Chapter 23
Emma
“I’m a goddamn genius. I’ve figured it all out.” Lucie accosts me with her frenetic energy the second I slouch through the door.
“Figured what out?”
“How we’ll do it.”
“It?” My brain is foggy.
“Are you okay?”
“Sorry. I’m exhausted.” I look longingly toward my bedroom.
“In a good way?” She smirks. “Matthew?”
“Yes, Matthew, and not the way you think.” I don’t have the energy right now to explain the broken teacups, the tears, his guilt and shame.
“He was a lot,” I tell Lucie now.
“They all are.”
“What exactly have you figured out?”
“How we’ll steal the paintings from the Orsay. It’s perfect. I’m absolutely brilliant.” She flops flamboyantly on the couch.
“Your humility consistently astounds me. Can I grab myself a snack while you tell me? I’m starving.”
“Didn’t you eat at Lapérouse last night?”
“Yeah, but the dishes are insanely small. They must cost at least twenty francs a bite. Go on, I’m listening.”
“A bomb threat.”
“What?” I choke. “You want to call a bomb threat into the Orsay?”
“No. Not exactly. We’ll defuse the bomb threat.”
“What bomb threat?”
“The one we create.”
“I’m not following.”
“You know one of my regulars is at the top of the déminage, the bomb squad. A few weeks ago, he was responsible for clearing out Montparnasse station when there was a threat.”
“I read about it in the paper. Didn’t that threat turn out to be some kid’s backpack that they left behind on the Métro?”
“It did. I saw my guy right after and he was still in his gear. That’s when I got the idea. You know how he loves role-play?”
Now I remember that Lucie’s nickname for this client is the Rock Star because he once asked her to pretend he was a famous musician and she was a devoted fan, which wouldn’t have been odd had they simply playacted that out in a bar, but he actually snuck them backstage at the Parc des Princes stadium during a Céline Dion show.
“So how does his fetish for role-play factor into your grand plan?”
“Well, last night I wanted to test something out. I decided I would choose the scenario. I called him from inside the Jules Verne and said there was a potential threat to the Eiffel Tower that he had to deal with immediately.”
The Jules Verne, named for the famous novelist, is the absurdly expensive restaurant on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower. I’ve never been, but Lucie regularly frequents their bar.
“So he arrived at the Verne, in plain clothes, told the ma?tre d’ he was the head of the déminage, assured him he didn’t have to worry, but he needed to do a routine check of the private dining room. He flashed his credentials. They cleared it out quietly and we fucked right on one of the tables.”
I’m no longer shocked by anything Lucie tells me, but this still makes me choke slightly on my muesli.
“They just let him go in?”
“They let him do whatever he wants. They didn’t even look twice at the badge.”
“So we would…”
“Show up at the Orsay in the middle of the night in uniforms, flash a badge, tell them there’s been a credible enough threat that we need security to clear out of certain galleries while we make a sweep.
We get at least fifteen minutes to ourselves in the galleries, we replace the paintings with the fakes, and we move out.
Think about it…sexy bomb squad agents. It’s like the beginning of a porno. ”
“What about cameras?”
“There aren’t cameras in every gallery. Colette has been researching their security. She told one of the museum administrators she was doing it for a school project. She looks so innocent. People believe anything she says.”
Lucie keeps going. “The paintings Stella selected are in galleries with no cameras. But there are motion sensors. They’re connected to a printer in the security office that can map out most of the movements of people inside the museum.”
“So you would need a reason to be moving around a particular gallery after hours?”
“Exactly. When Rock Star gets called to a job, he brings a large rolling bag with him that contains his bomb-finding equipment. It’s perfect. We can empty it out and the bag will fit the new paintings we are bringing in and allow us to take away the old ones undetected.”
I consider it. There’s an inherent trust in France that doesn’t exist in the United States. If someone tells you they’re there to do a job, they’ll likely be believed.
I nod at Lucie as I work through all of this in my head.
“And where will we get the uniforms? And the badge?”
“Rock Star will give them to me. I already told him I have imagined a delightful new role-play scenario where I will play the inspector and he’ll be a potential victim. I’ll need to come save him this time.”
“It’s a two-person job, switching the paintings.”
“I said I want to bring a friend who will watch us. I can get two uniforms, and the proper equipment, the bag, and all that.”
“What about the badge?”
She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and flashes a shiny badge in my face.
“It fell out of his jacket last night. He was knackered!”
Her Cheshire cat grin is infectious. My lips widen in response.
“You really are a genius.”
“I know.”
“Do I actually have to come with you for a ménage à…whatever it is?”
“It would be less ménage à trois and more a voyeuristic playdate.” She waits, twirling a black curl around her index finger as I squirm slightly. “It could be good for you,” she continues.
“Um…” I begin.
“You really should see your face right now. No, you don’t have to come, unless you want to.
The invitation is always open. But I’ll handle him.
He should be able to get us the suits in a few weeks.
I asked for something that fit me. He knows I’m very into authenticity. He’ll be getting two women’s suits.”
“One for you, and one for…?” I know it will be me.
It can’t be Colette. She is the one who will be the face of the Van Gogh lost Sunflowers sale—the one who will be approaching the experts to claim she found the painting in the basement of her family’s home.
She can’t be connected to this part of Stella’s plan.
“You, of course, but don’t worry. I will do all of the talking in French and you can be the silent but deadly looking one.”
I still don’t believe this will actually happen, that we will actually go through with it.
“I’m a regular at the museum. What if the guards recognize me?”
“Unlikely. Different staff entirely from the day, different kinds of training. And I’ll do some heavy makeup on you.”
“Have you heard from Stella?” I ask. “Have you told her this?”
“No. I called the cottage and didn’t get an answer, but there’s no machine there, so no way to leave a message. We can try again tonight.”
I reach into my purse. “Matthew kept some things from her apartment. Her tea set was one of them.” I show Lucie the cup covered in the tiniest rosebuds and hummingbirds.
Lucie takes it in her hand and lets it dangle from its petite handle. “How positively darling.”
“She loved these cups,” I say, snatching it back from her. “Drank all her cocktails out of them and used them for ashtrays.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
“Do you like Stella?” I realize I haven’t asked Lucie or Colette this since we’ve been back from the island.
“Very much. How can you not? She’s a charming curmudgeon in the best possible way.”
“She reminds me of you.”
“I take that as compliment.”
“You should.”
I gaze out the window down at the Fleas. Lucie comes over and starts massaging my shoulders, kneading her strong fingers into the knots at the base of my neck. “Emma, love. We have to be all in. It won’t work otherwise.”
“I know.”
“Do you like her?” Lucie asks me, moving her hands to my shoulder blades, working her index finger into the soft tissue protecting the bone.
“Of course. And I trust her…I think.”
“Good.” Lucie abandons her massage and stretches her long arms overhead. “I’m going to sculpt for a few hours. I need to move my hands. Do you want any help with the paintings?”
“I need to go to the museum this afternoon to spend some more time with them. There are a few things I haven’t cracked yet. But I will. I have to get inside them. Once they let me in, it all comes together. Does that make sense?”
“So much.” She leans down and kisses me on the top of my head. “Get a few hours’ rest first. You look like shit, darling.”
“I will. Be safe,” I call as she struts out the door. This is what I always say to her, no matter where she’s going or what she’s about to do. I like her to know someone cares about her well-being. Not enough people in her life have.
I lied to Lucie. I’m scared. I want to trust Stella, I want to believe this all has a fairy-tale ending for three Cinderellas, but the real world doesn’t work that way.
The skin on my arms tingles as I think about getting back to the forgeries I’m painting.
I can’t explain it, but the thought that something I’ve created, even if it’s an imitation, will hang on the walls of a place like the Orsay, where millions will get to see it, is a thrill like I’ve never experienced before.
No matter how terrified I am of what’s about to happen, there’s no backing out now.