Seize the Night

The cab stopped in front of a nondescript three-story building. He paid the driver, which Remi thought was an unusually gallant gesture until she noticed Merrick was using her credit card. They stepped onto a side street off the Rue de Furstenberg.

Merrick half-escorted, half-dragged her to the door. “I think this is it. My sources tell me this is it,” he said. “And by ‘sources’ I mean the Brite family housekeeper.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I can’t imagine any of the Brite family staying in someplace so normal. Well, normal for Paris, I mean.”

“This has to be it. I paid ten whole dollars for his address.”

“Your sources are cheap dates,” Remi said. She rang the buzzer and dusted off her high school French.

“Bonjour?” came a woman’s voice through the speaker. Woman? At Julien’s house on a Saturday night? Remi hadn’t planned for a girlfriend.

“Bonjour,” Remi said, trying not to be bothered by the elegant voice. “Julien Brite, s’il vous plaît?”

“Your accent is terrible,” the woman answered in English.

Remi laughed. “It’s French by way of a Kentucky high school. Is Julien in?”

“He might be,” the woman said in a clipped tone. She had something of an accent too but neither French nor Kentuckian. “Who are you?”

“I’m an old friend of his. I hope. My name is Remi Montgomery of Arden Farms. And—”

“Come up, please,” the woman said before Remi could even finish her speech.

She looked at Merrick, who smiled at her in return.

“Look at you, Boss,” he said. “You’re famous.”

The door buzzed, and they headed up the stairs to an apartment on the third floor.

Remi knocked and a woman opened the door. She looked about mid-thirties and was clearly of Indian descent, even though her clothes—a boatneck shirt, white scarf and stylish slacks—were pure Parisian chic. And she was beautiful beyond words. So beautiful even Merrick had gone speechless—something of a miracle.

“Oh, holy Parisian shit,” Merrick finally said. So much for speechless.

“Excuse me?” the woman asked.

“You’ll have to forgive Merrick here,” Remi said, slapping Merrick on the back—hard. “You’re beautiful, and he’s a horrible person. Bad combination.”

“Forgiven,” she said. “Salena Kar. I work for Julien. You’re Remi Montgomery?”

“She is,” Merrick said. “And I’m Merrick Feingold. I work for Remi. It’s like destiny, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Salena asked as she waved them into the apartment. Remi noticed Salena was barefoot, so she slipped off her own shoes and set them by the door.

“I work for her. You work for Julien. It’s like we belong together, right?” Merrick asked.

“Are you in love with me?” Salena asked, seemingly nonplussed by Merrick’s enthusiasm.

“Not yet, but give me five or six minutes and I’ll get there.”

Salena nodded gracefully.

“Take your time,” Salena said. She showed them to a living room. While the apartment building had appeared cramped and unremarkable on the outside, inside Remi discovered Julien’s home, while not grand, was the perfect mix of classic and cozy.

“How can we help you, Miss Montgomery?”

“Please call me Remi. I’m sorry for the intrusion. I need to talk to Julien for a few minutes, and then we’ll be gone.”

“I’ll get him for you,” she said. “He’s in his office.”

The woman started to leave the room but paused and turned back around. “He’s mentioned you before,” Salena said. “Lovely to put a face to the reputation.”

“Bad reputation,” Remi said, trying not to blush or wince.

“Quite the opposite,” Salena said. She gave Remi a knowing smile and left the room.

“What do you think she does for Julien?” Merrick whispered after Salena had disappeared through a door.

“I don’t know. She might be his assistant, so she probably does for him what you do for me.”

“Annoy the piss out of you constantly and make you wish you’d never set eyes on me?” Merrick said.

“Among other useful tasks.”

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” Merrick said, sounding surprisingly sincere. “Can I have her?”

“She’s a human being. I can’t buy her for you.”

“If you loved me you would help me,” he said in a desperate whisper, staring at the door Salena had just passed through.

“I don’t love you.”

She started to pat him on the knee but paused mid-pat when Julien Brite stepped into the doorway of the living room.

“I have to say,” Julien began, a crooked smile on his face, “I’m really glad my parents aren’t here right now.”

He looked at her, and Remi felt something catch in her chest at the sight of him leaning in his doorway, his arms crossed, and amusement glimmering in his dark eyes.

“We made sure they weren’t going to be visiting you before we booked the trip,” Remi said. “And hello. Nice to see you again.”

“Really nice to see you again,” Julien said, still smiling. He wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt, no shoes, no socks.

“How have you been, Julien?” Remi asked unable to stop staring at Julien. She hoped he didn’t mind. He hadn’t lost all his teenage lankiness, although his shoulders were certainly broader. His hair had darkened to a deeper shade of red and was longer now and artfully mussed. He looked older, definitely. But more than that, he looked chiseled, as if he had walked ten thousand miles across a desert and the wind and sand had worn his adolescent innocence away.

“I’m not dead,” he said and laughed as if he’d made a joke. “So I’m good. You?”

“Great. Good. Also not dead.”

“You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?” Julien asked.