We made our way around a clump of schoolchildren dressed in red-and-blue uniforms and turned down a small street made of cobblestone. “My apartment’s here—third window from the top. And that’s my balcony with my friends waiting for us. They were supposed to come later but it seems they’ve invited themselves in already. Do you see?”
My gaze traveled up the side of the white building decorated with ornate designs and sculptures carved into the stone. Two young women sat on a small terrace. When they saw us, they stood and leaned over the railing. Good God, I hope it was built sturdily. One of the women had platinum-blond hair, obviously fake. She wore it in a bob that curled around her face. I could see her red lipstick from here, stark against her alabaster skin. Pretty, if one didn’t mind the face paint and fake hair. The other one must be Saffron. She wore a man’s suit and held a cigarette in one hand. Her hair hung just below her ears and was pushed back from her forehead with a bright orange scarf.
“Hello down there.” The blond leaned even further over the railing.
“That’s Sandwich,” Fiona said to me as she waved and called up to them. “We have Li. We’ll be up in a second.”
“Hello, Li,” Sandwich called down.
James was already at the door, holding it for us to pass through. He smelled a bit like the spicy mulled wine Lizzie made at Christmas. The lobby contained a small desk with a petite woman behind it, writing in a ledger. She looked up as we entered and brushed dark curls away from her face. She wore an indistinct dress in the off-white color of the side of the building. “Miss Barnes, is this your visitor?”
“Yes, Miss Lupine. Li Wu, meet our building manager.”
A flicker of surprise had come to her eyes at the sight of me. She’d not expected me to look this way. Would she cause trouble? Throw me out of the building?
In a thick French accent, she said, “Mr. Wu, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to Paris.”
“Thank you, Miss Lupine.”
Her eyes widened. She hadn’t expected me to sound like an American.
Fiona had noticed it too. She said, rather sharply, “Mr. Wu is a dear family friend. He grew up with me in Colorado.”
“I see.” Miss Lupine nodded, clearly done with us for now. She would probably have quite the story to tell her friends tonight. You won’t believe who my tenant brought home.
James led us up skinny stairs, up one flight and then another, and finally another. “How did you get all your bags up here?” I mumbled under my breath.
“Papa hired someone to do it,” Fiona said. Her keen hearing never missed anything. “They were here for quite some time and helped me get settled.”
We entered a short hallway and James, once again in the lead, opened the door for us. Did he have a key? He seemed very familiar with the building.
The women from the terrace came into the sitting room, bringing the smell of cigarette smoke. In addition, there was a small dark man sitting on the sofa dressed in a summer suit the color of cream and a bright purple tie. He’d been reading but set the book aside to stand and greet us. A mustache covered most of his top lip, and his black hair was subdued into submission with a thick coating of pomade.
I learned quickly that Reynaldo was the man who lived with Saffron out of wedlock. They rented a room to Sandwich, who had an accent very much like the people I’d met in Chicago. She might look the part of a showgirl, but the American Midwest was stamped on her forehead nonetheless.
“The Coopers will be here later,” Fiona said. “When we go downstairs for dinner.”
What would they all think of me? Would they see me as an interloper who would keep them from Fiona?
Someone, I’m not sure who, put on a phonograph record. How often were they all here? How did she think with all the noise? I looked longingly at the piano, black and gleaming in the light from the windows.
The next hour flew by. Fiona had James open more wine, and Gabriella brought out a tray with cheese and bread. They all devoured both, making me wonder further about these people. Were they all so poor that they must eat up all of Fiona’s cheese?
I shook my head no when James offered me a glass of the dark burgundy wine. Hungry, I took a slab of cheese and a piece of the soft baguette. Nothing had ever tasted as good. I would not tell Lizzie and Grandmother of my immediate betrayal.
The rest of the guests sprawled on the sofa and chairs, as if they lived here. Saffron sat like an uncouth man, legs making the shape of a triangle with the edge of the coffee table. Reynaldo was the opposite of his tall wife, soft-spoken and possessing impeccable manners. When he did speak, Spanish words interspersed with English in a rapid, almost musical pattern. Sandwich, so thin I could practically see through her, perched on an arm of a wide chair and crossed her ankles. She sat upright with her neck elongated and her torso angled toward us while her legs pointed the other way, as if she were posing for a painter or photographer. James West sat in the largest chair, his long legs crossed. The light spilling over him from the windows made him seem almost larger than life. His coppery hair fell into his eyes occasionally, and he flicked it back in a way that made me think it was habitual, this perfectly behaved unruly hair of his. When he smiled, his face went from merely handsome to mesmerizing.
And Fiona? She drifted around the room from person to person, refreshing drinks and offering more cheese and bread. She shone like a star in this new world of hers. The most beautiful of all the women in the room and probably the rest of Paris, too, with her slight figure and rose-petal skin and dark curls cascading around her delicate features. I’d taken her beauty for granted, I thought. Back home, she’d been my Fiona, my best friend and musical partner. The sweetheart of the Barnes clan, with her pure heart and kind ways. Here, she sparkled with life, transcending from the little girl I’d grown up with to this beguiling woman.
More cigarettes were lit. Everyone but Fiona and I partook. The puffing and gesticulating with the cigarettes seemed almost in time with the music. Smoke drifted toward the ceiling and hung there like a fine mist over the river at home. Outside, the sun lowered until it was caught behind the buildings that lined the street. Across from us, the amber light shone through the windows of the apartments like the square eyes of a magical creature. The colors that streaked across the horizon were unlike any I’d seen in the sky before, a dusty rose and not-quite-ripe tangerine.
Fiona’s new world. I couldn’t help but feel I was indeed an interloper. I’d found her in the middle of a play, and I was an unwanted actor playing a part unsuited for my meager talents.