Page 60 of Enemies to French Kisses
Laura
Hobnobbing with the French elite.This is what I wanted, right? So why is it so awkward to try to drum up conversation? I suppose because the performance of the Dallas Cowboys or the outlook for hurricane season won’t get me far.
The line at the bar is filled with women wearing dresses that could each be a work of art. If I was worried about standing out, I sure didn’t need to. This hip hugging bare-back silk masterpiece is a nun’s habit compared to most of these dresses, and even a few of the men’s outfits, for that matter.
“Guess I don’t stand out in this dress as much as I thought,” I mutter to myself, drawing the attention of a couple waiting beside me. “Hi,” I say with a wave and then quickly add, “Bonsoir.”
They raise an eyebrow in unison at me. Not the chatty types, I guess. I don’t take it personally, but if I’m not careful I’m going to pierce my lip, I’m biting it that hard. What’s a girl got to do to strike up conversation around here?
“Fiancé ou fiancée?”
I turn to find a woman about my age smiling ear to ear at me.
“Sorry?” I smile back but with just enough nervousness that my hands are sweating. “Could you repeat the question?”
“An American!” She claps her hands with a squeal of delight. I know already this woman is not your typical fancy French type. “Now we can make this a real party!” Her accent is thick but her grammar is spot on as she says, “Isn’t zis ze most pompous show of lavishness you ever saw? Absolutely disgusting, but I love it.Deux champagnes!” she calls to the barman.
“Oh,trois,” I hold up my three fingers.“S’il vous plait.”
“Mmm-hmmm. You did not come alone.” She shimmies her shoulders. “I could have guessed as much. Gabriel and Amelie are not ze type to have foreign friends they didn’t buy.”
“Since I haven’t met Gabriel and Amelie yet, I’m not in a position to say.”
“Just as well, cheers! To the future bride and groom. May their wedding be rampant with scandal and their marriage riddled with rumor.”
“Whoa, girl,” I raise my hands, “that’s heavy. Don’t you wish the couple well in France?”
“Ohhhhh,” she laughs loud and long, and though I wish I could say she’s drunk as a skunk, she seems perfectly sober to me. “You have not met them. You see, they need the drama—it is the best wish I could make for them.”
“You have lost me completely.”
“Your accent isadorable.” She clicks the glass in my right hand. “Gabriel and Amelie are online reality celebrities. The cameras follow their every move. Scandal is how they make their fortune ever since Daddy went bust in theComplot d’Auriceaffair.”
“I don’t know theComplot d’Auriceaffair, but y’all have a funny way of wishing the happy couple well.”
This sends her into a new fit of laughter. Marc better bust his butt back over here or I’m going to down his glass of champagne in a single gulp.
“There you are, beautiful.”
“Just in time,” I whisper in his ear just as I see the familiar blonde not far behind him. “Charlotte,bonsoir.”
“Bonsoir,” the haughty holier-than-thou replies. But even as I think the insult, I regret it. Something in her demeanor is different from when we met in Marc’s living room.
“Marc Lemaire.” The young woman I’ve been conversing with steps out from behind me and leans forward to accept the greeting kisses from Marc that he hadn’t offered. Marc inhales and leans forward for the obligatory kisses.
“Capucine,ça fait longtemps.” Marc looks at me with uncertainty, which I take to mean that this woman is not one if his closer friends. “I see you have met Capucine.”
“We didn’t get to names yet.”We were stuck on something about wishing scandals on your friends when you interrupted.
The woman winks at me. “We were just making acquaintance. Capucine.” She holds her hand out, palm down, as though I’m supposed to kiss it, which I most definitely will not do.
“Laura.” I take her hand and shake it.
“A handshake? Oh, Americans!” she squeals.
“Capucine.” Charlotte steps in front of Marc and says it like an accusation, not following it with anybonsoirorbonjour, not even a wave.
“Charlotte,” Capucine turns the name into bullets and I’m feeling squarely in the cross-fire. There is clearly history between these people, and I’m stuck with nothing but a champagne glass as protection.
