Trouble finding Blondie (35 page)

“How about Ms. Texas? Come on, Ashley.”

Ashley picked up some other victims on her way, and pretty soon, not only the dance floor, but the patio was covered as well with everyone doing the steps and counting in harmony.

“Come on, Philippe.”

“Seriously, you couldn’t teach me this rubbish in advance so that I wouldn’t look like a moron?”
“We all look retarded. It’s line dancing. Live a little.”

The DJ announced the rehearsal was over; the music started. Arye was counting down, and everyone started to move on Ashley’s count of five, six, seven, NOW...

Some messed up, some caught up, some just moved. It was so much fun, even the wait stuff got pulled in. Simona grabbed Monsieur Arnaud and danced with him. The kitchen staff ran out and became part of it, too. It would have been a perfect ending to a Bollywood movie.

“Mama, can Mateas sleep over?”
 

“Yes, of course, Francois. You just make sure you give him some new pajamas from the top and a new toothbrush, ok?”

“I’ll take them home, mom,” Arye offered.

“What? No, you don’t have to. I have a driver, and...”
“Mom, I’m toast. I really don’t mind. Let grandma and everyone else enjoy the party.”

“Thanks, Arye. Make sure they brush their teeth.”

“Yes, boss. Mom, nobody can beat you at these things. You really have no competition. I promised myself today that one day I have to beat you...”

“Thanks, honey. Bring it on!” Simona was beaming. Compliments from her children were rare and precious.

She was walking them out, and out of nowhere Andre was grabbing her again.

“I said don’t move. Where are you all going?”

“Good night, Papa. We are going home now.”

“Oh, ok, munchkin. See you tomorrow. Good night.”

Simona was holding onto Andre, walking back to the house, smiling about their little miracle. They entered the giant room.

“Finally! I have been dying to ask you all night.”
 

Simona was sensing that Radka was after something. “Ask me what?”

“About your dress, of course.” Radka was gearing up, getting ready to shoot. Simona loved her straight forwardness, but this was a very interrogative tone. She had weapons. Nobody knew they would be weapons of mass destruction.

“Your dress is Yves Saint Laurent. The one and only. A vintage handmade dress by the man himself for his mistress and muse… Mounia.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but Y.S. Laurent was gay. His partner...”

“Yes, I know, Philippe,” Radka said impatiently. “His name is Pierre Bergé. This was back in the days when he was unknown, starting for Dior.”

“It’s a wedding dress with angel wing sleeves, cut down in an angle, from left to right, from her heart to his. If you look closely, the symbols of innocence are the daisy and dove. They are floating from her heart to her hips and around down to the very pointy edge. But what gives it away are the connecting half hearts. If you step back and look from the side, you will find the two halves, creating a perfect heart shape: the symbol of love. And last, but not least, the zipper pull and the rays of the sun on the left shoulder are real ivory, representing his love for Africa. He was born in Algeria.”

The embroidery was stunning. A harmonic blend of innocence and love, exactly as she was describing. You had to know what to look for though.

“Your knowledge is impressive, Radka,” Simona was scanning the room.
 

The energy was bouncing of the giant high ceilings. The breeze was coming through the French doors from the outside patio. People were standing around the bar, hanging on the sofas. Despite the height, the breeze, and all the surrounding stones, it felt like a pressure cooker. Everyone was holding their breath. It was too late to hope that they were not interested in the story. They were hanging onto every word.
 

Radka continued, “This dress has been recently auctioned for twenty-five thousand dollars. And judging that it fits you like a glove, it has been altered for you. So, clearly, it is not borrowed.”

The silence in the room was giving Radka the encouragement of a very attentive audience, one she was entertaining. She pressed on, “Before you say anything, I have a theory on this.”

“I would love to hear your theory, Radka,” Andre tried to intimidate her, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“We all heard your speech, Andre. We all thought you would go down on your knee and propose. Given the history and the heritage of this dress, I think Simona said that she didn’t need a diamond. She’d rather have the dress and wear it for you. Stephan and I have a bet. I think that you already proposed. With the dress.”

Andre was speechless. He was expecting anything but that. He was ready for some shocking information, except he was being handed a detonator for a bomb. Simona came to the rescue.

“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint all of you and ruin your perfectly thought-out theory, Radka. But there was no proposal, no engagement, and as vintage as it may look, I bought this dress at Neiman Marcus.”

Simona walked outside.

“What is Neiman Marcus?” Radka was disappointed and confused.

Philippe was standing at the bar next to Jada, Simona’s best friend. They exchanged looks as if to say, ‘I got her’ and ‘You clean up!’

Jada walked outside to find Simona on the steps, breathing heavily. She handed her a small bottle of Pellegrino.

“Your snobbish water.”

“Watch yourself. This is Europe. Even garbage men drink Pellegrino here.”

“Well, you must be a closet snob then.”

“Not now, Jada. Not in the mood.”

“I’m just saying. To buy a twenty five thousand dollar dress, a hell of a way to make sure that nobody upstages you at the party.”

“Shut up.”

“Who knew? A chick from Prague, an expert on designer fashion?”

“Seriously? I’m going to flip you over.”

“It was priceless! She was convincing.”

Simona gave Jada stink eye and handed her the Pellegrino bottle.

“Stop drinking. I may need a getaway car soon.”

“Why? The FBI found out, and they are on their way coming for the dress?”

“You are hopeless.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To fire some steam off.”

“It’s blow some steam off, moron.”

“Blow me!” Simona was walking down the steps with her middle finger high up in the air.

Jada walked back to the bar, looking at Philippe.

“What did I miss?”

“Still going, just listen.”

“You all thought I would propose?” Andre asked.
 

“I did.”
 

“Me too.”
 

“Me three,” the voices were coming from everywhere.

“Did I miss something?”

“Yes, Andre, you missed a perfect opportunity. It was maybe one in a million, but I think she would have said yes,” Adam spoke for the first time. All eyes were on him. He walked out, not even waiting for Andre’s answer. Andre was still in shock from the whole thing as he walked to the bar. When he saw Philippe, his frustration turned into fury.

“What was the name of the muse?”

“What do you mean?” Philippe asked.

“Yves Saint Laurent’s. Is Simona your muse?”

“What are you saying?”

“Did you buy that dress?”

“No, and she sure as hell didn’t either. I would love to know who did.”

Radka walked to the bar, still shaken. Her perfectly executed theory was wasted, but she was still convinced of the authenticity of the dress. She asked for a glass of wine. “Well, if you didn’t buy that dress, someone else did. Someone expressed appreciation for the labor of love. And that someone knows her worth. If I were you, I would be worried.”

Andre and Philippe looked at each other; they both wanted to strangle Radka right there and then.

20

"FRANKLY, MY DEAR, I DON'T GIVE A DAMN!"

SIMONA WALKED DOWN towards the table, straight to Monique.

“Are the girls gone?”

“Yes, Anton just took them all. Ms. Cecilia offered to keep an eye on them.”

“That’s great. Moni, do you trust me?”

“Hmm? What do you mean? Of course I trust you.”

“Like really trust me? Like trust me with your husband kind?”

“Yeeees, I guess...”

Simona kissed Monique, grabbed Adam, and walked to the dance floor.

“Adam, will you dance with me?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No, it’s not. I mean dance dance with me… Like your brother is not my partner. Like you don’t have a lovely wife. Like you want to make love to me.”

“Like touching this labor of love, the whole twenty-five thousand of it?”
“Exactly. Stay away from my breasts and my ass. We don’t need an Italian wedding tonight.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Look at me. It’s just you and me. Make me believe it. Make me wanna kiss you. Let me be your muse Mounia. Take me to the promised land. I’ll follow you.”

Simona was smiling, trying to put Adam at ease.

Adam started to sweat just from the nerves. But it was now or never. His jacket was off. He was rolling up his sleeves, smiling at Simona seductively. His eyes focused on her like a lion on its prey. They were moving from salsa, mambo, merengue, to cha cha and pasodoble. The energy was electric, and they really lost themselves in each other. Adam was much taller, but their legs were the same length. It was easy for Adam to hold Simona in the core position. They were evenly balanced. As dance partners, they were a flawless match.

Philippe, Andre, and Jada were standing at the end of the bar, overlooking the dance floor, speechless.

“That’s your brother?” Philippe asked.

“It looks like him,” Andre was staring at his younger brother as if he had never seen him before.

“Maybe he bought her the dress,” Jada said.

“He doesn’t have the money. What the fuck are you saying? Are you crazy? Why would he do such a thing?”

To add fuel to the fire, Philippe just pointed out that ‘seducere’ is a latin word.

Simona was leaning on Adam’s arm, one of her legs wrapped around him. Adam’s hand was moving up her thigh, caressing her curve up to her face. That was enough for Andre...

They were in the middle of slow, sensual rumba when Zatopek senior and his wife Daniella interrupted the dancing pair, preventing a disaster.

“May I have this dance?” It wasn’t really a question. Josef Zatopek had been in the military all his life, and he didn’t have a question type of tone in his repertoire.

Simona and Adam were drenched in sweat, breathing hard, and connected by a magic moment. Neither was going to waste it. They took a moment for themselves, spoke in whisper, in English.

“Thank you, Adam. All I want right now is to kiss you. You made a believer out of me.”

“Simona, I will never forget this. I’ll take this to my grave.”

“You and the twenty something staring at us.”

“As far as I’m concerned, I was here alone with you.”

Simona gave him a hug, kissed him on both cheeks, and turned to Mr. Zatopek.

He was a great dancer, but his wife Daniella was the one who used to compete. She was by far the best out of all of them.

“That was quite a show,” Josef said.

“Before you say anything else, I had a permission from Monique.”

“Did he have one from Andre?”
 

“It was my idea. I’ll take full responsibility for the consequences.”

“You are something, alright.”

“I thought you didn’t really like me.”

“You might be growing on me.”

“Ha. Fair enough.”

Adam and his father were walking up to the bar to get a drink when Anton walked in. He sensed the tension and wanted to find out what he missed.

“What happened?”

“Ask Don Juan over here,” Andre said.
 

Adam ignored Andre’s agitated comment, especially because his father was holding his hand. Margaret was waving at Anton as if her bladder was going to burst. She couldn’t wait to tell him what happened. Anton ignored her, trying to get information out of Andre.

“Are we playing Jeopardy here? Or are you going to spill it?”

“Listen, your news reporter over there is going to explode pretty soon. You better go,” Andre motioned to Margaret.

Simona came up to the bar, walking right by all the Zatopeks and Philippe. She leaned over to the bartender, and he pulled a bottle out of ice. He poured her a shot glass.

“Becherovka. Nice. Upset stomach?”

“Something like that. Would you like one, Josef?”

“You know what? Let me have one. It’s basically herbal medicine. It’s not even a shot.”

Philippe and Andre exchanged worried looks and watched the dynamic duo. Mr. Zatopek having shots with Simona. She never did the throw back motion. She would only sip on it. They toasted, and the throw back motion followed. Simona smiled, thanked the bartender, then Josef, and walked out.