| Subject: À la Vie! – Chapter 10 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Monday, October 25, 06:04:02pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Nikita’s agency thought it was important that she be seen at major events, and in the company of famous personages. That was the only reason she was going out with the famous British actor, Alec Chandler, she reminded herself. Over and over. They were to be seen together at the opening of the latest Samuelle’s in San Francisco. Nikita’s flight had been two days early, but she took most of that time to rest, vowing to explore the sights of the city another time.
Right now, she was getting ready for her “date,” with the help of the agency’s wardrobe, hair, and make-up departments. She approved of the dress—a long sleeveless navy sheath with a high neck and low back. She wore matching jeweled ballet slippers—Alec Chandler was tall, but they wanted him to tower over her 5’10” frame. Her hair was pulled up and back, and cascaded down her neck in riotous curls. Simple silver jewelry completed the outfit. Nothing she wore was to take the attention away from the real celebrity, Alec Chandler.
The limousine picked her up at the designated time, and she rode to the exclusive hotel wear she was to meet Alec Chandler for the first time. Stop calling him “Alec Chandler!” she scolded herself as she walked through the lounge. His name is Alec, and he’s a human being just like everyone else.
Right. The god stood before her, resplendent in black Armani, a cocktail in his hand and fawning females gathered around him. His press agent finally recognized and brought her over to meet him. “Nikita, this is Alec Chandler. Alec—Nikita.” They shook hands and Nikita murmured something she hoped passed for “How do you do?” Alec raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Delighted, I’m sure,” he answered, shooting her his world famous smile.
“May I get you something from the bar?” he offered. Nikita refused politely. Introductions and cocktail hour behind them, they exited the hotel and entered the waiting limo. Hoards of cameramen were standing outside, jockeying for position to get the best shot of the couple together.
Nikita was so nervous. What should she say? How should she act? Chandler answered her questions immediately. “Well, that’s over,” he pronounced. He sat back in his seat, lit a cigarette, and poured himself a drink from the mini-bar. He opened a newspaper, completely ignoring her. What an ass! thought Nikita. She hoped he would at least have the courtesy to pretend to like her at the opening.
* * *
Perry Bauer was wringing his hands nervously. He had never presided at a Grand Opening before, but Jacques Samuelle’s sudden death made Michael unavailable. As the date had already been chosen, and everything else was in place, Michael had told his people to go on without him.
Samuelle’s would again be showing Michael’s collection of beach scenes. Perry knew how popular these were, and had arranged for major press coverage. He gently steered every celebrity he recognized in that general direction. He saw Alec Chandler enter with a beautiful blonde on his arm, and paved the way toward the beach scenes, two glasses of vintage champagne in his hands. Nikita refused the proffered glass politely, but Alec accepted and drained his glass in one gulp. With all the liquor he had put away in the limousine, Nikita was surprised he was still standing.
She wandered over to the beach scenes and glanced at the ones with the little girl. Lead. Her feet were made of lead. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Mistaking her shock for rapture, Perry sidled up next to her. “Breathtaking, aren’t they? And all the more mysterious because of the little girl.”
Nikita finally regained her power of speech, though she still could not move. “Who is the artist?” she whispered.
“Why, Monsieur Samuelle himself,” Bauer stated proudly.
Nikita grabbed his arm and held it in a viselike grip. “His first name. What is his first name?”
“M-Michael,” he answered warily. This woman was obviously unwell.
“Where is he? Where does he live?” Nikita gasped. Her head was reeling.
“He’s away on personal business at the moment, but his home office is in Marseilles.”
Nikita fainted.
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