The Woman in the Photograph by Dana Gynther Page A

jazz combos and—”
    He stopped short, his attention suddenly absorbed by a trio at the bar. Lee turned and immediately recognized Kiki’s reflection in the mirror. From the dozens of photos in Man’s studio, Lee knew her features well: the straight black bob, the milky skin, the dramatic eyes and bow lips. She watched her laughing at the bar with her two companions, a Japanese man with round glasses and a pasty-faced man in a white scarf and bowler hat. The barman and a few patrons looked on in amusement. The Queen was holding court.
    â€œ La soupe à l’oignon pour madame et monsieur .” The waiter served them ceremoniously, then disappeared at once.
    â€œThat’s Kiki, isn’t it?” Lee almost whispered, as if anyone could hear over the din of the crowded room. “Who’s she with?”
    â€œFoujita and Pascin. They’re painters here in Montparnasse, and Kiki’s modeled for both of them.” He picked up his spoon and chipped at the cheesy crust floating on the soup while Lee stole another look at the artists. Foujita, short but fit, was wearing hoop earrings; Pascin was telling a story with such grandiose gestures, it was obvious he was talking about bullfighting. “They’re serious painters,” Man added, “but they’re also very serious about parties, picnics, and masquerade balls.”
    Although nervous, Lee was curious about Kiki, the well-loved neighborhood royal who used to sleep on her side of the bed; she also wanted to meet some of the unconventional painters that made Montparnasse famous. “Could you introduce me to them?”
    Man took a tentative bite of soup—it was still hot—and looked into Lee’s expectant face. “Well . . .” he began slowly.
    He took a glimpse back at the bar and saw that Kiki had spotted them in the crowd. She was heading toward their table, her friends close behind her. Man stood up and greeted her with a light kiss on the mouth. “Kiki,” he murmured, then faced the other two and shook their hands. “Foujita, Pascin. I’d like for you all to meet Lee Miller.”
    Pascin swept off his bowler hat to reveal sparse, uncombed hair, then leaned over the table to deposit a sodden kiss on each of Lee’s cheeks. “Lovely,” he managed. Foujita bowed politely. “Delighted.”
    Kiki looked Lee over—her Nordic good looks and elegant style—and when she caught sight of the gold chain binding her to Man Ray, she raised a thin, pencil-drawn eyebrow. “Tell me, then,”she said in French, turning to her former lover, “does she whittle a good pipe?”
    Pascin broke out in drunken giggles, and the gasp from the provincial parents at the next table was audible.
    Man’s face clouded. “Kiki, that’s enough.”
    â€œI’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Lee looked around uncertainly. Was she being insulted? She stood up to be on even ground with Kiki. “My French isn’t very good.”
    Kiki turned back to Lee, her dark eyes filled with spiteful mischief. “I asked, honey, if you knew how to suck cock.”
    For a second Lee stood dumbstruck, but quickly curled her lips into a confident smile. “You’ll have to ask Man that,” she said sweetly, refusing to be browbeaten. “It shouldn’t be too hard for him to remember. We had a wild rough-and-tumble first thing this morning.”
    Pascin twittered through his fingers, but Kiki looked at her with surprise. A waiter carrying a large tray filled with heavy plates tried to push his way through. “Excuse me. Yes, a thousand pardons,” he said drily. “Perhaps you could all sit down?”
    â€œI’ll be singing downstairs later,” Kiki said. “Maybe we’ll see you then.” With a painter on each arm, she turned and left.
    Disappointed, Lee slid back into her chair and took a sip of wine. She’d