“How do you figure?” I was almost afraid to ask.
“According to Take Control of Your Lover’s Soul, Fridays are the night that men are most psychologically primed to meet women,” Poppy said. “It’s something about the negative endorphins in their bodies after a long day of work as well as the positive endorphins in their bodies because they know they have two days of relaxation coming up.”
I rolled my eyes. She had a theory for everything.
Against my dwindling protests, we wound up at another English-language pub, the Frog & Princess, a microbrewery tucked away in a back alley in the sixth arrondissement near Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
“So what’s the deal with Guillaume?” I asked as we settled into seats at the bar, each of us clutching a glass of Maison Blanche, one of the Frog & Princess’s house brews. Around us, a Justin Timberlake song blared from the speakers, and a handful of college-age blond girls in jeans gyrated on the dance floor, which was ringed with nervous-looking guys clutching beers like lifelines. Again, except for the smoke and plethora of smoking Frenchmen, it felt suspiciously like I was back at a bar in the United States.
“You’ve been dying to ask me that all day, haven’t you?” Poppy said.
I nodded and smiled. “Maybe. So what’s the story? Why does KMG put up with stunts like last night?”
“Because he’s really something special,” Poppy said. Her face softened a bit. “You haven’t seen him perform yet. But don’t worry. You’ll understand when you do.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. Although I had to admit that hearing the “City of Light” single had blown me away.
Poppy shook her head. “No, believe me. You think you hate him now. I know; I felt that way, too. But as soon as you see him perform, trust me, you’ll fall just a little bit in love with him. That’s his charm. That’s why he’s going to sell millions of records all over the world. That’s why he’s going to be a bigger star than David Beckham.”
“You’re comparing him to a soccer player?”
Poppy feigned horror. “A soccer player? First of all, it’s called football. Second, my dear, David Beckham is so much more than a football star. Just as Guillaume Riche is so much more than simply a singer. He will be a household name. Little girls everywhere will have his poster on the wall.”
“Or post offices will have his wanted poster,” I grumbled.
“Oh, he’s harmless,” Poppy said dismissively. She laughed, but I could detect a hint of nervousness behind her smile. “He just keeps us on our toes.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said slowly. “What about what Gabriel Francoeur said? About Buddha Bar?”
“He was just trying to get under our skin,” Poppy said quickly.
I hesitated. “Are you sure? I mean, he seemed pretty confident.”
“That’s Gabriel for you,” Poppy said. “He’s just messing with our heads. He doesn’t have any inside source. That’s nonsense.”
“He did seem to know an awful lot about things in the past that never made the papers,” I said carefully.
Poppy shrugged. “So he’s a good reporter. Fine. But we cover all our bases so that even when he’s right, his editors won’t risk going with the story because we make him sound wrong. I know it drives him crazy. This is probably just his attempt to get even.”
“Probably,” I agreed after a moment. But I wasn’t entirely convinced.
“You’re moping,” Poppy accused me an hour later as she returned from the bar, where she’d been flirting with a tall blond guy. She was holding two beers, one of which she handed to me.
“I’m just tired,” I said.
“No,” Poppy said. “You’re moping. About Brett. Who is a complete tosser.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Poppy was so matter-of-fact.
“He’s not a tosser,” I protested weakly. “We just weren’t right for each other.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If he didn’t want to be with you, he’s a wanker. Plain and simple. You’re fabulous. And anyone who can’t see that is completely useless.”
“Well”—I mustered a smile—“I’ll drink to that.”
“That’s the spirit!” Poppy exclaimed. “Cheers!” We both took a long sip, then Poppy spoke again. “Look, I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “If I can get you a date within the next thirty minutes, you have to give this thing a try. You have to start dating again. Not to fall for some smooth-talking French guy, but because it’s fun and they know how to say all the right things, and believe me, they know how to kiss. And right now you need that.”
“Poppy—” I started.
“Didn’t you have fun last night?”
“Before or after Guillaume?” I muttered.
She made a face at me. “Before,” she said. “Obviously.”
“Seriously, Poppy,” I said after a moment. “I don’t think this is going to work. I’m about the most unglamorous person in Paris right now. Even if I wanted to date, I doubt I’d have much luck.”
“We’ll just see about that,” Poppy said with a smile. “Let me work my magic.”