The Paris Architect: A Novel

“Henri, it’s been fun, talking about the old days. I’m sure you remember them with great fondness—all the wonderful commissions you once had. But I must go. I’ve got a meeting this afternoon about a new commission for an ammunition plant. I’m thinking of doing it all in reinforced concrete, which will give it a real expression of structure, don’t you think? When construction starts, I’ll take you out for a peek.”


That was too much for Devereaux. He slammed his fist on the table, upsetting all the glassware and attracting the glances of the café’s patrons. Lucien smiled. His last arrow had struck its target precisely. He expected a hysterical tirade, and he got one.

“You son of a bitch!” Devereaux said. “How does a nobody like you get all these jobs and someone of my talent and stature gets nothing?”

Lucien kept smiling, enjoying this moment enormously. He knew Devereaux was just getting started.

“I’ve seen that factory you did in Chaville. It’s shit. You wouldn’t know modernist design if it bit you on the ass. Who the hell do you think you are—Gropius?”

Lucien began to laugh. His face was turning beet red, and he had to take a drink of water. This made Devereaux even angrier. Up until now, he had insulted Lucien in a normal conversational tone, but his voice rose to a shout.

“Let me tell you something, friend. I wouldn’t want those goddamn jobs. I’m no goddamn collaborationist, working for the Boche. You’re a fuckin’ traitor to France. You’re going to pay for this after the war. I’ll see to it.”

“That’s an extraordinary case of sour grapes, Henri,” replied Lucien, still shaking with laughter. “If the Germans offered you a latrine to design tomorrow, you’d do it in the blink of an eye.”

Lucien stood up from the table. “Here, Henri, let me get this. It’s my treat.” He threw money on the white tablecloth. “It’s been worth every sou.”

“I’ll fix your ass, Bernard,” shouted Devereaux as Lucien strolled out of the café.





58





Bette let them pound on the door for almost a minute before she flung it open.

“What the hell do you want?” she screamed at the two Gestapo plainclothes officers, whose expressions changed from menacing evil to outright shock.

Before them stood Bette in a black bra and panties accompanied by a garter belt and sheer black silk stockings. They stood there speechless until the taller one with glasses started stammering.

“What the hell are you trying to say?” said Bette.

“I…I said that we’re here to search your apartment by order of the Reich.”

“Search for what, may I ask?”

“We’ve been informed that you may be hiding enemies of the Reich.”

“Is that a fact? And who told you that fairy tale? My neighbor downstairs, I bet.”

“That’s none of your business. Move aside,” said the other one, a man with enormous ears. Bette imagined that if he could flap them up and down, he could fly away.

Bette stood her ground with her hands on her hips and long slender legs spread apart. She wanted them to get a good long look at what she knew was one of the best bodies in Paris. She let them stare a few seconds more, then moved away from the door.

“Come on in, boys. I wouldn’t want to hinder the duties of the Gestapo. Look around all you like.”

The men slowly, almost shyly, came inside the apartment. They reluctantly began searching the living room. She strolled over to the windowsill where Emile and Carole were hiding. She moved a potted plant to the side, sat down on the sill, and crossed her legs, smiling at the man with the oversized ears. Bette began to slowly and carefully smooth out her stockings, one leg, then the other.

The men said nothing as they went into her bedroom and her bathroom. One looked out onto the roof.

“So, give me a hint,” Bette said. “What are you searching for? Maybe I can help you.”

“Enemies of the Reich, I told you,” muttered the man with the glasses as he entered the living room.

“Ah, you mean Jews. Well, there’s got to be at least five or six hiding in here right now. Keep looking, you’ll find them. I can tell you if you’re getting hot or cold, if you like.”

The man with the glasses didn’t find this amusing.