8. Chapter Eight #2
“I’ll be fast.” I jumped out of bed, leaped over my pillow, and hit the shower so I could get one itty-bitty cup of coffee into me before we had to bolt.
Five minutes later I was clean, dressed in a funky Boho creation of mine that I loved.
Pale yellow tie-dyed hippie pants I’d sewn old patches of rock bands of the seventies onto paired with thick-soled boots and a bulky dark green open-front hooded cardigan I’d found at the local second hand shop.
Under the hooded sweater I wore a simply black tee.
“Nice look,” Mickey commented as he rushed to prepare some tea to take with him in a travel thermos. His hair lay flat on his head. “I see you looking. It wouldn’t get up.”
“They have pills for that,” I flung out as I tied my boots. A wet tea bag slapped me in the cheek.
We were still tussling when we arrived in the lobby right on time.
Which was a good thing since Soline – in a stunning smoky midi-dress with strong shoulders and a tucked waist. Claude, who honestly looked far too good for my senses this damn early – was in his standard tailored suit, this one a slim-fit hunter green with no tie just an ebony turtleneck.
And next to him stood a member of the crew holding cue cards.
Fifteen groggy designers watched as Soline and Claude, sleeping dog on his hip, held up their pointer fingers in front of their puckered lips to shush us.
The crew around us were deadly silent. Xavier stood to the side with the same group of men in high-priced suits.
I found the man that had looked familiar to me before, and his face clicked. Carlton Hale. Claude’s ex-husband.
What the fuck? Why was he here? My sight flew from the tall blond man to Claude who had lowered his finger.
Our gazes touched briefly. The slim young woman wearing headphones began rifling through the cue cards, pulling my thoughts from Claude, Carlton, and what the hell was going on.
Their breakup had been unpleasant according to the fashion reporters so why would they be working on this project together.
I knew little of Carlton Hale so maybe when I had a moment I could Google him and…
Nope. No phone. Fuck. Well, that would have to wait.
Right now I was reading over cue cards as Claude and Soline stood silently by with smug smiles.
Welcome designers! Quiet now…
And the card was dropped and a new one was showing.
Today we’re leaving the academie to find your inspiration for the next assignment.
We all made appreciative sounds. Some fresh air combined with seeing some of the sights of this marvelous city sounded amazing.
Where we are going is a secret for now. Do not ask we won’t tell!
Soline and Claude both shook their heads.
We all chuckled softly. Then Soline waved us off as she wiggled her trim backside like a duck.
Okay, we got the message. Off we went behind Camilo like good little ducklings, not saying a word until we were packed like sardines into another rental van.
This driver was an older man who gave us all odd looks.
Sure, we were dressed in ways the common person didn’t but we were fashion designers.
Camilo sat in the front, turned, and gave us a grin.
“You can speak now,” he chuckled. We all began chattering at once as we pulled out into traffic. “Okay, settle down. I have to read over a reminder on proper etiquette when we’re out among the public.”
“Camilo, mate, we know the rules. Don’t pull out your cock or paps. Don’t talk like my sister working her street corner, and don’t say anything about the show to anyone not on staff.” Mickey tossed his limp hawk out of his face before giving our beleaguered wrangler a wink.
“Yes, that covers it but please always remember you’re not just representing yourself you’re representing your family, your friends, and your country as well as the Barrons Fashion Academie and Novum.
Anyone found discussing anything about the show will be disqualified immediately, sent home, and hit with some massive financial penalties.
Novum will sue for damages while hitting you with steep penalty clause infringements.
So, please do not talk to anyone outside of the Novum family. ”
“When you say steep penalties how steep are we talking?” Esme asked as we paused at a traffic light.
“Probably millions,” Camilo answered.
“Bloody hell,” Mickey whispered. Yeah, my sentiments exactly. I’d be doubly sure to not say a thing other than ‘Merci’ or ‘Bonjour’ or ‘Les Toilettes?’ to anyone not working with us in some capacity.
“Look!” Suki shouted. Our heads all swiveled like owls to see what she was pointing at with a finger heavy with tiny silver rings to match those lining the shells of her ears. “The Eiffel Tower!”
My gaze flew out the window to skip over slate roofs and famed chimney stacks stood The Iron Lady.
A buzzing sensation overtook me. Gazing at the beautiful tower with the sun streaming through the open lattice wrought-iron beams something in my soul settled.
Breathing in then out the feeling calmed, reminding me now of the sensorial aura of a place speaking to my spirit.
This was where I was supposed to be. I knew it now more than ever.
This city, the academie, this country. As if Paris had been written into my destiny.
Perhaps I was going off the deep end. Lack of sleep, stress, jet lag.
Why else would I be experiencing such a strong sense of cosmic alignment?
“She’s so beautiful,” Suki whispered then pressed a tiny hankie into my hand.
“For your tears. I cried so hard for a long time when I first saw the painting of Van Gogh, The Starry Night. He was inspired to paint it from his asylum room. It just… his story is so sad that when I was in New York with my parents we visited MoMA and I wept. Things of beauty do this to creatives for our hearts are wide open.”
“I hope we get to visit the Tower while we’re here,” I whispered as I dabbed at my eyes.
God, what a dork I was. Had to be the jet lag.
My sight lingered the tower until someone pointed out the Seine as we neared the murky but romantic river.
It would be a dream come true to take one of those river cruises for lovers. First I’d need a lover obvs.
“Attention, we have some rules,” Camilo called over his shoulder as we slowed by a building that could have been a palace resting beside the Seine.
Creamy stone walls, towering arched windows, and a gorgeous clock which looked over Paris.
The building oozed grandeur and elegance.
“Welcome to the Musée d’Orsay Museum. We’re to meet Soline and Claude.
While you are inside you’re to stay together.
We’ve been granted early admission to view a special painting.
Soline and Claude will explain more about the painting and your assignment.
Follow what the guide who is waiting for us tells you.
Let’s go, we do not want to make production run late because we were dragging our feet. Remember to look excited.”
That was easy to do. If I was any more excited I’d burst like a confetti ball.
We had little time to drink in the exterior of the world famous art museum as we were hustled along by Camilo plus two security guards cameras filming our every step while chatted exuberantly.
Once inside I found it hard to walk and not fall down the main stairs what with my sight levering upward to gawk at the stunning gold-tone arched ceiling filled with so many glass panels a person could never count them.
We passed statues from famed sculptors, our whispers filling the grand hall where we found Soline, Claude, and a slim woman in a dour brown dress that matched her shoes awaiting us.
Between Soline and Claude sat a cloaked painting on a small plinth.
“Bonjour,” our advisor said. We replied in kind.
“Welcome to the Musée d’Orsay.” Claude beamed with joy as he spoke.
He was known to be a great supporter of the arts.
Cameras and sound were set up and rolling.
Xavier was off to the side glowering at something on a small screen.
“We are so very excited and honored to be able to film here. Our thanks to the city of Paris and the Ministry of Culture for granting us permission to enjoy this beautiful museum. This lovely lady is Monique Levarré, the president and director of the Musée d’Orsay and the Musée de l’Orangerie.
She’s going to tell you a bit about the mysterious painting we have here then Soline and I will fill you in about your assignment. If you please, Madame la Présidente.”