The Grandfather Clock (29 page)

“
Don’t look at me,” she
fired back. Her sharp French accent cut the lobby air. I hoped
Klara was following the English.

“
I got a call from a man
in Paris. Dr. Desjardins. I’m supposed to meet a man from the
Lou...”

The color left Celeste’s face. “Meet
who? What? Marco, you are...”

Klara couldn’t bite her tongue any
longer. “You lied about your mother, Celeste.”

“
No, Klara, you’re wrong!”
She searched for her phone as if it could provide proof.

“
She never called
Desjardins,” I said, “because you never told her to.”

“
Well,” she sputtered,
“she obviously did. Marco, you said...” She was still having
trouble processing the situation.

“
Let’s get the fuck out of
here,” Oskar muttered.

“
Leave the bag,” I said
holding my crutch up.

“
Fuck you,” Oskar said,
stepping up to me and whispering, “I will kill you this
time.”

I stared at Oskar, but addressed
Marco. “Marco, that gun has no value. When this is over, the whole
world will know how it was stolen, and by whom. You can hand it
over, and take your chances walking out of here, or you can risk
your whole life.”

Oskar mocked, “Are you going to call
the police? I’ll give you my uncle’s number.”

“
Oskar, I’ll call your
mother. We’ve met,” I said. The minute I started the sentence I
knew that I was about to get hit. He lunged at me. With my knuckles
through the handle of my coffee mug I smashed my right hand into
Oskar’s face. It was enough to double him over. Celeste screamed.
Not one second after I’d put the mug in his forehead, I grabbed my
crutch with both hands and brought it straight down on the back of
Oskar’s head. I fell to the ground and hoped for intervention
before Oskar recovered.

Two men, guests, got involved. One
held Marco at bay while the other contemplated getting into the
fray with Oskar. I used my good leg to scoot back. A heavy bar
chair fell between us. Oskar was in a rage. I tried to stand, but
my crutch was bent forty-five degrees. Blood poured from the back
of Oskar’s bald head.

Two men in hotel uniforms arrived and
surveyed the situation.

“
Stop!” Klara yelled in
English. Celeste had backed behind one of the hotel employees,
urging him to step in. Oskar glared at me while sizing up the hotel
staff.

Klara held up her phone. “All here!”
she said. Then she switched to French. “I have it
recorded.”

“
Marco, put down the bag
and walk away,” I said. Marco stood there,
non-compliant.

Klara spoke slowly, “Do it or it goes
on YouTube, and you’re a wanted criminal.”

Oskar was confused by the
French.

“
YouTube,” I said to
Oskar. “You understand YouTube.”

Marco shook his head at Oskar as he
dropped the bag.

“
Celeste,” Klara
continued, “hand the bag to me. If you can do that
much.”

Celeste was crying now. She picked up
the bag and walked it to Klara. “I can explain,” she said in
French.

“
I don’t want to hear your
story.”

Oskar panted with his hands on his
knees. The bartender had thrown him a white towel, which was now
red with blood.

I stood up against the bar and took
the bag. Klara reached her arm out to help stabilize me. I rubbed
my eyes and said, “We’re leaving now.”

“
Klara,” Celeste
whimpered.

Klara rolled her eyes. “Come on.” A
crowd watched in silence as we walked up the steps to the main
lobby and out the door.

Epilogue

Spring had finally arrived in Paris.
Howard Nixon was right. I came to love Paris in the winter, but the
first sign of spring had me signing a lease on an impossibly small
space on the edge of the Latin Quarter. It wasn’t near Klara, and
that was for a reason. I couldn’t go back to the Malmaison, and I
hadn’t spoken to Marianne since I was in Argentina. While we
thought Marianne was working for us, she was trying to convince
Marco that a buyer could be found if they excluded me. Celeste’s
idea of using Dr. Desjardins was a stalling tactic.

Celeste was horribly ashamed and I
felt sorry for her. She had been caught between her mother, who
felt I’d betrayed her by not trusting the gun to the safe at the
chateau, and by Marco, who had just left her. They were all acting
in self-interest. Marco kept his options open and took the bait
when Desjardins offered a meeting with someone from the Louvre. He
faded away, and continued his mediocre soccer career for the Cruz
del Sur soccer team.

I didn’t see Celeste for over a month
after returning to Paris. She made many attempts to clear with air
with Klara, but never tried to reach me. Those first weeks back in
Paris had their ups and downs. I didn’t feel comfortable attending
Claudette’s burial. I didn’t want to risk confrontation with
Marianne or Celeste. My phone rang for two weeks with interview
requests. Bank USA stuck by me and brokered a cooperative
arrangement with the Louvre, the Napoleon museum in Monaco, and the
Hans Christian Andersen Museum in Odense. The story of the Tromblon
de Napoleon had made papers around the world, so I was nervous
wreck when I ran into Celeste before my first speaking engagement
at the Louvre.

She wore an elegant black dress, and
she was almost upon me before I noticed her. I was feeling out of
place in a suit, drinking a tonic and lime with no one to talk to
when she approached. She made a pouting face and extended a
hesitant handshake.

I took her hand and we hugged. “Hello.
This is big,” she said looking around the packed room.
“Congratulations. Working for the Louvre now.”

“
I wouldn’t be here if you
and Klara hadn’t come to save me.”

“
A lot of good I did.” She
looked away.

“
It’s okay,” I said, as
she looked up at me slowly. “I know why you did what you did. You
didn’t mean to... well, I don’t actually know what you meant to do,
but it’s done.”

“
No hard
feelings?”

“
No hard feelings,
Celeste. I’m sorry it went down the way it did.”

“
Your plan was good,” she
smiled. “You beat the shit out of that guy.”

“
Yeah, I’m just glad to be
walking without a limp.”

“
You look
good.”

“
Yeah, I have a little
scar,” I said showing her the curving line above my eye.

“
Makes it a better story
when people ask what happened. Makes you look like a tough guy.
Like that New York Times article.”

“
Oh, jeez. My mother loved
that.”

She sighed. “Klara won’t talk to
me.”

“
Give her
time.”

“
Yeah.” She sipped a glass
of wine. “How’s your place?”

“
Small,” I
laughed.

“
Well, you don’t have to
share a bathroom with me and my mom.”

“
How is
Marianne?”

“
Ohhhh. She’s getting
better. She was, um, embarrassed. She got to keep her job. They
knew her intentions were good. She won’t be here
tonight.”

“
I should call
her.”

“
You should. I thought you
might come to Claudette’s... you know.”

“
Yeah. I didn’t want to do
that.”

“
It would have been okay,”
she said. “You were like a son to Claudette.”

The lights dimmed. “I guess that’s a
cue.” I checked my phone. 6:55.

I was glad that Dr. Desjardins was
there to offer a long and detailed history of the gun, and other
valuables stolen during the war. I was nervous that I didn’t have
much to add to the story, since everyone had read the account in
the press. I didn’t want to come off as arrogant. I talked mostly
about the odd circumstances that took me from that bar in Orlando
to the mountains of Patagonia.

If the New York Times story was a
thriller, some of the tabloid style newspapers had focused on the
story of Christie, and also the deed that set Marco against me.
Someone asked if I had heard from Christie. I told them that she
had emailed me. I told the audience that I hadn’t been totally fair
with her, but that there wasn’t bad blood between us. I commented
that my mother was a bit embarrassed at the fact that in the story
I not only left my fiancée, but also slept with the best friend of
my girlfriend. I was not pretending be a hero.

A man asked if I felt any bitterness
for not being compensated for returning such a valuable item. It
was now estimated to be worth $8 million. I told him that I was
glad to return it to its proper home and that I had been offered an
entry-level position in fundraising and development with the Louvre
that included a tuition waiver for graduate work. It was something
Dr. Desjardins arranged and I was grateful because it meant that I
could stay in Paris.

A woman asked what happened to Klara
and Celeste since the story hit the news.

I said, “She’ll probably kill me for
this. Throughout this adventure I made some bad decisions, but
everyone seems to think that I’m worthy of praise, because I
returned the gun. Celeste is someone who tries to please everyone.
I haven’t seen Celeste in a month, but she is here tonight, and I’m
glad she came.”

I nodded in her direction and she
blushed as a few people applauded.

“
And Klara?” a woman in
the front row asked.

“
Without Klara, there is
no story. This whole thing was probably hardest on her. Me? I get
to do this.” I gestured around the ballroom. “Klara has gone back
to her life, but it is totally altered. Her most important
relationships have changed.”

A man in dark-rimmed glasses raised
his hand. “I read that you had sold the movie rights to your
story.”

“
That’s an exaggeration,”
I laughed. The truth was I had received a couple of calls. A friend
in California told me not to get too excited.

“
Who would you want to
play you?” he asked.

“
Oh, I have no idea,” I
said, embarrassed.

“
Ben Affleck!” a woman
shouted to the audience’s amusement.

Laughter gave way to applause. Dr.
Desjardins stood from his chair and I realized my first speech was
over and I had survived. A few people stopped to shake my hand as I
made a beeline to the bar for a drink.

Celeste approached again and gave me a
hug. “You never answered the question about Klara. Do you see her?”
she asked.

“
I do. I hoped she would
be here, but she was coming from a conference.”

“
So you two
are...”

“
Yes, we are. Things are
good. Don’t worry,” I said.

“
Good,” Celeste said, with
what I detected to be a little bit of disappointment.

And then Klara emerged through the
mingling crowd.

“
I made the last fifteen
minutes. I’m so sorry!” she said. As she kissed my cheek she
noticed Celeste.

“
Oh, hi,” she said,
smiling. She hesitated and then offered Celeste a hug.

“
Isn’t this so amazing?”
Celeste said, looking around the room.

“
Incredible. It’s so good
you came,” Klara offered. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I just have
been...”

“
It’s okay,” Celeste said
looking away.

“
No. No, it’s not. I
should have called you back. We’ve been friends too
long.”

“
But I wasn’t a friend,”
Celeste said.

“
Why don’t we just blame
Michael?” Klara said with a grin.

“
Everything was fine until
he came to Paris,” Celeste jumped in so quickly it made Klara
laugh.

Klara held Celeste’s hand. “Come to
dinner. Let’s celebrate. We’re going to Monaco next
month!”

And the three of us walked out
together.

The grandfather clock stands in my parents’
house. My mother has no problem looking at it now. It has a new
story. Because of that clock, she got to visit Paris. We took the
train to Monaco together where I was part of yet another reception
and set of speeches. Friends who heard the story came out of the
woodwork with emails. Erica lamented her decision not to go on the
road trip with me. And I had almost forgotten Erin’s name when I
got an email asking if I was the same guy she met during a
bachelorette party in New Orleans. My brother credited me with
snapping Mom out of her depression. But I told him that wasn’t
true. The clock saved her just like it saved me. We were all just a
part of its story.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jonathan Kile lives in St. Petersburg, Florida with
his wife and two children. Visit
welloiledwriter.wordpress.com
for news on the 2016 release of
The Napoleon Bloom,
the
sequel to
The Grandfather Clock.
You will also find
commentary on writing, working, living and independent publishing.
His email is
[email protected]
.