The Paris Architect: A Novel

On the way back to Paris, she rested her head on his shoulder. Bette had had many lovers come and go in her relatively short life, reminding her of a single file of men marching endlessly through a revolving door. Handsome men, old men, single men, married men, and many rich men. So she considered herself an expert in this field and had come to the conclusion that men in general were a disappointment. Lafont, an aristocrat who once wooed her, introduced her to horseback riding, which became a passion. She learned quickly that a horse was far more reliable and loyal than any man.

Beginning in her early twenties, Bette made a careful analysis of all her men, past and present. Like an anthropologist conducting a field study of the tribes in French Equatorial Africa, she devised categories and lists of salient characteristics of her subjects. There were the basic categories like wealth, breeding, intelligence, education, physical attributes, marital status, and sexual ability, then more specialized ones for alcohol consumption, thoughtfulness, strength of character, and affection. She filled notebooks with data to analyze it in broad strokes, to see connections between types of men. Bette thoroughly enjoyed conducting her study. She would have liked to become a professor who could specialize in this type of work. Most women in France would go out with one or two men then be forced by society and family to marry. Since Bette had ignored that pressure and had countless men in her life, she had what the anthropologist would term a broad sampling group, which allowed her to discover certain patterns of behavior. Some results were expected—rich men were usually selfish, bored, and demanding; the more handsome a man, the more he treated her like shit.

She had liked Lucien right off; the fact that he was creative was unique. He was one of very few creative men, aside from some painters and sculptors who wanted her to model in order to sleep with her. But he had another unique trait.

The “character” category was the one where men failed most miserably. Her study convinced her that men had no character or backbone. Horses, she felt, had more character. She had enjoyed Lucien’s company and his lovemaking, but once she found out about Pierre, Lucien’s character rating moved very high. In fact, Bette was bowled over by the revelation. She’d never had a man willing to die for something. This single act of courage was very attractive to her, more enticing than a man with a villa or a Bugatti. She could say she was doing the same thing with her two foundlings, but she had an innate woman’s compassion, which was entirely different. Lucien stirred something in her heart that none of the scores of others ever had. As Bette got older, she had a keener sense of what was love and what was not. She knew she was falling in love with Lucien.

“I’ve got an interesting idea,” said Bette, breaking the long silence. “Since Monsieur Labrune was kind enough to give you the afternoon off, why don’t you show me all the buildings you’ve done in and around Paris after lunch? I’ve already gone to see the wine shop on rue Vaneau.”

““You saw it?” asked Lucien, who was shocked and at the same time very flattered.

“Oh, yes. I like the way you curved the storefronts into the entry. It sort of sweeps the customer into the store, doesn’t it?”

“That’s exactly what I intended.”

“The front door has a beautiful metal grate…is that bronze?”

“Yes, so are the door handles.”

“The interior’s very elegant. I saw the shelves where the bottles were displayed. It was very clever of you to design them that way. They sort of swell in and out. Much better than just ordinary straight shelves.”

“Yes, I put a lot of thought into that.”

“It’s very creative.”

Lucien had planned to make love to Bette all afternoon, but now he began to think of all the locations of his projects in Paris and the best routes to get to them.





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