Gigi-Part I (unrevised)
Gigi was late. To make matters worse, it began to rain. Fat, wet drops poured forth from the heavens and landed in splattering plops, soaking through her ulster and paper-wrapped package of books. The bookstalls along the Seine teeming with fellow bibliophiles, she lingered despite her tardiness and the acknowledged reaction of her grandmother and great-aunt when she finally returned home. One last sigh and covetous look directed at the Aristotle first edition and Gigi popped open her umbrella and clutching her books, crossed the bridge stretching from the quay to the Ile de Saint-Louis.
The oldest part of Paris, the island was a maze of medieval streets and derelict baroque mansions, their closeness giving the area the air of faded opulence. Her residence--her great-aunt's really--was a rococo creation made of pink marble and Doric columns squeezed protestingly between a cafe and a block of newly renovated flats. Gigi paused at the flight of stairs curving to the lattice-front double doors, gathering her excuses before taking a deep breath and quickly ascending the steps. Their lone maid, Helene, opened the door moments after Gigi's knock with a look of disapproval marring her otherwise cherubic features.
"Is Grandmere upset?" Gigi queried as she stood still, allowing Helene to divest her of her sodden outerwear.
"I should say so Miss Gilberte." Helene sniffed, droplets staining her skirts black as she shook Gigi's walking coat.
"Gigi!"
She winced at the high-pitched wail of her name from the first floor. Both she and Helene's head immediately craned upwards when her great-aunt Alicia appeared at the balustrade, followed by Grandmere, both of them narrowing eyes at the recalcitrant Gigi.
"You may be dismissed Helene." Tante Alicia waved her hand at the maid, who duly scampered off to the nether regions of the hotel prive. "Now Gigi--"
"I'm sorry Aunt Alicia," Gigi hastily interrupted, climbing the stairs. "But would you see what I purchased? If I hadn't gone to the stalls today old Henri would have sold my books to another customer! And at a cheaper price as well!"
Her great-aunt and grandmere lacked the proper appreciation of Gigi's financial savvy, frowns pushing their plucked brows together over the bridge of their nose at her hands akimbo.
"Is that all you've done today Gigi?"
"Well, yes. I did pay a call on Madame Norbert this afternoon--she sends her regards to you Grandmere--"
"Mon Dieu," Tante Alicia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in apparent agony. "This is all your doing Eugenie, indulging her whims and neglecting your duty. Fix it!" With that, great-aunt Alicia disappeared in a flurry of chiffon and gardenias, the door to her private boudoir slamming in her wake.
Gigi pressed her hands to her mouth with a gasp. "I forgot! Do forgive me Grandmama." She grasped for her grandmother's hands, suddenly aware of their frailty.
"Oh yes, now you remember." Grandmere took Gigi by the shoulders and propelled her up the second flight of stairs to the second floor, where she shared the connecting bedroom to her grandmother's. "If I don't have you dressed within the next half hour, your Aunt Alicia will never forgive the both of us."
"Shall I be laced up?" Gigi stalled in the doorway. Grandmere pushed her into the room, drawing the curtains and lighting the gas.
"Don't pout Gigi, it ruins the face." Grandmere wagged a finger at her. "And yes, you shall be laced up. It would be a travesty were we to allow you to run about tonight without the proper corsetry. Now, where is Helene?"
Gigi rang for Helene at Grandmere's behest and squared her shoulders to accept fate as Grandmere, soon joined by Helene, made short work of her grimy clothing and shoved her nimbly into a rose-scented bath.
"What shall you wear?" Grandmere mused, tapping her chin as she stood before Gigi's wardrobe.
"I'm quite partial to the striped silk. Monsieur Norbert said he found me charming in it." Gigi said offhandedly, flicking at the bubbles skimming the surface.
"Never you mind what Monsier Norbert says about your appearance. Helene--scrub!" Grandmere snapped. Gigi obediently knelt forward for the maid to scrub her back.
"Alicia suggested the blue, but you would fade into the background of the salon." Grandmere pulled out a length of blue, discarding it for a pale green watered silk.
"Not the green Grandmama," Gigi sputtered when she surfaced from Helene's dunking of her head beneath the water. "It fits horridly and barely comes to my calves."
"Limbs, Gigi. Limbs, never calves. Only vulgar women refer to their body parts in such indelicate terms."
"But the anatomy books call them 'calves' and 'thighs'." Gigi began innocently.
Grandmere started in shock, coming to the tub and snatching the bar of rose soap. "Would you like me to wash your mouth with this?"
"No Grandmere." She lowered her eyes in contriteness.
Helene returned with a fluffy terrycloth towel and dressing gown, and Gigi leapt from the bath into them, shivering, her teeth chattering as she rushed for the fire crackling softly in the hearth.
"Ah ha!"
Gigi peered at her grandmother through drying tresses, whose exclaimation was the result of the discovery of a satin cream gown trimmed with blonde lace in the recesses of her wardrobe, matching shoes in the other hand.
"Perfect." Burdening the waiting Helene with the items, Grandmere pulled the requisite lingerie from the drawers and clapped her hands for Gigi to rise.
She did so, buttoning her combinations, lifting her foot for the white stockings Helene tugged onto her leg and fastened with garters, and clutching the bed post when Grandmere fit the stiff health corset over her waist and hips.
"Now take a deep breath." Grandmere instructed.
She ignored Gigi's yelp at a particularly savage yank of the laces, and Gigi, feeling like a much abused toy doll, stood stiffly before the floor length mirror, vision briefly obscured by the satin gown Helene and Grandmere dropped over her waiting body, they tugging and adjusting until the gown fit over her curves, both natural and artificial, in a manner they approved of. Gigi peered at the alarming expanse of skin peeping from the bodice before she was propelled into a seat for Helene to curl and pin her hair.
"Delightful." Grandmere clasped Gigi's shoulders when Helene finally stepped away from her head. She started when the clock chimed, one, two...eight.
"Come, come Gigi, we mustn't be late." Grandmere grabbed Gigi's hand and tugged her from the room, ushering her down the stairs to the salon on the ground floor.
They paused on the threshold. "Now Gigi, your aunt has gone through much to arrange tonight. Be polite, charming and please do not mention what you've recently read."
"I'm a trifle nervous Grandmere." Gigi admitted, palms sweaty beneath her gloves.
"Of course you're nervous child!" Tante Alicia swept into the conversation from the open door. "My limbs quaked deliciously when Monsieur le Comte paid his first call upon me. Ask your grandmother, I was a complete and utter disgrace--why, our mother nearly wept in frustration when it appeared the comte wouldn't be asking for my companionship after all."
"But enough of that! Come in before our guests see you hanging about and take you for the maid!"
Gigi followed her great-aunt into the salon, taking a seat upon a prim chaise closest to the fireplace, her grandmere and great-aunt linked arms to stroll delicately about the room. When her grandmere frowned at her, she realized she was fidgeting and stood, moving towards the elaborate birdcage where a pair of turtle doves twittered on their rungs. To calm her raging nerves, she fed the tiny birds bits of honey-soaked seeds, stiffening when the echo of the doorbell vibrated through the house. Before she knew it, the blue salon had filled with gentlemen of all ages and sizes, obviously engaged in conversation with her grandmere and aunt or with one another despite the frequent straying of their eyes in her direction. The sketchy lessons she allowed from her grandmother suddenly fled her mind and Gigi, ignorant of what to do, concentrated on the birds, back to the audience.
~
The carriage carrying Bernard Fournier and his cousin, Georges, creaked along the Pont de la Tournelle and the islets twisting one way streets. Bernard's presence in the vehicle was purely to humor his cousin, who had pulled him from the Gare de Lyon before the train even chugged into the station, and impressed upon him the need to attend to him as he called upon an old friend in the City. And so he, still attired in his travel-stained clothing, hungry and fatigued, was on his way to visit a stranger in the night. A stranger who could be any sort of person, judging by his cousin's dissolute lifestyle, he mused bemusedly.
"And who is this 'friend' of yours pray tell?" Bernard peered at his cousin in the faint light of the street lamps occasionally lighting the carriage's interior. "Hopefully no one you owe money to, for I've no cash on my person."
"A cheque would be sufficient." Georges replied. "I'm chaffing mon cousin. But never mind who this friend is, we have arrived."
He rapped the roof of the carriage and it slowed to a halt before, from what Bernard could see through the window, a pale marble building nestled between buildings highlighted by the lights blazing through the gauzy curtains of the many windows adorning the exterior. The door swung open and Georges, followed by Bernard, exited. He paused behind his cousin, overly conscious of his lackluster attire beside Georges' tie and tails.
"Perhaps I should remain in the carriage--I'm not properly dressed."
"Nonsense Bernard, come in, Madame Alvarez is very accommodating."
"Madame Alvarez?"
"Our hostess for the night." Georges bounded up the stairs and rung the doorbell.
The silhouette of a plump maid met them in the open door. "Ah bonsoir, Monsier Fournier. Ca Va?" She chattered welcomingly to Georges as she took his coat. "Ton cousin?" She motioned to Bernard, who paused on the threshold, scrutinizing the foyer.
"Oui." Georges guided Bernard into the house with an arm around his shoulders. "Bernard Fournier, my elderly cousin. Bernard this is Helene."
The maid, Helene, curtseyed in greeting and Bernard made a jerky, half-bow to the maid.
"Madame will be most pleased at your attendance." Helene remarked, walking backwards to speak with Georges as she led them to the molded sliding doors just beyond the foyer.
"Say Helene," Georges began casually. "Is it true?"
"Is what true monsieur?"
"Of mademoiselle Gilberte?"
"Oh, yes." Helene thrust apart the sliding doors to reveal a slightly crowded salon. "There is Madame de Pougy speaking with the Duc d'Amirage."
"That old fool." Georges muttered in an aside to Bernard. "I must speak with Madame." He tossed at Bernard before abandoning him at the now closed doors.
There was a lull in the conversation and Bernard brushed at his tweed jacket, aware of the scrutiny turned his way through monocles and spectacles of the properly attired gentlemen milling about the room. Usually self-possessed, Bernard was irritated to discover the unease currently coursing through him and he broke away from the door to circulate the room in hopes of gravitating to an interesting conversation. As Bernard walked about the room, glass of champagne in hand, he came to notice the subtle focus of attention to the far side of the salon. It was no more than the careful avoidance of a particular area and discreet sliding of glances in that direction, but it was enough for Bernard to assume something--or someone--of importance held court. Curiosity got the better of him and he inched through the guests, surprised to find the center of attention, a young woman--a girl really--seated on a chaise, listening patiently to the conversation the gentlemen circling her directed at and above her.
Something about the way she sat, perhaps the crook of her arm held against her side, the curve of her neck and fan of eyelashes shielding her eyes as she leaned into the young man at her side, or the agitated twitching of her fingers against her open fan, struck him, and Bernard felt as callow as the spotted boy hovering at her shoulder. Who was she? As though to answer his unspoken query, her attention jerked to the man who absently jostling Bernard in his haste to approach her.
"Mademoiselle Alvarez," He clasped her hand, kissing it in greeting. "You have blossomed, literally blossomed overnight."
"Thank you Monsieur le Comte." She tugged her hand from his, snapping her fan open before her face.
A slight narrowing of her eyes above the edge were the only betrayal of her irritation, and as her eyes swept the crowd pressing against her skirts, they somehow caught Bernard's and she paused, brows raising slightly, before moving past him, seeming to search beyond them all for someone.
"Grandmere!" The relief in her voice was apparent, and the men were forced to make room for the stately elderly woman who entered the fray.
"Your Tante Alicia wishes you to meet someone."
"Oh. Alright." The young woman
"You wold disappoint us Madame Alvarez? Mademoiselle?" Monsieur le Comte dabbed the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
"Mademoiselle must." The grandmother said firmly, leading her granddaughter away.
As Bernard registered the mingling disappointment and frustration that coursed through the rapidly dispersing men, he suddenly realized the purpose--nay the profession--of the charming young woman. He was shocked, outraged....and a number of other confusing emotions that impacted him with his epiphany.
Georges.
He spotted his cousin through the crowd, at the side of another elderly woman, though this one fairly shone with diamonds and grey silk in comparison to the more somberly clad grandmother. The aunt, he assumed darkly. Georges' brows rose in query at Bernard's approach.
"Alicia--Madame de Pougy--allow me to present my cousin, Bernard."
"Your cousin is an asset to my salon, may I hope you shall be as well?" Alicia de Pougy tapped Bernard on the hand with her fan.
"Bernard?" Georges laughed. "My cousin hasn't the time to dance attendance upon sophisticates such as yourself. He feels most at home in a factory or behind piles of paperwork."
"What is your trade, if I may ask?"
"Silk." Bernard said stiffly.
"Ah! Now I recall--Fournier Silk--though the market has taken a hit from foreign markets if I am not mistaken? The Americans, I hear."
"The firm does well enough."
"How fortunate." Madame de Pougy appeared bored with Bernard, turning away from him to glance at her niece, who was monopolized by a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. The gentleman brushed against the young woman's arm and Bernard, seized by an unknown force (he would analyze it later but was unable to name it) regained the lady's attention and his cousin's visible surprise with his next words.
"Madame, if I could be introduced to your niece?"
"Why...well...Monsieur le Duc..."
"Indulge my provincial manners just this once Madame." Bernard pressed.
"Well..." Madame de Pougy dithered, but he was aware of the shrewd assessment of his worth compared with the duke's simmering beneath her appearance of confusion.
"Yes, do indulge my cousin, Alicia. I've never seen him in such a state."
"Alright." Madame de Pougy, snapped her fan open. "Gigi ma chere."
The young woman turned from the duke to her aunt in query.
"Allow Monsieur le Duc a rest and come chat with Monsieur Fournier's cousin."
Gigi, Gigi, Gigi, Bernard sampled her name on his tongue, as he approached her, passing the obviously disgruntled duke to take his seat beside the young woman slightly shielded by a potted plant. She stared at him frankly, brown eyes both guarded and curious, dark and luminous, and rather large for her fine-boned prettiness. Cream satin (a fabric inferior to silk in his opinion) and blond lace hugged her curves, her gown fitting her as though it were sewn onto her body: curved where she was, tapering rib by rib to her waist and cascading from her hips in a shower of cream. The ample expanse of flesh revealed through the décolletage contrasted with the almost virginal coloring of her gown, and Bernard was struck anew by the situation in which his impetuous decision landed him.
They presented an amusing tableau, both turned towards one another, utterly speechless. Bernard, aware of the eyes turned on them, cleared his throat to speak.
The oldest part of Paris, the island was a maze of medieval streets and derelict baroque mansions, their closeness giving the area the air of faded opulence. Her residence--her great-aunt's really--was a rococo creation made of pink marble and Doric columns squeezed protestingly between a cafe and a block of newly renovated flats. Gigi paused at the flight of stairs curving to the lattice-front double doors, gathering her excuses before taking a deep breath and quickly ascending the steps. Their lone maid, Helene, opened the door moments after Gigi's knock with a look of disapproval marring her otherwise cherubic features.
"Is Grandmere upset?" Gigi queried as she stood still, allowing Helene to divest her of her sodden outerwear.
"I should say so Miss Gilberte." Helene sniffed, droplets staining her skirts black as she shook Gigi's walking coat.
"Gigi!"
She winced at the high-pitched wail of her name from the first floor. Both she and Helene's head immediately craned upwards when her great-aunt Alicia appeared at the balustrade, followed by Grandmere, both of them narrowing eyes at the recalcitrant Gigi.
"You may be dismissed Helene." Tante Alicia waved her hand at the maid, who duly scampered off to the nether regions of the hotel prive. "Now Gigi--"
"I'm sorry Aunt Alicia," Gigi hastily interrupted, climbing the stairs. "But would you see what I purchased? If I hadn't gone to the stalls today old Henri would have sold my books to another customer! And at a cheaper price as well!"
Her great-aunt and grandmere lacked the proper appreciation of Gigi's financial savvy, frowns pushing their plucked brows together over the bridge of their nose at her hands akimbo.
"Is that all you've done today Gigi?"
"Well, yes. I did pay a call on Madame Norbert this afternoon--she sends her regards to you Grandmere--"
"Mon Dieu," Tante Alicia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in apparent agony. "This is all your doing Eugenie, indulging her whims and neglecting your duty. Fix it!" With that, great-aunt Alicia disappeared in a flurry of chiffon and gardenias, the door to her private boudoir slamming in her wake.
Gigi pressed her hands to her mouth with a gasp. "I forgot! Do forgive me Grandmama." She grasped for her grandmother's hands, suddenly aware of their frailty.
"Oh yes, now you remember." Grandmere took Gigi by the shoulders and propelled her up the second flight of stairs to the second floor, where she shared the connecting bedroom to her grandmother's. "If I don't have you dressed within the next half hour, your Aunt Alicia will never forgive the both of us."
"Shall I be laced up?" Gigi stalled in the doorway. Grandmere pushed her into the room, drawing the curtains and lighting the gas.
"Don't pout Gigi, it ruins the face." Grandmere wagged a finger at her. "And yes, you shall be laced up. It would be a travesty were we to allow you to run about tonight without the proper corsetry. Now, where is Helene?"
Gigi rang for Helene at Grandmere's behest and squared her shoulders to accept fate as Grandmere, soon joined by Helene, made short work of her grimy clothing and shoved her nimbly into a rose-scented bath.
"What shall you wear?" Grandmere mused, tapping her chin as she stood before Gigi's wardrobe.
"I'm quite partial to the striped silk. Monsieur Norbert said he found me charming in it." Gigi said offhandedly, flicking at the bubbles skimming the surface.
"Never you mind what Monsier Norbert says about your appearance. Helene--scrub!" Grandmere snapped. Gigi obediently knelt forward for the maid to scrub her back.
"Alicia suggested the blue, but you would fade into the background of the salon." Grandmere pulled out a length of blue, discarding it for a pale green watered silk.
"Not the green Grandmama," Gigi sputtered when she surfaced from Helene's dunking of her head beneath the water. "It fits horridly and barely comes to my calves."
"Limbs, Gigi. Limbs, never calves. Only vulgar women refer to their body parts in such indelicate terms."
"But the anatomy books call them 'calves' and 'thighs'." Gigi began innocently.
Grandmere started in shock, coming to the tub and snatching the bar of rose soap. "Would you like me to wash your mouth with this?"
"No Grandmere." She lowered her eyes in contriteness.
Helene returned with a fluffy terrycloth towel and dressing gown, and Gigi leapt from the bath into them, shivering, her teeth chattering as she rushed for the fire crackling softly in the hearth.
"Ah ha!"
Gigi peered at her grandmother through drying tresses, whose exclaimation was the result of the discovery of a satin cream gown trimmed with blonde lace in the recesses of her wardrobe, matching shoes in the other hand.
"Perfect." Burdening the waiting Helene with the items, Grandmere pulled the requisite lingerie from the drawers and clapped her hands for Gigi to rise.
She did so, buttoning her combinations, lifting her foot for the white stockings Helene tugged onto her leg and fastened with garters, and clutching the bed post when Grandmere fit the stiff health corset over her waist and hips.
"Now take a deep breath." Grandmere instructed.
She ignored Gigi's yelp at a particularly savage yank of the laces, and Gigi, feeling like a much abused toy doll, stood stiffly before the floor length mirror, vision briefly obscured by the satin gown Helene and Grandmere dropped over her waiting body, they tugging and adjusting until the gown fit over her curves, both natural and artificial, in a manner they approved of. Gigi peered at the alarming expanse of skin peeping from the bodice before she was propelled into a seat for Helene to curl and pin her hair.
"Delightful." Grandmere clasped Gigi's shoulders when Helene finally stepped away from her head. She started when the clock chimed, one, two...eight.
"Come, come Gigi, we mustn't be late." Grandmere grabbed Gigi's hand and tugged her from the room, ushering her down the stairs to the salon on the ground floor.
They paused on the threshold. "Now Gigi, your aunt has gone through much to arrange tonight. Be polite, charming and please do not mention what you've recently read."
"I'm a trifle nervous Grandmere." Gigi admitted, palms sweaty beneath her gloves.
"Of course you're nervous child!" Tante Alicia swept into the conversation from the open door. "My limbs quaked deliciously when Monsieur le Comte paid his first call upon me. Ask your grandmother, I was a complete and utter disgrace--why, our mother nearly wept in frustration when it appeared the comte wouldn't be asking for my companionship after all."
"But enough of that! Come in before our guests see you hanging about and take you for the maid!"
Gigi followed her great-aunt into the salon, taking a seat upon a prim chaise closest to the fireplace, her grandmere and great-aunt linked arms to stroll delicately about the room. When her grandmere frowned at her, she realized she was fidgeting and stood, moving towards the elaborate birdcage where a pair of turtle doves twittered on their rungs. To calm her raging nerves, she fed the tiny birds bits of honey-soaked seeds, stiffening when the echo of the doorbell vibrated through the house. Before she knew it, the blue salon had filled with gentlemen of all ages and sizes, obviously engaged in conversation with her grandmere and aunt or with one another despite the frequent straying of their eyes in her direction. The sketchy lessons she allowed from her grandmother suddenly fled her mind and Gigi, ignorant of what to do, concentrated on the birds, back to the audience.
~
The carriage carrying Bernard Fournier and his cousin, Georges, creaked along the Pont de la Tournelle and the islets twisting one way streets. Bernard's presence in the vehicle was purely to humor his cousin, who had pulled him from the Gare de Lyon before the train even chugged into the station, and impressed upon him the need to attend to him as he called upon an old friend in the City. And so he, still attired in his travel-stained clothing, hungry and fatigued, was on his way to visit a stranger in the night. A stranger who could be any sort of person, judging by his cousin's dissolute lifestyle, he mused bemusedly.
"And who is this 'friend' of yours pray tell?" Bernard peered at his cousin in the faint light of the street lamps occasionally lighting the carriage's interior. "Hopefully no one you owe money to, for I've no cash on my person."
"A cheque would be sufficient." Georges replied. "I'm chaffing mon cousin. But never mind who this friend is, we have arrived."
He rapped the roof of the carriage and it slowed to a halt before, from what Bernard could see through the window, a pale marble building nestled between buildings highlighted by the lights blazing through the gauzy curtains of the many windows adorning the exterior. The door swung open and Georges, followed by Bernard, exited. He paused behind his cousin, overly conscious of his lackluster attire beside Georges' tie and tails.
"Perhaps I should remain in the carriage--I'm not properly dressed."
"Nonsense Bernard, come in, Madame Alvarez is very accommodating."
"Madame Alvarez?"
"Our hostess for the night." Georges bounded up the stairs and rung the doorbell.
The silhouette of a plump maid met them in the open door. "Ah bonsoir, Monsier Fournier. Ca Va?" She chattered welcomingly to Georges as she took his coat. "Ton cousin?" She motioned to Bernard, who paused on the threshold, scrutinizing the foyer.
"Oui." Georges guided Bernard into the house with an arm around his shoulders. "Bernard Fournier, my elderly cousin. Bernard this is Helene."
The maid, Helene, curtseyed in greeting and Bernard made a jerky, half-bow to the maid.
"Madame will be most pleased at your attendance." Helene remarked, walking backwards to speak with Georges as she led them to the molded sliding doors just beyond the foyer.
"Say Helene," Georges began casually. "Is it true?"
"Is what true monsieur?"
"Of mademoiselle Gilberte?"
"Oh, yes." Helene thrust apart the sliding doors to reveal a slightly crowded salon. "There is Madame de Pougy speaking with the Duc d'Amirage."
"That old fool." Georges muttered in an aside to Bernard. "I must speak with Madame." He tossed at Bernard before abandoning him at the now closed doors.
There was a lull in the conversation and Bernard brushed at his tweed jacket, aware of the scrutiny turned his way through monocles and spectacles of the properly attired gentlemen milling about the room. Usually self-possessed, Bernard was irritated to discover the unease currently coursing through him and he broke away from the door to circulate the room in hopes of gravitating to an interesting conversation. As Bernard walked about the room, glass of champagne in hand, he came to notice the subtle focus of attention to the far side of the salon. It was no more than the careful avoidance of a particular area and discreet sliding of glances in that direction, but it was enough for Bernard to assume something--or someone--of importance held court. Curiosity got the better of him and he inched through the guests, surprised to find the center of attention, a young woman--a girl really--seated on a chaise, listening patiently to the conversation the gentlemen circling her directed at and above her.
Something about the way she sat, perhaps the crook of her arm held against her side, the curve of her neck and fan of eyelashes shielding her eyes as she leaned into the young man at her side, or the agitated twitching of her fingers against her open fan, struck him, and Bernard felt as callow as the spotted boy hovering at her shoulder. Who was she? As though to answer his unspoken query, her attention jerked to the man who absently jostling Bernard in his haste to approach her.
"Mademoiselle Alvarez," He clasped her hand, kissing it in greeting. "You have blossomed, literally blossomed overnight."
"Thank you Monsieur le Comte." She tugged her hand from his, snapping her fan open before her face.
A slight narrowing of her eyes above the edge were the only betrayal of her irritation, and as her eyes swept the crowd pressing against her skirts, they somehow caught Bernard's and she paused, brows raising slightly, before moving past him, seeming to search beyond them all for someone.
"Grandmere!" The relief in her voice was apparent, and the men were forced to make room for the stately elderly woman who entered the fray.
"Your Tante Alicia wishes you to meet someone."
"Oh. Alright." The young woman
"You wold disappoint us Madame Alvarez? Mademoiselle?" Monsieur le Comte dabbed the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
"Mademoiselle must." The grandmother said firmly, leading her granddaughter away.
As Bernard registered the mingling disappointment and frustration that coursed through the rapidly dispersing men, he suddenly realized the purpose--nay the profession--of the charming young woman. He was shocked, outraged....and a number of other confusing emotions that impacted him with his epiphany.
Georges.
He spotted his cousin through the crowd, at the side of another elderly woman, though this one fairly shone with diamonds and grey silk in comparison to the more somberly clad grandmother. The aunt, he assumed darkly. Georges' brows rose in query at Bernard's approach.
"Alicia--Madame de Pougy--allow me to present my cousin, Bernard."
"Your cousin is an asset to my salon, may I hope you shall be as well?" Alicia de Pougy tapped Bernard on the hand with her fan.
"Bernard?" Georges laughed. "My cousin hasn't the time to dance attendance upon sophisticates such as yourself. He feels most at home in a factory or behind piles of paperwork."
"What is your trade, if I may ask?"
"Silk." Bernard said stiffly.
"Ah! Now I recall--Fournier Silk--though the market has taken a hit from foreign markets if I am not mistaken? The Americans, I hear."
"The firm does well enough."
"How fortunate." Madame de Pougy appeared bored with Bernard, turning away from him to glance at her niece, who was monopolized by a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. The gentleman brushed against the young woman's arm and Bernard, seized by an unknown force (he would analyze it later but was unable to name it) regained the lady's attention and his cousin's visible surprise with his next words.
"Madame, if I could be introduced to your niece?"
"Why...well...Monsieur le Duc..."
"Indulge my provincial manners just this once Madame." Bernard pressed.
"Well..." Madame de Pougy dithered, but he was aware of the shrewd assessment of his worth compared with the duke's simmering beneath her appearance of confusion.
"Yes, do indulge my cousin, Alicia. I've never seen him in such a state."
"Alright." Madame de Pougy, snapped her fan open. "Gigi ma chere."
The young woman turned from the duke to her aunt in query.
"Allow Monsieur le Duc a rest and come chat with Monsieur Fournier's cousin."
Gigi, Gigi, Gigi, Bernard sampled her name on his tongue, as he approached her, passing the obviously disgruntled duke to take his seat beside the young woman slightly shielded by a potted plant. She stared at him frankly, brown eyes both guarded and curious, dark and luminous, and rather large for her fine-boned prettiness. Cream satin (a fabric inferior to silk in his opinion) and blond lace hugged her curves, her gown fitting her as though it were sewn onto her body: curved where she was, tapering rib by rib to her waist and cascading from her hips in a shower of cream. The ample expanse of flesh revealed through the décolletage contrasted with the almost virginal coloring of her gown, and Bernard was struck anew by the situation in which his impetuous decision landed him.
They presented an amusing tableau, both turned towards one another, utterly speechless. Bernard, aware of the eyes turned on them, cleared his throat to speak.