Starry Nights Read Online Free PDF Page A

because Jenny is one of those people for whom every day, everything is a grand adventure. “I’m starting boarding school here for my last two years of high school, but my French is terrible. Maybe you can tutor me?”
    A flutter of the lashes, a soft hand on my arm, and I was hooked on her for the next six months. I must have been a great teacher too. Her French became so impressive she was able to hit it off in one night with the young French sculptor Christophe, who spoke no English.
    C’est la vie.
    But now there is a new girl, a painted one. I want to know more about her, and I can’t exactly look her up on Facebook. “I need to do some research on a house. An address. I want to see how long it’s been in someone’s family,” I say to Simon.
    â€œAh, thinking of going into the burglary business, are you? Now
that
I’m going to want a piece of.”
    â€œYou want a piece of everything, Simon.”
    â€œSo what’s it for?”
    â€œAn artist I want to check out. Do you still know that hot chick who works at the Société?”
    He speaks in a low voice as we cross the river. “Corinne. Of course. But don’t say that so loudly. I don’t want anyone to know about my geek side, hanging out in archives and whatnot.”
    â€œRight. With hot chicks. So geeky.”
    â€œSo tell me you’ve thought of something incredibly adventuresome I can do with Lucy tonight? She’s bringing Emilie along, so you’re coming too, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
    â€œâ€˜No’? What is that? Oh, right. It’s a word you’re not familiar with. Anyway, I’m going to a party tonight,” I say, then tell Simon about Bonheur and his family’s house full of oddities. Simon nods approvingly.
    â€œI knew I could count on you for this.”
    â€œI have mad skills plotting your social life.”
    We arrive at the Grand Palais, an absolutely massive exhibition hall with a glass vaulted roof. Many steps lead up to an imposing entryway with tall brass doors. A security guard tells us the palace is closing in fifteen minutes, which translates to
go away now.
    â€œFifteen minutes before closing might as well be closed. And it’s a Friday. No one works late here,” I say to Simon.
    â€œDon’t worry. It’s cool,” Simon says and we take the stairs quickly, then head down a long hallway to a room marked SOCIÉTÉ DES ARTISTES. “Corinne loves me because I make her laugh.”
    â€œWhat with your history-geek side and all.”
    Simon introduces me to Corinne, who is packing up. She’s about twenty-one or twenty-two, has short red hair and muted green eyes. She is, as promised, totally hot. Simon explains I need to look up an artist.
    â€œThat’s why everyone is here. To look up an artist,” she says as she jams her phone into a gray purse. She doesn’t look like she’s going to laugh at all.
    â€œCan you give him a few minutes? Pretty please.” He places his palms together plaintively. “Besides, I really wanted your opinion on whether you think it would have made a big difference or a little difference if Jean Valjean had had a smartphone when he was down in the sewers?”
    He bats his eyes, and she laughs instantly. “Little difference,” she declares with a smile. “But you wait right here and I’ll tell you why.”
    Simon dutifully sits on the edge of her desk, and I shoot him a quick thumbs-up. Corinne takes me to the slate cabinets that hold the records for 1894. That’s when Valadon was admitted to art school, that’s when she would have joined the Société as well. Corinne takes out the register, an old heavy book, the kind you’d find in a hotel with a guest list.
    â€œBe careful,” she instructs, and she leaves me alone at a desk with the dusty book. I cough as specks of the years gone by float into my nose. I