| Subject: À la Vie! - Chapter 33 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Tuesday, November 02, 09:37:50pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Something between them had changed, and Michael couldn’t figure out why. Nikita was still friendly and cordial, but it was as if a spark in her had been blown out. She was treating him as though she were his sister, not his girlfriend, and it felt all wrong. “I made dinner reservations for us tonight at Volare’s. Wear something sexy,” he instructed her.
Well, *that* was certainly unbrotherly. “Volare’s?” she questioned, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Couldn’t we go some place else?”
“No,” came his firm reply. “I need to exorcise some bad memories from that place, and who better to do it with than the woman I love.”
He’d been calling her that a lot lately, but he never actually said he was *in* love with her. He’d not kissed her since that first night, and he was leaving for France the following afternoon. Nikita’s head was in a whirl. She didn’t know how to read Michael anymore. She cautiously agreed to dinner at Volare’s, then mentally searched her wardrobe for something to wear once Michael had left for the office. Nikita didn’t own anything that could remotely be considered “sexy,” but Carla did. They were roughly the same size, though Carla’s chest was bigger and Nikita’s legs were longer. She picked up the phone.
* * *
Carla pretended to be shocked at Nikita’s confession about her mother. Nikita had mulled over what Michael had told her, and decided that the news was not so earth-shaking after all. It was almost to be expected of her mother. Carla marveled at how well Nikita was coping at finding out that her mother had been a hooker. “She was a whore in Australia,” she told Carla bluntly. “Why not get paid for it here? Money in the bank is certainly better than a black eye and a kid you don’t want.”
“Oh, Nik,” said Carla, and embraced her best friend. The two held each other for a moment, then got down to the business at hand.
Carla had the perfect dress for Nikita. It was silk, off the shoulders, cut just low enough to tease, and came to the middle of Nikita’s thighs. “It looks so much better on you than it does on me,” Carla said wistfully. And it did. The color was ice blue, and complemented Nikita’s eyes and hair perfectly. She wished she owned the dress instead of Carla, but it would never have occurred to her to ask.
* * *
Adam and Julie had a secret. Julie was teaching Adam how to write his full name, and she was using brochures from Samuelle’s to do it. On the back cover of a pamphlet was a picture of Michael Samuelle—Daddy, Julie had told him. Adam had gazed at it in wonder, and rubbed his chubby finger over the black and white photo. “Daddy?” he whispered, knowing even at the tender age of two that this must remain between him and Julie. She confirmed that the man in the picture was his daddy, and helped him find a safe place to hide it.
Julie was using only the front cover of another brochure—helping him to trace the letters S-A-M-U-E-L-L-E, when Elena chose that moment to enter the room. She picked up the page and tore it into shreds. “Teach him to write “Vacek,’ she pronounced. “I’m having Adam’s name legally changed.”
“I didn’t think you could do that without the father’s permission,” Julie ventured timidly.
Elena looked at her coldly. “I can do anything I want. I’m a Vacek. You would do well to remember that.” She tossed her head and left the nursery.
* * *
O’Brien’s questions had not been very productive. Those with whom he had spoken that had remembered seeing Elena Vacek had never seen her doing drugs. In fact, she was always admonishing her friend, Karyn, to stop. No, nobody knew Karyn’s last name, only that she was gay and that she and Elena were inseparable. Hmm. He would follow up this mysterious Karyn when he returned to Marseilles.
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