Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page A

you?”
    Mon cher?
Is that what she called him? I don’t remember much of my high school French, but I know enough to worry. Her darling?
    Oy.

3
THE PAST IS PRESENT
    I am aware of a number of things in a nanosecond. Jack’s face is the color of overcooked beets. His arms dangle stiffly at his sides. The redhead is smiling broadly. And looking him up and down like he’s some luscious chunk of Brie ready to be devoured. Wow! Even I’m blushing. Jack’s redhead is wearing a rather low-cut pale cream silk blouse and skirt with a waist small enough to anger every woman over size five in the crowd. And gasp, with matching stiletto heels! I am guessing she’s about forty, but she looks thirty and is probably fifty. I am also guessing Jack somehow found out this woman was here at this fair and that’s why he was rushing to get out. To avoid what is happening now.
    A mob is forming, with much grinning, muchwhispering. Cameras and cell phones are snapping merrily away. To end up somewhere on YouTube, something I’ve heard about but never seen. Our little happening is being turned into a media event.
    There is another redhead in the group who looks very much like the famous author, only younger, probably a relative. She whispers in the woman’s ear. The woman whispers something back and the younger one smiles knowingly.
    Knowing what, I’m afraid to guess, but I sure can imagine.
    I see Sophie and Bella get off at the lobby level and immediately ride the escalator back up. They can’t take their eyes off Jack and the woman. And neither can I.
    I also notice Jack is frozen, unable to either speak or look at me. I move closer to him. The redhead reads me correctly. I lift his seemingly paralyzed arm and put it through mine. We are together, this movement announces.
    She smiles at me, looks down at my ring finger.
    “The
fiancée?”
she asks with a voice like velvet.
    As a matter of fact, once again, officially as of last night. “Yes,” I manage to whisper. When is Jack going to say something?
    “It was eight years ago when Jacques and I met in Paris,” she informs me and about fifty or so others eagerly standing around. There is a long groupsigh. I wonder how many of the wannabe romance writers out there are taking notes.
    The redhead gestures lavishly. “How do you call it
en anglais?
A romance of the summer?”
    More moans from the onlookers.
    I’ve had it. I nudge Jack to say something.
    He looks toward me but he is staring blindly at some point over my head. “Gladdy, this is Michelle, I mean, Michelle duBois.” His voice is a croak. You know, the way adolescent boys sound when they first get those raging hormones.
    “Michelle, Gladdy Gold … ”
    I manage a polite nod.
    Now Sophie pokes Jack and says, “And her very closest friends, Sophie and Bella.” The girls preen. They are having the time of their lives. I am having a reflux choking up of the throat.
    Michelle inclines her head toward the woman next to her. “My niece, Colette Marie.”
    Colette adds, “Named after the famous writer.”
    Michelle smiles. “She is also my assistant, my PR person, and—how you say—my Jill of all trades.” The younger woman bows politely. “Come away to someplace more
privé,”
Michelle suggests, motioning to us.
    Without waiting for me to agree, she strolls away from the crowd to the nearest room, expecting us to follow. And we do. This woman is used to having her way.
    There is another collective sigh, now that the French farce is over, and the onlookers disperse to continue on their merry way.
    Michelle uses a key card to open a door marked VIP Lounge. Empty. And now we are inside. Colette immediately gives Michelle a water bottle from her large bulging carryall.
    The girls quickly sit together on a floral love seat, their eyes like saucers.
    Jack finally manages to come to himself. “Michelle, it’s very good to see you again.”
    “And for me, too. I hoped we might meet, but this city is rather