“Your face looks a little green, Emma!” Guillaume said as I started down the rope toward him.
“I’m afraid of heights,” I said stiffly as I inched closer and closer. The young officer had given me a pair of gloves and showed me how to walk my hands down the rope to get closer to Guillaume. He had promised that even if I lost my grip, I’d be fine; I was attached to both the rope and the window, so allegedly I wouldn’t fall. I might, on the other hand, slide down the rope and smash into the side of the building. I tried not to think about it.
“Afraid of heights?” Guillaume asked. “That’s impossible! Look around! It’s so beautiful here!”
I glanced up for a second and realized that he was right. I could see all the way to the Eiffel Tower. But I could also see the Eiffel Tower from my living room, which is where I would have greatly preferred to be at the moment.
Below us, the crowd was murmuring and pointing. I wondered momentarily what Gabe was thinking. He was probably having a field day. This would make one great UPP story.
“Okay, Guillaume,” I said as I made my way to his side. “Let’s just get this over with quickly.”
“You’re no fun!” he said. I looked down at him and shook my head. Not only was I dangling beside a rock star on a rope strung over the streets of Paris, but I was head-to-toe with him, as he had secured himself to the rope by his ankles.
“Your feet smell,” I retorted.
“That’s not very nice.” Guillaume sounded wounded.
“Neither is making me risk my life for you. Now, are we going to sing or what?”
“Fine, fine.” He sighed. “What would you like to sing?”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, Guillaume! Can you just choose something so we can get down from here?”
I was starting to get more and more nervous. The rope was swaying, and I felt sick to my stomach. I glanced toward the window. Poppy and the young officer were leaning out.
“Are you okay?” Poppy shouted. The officer slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder, and Poppy glanced up to bat her eyes at him. Great. Even in the midst of my death-defying tragedy, she was flirting.
“I’m fine!” I shouted back.
“How about ‘Cheek to Cheek’?” Guillaume asked. I turned my attention back to him. He smiled up at me and patted his cheek, which appeared very red thanks to all the blood rushing to his head. “Fred Astaire debuted it in 1935, long before Sinatra got his hands on it!”
“No more Fred Astaire!” I groaned.
“Good point,” Guillaume said thoughtfully. “I don’t even have my top hat with me. I couldn’t do it justice.” He thought for a moment. “Do you know ‘Jackson’? By Johnny Cash and June Carter?”
“No.”
“How about ‘Islands in the Stream’? Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton?”
“No!” I exclaimed in frustration. How on earth did he know so many country songs?
Guillaume thought for a moment.
“How about ‘You’re the One That I Want’?’ ” he asked. “From Grease?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
“You know it?”
“Yes, I know it,” I said. I just didn’t want to sing it.
“Okay, I’ll start! This will be beautiful! You are just like Olivia Newton-John!”
I groaned. Guillaume shouted to the crowd. “For my finale tonight, I will be performing a hit song from the musical Grease with my lovely publicist, Emma!” He repeated the same sentence again in French.
The crowd below applauded, hooting and hollering like they were at a real concert.
“They love us already!” Guillaume said. “Doesn’t this feel good, Emma?”
“Yeah, it feels just fantastic.” I was still trying not to throw up.
Guillaume cleared his throat and began to sing. “I got chills! They’re multiplying! And I’m loooosing control!”
“You can say that again,” I muttered. Guillaume made a face at me and sang the remainder of his verse.
“Your turn!” he urged.
I began singing Olivia Newton-John’s words unenthusiastically.
“Louder, Emma!” Guillaume grinned at me. “They can’t hear you!”
I took a deep breath and continued with the rest of the verse, feeling like a complete idiot.
Below, the crowd applauded wildly. Miraculously, we managed to make it through all the verses and several renditions of the chorus, ending with a drawn-out “Ooh, ooh, ooh” that we sang together as the crowd went wild. Dozens of flashbulbs went off, and I closed my eyes. I just wanted this night to be over.
“Emma?” Guillaume said after a moment, after the screams had finally receded a bit. “You know, I’m getting a bit of a headache.”
“Yes, Guillaume,” I said stiffly. “It’s probably because you’ve been hanging upside down for two hours.”
He appeared to think about this for a moment. Then he shrugged, which unfortunately made us both swing wildly from side to side. I really wanted to vomit.
“Maybe you’re right, Emma,” he said slowly after the swinging had slowed. “It’s probably time to come in then, right?”
“Yes, Guillaume,” I agreed. “I think it’s time to come in.”