Spoils of the Game (16 page)

“See you when you get there.”

When Austin returned home, he turned on the computer and brought up the presentation. It was not his intention to do anything more than provide a comprehensive overview to feel out Vassar’s limits. There were several assumptions, and some might have been a stretch. If Vassar wanted to participate, he would find enough to begin the process. If he didn’t, then there would be no point in going any further.

Madeline arrived on time, dressed in tight jeans and a red tee shirt. And again she looked great.

“Well, I am here to fix your presentation,” she said with a smile.

“Good, it may look a little too industrial for your artsy friends,” said Austin.

“Well, give me a minute, and I will give you all of my attention. I want to say hello first,” she said, and she put her arms around her American friend and lover. With her arms still around Austin, she asked, “So how much cheesecake did you buy?”

Austin placed his hands on each side of her face and looked into her eyes. “Are you here for me, or are you here for dessert?” he said.

Madeline pulled Austin down to her and kissed him. “If you are good, you might have two desserts.”

“At this rate, I will never get you to review the presentation. For the next hour or so, let’s keep this professional. Remember, business before pleasure. We will have cheesecake for dinner.”

“Austin, you are so boring,” she replied with a fake air of anger.

Austin walked Madeline through every slide, using them as talking points. The first run-through took about forty-five minutes. During the presentation, Madeline said nothing. When he was finished, she said, “There is a lot of information, and there are some excellent proposals. But Austin, we might dress it up a little, and you must add subtitles or something in French, or you will lose your audience. Do you have that CD I gave you, with that Louvre promotional information?”

Over the next two hours Madeline used her artistic magic and her computer skills and dressed up Austin’s presentation. The message did not change, but now it looked a little easier on the eyes and would communicate better with a French audience. It was clear that Austin was the engineer and Madeline was the artist.

“Austin, I think this will work well. You identified the problems and the steps necessary to get to a solution, and you made a timeline for the money. Just be your handsome self, and things will go well. Now, where is that cake?”

At about eight o’clock, Austin headed for the kitchen, and Madeline followed right behind.

“You know,” said Madeline, “since I met you, I think I have gained two kilos. You are going to turn me into a fat lady.”

“Would you like a second slice?”

“Only if you want one too.”

Madeline left at about eleven that night.

Friday was anticlimactic. The presentation was almost done, except for the review by Moreau. Having a few days before meeting Vassar was a source of guilt for Austin. The work ethic his father had beat into him was emerging, and spending time in Paris was more like playing hooky; as before, he didn’t feel right about it. It was about eleven that morning when he finished reading the e-mails the previous night. Carl had sent him some office correspondence, some lab reports, and some documents from an FDA trial. With everything read, he had little to do. Madeline was right. If she complained about gaining weight, then he was gaining weight too. Austin decided to skip lunch and go for a jog—or maybe it was going to be a walk, if he couldn’t find the energy to keep running.

Running was a good way to flush out his mind. As he ran through the neighborhoods of Paris, his mind was full of thoughts about Madeline. She seemed to outguess his thinking, and she was not bashful. Susan would always be special, but perhaps Madeline was becoming his future.

The run felt good, but he was not the young man he’d been in college. Austin took a seat on a bench overlooking the Canal St. Martin and watched an old woman feed the ducks. Susan had brought him to France with a purpose, but what was her real mission? Austin stayed on the bench for perhaps too long. Clouds were forming to the west, and he had hoped to go back to his apartment the long way. Running along the Rue de la Chapelle, Austin turned north to Sacré-Coeur. From the basilica on the top of the hill he could overlook the city, and North Carolina was a million miles away. He walked back to his apartment while watching the building storm. With all of the traffic noise, he almost did not hear his cell phone ring. Looking down at the screen on his phone, he saw the name Madeline, and a smile came to his face.

“Hello, Madeline.”

“I stopped by your apartment, but you were not here.”

“I went out for a run, and now I’m on my way back. I should be there in about twenty minutes.”

“I have some thoughts about this weekend, if you are up to it,” said Madeline with hope in her voice.

“My run may have done me in, but if you have a good idea, I will try to revive myself.”

“Okay, I will see you when you get here.”

Austin climbed the marble steps to his apartment, wearing his running clothes and a couple pounds of Paris rain mixed with sweat. He put his key in the door and opened it to see Madeline watching TV and sipping a glass of wine.

“Austin, you look soaked.”

“I am soaked, and I feel like an old man. It has been a while since I got some serious exercise, and I just did too much. And then I tried to outrun the rain and lost.”

Madeline rose up, put her arms around Austin, and gave him a short hug, and then she backed up, suggesting that she would continue the hug after he had a shower. Austin reached out to resume the hug, and Madeline ran away with a squeal.

“Madeline, please! Just a little hug,” said Austin with his best innocent smile.

“No, stay away from me, Austin! You are all wet, and you stink.”

Faking rejection, Austin walked toward his bedroom. “Are you one of those girls that only likes fresh-smelling guys?” he said, looking over his shoulder. “I am so disappointed in you.”

“I am a very particular girl, and I will be happy to resume this discussion when you clean up.”

Austin exited the shower a new man, got dressed, and reentered his living room. “Do I smell better now?” he asked with a smile.

“Much better. Now, what are you going to do about my dinner, you great-smelling guy?”

“Dinner? Since I have been working with you, all you ever ask me is when and where we are going to eat.”

“I am starving.”

“Can we stay in tonight? I have some lasagna I bought at that Italian supermarket. I am just too tired to go out. Have some mercy.”

“Okay, we can stay in,” said Madeline. “But you have to do what I want tomorrow.

“Tomorrow?”

“You are so lucky. Actually, I am the lucky one—you are just going to be my escort.”

Austin looked at Madeline, trying to understand the last few sentences. “Escort?”

“Tomorrow night there is a reception at the Hotel de Crillon for some of the larger supporters of the museum. Normally I would have no connection with these high-level events, but the girl in the promotions group that normally runs these things got sick, and Vassar asked if I would fill in. It will be fun, and you will get a chance to see and meet some of the bigger contributors. It is a first-class event, and it will give me a chance to get dressed up. And perhaps you can meet some rich people for your project.”

“Get dressed up? All I have is my suit, and that might need a pressing.”

“I have you covered, Mr. Clay. Tomorrow we will get you a tux and perhaps some new suits at a tailor that I know. He is the father of Sabine, a girl I work with. You will need a new suit for your presentation with Vassar on Thursday, because the suit you have with you makes you look too American. I will heat up the lasagna, and you can make a salad and open some wine.”

Dinner was simple but enjoyable. Following dinner, Austin and Madeline watched soccer on the TV, with Madeline lying on the couch and using Austin’s thigh as a pillow. By ten-thirty, Madeline was asleep. Was it her busy schedule, or was it too much lasagna or too much wine? Austin was still wide awake and took pity on his snoring friend and took her to bed. Madeline walked into Austin’s bedroom like a zombie on drugs, took off her street clothes, and climbed into bed. Austin returned to the living room to see the second half of the soccer match.

The morning brought a refreshed Madeline, who woke up under the arm of a sleeping Austin. A quick glance at the clock on the night table told her it was almost eight, and she and Austin had an appointment with the tailor at nine-thirty. Getting a tux for Austin was going to be more important than any other plans she might have had.

Austin and Madeline showed up at a tailor shop where she had her connections. Within an hour, the issue of Austin’s tux was resolved, and then it was on to the suits. European suits were of a different style than Austin’s usual American look—not better, not worse, just different.

“So which one do you like the best?” Austin asked.

Madeline was now acting more like a wife than an able assistant. But she did have good taste and a sense of style, and quickly she picked two suits that looked great, along with a few new shirts and several new ties. Monsieur Austin Clay looked more like he belonged on the cover of the European edition of
GQ
. The good news was that the only alterations involved trouser length, and these were accomplished in twenty minutes. Again Madeline’s magic made it happen, and by noon it was off to lunch and more shopping with Madeline.

The evening came quickly. Austin grabbed a cab and went over to Madeline’s apartment to pick her up. She was ready and standing outside her apartment when the cab arrived. Austin exited the cab and was amazed by the sight before him. Madeline was dressed in a form-fitting blue metallic evening dress and looked wonderful. She had changed her hairstyle and almost looked like another woman. If he had not been falling in love with her before, he was now.

“Austin, let’s hurry. I have got to be one of the first ones there, to make sure everything is set up right.”

The Bernstein Suite was on the fifth floor of the magnificent Hotel de Crillon. The large suite was a perfect location for an intimate gathering. Large doors opened onto a patio that overlooked the city. To the west, the Eiffel Tower was silhouetted by the setting sun, whose light caressed the city. Cocktails and dinner would be on the patio, and for the guests, everything was perfect.

Madeline knew her role at the event. Vassar was the host, and it was Austin’s job to support Madeline and look good. Madeline was careful to introduce everyone to everyone, including Austin. Included on the guest list were a duke, a prince, and some woman from Marseille that Madeline promised she would talk about later. If one was easily intimidated by large diamonds or those who pretended to be important because their grandfather was a royal, then this was not the place to be. Austin was not intimidated; he was rather amused by what he saw. He was also impressed by how Madeline worked the room. She knew when to smile. and she knew when to laugh, but the whole time she was genuine and very capable. Vassar was no less capable of mingling with the group and took time to meet briefly with Austin to confirm the plans for Thursday.

As the evening came to a close, it was clear that Vassar had achieved his financial and political goals, and it was also clear that one of the guests was trying to add Madeline to his list of conquests. Madeline was polite and handled the situation wisely. The thought entered Austin’s mind that perhaps someone should take the duke (or the count, or whatever he was) out behind the hotel and give him some good old fashion North Carolina justice, but Madeline was doing well all by herself, and there was no need to upset Vassar’s party. To break up the little problem, Austin approached Madeline and suggested that a little more caviar might be needed. That gave her the break she needed.

It was about three in the morning when the party ended. The doorman at the hotel had placed several guests into taxis to get them home, and others found rides in their own limos. Austin and Madeline arrived at his apartment at about four. Both were tired, but both had had fun. As Austin fumbled for his keys to his apartment, Madeline stood in her stocking feet, holding her high heels in her hand. With the door closing behind them, Madeline put her arms around Austin and gave him a thank-you kiss.

“So who was the guy hitting on you?” said Austin.

“Oh, he was Count Fredrick somebody. He was drunk. You sound a little jealous.”

“Who, me?” replied Austin.

Without continuing this discussion, Madeline disappeared into the bedroom and returned dressed in one of Austin’s shirts.

“Austin, tonight you looked like James Bond. When I was younger, I always thought that James Bond was the sexiest man in the world, and I often wondered what it would be like to be one of the girls that fell under his spell.” Madeline gave Austin a wink. “I am all yours, Mr. Bond.”

Austin had to meet Henri Feret at ten, and thanks to his alarm clock, he was up by seven-thirty. He would have much preferred to stay in bed, but the man had been nice enough to invited him, and he was determined to go.

Feeling Austin leave the bed started the process of bringing Madeline back to life. She woke up hungry and slipped out of bed to make breakfast. The smell of food brought Austin out of the shower, and soon he was in the kitchen, helping Madeline, who had dressed in the same borrowed shirt she had used the night before.

Austin asked, “So what were you going to tell me about the glamour queen that was at the reception last night?”

“Oh. You mean that woman from Marseille.”

“Yeah, the one in the purple dress.”

“That dress was awful,” Madeline was quick to mention.

“So what’s her deal?”

“She was the least classy of all of the people there. She talks about art, but she doesn’t know anything. I think she just wants to hang around the art community, but it is clear that she is rather uncultured. The rumor is that her husband is a gangster in Marseille and into drugs or something, and most of us think that she is trying to buy respectability and social acceptance by making friends at the Louvre. The only reason that Vassar puts up with her is that she gave him two hundred thousand euros at one of his receptions. And if he does not keep her happy, we all think Vassar might just disappear.