Chapter 7
Mewsette curly hair was pulled back in a French braid and her cheeks were flushed from the cool night air. As she wanted at the tiny table, she shifted in her seat uncomfortably and played with her white dress straps. It was already 8:00 and the director had still not arrived.
"Wine?" said a voice suddenly. Mewsette glanced up at the waiter surprised. She spoke in perfect French.
"No, Monsieur. I am not legal yet," she laughed. The waiter looked slightly embarrassed and walked away.
She sighed. She was always being mistaking for being older than she actually was but wasn't surprised. She stood at 5'10 and had a lovely slender figure. She had molded in Italy for awhile before she discovered her true passion which was singing.
She was happy to have been blessed with such impressive and beautiful vocals that came easy with little training. Though she was born in Italy, she was a hundred percent French but strangely tall.
"Mewsette?" said her director. She smiled, stood up, and held out her hand. He took it to his lips and kissed it.
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting; I got caught up at the Opera. We have been having difficulties with Tony and his mask. No matter what we try his damn mask won't stay on. You look absolutely breath taking by the way," He added quickly. Mewsette brought her hand to her mouth and laughed softly. The director looked pleased with her reaction.
"Excuse me. I know this is slightly rude but I not sure you told me your name. In fact, I don't think I know anything about you," she said suddenly. The director raised his eyebrow.
"Well, for starters, my name is Kurt. I am twenty two years old and was born and raised in England," said Kurt. Mewsette clapped her hands together excitedly.
"England? What is it like?" she squeaked. He looked slightly amused with her reaction once again.
"You are interested in England? I thought the common stereotype was the French hate British," he implied. Mewsette shook her head so that her soft brown ringlets whipped against her pale cheeks.
"The French hate everyone and plus excellent things come from Britain, such as Andrew Lloyd Webber," she pointed out. Kurt smirked at her excitement and bizarre obsession with music.
He sighed and then told her everything she needed to know about America. What the environment was like, what the people were like, and how they functioned. It was a marvelous evening.
When they finally finished their food, Mewsette thanked him for fabulous dinner and walked out to her bike. Kurt raised his eyebrow.
"Mewsette you rode your bike all the way out here," he laughed. Mewsette shrugged her shoulders and Kurt's heart fluttered.
How beautiful she looked in the moonlight with her rich brown hair blowing gracefully in the wind. He thought to himself. What a natural beauty she was so pale, young, and proud and blessed with a voice that made angels weep. He would ask her out again tomorrow night.
Mewsette stood up on her bike straightening out her flowing skirt. He watched her intently.
"Will you join me for lunch during rehearsel tomorrow," he asked shyly. She stopped messing with her skirt and looked up surprised.
"Sure," she replied wiping her wavy hair from her face. He smiled and leaned in towards her. Her eye opened wide and she pulled away.
"Good bye," she said quickly. With that she kicked hard off the ground and rode off towards the moonlight. She suddenly remembered something. She had left her book at the Opera House. She turned left down the street.
I guess one quick stop wouldn't hurt, Mewsette thought.
