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“I know, and I’m grateful. Patience, my friend. My lawyer is drawing up the paperwork as we speak. It should only be a matter of time.”
“I hope so. I want to get to Paris as soon as possible.”
“If we’re done here,” Marcel spoke, “I need to get going. I’m hosting a cocktail party at The Plaza Hotel at seven o’clock.”
“We’re done,” Thaddeus spoke.
As Marcel walked out, Thaddeus ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of cherry pie. Paris? What did Marcel offer him in exchange for information? I needed to find out and I would put my plan into motion tonight at The Plaza. I sat there, my hands wrapped around the white coffee cup, staring at Thaddeus. His eyes diverted to me and then quickly looked away. I made him uncomfortable. I could tell. He shifted in his seat as he looked at me again. He didn’t like that the unattractive girl was staring at him. He reached inside his suitcoat, pulled out his wallet, and removed what looked like a business card from it. Placing his wallet back in his pocket, he picked up his phone and made a phone call. I looked over at my oversized black hobo-style purse and then back at him. The waitress walked over and placed his coffee and cherry pie down in front of him. After ending his call, he picked up his fork. I summoned the waitress for the bill and left some cash on the table. Picking up my purse and throwing it over my shoulder, I got up from my seat and intentionally dropped my phone by his table. I knew he wouldn’t be a gentleman and pick it up for me since I was an eyesore to him. After dropping it on the floor, I bent down and my bag swung across his table, knocking his coffee cup over.
“What the fuck!” he exclaimed as he pushed himself and his chair back.
“Oh my god! I am so sorry,” I spoke as I looked up at him.
“You damn klutz!” he shouted.
The waitress hurried over with a towel as I got up and grabbed a shitload of napkins that were sitting on the table.
“Oh no. Your suit,” I spoke as I patted his suitcoat with the napkins.
He grabbed them from my hand.
“Just go!” he shouted.
I pulled my wallet from my purse and threw down a hundred-dollar bill.
“This should cover your dry-cleaning bill as well as your coffee and pie. Accidents happen, sir, and you don’t have to be so rude.”
He looked at the hundred on the table and then up at me.
“I hope you have a better day.” I walked away.
Once I hit the pavement and walked down the street, I reached into my purse and pulled out his black leather Bottega Veneta two-fold wallet with a smile on my face. He was one man I didn’t feel guilty ripping off. Checking out how much cash he had, I counted six hundred fifty dollars. Before heading back to my apartment, I stopped at the salon and got a mani/pedi and a spray tan, compliments of Thaddeus Wilson.
When I got home, I pulled a black suitcase from the hall closet, took it to my room, and placed it on my bed. Opening it, I looked at all the face pieces I had used over the years. Different noses, teeth, lips, and colored contacts. Walking over to my closet, I reached up and took down my long wavy brunette-colored wig with the subtle blonde highlights. After showering, I put on my face, popped the emerald-green-colored contacts into my eyes, and carefully pulled on my wig. I slipped into a black, off-the-shoulder, midi-length, form-fitted dress. It was very plain, but elegant. Especially after I dressed it up with jewelry and black stiletto heels. When I purchased the dress, it was labeled as “Lady Luck,” and luck was what I needed tonight. As I stood in the full-length mirror, I didn’t even recognize me. My nose was different, and my lips were fuller.
When I reached The Plaza, I wasn’t sure in which restaurant Marcel would be hosting his cocktail party. If I had to guess, and knowing him, it would be at the Palm Court. I was right, because when I walked in, I saw him walking from table to table, mingling with guests. Luckily, there were a few seats still open at the round bar. Taking my seat, I asked the bartender for a cosmopolitan. I sat there for over an hour, watching him as he stole small glances my way. I had his attention and saw him start to walk my way.
“Are you here alone?” he asked with a smile as he walked over to me.
“I was supposed to be on a date, but I guess I got stood up,” I replied with a French accent.
“You’re French?” he asked with a hint of excitement.
“Oui.” I smiled. “And so are you.”
“Why on earth would anyone stand up a beautiful woman like yourself? His loss is my gain. May I?” His hand gestured to the stool next to me.
“You may.” I smiled as I traced the rim of my glass.
Instantly, we hit it off. Or should I say, he did. We talked about France and I fabricated this story about how I was born in Marseille and my parents and I moved to the United States when I was eight. He asked what I did for a living. I told him I was a freelance artist and worked from home. He seemed impressed. I mentioned that I wanted to start an online business. He told me he could help. I picked his brain for ideas, made him feel special. We talked about his company. I sat and listened, never breaking our eye contact. He was hooked.
I looked at my watch. It was getting late. He ditched his cocktail party and spent the rest of the evening talking to me.
“I better get going. It’s getting late.” I smiled.
“I understand, but I’m afraid I can’t let you leave without getting your phone number first.”
“Hand me your phone.” A smirk crossed my lips as I held out my hand.
