Her Name was Emmanuelle-Part 1

by JoanneValjean

  ~o~

  "Emmanuelle! You came!" Jean smiled as he came up to stand next to Emmanuelle. "I didn't think you would!"

  Emmanuelle grinned as well, the light of the great crystal chandelier reflecting off of her steely eyes and hairpin. "You knew I would, Jean. You're one of my best friends in the whole world."

  Jean laughed. He knew it was true. After Emmanuelle's father, Etienne, had come on business with Jean’s grandfather and brought Emmanuelle, they had been closer than two fleurs-de-lis flowers. They had constantly been playing together, learning together, growing together, and, when Jean had gone to go to the University recently, Emmanuelle had supported him even though she yearned to be able to smell the crispness of the schoolroom books, and to run her hands over the stone columns of University Hall. "Come, you must meet my friends!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hand and dragging her to a table in the corner. Around it were gathered nine young men, most of whom were grasping a crystal chalice filled with-oh, who would guess?-alcohol. New Year's Eve was always the night of the drunkards, and this year appeared as if it would be no different.

  "Emmanuelle, meet my friends!" Jean cried with a sweeping, circular gesture to the men around the table. "This is the other Jean, Nicolas, Michel, Julien…."

  "We've met," Emmanuelle interjected. "Nice to see you again, monsieur." Julien offered a quaint nod.

  "-Like I was saying….there's also Pierre……………..”

  Pierre.

  He was just as Juliet remembered: messy and drunk, but still, in a strange, convoluted way, enchanting and mysterious. "Monsieur," she murmured, curtsying politely.

  The man who was-according to Marius' testimony-Michel slid over to Emmanuelle's side, slithering a hand around her slender waist. "Mademoiselle," he grinned cheekily and in a distinct mixture of an Irish, French, and Cockney accents, "would you like to….oh, I don't know….visit the upstairs with me?" His breath smelled of a mixture of booze and whiskey, flushing unpleasantly into her face and making her cringe. Obviously, he was drunk….and very, very, VERY drunk at that point of the nighttime.

  Emmanuelle set a serious face. "You should know beforehand….I do not swallow."

  The group of men, all except for Julien and Jean, burst into a roar of laughter and mirth. Pierre fell over the table and spilled his drink on Nicolas, who groaned and shrieked, "I told you I was unlucky! I did, I did, I did!" and, as a result, the laughter's fervor only increased to a greater level of intensity. She withdrew a clean linen handkerchief and handed it to Nicolas, who dabbed it eagerly at his shirt.

  "There's promise for this one yet," Pierre announced, raising his bottle to her in a toast. "There is, I can tell!"

  "Emmanuelle?" a voice asked behind her, tapping her shoulder gently. She turned around and came face-to-face with Inspector Etienne Democoeur.

  "Yes?" she asked. "Is everything alright?"

  Etienne turned as red as the wine that was in Grantaire's bottle, and he stammered and searched in his mind for a response. "Um….I….I….Wantedyoutomeetmycolleaguebecauseheisag oodman… hissonisasinglebachelorandIwasthinkingofyoutwocour tingsomedayisn'tthatanicethought? SoIthinkitwouldbeagoodideaifyouwouldcomewithmelike rightnowsolet'sgoplease," he rushed, running his words together as he dragged his daughter off by the dress sleeve. Emmanuelle shot a helpless glance back at her newfound friends as she was dragged into what she knew was an excuse to keep her away from men. Not like he could…she was going to spend the night at Jean's grandfather's house. She was not a young lady anymore, and she hadn't been for a few years.

  ~o~

  Emmanuelle dragged the heavy metal telescope across the rose garden lawn as she held the knee of her white dressing gown in the other hand. It was not an easy task, to say the least. She was sweating and panting from the effort. It would be worth it, though: that night, Mars was visible in the night sky, which was a rare occurrence and would most likely, to the best of her knowledge, not happen again in her lifetime.

  Setting up her old copper telescope was easy, for she had done it with her father many times in the past. The stand-support prongs were a little old and rusty, but they still served their purpose. Looking through the glass of the telescope, she moved it around as needed to try and catch even the slightest glimpse of the red planet among the twinkling stars of the night sky.

  "There it is!" Emmanuelle cried in victory as she spotted the red spot in the dark sky near Polaris.

  "What's there?" a man's voice asked behind her. She turned around quickly and smacked her face into Pierre's own face. Emmanuelle fell back due to the effects of the force of the blow. The ground was not a friendly companion at the moment.

  "Sorry, Mademoiselle Emmanuelle, I didn't mean to frighten you," Pierre apologized as he helped her up and brushed some of the dirt from the back of her dress. His hand dared to venture to the dirt that was situated lower, but she smacked his hand away.

  "North of the border, Monsieur Pierre," she warned playfully, "or I should have to call the Inspector on you. I know him personally."

  "You do, do you?" he asked, catching on to the game.

  "More than you would ever know," Emmanuelle replied, dropping her voice to barely above a whisper. Now, Pierre could realize that it was a sensitive topic and decided to change the subject.

  Pierre asked, "So, Elle…."

  "Elle?"

  "Emmanuelle is too frilly for you."

  "Why, thank you…."

  "Anyway, Elle, what were you doing just a moment ago?" he asked.

  Emmanuelle sighed and plopped herself onto the blanket that she had brought, gesturing for Pierre to take a seat next to her. "I've always loved astronomy more than anything. Mars was in the sky tonight," she answered truthfully.

  His face softened. "Astronomy?'

  She blushed, her cheeks dusting a light pink. "Yes. Papa always liked it, and I suppose that it was a hereditary trait. This was his telescope."

  "Your father must be an interesting man," Pierre mused.

  "He is," Emmanuelle agreed. "Always. More than anybody could ever understand, really."

  "Speaking of your family," Pierre continued, "do you have any siblings?"

  Emmanuelle's eyes seemed to drift off into another world as she stared at Polaris' position in the sky. "Yes….I had a twin brother."

  "Had?" Pierre was confused.

  "I'm a bastard child. So was my twin brother. Our mother had an affair with my Papa before she was married. She got pregnant and was immediately forced into a marriage, and, about ten or nine years ago, I was sent to live with my Papa after her death. I don't know where my brother is," she explained. Then, she yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm getting tired."

  "Me too," Pierre agreed. "I'm tired…."

  Emmanuelle laid back upon the blanket and curled up next to Pierre. "I'm cold."

  "I will keep you warm," Pierre confirmed. "I will, I promise. Forever."

  ~o~

  Emmanuelle's sleep-induced haze started to lift as the sun filtered through her eyelids. She yawned, stretching her arms, and started to sit up. Why was the bed so hard? Where was her blanket? And, perhaps most importantly, where was her dressing gown and why was somebody next to her?

  She peered at the person who happened to be next to her and screamed mentally. It was Pierre, who had her white, silk night gown grasped in his hands. She was practically naked without it, so she snatched it back quickly and without hesitation. The sudden loss of fabric in his hand made Pierre shoot up immediately. "Wha…"

  "What the hell, Pierre?" Emmanuelle asked, pushing him back to the ground.

  Pierre rubbed his eyes with the neck of his bottle, something that his health-conscious friends surely would have reprimanded him for if he were there. "What did I do? Damn, I have a headache…"

  A pang of white-hot fear flooded through Emmanuelle's veins. "What did we do?" she asked, closing her eyes and hoping that it wasn't what she thought. "Oh my God, my Papa's going to murder me when he finds out…."<
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  "He'll have nothing on you," Pierre assured. "If that's what you think that we did, well, no, we didn't." When he saw the look that Emmanuelle made and the not-so-discreet gesture to her removed nightgown, he added, "You got hot. By the way, your breasts are nice."

  She stared at him. "What the…..Pierre, why were you even…"

  Emmanuelle was cut off by a pair of lips crashing into her own. With a start, she realized that Pierre was kissing her. Pierre. Was. Kissing. Her. It was an unimaginable thought, and yet, here it was, happening. His lips were chapped and slightly calloused, and he tasted of wine and beer, but, combined, it was an intoxicating scent that took her to the edge of insanity. She couldn't help but kiss back, even though it really should have repelled her immensely, that's how nice it was. She'd never been kissed, and, well, to be frank, it was nice. Her Papa was going to kill her, she thought, oh, to hell with it. It wasn't his concern….but, merde, if he caught her now…..to hell with it. She would just have this moment to hold on to.

  "PIERRE, WHAT THE HELL?!" a voice shrieked at the pair. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HER?"

  The pair broke apart, and Pierre reluctantly rolled off of Emmanuelle, who was not faring much better. Her face was flushed with excitement, and her lips were sore and swollen from the heavy kissing.

  "WE'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR YOU ALL NIGHT, THE INSPECTOR WAS SO WORRIED…HE IS GOING TO KILL YOU WHEN HE FINDS OUT THAT YOU SLEPT WITH HIS DAUGHTER!" Jean fretted. Pierre looked confused. The Inspector's daughter? She was way too nice to be the spawn of the Inspector.

  Emmanuelle, the only one able to communicate, cautioned, "Jean, we didn't sleep together. I was looking at the stars, and he came, and….well, we just got too tired to walk back to your house. Nothing more, I assure you."

  It seemed to reassure Jean a little bit, but, still, this was Jean. "Then what were you just doing?"

  Emmanuelle sighed. "Oh, Jean, how blind are you?" This earned a snort and a pat of approval from Pierre. "We kissed."

  Jean blushed. "Oh. That's nice."

  "It was," Pierre chimed in. Just like Pierre to say something completely inappropriate at the wrong time, Jean and Emmanuelle thought simultaneously.

  "Since there's no way to ameliorate this situation that Marius has made EXTREMELY impossible….Pierre wasn't that much of a help, either," Emmanuelle spoke out, rolling her eyes, "let's just go back to the house. After all, it cannot be THAT big of a deal….."

  ~o~

  It turned out in the long run that Emmanuelle was severely incorrect about that.

  How Inspector Etienne Democoeur had started and howled when his daughter had come back to the house! "Young lady!" this and "Young lady!" that. It was all that could be heard echoing through the halls of the house.

  "Papa," she had replied calmly, "I was just looking at the stars. Fear not!"

  He had gripped the side of his wooden desk tightly, grimacing as a few splinters were shoved into the skin of his calloused hands. Oh well. Emmanuelle could take care of it later like she always did, but now, there were more pressing matters at hand. "No, I'm talking about the boy."

  "Pierre?" Emmanuelle asked, raising an eyebrow in questioning form.

  Etienne closed his eyes even more than they already were, trying to block the image of what must have occurred out of his head. "Yes. Pierre."

  "What's wrong, Papa? What worries you so?" Emmanuelle questioned.

  "What did you do with him? Why were you together, outside? Tell me that,"Etienne demanded obstinately.

  Emmanuelle responded innocently, "We were looking at the stars, nothing more, I swear to you!"

  "Why don't I believe you?" Etienne asked, chuckling softly to himself, his navy-blue-jacket-covered back turned to his only daughter. "Why?"

  "Because you're so vexing and cannot believe your own child," Emmanuelle said out loud. As soon as the words had left her mouth, she instantly regretted them. Oh, she had never called her Papa such a thing! Now, she felt sore sorry.

  Etienne turned, his face livid with rage. Behind his eyes, it almost seemed as if a fire was kindled, ready, and daring to burst forth in a slew of instantaneous rage. "How dare you! I am your father! You have no right!"

  "And what of you, to keep me from the world?" Emmanuelle countered, rising up from her seat on her chair. "How do you think I feel, being all cooped up and locked away in the house like a china doll that can be so easily broken, unable to communicate with the outside world? How do you think that I feel about wanting to be loved and be held by somebody that is not my father? Would you have done this to my mother? Hm, Monsieur l'Inspector?"

  She felt a flash and sting of pain as her father backhanded her across the face. "Don't you dare to ever mention that woman in this house!" Etienne hissed, rubbing his hand.

  "Mother wouldn't allow this! Mother would have yelled at you! Mother would be so mad at you that she would just leave! She would die! Maybe it's your fault that she died in the first place!" Emmanuelle continued despite the pain in her cheek that was soon refreshed by a new slap across her cheekbones. Now, she could vaguely taste blood in her mouth. "You let her get married to somebody that only wanted her for her body! You killed her!"

  Etienne had had enough. "Get out," he hissed, pointing towards the door, "and do not come back. Ever."

  The girl who stood before him glared her father in the eye, grabbed a woolen, crotched blanket that she wrapped about her shoulders, and left the Inspector's home in a whirlwind of snow, silent tears running down her face all the way.