Chapter 13 #2
Although the store wasn’t empty of customers or employees, Celine felt completely alone with Bastien.
The events from a few days ago kept playing in a loop in the back of her mind; the way he had dropped before her the second he had seen the blood; the shattering concern that had filled his eyes; the meticulous attention he had dedicated to removing that needle.
Did Bastien Ménard have a heart?
Because driving her insane? Celine could get behind that. Rendering her speechless with his wanton chatter? She could accept that too. But caring for her like he had done at the steps of Maison Baudelaire? She couldn’t wrap her head around it.
She had built such an impenetrable image of Bastien Ménard in her mind that she thought no manner of pitiful human suffering could make it past the callouses on his heart. Let alone her injured finger.
“You know what I want, darling,” Bastien chimed, keeping pace with her idle maundering through the boutique. “Something you should have given me as a thank you for that.” He pointed at her bandage. “All it takes is one kiss and I will be out of your hair forever.”
Celine rolled her eyes and shifted her attention to the glass displays and the silver wrist watches encased within. A heart shaped one in particular caught her notice; she stopped in front of the counter to view it better. Bastien paused beside her.
“What are you looking for anyway?”
“I was waiting for Ana?s.” She considered him, suddenly realising how strange it was that Bastien had shown up at the same place, at the same hour she would be today. “Why are you here?” Celine asked tersely. “Getting a kick out of following me, I reckon.”
“Sorry to disappoint that little fantasy, but I draw the line at stalking.” Bastien brought his hand down on the glass, blocking her view. “I saw your bicycle outside the avenue. I simply wanted to check how you were taking care of your injury.”
Even a saint wouldn’t believe Bastien Ménard’s heinousness could be limited by moral lines. Celine didn’t buy his act whatsoever. But it explained Ana?s’s insistence that they met today. She had set up a rendezvous for Bastien.
Just as Celine was about to inquire further, a perky employee sprang up on them from behind the counter. “Good morning—ah, Mademoiselle LeBeau! It has been a while.”
She did her best to smooth the wrinkle of irritation from her forehead and flash him a dazzling smile. “Yes, it has.”
“And…Monsieur Ménard?”
His surprise was unmistakable. Clearly, he had expected Jacques to be accompanying her, not the protagonist of scandal columns.
Regardless, he straightened his expression and plastered on a mechanical smile. “What can I help you with?”
Celine cursed the moment she had decided to pry her eyes open this morning instead of dying in her sleep.
“I’m here to pick up something for Jacques,” she explained. When the employee’s curious gaze veered back to Bastien, she added, “Who better to help me than a family member, hmm?”
She had to give her mother some credit for that little lilt at the end of the sentence that normally sent Celine’s hair to stand on end. It seemed to work with the employee too.
“O-of course, Mademoiselle LeBeau.”
“In that case,” Bastien chimed, for the first time since the employee had approached them, “we should look at the other display. Jacques doesn’t wear silver.” He tossed Celine a pointed look. “But of course, as his girlfriend, you know that.”
The young man glanced nervously between the two of them, and quickly excused himself. “Right… I shall prepare a selection for you, mademoiselle.”
“Thank you,” Celine gritted, her eyes still trained on Bastien.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek, and waited.
As soon as the employee was out of earshot, she grabbed Bastien’s chin, bringing him to eye level.
“Listen here, you can jibe about me and Jacques all you want when we’re in private, hell, even in front of our families.
But if you dare utter another word about us and make a fool of me in public I will rip your lips off myself. ”
Undeterred, Bastien grinned.
She pushed him away. “Now, be civil.”
They joined the employee by the display where he had already arranged a neat row of wristwatches from their new line.
Celine only pretended to glance at them.
The hour was already growing late and she couldn’t misspend any more time shopping, nor pretending to shop for the sake of keeping up with yet another lie.
The rest of her sketchbook needed to be restored with new designs, not to mention the dress she had pinned on herself to make.
It was starting to feel like she had dug herself a big hole with this competition and had kept digging until it got too big to climb out again. She was going to live in that hole forever!
Easing back on her heel, Celine gave the display a soft tap. “Please, wrap that one up for me. The delivery boys have our address, yes?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
Once out of the store, Celine halted beneath the shade the store’s awning provided. She peered at Bastien.
“Why were you really looking for me today?”
Fishing a silver case out of his pocket, Bastien took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He didn’t light it. “It’s truly sad that you believe my commiseration to be that flawed.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Alright,” he gave in. “I did have a reason. I found someone who knows where your sketchbook might be. Not entirely selfish intentions, see?”
Celine blinked rapidly, as though clearing her vision would help the words to settle in. “Who? How… Who?”
“All in good time, baby vamp. They’re waiting for us at the Ga?té.”
That sounded highly suspicious. The Ga?té was a cabaret in rue Pierre Fontaine, which received quite the reaction last year when they put on their first topless revue.
Bastien’s fingers came up on her elbow, tugging. “Come on.”
Celine hesitated.
“What’s your main priority right now? The sketchbook or crying in your bed all day?”
Ana?s was such a blabbermouth. Celine dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Lead the way.”
· · ·
The dim afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the Ga?té when Celine and Bastien arrived.
It was still early for patrons to fill the hall, though it seemed they had arrived just in time to catch the dancers wrap up the final rehearsal for tonight’s performance.
The stage remained just as dim as the rest of the room, the music a faint stream of sound that kept staggering out of a recording machine, but Celine still noticed the showgirls. And among them, Elana.
“What is she—”
Bastien explained nothing as he shepherded her down a steep set of stairs, further underground. The answer was plain. His source of information had been the twins.
Celine still pressed for answers. “And all of a sudden they are fine with helping us get my sketchbook back?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Because the prize is ten thousand francs and a fashion house.”
“Not everyone is a weasel like Franz,” Bastien drawled, directing her towards a round table where Elise was serenely sipping a violently vibrant drink.
A little lamp was casting a soft, red glow on her dark skin.
When Celine squinted, she noticed with a start that there was an empty sketchbook propped open in front of her.
The pencil in Elise’s hand moved swiftly.
“You wanted me to act friendly, I did,” Bastien said. “And would you look at that, it pays to stick your tongue down someone's throat.”
It certainly did, but Celine was growing tired of his explicit vocabulary. “Do you always have to be so crude?”
“Do you always have to be so repressed?” Bastien clicked his tongue and performed a sudden pirouette around her. “But if the lady insists. Regard thither,” he exclaimed dramatically. “It recompenses to grow thy tongue to someone’s throat. Does that sound better?”
“Elizabethans are turning in their graves right now, but sure, that’s better.” Celine averted her attention towards the tables again. “Weren’t we here for something?”
“Right.” Bastien gestured at Elise. “Meet my informant. Mademoiselle Sartre.”
Flicking her eyes up, Elise thinned her lips at them. “I thought I told you to meet here an hour ago.”
“Traffic,” Bastien shrugged.
“Mhm. Come, sit. My sister gets drinks on the house.”
Celine thought it highly convenient having someone who looked like a split version of oneself. Free drinks were one thing. If she had a twin sister, this entire ordeal of lying and sneaking around would be so much easier.
Resting her purse on the edge of the table, she took the seat opposite Elise. Bastien dragged another chair over, iron legs grating on the black tiles of the floor, and sat facing the stage.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” Celine began awkwardly.
She was quite unsure how to take Elise’s civility over the matter.
She wasn’t as grievous as Franz, but she hadn’t really attempted to hide her dislike of Celine and Bastien since their first day.
“I know our circumstances at Maison Baudelaire aren’t particularly friendly ones, but I apprecia—”
Elise interrupted, “Thank Elana, not me. She is the one with the weak heart,” and cut Bastien a pointed look.
He simply rocked his chair back, grinning. “You can always join us, chérie.”
Elise let out a noise of repulsion and turned her focus on the sketchbook. Celine couldn’t repress her curiosity. She peered over the lamp, trying to catch a glimpse of the bold strokes the other girl was casting down. She hadn’t expected to find someone else who sketched designs in dingy cabarets.
“Franz has it,” Elise said suddenly, startling Celine into sitting up straight. “Your sketchbook, I mean. He swiped it from your station when you ran outside that day.”
Bastien rocked the chair back in place. “And you couldn’t have told us then?”