The Adventures of Mademoiselle Mac 2-Book Bundle by Christopher Ward Read Free Book Online

, or are you working tonight, bouffée ?” The little man at the centre of this thug party waved me over, to the group’s general amusement. When he looked at me, I avoided his gaze, feeling like a specimen in biology class pinned to my place.
    â€œWhere’s Michelle?”
    â€œSick,” I mumbled, but it was my voice that sounded like it was on its last legs.
    â€œWhat’s your name? Where are you from? Not from here, I’m guessing,” he hissed softly.
    Mechanically I replied, “Mac. Upper Mandeville ... cigarettes?” I hoped to shift his attention to the tray that was shaking slightly in my hands. He ignored my question.
    â€œCaliforrrniaaa.…” He stretched out the word like a lizard sunning itself on our backyard patio. “What do you think of the lighter, brighter Paris? Remind you of home?” he asked with a smirk as he opened a fresh pack of cigarillos and reached for a match.
    My brilliant reply went something like, “Um, ah, yes. I don’t know, I mean, yeah, I guess.”
    â€œWell, lighten up, kid,” he sneered as he touched the match to the tip of his smoke, illuminating his face. I felt my arms go limp as I realized I was staring at Luc Fiat, the prefect of Paris. But how could that be? I was saved by a voice from below.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, mesdames et messieurs , please give a warm welcome to ‘ La Reine Des Rêves, ’ Paris’s own Queen of Dreams, Sashay D’Or.”
    As the crowd applauded, I hurried downstairs and into the safety of the little space beside the stage to catch my breath. Sashay swept past me, and she seemed in a dream herself as strange music slowly wove its way through the club. Rhythmic blue lights like waves washed over the quieted crowd as Sashay, well, sashayed onto the stage, one long-gloved hand extended as if it were leading her somewhere. The music rose and fell. She seemed to pull endless wisps of gauzy material from the folds of her outfit as she spun and floated back and forth across the stage. Every once in a while, she would dramatically throw a jewelled, gloved hand into the air, and a little column of golden smoke would rise like it had been charmed out of the stage, while from somewhere a cymbal would crash in response.
    Maybe it was the waves of blue lights, but I found myself feeling like I was beside the ocean in California, with the distant sound of children playing and my mom laughing at something my dad was saying. The sand felt warm on my hands and feet, and in the haze I could make out tiny sailboats in the distance as I watched the patterns the seagulls made on the sand as they drifted overhead. A particularly loud wave crashed, and it turned into the sound of the audience applauding. I realized I was still standing side-stage at the club. With a whiff of lavender, Sashay materialized and took my arm, leading me, in a fuzzy state of mind, to her dressing room.
    â€œMmm, I just had the coolest memories,” I started to tell her. She smiled at me as she removed the cigarette tray.
    â€œI know, I’d love to see the coast of California some day.”
    My head was still glowing from Sashay’s performance as little questions started to take flight like seagulls from my memory. She seemed to know what I was thinking. “Later, ma petite , let’s go. I don’t want to see anyone at the stage door. I’ll change at home, chez moi .”
    She threw a coat on my shoulders, and the next thing I knew we were in the back seat of Rudee’s cab.

Twelve
    The rain had stopped, but it had left the streets slick and shiny like new leather as the tires hissed down the grand boulevards. We didn’t seem to be returning to Sashay’s place in the Marais as we crossed the Pont Carrousel and drove through the archway past the Louvre. I sank back in the seat and listened vaguely to the usual exchange of jokes and recipes on Rudee’s cab radio. The cafes