CH 6
I inhaled sharply and stood, scrambling out of the room to retrieve my clothing.
"Is your wife expecting you back by six-thirty?" Guin asked.
Her playful words irritated me. "I have forgotten something."
"What's her name?"
"Elizabeth."
Now it was her turn to be annoyed. She stood in the doorway, both hands grasping the door jamb. "Is she your betrothed?"
"My niece."
Guin scoffed. "I'm sure she will get over her uncle's absence."
It didn't matter if Elizabeth, surrounded by her friends and mother and father, didn't notice I was not at her birthday party. I knew I was not there, for my beloved niece, for the little girl I had seen grow up into a sweet girl of sixteen.
"I appreciate you understanding," I said before I grabbed my overcoat and briskly walked out the door and down the long hall.
It took me a moment to gather my bearings and decide which way to walk. My clothes were warm, but wet, and the moment I hit the cool night air, they were no longer warm and still very much wet.
"Elizabeth," I murmured to myself. "Please forgive your foolish uncle."
It took me nearly forty-five minutes to reach Valgarde's house, which was by all accounts vacant. The maid answered the door after I frightened her to death by pounding as hard as my fist allowed. The poor woman looked perplexed when I stood there, chest heaving, asking where the family had gone.
"They are out to supper and a play," the maid answered.
"Which would be where?" I impatiently asked.
"Supper reservations were for six-thirty at Drocelli and the play is at The Dorset."
I inhaled. The Dorset was across the street from Neptune's Grotto, a full forty-five minute walk from the theater I had been at earlier in the day. I had missed supper. Perhaps I could still make the play.
"What time is the play?" I asked.
The maid became increasingly flustered. "Eight?" she guessed.
I looked at my watch. I could make it by intermission if I started walking immediately. I could possibly make it during the first act if I was able to find a carriage for hire.
"You are an outstanding woman," I said to the maid before I turned and trotted down the steps.
"Monsieur Kimmer, your brother left a ticket for you at the booth," she shouted before I was out the gate.
"Excellent."
I surprisingly hailed a cab with ease and gladly stated I would pay whatever fare was necessary. No sooner had the words left my mouth that I realized I had no money in my pockets. Panic sizzled through me. My wallet was most likely still inside of Guin's apartment.
I stepped out of the carriage, annoying the driver, and briskly walked down the street, feeling increasingly anxious with each step.
Val would murder me for my noticeable absence. His wife would be politely furious. Elizabeth?
She was the one I hated to disappoint, the one whose heart I dreaded breaking.
Perhaps 'heart broken' was a bit dramatic as I was merely her uncle, but I loved her dearly, in a way I had only loved one other person. The day of her birth, sixteen years earlier, I had arrived moments before she made her debut with the most mouse-like squeaks announcing the start of her life.
Valgarde, you have most certainly fathered a rodent, I said once her father managed to return home, three hours after his daughter came into the world. Her voice was stronger by then, wails of despair that reminded me of my brother.
I had held her before her father. I had smiled at my Eliza-Beth before Valgarde burst into the bedroom and snatched her, greedily, from my arms.
Val was good to her, much better than his own father had been to either of us. Val loved her, as much as any man had ever loved a little girl, and I knew he had orchestrated the perfect evening for her sixteenth birthday.
"You are holding a ticket for me," I said as I approached the booth, nearly out of breath from running the last two streets.
A middle-aged woman looked up from the counter where she had stacks of envelopes, tickets, and a list spread out in front of her.
"The performance has started."
"I am aware. There is a ticket set aside for me."
"Name?"
"Kimmer."
"Spell it, please."
I spelled it twice before she stood, reached for a wooden box, and showed me that it was empty.
"There are no tickets being held."
"Could it be elsewhere?"
She looked quite annoyed. "I keep a very tidy booth, Monsieur… what was the name again?"
"Kimmer," I said loudly. I sighed heavily. "Are you absolutely certain? My cousin left a ticket for me."
"Beyond a doubt."
"Are there tickets for sale?"
"For what day?" she asked.
I shifted my weight, finding her inquiry unnecessary. "For tonight," I said through my teeth, losing patience and politeness.
"Tonight's performance has already begun."
"Yes, I know but–"
"Tonight is sold out."
"It's my niece's birthday," I blurted out, as if somehow she would mercifully make another, empty seat appear.
The woman merely stared at me as if she had no idea how this information could possibly impact her night.
No matter. I didn't have my wallet with me at the moment to purchase a ticket even if there were a hundred seats vacant. I placed my hands on the cool surface of the counter and looked around.
"What time is intermission?" I asked.
"Intermission ended eighteen minutes ago."
"Right." I turned from her and surveyed my surroundings, assuming the second act of the play was no longer than an hour and decided to simply wait until the audience exited the theater. The trouble was, my clothing was still damp and I was becoming more chilled by the second. I doubted it was cold enough where I was in danger of freezing to death, but it was dreadful nonetheless.
"Monsieur Kimmer?"
Ink stood not twenty paces away, hands in the pockets of his rumpled overcoat, smiling at me in a way that indicated his unexpected delight.
"Are you seeing the show?" he asked me, nodding at the marquee.
"Sadly, I am not."
"It's a good one," he said. "My, ah, friend is one of the leads."
"I will have to return at a later time to see the production."
Ink took several steps closer. "Forgive me for saying so, but you don't look like yourself, Monsieur Kimmer.
"An improvement, I do hope?"
He shrugged out of his wool coat. "You look cold and uncomfortable."
My clothing suddenly felt several degrees colder, but I held up my hand, refusing his offer. "I will survive."
"But if you catch a cold–"
"Then classes will be canceled for a day or two and no one will be worse for wear," I said, my tone matching my growing level of irritation with the night.
"Please, Monsieur Kimmer, borrow my coat," he pleaded. "I only live up there."
I followed where he pointed to a building across the street where I knew several of his fellow artists and half of the actors in the theater district took up residence due its location and cheap rent. It was nothing grand, but it was a roof that only leaked on occasion and four walls and a community of struggling artists.
"You're closer to the university, I think?" he asked. "You've said so in the past. My French is not the best, but…" He held out his coat and at last I accepted his generosity.
I removed my damp coat and shivered at the warmth of the fabric as I pulled my arms through Ink's coat and buttoned it to the top. The inside was double-lined, one layer of wool insulating the coat with dark silk lining for added luxury.
"This is far too nice to be loaning out," I argued, attempting to remove it once more. Out of all of his rumpled, ill-fitting garments, I took the best from him.
Ink took my coat and neatly folded it over his arm. He made a face, most likely due to the unexpected damp fabric draped over his sleeve..
"And still, I must insist that you keep it for the evening."
"You are far too kind," I murmured.
"You have been…" He paused, swallowing, his blue eyes averted, extraordinary eyelashes lowered, like a shield. "If I may say so, Monsieur Kimmer, you have been my favorite professor. You have…not failed me out of your class."
"You have not given me reason to fail you."
He looked at me again and swallowed. "Have I not?"
"Aside from forgetfulness with your pencils, no."
"I left your pencils on your desk," he said, blushing. "May I purchase you a cup of coffee?" he inquired quite suddenly. "Something to remove the chill from your bones."
"I'm waiting for someone," I said, shaking my head. "My bones will survive a moment longer and already the chill is not so bad, given your generosity."
He nodded and didn't appear as disappointed as I had first expected. "Good evening to you, Monsieur Kimmer. It was a pleasant surprise to run into you."
"You as well." I tugged his coat tighter, appreciating the warmth and the smell of tobacco in the fibers, wondering if Ink smoked pipes or if his actor friend had also borrowed his coat. "I will have your coat returned to you in the morning," I promised.
He returned a close-lipped smile. "I hope your night improves."
The theater doors opened a few minutes later and the crowd spilled forth and into the night. I stood off to the side, scanning every face that passed me until Val, Carmen, and Elizabeth appeared.
Val noticed me at once and proceeded to look the other way. Elizabeth was preoccupied with speaking to another girl, whose arm was linked with hers as they laughed, and Carmen glanced in my direction several times before she decided to alert her husband.
Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and gasped when she saw me. She excused herself from her friend and started toward me, but Val caught her arm. She stayed put, smiling at me as her father approached first.
"You forgot," he said.
"No–"
"Well, you weren't at my house at five, nor supper at six-thirty and you certainly were not seated next to me in the theater."
"I was running late," I said.
"Running late to my house, the restaurant, and the theater?" he asked incredulously.
"You never said the time or where you were going," I pointed out. "I was at your home, clear on the other side of town, when your maid directed me here."
He scratched his forehead and licked his lips as he leaned toward me, whispering. "We have had a very full evening. You may speak to Elizabeth on Saturday."
"Saturday? I merely want to wish her a happy birthday. Sixty seconds, at most." I glanced over his shoulder at my niece, who instantly grinned and waved back at me. I forced a warm smile, protecting her from the disagreement I had no desire for her to hear.
"She has her family to wish her well."
I felt my cheeks burn, knowing the insult was intentional. "You are being unreasonable."
Val turned his face so that his lips were beside my ear. He reached out, taking my left forearm, and grasped hold of me until I pulled away, the burning sensation licking its way up my damaged arm. "You will not hurt my daughter, is that understood?"
"It is a thought that has never crossed my mind," I assured him.
To my surprise, Elizabeth bounded over without her father's permission and flung her arms around me, her satin gloves cool against the back of my neck.
"Elizabeth!" Val snapped.
"It's Uncle Phelan! Papa, I told you he would come. You shouldn't have given away his ticket so swiftly."
I ignored the comment and lifted her from the ground, spinning her around in a full circle. She laughed as she had when she was much younger, a carefree sound of mirth that warmed my heart like nothing else could.
"Put her down," Val ordered. "She's much too old for that."
I did as instructed and Elizabeth kissed my cheek. "What happened to your face?" she asked, mirth replaced by concern. "Did Elivra do that to you?"
"This? Of course not. A silly accident, my darling Eliza-Beth."
She rolled her eyes at the pet name. "I am simply Elizabeth, Uncle Phelan," she said. "A proper lady at last."
"You are not a lady yet," Val and I said at the same time. Despite us both being in agreement, Valgarde issued me a look of pure annoyance.
I took a step back, feeling as though I intruded, an outsider looking in on the intimate life of a family.
"Happy birthday, my dearest. I apologize for not celebrating you properly."
She took my hands in hers and smiled warmly at me. For as difficult as the relationship was between me and her father, I found myself unable to cut off communication with Val simply because I could not imagine no longer seeing my niece.
"You will take me out to lunch on Saturday, won't you?"
"It would be an honor, as always."
"And the opera? To make up for missing the play?"
I feigned aggravation with a sigh. "Yes, yes, I will wait on you hand and foot, darling girl, spending thousands of francs in order to see you content."
She took my hands one last time and curtsied. "I love you, Uncle."
My heart was full of love for her, love in the truest and purest form, and I bowed. "I adore you, niece."
oOo
Val had drafted a legal document when Elizabeth was around the age of four in which he and Carmen selected three individuals they thought would be able to care for their only child should something happen to the two of them.
My name was last on the list as I had no spouse, but I still found myself sometimes hoping that Val and Carmen would disappear and that Elizabeth would be mine.
I didn't wish for anything terrible to happen to my cousin and his wife. Not death, at least. But I did hope they would find themselves deserted on an island somewhere off the coast of Africa with no possible chance of return until well after her eighteenth birthday.
It was a shameful thought, one that I was certain, by some rule of the universe, eliminated my name from their list of considerations entirely.
Elizabeth was first promised to one of Carmen's sisters and her husband, who lived in Spain. Then Carmen's sister's husband passed away, followed by Carmen's sister, and the topic was revisited.
Val and Carmen picked Carmen's older brother, a man who was fifteen years older than Carmen and who was also on his third wife. They lived on the coast of Greece in what I had always heard was quite an unhealthy lifestyle of excess and nauseating luxury. Like some sort of wicked curse, Carmen's brother had a heart attack and died instantly and his widow asked that she not be sent a child to her already difficult life.
By that time, Elizabeth, my darling, cursed niece, was thirteen and her parents decided she could care for herself with the help of a lawyer if anything happened to them. They preferred that she live alone rather than be placed in my care. I supposed it was for the best.
As I sat alone at a table waiting for Elizabeth's arrival on Saturday, I wished that Val, in particular, was marooned somewhere. I loved him, but after most of our exchanges, I found it difficult to like him.
"You're early," Elizabeth said brightly as she approached the table. I had chosen a two-person table near the window where the sun warmed the space. The ceiling in that part of the restaurant was a glorious glass dome with copper accents and I thought it looked somewhat like the greenhouse I had in my apartment, but without the plants.
"I was on time. I believe you are late."
She blew a raspberry and I stood, kissing her cheek before I pulled out her chair, on which she perched herself like a dainty sparrow.
By all appearances she was not a slight girl comparable to a sparrow. She was tall–almost as tall as her father–and thin, lacking curves a girl of her age desperately wanted for the sake of attracting boys.
"Happy birthday. Again," I said.
She grinned at me. "An entire day of just you and me, celebrating me."
I chuckled. "Indeed," I said, sliding a menu across the table toward her. "There is nothing I desire more than celebrating you."
The Glass Frog was an elegant restaurant, largely empty as it was eleven on a Saturday and they were known for their evening atmosphere in which a man played an accordion and walked around from table to table, annoying diners with his presence until they handed him a few banknotes and he proceeded onto the next unfortunate souls.
Dining at a place named for amphibians would not have been my first choice, but it was elegant and Elizabeth desired to celebrate herself there and I agreed.
I would have walked off the roof singing a folk song if that was what she desired for her birthday, such was my adoration for her. Thank goodness she settled for overpriced asparagus and beef that was barely big enough for a single bite.
"What happened on Thursday?" she asked under her breath as she pursued the menu.
I couldn't tell if she was speaking to herself or to me.
"Are you asking me?"
She looked up and nodded, reaching for a piece of cheese from the plate I had ordered prior to her arrival. The cheese was an alarming shade of blue and far too expensive for the serving, but it seemed like something a girl of her age would want to eat, mostly based on the menu price.
"I am asking you, Uncle."
I exhaled. "I had class in the morning, cleaned up after Elvira when I returned home, I–"
"How did you miss supper? You've never missed my birthday supper."
I sat back and reached for a glass that had not yet been filled, disappointed when there was nothing to offer a moment to think rather than answer.
"I don't know. I suppose I was distracted."
Elizabeth searched my face. "Oh."
She was dear to me, so unequivocally dear to me that I never wanted her to know something as sordid as I was entertaining a lady while waiting for my clothes to dry and that was why I missed her birthday.
"How was the play?" I asked.
"Fine."
"Merely fine?"
"Yes."
"Did you have good seats? Your father always manages to purchase the best seats."
She shrugged.
"What was the name of the play?"
"Hester's Dream."
"What was the play about?"
She shrugged. "Love, I suppose. But what isn't about love?"
I frowned at her worldly observation and clipped form of conversation, knowing she wanted a better answer than I don't know.
"Who was your friend that took my place?"
"A girl who lives across the street."
"She must be a good friend of yours."
"Not really."
Our conversations had always been far more entertaining, sometimes steeped in conspiracy as she told me all of the latest gossip regarding the girls in her dance class. I always found myself surprised by what girls between the ages of eleven and fifteen were capable of doing, little devils with cherub wings.
Elizabeth had taken ballet since she was six years of age as an attempt to hone her graceful skills, which were sorely lacking. Or at least she had taken ballet up until Christmas when she suddenly hung up her slippers after their holiday recital. No one ever explained why, but I supposed after ten years of twirling around on the tips of her toes she was tired of it.
I set my menu down and looked across the table at her. "Are you upset with me?"
"I don't know," she said under her breath.
My God, she was precisely like her father. I would have told her as much if the waiter hadn't approached to take our orders. He made a good case for the most expensive items on the menu, but Elizabeth had her favorite and I decided to have the same as her.
"I cannot believe you are sixteen. Do you know what happens next?" I asked.
She looked curiously at me. "No, what happens next?"
I leaned forward and nodded for her to do the same. "In a year, my precious girl, you will be…seventeen."
Elizabeth snorted with laughter and shook her head, which I hoped was a sign of her forgiveness. At last she opened up about the play, telling me that there was some scandalous dialog that made her father uncomfortable and that they had forgotten to lower the house lights before the start of the second act. All in all, it was predictable and the actor playing the lead was 'so handsome it was painful'.
"Well if it hurt, you shouldn't have looked at him," I concluded.
"What did you get me for my birthday?" Elizabeth asked.
I raised a brow. "A pony."
She made a face. "No, you did not!"
"No, I did not, but I am treating you to this extremely expensive meal and a matinee performance of…what are we seeing again?"
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. There were three different operas and a play showing, two of which were matinees and the two that were evening performances. She had chosen the matinee opera, apparently because she had plans with her lady friends in the evening that didn't include being seen with her embarrassing uncle.
"May Night. It's Russian."
"The one with the witch, correct?"
She shrugged. "It's about love."
"Of course it is," I muttered. What wasn't about love?
"I would like to ask you something," she announced. "But I don't think you will wish to answer."
I briefly eyed her. What on earth had happened to the simple little girl who asked uncomplicated questions about how the clouds were formed or why flowers lost their petals. Half the time I merely made up the reasons, but there were never inquiries that I didn't enjoy answering-aside from the question every child wish to know: where did babies come from.
"Well, if you don't think I would wish to answer then it's probably not something you should be asking your most favorite uncle, now is it?"
She frowned at me. "Not even as your favorite niece?"
"No," I answered flatly. "Not unless you want me to very loudly tell everyone in this restaurant about your days as an infant."
Her eyes widened. "Uncle," she warned.
"I think of your infanthood fondly, my dear," I said.
"More fondly than your brother? Erik, yes? The one who passed away."
My first instinct was to be quite offended by her insinuation and immediately correct her flippant statement. I settled for remorse instead, as I was certain her father considered Erik long dead.
"Erik is missing," I said under my breath. If there was no corpse, there was no one to declare dead. Until my last breath, if he never appeared again, Erik would always be missing to me.
"How long has it been now?" Elizabeth asked. "Unless you don't want to discuss him…"
"Thirty years," I answered without hesitation. "And now…"
He roams the darkness.
When I paused, Elizabeth looked up. "What is it?"
"Nothing."
"Tell me," she insisted.
"Not on your birthday."
"My birthday was two days ago."
"I dislike very much how intelligent you are, my darling niece."
She looked at me with pity, and I knew that silently she probably thought my hope of seeing Erik again was futile, a fool's dream.
"I can always tell when you're thinking of him," she said.
"Can you?"
She nodded. "You look as though you are reminded of a time when you were…" She looked away. "I don't know how to properly phrase it."
I knew what she would say and it was nothing difficult to phrase. Uncomfortable to say aloud, perhaps, but not difficult to put into words that I had been happy. Inwardly I cringed, embarrassed by niece's insinuation that I had spent the last thirty years roaming the earth joylessly.
"You are fortunate that all of the people you love are still in your life," I said. I couldn't bring myself to say still alive.
"I hope one day you find him again," Elizabeth said warmly. She placed her hand atop mine. "I would like to meet my Uncle Erik."
"He would have loved you," I said, suppressing a shiver.
There was no telling what he would have liked given that we had not seen each other since he was three and a half and I was seven. My likes and dislikes had certainly changed, my innocence replaced by a lifestyle that was pleasurable in short stints that typically took place in a bedroom. And yet I was certain that my brother would have adored our niece because she was kind and perfect.
We talked of boys she fancied over our meal. Gangly, awkward boys with their voices still cracking and their foolish ways of complimenting young women. There was a Richard, a Lionel, and a Francois that she mentioned, none of whom I could keep straight. I envisioned them as a three-headed teenage boy with a single chest hair and arms like noodles.
"He said I look like a stork," Elizabeth told me as we shared dessert. I had been half-listening as I mentally built the boy-creature with the three heads. "What do you suppose that means?"
"If I compared you to a bird, rest assured, there is no higher compliment."
Elizabeth made a face. "I don't want to be a stork."
"Fine. Be a goose then."
"I want to be a swan," she said firmly. She lifted her chin to accentuate her desire to be elegant despite her bird legs and body still resisting womanhood. Why anyone desired to be an adult was beyond me. Quite frankly, my dear niece had everything she could possibly need: a family that cared for her and an uncle who treated her to an entire day spent in her honor.
"A swan is practically a larger version of a goose."
Elizabeth made me aware that she was not impressed by my observation of waterfowl.
"If Richard asks me to marry him, I will agree," Elizabeth said. She sipped her tea and sat up straighter.
"You will absolutely do no such thing, Elizabeth Elaine Kimmer," I lectured.
Elizabeth gasped. "You are supposed to be more agreeable than Papa."
"Typically I am, but I will not agree to you marrying a boy who thinks you look like a stork."
I thought she would burst into tears or at least be angry, but she instead pursed her lips and attempted not to laugh at the absurdity of our conversation.
"That was Lionel, not Richard," she clarified. "Richard said he finds my-"
"You aren't marrying any of them," I insisted.
She frowned at me. "At this rate, you will be married before me," she muttered.
I lifted a brow, wishing she had been ten years older where the banter was more appropriate. "I will give you ten thousand francs if you hold off on proposals until l am wed."
Her eyes creased at the corners. "I wish you were married," she said. "I wish you were married and had a daughter my age."
Why not a son? I considered asking. She was only a year different in age from Marco, although he wasn't truly my son.
"If I had a daughter your age, I would not be spending a fortune on lunch and the opera with you," I reminded her.
"It would be all three of us!"
Ever the optimist, I silently declared.
"Do you think you will ever marry?" she pressed.
I was absolutely certain that was the question she had intended to ask me earlier, the one she declared that I wouldn't want to answer, and she was correct.
I moved my chair back from the table. "No, and you needn't ask me again."
Her eyes turned glassy, her lip quivering.
"What is it?" I asked rather harshly.
"I simply wish for you to be happy, Uncle. Truly happy," she whispered. "I apologize if I have offended you."
I paid for our meal and offered my arm as we exited the amphibian eatery and crossed the street toward the opera house, silence replacing conversation.
Elizabeth was becoming a young lady, whether her father or I wanted her to grow up. She had her own ideas and opinions–and unfortunately she was beginning to see me as an adult, not just her uncle, who made her laugh with silly questions and pulled coins from behind her ears. She was too observant now, honing in on faults when previously she saw me as someone who handed her chocolates when no one was looking and carried her on my back from the park when her legs turned to jelly.
"When is your next art show?" she asked, adjusting her fur wrap. The head of the fox stared back at me with its eyes sewn shut.
"I have two paintings on display now," I answered.
"We have an hour before the curtain," Elizabeth said. "How far is the gallery?"
"Half a block."
She squeezed my arm. "May we see your paintings?"
"If that is how you wish to spend your birthday."
"It is!"
Elizabeth had always been interested in my artwork and took to sitting beside me when she visited and drawing pictures of her own. She wasn't very good–or at least she didn't have the patience to be good–but I enjoyed sketching whatever she asked of me, especially with her head tucked under my chin and arm snaked around her while she grabbed my pointer finger and yanked my hand back and forth, giggling as she guided my drawing every which way.
We walked to the gallery and stepped inside, being the only two people in attendance at twelve-thirty. Elizabeth dragged me around until she found my first painting.
"Is that me?" she asked.
The portrait of a blond woman in her thirties wearing a black gown looked nothing like my dark-haired niece. "Are you blind or simply very poor at telling good jokes?"
Elizabeth frowned at me. "Who is she?"
"A made up person."
I could feel her staring at me as I observed the vase on display near my painting of a nude couple, the male of which was quite generously endowed, and felt the need to guide my innocent niece to a different part of the gallery.
"You simply create people in your mind?"
"Yes," I dryly said. "Like a god."
Elizabeth's cheeks reddened. "That isn't appropriate to say," she whispered.
"My apologies. I create likenesses like a person who should be in an asylum," I said, smiling at her.
Like my mother, I thought, unsure of why I invited darkness into an otherwise light day of celebration.
Elizabeth sighed and we moved onto the next painting–another nude. My God, what was the fascination with people undressed and lying outstretched on the ground? With a tug on my arm, she pulled me away and we thankfully saw a painting much more appropriate: the severed head of a steer in a butcher shop window.
"Why don't artists paint nice things?" Elizabeth asked.
"I have a very lovely weeping willow on the other side if you would care to look," I said.
Another person entered the gallery as we began to cross to the opposite wall and I glanced up, finding familiarity in the man's gait. He was a man of short stature with glasses and a receding hairline, but a warm smile and a mild disposition. I had known him since I first moved to Paris with Val, and he was the only person with whom I had enjoyed a long-term friendship.
"Jean," I said before he noticed me, pleased to have run into him. He had been away in southern France settling some business with his grandfather's estates and it had been weeks since I'd seen him.
He looked up, grinning a full mouth of teeth. "Phelan, you little bastard, how have you been?"
Elizabeth turned and looked at the two of us, utterly horrified by Jean's salutation. I felt her pull on my arm as if she wished to tug me away from such language.
"My niece," I said, introducing her. "Elizabeth, this is my incredibly uncouth friend, Jean Moreau. Jean, Elizabeth Kimmer."
Elizabeth appeared quite offended by how Jean had addressed me and simply bobbed her head before asking if she could look around unescorted, and I agreed.
Jean looked me over once Elizabeth was gone. "You really did get a good strike to the face."
I turned my head to see if Elizabeth was listening and found her standing with her hand over her mouth as she stared at a painting that I wasn't able to see from where I stood.
"How did you know?" I asked, keeping my voice low.
"Some woman named Hannah who apparently knows you."
"Ah." I assumed Hannah was the woman I had thought familiar at the dinner party.
"I've also heard…" he stepped closer. "That you have made a new friend."
I furrowed my brow. "Have I?"
"She lives in the building with the rose bushes, not far from the theater district."
There were no flowers in bloom, but I assumed that Guin's building had a memorable garden if her building was known for its rose bushes.
"It's possible," I said, blandly, wondering where that rumor had started. "But I tend to meet a lot of people."
"Particularly women."
I glanced at Elizabeth, making sure she was out of earshot or at least pretending not to listen to an adult conversation. I cleared my throat and gave Jean a warning look.
"I admire your ability to keep your affairs discreet, I really do," Jean said, lowering his voice. "But perhaps if you would be so inclined, I am having a gathering next week. You are more than welcome to bring a guest, if you so desire. It would be nice to see you with company at the start of the night rather than as you walk out the door."
"When next week?" I asked.
"Thursday night."
"I will do my best to attend."
Jean frowned at me. "You are such a terrible liar, Phelan. A terrible liar, a bastard if there ever was one, and a womanizer."
"Agreed on all accounts. Now if you will excuse me, I must escort my niece to the opera."
Jean stepped aside. "Phelan," he said before I walked away. His hand gently rested on my arm. "I care for you, like a brother. Please, make an appearance when I invite you over. And bring this woman with you. You're getting to the age where you need-"
"I appreciate the offer."
Jean was kind in a sense that he never left me out of his plans, even when I declined each invitation month after month, year after year. He had told me from the moment we met years earlier that I was his closest friend. Shortly after, I was his best friend and like family. It was an honor to be considered both and something I discovered I was not prepared to accept.
"I would like you to accept just once. That is all I am asking."
"Understood."
"Understood, but will you agree?" he asked.
"Probably not."
"You could be avoiding your future wife." He poked me in the chest as if this would suddenly persuade me to attend.
"I certainly hope so."
Jean sighed. "Your paintings are the worst ones in the gallery. I mean that sincerely. Absolute rubbish."
"Your honest critique is appreciated."
"I will purchase both. Name your price and I will write you a check right this moment."
"And what, pray tell, will you do with my terrible paintings?" I asked.
"Burn them all in a heap, of course."
I simply smiled at him and walked away, taking Elizabeth's arm. "We should go," I said.