The Paris Architect: A Novel (32 page)

“Come on, let’s find us a Jew,” said Bruckner.

***

After an hour passed, the base of the pilaster in the center of the wall began to slowly lift up. With great difficulty, Mendel Janusky pushed it upward with both his arms. The top of the pilaster was hinged at the bottom of the deep wood molding that ran along the ceiling. Slowly, Janusky lifted it far enough so he could just slip out from under it. With enormous force, the heavy pilaster slammed back into place behind him. He collapsed onto the floor. He gazed down at his left leg and discovered a trickle of blood oozing through his light brown trousers where a bullet had grazed him. Exhausted and soaked in sweat, Janusky rested his back against the wall. Pulling out a soiled handkerchief, he mopped his face, then dabbed at the blood on his leg.

52

The splash of water from the speeding Mercedes hit Lucien right in the midsection, soaking his trousers and coat from the waist to the knees.

“Kraut son of a bitch,” he yelled after the car, then immediately regretted it, hoping the car wouldn’t stop.

Because he was wearing his favorite light gray suit, the dirty, oily water made a very dark, very noticeable stain below his belt. He knew he couldn’t go to his meeting in this state. During his presentation, the Germans would all be staring at his crotch. Lucien had to try to clean himself up. He realized that he was only two blocks from Bette’s building. Twice he had let her off in front of it, never having been asked to come up. They never made love in each other’s homes. For Bette it was always the excuse about the out-of-town relatives still being there. For Lucien, it was also some feeble excuse, on account of Pierre.

He decided to take the chance on finding her at home. Bette knew fashion and clothes, so he figured she would know how to get rid of stains. Lucien trotted down the street. When he reached the foyer of the building, he realized he didn’t know which flat she was in, so he had to ring for the concierge. An ancient man with a cigarette hanging from his lips stuck his head from behind the door and asked him what the hell he wanted. After he got Bette’s number, Lucien asked the concierge if Bette’s relatives were still staying with her. The old man gave Lucien a puzzled look and then dismissed him with a wave.

Lucien was about to rap on Bette’s door when he heard the faint sound of music coming from the apartment. It was a children’s tune of some kind. Maybe her relatives
were
still hanging around. In a way he didn’t blame them for coming to Paris. They knew that Bette, with her connections, could put food on the table. In France, everyone was always hungry so you did what you had to do to survive, which meant sponging off relatives to eat. He rapped loudly and waited.

After a minute, she hadn’t answered, so he knocked again. Finally Bette came up to the door.

“Who is it?” she shouted from behind the thick oak door. “What do you want?”

Lucien was taken aback by her rudeness. “Is this how you greet all your lovers?”

“Lucien, is that you?” Bette replied in an astonished voice.

“Yes, my sweet, it is me. Open up, I’ve had an accident. I need your feminine assistance.”

Instead of flinging open the door, embracing him, and welcoming him inside, there was a long silence.

He knocked again. “Bette, it’s me, Lucien; come on, I need your help! My suit got messed up just around the corner, and I need to clean it. I’ve got a meeting in an hour. Please open up.”

Another long silence ensued, and now Lucien was starting to imagine things. Like a lover in her bedroom hurriedly getting dressed and finding a place to hide. He banged on the door with his fist, and an old man next door opened his door and stuck his head out.

“What’s all this damn racket?” he demanded.

“Mind your own business.”

“Stop this noise this minute.”

“Shut up, you old fool.”

The old man slammed his door in indignation, and suddenly Bette flung open her door.

“Lucien, what the hell are you doing here? I told you I had people staying with me and you couldn’t come up,” Bette said. “You’re causing a scene.”

“Look at my suit,” Lucien said. “It’s a mess. I just need to clean it up. I thought you could rinse it out and maybe dry it off in front of your oven or something so the stain wouldn’t show.”

“I told you, you can’t come in.”

At first Lucien was dumbfounded by her response, then he quickly became angry and hurt. “What the hell is your problem, woman?”

Lucien didn’t wait for an answer and pushed past her into the foyer. He was taken aback by how splendid the apartment was. The flat was beautifully decorated in a
moderne
style, with quite expensive-looking furniture. Once his architect’s instantaneous appraisal was finished, he returned to being angry. Then he realized that she was acting this way because she had a lover in the apartment, which made him even angrier.

“All right, who are you sleeping with? Is he in the bedroom? Let’s meet him. I always like to meet your friends.” He started in one direction but realized the apartment had more than one bedroom. “And I thought all the men in the fashion business were fags,” he said scornfully.

He dashed headlong into one bedroom and looked under the bed, then behind the drapes and in a large armoire. Then he found another bedroom and proceeded to search it.

Bette followed him through the apartment. “Lucien, have you gone mad? Stop it. I’m telling you there’s no one here. For chrissake, stop,” Bette insisted, yanking on his arm. “Now get out of here.”

“Bullshit, I know he’s here. And where the hell are those mysterious relatives of yours?”

“I told you to get the hell out of here,” she yelled, now slapping him about the head in a fury.

Lucien resisted the strong urge to punch her in the face and kept searching. His anger was like a torrent of raging floodwater that pulled him helplessly along. He could do nothing to stop it. The sense of betrayal shattered him because he had been so happy with Bette. After all the terrible things that had happened to him—the Serraults’ deaths, Adele discovering the stair—she was like a miracle who had come into his life. His time with Bette meant he could forget these bad things for a while and just enjoy wonderful moments of pure pleasure. It wasn’t only Bette’s great beauty and sexuality that appealed to him, but her wit, sense of humor, and intelligence. It was clear to him that he was falling for her. That one could find love in such horrible times amazed and delighted him, making her betrayal all the more painful.

With Bette still beating him about the back, he came to a huge carved walnut chest at the foot of the bed and threw open the heavy lid. When her punches became faster and more furious, he knew he’d hit the jackpot.

“I believe I’ve found the buried treasure.”

“No. Lucien, please don’t,” pleaded Bette, trying with all her might to pull him away from the chest.

“He must be the fuck of the century,” exclaimed Lucien as he yanked out some heavy blankets from the top of the chest.

“I’m going to choke the life out of the bastard.” When he threw off the third blanket, he saw the terrified faces of two children looking up at him. He froze and stared at them in amazement; he might as well have unearthed an Egyptian mummy.

Bette roughly pushed Lucien aside and helped the boy and girl out of the chest. They both clung to her thighs, burying their faces in her white dress. She caressed both their heads and gave Lucien a defiant look that said “go straight to hell.”

Lucien was mesmerized by the sight. Bette, a smart, independent, and beautiful fashion model, had never displayed any motherly tendencies at all. Here she was protecting two little children, like a lioness ready to fight anyone who would try to hurt her cubs. He smiled at them, and a feeling of great love and admiration for her swept over him. Lucien knelt down and extended his hand to the boy.

“My name is Lucien, and I’m very sorry I scared you. I was looking for someone else. So what’s your name, young fellow?”

The boy looked up at Bette and she nodded.

“Emile.”

“And you, young lady, what’s your name?”

“Carole,” announced the girl, who Lucien could see was not shy like the boy.

“I’m so glad to meet you both. Bette, why don’t we get acquainted with some refreshments in the salon while you attend to my suit?”

“You’re a mess. Let me get you a robe so you can undress.”

Lucien took the children by their hands and led them into the salon. He took off his suit coat and trousers and handed them to Bette, who had brought in some drinks. Dressed in the white robe, Lucien stretched out on the sofa and asked the basic questions one asks of all small children. Their age, their favorite toys and books. Emile and Carole slowly dropped their guard and became friendlier with Lucien, laughing at his silly jokes and funny expressions. He didn’t need to be told about their religious affiliation; it was plain to see.

Bette stood in the doorway and enjoyed the scene. Lucien was the first person other than herself whom the children had talked to in a year. He smiled at her and could see that she was happy that they were having a good time and that Lucien, who also never exhibited any parental talent, made them feel comfortable and safe. After a while, Bette shooed the children into their room to play and sat down in the chaise lounge across from Lucien.

“Your suit will dry in about five minutes, monsieur.”

“That’s wonderful. I’ll be on time for my meeting. You know how Germans are about punctuality.”

Without any prompting, Bette told Lucien the whole story. He listened without interruption, then walked around the salon in silence. She watched him as he examined the apartment.

“Does the architect approve of my space?” Bette asked coyly.

“It’s a magnificent apartment. I’m jealous that I didn’t do it. The way one decorates her home says a lot about a person.”

“And what does it say about me, Monsieur Bernard?”

“That you have excellent taste. But those two ‘accessories’ of yours playing down the hall tell me a great deal more about Mademoiselle’s character.”

“Does that please you?”

“It does indeed,” replied Lucien as he knelt down in front of her, held her hand, and kissed it tenderly.

“Lucien, you’re sweet, you’re wonderful. I’m sorry I had to deceive you.”

“But there’s one problem, my love. Did you notice how easily I found your secret? You know, the Gestapo will have as easy a time as I did. That can’t be. We must fix this immediately.”

Lucien got up and walked to the window that overlooked the street. “This is an exceptionally deep windowsill. What’s under here?”

Bette walked over. “I don’t know; you’re the architect, you tell me.”

“There must have been an old radiator inside here, then they took it out,” said Lucien as he pried up the wooden sill with his penknife and looked into the cavity.

“Ask the children to come here,” he said. He tossed some cushions from the sofa into the cavity.

“All little bunnies, come out here please.”

Emile and Carole scampered out in glee.

“Children, let’s play a game,” said Lucien.

The children smiled and nodded their heads excitedly.

“It’s sort of like hide-and-seek. I want to hide you under the window,” said Lucien. He lifted Emile and put him inside the hole, then Carole. They both fit snugly side by side.

“This will be our secret hiding place,” he said as he lifted them out. “All right, back in the bedroom to play, my little ones.”

“Suppose the Boche search there; they could lift the lid up and find them.”

“The lid will be hinged at the back, and there’ll be two locks on the underside of it that you’ll have Emile fasten when they’re inside. The Boche won’t be able to lift the lid. And you’ll place lots of stuff on top, like bowls and vases of flowers.”

“What a clever man. You thought of that very quickly.”

“I have had a bit of experience in these matters. Now if you’ll get my suit, I’ll be on my way. But I’ll return right after my meeting, because I also have a secret. I think you’ll find it quite interesting.”

53

“I didn’t realize you had such a peculiar sense of humor, Monsieur Manet.”

“The fact is, I don’t have a sense of humor at all. So my wife tells me. But in the case of this refuge, I had no choice.”

“Did you happen to notice that it’s right across the street from 11 rue des Saussaies?”

“Yes, Lucien, I did.”

“Which happens to be Gestapo headquarters?” Lucien peeked between the curtains to look at the building. Lucien had first visited this apartment a week ago to check it out for hiding places. He’d been so intent on making sure he wasn’t being followed, he hadn’t realized until he’d left that it was directly across the street from Gestapo headquarters. The sight of the official-looking building nauseated him, as if he’d eaten a bad oyster. He hoped that at this meeting, he could persuade Manet to change locations.

“Of course, every Parisian knows that address,” replied Manet with a sly smile.

“And are you still intent on using this flat?”

“Like I told you, I had no choice in the matter. Time is critical, and this is the only apartment I could secure at the moment, so you’ll have to be extra clever.”

“That, Monsieur Manet, is the understatement of the century. There’s no way to find another place?”

“No. And I’m sorry to say that you must be extra quick. I must move in a guest in a few days. He’s in great danger at the moment. He’ll be staying here for a while. It’s still too dangerous to get to Spain, and Switzerland is out of the question.”

“There are horrible things taking place over there even as we speak,” said Lucien, half expecting to hear screams of agony coming from across the street.

“If we’re not careful, you and I could wind up there.”

“Believe me, I’ve thought about that scenario hundreds of times.”

“I’m not surprised,” replied Manet.

“Well, I have to admit that this choice of apartment does have a kind of insane ingenuity to it.”

“So do you have any ideas, Lucien?”

“Yes, since my last visit, I’ve come up with one or two possibilities.” Lucien began his now familiar walk through the apartment. His eyes surveyed every square meter of wall and floor area again. It was a very ornate apartment, like all the others Manet had provided. He thought how difficult it would be to design a hiding place in a plain low-rent flat. Gilt and white paneling lined the walls, and each room had a huge marble fireplace with a deep stone hearth extending a meter in front of it.