Parisian Promises by Cecilia Velástegui Page B

like?”
    â€œHandsome and courteous,” Annie said, and Karen nodded.
    â€œHmm, and how old was he?”
    â€œUnder thirty.”
    â€œDescribe his looks and what he was wearing.” She burped, patting her chest. “It may seem shallow to you Americans, but we French can tell so much from a person’s appearance.”
    â€œWell, we didn’t stare at him,” admitted Annie, frustrated at this downer of a conversation. “He had a tan like a Californian and a bit of a Che Guevara beard and––”
    â€œHa! I don’t like it––not one bit.” Madame looked horrified. “You left her there with a man who does not appear to be French at all, certainly not a Parisian. Our tans fade by September, and we are not farmers out in the sun all day. Our Parisian sun is very weak this time of year.”
    â€œBut he spoke French like a local…,” Karen argued, not sure how else to describe it. She hadn’t considered for a second that the handsome young man might not be French.
    â€œWhen did you leave her at the café?”
    â€œAround four. You shouldn’t worry about us so much, Madame.” Annie sounded snippy, she knew, but she was annoyed at the waste of valuable study time. “We are independent, mature, college women from California. We’re not babes in the Bois de Boulogne!”
    â€œOf course I worry about you! You are my guests. Yes, you pay me a pittance for your rooms, but you are my guests nonetheless. How many other foreign students do you suppose live in this type of house in Paris? None, I assure you.” Madame had finished her third drink––and gotten her second wind. “Our snoopy concierge downstairs, she has just been telling me that all sorts of dangerous foreigners lurk in our streets! It’s just like the days when the Germans strolled our city as if they owned it.”
    Madame rearranged herself on the Recamier and for a moment appeared to doze off. But when Annie and Karen exchanged glances and began to tip-toe out of the salon, Madame roused herself.
    â€œIn those days, I was already twice-widowed, but I had to do what I had to do to survive. Yes, I even had to bed a Nazi or two. We did everything for la France .” Madame grimaced at the memory. “You know, you four American girls are plump bunnies for the famished wolves in our midst.”
    Annie couldn’t tolerate any more. “Sorry, Madame, but I must go to my room to––”
    â€œI assure you that the loup garou is not just a legend––he exists. And he is cunning and terrifying. He can change from a wolf into a handsome Nazi officer.” She sighed again. “Or into a bomber, or anyone who…who…”
    Madame’s eyes closed, and she snored loudly and gracelessly. The girls took this as their cue to flee the salon.
    â€œWe certainly have a bat in the belfry, don’t we?” Annie whispered to Karen, who poured the remaining liquor from her glass into Madame’s now empty glass. Karen said, “The old bat needs this poison more than I!”

C HAPTER S EVEN
Le Sept
    W e should have accepted their offer to send a car for us,” complained Lola, teetering on her high-heeled pumps across the wooden planks of the Pont des Arts Bridge. Despite her complaints, she leapfrogged over uneven planks and dodged slimy ground residue with confidence. A patch of fog hid some of the common Parisian pitfalls (dog poop, mounds of cigarette butts), but Lola cut through the city with the rhythm of a veteran disco diva who would soon be dancing with the elite crowd at Le Sept––and that was all that mattered to her.
    â€œYou should have worn sensible shoes, like us.” Annie pointed to Karen’s masculine leather clogs. “We hardly know those guys, and we should be able to manage on our own, so we can leave whenever we want.”
    â€œI’m tolerating the pain of