Kevin’s bullet! It must have gone through one cheek and out the other. I faintly remembered hearing Boris curse as I lost consciousness in Kevin’s arms.
Madame continued. “He was very angry but could barely move his mouth. He wanted to know your name. I made up a different name and told him that you no longer worked for me. Since I paid you in cash, there was no way for him to find out your real identity.”
I was speechless. Unbeknownst to me all these years, Madame Paulette had helped save my life.
“I immediately called your apartment. That handsome young gentleman friend of yours luckily answered zee phone. I told him that I believed your life was in terrible danger and that you should get as far away from Brooklyn as possible. I offered him money, but he told me there was no need.”
The hazy memory of a panicked Kevin telling me that Boris was after me flitted into my head. I was weak, still in bed, barely recovered from my gunshot wound. Kevin threw together a duffel bag full of basics, and two hours later, he was pushing me in a wheelchair through Kennedy Airport with the sack of money on my lap. I vaguely remembered him telling the suspicious security guard that the cash was for a much needed surgical procedure. Glib Kevin could talk his way through anything. Soon after, we were on a plane to Los Angeles on our way to safety.
A harsh cough from Madame Paulette brought me back to the moment. My heart was melting. She was both my mentor and savior. Blinking back tears, I wrapped my arms around her frail body and hugged her. “Madame, how can I ever thank you enough?”
“You must stop crying, ma chérie.” Her expression grew wistful. “We’ve all done terrible things we’ve regretted to survive.”
My sobbing came to a halt. “What do you mean?”
“When I was a young woman, I slept with a Nazi officer to save my family.”
I gasped. Had she lived with this horrible secret her whole life?
“Had I not, we would have all been sent to a concentration camp.”
I was speechless.
“Alors, ma chérie, you must forgive yourself. You have redeemed yourself and done many noble things with what came of it. I am proud of you.”
I hugged her again. It was probably the last time we’d embrace.
She sighed against me. “I still wish you could have bought my beezness.”
Boris Borofsky had purchased it, but sadly, his incompetent wife ran it into the ground. It was now a Starbucks. The fate of Madame Paulette’s boutique tugged at my heartstrings. If only things had worked out…but “what ifs” didn’t matter anymore. I gently squeezed her hand.
Another caregiver stepped into the room. This time a handsome silver-haired doctor. “I’m afraid, Ms. Long, that Madame must take her nap now.”
“Bah! Sleep eez for zee dead!” grumbled Madame Paulette after he left.
Her words at once amused and saddened me. The reality that she was going to die soon hit me hard. I held back more tears.
I gave her a final double-cheeked hug, and then we just held each other. Her frail bones warmed mine. When we finally broke away from each other, she wearily said, “Ma chérie, there eez something else I want to tell you.” She paused while her eyes grew watery. “I had a husband. His name was Henri Lévy. He died fighting for the Résistance. I want to be buried next to him.” She ripped out a sheet of paper from the writing pad on her night table and scribbled something on it. “This eez where he eez,” she said handing it to me. I folded up the sheet and placed it in my bag.
“Oui, Madame. I will take care of it.” A fresh round of tears was verging.
She smiled contently and closed her eyes. Softly, she repeated what she’d said earlier. “Remember, ma chérie, that it eez better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
I tiptoed out of the room with a less guilty conscience and the newfound knowledge that Madame Paulette had indeed known true love.
Chapter 7
The ride back to the city was uneventful. We were in counter-traffic and made excellent time. I thought about what Madame Paulette had told me…and Jaime Zander. I wondered if I would bump into him at the hotel or have to wait until tomorrow’s pitch at his office. I pined for the former.
We got back to the hotel by four p.m. I headed straight to my room, caught up on some e-mails, took a short nap, and showered. As I towel dried myself, the room phone rang. My heart galloped. Could it be Jaime? Wrapping the towel around me, I sprinted to the phone. With a shaky hand, I picked up the receiver.
“Glorious.”
It was Kevin.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’ve been crazed all day with post-show interviews. I have to have dinner with some of the models and a network executive. Do you want to come along?”
After such an emotional afternoon, the last thing I wanted to do was have dinner at some pretentious restaurant with a bunch of bubblehead models and some fawning network guy.