Chapter 11

Paris, France

Present Day

The walkway under the Eifel Tower had been brightly lit, the struts of the magnificent structure decorated with strings of lights, bright sways of cloth and thousands of helium balloons. A grandstand had been erected near the northern struts, a band shell in keeping with the time period on which Miss Dumont had decided. The waiters and waitresses passing out champagne, taking drink orders and serving hors d'oeuvres were wearing black and white period outfits as well, transforming the historic spot into its 1947 counterpart.

Every guest had been urged to dress appropriately. Those guests in the military were invited to come in historic uniforms; others were asked to wear formal attire from the period. Even the sound equipment, and the microphone in the gloved hand of the band singer, was appropriate to the time.

As Helen handed their tickets to security and walked with Will around the thick bushes that hid the soiree she couldn't stop the gasp. It was remarkable, the detail and work that had gone into a simple theme for a ball.

The gown she wore was one of her own. A salmon color that was lighter on top than it was on the bottom. The bodice was satin and loose, two panels of fabric that narrowed at her shoulders, widened, then narrowed again to meet the intricately beaded hexagon at her waist. The skirt was comprised of layers of thin fabric, long enough to drag on the ground that flared a little as she walked. Her dark brown hair was partially piled on top of her head in tight curls, the rest left to fall against her mostly bare shoulders.

She had dressed and prepared her hair and makeup herself, getting lost in the memories.

At her insistence, Will wore a uniform. Formal, American Airborne. Though she had only seen his grandfather briefly, Helen imagined that Will was the exact image of the late Capt. Jack Zimmerman. The dark greenish tan fit him well, and she had enjoyed watching him attempt to tame his hair into the slicked-down look once popular.

They blended into the crowd quickly, snagging tall flutes of champagne. Neither said a word but both were looking for one man. The vampire they had traveled over 4,000 miles to find. Before they could find him however the band finished the tune it had been playing. The singer bowed politely relinquishing the mike to a tuxedoed gentleman who thanked her, thanked the band and asked for their attention.

All of this was done in French and Helen checked with Will as the man spoke to make sure that he understood.

The man cracked a joke about aging, reminded them that the event they were celebrating was the birthday of a seventy year old that hardly looked a day over fifty-five, and to thunderous applause introduced, "…Miss Elise Bronstien-Dumont!"

Helen and Will joined in the applause as she walked onto the stage. She looked younger than fifty-five, Helen thought, oddly mildly jealous. Her short hair had been coifed back and up, the gown she wore looked very much like something Ginger Rogers would've danced in. Elise gave her hand to the man who introduced her, thanked him with a curtsy and turned to the microphone.

Brown eyes danced across the crowd of people before she stepped forward and put a gloved hand to the stand.

"In 1947 I was nine years old. I had been in Paris with Marga Dumont, my adoptive mother, for almost four years. Most of that time we had been here in secret but I was already in love with the city. My mother would take me out some mornings for a little exercise and we would come here, to this very spot. I would stand there in the middle…" She said pointing to the center of what would soon be the dance floor.

Standing at the back Helen could see the spot without having to turn and she looked at it, imagining a nine-year-old Elise there in pig tails and saddle shoes. A moment later she felt a jolt of electricity when she recognized the back of the head she had been staring at.

"…look up at the complex construction of this magnificent sculpture, and spin." Elise giggled at the memory of herself.

"I would spin and spin until I was dizzy and wonder…if the world was constantly turning how was it that the Eifel Tower never got dizzy?" She paused as her audience chuckled.

"One morning my mother called me, 'Bijou!' She said, 'Why do you like the tower so much?'"

Elise paused, her smile small and coquettish and moving at the same time.

"I told her, 'I want to know what it is to stand tall, and proud and never be moved.' My adoptive mother was an amazing woman. And when I was old enough she also told me about my true mother. About the sacrifice that she, a Jewess, was forced to make to save my life. We often talked about the men that brought me to her, sacrificing their freedoms, and some of them…" She paused again, her face tightening only slightly before she continued. "Many of them, losing their lives. Some of them had families. And when I realized that there were other children out there, who were lost without parents to love them, or someone to save them, I decided that I would help them."

There was a crash of applause that Elise neither reacted to nor ignored. She stopped speaking as though she knew it would happen and waited for it to die. "I ask that you give all you can tonight. Our recent wars, and worse, the attacks of terrorists have ripped children from their parents so suddenly that we cannot hope to save them without your help. The price you paid for your ticket was your first donation. I hope you are able to give even more. Thank you." There was more applause and Elise smiled and nodded her head in acceptance before she walked off the stage.

As the applause died and the band began to play again Helen grabbed Will's arm and pointed at the crowd. As they spread apart, Tesla easily stood out. He stood almost fifty feet away but Helen could see that he had his hair slicked back instead of radiating from his head as usual. The tuxedo he wore fit his frame, the jacket short in front and narrowing to tails in the back. She could see that he had on a bowtie as he turned, searching the crowd, indecisive and nervous.

She knew exactly how he felt. She felt it too. A moment later she knew she had been seen. Tesla's eyes came to rest on her and she wished desperately that she could have recorded the moment, and the look of astonishment on his face. She smiled despite herself and blushed.

Tesla's head tilted to the side, an amused smile on his lips, as if to say, 'You figured it out." Helen shrugged and nodded, glanced toward Will to find him staring at her like he thought she was insane, then looked back to Tesla who was now laughing at her. She glared and he sobered then looked back to the base of the bandstand where Elise stood accepting birthday wishes from a handful of guests.

Helen watched her as well then looked back to Tesla. The smile had disappeared and he was unsure again. Helen took a deep breath and after a moment she nodded.

Tesla swallowed, rather theatrically, and then straightened his jacket against his shoulders, something he always did when he was preparing to do something that scared the hell out of him. Beside her, Will shifted.

"Wha-..is he gonna?"

"Yes, he is." Helen said with a soft smile watching was Nikola crossed the floor. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod to the band director before he stopped behind a large woman who was exuberantly patting Elise on the shoulder.

Helen watched, desperately wishing she could be there, but she consoled herself. She wasn't going to leave Paris without Nikola on her private plane and she would get a thorough explanation out of the Serbian.

The band ended their first song, then began another. The first strains of "Only Forever" came from the brass section as Nikola, feeling every part of his 154-year-old body start to fall apart, stepped toward Bijou. Grown up, Bijou. Still alive, not dead and perished and gone, but successful, loved, talented and very much alive, Bijou.

He didn't think she would remember him but he bowed slightly and kissed her gloved hand. He didn't know what to say to her but he wished her a happy birthday in hesitant and rusty French. He was about to tell her how lovely she looked when she stepped forward and threw her arms around him, dragging him into a hug that cracked his spine, stole his breath and reawakened a part of his soul he had forgotten he still had.

"I knew it was true. I remembered what they said about you. Dane, he told me, even as you lay there that you weren't really dead." She whispered, and Tesla could feel tears again, against his neck.

She released him, pulling back, grinning broadly even as she continued to cry. "It's alright that you never came back. It is!" She insisted, raising a hand and cupping it against the speechless man's jaw. "When I grew up I thought it was foolish to believe in such things as…such people as you…I was good with the camera, and I loved the stage. Those were things you gave me and it was enough." She smiled and laughed and kissed his cheek, then rubbed at the lipstick stain.

"When I submitted that photo, for the book, a part of me thought…'if he is alive, maybe he will see this, maybe he'll know'. "

Already there was a long line of people, all waiting to greet the birthday girl. The song the band was playing was slowly coming to an end, but the band leader turned them around at the coda, focused on Elise and the drama unfolding below where he stood.

Elise looked to the line, then back to Nikola, laughing again. This would be a brief encounter between them and they both knew it. "Now that you know my name, there's one thing I want to know." She said, taking his hands in hers. "You aren't Heinrich Wietzel, are you?" She asked.

Nikola shook his head, squeezed her hands and pulled her back into a hug. She laughed squeezing him tightly. "I hoped not. What a stupid name." She said.

When she pulled away she grinned at him, accepting the handkerchief he offered her. There was a silent promise between them that they would meet again, then Nikola turned away, strangely satisfied. The band leader finally ended the song and started another. A slow waltz.

A woman clad gloriously in pink stood waiting for him only a short distance away and as always he found he couldn't resist her.

Quietly they moved together, his arm around her waist; her hand perched on his shoulder, their faces close together until she laid her head against his neck. He closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him as they moved slowly to the beat, and felt Helen sigh.

And they danced.

I will admit to having way too much fun writing this.

I am a librarian and I came across a book on the Holocaust called "Beyond Courage". Flipping through I was astounded when I noticed the picture that I used as my book cover. Spitting image of J-Yo, thought I, and a germ of an idea started to grow in my head.

In doing my slap-dash research I discovered a list of Special Operations missions that occured in Belgium. One of them was named Badger, was sent in connection with another mission called Griffon, and supposedly ended unsuccessfully. The simple note says, "Agent deemed irresponsible".

From then on I took a ton of liberties.

I greatly appreciate my readers and reviewers, especially those not from the US who have put up with my horrible attempts at writing French.

Gunney