Excerpt: Claque

The door to Arlette’s apartment flew open and he could immediately see from the red rims around her expressive wide eyes and the blotchiness of her skin that she’d been crying, despite her best efforts at grace and charm. “Ah, Monsieur Bonvouloir. I am delighted that you could make it here on such short notice.” She beamed.

Bonvouloir could feel Richard’s uncomfortable presence over his shoulder.

Evidently Arlette felt it, too. “And I am delighted, Richard, that you could escort him here so quickly.”

Richard drew out an ancient pocket watch. “That rapidity will be...” he did the math, “3 francs 40, Mademoiselle Flahaut.”

Arlette batted her eyelashes at the amount. “I will be sure to recompense your --”

“I’ll get it.” Bonvouloir fished around inside his waistcoat and found a great big five franc silver coin with a profile of Louis-Philippe on it.

“Merci, Monsieur. Amelie and I appreciate it.” Richard turned to go. Bonvouloir cleared his throat. Reluctantly, the cab driver counted out three half-franc coins.

“Good enough,” Bonvouloir said, giving Richard a piercing look.

Richard grinned at him with his three teeth, touched the brim of his battered hat, and turned to go. “You need me to wait for a return trip?”

“I’ll walk,” he said sourly.

“Oh, you modern dandies with your promenades. Gonna put me out of business.”

Bonvouloir was rather relieved when he finally heard the clip-clop of Amelie’s hooves on the granite pavers pulling away from the apartment house near the opera. Arlette motioned for him to come inside.

Though Arlette’s apartment was really no more than two tiny rooms, Bonvouloir had always liked it. The small parlor/drawing room/sitting room was a sumptuously decorated as one could possibly decorate such a tiny room. A veritable miniature Versailles, with a potted palm by the floor to ceiling french windows, red velvet and gilded louis XV chairs, an empire console table. The bedroom was more exotic, with a moorish theme. There had been many times that he wished he’d been able to spend more time there.

“Do sit down, Achille.” Arlette said, flatly, motioning to the couch which had a leopard skin draped across the back of it. Really, Bonvouloir knew, it was a cavalry saddle cloth that Arlette had managed to charm out of a captain of the hussars. “Can I offer you some coffee or anything?”

“It’s too warm to start a fire. And anyway, I’ve got sustenance if I need it.” Bonvouloir patted the small flask in his breast pocket.

Arlette sat down on the couch, far closer to him than he’d expected. His breath caught in his throat. “Achille, I desperately need your help.” She placed one delicate hand on his knee. It felt ice cold; Bonvouloir couldn’t be sure if it was from her being nervous or from the heat that coursed through the lower half of his body. His gaze followed her arm up, leaping across the interruption of her short sleeve to travel across the curve of her collarbone and down to her decolletage.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I need your help for?”

“Hmm?” He tore his eyes off her cleavage and met her gaze. Her eyes shone with a fresh layer of tears, but underneath them, deep inside, there was a flash of something fierce and it startled him. He took her hand and lifted it off his knee. He brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it before placing it on her own knee. Best to be a bit cautious. Singers, dancers and actresses were constantly offering themselves to him, but recreational activities did not pay the rent or buy his evening wear. “What more do you need my help for, so desperately, my dear?”

Arlette clasped her hands on her lap and stared at them, playing with one of her several rings. She bit her lip, and turned her head to the side as if she were about to shake it. A wail pierced the parlor as she pitched forward, pressing her forehead against his chest.

That startled him. He struggled to find somewhere to put his hands as her shoulders begain shaking with sobs. He settled on stroking the back of her head and neck, trying not to get to tangled up in her chignon. The hairpins holding her tresses up were damn tempting. He sighed heavily and wished Arlette would stop crying long enough to make some sense of the situation.

“I- I- I’m too- too-”

“What?” Bonvouloir asked, wishing she’d just spit it out.

“I’m too old!”

“You’re what?”

“Too old! I’m twenty-four!” she cried into his lapel.

“The thirty-six hours since I applauded you as you sang that glorious aria on Friday night has somehow made you ancient?”

“You applauded me because you’re paid to do that.”

“Well, yes, but the rest of the house was full, and they applauded too. Frankly I was starting to feel a little unnecessary. And if du Veret thinks he could economize--” he chuckled, trying to reassure Arlette.

“Du Veret cut me.”

“He what?” Bonvouloir was shocked. That aria on Friday really had been glorious. Some of the most beautiful singing he’d heard at the Opera. “Did he tell you you were too old?”

“No, he didn’t say why, but I am.”

“You’re not.” Bonvouloir ran his fingers down her back between her shoulder blades.

“I’ve been relegated to the chorus. And chorus members must ‘retire’ at twenty-five.”

“So? I’m sure one of your many aristocratic admirers is in search of a mistress.”

“So? So?” She sat up and glared at him. “I am an artist. I sing. It’s hardly worth doing unless I’m singing the arias. And anyway, what wealthy gentleman is going to want a chorus girl when he could have a prima donna.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“My replacement is debuting on Friday.” She settled closer to him, leaning against him. She caressed the length of his thigh. “If she’s not well-received, and if attendance goes down, then du Veret will let me reprise the role. Or just cancel the production and I can be back as the lead in the next opera.”

He tried to smile. “You know du Veret will kill me.”

“Not literally.”

“Or rather, not personally.”

“But don’t you see? He’s going to kill me. Not literally, of course. But figuratively. He’s killing my career.” She sniffled. “For some chorus girl’s debut. He’d have done better by me to stage La muette de Portici.” She resumed sobbing against his shoulder.

Bonvouloir really wished she’d stop crying. He sighed.

“You’ll d-d-defend me?”

“Of course, I’ll defend you. But that’s not what you’re asking me to do.”

She tilted her head up and kissed his neck.

He inhaled sharply. No, she was asking him to destroy this debutante. “What’s in it for me?”

“You’ll help an old friend.”

“I told you, you’re not old.” That at least made Arlette smile. She really was beautiful when she smiled. Bonvouloir lifted her chin towards his. Her lips...

Arlette pulled away. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I’m late for rehearsal.”