You Slay Me
Page 2
He glanced at the appraiser's sheet and swore under his breath before brandishing his stamp on my passport and the dragon's documents. "All is in order. You may continue."
I closed up the case, locked it, and tucked the keys back into my neck pouch, giving Antoine a cheery smile as I slung the bag containing my clothing onto my shoulder. "Thanks."
"One moment—," he said, stopping me with an up-raised hand. I held my breath, worried he was going to in-sist on something that would keep me from making my appointment with Mme. Deauxville. It would be just my luck that Antoine would decide I needed a full body search.
I tried to look innocent and friendly and not in the least like someone who would smuggle something into the country in a convenient body cavity. "Hmm?"
He glanced around quickly, then stepped closer to me, his voice dropping. "You are an expert in demons but you do not believe in them?"
I shook my head, not wishing to get into a philosophical conversation while the clock was ticking. "I'm not really an expert—I've just studied a few medieval texts about them."
"Demons are very bad."
I shrugged and edged sideways. "Not really. Accord-ing to the texts I've read, they're actually rather stupid. I think people fear the thought of them because they don't know how to control them."
He leaned closer, the stale odor of cigarette smoke clinging to him, making my nose wrinkle. "And you don't fear them?"
I shook my head again, edging even farther away.
His dark eyes lit for a moment with a deep red light, making him suddenly look a whole lot more ominous than a simple customs inspector. "You should," he said, and then turned away, gesturing the next person in line to his table.
"Hoo, I guess there're weirdos all over the world," I mumbled to myself as I pushed my way through the crowd toward the exit, careful to keep both hands on the handle of the black case. My clothing and personal items I could afford to lose, but this job was my chance—my only chance of getting ahead since the company I worked for went belly up. If I messed this up, F d be jobless again. With no unemployment benefits left, and a beach bum to support, I had to have work, something that would allow me to live while paying Alan the huge wad of money the court decided I owed him.
Men. Bah!
It took me another fifteen minutes to figure out the signs in the airport concourses and find where the taxis were. Beth, Uncle Damian's secretary, said Orly had signs in English, but Beth lied—not only was there no English, but also nothing I saw written on the signs matched the handy little phrases in theFrench for Francophobes book I had bought to get me through the next day and a half.
"Um…bonjour" I said to a bored-looking taxi driver who stood leaning on his car and picking at his teeth. "Parlez-vous anglais?"
'Won," he said without stopping the teeth-picking.
"Oh. Um. Do you know if any of the other taxi driversparlez anglais? Knowez-vousif le taxi drivers parlez anglais?"
He gave me a look that should have shamed me, but I was beyond being ashamed of going to France without knowing a single word of French except what I found in the guidebook. I had a job to do—I just wanted it done.
"Look, I'm doing the best I can, OK? I want to go to the Rue … Oh, just a sec—let me look in the book…." 1 hugged the black case to my chest with one arm while I rooted around in my bag for the French guide. "Je veux aller a la Rue Sang des Innocents."
The taxi driver stopped picking his teeth to grimace. "That is the worst French I have ever heard, and I have heard much bad French."
"You do speak English!" I said, slamming my guide shut. "You said you didn't! And I can't help it if what I said was wrong. That's what the book said."
"It wasn't much wrong, but your accent.. ." He shud-dered delicately, then with a sweeping bow, opened the door to his taxi. "Very well, I will take you to the Rue Sang des Innocents, but it will cost you."
"How much?" I asked as I slid into the backseat, still clutching my case. I had the euros Uncle Damian had given me, but I knew they were only enough to cover my hotel bill for the night, two meals, and minor incidentals like the taxi rides.
The taxi driver tossed my bag into the other side and slid behind the wheel. "The journey will cost you thirty-six euro, but the ride will cost you more."
"Huh?"
He smiled at me in his rearview mirror. "By the time we arrive at the Rue Sang des Innocents, you will know how to say three things in French. With those three things, you will be able to go anywhere in Paris."
I agreed to his terms and, since I was early for my ap-pointment with Mme. Deauxville, had him wait for me while I ran into the hotel where Beth had booked me. I checked in, dropped my bag on the bed, pulled a comb through my curls so I looked less like a crazed woman and more like a professional courier, and dashed back downstairs to where Rene and his taxi were waiting for me.
At five minutes to five, the taxi pulled up next to a six-story cream-colored building with high arched doorways and windows graced by intricate black metal grilles.
"Wow," I breathed as I leaned out the window to peer up at the house. "What a gorgeous building. It looks so… French!"
Rene reached backwards through his window and opened my door. I grabbed my things and got out onto the cobblestone street, my mouth still hanging open as I stared up at the house.
"You see that all the houses here are old mansions. It is a very exclusive neighborhood. lie Saint-Louis itself is only six blocks long and two blocks wide. And now, you will pay me exactly thirty-six euro, and recite for me please the phrases I have taught you."
I dragged my eyes off the house and smiled as I handed Rene his money. "If someone annoys me, I say, Voulez-vous cesser de me cracker dessus pendant que vous parlez"
"Will you stop spitting on me while you are speaking," Rene translated with a nod.
"And if I need help with anything, I say, J'ai une grenouille dans mon bidet."
"I have a frog in my bidet. Yes, very good. And the last one?'
"The last I should reserve for any guy who hits on me when I don't want him to: Tu as une tite afaire muter les plaques des egouts."
"You have a face that would blow off the cover of a manhole. Oui, tris bon. You will do. And for your meet-ing with the important lady,bonne chance, eh?"
I closed up the case, locked it, and tucked the keys back into my neck pouch, giving Antoine a cheery smile as I slung the bag containing my clothing onto my shoulder. "Thanks."
"One moment—," he said, stopping me with an up-raised hand. I held my breath, worried he was going to in-sist on something that would keep me from making my appointment with Mme. Deauxville. It would be just my luck that Antoine would decide I needed a full body search.
I tried to look innocent and friendly and not in the least like someone who would smuggle something into the country in a convenient body cavity. "Hmm?"
He glanced around quickly, then stepped closer to me, his voice dropping. "You are an expert in demons but you do not believe in them?"
I shook my head, not wishing to get into a philosophical conversation while the clock was ticking. "I'm not really an expert—I've just studied a few medieval texts about them."
"Demons are very bad."
I shrugged and edged sideways. "Not really. Accord-ing to the texts I've read, they're actually rather stupid. I think people fear the thought of them because they don't know how to control them."
He leaned closer, the stale odor of cigarette smoke clinging to him, making my nose wrinkle. "And you don't fear them?"
I shook my head again, edging even farther away.
His dark eyes lit for a moment with a deep red light, making him suddenly look a whole lot more ominous than a simple customs inspector. "You should," he said, and then turned away, gesturing the next person in line to his table.
"Hoo, I guess there're weirdos all over the world," I mumbled to myself as I pushed my way through the crowd toward the exit, careful to keep both hands on the handle of the black case. My clothing and personal items I could afford to lose, but this job was my chance—my only chance of getting ahead since the company I worked for went belly up. If I messed this up, F d be jobless again. With no unemployment benefits left, and a beach bum to support, I had to have work, something that would allow me to live while paying Alan the huge wad of money the court decided I owed him.
Men. Bah!
It took me another fifteen minutes to figure out the signs in the airport concourses and find where the taxis were. Beth, Uncle Damian's secretary, said Orly had signs in English, but Beth lied—not only was there no English, but also nothing I saw written on the signs matched the handy little phrases in theFrench for Francophobes book I had bought to get me through the next day and a half.
"Um…bonjour" I said to a bored-looking taxi driver who stood leaning on his car and picking at his teeth. "Parlez-vous anglais?"
'Won," he said without stopping the teeth-picking.
"Oh. Um. Do you know if any of the other taxi driversparlez anglais? Knowez-vousif le taxi drivers parlez anglais?"
He gave me a look that should have shamed me, but I was beyond being ashamed of going to France without knowing a single word of French except what I found in the guidebook. I had a job to do—I just wanted it done.
"Look, I'm doing the best I can, OK? I want to go to the Rue … Oh, just a sec—let me look in the book…." 1 hugged the black case to my chest with one arm while I rooted around in my bag for the French guide. "Je veux aller a la Rue Sang des Innocents."
The taxi driver stopped picking his teeth to grimace. "That is the worst French I have ever heard, and I have heard much bad French."
"You do speak English!" I said, slamming my guide shut. "You said you didn't! And I can't help it if what I said was wrong. That's what the book said."
"It wasn't much wrong, but your accent.. ." He shud-dered delicately, then with a sweeping bow, opened the door to his taxi. "Very well, I will take you to the Rue Sang des Innocents, but it will cost you."
"How much?" I asked as I slid into the backseat, still clutching my case. I had the euros Uncle Damian had given me, but I knew they were only enough to cover my hotel bill for the night, two meals, and minor incidentals like the taxi rides.
The taxi driver tossed my bag into the other side and slid behind the wheel. "The journey will cost you thirty-six euro, but the ride will cost you more."
"Huh?"
He smiled at me in his rearview mirror. "By the time we arrive at the Rue Sang des Innocents, you will know how to say three things in French. With those three things, you will be able to go anywhere in Paris."
I agreed to his terms and, since I was early for my ap-pointment with Mme. Deauxville, had him wait for me while I ran into the hotel where Beth had booked me. I checked in, dropped my bag on the bed, pulled a comb through my curls so I looked less like a crazed woman and more like a professional courier, and dashed back downstairs to where Rene and his taxi were waiting for me.
At five minutes to five, the taxi pulled up next to a six-story cream-colored building with high arched doorways and windows graced by intricate black metal grilles.
"Wow," I breathed as I leaned out the window to peer up at the house. "What a gorgeous building. It looks so… French!"
Rene reached backwards through his window and opened my door. I grabbed my things and got out onto the cobblestone street, my mouth still hanging open as I stared up at the house.
"You see that all the houses here are old mansions. It is a very exclusive neighborhood. lie Saint-Louis itself is only six blocks long and two blocks wide. And now, you will pay me exactly thirty-six euro, and recite for me please the phrases I have taught you."
I dragged my eyes off the house and smiled as I handed Rene his money. "If someone annoys me, I say, Voulez-vous cesser de me cracker dessus pendant que vous parlez"
"Will you stop spitting on me while you are speaking," Rene translated with a nod.
"And if I need help with anything, I say, J'ai une grenouille dans mon bidet."
"I have a frog in my bidet. Yes, very good. And the last one?'
"The last I should reserve for any guy who hits on me when I don't want him to: Tu as une tite afaire muter les plaques des egouts."
"You have a face that would blow off the cover of a manhole. Oui, tris bon. You will do. And for your meet-ing with the important lady,bonne chance, eh?"
