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In the basement of a Russian jewelry boutique, on the east side of Dam Square, Pierre lit an oil lamp with his heavy, gold zippo. The shop keeper (an aged Dutch man, who was bent like a cane from having worked on watches his entire life), unlocked an old wooden door and pulled it harshly on its new hinges.
Pierre stepped through the door frame, illuminating a brick tunnel with a dim yellow light. My heels echoed into the darkness. Pierre bowed his head and the door shut behind us. There was a draft coming from the other end of the tunnel. I held Pierre’s hand tightly at my side, he squeezed it twice and we began our walk beneath ground, towards the tiny red light alleys of De Wallen.
Late last night, or early this morning, I found Pierre outside on the balcony with a steaming cup of whiskey and two lemons. He had snuck out of bed (after we had snuck out of that bar, very scantily dressed). He shrugged me off, telling me he’s up early just to prepare. ‘Don’t worry ma chérie, tout va bien.’ I told him he should take his own advice. His charm died and his eyes darkened. He turned away from me and peered down to the street. Then he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear, ‘I think I found your father.’ I took his whiskey from his hands and finished it off myself.
A twenty minute walk, or for me a careful shuffle of my heels over the damp bricks, and we came to a small, square room. The light from the street above beamed through a road rail casting a striped shadow on the floor of the room. As we stepped into it, Pierre looked up and closed his eyes. He was counting, 2..3..4…the metal above him rattled under an approaching car. The light disappeared, then reappeared onto Pierre’s open eyes, the menacing green in them turning into the most beautiful lagoon. A car door closed above. Slow, relaxed footsteps, a heavy grunt, and a small gold key fell between the metal cracks, bouncing on the floor between us. Pierre bent at the knee to pick it up.
‘I can’t be sure,’ he continued whispering. ‘But if it is him, and he is here, we have to assume it is no coincidence.’ He told me he had been tracking a man for the past year based on some information the Scalise brothers gave him. He wasn’t sure if he was right, until he was notified that the same man passed through immigration at the airport in Amsterdam, two days ago. ‘Does my mother know?’ If she did, it wasn’t because Pierre had told her. He hadn’t spoken to her since she proposed his takeover. I tapped my nails against the tumbler.
“We’re early. We still have five minutes before Mickey and Cecile arrive.” He took a black cigarette from his breast pocket, lit it with the same gold lighter, and passed it to me before lighting his own.
Boris drove away above our heads.
“Are you feeling nervous?”
I took a long drag and blew the smoke upwards, watching it dissipate into the night.
Pierre took a step towards me, reached out, and pulled my black wig away from my roots, just enough to see the red of my hair. My head cocked backwards, but he gently released and I relaxed my neck. I looked up at him confused—terrified that I had let him handle me so easily. He smiled and put his thumb on my bottom lip, parting my mouth just enough.
“Sorry, I only wanted to be with you for a moment before the night begins. It’s a crime to cover your hair like this, I feel so guilty about the position I’ve put you in,” said the criminal, so close to me I could smell his vetiver soap. He took a hit from the cigarette and pressed his lips to mine, exhaling the smoke into my lungs and dancing his tongue past my teeth. I opened my eyes to the effervescent shimmer from the poppies and inhaled confidently.
“I’m not nervous.”
“No, of course you aren’t. I should know better by this point. You are your mother’s daughter, anyhow.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel much better.”
Pierre kissed my forehead and pulled my wig back into place. I wiped my mouth and reapplied some of Elizabeth's favorite cherry red lipstick. We finished our cigarettes and tossed them to the floor. Another car approached from above. We made our way to the door directly across from the tunnel and Pierre slipped in the key, turning it to the right twice before sliding the pocket door into the wall. Immediately the sounds of a crowded room seeped into the tunnel, I slid the door closed.
Only a curtain separated us from what seemed like the entire auction. Pierre pulled a fake beard and monocle out from his coat, letting it drop to the floor exposing his black and white ringman uniform.
“Remember what we discussed, but don’t let it stifle you. Stay focused, we will make it out just fine,” hummed Pierre. He put his hands on either side of my shoulders, squeezed me, and gave me a kiss, before he pulled back the left side of the curtain and took his place in the crowd of voices.
I gave myself a final look in my compact mirror.
Just two months before, all I had wanted was to be someone other than myself. Now, looking into my eyes and seeing any color other than my own feels less like irony and more like a premonition. But for one more night I will play the fool, and join in the masquerade that has become my life. Because if there is one thing I will get by the end of the evening it will be my freedom.
I exited from behind the curtain on the right. A magnificent, underground ballroom moved before me. Cream silk tablecloths. Golden chandeliers dressed with hanging emeralds. Marbled pink floors. The guests moved slowly around each other while the servers bounced in and out of the various pods of people, balancing silver drink trays above their heads. I made a direct line towards one of the servers, quickly snatched two glasses of champagne, and drank them one after the other on my way to the restroom.
Cecile was waiting for me inside with a dark blue dress in her hands. Mikolaj hadn’t been sure on what dress Elizabeth would be wearing for the evening, he had narrowed it down to three by doing some digging on her recent spending. He had obviously managed to discover and obtain the correct dress, which I was now changing into inside the rather ostentatious bathroom.
Elizabeth had great taste, fortunately.
Drinks and discussions, first on our agenda of the evening. I stepped out of the bathroom, empty now as Cecile took her place in the crowd next to Mikolaj. I scanned the mingling bodies as I lifted a champagne glass from a nearby tray. Elizabeth hadn’t arrived yet, so it was up to me to make a grand entrance: a la booze. I got my hand on another flute, finishing my first drink just in time to replace the other. Then, instead of finishing the second, I grabbed a third and parted the sea of wealth towards my first target.
“Monsieur Bernard,” I said to a stout man in my best North London accent, kissing him once on each cheek, with the grace of Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth! I almost didn’t recognize you. What are you doing here? This is no place for a young lady.” He spoke with such confidence that the sound of my pulse in my ears began to subside.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me. My father is here to keep a careful eye. Well, he will be. He seems to be running a little late and I can’t figure what to do with myself!”
“Your father! I had no idea he would be attending. You must join me for a drink, at least until he arrives.” He reached out to pat my hand, graciously.
“I must admit, I might be a touch ahead of you in the drink department.” I laughed richly and slid my arm through the bend of his elbow, heading towards the nearest tea table.
We passed just behind Cecile and Mikolaj, his arm draped around her, taking advantage of her role as his arm candy. And candy she was, curating all of the attention in the room. She flashed me a wink and over her shoulder I could see Pierre, making his way towards us with a tray of drinks. He passed briefly, giving time for Monsieur Bernard to grab two glasses of champagne.
“Shall we go find my wife? She hasn’t seen you since you started talking!”
He pulled me along towards a crowd of strangers I already knew, due to the keen preparation by Pierre.
Alice Lott (Monsieur Bernard's wife and distant friend of Elizabeth’s family), Samuel and Julia Stone (owners of a highly profitable black market art club), and Julian Pourcel (long time art collector, rumored to have several high ticket Nazi memorabilia).
“My goodness what a beauty you are! I had heard what a lady you’ve become, and of course seen the occasional photo or two sent by your mother. What a pleasant surprise!” Alice leaned in to give me a proper embrace and a small kiss on my cheek that was mostly noise.
“And where is Edward?” Samuel Stone asked. He was a tall man, apparently not one of greetings or general manners. His frown lines hung from his face like the stringy limbs of a willow.
“Edward? My father, yes. He should be arriving any moment now, can’t imagine what is taking him so long.” I looked around the room, pretending to scan for my beloved papa, but in reality I was keeping an eye out for my dress’s twin.
“Good. Well, we were just discussing some of the items that are up this year. It’s been a bit of a disappointment to be frank, in comparison to last year. What a beauty those jewels were, the ones Aymard brought from his private collection. Downsizing he said! Unbelievable! He left with practically half of the auction!”
I felt my eye twitch at the mention of Pierre’s last name. I dug my nails into the skin of my palm.
“You know the Aymards well, don’t you Elizabeth?” Alice looked at me, Elizabeth.
“Excuse me?”
"Monsieur Aymard! And his son, the ever-so-charming Pierre. He is a force, that one.”
“Oh, yes! Of course. Though, I haven’t seen either of them in some time. Not since I was last in London.”
“Well that couldn’t have been very long. Didn’t you just arrive in Amsterdam today?” Samuel Stone looked at me quizzically. I could feel beads of sweat beginning to develop on my hairline, fearful they might run and take my disguise with them.
“Me? Why, yes. Excuse me, I meant to say the last time they were in London. Silly me, sometimes I don’t even know what I’m saying, nothing in my head. Hollow brain! That’s what they call me anyway..” I desperately wished one of them would stop me from talking.
“Dear, don’t let anyone call you that, how wretched! A woman of your class and stature especially.” said Alice, I was beginning to take a liking to her. Though her compliments were meant for Elizabeth, not me.
“Nevermind this chatter, what is it your father is coming all the way here for? I haven’t seen him at an auction in, why, maybe ten years give or take.”
“Haven’t you heard?”
I baited the group. They looked at me confused, perturbed as to what I might say next.
“The Al Thani Collection. It’s here, completed.” I whispered.
“Completed!” gasped Julian Pourcel, the stoic of the group. “By a thief, c’est sur! There is no other possibility.”
“Well thief or no thief, my father seems superbly interested.”
“Well with good reason, I can’t imagine Aymard being happy with his interest!”
The strangers seemed to close in on me. Even the groups surrounding us, (who had become distracted by my utterance of the words Al Thani Collection), fell quiet in anticipation.
“Oh, that I wouldn’t know anything about. Like I said, I haven’t seen the Aymards in quite some time now.”
I reached out to a passing waiter and grabbed two more flutes of champagne, shooting them back one after another.
“Woo!” I gasped. I placed one of the flutes on another passing tray, while purposefully letting the other drop to the floor. The sound of the glass shattering stopped the chatter in the room. I heard whispers spreading around me. Elizabeth…Edward…Al Thani Collection..Completed?...Tonight! I managed to excuse myself and stumble out of the crowd, drunkenly making my way back to the restroom. I caught Cecile’s eye and she promptly followed for my second costume change of the night.
“You are a star!” She exclaimed as she burst through the restroom door.
“Shh! Let’s make sure there aren't any ears in here.” I quickly approached the stalls and checked for any locked doors. There was a woman in the sitting room attached to the bathroom, but she was there to hand out napkins and mints, not engage in underground collusion.
“What a rush!” Cecile put her hand to her chest as if she was short of breath. “You should have seen me, dealing with Mikolaj’s antics. You know, if he isn’t careful I think Boris might crush him.”
“Cecile, help me with this clasp, we have no time for fantasies involving Boris and his muscles.”
She helped me out of Elizabeth’s dress and into my own, disposing of the former and the rest of my costume into the garbage. I motioned towards the door as I heard approaching footsteps. There was a double knock on the unlocked door. I opened it just enough to expose my face.
“Anna, darling, you were brilliant. They’re opening the doors to the auction room now, Cecile needs to meet Mikolaj so they can take a seat. I’ve informed the staff about ‘Elizabeth’s’ drunkard behavior, I think there is a chance they will stop her at the door. She has just arrived with her father.” Pierre let the door shut and went to take his place amongst the crowd once again.
I turned to Cecile as she gathered herself and exited into the ball room. I waited a minute or two and followed suit. In front of the auction room entrance there was a commotion between a large man and a woman in a blue dress with long black hair. She was turned away and escorted outside. I passed by her briefly, the scent of her perfume rushed me like anthrax.
The auction room doors sat behind another deep red curtain, its heavy fabric pulled aside by gold ropes and tassels. Two sections, 100 chairs, split down the center. The lights were dimmer than the ball room, sconces lit up the stone underground walls. The soft chirping from the crowd echoed as people were seated in their proper rows, their assigned paddle placed on their seat.
Mikolaj and Cecile were sitting comfortably in the third row on the left. Paddle #57.
Edward, Elizabeth’s father, was four rows back from them, an empty seat next to him. Paddle #28.
The final tail of guests slithered into their seats and the auctioneer began his sermon.
The first two items came and went, unheard by me and mostly unappreciated by the crowd. Mikolaj casually raised his paddle twice for a tea cup that was rumored to be touched and utilized by the highest ranking members of the Third Reich. Cecilie must have kept him focused, because he retired his paddle after a small back and forth with an Argentinian man in the sixth row.
The collection was last on the docket. Instead of bringing all of the pieces to the stage to be viewed, a camera feed from the vault room was shown by projector during a brief intermission. As the stream switched from piece to piece I looked for Pierre from my seat at the back of the room. Just as I caught a glimpse of his jacket, my attention was stolen by a familiar moving woman in a deep green vail.
My mother, I was sure of it, entered the room from the back in the company of a tall man. His head, pointed downward, was hidden by the brim of his hat. A pair of thick glasses hung around his neck from a gold chain. They both took a seat in the final row on the left side. Paddle #96.
I looked to where I last saw Pierre, hoping he was witnessing the same as me, but only saw a closed door. Despite my agitation, I calmly moved towards it.
Pierre was pacing in a small circle around his tray of dropped food. As I entered his eyes lifted his cursed brows as he looked in my direction.
“Did you see them? Did you see my mother?”\
“Your mother! Your mother is not a concern.”
“Then why are you agitated? Why are you not on the floor? The collection is about to come out!”
Pierre took his phone from his pocket, a video streaming on its screen. The Scalise brothers were inside the same tunnel we came down not an hour before, guns drawn, hats down, in a quick jog.
“They’re coming for the vault.”