Click here to read Part Two Chapter Two.
I woke Cecile by simply wafting a bottle of gin beneath her nose. She mumbled something about John Travoltra as she came to, and I helped her back out onto the boat. I could tell she was disappointed that she didn’t get the chance to look around, but once she saw the paleness of my skin she was more attentive. I handed her her nose, which she stuck back onto her face, and off we went back down the canal, directed towards the loft.
This time, I was the one laying down in the shaded daybed as my mother and Cecile sat around the table, smoking poppies. I was sweating, even though the wind was beginning to chill my skin. When I closed my eyes I could feel my pulse pushing against my skin. I began to count the bridges, unfortunately I knew just how many we would pass under before arriving home.
As the third bridge came and went, I noticed a man jogging alongside our boat. On his head was a gambler's hat. His black wool coat lifted behind him like a cape as he gained speed. We were approaching the fourth bridge, which came just before a turn, merging us onto another canal. No one else in the boat seemed to see this man, his boots clicking louder against the stone roads. I sat up as we approached the bridge, the man slowed his run and I lost sight of him. Then suddenly, like a gunshot, something crashed onto the boat. The man, rolling into the bartender and knocking him down like pins, had leapt from the bridge and landed on our boat. Cecile screamed, and her nose fell to one side. I looked to my mother, calm as ever, with her right hand placed firmly in her purse. The captain continued down stream, unfazed.
“Cholera,” the man mumbled, rubbing his knees on the ground like a small child. I immediately realized I knew this person, his lanky arms and knobby knees had once before been rolling in front of me.
“In what hell, Mikolaj, did you imagine that to be a good idea?” I stood abruptly, and instead of going to help the King of Keys to his feet, I assisted the bartender.
“Not to worry! I am fine.” Mikolaj rose to his feet, bowing slowly as he did before, but this time soberly.
“I am so glad you’re alright, meanwhile I’ve practically ruined my new skirt! Look at this,” Cecile held up an empty glass of Campari, “my drink is finished!”
“Well, honey, that is not quite the end of the world.” My mother took her hand from her purse and extended it to the stranger. “We haven’t seemed to have the pleasure yet.”
Mikolaj took Anna Pavlov’s hand in his, turning it so he could kiss it not once, but apparently twice.
“The pleasure is all mine, but I feel a bit silly to say this is not the first time we have met.”
“Mother, this is Pierre’s friend, Mikolaj. Or maybe you know him by his street name—”
“The King of Keys!” Mikolaj sang, spinning just once in a circle, stretching his arms out wide in a sort of magician’s tada.
My mother seemed to toss him over in her mind, her expression changing from pleasantries to confusion, then a peculiar shock. She rubbed her hand where he had kissed it, looking at me crazed.
“But you are such a young man,” she managed.
“Yes, yes he’s fooled them all. Let’s not give him too many compliments, he isn’t exactly the most humble man to begin with.” Cecile ripped the nose from the other half of her face and threw it at him in disgust.
“My beautiful American flower, what is this! What is this anger you have at me and that gorgeously made prosthetic? Come, come. Tell Mikolaj the problem.”
Mikolaj approached Cecile, kneeling in front of her like one would a queen. He put his hands gently on her crossed legs, she looked abruptly away from him.
“I can’t imagine a world in which I would look even the faintest like a flower in this hideous contraption you’ve masked me with! You must have been joking, this must have been something you found funny.”
“Well, in a way it is a joke. A joke on the world, for all who see you in this imagine you to be some sort of—of, well, monstress. But they are mistaken! Because beneath all that rubber is the most angelic creature to walk this earth.”
“My goodness, that cannot work on anyone.” I laughed.
“It was worth a shot. I am good with poetry, you know. But yes, in reality you are right. I am menacing to hide Cecile’s beauty like that. It was selfish, I couldn’t have anyone else’s attention on you.”
“It’s as if you haven’t even met Boris,” scoffed Cecile.
“Boris? Who is this Boris?”
Just then, the boat veered right and slowed along the edge of the canal. Standing above us next to a piling was Pierre and Boris. My mother tossed them the mooring line and they secured the boat. Pierre reached out his hand for mine, smiling gently. I had almost forgotten the discussion I had with my mother.
When we made it safely back to the loft, King of Kings and all, Pierre asked us to meet in the dining room. He held me back and told Boris to make some coffee.
“I was hoping I could take you out tonight. It would be just the two of us, to talk.” He brushed his thumb along my cheek as he spoke to me, kissing me softly on the forehead. “What do you say?”
“Yes, of course. You aren’t angry at me for visiting with my mother?”
“Darling, she is your mother. Besides, I go out everyday and risk being seen. I can’t stop you from doing the same—even if it does worry me. Did you have a nice time?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later. Will I need this pesky disguise tonight?”
“No. No, I want you to be you tonight. We won’t be in the public eye too much, I hope.”
Pierre took my hand and we joined the others in the dining room.
“Donc,” Pierre put both his hands on the table, I took a seat next to him. We faced Cecile, sandwiched between her two suitors. “The auction is tomorrow evening and for everything to go smoothly we must be on the same page. I’ll try to give you as much information as I can so that there is no confusion. To begin with, our objective: to sell the collection to the highest bidder.”
“Do we know who will be attending?” Questioned Cecile. I had to give it to her, for someone that lived a life in the light for so long she was adapting very well to the dark. I suppose she had her moments pulling me out of alleyways on the southside, or paying my tab at a bar when I fell asleep on the counter. Never could you catch her with a stain on an old t-shirt, or a frayed hem, but she certainly wasn’t scared of the dirt.
“Yes, but it is who we cannot be sure will be there that is the real issue. This is the purpose of our disguises.”
Pierre went into the other room and brought back a manilla folder. He spread its contents on the table.
Four photographs of Italian mobsters, whom I recognize now even in my dreams. One photograph of an older man. And the last, a smaller photo that looked to be taken from a private collection of Elizabeth. I shuddered at the sight of her smile, her eyes beaming—not at the camera, but at whomever was behind it.
“You think Elizabeth will be there?” I managed, swallowing my jealousy.
“Her passport was flagged entering The Netherlands in Eindhoven. I can only assume we are her reason for being here.”
I looked at the photo, her long black hair draping beyond her shoulders in perfection. I touched the wig I was still wearing, its silky strands of hair glimmering just like hers. When I realized who I was disguised as, I ripped the wig from my head and threw it at Mikolaj.
“Oi! For what reason!” He shouted, spitting the hairs from his lips.
“Darling, I’m sorry to say, but that was my idea. It will be easy to distract her, and others, if she has a twin walking around causing a ruckus. The old man in the other photo is her father. His passport was also flagged on a ferry from London to Lille.”
“This is Elizabeth?” Cecile took the photo in her hand and held it out in front of her. “You know Pierre, she looks a lot like you. You must have enjoyed making love to yourself in a wig.”
“Cecile!” I bursted, thanking her briefly with a smile.
“Yes, sorry. Carry on! Our disguises..”
“Our disguises will be as follows: Anna will be Elizabeth, a somewhat intoxicated and disruptive version but Elizabeth nonetheless. I will be dressed as a ringman, help to the auctioneer. Mickey, as you already know, will take the role of an elderly rich buyer and Cecile, his young wife. Boris will be driving around the area, keeping a lookout on the exterior of the auction house as well as making himself available for a quick escape.”
“And why can’t Boris be the rich old man?” Cecile humpfed.
“Because he is much too noticeable, look at the size of him! Big oaf.” Mikolaj was making an exaggerated gesture around the frame of Boris who began to stand, towering over le petit Mickey. “But sturdy, yes! Reliable like an oak, I’m sure!” He chuckled nervously as Boris sat back down.
“Can we remain focused please?” Pierre continued, “Each of us will need to be on high alert for these characters, our enemies. We must distract them, without causing a disturbance during the auction. The Italians could be after us, but I genuinely believe they are just there for the collection. Although I don’t think they have the intention of buying it outright, but rather to steal it before it can be given to the highest bidder. As for Elizabeth and her father, there can be no other reason for their attendance than to disrupt our sale. Now, let me tell you how we are going to make sure that will not happen….”
Pierre was waiting outside while I changed out of Elizabeth and into Anna. I put on a dress I bought shopping with Cecile in Paris, a dress I bought with the spending money from Pierre. It was her idea. You wouldn’t dare wear anything but the Ludovic, would you? The black one? I guess I wouldn’t, because when I put it on I finally saw what she saw. Class. A high neck. Sheer fabric draped softly across my skin. Shoulders, exposed. A low swooping back. My long red hair pulled back and fastened just above the nape on my neck. The dress lightly kissed the floor as I walked. I applied a dark red lipstick: Rouge Minuit, and escaped down the staircase to meet Pierre.
Pierre, a deep blue suit. White button up, buttoned down. Gold pinky ring on his reaching hand. Behind him, sitting driverless on the curb, was an Audi R8, as black as the night itself. He helped me inside onto a red leather seat before getting in himself. Not a word was spoken between the two of us as we passed down small pedestrian streets, the engine waking up the sleeping streets of Amsterdam. I stole a glance at Pierre, a smile growing as we entered Dam Square. He pulled over and put the car in park. Ready? Oui.
We climbed a few corner steps and a door was opened for us at the top. We entered a restaurant, Bougain Ville to be precise. Pierre walked past the host who put his eyes to the floor, I followed closely behind. We walked directly through the middle of the room. Round, white clothed tables. Crescent booths wrapped in gold, floral printed velvet. Floating candles lined our path through a door at the very back wall. If there were people in the restaurant, I wouldn’t have the slightest memory, I was too fixated on the man who hadn’t uttered a word.
Behind the door was a curtain, and behind that a staircase. We climbed two flights and found ourselves in an empty bar. A table had been set for two, a single candle and two glasses of wine. The bottle was left on the table along with another of the same label. Pierre again helped me into my seat before taking his. He took the wine glass in his hand and held it to mine.
“May we live as long as we like, and have what we like as long as we live.”
I took a long sip of my wine.
“For years I thought about what I might say to you in a moment like this, on a night like this. But now that we are here, all my words seem to have escaped me.”
He got up from his seat and disappeared behind the bar. A moment later there was a crackle of a record player followed by the soft keys of a piano. I was beginning to hate that instrument all together.
“Ah, much better. Now this room doesn’t feel so daunting.”
He took a seat on a sofa on the other side of the room. I finished my glass then refilled it, leaning back in my chair.
“My mother told me about the position she offered you.”
Pierre shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“I don’t think I would classify it as an offer.”
“Oh?”
“I mean that she didn’t give me much of a choice. She wasn’t supposed to be at the warehouse yesterday but showed up as I did in the morning. She told me ‘it’s the only option, the safest option.’ Which, of course, made me think that it is only the safest option for her…and I suppose for me as well if there wasn’t another factor involved…I confess that is the reason for my big day of drinking with Mickey. Not that I wasn’t happy to see him, I was elated when he arrived. But my heart, Anna, has been so heavy since your mother’s instructions.”
“Did you just refer to me as a factor?”
“In the most complimentary form of the word.”
“My mother can be very persuasive, so I’ve found.” I reminded myself of the sun sneaking into the canal house, her fingers violently playing the music of my childhood.
“Anna, your mother’s reach touches everything in our lives if I fill that role. But it doesn’t have to. You don’t have to be involved with the poppies, with the company, with me. You have an out and I can provide it for you, if that is what you want.”
His words grew more quiet as he spoke. He was tapping his knee rapidly with his left hand, the other massaging his forehead. He was beginning to sweat. I left my seat at the table and joined him on the sofa. I pulled his jacket away from his shoulders and draped it behind us. For once, it seemed, I had all the control.
“And what would an out like this entail?”
“I could get you and Cecile passports. There is a small airport in Den Haag, I know the air traffic control there and could make sure everything was off books. You won’t have to tell me where you go, you can fly wherever you want. I would handle your mother, make sure she had no inkling until you were securely in the air.”
“You’ve given this some thought.” I ran my fingers up and down the opening of his shirt. Goosebumps formed on the skin around his chest.
“I want you to have options. I don’t want you to feel stuck, or forced. For once I am doing my best not to control the situation. To leave the decision up to you, it is yours to make alone.”
“Isn’t it funny that, for once, I wish you wouldn’t give me an option.” I traced my fingers around the sharp edges of his jaw, kissing him just once on his neck. His skin was warm so I stayed there, feeling him catch his breath against my cheek.
“I know these ideas are all new to you, but I can only think about your safety. Once I am placed in control of distribution my enemies will nearly double, and those are just the ones I can assume. You are, and will remain, my area of weakness. To get to me they will come for you.”
Pierre pulled away from me and stood, beginning to pace.
“And won’t that be the same if I leave? Only I won’t have you there with me. I will be running from something that I never got the chance to enjoy in the first place. If I am going to be punished for love, I might as well get all of it that I can.”
He stopped his pacing and faced me.
“Amour. You can’t be sure.”
“You’re right, I can’t. But if there is anything I am sure about it is that I will never be sure about anything at all. Please just sit down Pierre, you cannot imagine how nervous your pacing makes me.”
“You are going to be miserable.” He said as he sat back down.
I lifted my dress from where it hung around my ankles and uncrossed my legs. Slipping my pumps off one after the other, I slid my left leg over his and climbed on top of him.
“Are we sure to be alone here?”
“Now you ask me this! After you have already made yourself comfortable on my lap.” He blushed, smoothing the wrinkles of my dress around my waist. “But, yes. I made the precautions so that we wouldn’t be interrupted.”
“Because you thought what? That I would be angry? That you would have to calm me down with wine and piano music?” I reached behind my neck and undid the clasp that was holding the fabric tightly against my skin, letting the sheer black give way to my olive skin underneath. Pierre reached out and gently grabbed my neck, pressing his thumb down my throat to the middle of my chest. He held his hand there, feeling my heart race quicker by the minute.
“Because I couldn’t risk having any interruptions.” His fingers found their way to my lower back, unfastening the clasp and unzipping the back of my dress until the fabric completely loosened, and fell. He lifted it over my head, letting it lay on the floor as if I was the expensive thing, not the designer dress.
Pierre’s hands met my hips, pulling me close to him. I fell onto his lips, parting them just enough to let my tongue slip into his mouth. I pulled at the buttons on his shirt, sliding my hands in to feel his chest. The piano music continued to play as Pierre picked me up and carried me back to the table, pushing everything off and setting me on top. I unfastened his pants as he stood between my legs and nudged him towards me with my heels. He kissed his way around my collar bone and up my neck, landing on my ear where he stayed for a breath or two. This is only the beginning, he whispered. His hot skin against me, the table cold beneath me, and for the first time I let myself be completely engulfed—submerged—in pleasure.
What was it Anna Pavlov had said to me? All as One. Sure, she was talking about a drug high, but to each their own. I had my source of opium, and I wasn’t about to give him up just yet.