”
“I’m thankful for your attention to detail, Anna. This could have been a very different day, though it isn’t over yet. We need to find somewhere other than my flat, surely they followed you from there. I’ve sent Boris to collect both of your things. I have a friend who owns a small place in the 11th arrondissement, it should be more quiet there. Are you sure you are alright?”
We both nodded silently. I allowed myself to gaze out the window to calm my nerves. I must have interrupted Pierre’s morning with Anna, it was barely noon and he was meant to be gone until the early evening. He wasn’t bothered, instead he seemed rather pleased to be of some sort of use for me.
We pulled down a small side street somewhere close to the Charonne metro station. The streets were dirtier, in an undisturbed sort of way. They weren’t full of gawking tourists, but rather young students and slow moving Parisians. We got out of the car as Pierre typed a code into a keypad next to a small metal door. It buzzed loudly as we entered and climbed a small staircase to the fourth floor. The flat was practically empty and full of dust. It smelt unlived in, stale and moist. Cecile opened the two windows facing the street, wiping her hands frustratedly together afterwards. I could see the dust tossing into the breeze. I followed Pierre into one of the two small bedrooms where a lone mattress lay on the floor and an easel rested next to the window. I fell onto the bed as he opened the window. He came and sat by my head, combing his fingers through my hair. I felt my eyes close with exhaustion. I breathed in a faint smell of vinegar and coffee grounds.
“I should see if Boris is outside,” Pierre said, rising again to the wood paneled flooring.
“Wait for a moment, if you would.”
I sat up and he came to my side.
“I’ve realized that there will always be things I don’t understand, or can’t for that matter. There is part of me that wishes I hadn’t come here, that I hadn’t become involved in this at all. The spontaneity of meeting you has completely vanished and I'm left with your malintentions. But I am here nonetheless, and the rest of me is happy about that. If things had gone differently, if meeting you was unplanned and organic, I would still be here with you.”
“That sounds like you’ve forgiven me.”
“I’ve forgiven what happened before we met, it would be cruel of me to hold anything against you when doing so hurts me as well.”
“All I want is to keep you from hurting, Anna.”
“I know that now. I knew that last night as well, from the pain in your eyes. I was unsympathetic in my rage and confusion and I am sorry for being so blinded. I was overwhelmed.”
“You have no reason to feel apologetic, it is me that should be pleading with you.” He ran his fingers beneath my eyes, resting his thumbs gently on my temples. “I used your lost connection with your mother in an evil way and there isn’t anything I can say to change that, but there is still so much good to come from this. You will finally get answers to questions you never found yourself able to ask.”
“And so will you, I presume.”
“Yes, both of us are looking for answers, and how lucky we are to have found something else entirely. Something so unexpected.”
He kissed me soft and long. I held onto him, missing his lips even before he took them away.
Cecile tiptoed into the room.
“There’s a buzzing coming from the speaker by the door. It’s rather annoying.” She said, smiling knowingly at my happiness.
“That must be Boris downstairs, I’ll go help him with your things. Also, I’m sending Julia to the store, is there anything either of you need? No? Okay, I’ll be quick.”
He left.
“What is that I smell in the air?” Cecile wandered into the room towards the window.
“Paint thinner.”
“No, Anna. Reconciliation.”
“Oh please!”
“Look at you! You’re glowing. Say, do you and your mother share a striking resemblance?”
“I suppose I look a lot like her, yes. Why?”
“Because there is a beautiful, redhead waiting outside with Boris and I’m wondering if I should settle the jealousy that has suddenly risen up in me.”
I got up from the bed and joined Cecile at the window, seeing Boris and my mother just before they entered the door. She was carrying my suitcase, her coat caught on the handle causing her to struggle with the curb.
“Why is she here?”
“So it is her! Oh I am so excited, aren’t you excited!”
“Cecile, do not make this such a deal.”
She rushed into the other room, swinging open the door before they reached it. I sat on the lone sofa in the room, lighting myself a poppy cigarette. My nerves were still high and my mother’s presence surely would not help them.
“Quick Anna, what is your last name?”
“Cecile, what a silly question.”
“Not Sullivan! Your mother’s last name. What is it?”
“Pavlov.”
“Oh, so mysterious! Why must Russians be so mysterious?”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as she started off down the stairs, yelling for my mother to drop my bag where it was. I heard their greetings, my mother’s composure and glowing approval of Cecile. Cecile’s enthusiasm rang up the stairwell into the open room, filling its stale nature with love. I have so many stories of Anna, you won’t believe what she did at our high school prom! Do you have pictures? Of Anna? As a baby? I’ve never seen any, I’m sure she was chubby. Everyone is fat once in their life, you know.
As their footsteps neared, I stood from the sofa and went to the window. I counted my breaths. Pierre came in first, coming to my side immediately after recognizing my expression. He put his hands on my shoulders, kissing my hair just once and I was calm.
“Anna, your mother is just a delight!”
“Oh Cecile, you have been more of a mother to her than I. Anna, are you shaken? I’m sorry to impose, but when Pierre told me what happened I had to see you.” Anna Pavlov entered the room, her perfume hit me like smoke.
“Yes, yes I’m fine now. Was only a short scare.”
She came to me and took me in her thin arms. She was warm beneath her coat.
“But a scare nonetheless! I brought tea, is there a kettle in the kitchen? I’ll make some, it should calm us all.” She went to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets.
Boris left into the other bedroom to drop Cecile’s luggage, returning with two large chairs in his tree trunk arms. He set them across from the sofa, a small table sat between. We gathered around cozily, the tea kettle screamed, and Anna brought us each a hot cup.
“What to do with these Italians.” she said, sitting alone on one of the heavy chairs. Cecile sat with Boris on the other, it was quite comical to watch them fuss over positioning until she rested on his lap. Pierre tapped my knee with his hand, in the same rhythm he taps his chin while thinking.
“The best option is to leave,” Pierre said suddenly.
“Leave? Leave Paris?” Cecile looked at me as she spoke, then turned to Anna Pavlov.
“Leave France,” he replied. “We are sitting ducks at the moment, it is our only real option. Though the collection cannot be moved, that poses a problem.”
“Yes, indeed we cannot leave the jewels. Pierre, how long until you will be finished?”
“If I work quickly, without resting, maybe three days at the earliest. I would rather take my time, it isn’t something that should be rushed.”
“I agree, it must be done correctly and with care. I can try my hand with the Italians. I’ll have Mr. Volkov send for some help from Moscow, I can have ten men here overnight. Unfortunately, I intend to cut business with the Italians, which will only bring more of them to the city.”
With Pierre’s agreement, Anna left the room to phone Mr. Volkov.