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CHAPTER5
AUTUMN
Tobias’s touramps up our excitement even more, if that’s possible. The workroom is spacious and bright, with a wall of windows that overlook the city and large tables to spread out our work. The supply room is a rainbow of fabrics, trimmings, and notions. The air itself feels full of potential.
Getting to know the other competitors today has proven to be interesting as well. As embarrassing as the costume debacle was, the outrageousness of it broke the ice between us and I’ve enjoyed talking to them.
Katarina has revealed herself to be dryly sarcastic with a wicked sense of humor, though she rarely laughed at her own zingers today. Yori is quiet, listening more than speaking, though I get the sense that she’s keenly observant, likely cataloging everything she hears. Molly is as wild and crazy as I remember, possibly more so, speaking with no filter or concern for how her words land. Beatrice is a harder read. She’s polite, classy, and aloof.
I feel like the competition will be fun, and thankfully, no one seems too antagonistic. Not even Beatrice, despite Molly’s and my earlier concerns that she might be a Regina George type. She actually suggested that we all go out tonight to get a feel for Paris before we’re too busy to enjoy this adventure.
Back in my tiny apartment, I flip through the pieces I brought, considering what will be most appropriate for a Paris nightclub. I’ve started with a black spaghetti-strap bodysuit with a thong bottom, perfect for any skirt I select. But which one?
Suddenly, I’m struck with brilliance. We were allowed to bring our wardrobe items home with us, and the plaid scarf I used as a train is calling to me. I pick it up, thumbing the edge, and then wrap it around my waist. It’s just long enough down my thighs to work perfectly. I add a skinny leather belt that encircles my waist twice, strappy Mary Jane stilettos, and a delicate pearl necklace.
I don’t have a full-length mirror, but I can visualize the outfit in my head. I’m ready.
Downstairs, I see a minivan stopped near the curb. I can hear the music bumping from here, and the vehicle’s rocking from left to right, not from people having a lovestruck passionate encounter but because Molly is sitting in the passenger seat, dancing wildly. The door slides open mechanically, filling the street with deep bass beats, and Beatrice lifts one perfectly arched brow. “Is she always this... way?”
I laugh and warn, “This is her sober and serious. You should see her when she’s drunk and wild.”
“A une bonne nuit!”
Oh! I know that one... “To a good night,” I repeat in English.Thanks, DuoLingo!
Pulling up in our taxi outsideLes Chatons Fous, which Beatrice told us means ‘The Crazy Kittens,’ our taxi driver pauses and says something to Beatrice, who answers back. The resultant conversation sounds like it’s bordering on an argument, with the driver throwing his hands up at the end but of course still accepting our euros.
We climb out, and as we do, Yori turns to Beatrice. “Was there a problem?”
Beatrice laughs. “He was telling me this place caters to tourists and kept insisting that we let him take us to another nightclub that is more authentic.” Though she doesn’t move her hands, I can hear the attitude-filled air quotes when she saysauthentic. “When I insisted, he was sayingNiçoiseare ignorant of Paris. I had to correct him.”
“He knew you were from Nice?” Molly asks, and Beatrice nods. “How?”
“My accent. You wouldn’t notice, but to natives, there are nuances from the various regions. Like you would know a Texan cowboy from a Californian surfer, no matter that they are both American.”
I wonder if those are the only American references she knows. They are stereotypical, but I understand what she means given that I was instantly identifiable as from the Boston area when I first arrived in New York City. It took a while for the variety of the city to change my ear and my tongue.
“Come.”
We follow Beatrice to the gold and red painted double doors of the club, and I note that she slips some money to the bouncer as she passes. Inside, I have to pause to let my eyes adjust in the weathered brick foyer. It’s clearly darker than outside, but as we go through the inner doors, a whole new world is revealed.
Everything is swanky, with dark oaks, red leather, and brass touches that give the club a sense of understated luxury. It’s the sort of club I could imagine the Curies sitting in, sipping wine and discussing science and art with Cousteau or Renoir. It has the aura of age and the feeling of immortality.
On one side of the club is a beautiful bar with a brass rail and multi-colored bottles all contained in their own little cubbyholes, some of them labeled, some of them not. Filling the other three walls is a collection of booths and tables, intimate and lit by a candle in the center of each. The center of the space is a wooden dance floor that’s already filled with people moving and shaking to a song I’ve never heard, probably because it’s in French. In the far corner is a dark hallway with a velvet rope stretched across it leading, I suspect, to a VIP section that I can’t see.
It's gorgeous and magical and full of inspiration, from the people to the room itself. “You know who’d hang out here?” I ask Molly, who lifts an eyebrow. “Bellatrix Lestrange.”
“You’re intoHarryPotter?” Yori asks. “I went to theHarryPotterpart of Universal Studios Osaka. It was amazing.”
We’re seated at a booth about halfway down the one wall, and Beatrice looks over the menu. “Like the driver said, this is a tourist place so the offerings are bilingual,” she says, passing the leather-bound page around. “I recommend a cocktail. Something light. Keep your wits in this den of vipers,” she says before grinning knowingly. “Like your Slytherin?”
“Hell yeah! We totally need to do a movie marathon this month.” The suggestion falls on deaf ears because a waitress in all black comes up, asking for our orders. I order a Cosmo and sit back, people watching.
Molly slams her palm on the table with a wide grin. “Alright, people, it’s probably not the best idea for us to talk about fashion on day zero of a competition, so I propose something much more exciting.”
“More exciting than design?” Yori asks with a furrowed brow.
I groan quietly, sure Molly will have come up with something outlandish.
