***
Out front of the Gaultier showrooms, we learned that Ted’s limousine was stuck on a side street. His brute squad, up in arms at the thought of him and Tiziana taking a taxi, left us standing curbside while they (likely) threatened and cajoled drivers to get out of the way. All the while, Sébastien found reasons to touch me, pull a stray hair off my cheek, check to see if my hands were cold. My body strained toward him more with each touch. When the behemoth vehicle arrived, I all but pushed them inside, while Sébastien hailed a taxi for the two of us.
The driver stepped on the gas and asked where to. Sébastien answered, and the driver grunted as the two of us settled in back, keenly aware of each other. I wanted to toss aside my earlier resolution to slow down and instead slide into his arms. I placed my hand on the seat between us, instantly rewarded by his taking it and kissing my knuckles. His eyes shimmered while he held my gaze, where I could see raw desire. When his lips met mine, they were demanding. What he sought, I happily offered, needing to match his desire.
The taxi stopped at the corner of Rue de Bourgogne and Rue de Varenne and returned us to earth. Perhaps this happened every day, because the nonplussed driver called the fare over his shoulder.
I looked up and saw lipstick stain Sébastien’s mouth. “You’re wearing my lipstick,” I warned him.
He smiled as he used his thumb to wipe it away. “Better?”
I nodded. There was something I liked about seeing my lipstick on him, some sort of primal response; I felt disappointed when it was gone. I smoothed my hair and slowed my labored breathing as I pulled my coat closed.
“You look gorgeous.” His compliment made me ridiculously happy.
After paying the driver, he helped me out onto the sidewalk in front of one of the most praised restaurants in Paris. The façade for L’Arpège was quite understated. Light from the restaurant’s scant windows lit the sidewalk with large rectangles and gave a view to the inside, which resembled a well-to-do friend’s cozy dining room.
The limo arrived. “The driver must have taken the scenic route,” Sébastien joked as he walked to the car to help them out. One by one, they stepped out into the evening light, Hillary in a signature piece by Karl Lagerfeld; Marian’s asymmetrical black Akris dress with a bold gold-and-black zebra print panel competed for attention. When she emerged, Tiziana adjusted her gown as she gushed, “Bravo! I’m so excited to try this restaurant. I’ve heard such wonderful things.”
Charlotte sighed as she emerged from the limo. She looked beautiful, but her eyes flitted to our designer gowns. “Let’s go in. I need the loo.”
Jolted into action, Liam opened the restaurant door, and Charlotte rushed inside. Sébastien cupped my elbow and offered his other arm to Hillary, guiding us in, while Marian bemoaned the fact that she was once again without a man of her own or even a loaner.
Hillary looked at Sébastien and then Marian. “He’s not a car.”
Ted gallantly offered Marian his other arm, putting an end to her complaining. She happily accepted, and her mood immediately lifted. Her broody, mercurial nature amused me.
While we waited for Charlotte and Liam to return, I appreciated the restaurant’s warm and traditional decor. Pear-wood paneling covered the walls, and round tables, set with pristine white cloths, were surrounded by chrome chairs with red leather seats. While I absorbed its elegant sophistication, my stomach rumbled loudly!
Sébastien tightened his grip on my elbow, kindly teasing me, “You’re always starving.”
“Shh!” I whispered, smiling at his playful reminder.
“Are you talking to me or your stomach?”
“My stomach!” It growled again. “Good Lord, that was loud! I don’t know if it’s in anticipation or deprivation.”
“Mademoiselle, we must get you something to eat. Otherwise, the other guests will think they are hearing whale songs.”
I grinned at his goofy, gallant response and relaxed.
As we were seated, Sébastien helped me with my chair while whispering into the waiter’s ear then assisted Hillary.
While we gabbed about the day’s shows, Ted and Sébastien conferred with the sommelier over the wine list. Eventually, a ‘78 Latour was uncorked and poured while dishes of perfectly prepared vegetables in delicate sauces were served.
Sébastien smiled at me. “To change the whale song to a symphony.”
Tiziana distracted me from my musings by loudly clearing her throat, raising her glass, and capturing everyone’s attention. Everyone’s! All the guests in the restaurant turned to look at her. Being who she was, Tiziana simply projected her voice further into the room. “To being together in Paris! As Audrey Hepburn said, ‘Paris is always a good idea.’”
Surprisingly, Sébastien added, “While I agree with Ms. Hepburn, King Francois said, ‘Paris is not a city, it’s a world.’ And while he meant something very different, I’m sure, love can transform every city into a world.”
I felt my friend’s eyes dart to me, knowing they were thinking of me describing my time with Mikkel last night. Melancholy tried to grip my heart, but just then, Sébastien gave me a tender smile, and I instantly recognized this moment for what it was: the moment I cast the past behind me and stepped into the present, embracing the future. A deep sense of well-being settled around me as I sat beside a man I barely knew but to whom I was incredibly attracted; and alongside my closest friends, whose lives were also moving forward.
I invited Sébastien in, I thought.
The waiter refilled our glasses and then I added my thoughts. “I wanted to say that I am truly grateful to have you all here. While this city is magical, much of its wonder has been lost upon me until recently. So, to life. To love and friendship. May we never take anything for granted.”
Charlotte broke down in tears. Liam wrapped her in his arms and sprinkled kisses across her hair and over her cheek. He assured us, “Not to worry, she’s happy. Pregnancy hormones.” When the top of her head bobbled in agreement, everyone chuckled and reassured her.
Still smiling, I turned to Sébastien. He gestured at my empty plate. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much better. Thank you! Not only am I no longer starving, I don’t have to worry about sounding like a mating whale.”
“Mating whale?”
Realizing he had only mentioned whale songs, not mating calls, my cheeks burned from embarrassment. I managed a vague, “Mmm…” before sampling my wine, hoping that someone would ask me something and save me from this conversation. I looked around; no one volunteered. However, Sébastien gave me a breathtaking smile.
***
Laughter bounced around the table as each person was abused playfully in some fashion: Tiziana for her courtesan soul; Marian for her gritty views on the world; Charlotte for being an emotional basket case. Even Hillary was relaxed enough to take a healthy ribbing about being wound up tight as a spring. Ted was razzed for owning everything oversized: yachts, mansions, airplanes. Marian’s allusions to his compensating for other issues were quickly deflected by Mama Bear Tiziana, who gave her a “too far” expression. Liam suffered for his insatiable desire for Charlotte; not a crisis, as far as I could tell.
“Monsieur Langevin, we know very little about you, but you can’t escape. We’ll find something, don’t you worry!” Marian’s attack was good-natured.
Sébastien’s eyebrows slanted upwards. Tiziana started to protest, but Ted interceded, saying that everyone was fair game. So Sébastien was left to defend himself when Marian pointed at his ornately tooled footwear and said, “You have a penchant for ornate shoes.” She looked to us for support.
We all agreed, saying, “True. True.”
She continued, “You could leave a girl wondering if you’re gay or a tool…”
“And she wonders why no man wants her,” Hillary said conspiratorially to Sébastien.
I cringed and wanted to defend him.
He looked at me and quietly asked in French, “What does ‘to
ol’ mean?”
I cringed some more. “Someone who is unwanted or a fool. I’m so sorry.”
He took it well. With a glint in his eye, he sat back in his chair with his elbows perched on the padded armrests. Looking at Marian, he said, “Given the reason you are here, Fashion Week, I think it is easy to say that the French know more about fashion than most. Gay? No. As for being a tool…” He paused, smiled at me, and said, “I am neither a fool nor unwanted. Fortunately, there is someone for everyone. You, mademoiselle, have you ever been to Eastern Europe?” She looked confused, so he persisted. “I believe that what you need is a much more durable, assertive sort of man. Someone who expects hardship and has a great deal of patience.”
As his implication washed over the group, tittering grew to robust laughter. Sébastien had successfully merged into our group.
Liam raised his glass and proposed a toast. “To all the poor bastards who have yet to meet Marian!”
Everyone clinked glasses except for her. She was oddly quiet, staring down into her lap.
Sébastien immediately looked contrite. “Mademoiselle, I apologize if I have offended you.”
When she still didn’t look up, Hillary demanded, “Difficult to be on the receiving end?”
Placing her cell phone on the table, Marian looked up and replied without missing a beat, “I’m looking for a flight to Belarus!” Everyone burst out laughing again.
***
Over coffee and dessert, we pored over the schedule for the next day.
Wednesday, 30 September
Lagerfeld / Chloe / Andrew GN / Carven / Akris / Ann Demeulesmeester / Paco Rabon / Balmain / AF Vandevoorst / Barbara Bui / Rick Owens / Lanvin / Christian Lacroix /Sonia Rykiel
“Chérie, which shows will you attend?” Sébastien’s endearment caused goosebumps to rise up on my skin. He was sitting so close that his warm breath blew across my cheek, tickling me. If I turned to face him, we’d be lip to lip, so I kept my eyes trained on the paper. Breathing became harder. I suddenly felt very warm.
“Lagerfeld, Balmain, Rykiel, and Akris. Possibly Christian Lacroix.” When the others protested my plan to miss some of the other designers’ shows, I reminded them I wasn’t on vacation. “How about lunch, instead? I have a ton of work to juggle this week.”
Tiziana asked Sébastien if he had to work tomorrow, as well. “I do.” He trailed his finger down the list of names. “I will be at Lagerfeld, Akris, Balmain, and Lanvin.”
Marian sat back and drew in a deep breath, seeming offended. “Not Sonia Rykiel?”
He chuckled at her reaction. “I have a business dinner. My apologies.”
She informed him, “She is Kathleen’s favorite designer.”
I quickly protested, “One of my favorites. I have many favorites.” What the hell is she doing?
Before he could respond, Charlotte gasped suddenly.
“What?” Liam was alarmed.
“Oh my god!” Charlotte’s face contorted in a grimace.
Marian panicked. “Are you in labor?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Liam!”
He looked equal measures frightened and excited. “Charlotte?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “The baby just flipped around and moved an organ from one side to the other.”
“What?” Hillary almost shouted as she glanced around the restaurant.
I pressed my hand to my mouth as I gasped. Tiziana and Marian were already dissolving into giggles. Charlotte managed to give us all a well-deserved sneer. “Just wait, when it’s your turn and you want my help. Fuck all ya’ll.”
“Oh boy!” I looked at Sébastien. “I think the evening is over.”
In unspoken agreement, the bill was sorted out quickly, and we were tugging on our coats on the sidewalk outside.
“Taxi?” Sébastien asked me.
“Oh yeah!”
Quai de Valmy
The towpath was strangely empty. There were no distractions, just me and Sébastien strolling along, still laughing at Charlotte’s mood swings. “It’s awful that I laughed at her.”
“No! It was funny. Strange things happen to pregnant women. These things are real life. The rest of this…” He swept his hand over his Armani suit. “…This is theatre.”
My cue. “Do you mind if we sit down?”
He led me to the closest bench and waited for me to get comfortable before settling beside me. He put his arm around me and pulled me in close. “Warm enough?”
I was; my nerves were keeping me warm. “Yes.” We sat quietly, watching ducks glide by on the water. I was trying to figure out how to lead into what I wanted to say.
“Tiziana told you about Gisella, no?”
His question startled me. Hesitatingly, I answered, “She did. I hope you don’t mind.” I looked into his eyes, searching for clues as to what he was feeling.
“No, I don’t. I would have liked to do it, but I wasn’t sure how or when.”
I nodded, understanding completely. “I’m really sorry about your wife. I can’t imagine.”
“I think you can, chérie.”
“Well, better than some. But, while I lost Mikkel, I know there is a huge difference between losing a fiancé and losing a wife… and the mother of your child.”
We talked for quite some time about how Sébastien had survived the loss of Gisella, how his parents had helped him raise his daughter. “My parents, I loved them before, obviously. But later, when Chantal was older and I had time to breathe, I realized that I love them in a much different way. I will always be grateful.”
I thought back to how my mother had stayed by my side for as long as I’d needed her. I’d never taken her for granted after that.
Conversation turned to my life after Mikkel’s death.
“My mother wanted me to take time off from school, to grieve and figure out what the next step needed to be. It was really hard to tell her that I wanted to go back and finish school. The only thing I knew was that I needed to finish graduate school and be able to take care of myself. I didn’t really know what that meant, but I knew I had to move forward.”
“The rest of the time I was in Seattle, I felt her worried eyes following me everywhere. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, leaving the safety of our home and board the plane back to London. I returned to the life that had been made of good friends, dreams, and hard work. I studied, found a part-time job, and never mentioned Mikkel. I couldn’t. To survive was to keep the two worlds distinct.”
“You never told them?” Surprise flooded his face.
I squeezed his hand. “I finally told them last night.”
“Ah!”
“What?”
“That was the reason they would not criticize you today. You are in a fragile state.”
I looked at him in surprise. I was indeed the only one at dinner who had escaped being ridiculed. I nodded. “I suppose so.”
He pulled me closer. “Perhaps poor timing, but may I kiss you? Just to comfort you, of course.”
Sadness, tenderness, kindness, affection, humor, and desire. I could see all those emotions in his eyes. I nodded. We held each other’s gaze until our lips met. It was a different kind of kiss. Not one filled with passion or regret. Not even compassion. I think it was a kiss filled with promise.
11:00 AM, Wednesday, September 30
Lagerfeld and Lunch
IT HAS BEEN said by many in the fashion industry that no one shows a collection like Karl Lagerfeld. Wednesday morning began with a bang! Inside the Grand Palais, which had been transformed into an airport terminal, I sat wedged between Hillary and Marian. I was broiling, and it wasn’t just because of the black Chanel jacket with ostrich trim that I wore. The crowd was massive. Everyone used their programs to fan themselves.
“If you’re so bloody hot, why don’t you take your jacket off?” Marian asked. She looked exquisitely comfortable in a sleeveless Sonia Rykiel dress. The white-lace fitted bodice accented her fine-knit bla
ck skirt She looked beautiful. And cool.
Not that I cared. I answered through gritted teeth, “Because the effing jacket is my top. Don’t make me regret sitting next to you. I could be sitting next to my boss, fanning myself without having to put up with the two of you arguing.” This was the real reason I was grumpy. I had endured Hillary and Marian bicker over who was the more fashionable WAG, Claudine Palmer or Colleen Rooney! That I even knew that WAG stood for Wives and Girlfriends of famous athletes made me more irritated.
“She,” Marian said, pointing at Hillary, “doesn’t even watch football, so her vote doesn’t count. How she can possibly think that Colleen Rooney knows more about fashion than the winner of the VIP Style Award for Most Stylish Woman is beyond me. Plus, Claudine was runner-up to Miss Ireland and she’s married to Robbie Keane. My god, that man should be served on a platter with a bib.”
Hillary snorted. “Perv!”
After snickering for a solid minute, Marian managed to gasp a breath before claiming, “You are wound tight, you know that?” Hillary’s withering look only won her a more complete explanation. “Have you, by any chance, eaten lobster, a whole one, that you, not a servant, takes apart? You wear a bib so you don’t get messy.”
Unfortunately, Hillary’s expression was blank, as though not able to paint the image for herself. Marian scoffed, “You need to watch some porn.”
At this point, I lost it. “Would you shut up? What is wrong with you?”
Marian gave me a dramatic glance over the rim of her rectangular, black, wire-frame glasses and drolly inquired, “Didn’t get any last night?”
Mind-meltingly angry, I chose a ridiculous way to retaliate. “Where did you get those ridiculous glasses?”
“At Saks last year. They’re Chanel, not ridiculous. Once again, didn’t you get laid last night?”
Hillary hushed her. I glared at Hillary. “Now you’re shushing her? You couldn’t do that five minutes ago?” Just as both of them opened their mouths to speak, I reprimanded them further. “Stop it! My co-workers and friends are here. What’s wrong with you? Fighting over which WAG is prettier? For god’s sake, they are arm candy. Let. It. Go. I haven’t seen you bicker this much since the Debate of ‘99—whether or not Queen Elizabeth should reign over Ireland.’”
Cognac & Couture (The Passport Series Book 2) Page 8
