Chapter One #2
We stayed gathered there for over an hour. Talking through our questions, considering our options, standing in solidarity together.
The news was bewildering. The life I’d spent years building now hung in peril.
I’d worked so hard for so long in an institution that I assumed would stay the same and continue to reward me for my dedication.
I never imagined that a change so dramatic and potentially life-altering could sneak up on me like this, nowhere in sight one day and then crashing through the door the next.
It wasn’t fair. One paper couldn’t just buy another and dismantle it for parts.
Could it? It didn’t seem like that should be allowed.
When we’d all said everything we could, we made our way back to our desks and got on with the work of the day.
I typed up the last few pages of my notes, and made a half-hearted list of places I needed to stop and people I needed to talk to for this and other stories I was working on.
Then I bundled up my notebooks and my fresh draft, and I left my desk, heading back down the staircase.
As I crossed the lobby, a group of determined and sure men were coming in through the front doors.
They all looked vaguely familiar, though none were from L’Entreprise .
Vaguely familiar because most of my coworkers were men just like these ones.
Hired into the same position as me without having to prove themselves serving coffee.
They usually had an uncle in an office somewhere, pulling strings on their behalf.
Or they were sleeping with someone whose husband was unwittingly helping him along under his wife’s sly influence.
Arrogant in writing and in person. Smart, but not smarter than me.
Then there he was: Benoit Levin. All of those clichés about men in the news business combined.
The man whose job title at L’Etoile was senior culture reporter, the same as mine.
Seeing his name in the newspaper every week never prepared me for seeing him in person, which thankfully had only happened a few times.
He was tall, taller than me, with neatly trimmed light brown hair and a thin mustache that punctuated his perfect mouth.
He was probably in his mid-thirties. And he had these inquisitive, mocking blue eyes like he was a step ahead of me.
He was always plainly and impeccably dressed, and he moved easily in the company of all the right people.
Handsome in a sophisticated, mildly rugged way. I knew him all right.
The first time we met, I was backstage at the Comédie Francaise in the flurry of activity that happened after the show.
Nadine, one of my housemates at the women’s pension, had just signed her contract with them to be an understudy.
I was also a relatively new reporter then, and I needed connections in the business.
Nadine was thrilled to introduce me around.
She helped me secure press credentials. One of her contractual duties was attending the afterparties and mingling with the important theater investors and distinguished guests.
If I could make friends with these people, they’d talk to me and tell me things they perhaps shouldn’t.
Building relationships like this took time, and I was so grateful to Nadine for helping me even though she was new at Comédie Francaise too.
Although I like writing and researching and asking questions, I lacked an outgoing nature.
I much preferred to observe rather than mingle.
Nadine had no problem with this; she was like a magnet for attention.
She introduced me to the theater promoter, who took my card and promised to add me to his list of press contacts.
She introduced me to several of her fellow understudy performers, who were happy to talk about themselves.
And she pointed out the wealthy patrons, who were mingling in close company with the biggest stars.
I remember being dazzled by the atmosphere.
Comédie Francaise was a state theater and the fanciest place that I’d ever seen behind the scenes.
But by far, the most memorable person I met that night was Benoit Levin.
Even in a room with all those big personalities, he drew my awareness.
A wide, full smile that he suspiciously offered to everyone.
I noticed him because he was noticing me in a way that made me uneasy.
I didn’t know who he was. The woman he was standing next to—one of the actresses—was gazing up at him dreamily and twirling a lock of her blonde hair.
All evening, I ignored his glances. And then, toward the end of the reception, they were there in front of Nadine and me.
“Mademoiselle Nadine Duval,” the pretty blonde actress said, “I want to introduce you to Monsieur Benoit Levin. He writes for L’Etoile .”
“Oh, do you?” Nadine said while he kissed her hand. “Enchanté. I’m the newest understudy actress.”
My gut sank while they spoke. I knew that name.
Rather, I knew that byline. I had read his work, and Benoit Levin also had a reputation.
L’Etoile had made a big fuss over hiring him—the esteemed, traveling correspondent whose work had thrilled readers in many prestigious publications was making L'Etoile and Paris his permanent home. Needless to say, L’Entreprise didn’t make any sort of announcement when they moved me up to the culture pages.
They’d lectured me on the importance of a woman having a pseudonym to protect her propriety and reputation, which was dumb.
But Benoit Levin was reason for a headline.
I hated him immediately. His handsome face and charming presence I found most repellant.
“And this is my housemate, Vanessa Marnet.” Nadine smiled, unaware. “She’s a reporter too.”
“You are?” He turned his attention to me, extending a hand and holding it aloft while waiting for me to give him mine. I did not.
“I’m Vanessa Marnet. I write for L’Entreprise .”
“Really?” He reappraised me. “Are you V. Marnet?”
“I am.”
“I recognize your name. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
This satisfied me greatly. I still didn’t give him my hand. “Is it always a pleasure to meet your competition?”
“Not always.” He surveyed me from head to toe in that way some men felt they had the right to do. “But this time it is.”
I rolled my eyes. “A pleasure that is now coming to an end. Au revoir.”
I turned away from him, touching Nadine’s shoulder to get her attention. She was chatting with the blonde actress now. But we’d agreed to leave the theater together and share a carriage back to the house. “Are you ready?”
“I am. Give me a minute to say goodbye to the director?”
“Okay.” As she walked away, I was left alone with Monsieur Levin, who was still standing there, watching me. I needed to find somewhere else to wait. Before he could speak, I said, “Please excuse me.”
“I liked your story about cabaret culture.”
“You read it?” Because I’m cursed with vanity, I took his obvious conversational bait. Instead of twirling a finger in my hair like a mindless girl, I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I always read all the papers. Keeping an eye on my colleagues, or competition, as you call it.”
“What did you like about it?” I asked only because I thought I could catch him fibbing.
“The article? I liked the way you set the scene. You have a knack for using detail to paint the picture.” He didn’t even have to think about his answer. “Like the one you did a few weeks ago about the art dealer. I felt like I was standing in his drawing room with you.”
I admit I was flattered—anything for a little validation. “You always read my work?”
“Don’t you read mine?”
“Of course.” I wanted to lie, to deny him the satisfaction. But that would have made me look like an uninformed person who didn’t read the papers, like I wasn’t keeping up. My pulse quickened. And I was strangely no longer in such a hurry to get away.
“It is truly a thrill to meet you. I don’t know many reporters from other papers outside of their work.” He didn’t take his eyes away from my face. “You’re not what I expected from V. Marnet.”
“Oh no? You’re exactly what I expected,” I said, summoning my bitchiness to reestablish a distance between us.
“Ha. You’re beautiful and a challenge. I like that.”
I gave him a bored smile. “Au revoir, monsieur.”
“Wait. Do you really have to go?” There was a hint of something in his voice, a faltering of some kind. “There’s a café near here; we could go have a drink and talk.”
The idea struck me as ludicrous. “And then what?”
“I don’t know, darling. Get to know each other. See what happens.”
“Now you’re being funny. You and I will never, ever see what happens in any respect.
” I walked away before he could tempt me with any more compliments.
My skin felt hot and clammy. Very tempting indeed, that one.
A woman could completely lose her head over a man like that, which was exactly why I hated him. Then and now.
If he was in this crowd swaggering into the L’Entreprise headquarters, then they all probably worked for L’Etoile , the new owner. This was when it all truly sank in for me. Everything I’d worked so hard for was now at risk. The hostile takeover was beginning.
I turned instinctively to avoid them, as if they were a pack of wolves. But as I moved away, his gaze caught mine. He lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow and smiled devilishly. I scowled and stalked off.
A buyout of my workplace would have been bad enough. But certainly whatever came of this merger would not be big enough for two senior culture reporters. Him and me. There was no way.