Trouble finding Blondie

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No parts of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover designed by Radim Vlcek

Printed in the United States of America

To Martin and Slavo,

the two men that I love.

Slavo, for his unconditional love.

Martin, for all the magic.

They both believed I could.

….I did.

"DON'T TELL ME IT WASN'T LOVE WHEN SOMEBODY SO FAR AWAY LEFT BEHIND THIS MUCH HURT."

IT’S A BEAUTIFUL day, Paris in June is magnificent. I can’t wait to be in the park. I think I will treat myself to a nice dinner outside tonight…

Simona was daydreaming when Robert popped his head into her office.

“Mademoiselle Simona, you have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“A gentleman, waiting for you in the lobby.”

“Did he give you his name?”

“Yes, Monsieur Travis.”

“Travis? I have no idea. Ok, I will be right there.”

Simona was coming from the back office, walking through the phone operators, greeting everybody. She was the sunshine everybody still looked at as the ‘mystery foreigner’. Sometimes too much for the French mentality, but always uplifting the mood.

After stopping at the front office to greet the receptionists, she walked out to the lobby. Half way through, she stopped.

“Oh my God! Shit!”
Oh God, did I say it out loud?

She turned around and walked back, her heels clicking on the marble floors. Walking by the front desk, she mumbled “You don’t know me. I don’t work here. You....” She was talking too fast, and the confused receptionists stood there in shock. They never saw her behave like that.

By the time she reached the back office again, she was hyperventilating, walking in circles. Pierre, the rooms division manager, walked out of his glass office, looking at her completely confused. She was talking nonsense.

“Caribbean, what? Excusez-moi? Ooooh my God!” She finally paid attention to Pierre who was staring at her.

“Oh... Tu ne me connais pas. Tu ne m’a jamais ever before.”

“Stop talking gibberish. Speak English or French. I don’t understand a word of what you are trying to say.”

“There is a man in the lobby.... I can’t.”

“Alright, calm down. You want me to get rid of him?”

“Get rid of him? Yes, that’s it.” Simona’s eyes were popping out like a light bulb went off.

“Est-ce qu’il t’a vu? Qui est-il?”

“No, I don’t think he saw me,” Simona replied.

In the meantime, Mr. Mystery Man walked over to the front desk with a smile and asked the pretty red-haired receptionist, “Etes-vous certaine que’elle va revenir?”

The receptionist smiled politely and walked to the back of the office. “Mademoiselle Simona, the gentleman would like to know if you are going to come out.”

She looked at Pierre, then the receptionist, as if they were lunatics from another planet.

“Donnez-nous une minute, s’il vous plait,” Pierre waved her away.

“Simona, look at me. Oh, mon Dieu.” Pierre took her by hand and pulled her into his office. She was visibly distraught, and he was anxious to unravel this crazy situation. “Alright, we have a problem. There is a man out there who wants to speak with you. Is he a danger to you?”

“Danger to me?” The question suddenly refocused her mind and made her think. Is he a danger? He could be a danger, a threat to her life, a disaster to her perfectly executed plan and painted picture. She finally realized the magnitude of the situation.

“Simona, focus! Who is he, and what the hell does he want?”

“Hmm?? Oh, he is a friend that I’m surprised to see. I have not seen him for a long time. That’s all.”

Pierre wasn’t buying her answer, but at least it seemed the man wasn’t some lunatic that he needed to call security for.

“Ok, so here is the deal. He knows you are here. Can you handle it?”

“Can I handle it? What do you really want me to handle?”

“Focus! You need to go out there and talk to this guy. You can do it. Just look at him as a complaining guest you need to go deal with. Solve the problem, schmooze, and walk away with a smile.”

“Handle it. Problem solving. Of course I can do that. I’m a goddamn professional. I can schmooze. I can turn this around. No problem. I’m going to do it. I can handle this.” She was talking in short commanding sentences, more to herself than to Pierre.

“Alright, now we are talking. Excellent. Take him to the bar and have a drink. I’ve got you covered.”

“Drink. Fabulous. Yes, that sounds right. Drink sounds like medicine right now.”

“Helloooo. Focus! A drink, meaning ONE drink. You have to be ‘intact’ to handle this.”

“Okey. Got it. Thanks for the pep talk.” She opened the door, ready to walk out. Instead, she turned around, walked back and kissed him. “T’es le meilleur. Merci.”

❖ ❖ ❖

“Well, hello. I thought you would never come out,” he smiled, and she almost fainted.

“Monsieur Travis, is it?”

“Yes, sorry. I was afraid you would take the back exit if I gave them my real name.”

“I probably would have.” She was finally smiling, and his heart was melting. There was a moment of silence where they lost themselves in their thoughts.

Oh my God, how much I missed her. Is it really her? Alive and well. Happy and heathy. Perhaps even a little curvier than my memories…

I can’t believe this. Is it really HIM? Still the same smile, still the mesmerizing eyes, but deeper. Not sure what, but something is different...

“So, no hug, no kiss?” He broke the silence.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She was afraid to touch him and rightfully so. The skin on skin contact sent a charge through her entire body. She pulled away.

“Let’s go to the bar. I can use a drink to recover from your shock therapy.”

They both smiled and walked towards the restaurant. She greeted the manager and walked straight to the bar. Simona ordered a mojito, he smiled. She knew what he was thinking, but decided to ignore it and ordered him a glass of Pinot Grigio. He changed it to Caipirinha.

They waited in silence for the drinks to arrive, neither was good at small talk. They were exchanging glimpses, trying to figure out how they were going to break the ice. Both stubborn. Both afraid. Both enjoying the moment of seeing the other. The drinks arrived. She smiled and thanked the bartender.

“What do we toast to, Simona?”

“Your invasion, your toast.”

“I performed miracles to find you. And now that I have, I’m not letting you go.”

“Hmmm??! Are you trying to freak me out? Because it’s working.”

“Cheers.”

“I’m not drinking to that. Come up with something normal.”

“It’s great to see you again.”

“Ok, that’s better. Cheers.”

Silence again. Is he going to talk? I’m not bailing him out of this one. He needs to talk. He marched in here, almost gave me a heart attack, now freaking me out with his BS statements, and

now he thinks he is just going to smile and freak me out more? Is that his strategy? It must be because it’s working, and this drink is not kicking in yet. Ok, get your shit together, Simona! Focus! What did Pierre say? What the hell did he say? Oh, yes...Treat him like any complaining guest. Face the problem, diffuse the situation, solve the problem, done. The best defense is offense, right? He already pulled his trump card out: the moment of surprise. He is out of ammunition....

“So, what are you doing here, and what can I do for you, Monsieur?”

“Do you have any idea what I had to go through to find you? It wasn’t an easy, breezy thing.”

“How typical. So you answered my question with another question?”

“I have more questions. I have a whole list of questions.”

“I would love to tell you bring it on, but I’m at work and don’t have that much time.”

“Ok, so let’s start with WHY! Why? What the hell happened?”

“We have been bickering for five minutes, and now we are already arguing? Good Lord.”

“Because we are the same. And we belong together.”

“Is that what you came here for? To tell me this? Seems like you are doing just fine without me. You look great. You seem happy.”

“Do you remember what FINE stands for?” They both started laughing, remembering the old times.

”Freaked out, Irrational, Neurotic, Emotional? Fine, this won’t go anywhere. Let’s back up. Why are you here, please? Pretty, pretty please!”

“I’m serious. I went to great lengths to find you. I called and wrote to any friends of yours I could think of. Some were helping me, too. It is strange that you would go to such an extreme length to cover your tracks because of me. And let all your other friends go, too? I’m pretty sure

that not all of them were lying. They really don’t know. And your ex-husband? That is just nuts. He has been silent as a grave. I have no idea how you got him to do that, but I tried everything. Even Anton and Margaret.”

“You know I hate to be outsmarted. So how did you find me? You are getting the credit, the points, the glory. Blah blah blah, all of it. So, spill it!”

“Four Seasons’ employee records.”

“Bullshit. They would never give that up.”

“They didn’t. I tried. I called every Four Seasons in Europe. I even had to sleep with somebody working for the Four Seasons in Prague. She tracked it internally and found out that you were employed and your position. The location was my dumb luck.”

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