Page 32 of French Escapade

Ken

When Élodie arrives, the waiters are done passing the hors d’oeuvres to the guests beginning to take their assigned seats. She’s not alone. Our eyes meet for just a second. To maintain my cover, I can’t pay more attention to her than anyone else.

I carefully scrutinize each of the young women as they enter. Who knows, Arkady could have dyed Madison’s hair red or platinum blond. But for now, neither Arkady nor Madison have arrived.

Élodie turns around. What’s happening? I watch her leave. False alarm. She hasn’t been sent packing, she’s simply going to freshen up. It seems one of the lovely young ladies of the night should do the same. Perched on very high stilettos, she walks like she’s about to stumble. Before she gets a chance to do so and make a spectacle of herself, I’m by her side.

“Hey, handsome!”

Her breath doesn’t smell like she’s been drinking. Something else has sent her flying.

“Hello cutie, what do you say you and I go for a walk?”

“Straight to the point,” she answers. “You could at least start with…”

She stops mid-sentence and closes her eyes. I need to strengthen my grip on her to make sure she doesn’t fall.

“Come on, let’s get you some fresh air.”

I gently nudge her and she opens her eyes. Her gaze is empty. Such a waste. She’s not thirty yet, and already carries all the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Slowly, we get going. One step at a time. As I approach the doors, I see Élodie leave the ladies room and vanish behind one of the service doors. A few more steps, and we’re alone in the hallway. Jimmy’s right behind me. He stops at the door. Great, someone’s watching my back.

The wreck of a girl stumbles. She won’t make it to the bathroom. I bend my knees and take her over my shoulder. She makes a weird noise as I do. Possibly the hiccups. That’s good news. She’s still breathing. I cross the hall and take the service corridor. I need to find Élodie and decide what to do with this girl. I can’t just abandon her. Obviously, I wouldn’t be the first person to give up on her, but I just keep thinking she’s someone’s daughter.

I slow down to adjust my hold on her. Her dress slides against the material of my jacket. When I look up again, Élodie is in front of me. She’s not alone. Arkady is with her. He looks just like the pictures she showed us. As cold in person as on paper. Arms crossed, he watches her suspiciously.

“Did you find a room?”

My question, asked from the other end of the corridor, makes Élodie jump.

Not Arkady. His only reaction to my voice is to slide his right hand under his jacket. He stops reaching for his gun after a quick evaluation of the situation. With this girl on my back, I’m no immediate threat.

Élodie raises her hands palms up, as if to tell me she’s stuck, and opens her mouth to answer. Arkady doesn’t give her a chance.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, with the tone of those used to obtaining immediate answers to all their questions. If I’m to go by the exasperation in his voice, chances are he already asked Élodie before I arrived.

“Cleaning house.” I answer lightly. “This girl is about to crash, and I thought it wouldn’t look good. Not the style of the party. So I asked one of her colleagues to find me a place to store her until she gets back in shape.”

Arkady studies Élodie and then looks at me again. He frowns, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in his brain. But my story is solid.

“You two know each other? When did you meet?” he asks no one in particular.

“Today,” we answer at the same time.

Our spontaneous answers seem to sway Arkady. Unless he heard the sincerity in our voices. After all, it’s nothing but the truth. Yesterday, I didn’t even know Élodie existed.

“Okay. We’re going to keep her on ice while waiting for the others,” he says. “She’s so cute. I have to think she’s a gift from heaven.”

He invites Élodie to open the door in front of which they are standing. She pushes it open then fumbles for the light switch. She finds it. The light turns on as I get to the door.

“Drop her anywhere, and go back to work,” Arkady orders.

I scan the room. It looks like a doctor’s waiting room, with chairs lining the wall. What makes it weird is the pile of luggage in the middle of the room. In the pile, I identify one of the bags. There’s nothing special about it. You can get one in any army surplus store in the US. Except this one is mine. It bears my initials written with a Sharpie.

All my doubts are gone. Arkady does have Madison, and what he’s about to auction this evening—probably around 2300 hours—are girls.

And now, Arkady is ecstatic because I delivered another girl to add to his inventory. Unless he doesn’t think she looks good enough for his catalogue. Since she’s in no condition to sit on a chair, I gently lay her down on an empty spot on the floor. Slowly, she slides to the side. What can I do? A suitcase. That’s what I need. A suitcase and a bag. I help myself in the luggage pile.

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