Chapter Twenty-five, Finding France
Posted by DiF on Saturday, August 13, 2011
Title: Don’t Look Away: Chapter Twenty-five, Finding France
Rating: R [language, alcohol]
Summary: Pete misses Cady. A lot. John tries to help out. Cady settles in France and runs into an old friend.
Pacing the flat, Pete glanced at the clock once more. He should have spent the past two hours working on the new album, not pacing. Yet every time he neared the studio door, he would turn around and head back to the telephone, stare at it, and wish it would ring. She should have called by then. Or maybe she had changed her mind and had John take her to the airport instead of the train station. Maybe Cady was returning to her flat in New York, not to… find herself in Paris.
He was going insane. Where the hell was she? Perhaps she had run into Jimmy Page at the station and he whisked her off for a naked romp.
“ARRRRRRGH!” Pete picked up a book from the coffee table and threw it across the room.
The book crashed into the wall next to the telephone, knocking the device off the hook. Eyes going wide, Pete hurried over to the phone and returned it to the cradle, ever certain that moment it was off the hook Cady called. He should not have let her go.
As he came to the decision that he was going to get in the car and go after her, though he really did not know where she was going other than France, a knock sounded at the door. Without pause, Pete threw open the door. He sighed in partial relief.
“John, where’s Cady?”
“Half way to Paris by now,” he declared.
“She is? Are you sure? What took you so long to get back?”
“Relax, mate,” John stepped into the apartment and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “We barely missed the train when we arrived. So I waited with her until the next one. It pulled out of the station about thirty minutes ago. Takes me a bit to get here, you know.”
“She’s okay? She’s not with Jimmy?”
He inhaled his cigarette before laughing it out, “Page? No, mate, she’s not. She’s going to France.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, mate. You need to relax,” he declared, heading into the kitchen. “Maybe a drink?”
“We don’t have anything,” Pete responded.
John stopped just on the tiled floor, “Then to the pub it is.”
“But what if Cady calls while I’m gone?”
“Relax, mate, she won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?” he eyed his best friend suspiciously.
“Because she told me she wasn’t going to ring until she was settled and in a better frame of mind. She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine. Let’s go have a pint.”
“But–”
“Come on, Pete,” he grabbed the guitarist as he headed towards the door, tugging him along. “We’re going to the pub.”
“But–”
“No protests allowed.”
“But–”
“Shut it, Pete,” he opened the door and pushed Pete out of the apartment. “Not another word.”
Within the hour and three beers, Pete’s drunken slurs had turned away from Cady being too good and perfect for him, to he espousing all of his faults. John sat idly by, sipping his beer, and letting Pete vent. However, the more the guitarist drank and mumbled, the more the bassist reached the end of his patience.
More than tired of hearing Pete’s negativity, John set down his glass and plucked the one from Pete’s hand, “Enough.”
“But Imma…”
“Enough. I have had enough of your bitching and enough of your woe is me talk. Enough,” he stated softly, but strongly.
“But…”
“Cady is in love with you. Everyone can see it. Hell, it’s probably why Kit has so many issues with her. She loves you. You. Not Jimmy Page. Not Jimi Hendrix. Not some made up bloke she did not sit next to on the train. She loves you. Her going to France to figure out who she is has nothing to do with you. The bird has been in a relationship and doing whatever the bloke wanted all her adult life. She needs this,” John declared. “She needs this so she can love you better.”
“No love better.”
“Right,” he nodded. “No one will ever love you as much as she does. That much you’re correct on. But blimey, Pete, RELAX. Cady will do whatever birds do on their own and come back to you a happy and content woman. Use this time to focus on the music so when she does return, you can spend days making love to her. Stop crying into your beer and get a hold of yourself.”
“I loooooove Cady,” he declared, before laying his head on the sticky bar. “I reaaaaally do.”
John patted his shoulder, “I know, mate. I know.”
It had not taken long for Cady to get from the train station to a hotel. Part of her wanted to find the cheapest inn she could, but then she realized she was on this voyage alone and did not need to hide her familial wealth from anyone. Therefore, she checked into the hotel her father preferred and often booked her into when in Paris. The staff even seemed to remember her, though it had been over a year since her last visit. Nevertheless, she did not spend any time lingering in the opulent lobby, chatting with the French desk clerks. Instead, she hurried up to her room and drew a hot bath.
It was not until the water went cold that she realized she had not phoned Pete to inform him of her safe arrival.
Quickly jumping out of the bathtub, she grabbed a fluffy towel and hurried over to the phone. Dialing through the international barrier, Cady sat on a lounge chair and braided her wet hair. It continued to ring and ring, making her brow furrow. Deciding he had to be in the studio, she dropped the phone back on the base and sighed.
She got back to her feet and moved to get dressed. Chewing on her bottom lip, she pulled on a stolen shirt from Pete and reached for the room service menu. Ordering something randomly, she moved into a chair by the window and pulled the curtain aside. Her blue eyes danced over the city of lights. A part of her wanted to experience Paris with Pete, but she realized she needed to make this journey without him, in order to be with him.
Waiting until she finished her meal and a glass of wine, Cady reached for the phone again. She once more dialed up Pete’s number. Even with a glass of wine flowing through her veins, she felt her anxiety rise with each ring.
Then the ringing stopped.
“Hello?”
“John? I swear I did not dial your number.”
He chuckled, “I am at your flat. With your boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“He’s a bit soused.”
“A bit?”
“Ehhhh… quite a large bit.”
“Can I talk to him?”
There was a long pause, “Now would not be the best time.”
“Why?”
“He’s a bit… indisposed…”
Cady reached for her wine glass, “How so?”
“Pete is puking,”
She bit her lip to keep from spraying the mouthful of wine, “That bad?”
“Yeahhhh. It would be better if you rang again in awhile.”
“I’ll call back in the morning. Let him know that I’m safe in Paris. And tell him that I love him.”
“I will. Have a good night, Cade.”
Hanging up the phone, she finished her second glass of wine and moved away from the window. While she was concerned about Pete’s drunkenness, she had to push it out of her mind. She pulled the curtains closed and headed towards the large bed. Snuggling down into the blankets, she sighed and closed her eyes. Finding herself was going to be difficult when Pete was drowning himself.
Waking with an annoying ringing headache, Pete rolled over in bed and pulled the pillow over his head. He groaned, wishing he had not accepted John’s invite to the pub. He should have just stayed home and cuddled with Cady.
But she was not home.
And the ringing was persisting. He hated hangovers like that. If Cady had been there…
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, suddenly realizing that the ringing was the telephone.
Rolling out of the bed, he held his head as he got to his feet. Waiting for the spinning to stop, he groaned again as he realized the ringing had stopped. He really hoped that whoever had rung would call again, especially if that someone was Cady. He never should have gone out drinking.
After forcing down a glass of water and a few aspirins, Pete sat down next to the telephone. He rubbed his temples and continued to lament his drinking spree the night before. Drinking was not a way to deal with issues. At all. Next time he saw John, he was going to –
The phone ringing disrupted his thoughts.
“Hello?” his voice cracked as he answered it.
“Bonjour, baby.”
“Oh, Cady… I miss you so much,” he muttered.
“I miss you too. Have you eaten anything yet, Pete?”
“Uhhhhh, no.”
She sighed, “You need to eat something. It will help your hangover.”
“I wish you were here,” he admitted softly.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“When? Today? I’ll meet you at the station,” Pete quickly responded.
Cady chuckled, “No, baby, not yet.”
“When?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I do, Pete.”
“That sounds like foreeeeeeeever,” he whined.
“Pete, relax.”
“But, Caaaaaady.”
“Pete, you’ll be fine. Go work on your record.”
He sighed, “I wish you were here.”
“Go be a genius. After you eat something. I’ll call you again this evening.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Sitting at the breakfast table, John sipped tea, scowled, and set his newspaper aside. Without saying a word to his wife, he got to his feet, padded over to the cupboards, yanked one open, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He shuffled back over to the table and poured a shot into his tea before returning the bottle to the cupboard. He returned to his seat and sipped at the spiked tea, smiling to himself.
“Really, John?” Alison spoke up.
“What?” he glanced at her over the rim of his cup before taking a sip.
“Did you really just do that?”
“What?” he set down the cup.
“You did not just put whiskey in your morning tea.”
His eyes dropped to his tea before going back to hers, “I did.”
“You are not on tour any more, John.”
“Bloody hell, woman. Can’t I drink my tea how I like?”
“You are not on tour anymore,” she repeated.
“I am quite aware of that, love,” he quickly sucked down the rest of his tea. “I’m going out.”
“Where are you going?” she asked as he got to his feet.
He sighed, “Band things.”
“But you just got back,” Alison whined.
“It’s my job, Alison. It’s how you can buy pretty things,” he glanced pointedly at the new tea kettle.
She narrowed her eyes at him, “John–”
Before she could continue whatever she was about to say, the phone rang. Dismissing his wife, John turned and picked up the plastic receiver. He brusquely greeted the caller.
“Am I interrupting?”
His scowl softened slightly, “Cady, how is France?”
“All right enough. How are you?”
“Ehhhhh,” he glanced at his wife.
“Need to get away?”
“Yeah.”
“Go check on, Pete. I’m pretty sure you’re the cause of his hangover.”
John smirked, “Perhaps.”
“Call me after you see him, please?”
“Where?”
“Hotel de Buci.”
He smiled at her French pronunciation, “I’ll go check on Pete.”
“Excellent. I’ll be at the hotel for another… hour or so.”
“I’ll ring you soon, Cade.”
Hanging up the phone, he glanced at his wife. John said nothing and grabbed his keys off the hook. He headed towards the door, his boots scuffing across the floor. Alison reached out for his empty hand, trying to stop him.
“Where are you going?”
“To Pete’s.”
“Who was on the phone?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Who was on the phone, John?”
Saying nothing, he headed out of the kitchen and out of the house. He was really thankful Pete was hungover now, really thankful.
After a massage, manicure, and pedicure, Cady certainly felt pampered, but she did not know if that made her feel more… real. After tipping everyone, she headed back to the window with a view of the city, sipped a glass of champagne, and ran her finger along the curve of the phone. John had not yet called, but in her current state, she was not too worried. Her plans for the day consisted mostly of lounging about the hotel until dusk.
As her eyes scanned the city, she weighed her evening options. Art galleries seemed the prudent choice but… she really just wanted to go to one of the nightclubs. This would also preclude a shopping spree, as she certainly did not come prepared for that kind of a social activity. Wondering which of the designers to visit, Cady practically jumped when the phone rang under her hand.
“Bonjour?”
“Hello, Cade.”
She smiled, “Hello, John. How’s Pete?”
“Finally got him to eat. He must be okay now.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Went into his studio and has not come out in about thirty minutes.”
“Yeahhh. You may have lost him to music.”
John laughed, “It’s not so bad, other than the fact it means I should probably go home.”
“You don’t want to?”
There was a long pause, “Not exactly.”
“Well then come and party it up with me in Paris.”
“You’re supposed to be figuring out who you are, Cade.”
“Does that mean I can’t see my friends?”
John hesitated, “Well no, but I think it would be good if you went a day or two…”
“Then give me two days before you come and party with me in Paris.”
He chucked, “We’ll see.”
“Excellent. And next time you see Pete, remind him that I love him.”
“Of course, Cade.”
As she hung up the phone, a slight smile curved her lips. She dropped her robe and pulled on a simple dress. After brushing her long brown hair until it shimmered and applying simple makeup, Cady zipped on a pair of boots and headed out of her hotel room. She picked up cash from the front desk and headed out to shop.
In her sixth shop, Cady finally located a perfect dress to wear out on the town. Turning in front of a set of three mirrors just outside the fitting room, she admired her reflection. A part of her wished Pete could see her, but she knew now was not the time. She would have the dress when she left France anyways. Tonight was not about him, but about her. She needed to focus on that. Her thoughts returned to her image, her blue eyes dancing over the hints of skin she could see through the chainmail dress. Paco Rabanne designed innovative dresses; his silver mirror dress fit and flattered her curves like no other. She felt not only beautiful, but also sexy. She would never find anything like it anywhere else.
“Mon dieu! Do mon eyes deceive me?” a voice interrupted her thoughts. “Could it really be Cadence Kersey in mon city?”
Cady glanced over her shoulder in the reflection, “Marlene?”
The Frenchwoman embraced and kissed her cheeks, “ ‘Ow long ‘as it been?”
“Ages.”
Her eyes quickly scanned Cady’s body, “Vous look amazing, Cady. Vat brings you to Paris?”
“I am… it’s complicated.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “Ve vill haf to catch up, no? ‘Ave you plans for dis dress?”
“I was thinking of going to a disco…”
Marlene smiled crookedly, “Vous shall come to une party wif moi. Everyone vill adore vous.”
“I’d think that’s a fabulous idea,” Cady nodded.
“Excellent! But ve must show Paco ‘ow magnifique vous look in ‘is dress!” she pulled her away from the mirror. “And zen ve vill ‘ave an amazing night!”
Rating: R [language, alcohol]
Summary: Pete misses Cady. A lot. John tries to help out. Cady settles in France and runs into an old friend.
Pacing the flat, Pete glanced at the clock once more. He should have spent the past two hours working on the new album, not pacing. Yet every time he neared the studio door, he would turn around and head back to the telephone, stare at it, and wish it would ring. She should have called by then. Or maybe she had changed her mind and had John take her to the airport instead of the train station. Maybe Cady was returning to her flat in New York, not to… find herself in Paris.
He was going insane. Where the hell was she? Perhaps she had run into Jimmy Page at the station and he whisked her off for a naked romp.
“ARRRRRRGH!” Pete picked up a book from the coffee table and threw it across the room.
The book crashed into the wall next to the telephone, knocking the device off the hook. Eyes going wide, Pete hurried over to the phone and returned it to the cradle, ever certain that moment it was off the hook Cady called. He should not have let her go.
As he came to the decision that he was going to get in the car and go after her, though he really did not know where she was going other than France, a knock sounded at the door. Without pause, Pete threw open the door. He sighed in partial relief.
“John, where’s Cady?”
“Half way to Paris by now,” he declared.
“She is? Are you sure? What took you so long to get back?”
“Relax, mate,” John stepped into the apartment and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “We barely missed the train when we arrived. So I waited with her until the next one. It pulled out of the station about thirty minutes ago. Takes me a bit to get here, you know.”
“She’s okay? She’s not with Jimmy?”
He inhaled his cigarette before laughing it out, “Page? No, mate, she’s not. She’s going to France.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, mate. You need to relax,” he declared, heading into the kitchen. “Maybe a drink?”
“We don’t have anything,” Pete responded.
John stopped just on the tiled floor, “Then to the pub it is.”
“But what if Cady calls while I’m gone?”
“Relax, mate, she won’t.”
“What makes you so sure?” he eyed his best friend suspiciously.
“Because she told me she wasn’t going to ring until she was settled and in a better frame of mind. She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine. Let’s go have a pint.”
“But–”
“Come on, Pete,” he grabbed the guitarist as he headed towards the door, tugging him along. “We’re going to the pub.”
“But–”
“No protests allowed.”
“But–”
“Shut it, Pete,” he opened the door and pushed Pete out of the apartment. “Not another word.”
Within the hour and three beers, Pete’s drunken slurs had turned away from Cady being too good and perfect for him, to he espousing all of his faults. John sat idly by, sipping his beer, and letting Pete vent. However, the more the guitarist drank and mumbled, the more the bassist reached the end of his patience.
More than tired of hearing Pete’s negativity, John set down his glass and plucked the one from Pete’s hand, “Enough.”
“But Imma…”
“Enough. I have had enough of your bitching and enough of your woe is me talk. Enough,” he stated softly, but strongly.
“But…”
“Cady is in love with you. Everyone can see it. Hell, it’s probably why Kit has so many issues with her. She loves you. You. Not Jimmy Page. Not Jimi Hendrix. Not some made up bloke she did not sit next to on the train. She loves you. Her going to France to figure out who she is has nothing to do with you. The bird has been in a relationship and doing whatever the bloke wanted all her adult life. She needs this,” John declared. “She needs this so she can love you better.”
“No love better.”
“Right,” he nodded. “No one will ever love you as much as she does. That much you’re correct on. But blimey, Pete, RELAX. Cady will do whatever birds do on their own and come back to you a happy and content woman. Use this time to focus on the music so when she does return, you can spend days making love to her. Stop crying into your beer and get a hold of yourself.”
“I loooooove Cady,” he declared, before laying his head on the sticky bar. “I reaaaaally do.”
John patted his shoulder, “I know, mate. I know.”
It had not taken long for Cady to get from the train station to a hotel. Part of her wanted to find the cheapest inn she could, but then she realized she was on this voyage alone and did not need to hide her familial wealth from anyone. Therefore, she checked into the hotel her father preferred and often booked her into when in Paris. The staff even seemed to remember her, though it had been over a year since her last visit. Nevertheless, she did not spend any time lingering in the opulent lobby, chatting with the French desk clerks. Instead, she hurried up to her room and drew a hot bath.
It was not until the water went cold that she realized she had not phoned Pete to inform him of her safe arrival.
Quickly jumping out of the bathtub, she grabbed a fluffy towel and hurried over to the phone. Dialing through the international barrier, Cady sat on a lounge chair and braided her wet hair. It continued to ring and ring, making her brow furrow. Deciding he had to be in the studio, she dropped the phone back on the base and sighed.
She got back to her feet and moved to get dressed. Chewing on her bottom lip, she pulled on a stolen shirt from Pete and reached for the room service menu. Ordering something randomly, she moved into a chair by the window and pulled the curtain aside. Her blue eyes danced over the city of lights. A part of her wanted to experience Paris with Pete, but she realized she needed to make this journey without him, in order to be with him.
Waiting until she finished her meal and a glass of wine, Cady reached for the phone again. She once more dialed up Pete’s number. Even with a glass of wine flowing through her veins, she felt her anxiety rise with each ring.
Then the ringing stopped.
“Hello?”
“John? I swear I did not dial your number.”
He chuckled, “I am at your flat. With your boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“He’s a bit soused.”
“A bit?”
“Ehhhh… quite a large bit.”
“Can I talk to him?”
There was a long pause, “Now would not be the best time.”
“Why?”
“He’s a bit… indisposed…”
Cady reached for her wine glass, “How so?”
“Pete is puking,”
She bit her lip to keep from spraying the mouthful of wine, “That bad?”
“Yeahhhh. It would be better if you rang again in awhile.”
“I’ll call back in the morning. Let him know that I’m safe in Paris. And tell him that I love him.”
“I will. Have a good night, Cade.”
Hanging up the phone, she finished her second glass of wine and moved away from the window. While she was concerned about Pete’s drunkenness, she had to push it out of her mind. She pulled the curtains closed and headed towards the large bed. Snuggling down into the blankets, she sighed and closed her eyes. Finding herself was going to be difficult when Pete was drowning himself.
Waking with an annoying ringing headache, Pete rolled over in bed and pulled the pillow over his head. He groaned, wishing he had not accepted John’s invite to the pub. He should have just stayed home and cuddled with Cady.
But she was not home.
And the ringing was persisting. He hated hangovers like that. If Cady had been there…
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, suddenly realizing that the ringing was the telephone.
Rolling out of the bed, he held his head as he got to his feet. Waiting for the spinning to stop, he groaned again as he realized the ringing had stopped. He really hoped that whoever had rung would call again, especially if that someone was Cady. He never should have gone out drinking.
After forcing down a glass of water and a few aspirins, Pete sat down next to the telephone. He rubbed his temples and continued to lament his drinking spree the night before. Drinking was not a way to deal with issues. At all. Next time he saw John, he was going to –
The phone ringing disrupted his thoughts.
“Hello?” his voice cracked as he answered it.
“Bonjour, baby.”
“Oh, Cady… I miss you so much,” he muttered.
“I miss you too. Have you eaten anything yet, Pete?”
“Uhhhhh, no.”
She sighed, “You need to eat something. It will help your hangover.”
“I wish you were here,” he admitted softly.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“When? Today? I’ll meet you at the station,” Pete quickly responded.
Cady chuckled, “No, baby, not yet.”
“When?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I do, Pete.”
“That sounds like foreeeeeeeever,” he whined.
“Pete, relax.”
“But, Caaaaaady.”
“Pete, you’ll be fine. Go work on your record.”
He sighed, “I wish you were here.”
“Go be a genius. After you eat something. I’ll call you again this evening.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Sitting at the breakfast table, John sipped tea, scowled, and set his newspaper aside. Without saying a word to his wife, he got to his feet, padded over to the cupboards, yanked one open, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He shuffled back over to the table and poured a shot into his tea before returning the bottle to the cupboard. He returned to his seat and sipped at the spiked tea, smiling to himself.
“Really, John?” Alison spoke up.
“What?” he glanced at her over the rim of his cup before taking a sip.
“Did you really just do that?”
“What?” he set down the cup.
“You did not just put whiskey in your morning tea.”
His eyes dropped to his tea before going back to hers, “I did.”
“You are not on tour any more, John.”
“Bloody hell, woman. Can’t I drink my tea how I like?”
“You are not on tour anymore,” she repeated.
“I am quite aware of that, love,” he quickly sucked down the rest of his tea. “I’m going out.”
“Where are you going?” she asked as he got to his feet.
He sighed, “Band things.”
“But you just got back,” Alison whined.
“It’s my job, Alison. It’s how you can buy pretty things,” he glanced pointedly at the new tea kettle.
She narrowed her eyes at him, “John–”
Before she could continue whatever she was about to say, the phone rang. Dismissing his wife, John turned and picked up the plastic receiver. He brusquely greeted the caller.
“Am I interrupting?”
His scowl softened slightly, “Cady, how is France?”
“All right enough. How are you?”
“Ehhhhh,” he glanced at his wife.
“Need to get away?”
“Yeah.”
“Go check on, Pete. I’m pretty sure you’re the cause of his hangover.”
John smirked, “Perhaps.”
“Call me after you see him, please?”
“Where?”
“Hotel de Buci.”
He smiled at her French pronunciation, “I’ll go check on Pete.”
“Excellent. I’ll be at the hotel for another… hour or so.”
“I’ll ring you soon, Cade.”
Hanging up the phone, he glanced at his wife. John said nothing and grabbed his keys off the hook. He headed towards the door, his boots scuffing across the floor. Alison reached out for his empty hand, trying to stop him.
“Where are you going?”
“To Pete’s.”
“Who was on the phone?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Who was on the phone, John?”
Saying nothing, he headed out of the kitchen and out of the house. He was really thankful Pete was hungover now, really thankful.
After a massage, manicure, and pedicure, Cady certainly felt pampered, but she did not know if that made her feel more… real. After tipping everyone, she headed back to the window with a view of the city, sipped a glass of champagne, and ran her finger along the curve of the phone. John had not yet called, but in her current state, she was not too worried. Her plans for the day consisted mostly of lounging about the hotel until dusk.
As her eyes scanned the city, she weighed her evening options. Art galleries seemed the prudent choice but… she really just wanted to go to one of the nightclubs. This would also preclude a shopping spree, as she certainly did not come prepared for that kind of a social activity. Wondering which of the designers to visit, Cady practically jumped when the phone rang under her hand.
“Bonjour?”
“Hello, Cade.”
She smiled, “Hello, John. How’s Pete?”
“Finally got him to eat. He must be okay now.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Went into his studio and has not come out in about thirty minutes.”
“Yeahhh. You may have lost him to music.”
John laughed, “It’s not so bad, other than the fact it means I should probably go home.”
“You don’t want to?”
There was a long pause, “Not exactly.”
“Well then come and party it up with me in Paris.”
“You’re supposed to be figuring out who you are, Cade.”
“Does that mean I can’t see my friends?”
John hesitated, “Well no, but I think it would be good if you went a day or two…”
“Then give me two days before you come and party with me in Paris.”
He chucked, “We’ll see.”
“Excellent. And next time you see Pete, remind him that I love him.”
“Of course, Cade.”
As she hung up the phone, a slight smile curved her lips. She dropped her robe and pulled on a simple dress. After brushing her long brown hair until it shimmered and applying simple makeup, Cady zipped on a pair of boots and headed out of her hotel room. She picked up cash from the front desk and headed out to shop.
In her sixth shop, Cady finally located a perfect dress to wear out on the town. Turning in front of a set of three mirrors just outside the fitting room, she admired her reflection. A part of her wished Pete could see her, but she knew now was not the time. She would have the dress when she left France anyways. Tonight was not about him, but about her. She needed to focus on that. Her thoughts returned to her image, her blue eyes dancing over the hints of skin she could see through the chainmail dress. Paco Rabanne designed innovative dresses; his silver mirror dress fit and flattered her curves like no other. She felt not only beautiful, but also sexy. She would never find anything like it anywhere else.
“Mon dieu! Do mon eyes deceive me?” a voice interrupted her thoughts. “Could it really be Cadence Kersey in mon city?”
Cady glanced over her shoulder in the reflection, “Marlene?”
The Frenchwoman embraced and kissed her cheeks, “ ‘Ow long ‘as it been?”
“Ages.”
Her eyes quickly scanned Cady’s body, “Vous look amazing, Cady. Vat brings you to Paris?”
“I am… it’s complicated.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “Ve vill haf to catch up, no? ‘Ave you plans for dis dress?”
“I was thinking of going to a disco…”
Marlene smiled crookedly, “Vous shall come to une party wif moi. Everyone vill adore vous.”
“I’d think that’s a fabulous idea,” Cady nodded.
“Excellent! But ve must show Paco ‘ow magnifique vous look in ‘is dress!” she pulled her away from the mirror. “And zen ve vill ‘ave an amazing night!”
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