She had to give her mother some credit for that little lilt at the end of the sentence that normally sent Celine’s hair to stand on end. It seemed to work with the employee too.
“O-of course, Mademoiselle LeBeau.”
“In that case,” Bastien chimed, for the first time since the employee had approached them, “we should look at the other display. Jacques doesn’t wear silver.” He tossed Celine a pointed look. “But of course, as his girlfriend, you know that.”
The young man glanced nervously between the two of them, and quickly excused himself. “Right… I shall prepare a selection for you, mademoiselle.”
“Thank you,” Celine gritted, her eyes still trained on Bastien. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, and waited. As soon as the employee was out of earshot, she grabbed Bastien’s chin, bringing him to eye level. “Listen here, you can jibe about me and Jacques all you want when we’re in private, hell, even infront of our families. But if you dare utter another word about us and make a fool of me in public I will rip your lips off myself.”
Undeterred, Bastien grinned.
She pushed him away. “Now, be civil.”
They joined the employee by the display where he had already arranged a neat row of wristwatches from their new line. Celine only pretended to glance at them. The hour was already growing late and she couldn’t misspend any more time shopping, nor pretending to shop for the sake of keeping up with yet another lie. The rest of her sketchbook needed to be restored with new designs, not to mention the dress she had pinned on herself to make.
It was starting to feel like she had dug herself a big hole with this competition and had kept digging until it got too big to climb out again. She was going to live in that hole forever!
Easing back on her heel, Celine gave the display a soft tap. “Please, wrap that one up for me. The delivery boys have our address, yes?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
Once out of the store, Celine halted beneath the shade the store’s awning provided. She peered at Bastien.
“Why were youreallylooking for me today?”
Fishing a silver case out of his pocket, Bastien took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He didn’t light it. “It’s truly sad that you believe my commiseration to be that flawed.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Alright,” he gave in. “I did have a reason. I found someone who knows where your sketchbook might be. Not entirely selfish intentions, see?”
Celine blinked rapidly, as though clearing her vision would help the words to settle in. “Who? How… Who?”
“All in good time, baby vamp. They’re waiting for us at the Gaîté.”
That sounded highly suspicious. The Gaîté was a cabaret in rue Pierre Fontaine, which received quite the reaction last year when they put on their first topless revue.
Bastien’s fingers came up on her elbow, tugging. “Come on.”
Celine hesitated.
“What’s your main priority right now? The sketchbook or crying in your bed all day?”
Anaïs was such a blabbermouth. Celine dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Lead the way.”
• • •
The dim afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the Gaîté when Celine and Bastien arrived. It was still early for patrons to fill the hall, though it seemed they had arrived just in time to catch the dancers wrap up the final rehearsal for tonight’s performance. The stage remained just as dim as the rest of the room, the music a faint stream of sound that kept staggering out of a recording machine, but Celine still noticed the showgirls. And among them, Elana.
“What is she—”
Bastien explained nothing as he shepherded her down a steep set of stairs, further underground. The answer was plain. His source of information had been the twins.
Celine still pressed for answers. “And all of a sudden they are fine with helping us get my sketchbook back?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
“Because the prize is ten thousand francs and a fashion house.”
