See You In My Dreams

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  “Good morning, Nikki, how was Bali?” the receptionist asked.

  She smiled, answering, “It was paradise, unless you're on a fashion shoot.” Actually it had been a trying shoot, mainly due to an over-enthusiastic fashion assistant, who'd badgered the photographer into twice as many shots as necessary.

  “You poor thing. I don't know how you manage,” Karen quipped, rolling her big brown eyes.

  “I know. It's a tough life, but somebody has to do it.” Switching gears, she asked, “Jolie in? She left a message she wanted to see me."

  The receptionist rolled her eyes again. “Oh yes, Madame Jolie is in the building. Better watch out...” she warned, “...she's in a very good mood, and—uh, frankly that's pretty scary."

  “Yeah. Know what you mean. Guess I'd better see what she wants."

  “I'll let her know you're here."

  “Is Max in?"

  “No, haven't you heard?” Karen gave a furtive look around. “He's in Paris."

  “So? Nothing unusual about that."

  “He's with someone,” Karen whispered.

  “Really?” Nikki managed a casual shrug. “Who?” Maybe it was another of Max's flavors of the week. The affair wouldn't last long; they never did.

  Karen dropped her voice. “Arianne Willoughby, the banker's daughter."

  “Who?"

  “You remember the tall redhead who decided she'd like to be a model. Max had a photographer do some head shots, just to please Daddy. Seems her daddy belongs to the same gym our hunky boss does."

  Nikki nodded. Yes, certainly she remembered redhead. The redhead had done everything but fall at Max's feet. “From the Multiple Sclerosis fashion show?"

  Karen nodded. “That's the one."

  Stuck-up and spoiled too, if Nikki recalled correctly.

  “Well, M'sieur Max left for Paris two days ago."

  “With her?"

  “Not exactly. She left for Paris the next day—hot on his heels. It was in several of the columns."

  “Coincidence?” Nikki suggested, hoping.

  The receptionist lowered her voice even further. “Maybe, but one of the columns hinted her family would be making an announcement soon."

  Nikki leaned in closer. “Married? We are talking about love'em and leave'em Max?” She forced herself to stop before her voice rose out of control.

  “Well, you never know. I mean even Warren Beatty got married, didn't he? ‘Course, it's just gossip."

  Anxious to think about anything but Max's getting married, Nikki prompted, “Uh-Jolie?"

  “Oh, sorry. Go on in. She's expecting you."

  “Thanks.” Nikki straightened her shoulders. She might as well find out what the V.P. wanted.

  She walked down the hall to Jolie's office and tapped on the door.

  “Come in,” came the low breathy voice of Max's V.P.

  Nikki opened the door, walked in, and glancing about, remarked, “The new office looks good.” Very good, in fact. Jolie had obviously had an interior designer.

  “Yes, the other wasn't my style at all, darling—so fusty. Max is such an anachronism. He should have been born in the eighteenth century or something.” Jolie gave a brittle laugh—one always guaranteed to raise the hair on Nikki's neck.

  “Well, this is lovely too,” she offered. Diplomacy had never been her strong point, but she tried. Truly, the austere Italian furnishings were sleek and spare.

  Jolie smiled, putting Nikki on guard. Smiles were not Jolie's stock in trade.

  “I wanted to be the one to tell you this,” Jolie began. “It's over. Devereaux's no longer requires your services."

  “Excuse me?"

  “I'm sorry, dear. I should've used words of one syllable. You're fired."

  Nikki registered disbelief, then anger. “You're firing me? And Max agrees with this?"

  “Max isn't here. I'm in charge. And if the rumors are true, he might not be back for several weeks.” Jolie gave another brittle laugh. “Yes, darling. After all, you're nearly thirty years old."

  “Twenty-six,” Nikki replied through gritted teeth.

  “No matter.” Jolie gave a dismissive wave. “We take models younger and younger all the time. It's time to make way. You've had a nice run of it, but you knew it had to end sometime, and that time is now.” She leaned back in her white leather chair and watched Nikki with a cold, calculating stare.

  Nikki bit back the bitter response that came to her lips and turned on her heel. No point in giving Jolie exactly what she wanted. On the other hand, if Nikki stayed any longer, she'd have to kill Jolie.

  “Nikki,” Jolie called after her.

  She turned. “Yes?"

  Jolie gave her a wolfish smile. “Best of luck in the future, darling. You'll need it, especially now that your former protector is occupied with his new friend. I hear they might even marry.” She gave a casual shrug and continued. “It's time you know. He's been alone much too long. I suppose he's been a little reluctant to take the plunge again. Of course, after being suspected of killing his first wife ... If I were you—well, I'd count myself lucky to be out of the running."

  It took every ounce of self-control she possessed to resist flying across the glass desk and attacking the smug Jolie on her white leather throne. “That's crap. Max's wife died in a car accident.” To hell with Jolie and her vicious lies. She spun on her heel and left the agency without speaking to anyone.

  Her words had been brave, but later she couldn't erase the ugly scene from her mind. Jolie's remark about Max's first wife had been chilling. Oh, she'd heard the rumors before—and never believed them. The Max Devereaux she'd known had always been kind and gentle, even if a trifle distant with her. And he absolutely doted on his daughter.

  Max's reputation aside, she'd reached a crossroads. Perhaps, it was her own doing. Certainly her enthusiasm for being photographed and lolling about in the latest fashions had palled. Did she really have the guts to weather this change? So maybe her new life would turn out to be less luxurious than her current one. At least, thanks to her connections, she didn't have to worry about being homeless again. Losing her job might even be a blessing in disguise. She might actually discover if she had any gifts besides the ability to slink down a runway.

  The biggest difficulty she foresaw was Mama. After Nikki had started making good money, her first large purchase had been a condominium in Florida for her mother. She absolutely would not sell the condo out from under her mother. Plus, her mother depended on Nikki for the extras the monthly social security check didn't cover.

  Unfortunately, Mama might still have to make some adjustments. Not that Mama had ever really appreciated what Nikki had done for her. Mama was never satisfied. Why she still tried to please her mother, she wasn't sure. Maybe she was sorry because her mother's life had been pretty grim. Still she hoped for a sign of approval—just one.

  ~ * ~

  At her apartment, Nikki quickly packed an overnight bag. She would head for the small beach cottage she'd refurbished and decorated on Martha's Vineyard. Hefting the bag on her shoulder, she walked the three blocks to the garage where she kept her seldom-used sports car.

  A long drive, the last leg on the ferry, to the picturesque island was exactly what she needed to clear her head before she made plans for the future.

  Sixteen

  Martha's Vineyard

  After two days at the beach house, two long days of running and walking for hours along the shoreline, Nikki sat on the deck overlooking the dark-green Atlantic and watched the sun rise. The rays of light illuminated the far reaches of the water and crept closer on feet of lavender and purple. She'd spent another sleepless night mired in a morass of decision making.

  Definitely at a crossroads, she'd faced the truth. At twenty-six, she was finished ... and as Jolie had so bluntly put it, it was time to make way for the younger girls. Nikki'd never wanted an acting career as some models did. The very last thing she wanted was another career based on her looks. Besides, it
was too difficult trying to pretend to be someone else. She had enough trouble pretending to be herself.

  If she were completely honest, she had to admit her love life was barren. She'd been in love with Max Devereaux from the moment she'd crashed into his broad chest. Still, she wasn't sure why she fancied herself in love with him. Heaven knew he'd given her little encouragement along that line. When she was younger, she'd assumed it was because of their age difference. But now there was no viable reason she could fathom.

  There was the very real fact that he didn't get involved with his models. Except for the night he'd asked her to dinner, he'd always seemed to go out of his way to avoid her. She never knew quite what to expect from him and she didn't like being off-balance.

  While she feared the intensity of her own feelings, she'd never been able to learn the depths of Max's. It had proven very difficult, keeping those feelings to herself. She'd tried, how she'd tried to hide them, but Maman had seemed to sense, from the very beginning, how Nikki had felt about Max.

  And now, Max was on holiday in Paris, accompanied by the daughter of a bank president. It was just too bad Nikki had dreams about the unreachable Maxim Devereaux—lovely passionate dreams of limbs entwined and hearts that soared together.

  She closed her eyes and attempted to obliterate the images that had plagued her ever since she'd met him. The peaceful dawn had brought no serenity.

  Nikki sighed, stood up and stretched, then wandered back into the cottage. The Vineyard had been her haven from the chaotic life of New York, but now only served as a reminder of her failure to measure up in Max's eyes ... and win his love.

  Damn. In an instant, she made up her mind. She would sell her apartment and the beach house too. The income from the sales, along with a substantial portion of her antique collection, should give her a cushion while she reinvented herself.

  She'd been given so many opportunities. Some might even say she had wasted them. More than once, Max had advised her to invest in the stock market. Her life on the street had left her hungry for a better life and beautiful things. Instead of taking Max's sage advice, she'd surrounded herself with the trappings of beauty—art, furnishings and antiques—but they were only things.

  She might as well start the inventory now. She walked from one lovely room to another and stopped in front of the mask collection she carted around no matter where she lived. She had always felt a kinship with the masks. Indeed, the masks symbolized everything she experienced in her career ... a facade, hiding the pain and insecurity. Modeling had enabled her to hide her real self from everyone. The only person she hadn't been able to fool was herself.

  The arrival of the latest addition had stunned her. All the way from Paris—from Max. His unexpected gift had included a letter, explaining how the mask had caught his eye. He had immediately recalled her collection and upcoming birthday and purchased it. Always thoughtful, he'd even included the mask's provenance.

  The gift had been so out-of-character for Max. He'd even admitted as much in his letter. ‘The perfect birthday gift for her.’ And it was. But her birthday wasn't until July. She glanced at the calendar—May 1st. An early birthday gift.

  Wonder what his fiancée thought about his buying a gift for one of his models? Maybe the engagement rumors weren't true. Maybe he just wanted to get her birthday present out of the way in order to devote himself to his new love. Once again, Max had her stymied.

  Nikki stretched on tiptoe to remove the new mask from its place in the rustic oak display case. She ran her fingers over the curves of the mask, smiling despite her funky mood. The mask was in wonderful condition for something over two-hundred-years-old. The white-leather face had attained a creamy ivory color, and gold trim was still visible in places around the eyes. Remnants of pale, blue ostrich feathers trailed down the sides. The ivory wand still attached on the right side of the mask.

  She held it by the wand and peered into a nearby mirror. As she placed the mask over her face, she was overcome by waves of vertigo.

  ~ * ~

  The landscape was strange ... yet familiar. Something about it said home. Tall rows of poplars lined the lane on both sides. Sounds of cannon fire thundered in the distance, but the vibrations were felt by all those who rushed to flee Paris. The Nazis had taken Paris, the City of Light. The unthinkable had happened. Now, brazen Nazis strolled down the wide boulevards. Nicole and her fiancé fled Paris with little more than the clothes on their backs and the antique mask he'd given her on her last birthday.

  If Maxime's ancient Citroen didn't fall apart before they reached Dijon, they would join their waiting families. Once she was safe in the bosom of her family, she feared he would slip into one of the surrounding forests and join the resistance movement. While he had yet to tell her of his plan, she knew him well enough to know he would never sit by while the Germans occupied their homeland.

  “Are the guns closer? How long will it take us to reach Dijon? Do you think we will really be safe there?” From the squaring of his shoulders and the faraway look in his eyes, she knew her questions disturbed him. “What are you keeping from me? What's wrong?” she demanded, forcing the issue.

  He sighed. “Ma petite, you will be safe, but I am going to join the Maquis. I must,” he said softly. Removing a hand from the steering wheel, he reached over and caressed her cheek. For a moment, he turned toward her, his green eyes, looking at her with a familiar hunger ... and with an unspoken plea for her understanding.

  There. He'd finally admitted it. “I knew it.” Still, she must change his mind. “Please don't. I can't live without you. Stay with me.” Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed into his darkening green ones.

  “I have to go. My country needs me."

  “I will go with you. I will join the Maquis too,” she declared, raising her chin in defiance.

  “You will not do any such thing,” he replied, shaking his head, his tone firm. He watched the road, but cast darting glances toward her. “I will be nearby, but it will be too dangerous for me to see you."

  “But, Maxime, I will miss you so much. I will miss your...” she faltered. His announcement had ripped her heart apart. “We must make the most of every moment until we are separated,” she said, a renewed determination in her voice, “n'est-ce pas?” She reached for his thigh.

  “You are crazy, my little one. We're running from the Nazis, and you talk of making love. I am not made of steel. Hush. This is not the time."

  “Wh-what if there isn't another time?” She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes, then slipped her hand higher along his strong thigh. “I need you, my love. I need to feel your touch and your lips.” she whispered. “Je t'aime."

  “Any other time, we would stop, right now.” He looked at her, as if pleading for her understanding. “If Paris had not been invaded, we would have already been married. Our families are waiting for us.” He sighed. “Why torture me this way?” he groaned.

  “I love you. I need you.” She inched her hand further up his thigh, stopping short of the growing bulge in his trousers.

  Maxime bit his lip. “Mmm,” the moan escaped anyway.

  She giggled. “Désolé.

  Carefully he took her mischievous hand and replaced it in her lap. “Behave."

  “Maxime."

  He sputtered, “St-stop this silliness. Right now."

  She saluted. “Oui, mon capitain."

  “This is war,” he muttered through gritted teeth, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead of them.

  “I am certainly aware of that,” she muttered, in a peevish frame of mind. Now he had spoiled her playful mood. She folded her arms across her chest and looked out her side window.

  His words proved prophetic. Fifty feet away, a shell exploded, raining clods of earth on the window shield.

  “M-Max.” She screamed and hid her eyes. “Let's get out of here. Please."

  “Merde.” he swore. “I am driving as fast as I can. I cannot run over people."

  “
I-I'm sorry.” She began crying. “I just want to go home."

  “I know, my love. I know."

  ~ * ~

  Nicole hadn't seen Maxime for over a month. He'd left her in Dijon with her family and disappeared into the forest. She'd spent most of her time worrying about him. Occasionally, he would send her a message, and she would know for the time being he was safe.

  Only the night before, rumors of a Nazi train being derailed nearby had reached Dijon. She was proud of Maxime and the actions of the Resistance, but every day she lived with the unbearable fear she would never see him again.

  The Trudeau and DuPuis families continued about their daily routines. They kept to themselves and tried to avoid notice of the Nazi soldiers, but she felt as if she were being watched. The soldiers seemed to be everywhere, and one soldier in particular always seemed to be trailing her. One day, he had even followed her home from the street market.

  Her height and striking appearance made her obvious in any crowd, so she attired herself as plainly as possible, wearing her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense chignon, but it did no good. The soldiers still stared at her as if she had ‘available’ emblazoned across her derriere. She hated their stares and suggestive remarks. They made her feel dirty.

  She slammed the front door behind her. “Alexandra,” she called to her younger sister. “Is he still there? That ape followed me home, again.” She placed her basket of morning purchases on the oft-scrubbed oak table.

  Alexandra called from the upstairs bedroom. “Oui, Chèrie. Wait, I'm coming down."

  Her sister made a swift descent and rushed into the kitchen. Everyone said they made a pleasing contrast. One tall and the other short, but their kinship was obvious. They shared the same blue eyes and wide smiles.

  “He's talking to that slut Emilie. You know it's whispered she's with the Maquis. So, why is she talking to one of the Nazis?” Alexandra placed her hands on her hips. “You should tell Maxime. She might be a traitor."