Immortal Beauty (4 page)

“Madame Corbet!” A loud whisper came from the trees to her left. Her heart leapt out convulsively and grabbed her chest to still the beating. Slowly from behind one of the ancient arbors appeared a young man certainly no older than herself. He was so obviously handsome. She smiled gracefully and knew instantly that he was her lover.

“Etienne! You will be the death of me! How dare you frighten me so?” She could not stop the smile from spreading across her face. She pretended to be upset but he knew her far better than that. The man with dark blonde hair pulled in a low ponytail so very like the American Revolutionaries and even in the darkness his light gray eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Your beauty will be the death of me my love.” He grabbed one of her hands and raised it to his generous lips.

“Ah…you have such a way with words my darling. But honestly do we have to meet like this in the darkness like criminals? It’s absurd!” She tried to sound hurt. His arms reached out for her shoulders and he stared into her eyes causing her to weaken. My god he was beautiful, she thought…or was it Sasha now?

“You know we have to be careful these days Helene.” He acted as if he were scolding a petulant child. “Everywhere we turn there are spies. Every salon is brimming with them. You cannot be too careful. One wrong word and the King could strip away our titles and sell them to some commoner. It happened only last week to Charles. Now he has nothing. Last month he was the toast of Paris and now he is fleeing France in fear for his life. I’m afraid things are only going to get worse.” His hands moved down her arms until his fingers entwined with her own. She suddenly felt calm and unafraid. Slowly he raised one of her hands to his lips and began to kiss her fingers, then her wrist. She began to yield to him and started to forget where they were.

“Etienne. Not here!” She pulled her hands away and returned them to the warmth of the cloak. “We should go into the pavilion. No one will see us there….come.” She pulled his arm playfully and teased him until they were outside a small pavilion in the heart of the garden. It was completely round and very charming. Helene loved it the minute the architect had shown her the design and had to have it for herself in the very heart of her beloved park. Hidden by the trees it was truly her retreat. This was her secret place and it was the one place on Earth where she allowed herself to be herself completely and absolutely without any of the pretense or posturing that consumed most of her social life. It was her favorite place too because it was here that she and Etienne existed without the troubles of the world from intruding. He grabbed her and kissed her passionately for a moment or two before they entered their tiny little paradise. Under the moonlight they were perfect and complete, unaware of the storm that was about to descend upon them. The trees shivered in the wind whispering nothing to the heavy night. Quietly Helene opened the door and they entered it almost reverently as if they were a little timid of what lay before them. She led him in with a smile and he laughed nervously taking one last look at the park around him. Satisfied that they were alone he followed her in.

Sasha squinted her eyes against the invading light. It was morning. She glanced at her clock to see that she had overslept. No time for a bath which was not such a big deal overseas. She jumped out of bed quickly and filled her sink with hot water. A basin bath is what her mother used to call it. So many reminders of her mother lay like little landmines waiting to explode all over her heart in each and every day. She learned very quickly that you never get over the loss of a loved one, you simply change your life. Her mother was more real to her now that she was gone and she realized like all people eventually do that she never had enough time until it was too late. It was only after she died that Sasha found herself closer to her mom than she had ever been in life. She looked up into the mirror her hazel eyes staring back at her and suddenly she remembered her dream. It was so fantastic and so rich in detail, far better than the book she had been reading. The beautiful house and the amazing gardens and even her dream lover had a quality to him that made him seem as real as anyone else in her life. It seemed more like a memory than a dream. She laughed at her reflection. It amused her that people who believed in reincarnation were always somebody rich and famous. They were never Nefertiti’s handmaiden, they were Nefertiti herself. In her dream she had been rich and titled. What a fantasy! But it was a lovely fantasy and it reminded her of the dreams she had as a little girl when Paris was so far away. She quickly dressed and peered outside to see what kind of coat would be appropriate. It was cloudy and she placed her hand against the glass to feel how cold it would be. Not too bad she decided and opted for a bright blue raincoat as it was certain to rain at some point during the day. Pulling her hair into a band she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

“Bonjour!” Her neighbor across the hall smiled and waved at her. He was old and kind and Sasha adored him.

“Bonjour Charles!! Je suis plus tard! A biento!” She blew him a little kiss which he pretended to catch and hold onto his chest. He watched her with an envious glance as she raced down the wooden stairs. In the courtyard she finished fastening her buttons and reached the long corridor that led into the street. In one moment she was caught up with the tide of people that swept her up and carried her into the Metro at Invilades. She became one of the many nameless army that marched to the beat of economy and prosperity. She looked around at all the people and smiled. It was a nice feeling to be swallowed up in the hustle of city life. It gave her the feeling that she belonged and as her feet touched the escalator leading down into the gaping mouth of the entrance the first droplets of rain began to fall and she soon forgot her dream of the night before in the face of the chaos which is Paris life.

TAYLOR

Taylor handed the woman his passport. She did not even pretend to smile as she was obviously not too fond of Americans. She handed it back to him with an expression of complete indifference that only the French can pull off exquisitely. Welcome to France! Thank God he was only here a week. Once he was finished with business he would do a little sightseeing and then back home to D.C. He wasn’t too thrilled with this last minute assignment and he had no interest in Celgen Laboratories whatsoever but his colleague had backed out at the last minute and he owed her a huge favor. Hell, she went to Iraq for him to cover a story that turned out to be a nightmare. He had to interview the mysteriously elusive Celine D’Aumont, the president of Celgen Corporation and he had to have the article finished by Friday. As it was only Monday he began to feel that this might not be so bad after all. How long does it take to interview the president of a cosmetics company? A little lipstick and a nice human interest piece in how she climbed from her humble beginnings to become the leader in the anti-aging revolution. Humans still had to grow old and die, but dammit if they are ever going to let it show! He was disgusted that billions of dollars are pumped into the anti-aging business globally and the much of the world was still suffering and struggling for mere survival and human rights. How much good would all that vain money do if it were used to better the human plight rather than try to look twenty years old forever? He shook his head to clear himself of the work part of this trip and tried to focus on the fact that he had a week in Paris and an hour interview to do. Yes, things were absolutely looking up. Now getting a taxi was going to be fun as he knew not one word of French. He was going to be one of those insufferable tourists, he just knew it. He didn’t care that much either way. Being a journalist he was used to people hating him. It was just part of the job. He caught a glimpse of himself against the glass and realized he looked as tired as all of his fellow passengers from the flight. His pale skin was unusually white and even in the dim reflection he could see the dark circles under his eyes. What he needed was a solid eight hours of sleep. Once he got to the hotel he would wash the smell of travel off and hit the bed until he felt like rising. The interview wasn’t until Wednesday so he could ease into Paris life. He was still young and at thirty one years old and had impressive regenerative powers that he attributed to hearty DNA. Maybe it was just a part of the job too because there were many jobs he took where sleep did not come for three or four days in a row just to get the story. Nothing seemed unusual or bizarre to him anymore. The longer he was in the business the less things could shock him and lately he found that not many things could stir emotion in him anymore. He was thinking all of these things as he saw his suitcase drop mercilessly onto the metal conveyer belt. These days all the luggage was black so he bought the brightest and most obnoxious orange colored case to distinguish it from all the others. He hoisted the case up and was off as he followed the line of people pass through the last bastion of Customs and was suddenly thrust into the midst of noise and confusion. There were people standing in front of the doors with signs of companies and people’s names and was astonished to see a young woman with very large sunglasses and a black suit holding a card which read:

Taylor Hamilton-Celgen Labs

He smiled to himself. His colleague didn’t tell him this was a first class assignment. He had expected cold attitude all the way and here they were offering him a lift. He had to admit that he was impressed. He sauntered toward the severe looking woman was was probably very pretty and he smiled at her. She glanced in his direction without any display of recognition or emotion.

“I’m Taylor Hamilton miss, or should I say mademoiselle?” He laughed at his own pathetic attempt to be charming. He was too exhausted to try to flirt with her and it was now painfully obvious. Finally her façade broke and she smiled briefly before speaking in perfect English.

“Please follow me. I have the limousine waiting for you. Victor will carry your bag.” Her voice was heady and warm. It wrapped around him in the most comforting manner. He felt as if it were one of the loveliest voices he had heard in a long time. He caught a scent of perfume which was heavy as well like musk and lavender. A short man stood behind her and reached for Taylor’s hideous orange bag. He let go of the handle as Victor hoisted if over his fat shoulder and followed the woman through the crowds.

“This is going to be fun.” He whispered to no one. Already he was beginning to feel that perhaps doing his colleague a favor was going to be a lot more interesting than he had originally imagined. They hurried past the crowds getting onto buses and hopping into taxis and she led him to a sleek black limo. It was much smaller than the ones back home yet somehow it was classier, less vulgar. This was all beginning to feel like a movie. The weather was cool and damp and he could tell that it had been raining. How fortunate for him that Celgen had taken this initiative. Now he would not have to haggle and argue and fake his way through the cab drivers trying to explain where he was staying. He didn’t even know how to pronounce the name of the hotel. The woman was patiently holding the door open for him as he looked around taking everything in.

“Oh..sorry! Just a bit tired from the journey.” Her face had resumed that frozen look. Well, if anyone could pull it off she totally could. He stepped inside and breathed in the rich scent of leather. This was definitely turning out to be one hell of a trip . The woman got behind the wheel. Victor was putting the luggage in the trunk and then in one quick moment they were speeding out of the airport and hurrying across the frantic highways into Paris. Taylor looked around to see France for the first time. It really looked like the American Midwest to him with green hills only here there seemed to be a lot of industry where back home it would have been all cows and corn. It was surprising how some of the most exotic locations reminded him of home. This kind of looked like Pennsylvania only with smaller cars and apparently no traffic rules. The black car sliced across lanes and cut off other cars with speed and decision. The driver certainly knew what she was doing. Too bad it was raining, he would have liked to open the window and see what France smelled like. In all of his travels he realized that each place had it’s own unique scent. If only he could bottle the smell of each place he would then be able to throw away all of his photographs. Venice had a salty, nutty smell that could only be Venice. Iceland was green grass and moss. Mexico was a banana and milk with flowers. It was hard to describe the smell of each location but Taylor had given it his best. What would Paris be? Soon they were entering the outskirts of the city and it no longer looked anything like home. It looked Parisian, just like in all the movies. It was a cliché of a cliché. The little shops and restaurants with neatly lined trees on every street were exactly as he had always pictured it. The people hurried about very much like New Yorkers only they were dressed much less casually than the people one sees in Manhattan. It seemed that no one was wearing blue jeans and he realized quickly that the women of Paris were the women of Paris for a reason. Each one was enveloped in a well thought out ensemble. Even the ugliest of women had it all put together so well that their crude features were simply an accessory to the outfit. They were amazing and had the utmost air of confidence in every well placed, high heeled step. The car was moving now into a nicer area of the city and things appeared more ordered and well constructed. Even the bistros began to look very fancy and expensive. He began to wonder about his hotel. He was sure now that it would be luxurious. This Celine D’Aumont was certainly taking good care of her American journalist. He was absolutely convinced beyond a doubt now that she was trying to sway him in a not too subtle manner to present her in a good light. Hell, if everything he had read about Miss D’Aumont was true then she really had no reason to pull out all the stops for him and the journalistic part of his mind began to wonder if all this glamour was exactly that; a smokescreen to hide some terrible and dark secret. He could only hope so and decided to play innocent to this obvious charm and disarm technique. He couldn’t help but be suspicious and he realized long ago that it was his cynicism and conspiracy laced way of thinking that had gotten him this far. From this point on he would outwardly lap up all of the first class service and flatter his hostess at every possible occasion without seeming obvious while trying to uncover some secret that may or may not exist. If there was a secret he would find it. Not only was Taylor a good reporter, he was also tremendously arrogant.