The Eiffel Tower scenes, the most challenging logistically because of the crowds of tourists, were scheduled to be shot on late Saturday afternoon, giving everyone except the tech and location crews an opportunity to entertain themselves on Friday without having to worry about an early call. Bob was seized by a fit of generosity, and gave Genie and Bonnie the night off. Genie would have to report to the location with wardrobe at 1pm, but Angie was made responsible only for transporting the cast to location and making sure they got into wardrobe and makeup in time to hit their yet-to-be-determined marks.

"So lads, what's the plan tonight?" Genie asked brightly when she and Pam found Peter and Micky lounging in the elegantly furnished lobby.

"Jaclyn and Michelle are gonna show us around a little, maybe do a club or two," Peter volunteered.

At that moment Bonnie showed up, fortified by the coffee and croissants that room service had delivered unbidden (by her, anyway) half an hour before. Though she heard Peter she didn't comment. Her face must have revealed her doubts, though, because Micky spoke up.

"Don't worry Bonnie, everyone's virtue is safe. Any fool knows you don't love 'em and leave 'em on the front end of the shoot. Much too messy."

She knew he was kidding… really, she knew that, almost, but couldn't keep from saying, "I hope you mean that. We don't need to deal with that kind of crap for the whole week. And Pam here…"

"Will be twenty years old in three months," Pam reminded her. "Don't worry, I'll let you read my copy before it goes to press." She smiled at Peter and Micky, "Besides, these guys are gonna pay my way tonight, aren't you?"

"Great, now we're paying protection money to a fan magazine reporter," Micky grumbled. "What kind of operation do you really work for, sweetheart?"

Bonnie interjected with an exaggerated shake of her finger, "Yeah well it won't get too expensive if you mind your manners."

Micky dropped his head back and sighed. "Yes mother," then directed to Pam in a stage whisper, "Fink."

"Seriously, Bonnie," Peter added, "we were just gonna ask Genie and Pam to come with us. It's just a night out. Besides," he added mischievously, "we haven't decided yet which one we really want off the set. We might swap."

As Genie laughed, Bonnie leaned over to swat Peter on the back of the head.

"Ow! I thought that was Micky's thing!"

"Contract amendment," she informed him, then warned a grinning Micky, "Your clause still stands, by the way."

"Yeah, well I'm saving up for a helmet," he muttered. "Isn't it time for Mike to take you out and sweeten you up?"

Bonnie looked at all of them in faux-outrage. "So this is a conspiracy, huh?"

"Nah," said Micky, "but why not reap some benefits?"

"Smart, I admire that." She looked around the lobby for a minute. "Hey, where's David?"

"Off doing things nobody could afford to pay protection for," Genie winked, and this time everybody nodded and smiled knowingly.

"I don't think Sixteen would publish it even if I covered it," Pam laughed.

"Okay, okay, I get it… all mama-talk stops now," Bonnie promised them all. "I know you're all cool, the job just gets a death grip on me, y'know?"

"Oh we are hip to that," Micky agreed, then stood and patted Bonnie's head in a gentle parody of her habitual smacks. "It's cool, Bon-Bon. You're hip to that."

"Bon-bon" was Micky's nickname for Bonnie when he wanted her to take him seriously. He didn't use it all that often but when he did, she paid attention.

"Yeah, I'm hip to that, Mick. Okay guys, I'm a little early for my 'sweeten up' appointment," she winked at Micky, "I'm gonna check out the street, I'll be back in a bit."

Bonnie wandered through the lobby of the hotel, greeting the friendly doorman, Louis, as she passed on her way outside. It was a beautiful late spring evening, not quite twilight. People were out wandering the sidewalks, stopping at cafés or searching out the galleries and jazz clubs of the famous Rive Gauche. She could see it was going to be a clear night, with stars dimly visible through the wash of Paris lights.

"Pardon, je cherche Bonnie Morris, c'est vous?"

Still staring at the street scene before her, Bonnie replied distractedly "Oui, c'est moi, qu'est-ce que…"

"Bitch!" the other spat, in what Bonnie realized was a very odd accent for a Frenchwoman speaking English. By the time she looked the other woman in the eye, it was too late.

SMACK!

Completely unexpected, the forehand blow knocked Bonnie flat on her ass. Her head bounced back and rebounded off the iron railing that divided the hotel's section of sidewalk from the neighboring sidewalk café.

"Wha…" she began, then the woman was on the ground with her, wildly swinging slaps and attempted punches. Bonnie knew how to fight back, but the bang to her head had dazed her, so she was reduced to trying to dodge and shove the woman away. Insults and obscenities in the odd sounding English rained down along with the blows.

Louis the doorman heard the commotion and burst outside to find out what was happening. This wasn't the sort of neighborhood where street fighting occurred.

Louis attempted to pull the attacker off of Bonnie, but was unable to get a grip because she was thrashing so wildly. He and the woman shouted at one another in French, broken when the woman spewed more abuse at Bonnie in English.

By now Micky and Peter had raced out the door. Shouldering the doorman aside, Micky seized the woman by the back of her dress and hauled her off of Bonnie. She regained her balance easily, even on stiletto heels, and attempted to break away, still shrieking in mixed French and English. Micky held her off none too gently, fist cocked and ready.

"If you think I won't hit a woman, just try me." He glanced over his shoulder at Louis, then at Bonnie, who was still sitting on the sidewalk looking out of it. Micky turned back to the brunette and demanded, "You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

Unwilling to explain to Micky, the woman turned to Louis, who now seemed to recognize her (from a different neighborhood, of course). Micky kept a hard grip on her as she and Louis conversed rapidly in French. Peter had been handed several linen napkins by a waiter at the café next door and knelt next to Bonnie, tipping her head back to stop her nosebleed.

"What happened?" he asked her, more quietly than Micky had, but she just shook her head. Things were still a little whirly but were slowing down.

"This woman is a common racoleuse… a prostitute, she claims to have been denied work by Mademoiselle Morris," Louis announced.

Bonnie tried to get up, but Peter was holding her down. She asked, "What? Wait a minute," she pushed Peter away and struggled to her feet. "Ask her who she works for." She couldn't quite conjure her French at the moment.

After a brief exchange, during which Micky kept himself between the woman and Bonnie, Louis explained, "She works for Madame Janelle Duvalier."

The brunette leaned around Louis, keeping one eye on Micky, and added, "Son cousin Henri… her cousin Henri, in America, he arranges us with visitors. He promised Madame that we would be well paid to be with musicians this week. And after… rien. You, Bonnie Morris, said no, said it was a mistake. So now we have no rich American musicians."

"So Henri, he works with his cousin?" Bonnie asked. The woman looked confused, so she repeated in French, "Sont-ils des partenaires?"

"Oui. Henri, he works for a rich American television producer who knows many visitors. Your television film is working here, so he arranged for us to work. But you," she made a halfhearted lunge at Bonnie, stopping when Micky's hand began to clench again. "Vous a tout gâché!"

By then two gendarmes had arrived, having been summoned by the café manager.

They had heard Bonnie speaking French, so one of the officers (who also recognized the brunette as a prostitute) inquired, "Voulez-vous de porter des accusations?"

"Hell yes I wanna press charges! This crazy whore jumped me!" She gave her local contact information to the other officer, along with the contact in the states for Raybert's legal department, in case they were needed. She'd been attacked for doing her job, after all. Business done, the woman was taken away.

Micky spoke first. "Jesus, what a mess, you okay?"

He and Peter both tried to examine Bonnie's face at the same time.

"Shit, gimme some air, will you?" she snapped, then stopped herself. "I'm sorry, guys. Thanks Mick, I promise I won't tell PR that you threatened to punch out a girl."

Micky looked in the direction of the departing police car and replied, "That was no girl, Bon-Bon, that was a bitch from hell. C'mon let's go back inside and find some ice. Your lip's looking a little funky."

They promptly ran into Mike, who stopped dead in the center of the lobby when he saw Bonnie shuffling in, nose bloodstained and lip fattening, flanked by Micky and Peter.

"Bob said you were waiting outside… what the fuck is going on?"

"Popular question," Bonnie answered, then her eyes narrowed. "Where's Bob?"

"In the bar, but…"

Bonnie, now clutching the bloody napkin to her face, marched toward the bar, leaving Micky, Peter, and a very confused Mike standing in the lobby.

The three guys were joined by Genie and Pam, who had watched the scene in disbelief through the lobby windows.

"Well?" Mike demanded.

It didn't take long to tell him what happened. By the time they'd finished, Mike had murder in his eye.

"Fucking Bob and his bright ideas." He headed off in the same direction Bonnie had taken, but Peter and Micky held him back.

"Let her handle it, man," Peter told him, "she doesn't need you to help."

"You mean she doesn't need me to fuck things up, don't you?" he glowered.

"He means, she's a big girl," Genie added. "Besides, odds are right now whatever you have to say won't come close to what she'll be laying on him."

Bonnie strode up to the bar where Bob and Chip sat with Don, who had flown in at the last minute to advise on the music tracks. Ignoring the other two, she announced, "Bob, we gotta talk."

The trio turned from their drinks, and three pairs of eyebrows rose.

"Mike work out his temper on you?" Kirshner asked (unwisely), then leaned back as Bonnie lowered her napkins and stepped up to him.

"I will punch you right off that barstool." He returned to his scotch.

Then she turned to Bob. "I just had a visit from an employee of your driver Henri's 'talent agent' cousin… who happens to be Madame Janelle Duvalier, remember that name? Seems Henri is quite the entrepreneur… in addition to driving you around and offering free advice on location hiring, he gets work for his cousin's girls. He's a fucking pimp, Bob. And one of his Filles des Nuit just jumped me outside to thank me for canceling their non-existent contract!"

She stepped back and waved the bloody linens like a battle flag in Bob's face.

"I did not sign on for this, Bob. Yeah, I knew I'd be doing all the juggling and arranging and babysitting four grown men who suddenly have everything they ever wanted and bitch about it night and day. I knew I'd be sitting in endless meetings with writers and techies and town managers and fan club presidents and self-anointed geniuses," here she glared at Don, who wisely kept his back turned and his mouth shut, "and carrying your water, because all of that goes with the job. But getting pounded into the pavement by a two bit whore was not part of the deal!" As Bob started to open his mouth, she warned, "If you call me 'babe', I'm on the next flight back to L.A."

Shocked by the situation, and purely by reflex, Bob replied, "Babe, what do you want…"

Bonnie yanked her room key out of her pocket and slapped it on the bar. "My briefcase is on the desk. My notebooks are on the bureau. My check better be in the mail." As she turned on her heel and walked away Bob jumped up and went after her.

"C'mon, Bonnie wait a minute, will you? I'm sorry, are you okay?" He reached for her arm but jerked back again when she turned on him. "What can I do?"

"Am I okay? Look at me Bob, and ask me again. Your bad idea just pounded the crap out of me. If we're very lucky there was nobody anywhere with a camera close enough to shoot your drummer threatening to pop the bitch that jumped me." She realized then she didn't have an answer to his last question, and as usually happened when things got tense between them, they wound up back at square one. Staring at each other, and out of words.

"I told the cops I wanna swear out charges. Since this happened because of my job, I gave him your number here, and the legal eagles back home. Can you handle that for me until they really need anything from me?"

"Of course, b…onnie. You need to see a doctor? I'll talk to the concierge…"

She shook her head, smiling in spite of her throbbing face. "Bob, Bob… you don't even know his name. Look, just do us both a favor and don't take advice from your gardener or your plumber, or it might get me killed next time." Her anger had burned off, and the general shock of what happened suddenly had her on the verge of tears.

Bob stepped closer and touched her shoulder gingerly. "I mean it, whatever you want, I'm sorry this happened, you know I mean it. If I actually thought anyone was gonna come after you for this... Look if anyone took pictures, Legal will take care of it. I'm just glad you're okay… well almost okay I mean. For real, just tell me what you need." She could see now that he was genuinely shaken.

"Hey, if you want I'll let you take a shot at Kirshner. Chip and me'll clear the bar, make sure nobody else is around." He was only half kidding.

"Rain check. I'm still a little dizzy and would hate to miss. I don't think I need a doctor, I didn't hit my head that hard." When she saw Bob's concern ramp up she added hastily, "Really. My nose isn't even broken. Of course I won't be ready for any press photos for a few days," she touched her swollen lower lip and winced. "Just promise me you'll fire that pimp driver of yours, and we're cool."

"Fire him… I might kill him. I'll get a phone right now and have Legal get his keys. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. You shoulda seen Micky, Bob… I really thought he was gonna cold cock that bitch."

"Child actors grow up rough. Okay, I'll go make that call. Guys," he called to Chip and Kirshner, "I got some calls to make. Be back in a few."

As he walked her out of the bar he told her seriously, "You'll tell me if you need anything at all, right?"

"Yeah, promise." She saw Mike sitting in one of the lobby love seats. He jumped to his feet, a hard look on his face, but waited in silence.

"Kirshner talked like an asshole," Bob told Bonnie before he headed to the elevators, "but it's a shame Nesmith can't spare some of what he saves for you for anyone else. It'd make his life a lot easier."

She waved him off. "Later, Bob."

When she got to where Mike stood she tried not to flinch when he touched her face. God it hurt, it felt like a toothache in the whole front of her head.

"Not much of a street fighter, are you?" he asked.

"She suckered me, man. I coulda taken her if she didn't get in first." She reached around his waist and hugged him briefly, then looked up at him, praying that he wouldn't be sadistic enough to kiss her. He did, but on the forehead. "Thanks," she sighed gratefully. "And thanks for the rose, and thanks for the coffee…" she paused, then finished, "and thanks for staying out of it."

"Thank Genie and Peter. I was halfway in before they stopped me. It pisses me off so much, you paying for Bob's dumbass mistakes."

"Trust me, he's gonna be more careful. He's not that big an asshole, Nesmith, he just does his job, sometimes not so good. Like the rest of us, right? You gotta stop blaming him for everything you wish was different."

He was unmoved. "He's in charge, that's what he keeps telling us. If he wanted to he could make it all different."

Bonnie sighed. "It's too late to make that trade rag ad different, you remember the one you answered? It was for actors, not musicians. Your contracts are for acting, not playing, no matter how stupid I agree that is and how big a jerk Kirshner is. People are working on changing things, you gotta trust me on that."

"I do trust you. It's everyone else I don't believe. Now how you feelin'?"

Bonnie could see that the deeper discussion was, clearly, over.

"My face hurts. My head hurts. And my mouth… if you kiss me the pain will probably kill me."

He bent down and moved her hair aside to kiss her just behind the ear.

"Well that opens up a whole new world of possibilities, Morris."

She stepped away, noticing, "People are watching." Only a couple actually, but still…

"Let 'em watch. Bet it's the first time they ever saw two girls duke it out in the doorway, gotta love us American tourists. C'mon, you up for a walk?"

"Yeah, a little air might make my head stop banging." She took his arm as they stepped outside. "Did I tell you, you're looking like a rock'n'roll wet dream tonight?" He was wearing the high-rise buckskin boots, tight jeans with a narrow silver-trimmed belt, and a black open-necked shirt under his own buckskin jacket.

"Nasty mouth," he chided, but crooked an arm around her neck to pull her closer as they walked, and kissed her head. "I like that in a woman. There's a little gypsy jazz club up the road I checked out, crazy guitars, lots of coffee. Sound good?" When she nodded and smiled lopsidedly up at him he added with a sly wink, "Play your cards right, I might even let you sit in my lap."

"Pardon, je cherche Bonnie Morris, c'est vous?" - "Excuse me, I'm looking for Bonnie Morris, is that you?"

"Sont-ils des partenaires?" - "Are they partners?"

"Oui, c'est moi, qu'est-ce que…" - "Yes, that's me, what is it..."

rien- nothing

"Vous a tout gâché!"- "You ruined everything!"