Home » The Archives » Chapter 12 » Playing with Fire
| Re: Playing with Fire [message #479 is a reply to message #478] |
Mon, 23 July 2012 21:12   |
artisticrainey
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Registered: July 2012
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Wednesday, October 17, 2068, 9:15 p.m., Paris, France (8 a.m., Thursday, October 18, Tracy Island)
"So, what do you do?" Dez leaned forward, a finger making a slow circuit of her wineglass's edge. She smiled, a sultry look, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed across the table at her companion.
Virgil took in a breath, and let it out in a short huff. Dez was wearing a different designer number, one that showed off her natural endowments to best advantage. He was finding it hard to focus on conversation with her sitting there, long shapely legs visible if he moved his head one way, cleavage on display, some alluring scent wafting across to tickle his nose. She was bothering him in a way that only one other person had come close to recently, and it had been so long...
"What do I do?" He shifted in his seat a little. "I'm a designer."
"Oh? And what do you design?" She took a sip of wine, her full red lips leaving a slight lipstick mark on the glass.
A peculiar thought suddenly occurred to him: Lady Penelope never left such stains on her china cups - or anything else for that matter. I'll have to ask her how she does that. He turned his thoughts to answering her question and came up with the standard deflection that he and his father had decided upon. "Oh, small things, engine parts, gadgets... nothing big or impressive." He took a sip of wine and asked, "And you? What do you do?"
"Oh, nothing special. Just living on my well-invested inheritance." She gave him a speculative look. "You know, I had a friend look into your background, Virgil." With a smug tone to her voice, she added, "A girl can't be too careful these days." She leaned back and took a sip of wine. "He seemed to think you were into the posh life, living off your Daddy's money. Look at you," she waved a hand in his direction, "dressing so dapper. No one would ever think you're a mere designer."
He turned his wineglass around, watching the base for a bit as she spoke, then drained what little was left in the glass. Pouring himself another half portion, he thought about his answer. Finally he said, sounding lazy, "As appealing as living off my father's wealth is, I do like to use my very expensive degree from time to time. It exercises my mind, and keeps me from becoming a total recluse."
"Ah, I understand now." Dez drained her own glass, and Virgil lifted the bottle as if to ask, "More?" She nodded, and nudged her stemware in his direction. He filled it to the top with wine, set the bottle back down, and set the glass before her again. She inclined her head in a silent "thank you" and sipped the wine again. "What brings you to Paris?"
"A gift from my father, actually, for my birthday. I get to be a tourist for a change, instead of coming here on business." The truth wasn't going to hurt, he figured, and was much easier to say than a lie. "And you?"
"I needed some new frocks, and came to see what some of my favorite designers had to offer." It was the truth on her part as well.
"Hm." He brightened. "A friend of mine from England buys from François Lemaire. Do you like his designs?"
Desdemona made a face. "Oh, dear God. No. François... I cannot describe what I think of his frocks." She shuddered. "I would not be caught dead in what he produces."
Now Virgil felt a little affronted -- he'd always thought that Lady Penelope had excellent taste. "Well, my friend seems to like his collections, and the ensembles she's purchased from him look very good on her."
"Then she must have..." Dez bit down on the word, "execrable" and changed it to, "... very different tastes than I do." She cocked her head to one side. "Who is your friend? Perhaps I know her..."
Before Virgil could say anything, a waiter hurrying by their table was bumped by someone trying to pass him on the other side. The waiter's tray tipped, and though his quick grab kept most of his cargo intact, one bottle of beer fell smack onto their table, smashing, upsetting their both wine bottle and glasses.
Dez shrieked, as the red liquid splattered her dress, and the beer followed, pouring into her lap before she could jump up. Virgil didn't escape unscathed either. He sprang away quickly, but was also doused with wine and beer before he could move. The mortified waiter began apologizing, and both the manager and a second waiter came to try and help them clean up.
Virgil watched Dez's face flush red, and was taken aback when she started to scream at the hapless waiter.
"You idiot! Why didn't you watch where you were going?! Look at my frock; it's ruined! No, don't try to mop me up! The hotel's management will hear about this!" She went on and on, her ranting punctuated from time to time with expletives in both English and French.
The manager added his apologies to the waiter's, trying to calm Dez down, telling them both that the bottle of wine they'd shared was no charge. Finally, Virgil stepped in.
"Dez, it was an accident, okay? Screaming isn't going to change what's happened. Why don't you go up to your room to clean up and change?" He reached out to take her elbow and guide her from the bar.
Desdemona gave him an angry look, whipping her elbow from his grasp. "I can manage by myself, thank you very much!" With a huffed out, "Hmph!" she stalked out, the gazes of the bar's other denizens watching her leave.
Virgil glanced at the table, and something on the floor beside Dez's chair caught his eye. He leaned over to pick it up. "Dez! Wait! You forgot....!" The door to the bar closed before he could finish his sentence.
"I'll get it to her," he told the manager, who had offered him a dry cloth to wipe the beer and wine from the bag's surface. Once it was dry, he accepted the manager's fervent apologies and left the bar. Behind him, a man with dark curly hair smiled and opened his phone.
"Agent 29 to Pink Lady..."
"I guess I'd better find out what room she's in," Virgil muttered as he crossed the lobby, heading for the elevators. He sighed, and fumbled with the catch on her handbag. There wasn't much inside; a key card, a lipstick, compact, small brush, and a credit card. This last caught his eye. He was familiar with the card type; it was black and meant for people with vast fortunes. He had one himself in his wallet. But the name, emblazoned there in gold, next to her holographic photo was not the name she had given him that afternoon.
"Desdemona Hightower."
He stopped in his tracks. Damn! Now it all fits together. I'm sure she knew exactly who I was when she "ran across" me at the Louvre. But what did she want of me? Some way to get into Tracy Industries? Put me in a position for blackmail? He looked at the card for a moment. I can't give her any opportunity to sink her claws into me. I'll have to avoid her for the rest of the week.
His mind made up, he removed the key card and snapped the handbag shut. He approached the front desk and spoke to the concierge. "Please see that the lady in this room gets this handbag."
"Of course, monsieur." The man behind the desk looked him up and down. "Were you perhaps part of the accident in the bar?"
"Yes, I was. I gather the lady has already spoken to you?"
The concierge's pleasant smile faded. "She has. Tell me what room you are in, monsieur, and I will arrange for your clothing to be cleaned -- at our expense."
Virgil smiled, and gave the man the information he'd asked for. Then, satisfied that he'd done the right thing, he headed for the elevators. Once ensconced in an empty car, he leaned against the wall. The smell of wine and beer became more noticeable in the close confines and he made a face. "Need a shower when I get to my suite."
Once in his suite, he stripped, and took care of showering first, calling to the front desk to have the suit and shirt picked up. Then he padded into his bedroom, and sat down heavily on the bed. He ran a hand through his still damp hair, and thought of his near miss with Desdemona. She's beautiful, but... The image of another blonde, smiling, dressed in red, came to mind and he checked his watch. Nine a.m. there. A good time to call.
He decided to use his satellite phone, and speed-dialed a number he'd added to his contacts before he left. It seemed to take forever to connect, but finally a familiar voice sounded in his ear.
"Hello, Virgil? It's good to hear from you! How's Paris?"
He smiled wearily. "Hi there, Elise. It's good to hear your voice, too. Paris is wonderful, but God, I miss you."
Posted by Tikatu on March 30, 2008
  
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