20
HENRIETTE
Being a passenger in Lucette’s aging Alfa Romeo without air conditioning left me covered in a thin layer of dust and diesel fuel, and without a sense of humor by the time we rolled into Paris at three o’clock.
“Where are you getting ready?” Lucette asked. “Where are you planning on staying tonight?”
“I booked a hotel room on the Champs-Élysées near the Louvre. It’s nothing special, but it will give me a place to shower and dress.”
“And later?”
“Later what?”
“You’re planning on going home with him?”
“Whom?”
“Tristan.”
I didn’t say anything.
“He’s staying at the Paris apartment you know.”
“No,” I replied without emotion. “I didn’t know. How did you know?”
“Seriously? Do you not listen around that place?”
I smirked at my own ignorance. “Silly me. I guess I’m too busy doing my job to eavesdrop on everyone else. Did Pierre tell you Tristan was staying at the apartment?”
Lisette shook her head. “He’s not really talking to me right now.”
“Why not?”
I watched Lucette squirm uncomfortably in her seat.
“What is it, Lucette?”
She shook me off. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Lucette…I know you better than that. What is it?”
“No. Really. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Did you have a fight or something?”
“Or something.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t pry. But answer me one question. Are you okay?”
“No.” She replied so sheepishly I could barely hear her over the roar of the car.
“No?”
She turned to me. “But I will be. Now, where’s your hotel? I need to be at the Sanctuary house in an hour to shower and prepare.”
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, eyeing myself from head to toe. I’d chosen a white Gucci gown I’d been forced to purchase years ago for a black tie party at Champagne Lebleu. White silk, it was long, form fitting and sported a plunging neckline. So much so, I had to use double-sided tape to hold my dress to my breasts.
I’d left my hair down, curling it with a large barrel for soft waves. I told myself it was to look mysterious, but in the back of my mind I could see his face as we lay in bed on the cusp of making love, and I could hear Tristan’s voice asking me to take my hair down. I didn’t know exactly what I’d planned on doing tonight when I saw him, but I knew I had to beg him one more time not to give up his vote.
I stroked the red lipstick over my pouted mouth, wondering why I cared so damn much. It wasn’t for me. If Lebleu sold to the conglomerate, I would leave Lebleu. If it stayed in the family after René passed on, I would also leave Lebleu. There was no way I could ever work for Pierre. No, I was doing it for everyone else at the champagne house. I wouldn’t allow Champagne Lebleu to go down all because one drunken night René had sex with a gold digger looking to get pregnant.
I’d arranged for a car and when the call came on my cell, I knew it was my driver letting me know he’d arrived on time.
Sliding the silver Venetian mask off the table, I answered my phone. “Allô?”
“Oui. Je suis en route.”
He was on his way.
Once in the lobby, I left the key to my room at the front desk. I had nothing with me tonight but a mask and determination.
A row of black sedans lined the Rue de Beaux Arts. Nestled in Saint Germain-des-Prés in the Sixth Arrondissement, The Sanctuary in Paris had an address near the River Seine. Home to famous artists and writers, it was an area where wealthy Parisians and Expats who relished the finer things lived.
I told the driver not to worry and got out of the car twenty meters from the entrance. Mask in hand, I strolled with as much confidence as I could muster to the red front door. Some patrons had already donned their masks before getting out their cars. Quickly, I tied mine around my face, the lace edge covered in crystals rubbing against my cheekbone with a tickle.
Ducking inside the door between couples, I was stopped at the vestibule by two beautiful blondes dressed in black. With no masks to hide their faces, one held an iPad in her hand.
“Comment vous appelez-vous?” The woman wanted my name.
“My name is Henriette Tribolet,” I replied in English.
She scrolled through her list, whisking her finger along the tablet.
“Yes. Miss Tribolet. Welcome to the Sanctuary,” she said, switching to English. I realized how valuable Lucette’s multi-lingual tongue must be in a place such as this. It was important to cater to the patron no matter what language they spoke.
“Thank you.”
The second blonde held out her hand and I looked to the first in confusion.
“May we have your cellphone please, Miss Tribolet? They are strictly prohibited.”
“I didn’t bring a phone with me tonight. I didn’t bring anything.”
“This is good. We have everything you need.”
She gave me a cordial smile and held out her arm for me to proceed. Manned by a pair of equally beautiful men in black tuxedos, they opened the red double doors and nodded to me as I entered.
Over the threshold, the room was as black as a starless night. So dark, I needed to take a moment and allow my eyes to adjust. Blinking hard, I could feel my eyelashes beat against the edge of the mask. When I opened my eyes fully, I was surprised. I don’t know what I expected a sex club for the rich and famous to look like, but this wasn’t it. The walls were painted a stark white, matching all the furniture in the room. Red lights cast a hot glow across everything in the space—including the people. It painted the women dressed in white in a blushed glow. Classical music played in the background over a sound system. Soothing, it was just enough to cause one to relax in the environment.
Lounging around and standing, the patrons weren’t doing much of anything besides sipping champagne and chatting quietly amongst themselves. I moved farther in, finding the club was a series of rooms—all with the same setting. White walls, furniture and a red lighting design. I found a loveseat in a secluded corner and stationed myself across from what looked like an empty dining room table. It was a good place to watch the crowd come and go. It was also a decent vantage point to be on the lookout for Tristan.
“Champagne?”
A masked man with a hairless and beautiful body covered only by a black leather thong leaned in with his tray. My first thought wasn’t of his nakedness. It wasn’t even of the current situation in the room. No, what I was thinking was, is this Champagne Lebleu?
“Who’s the champagne by?” I asked, judging the crystal stems on his tray.
He blanched. “I’m…unsure. Would you like me to ask?”
I shook my head and took a glass from the tray. I didn’t need him to ask. One sip and I’d know.
Placing the crystal to my lips, I watched a man work his way through the crowd. Dark hair and eyes, he was of medium build and was handsome in a well-groomed way only an older man could carry off. He’d worked very hard to look as good as he did. He wasn’t like Tristan, whose inability to care made him all the sexier. What struck me most was the man wasn’t wearing a mask. Moving from couple to couple, and person to person, I finally realized—this was the owner of the club. This was Lucette’s boss—the American, Woodhurst Tinsley.
He looked across the room at me and did a double take. I took a sip of the champagne. It was indeed Lebleu. So I took another. When Wood Tinsley began to walk my way, I looked for a place to escape—somewhere to hide.
“Bonsoir,” he said, taking my available hand in his to bring it to his lips.
“Good evening,” I replied.
He cocked his head. “You speak English, but you are not American. You are French, oui?”
“Oui. Yes.”
“I’m—”
“My host, Woodhurst Tinsley.”
His brow rose in interest. “My apologies, Miss…?”
I said nothing.
“Hmmm. Have I had the pleasure of meeting you before?”
“No.”
He didn’t respond. Instead he waited for me to explain myself. I refused.
“Have you attended one of my parties in the States?”
“No.”
“Are you here with someone tonight?” he asked, not wasting anymore time.
“No.”
“Then you’re looking for something or someone.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Tinsley?” I asked, bringing the champagne to my lips once again. The familiar taste was calming my nerves and it gave me something to do with my hands.
Wood Tinsley leaned in to whisper, as if he was sharing a secret. “Everyone comes to the Sanctuary either seeking an experience or looking for a lover. Which is it?”
I pursed my lips and stared back at him, thankful for the mask.
“Don’t worry, mademoiselle. You don’t have to answer that question. That’s the beauty of the Sanctuary. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.”
I nodded.
“I do hope your evening turns in to everything you wish it to be.” Patiently, he waited for my response.
“Merci. I hope it does as well.”