Nights In Black Lace (18 page)

She nodded seriously. “He did explain. I have pixel-enhancing software.” She patted her laptop.

“All right. Marc, do you think I could get some coffee?”

Marc nodded and signaled the waiter over, giving him the order.

The girl on stage was introducing performers one by one for what looked like it was going to be a burlesque-style revue. Heat level: Rotary Club. Bryan stifled a yawn. This wasn't going to be a night to remember. Good. He would rather make memories with Odette.

He took the camera and its connector out of his pocket and handed it to Jeanne, who hooked it up and downloaded the images.

She scrolled through them. “As you said, Marc. They seem quite ordinary.”

“One is different.”

“Stop me when I get to it,” Jeanne said. “Wait. Is that Grischenka?”

“Yes. Odette was doing a fitting on her. For the flower panties.” He deflected her inquiring look with a wave of his hand. “The design is all over the internet. We have kissed it good-bye forever.”

“Hmm,” Jeanne said. “I suppose that did seem too obvious to have photos of it and the owner of the camera sitting right here.” She smiled at Bryan. “It is not as if I am a detective and can arrest you.”

“Nope.” He smiled back. Okay, she wasn't a detective, but who was she? And why did Marc want her to digitally enhance the photos without telling Odette? Something wasn't adding up.

The raucous show on stage got louder. Bryan drank the coffee the waiter brought for him but it didn't do much to clear his mind.

“That one,” Marc said, putting his hand on Jeanne's arm.

“Ah. I see a woman's shoulder and a purse behind her.”

“Zoom in on the purse. And then enhance the pixels.”

She sighed and muttered something about visual noise, then got to work.

“I see what you mean,” she said to Marc. “There is an address on it.”

“Can it be read?”

She clicked on more keys. “I will try a different function of the software. The problem is that the piece of paper is not straight up and down. The image is tilted. I have to correct for anamorphic distortion.”

Her plain face looked a little ghostly in the blue light of the monitor. Bryan could see the purse part of the photo reflected in her glasses, could even watch her zoom in on the piece of paper, making it move around in various ways.

Marc leaned closer, looking over her shoulder.

“I have it,” she said suddenly. “There is an address on it. Look.”

“Yes,” Marc said slowly, reading it. “I thought there might be.”

“Why?” Bryan waited for him to explain.

“I noticed the piece of paper that day when I walked by Lucie's cubicle, but not what was on it,” Marc replied. “She knows I can be fussy about hers being in a mess. She saw me coming, crammed the paper into her purse, and put the purse under her desk. I didn't really think about it,” he said to Jeanne. “Then, after everything happened, Bryan showed me the photos he'd taken and I realized he'd taken them while the paper was still sticking out. There was just something odd about the way she was acting. I think now she was making sure I couldn't read it.”

“Then why did she have it out where anyone could see it in the first place?” Bryan asked.

“She was distracted. Or busy.” He glanced up and caught Bryan's mystified look. “As I told you, Odette thinks that Lucie can do no wrong, but I am not so sure.”

“Don't you sell to New York?” He tried to remember the names of the stores. One, from his mother's fashion magazines, came to mind. “Like Saks Fifth Avenue or something?”

“No. We sell all over the world but we are not yet in New York stores. So why would Lucie have this address?”

“Could be a friend of hers,” Bryan said. Marc's reasoning seemed far-fetched.

“Not on the corner of 39
^th
and Seventh Avenue.”

“I'm not following you.”

“That is the heart of the garment district. There may be a few lofts but not many. No, it is mostly manufacturers of cheaper goods. Fabric stores. Button sellers. Feathers and frippery.”

“Oh,” Bryan said. He sort of got it.

“Anyway, Jeanne thought it might be visible if the image could be manipulated. And she was right.”

“It is hard to read,” Jeanne said.

Bryan scooted his chair around, suddenly intrigued and feeling a lot more awake.

Touching different keys, Jeanne made the image of the paper tilt forward so he could read it too. He could just make out the scrawled address of King Khong Fancy Goods on West 39
^th
Street. New York, NY.

Marc gave an angry sigh as he looked at it again. “Khong. I should have known.”

“It says King Khong,” Bryan pointed out. “Is this a joke? Are we going to have to climb up the Empire State Building to catch him?”

Marc sat back. “I'll explain tomorrow. You and I will meet with Odette. Jeanne, please forward that to me.”

“
Bien sûr.
” She clicked on a button to save the enhanced image. “This dump has wireless, believe it or not. I could send it to you right now.”

“Security is not an issue. But you can send it to me later. I won't need it until tomorrow.”

“May I also save these of Grischenka?”

“If you like.” Marc folded his arms across his chest. “She is going to perform here tonight.” He cast a bored look toward the stage.

The voluptuous performers were grinding away, shaking their big boobs at the rowdy customers egging them on.

Bryan was baffled. “Grischenka is not in their league, man.”

“No. She's had it all done.”

“You lost me again, dude.”

Marc didn't answer right away, waving toward someone who'd just come in. Bryan turned to look.

A extremely tall, white-blond woman in vinyl boots that came up over her knees and vinyl hot pants walked through the front part of the club.

“Here she is now,” Marc said. “Grischy! Over here.”

She made her way through her admirers, fending off an occasional hand on her long, long legs.

Then she sat down, expressionless somehow despite her smile. She nodded to Marc and kissed Jeanne on both cheeks.

“I have pictures of you in your pretty panties,” Jeanne said to Grischenka, looking to Marc. “Still okay to show these?”

“Go ahead.”

The lanky model leaned in and looked at her photos without much interest. “This is one of the stolen designs, isn't it? Too fucking bad for Odette. She wants to be a girl Gaultier and she can't.”

Bryan looked at her. That was a long speech from someone who hadn't uttered any other word in his presence besides
da
. So she did talk. Too bad she didn't have anything sympathetic to say about Odette. He felt pissed at himself for ever thinking Grischenka's boobs were perfect and even worse about looking down her panties and imagining things.

“Yes. Most unfortunate,” Jeanne said.

“Odette is full of stolen ideas herself,” Grischenka replied in a flat voice. “She will come up with more designs and she will be more careful next time. Is the matter under investigation, Marc?”

“Of course. For what it is worth. The designs cannot be retrieved and they are not copyrighted. Nothing will come of it.”

She nodded and turned away from them, draping her lanky arms over the back of her chair and watching the show as if she'd seen it a thousand times before.

“Why not?” Bryan asked.

“Because nothing is secret. We all live and die on the fucking internet. I need a drink.” Marc signaled a passing waiter.

“Okay,” Bryan interrupted, speaking a voice too low for Grischenka to hear. “Excuse me for sounding completely naïve, but why is Odette spending money on an investigation then?”

“Ah. That is actually an intelligent question. To prevent it from happening in future, if at all possible. And to satisfy her insurers.”

Bryan nodded. That made a little more sense. “So now what?”

“We kiss the girls good-night and go home.”

Jeanne had shut off her laptop, and stood up, along with Grischenka. They were chatting as they watched the show, out of earshot of them.

“Jeanne has to be onstage in five minutes.”

“Her?” Bryan was genuinely amazed. “She does that?” He looked at the gyrating lineup of busty dancers.

Marc glanced at Jeanne. “She has the biggest of all.”

“I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think she does. And Grischenka sure as hell doesn't. I've seen her with nothing on.”

Marc only nodded and looked back at the stage, then his watch. “Do you want to leave before the grand finale?”

Bryan looked at the stage too, just in time to see the girls unzip their crotches and pull out what looked like real, live penises.

“Chicks with dicks.” Marc yawned. “Male to female, halfway to the finish line. They do not interest me.”

Bryan swallowed hard. “Me either.” But he looked anyway.

The leader of the revue dangled her mighty dong and shook her boobs. Grischenka and Jeanne watched, commenting on the action.

“So she”—Bryan looked at the tall model—“used to be a he.”

“As I said, she has been completely done.”

“And Jeanne?”

“Has the biggest. Those girls just warm up the crowd for her.”

Bryan opened his mouth and closed it again. “And you say her other job is computer programming?”

“Yes. It is amusing, no?”

“And I thought Grischenka had perfect tits. And that she was female.”

Marc gave him a wink. “Boys will be girls. And girls will be boys.”

“No. I mean, it's cool if you like it, but I'll take Odette.”

“But of course,” Marc said. “She is a true goddess. You ought to worship Odette. She deserves nothing less.”

“I'm trying, man.” He got to his feet, looking everywhere but at the stage. “Let's go.” Jeanne and Grischenka were walking arm in arm toward the back of the club.

Bryan didn't even want to know what was going to happen next.

 

As it turned, not the worst.

Waking from a sleep induced by still more red wine, he felt tiny legs clasping his ankle. He shook Jimmy off.

Molested by a Chihuahua. He rubbed his aching head. It was almost funny, considering what he'd seen that night.

“S
o Khong is back in business. Are you sure?” Odette asked Marc.

“Lucie had his address in her purse. That is the only thing I know for sure. I sent you the enhanced image.”

Bryan didn't know what to say or do. He was hoping for an explanation or two.

“Lucie is such a hard worker. Always putting in overtime—” She stopped herself.

Marc raised an eyebrow.

“And now we know why,” Odette sighed.

“We will need more evidence before we accuse her of anything.”

“The designs were reproduced somewhere in China.”

Odette looked at Bryan. “Piracy is a huge problem in fashion, especially there. It happens sometimes that copies are manufactured by the same companies that make the real goods.”

“Oh.”

“Khong has paid millions in fines but he always pops back up. He put a friend of mine out of business with his cheap copies. Flooded the market, then the trends changed. Poof. End of friend.”

She turned back to Marc, resting her hands on the fat ring binder on her desk. “I guarded this so carefully. I thought sketches would be stolen from here.” Then she tapped her temple. “It was done so quickly that it felt like they were taken from my brain.”

“Lucie could have drawn your fitting session concepts from memory, scanned them, and sent them,” Marc said. “And there were others that you had on paper.”

“Yes.” She was silent and so were the two men.

Bryan remembered Lucie's noisy indignation. “She really tried to distract you, Odette.”

“I remember,” she sighed crossly. “But I would rather she didn't know, Marc, that we are looking into this.”

“You mean you want her to continue?” her assistant asked.

Odette nodded. “She has inadvertently provided us with Khong's address.”

“Or is deliberately leading us on a wild-goose chase.”

“Hmm.” Odette chewed her lip, looking so sad that Bryan wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and make this whole fucked-up situation disappear.

He couldn't. He felt worse than useless and definitely out of his element. He didn't belong here and none of this had anything to do with him.

How long would it be before she realized that herself?

He studied her unhappy, beautiful face as she chewed on her pencil. Then again, opposites attracted, at least on TV. But not even in
Le O.C.
did a poor surfer-slash-marine biologist fall in love with a French fashion designer.

It just wasn't going to happen. Or last.

She gave him a warm look from those goddamn eyes of hers, green shot with gold, and he melted inside.

It had happened. It might last.

He couldn't say the hell with it and climb on the next plane, and not only because he couldn't afford to change his ticket.

No, something like love had a hold on him and wasn't letting go. He wanted to let it happen. Just be Californian, he told himself. Go with the flow.

“Bryan, what do you think?” she asked.

“Odette, I'm really not qualified to hand out advice. I have no idea. Talk to Marc. Or the investigator guy.”

She sighed. “Marc, for the moment we will keep what we know about Lucie to ourselves.”

“Besides us, only Jeanne knows,” he said.

“And we both know Jeanne.” She and Marc shared a smile.

Bryan looked from one to the other as they did. She knew Jeanne too? Just how kinky and convoluted was this going to get?

“I met her at Vendredi last night,” Marc said. “Bryan came along.”

“Ah.” Odette's blasé tone surprised Bryan, who told himself he shouldn't be surprised by anything people at the uppermost level of fashion did. Decadence was the new ordinary.

“Was she performing?” he heard her ask.

“No, I missed that part.”

Marc smirked and Bryan turned red at his unintentional double entendre.

“It is not the sort of part one can miss,” Marc pointed out.

“Give it a rest, pal,” Bryan said, annoyed with him. He was going to have to ask Odette a few questions when her assistant was elsewhere. But in the meantime, he had one for both of them. “Where's Lucie, by the way?”

“Down in the stock room, comparing fabric samples to the Pantone colors for the season. It's donkey work,” Marc said. “But she didn't complain about it.”

“Do you think she knows that we know—” Bryan broke off, not certain what they
did
know for sure, besides that Lucie'd had an address tucked into her purse.

“Probably not. Lucie started out with Odette by helping to choose fabric.”

Odette sighed. “I came up with a reason to have her do it now. Not a very good one, but as Marc said, she didn't complain.”

“Is the plan to wait and see if she trips up?”

“I am not sure,” Odette said. “For now it's best if Lucie has nothing to do with design development.”

“Makes sense.” The situation would need to be resolved somehow and Odette didn't waste any time. But he liked her for not getting angry and firing Lucie on the spot.

Even with a huge order on the line and millions at stake, she kept her cool.

He tapped his foot a little impatiently as Odette went over some other business quickly with Marc, who exited after that.

She stuck the spreadsheets into the binder and turned her full attention to Bryan. “Shall I have coffee sent in?”

“Fine with me. I don't have anything else to do this morning.”

“How did you like the club?”

“It was…” He hesitated, searching his mind for the right word. “Unique.”

“Some of the performers are quite entertaining. I find gender bending very amusing. And you?”

“Not so much.”

She swiveled in her chair and leaned back with her hands in the armrests. She looked every inch the lady boss this morning. It was all about her attitude and not her clothes, which were interesting as usual. She wore white patent leather ankle boots, black lace stockings, a polka dot skirt, plaid blouse, and a snood. He was pretty sure that crocheted thing on her hair was called a snood.

“Why not?”

“Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against chicks with dicks. Maybe it was more the bozos down front screaming their heads off. They're pretty obnoxious.”

“They are not so very different from the man we had to bounce at my show, are they?”

He wanted to roll his eyes but he didn't. He heard enough of the men-are-scum routine from Miss Peace And Love, the girlfriend who'd ditched him for another dude. A really old dude. “Whatever. It just wasn't my scene, Odette. You could have warned me.”

She gave a tiny sigh of regret. “Oh well. I didn't.”

“Now I know why you were so coy about it.”

“Was I?”

“You know you were. So—” Something had occurred to him while he was watching her with Marc and thinking about her world versus his world. “Are you testing me or something?”

“No.” She swiveled to face him directly, looking alarmed.

“Okay. Because I am straight.”

“Bryan, does that not go without saying? And it is true in more ways than one. You are direct about everything. To me it is refreshing.”

“Uh-huh.”

She rose to take the coffee from the assistant who knocked and brought it in. “
Merci
.”

The girl glanced at Bryan and closed the door behind her.

Odette fussed with the coffees and handed him his. They both drank, looking at each other over the rims of their cups.

He finished first and got up to toss the cup into the waste-basket. “Well, it's a beautiful morning and I'm sure you have work to do. I'm going to explore Paris.”

“Do you want a driver?”

She put a hand on the phone and looked at him.

“No, I can walk. But thanks.”

“As you wish.” She paused for a beat. “Are you angry with me, Bryan?”

He shook his head. “No. I just got weirded out last night. Anyway, you have other things to worry about right now.”

“What are you saying?” She sounded nervous and her boss lady confidence seemed to have dissolved. She really did have a lot on her plate.

“Look, I'm staying in Paris for the time being. And I'll help you with this, uh, situation if I can.”

“Thank you.”

Was she going to cry? Christ, he hoped not. “Let's just keep this light, okay? Things are happening a little too fast for me.”

“Yes. I can do light.” She gave him the kind of hopeful look that sent chills up his spine. A lot of men would have jumped at the chance to bed her, then use her. He was up for the first part, but not the second.

They were just too goddamn different was what it came down to. And yet, looking at her, he thought she was fucking perfect, funny clothes and all. Marc was a great guy, and so were some of the other people he'd met during a dizzying few days. But some of the others—a mean model he could name and the ambitious assistant who'd betrayed Odette—weren't. She didn't seem to care all that much. He wasn't sure what mattered to her, and he was feeling more and more like he was looking in through a window at a glittering party he hadn't really been invited to.

Yeah, the winning raffle ticket had opened the door and he'd found himself inside a freaky, glamorous world. He'd been open-mouthed when he found out by accident that she was one of its anointed queens.

But she hadn't told him that.

He'd come up with a flattering interpretation of the fact, like a giant fucking idiot.

“Can we talk later?” There was a trace of sadness in her tone, like she knew, just knew, he was having second thoughts.

“Sure.” He had to say yes. That beseeching look in her eyes—he told himself not to kick her when she was down.

 

He nodded to the doorman who let him out of her atelier and thrust his hands in his pockets. First things first—he needed an internet café.

He could have checked his e-mail in her office, but he had to keep a little distance if he was going to keep his sanity.

The street had very few people on it, but the spring air was pleasantly moist and smelled kind of new and green. The freshly planted flower boxes on wrought iron balconies held pansies that trembled in the breeze, and tendrils of ivy reached down, softening the facades of the fine old houses.

Being outdoors cheered him up. He walked on aimlessly, until he got to a busier street, lined with cafés. A white-aproned waiter was lugging out chairs and setting them up at small marble tables, and there were quite a few customers having coffee already.

Overcoat-wearing old geezers reading newspapers. Chic women with dogs at their expensively shod feet. A couple of scruffy students in sandals and sweaters. Some of the best things about Paris were free to all. It was a great city, when all was said and done.

Bryan sighed and kept on going to where he'd spotted a sign for an internet joint up ahead.

He cupped a hand over his eyes and peered in through the glass door. The young proprietor waved him in and Bryan pushed the door open. He ordered a breakfast sandwich, needing a little fortification before he checked in with the real world and the guy nuked it for him.

Bryan took a seat at a monitor and pulled up his e-mail account with the hand that wasn't holding the wrapped sandwich.

One from his mother. He opened it right away.

How are you?

Three little words that he had to answer or he'd be in big trouble. His mom would send the Royal Californian Mounted Police on a global quest to find his ass if he didn't.

He took a bite of the sandwich and thought about what to say.

Still in Paris. Beautiful. Wish you could see it.

He looked through his previous e-mails and sent her the link to the article about him in
Bonjour Paris,
adding his own version of the event. Then he debated telling her about Odette.

Nuh-uh. Not yet.

He tapped out a couple of paragraphs about where he'd wandered in the city, leaving in the misspellings so she wouldn't think he was cribbing it from a travel guide and wrapped up with a few lines about his hiking trip in Alsace.

The fashion part would thrill her—she'd forward all that to her friends.

Okay. He was done. He added a
love ya
and clicked Send.

Bryan scrolled through the rest, picking up on a couple of .edu endings right away and opening those up.

Thank you for your interest in…