Chapter 1
Glamour Girl
Spring approached Paris at a lazy pace in 1921, bringing with it the flowery presence of warm mornings and the loud, jazzy pace of brisk evenings. The residual chill in the air didn’t seem to deter the magnates from their routine stop at the seedy clubs up in Montmartre, or the jazz babies from hitching their skirts a little higher to dance the night away.
And it certainly hadn’t stopped Celine LeBeau from jumping the garden fence, looking no better than a feral creature, and taking her bicycle to Folies-Bergère when the clock struck nine. It was rather unfashionable of her to show up on two wheels, considering everyone else in her social circle was being chauffeured around, but Madame LeBeau had strict rules about the places where her daughter was to be seen and Celine wasn’t in the mood to receive a chiding. Not tonight, at least.
The music hall was packed, yet it continued to welcome more patrons with every inward swing of the doors. Celine had situated herself in one of the booths on the second floor, tucked away into the left wing, as she waited for her friend to deliver thenews.
Anaïs Ménard had a penchant for being a scandalmonger, among other things.
Such as being late.
As a waitress approached the table to replenish her glass, Celine let her gaze wander over the railing, scrutinising the firstfloor. Perfect rows of round tables littered the space around the hall, most of them already occupied by patrons. Far in the crevices of the club, drunk men slumped against their chairs and jeered at the waitresses to get a refill. Celine averted her eyes towards the stage. No spotlight shone on it yet. Only the beetle-coloured curtain rustled with the shuffling of feet on the other side.
Perhaps she could take out her sketchbook and—
The doors swung open again to let in the late-night crowd. A sea of lovely faces swirled with the patrons below in a blur of soft-toned cosmetics and glittering jewels. Their fur coats were abandoned by the entrance to display their evening dresses. It was a mix of fashion pieces—the old blending in with the new—though it made no impression on Celine. The new decade had just begun, people were bound to cling to the old trends as they ventured into the new ones.
Celine however had taken the fashion world by storm with her style. She noted now that three of the girls were wearing the same dress style she had on a week prior, and smiled to herself.
Wait.
One of themwasactually wearing her blue flapper dress.
The girl’s blonde cascade of curls shone like a glass of champagne under the dimming lights encircling the hall, as she was dragged inside by another girl, their hands linked at their fingertips. Her head shot up at that moment, meeting Celine’s eye with a mischievous glance that made the little hairs on Celine’s arm rise to attention. Anaïs Ménard smiled at her before twirling in a profusion of diamonds, and breezed up the stairs to the booth.
“I risked breaking my neck jumping the driveway fence in secret to meet you here,” Celine said in lieu of greeting. “You couldtrylooking more apologetic.”
Anaïs continued to smile sheepishly as she took her seat with a flounce. “I could, but what I have to tell you is too good to feign guilt.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“And a savant.” Pulling out a frayed magazine that was twice the size of her purse, Anaïs planted it down on the table. She was practically shaking with excitement. “I managed to find a juicier rumour about a certain someone fooling around with another certain someone, and the journalists agreed to pull your article down.”
“What?” Celine took up the magazine, skimming through the print to read the titles.
There was no trace of her name anywhere on it.
“You, my friend, are officially scandal free,” Anaïs announced aloud. “At least for now. Who knows whatGlamour Girlwill do next.”
Glamour Girl—the moniker journalists had for Celine.La femme la plus glamour de Paris. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only one. There had been one regrettable evening a while back when Celine had been baptisedThe Vampire. With her bobbed waves and the dark kohl that framed her blue eyes, she couldn’t blameLa Vie Parisiennefor drenching her modelling career in scandals and rumours.
Celine didn’t wear the clothes she modelledjustfor the shoots; she wore them outside too. Low cut, backless dresses, skirts that somehow kept getting shorter and shorter, bared arms decorated with silver bangles. When she’d cut her hair short, she had assumed the appeal to have her on the cover for a new cosmetics line would wane. Women who looked like aFemme Fatalewere only seen in American movies…or coming out of a run down art studio. And she was neither. But the calls for fittings had continued, the invites to events had pouredthrough the mail, and boxes upon boxes of dresses and jewels and perfumes had still been delivered to her door.
Celine didn’t complain—she enjoyed being pampered by her favourite stores. And thankfully, her mother didn’t mind the gifts either, though with every parcel she opened she would mumble something about the proper length of a skirt.
Since then, the rumours had started pouring in that Celine not only looked like one, but that she actually was aFemme Fatale; that she sneaked out of her house every night to frequent the most popular cabarets in the city, seeking unrestrained pleasure.
And…she did. Sneak out, that is. But not for the reasons they thought.
“No, no,” Anaïs went on, sulking. “Do not rush to thank me, even though I was nearly caught outside Percy Deveaux’s office window, spying on his affair from behind the bushes. I’ve been shaking twigs and leaves out of my hair for days.”
Celine bit down on a chuckle. It seemed Anaïs’s resolution to stop snooping in on people’s business had fallen through cracks. Instead, she had decided to use her evil genius and socialite status to tip off journalists on the latest gossip. And save her friend the headache of being calledThe Vampireagain.
“How did you even know he was having an affair?”
“Jacques walked in on them when he went to visit Percy last week. Then he made the mistake of telling me about it.”
