The Siren of Paris (4 page)

“Not with Marie, but yes, and they are staying put. Neither of them are happy about it, but Nigel’s own bank has recommended it. David, well, he is not eager for it,” she said, looking to the side.

“Why does David not want to get home?” Marc asked quietly.

“He wants to get home. I think he wants to get home desperately, but David is cautious about travel. He has been burned, so that is always in the background,” she answered. “They were talking about South America the other day. There is a possibility of getting out through Lisbon. But, you know, I have to agree with David.”

“Germany said they did not sink that ship. Do you think the British did it to bring America into the war?” Marc studied her reaction.

“Marc, it does not matter who or why the ship was hit if you are a passenger, and that is where David is coming from.”

“I took the job.”

“With the embassy? How did you land that?”

“My father knows Ambassador Bullitt, and he suggested it before I left New York.”

“Can’t you just relax and enjoy Paris? I did not know you needed the work.”

“I don’t need the money, but I do need the work.”

“You’re lying, you know. I am not a fool,” Dora said.

“What?”

“You are doing it to impress someone, and I think we both know whom.” Dora raised her eyes while she stared at Marc.

“Dora, are you a professional psychic, or just a part-timer?”

“Eat, and have some wine.”

“There is a package that needs to go to the British Embassy and, when you get back, I think there is some translation work,” the secretary said to Marc. It was his first week at the American Embassy in Paris.

“I know you,” a tall, young man said as he received Marc’s package. “You live in my building, right?”

Marc thought for a minute. “Yes, I think I do. Are you a student?”

“I was before all this mess. My name is Allen. And you are?”

“Marc … Marc Tolbert.”

“Where are you from originally?” Allen said with a Manchester accent.

“New York. I am here for a year to study art.”

“Well, let’s get together, chap, for drinks sometime. I have never been to New York, but would love to hear about it. Plus, it is always nice to find someone whom I can speak English with.”

“Marc, you are a savior,” Sylvia said to him as he entered the door to Shakespeare and Company.

“Oh, have I done something?”

“Yes, you have come too soon, and now you are going to help me set up for the reading,” she said, smiling as she rushed about the cluttered bookstore. She stood shorter than Marc, even with her square heels. Her hair parted down the middle, curls puffing out on the sides.

“Well, everything has worked out for the best, then. I came early because Marie cannot make it, but will meet me afterwards. So, these are the chairs?” Marc asked.

“Yes, those are the ones. Have you read Andre Gide before?” she asked with excitement.

“No, but I have heard of him. He is an interesting character. What will he be reading tonight?” Marc set up another chair.

“
L’école des femmes
, published in 1929,” she said, just as Nigel walked through the door.

“Will Dora be able to make it?” Marc asked him.

“No, she would not tell me why, but I believe she’s on a date. She’s always so tight-lipped when she has found a hot one.”

Just before everyone had arrived, Allen walked through the shop door.

“Well, twice in one day, imagine that,” Marc said, smiling.

“It is a small city if you speak English,” Allen said, looking at Sylvia.

After the reading, Marc asked Allen if he would like to join the group for drinks. Sylvia, Nigel, Allen, and Marc walked to the café where Marie had agreed to meet Marc after the reading.

“So, you see, Eveline has fallen in love with the worst sort of fellow one could imagine,” Sylvia said as they walked.

“It is a very odd work, but brilliantly insightful. Andre certainly has captured how blind love can be,” Allen added.

“I thought the reading was going to be an English book by Joyce, and I am shocked, Allen, that you understood,” Marc said.

“I am not in Paris by mistake, Marc. French is a wonderful escape from English, and I take it at every chance I get,” Allen bumped against Marc.

“So, how does it all end?” Marc asked Sylvia.

“Oh, that is in book two. Eveline makes a series of choices to escape from her love, which leads her to an early death,” Sylvia said jovially.

“Oh, that never happens,” Allen said.

“Of course not, Allen, never at all,” Sylvia smiled warmly and poked Marc in the ribs.

“How does he know these things? After all, he does not chase after women himself,” Marc complained, just before they reached the café. Allen opened the door for Marc and Sylvia to pass through, and, as Marc looked through the restaurant, Marie caught his eye and waved.

“She is lovely. Do you know her?” Sylvia asked.

“Yes, she is a model, uh, I mean, student at the university.”

“Well, it appears she wants you to join her. Mind if we tag along?” Allen said, his tone snide.

“We’ll all join them. They are all students from my class.”

After a round of drinks, the conversation turned again to the war.

“The problem is not with Germany but with France. We have seen this coming for a long time and refused to do anything about it. Now it is here at our doorstep, and we still act as if we have no idea what to do,” Marie said.

“It is absurd. They have called up all these troops to do what? There is no fighting at the front. There is no invasion of France. What can we do now that Poland has fallen? Are we expecting to conquer Germany and then liberate Poland?” another student chimed in.

“Well, you know, Britain will save us!” a younger woman said, stirring the pot, aware of Allen’s nationality.

“Oh, is that so?” Marie retorted. “England is just taking advantage of the opportunity and that should not surprise anyone here,” she said, looking directly at Allen. Marc frowned at Marie, but she only smiled back.

“I agree, it is a farce, as politics and wars always are,” Allen said in perfect French to the surprise of the other students. “I am just surprised we are still even talking about this war. It should have been over the day after it began, and certainly by the weekend. Don’t they know we have a life to live here in Paris?” Allen finished, not breaking eye contact with Marie.

“Marc, I have a question for you,” Marie said.

“Yes,” he said nervously, wondering if the argument would escalate.

“I model for another class, and the male model has been called up. There is a session tomorrow night and I need a model for some classic poses. There will be a few seven-minute poses and likely one longer pose of thirty or forty minutes. I think you would be perfect.”

“I have never modeled before,” he stammered.

“Oh, it is cake. Don’t worry. Besides, it will give you a new appreciation when you are drawing your subject. It is important to know what life is like on the other side. Your work is very good and this will make it even better. What do you say? Class is at six in the evening.”

“Uh … what kind of poses?” he asked, relaxing a little.

“Classical,” Marie said.

Marc arrived before Marie. The instructor showed him the dressing room. Marie entered a few minutes later.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“A little,” he said, shaking out his hands. “I’m not sure how I will do.”

“I am always nervous just before, but it goes away.” Marie removed her blouse and dropped her dress.

“Do I strip here?” Marc looked left and right nervously.

“Of course. I know. It is odd, but it makes sense since we are going to model together.” Her slip dropped to the ground.

Marc removed his pants and shirt, neatly folding them before putting on the robe. He found himself getting slightly aroused, but quickly focused on an art object in the window, willing his arousal to pass. The full impact of the stupidity of agreeing to her request hit him as his heartbeat quickened.

“If you get hard, don’t worry. It is not like the first time,” she joked.

“Thanks, you’re really helping here,” he grimaced, realizing she saw through his act.

“I am just trying to help you relax, Marc. You have to see the humor in all this at times.” She laughed a bit more as she put on a dressing robe.

“We are ready,” the instructor called. Marc and Marie walked into the center of the room to the circular stage, around which sat twenty students behind easels.

Marc stood over Marie like a soldier in the first pose. Then Marc posed, looking back at Marie as she was turned away. Marc sank to a point where he became relaxed posing nude with her. It seemed as if the students’ eyes disappeared, as if no one else was in the room and he was safe with her.

“Marc, I need you to put this around your neck. Don’t worry, we will not pull it.” The instructor gave him a rope. “Marie, you are going to be standing above him, with this staff extended over him. Make sure it is comfortable for you.”

The instructor turned to his students. “Now, class, when you combine two classic poses such as this, it adds a new element to the composition. There is a relationship to ponder.”

Marc posed, lying horizontal on the stage with his right arm bent at the elbow, torso straight, his legs crossed and extended, and his head bent downward with the rope around his neck. Marie stood over him with a vertical staff and her head slightly downturned, yet looking directly forward.

“Marc’s pose clearly is the classical death of Gaul,” the instructor explained, “but Marie’s posture is intentionally uncertain. Is she his rescuer, or betrayer? Is she the one who pardons Gaul, or condemns him?”

The long scream of the air raid sirens rose throughout the city just then, and the lights started to go out through the districts of Paris.

“And the reason the pose is neutral is that the composition is stronger if you leave the question of the relationship to the viewer,” the instructor said. The whining howl grew louder as sirens closer to the building joined in the chorus. Shouts and hollers filled the streets outside the windows.

The instructor took a deep breath of frustration and ran his hands over his face and hair. He said, “Can one of you get the lights? It appears we have another blackout.”

“C
ongratulations to everyone for passing the class. Your grades have been posted and I am very pleased,” the professor said. “In spite of all the distractions and events over these months, you have kept your focus, and it shows in your work.”

That struck Marc as a serious understatement. Paris seemed like the same city, but the small details told a different story. Masking tape crisscrossed the windows of all the classrooms. Marc, like everyone else, carried a long cylinder that contained a gas mask. Sandbags surrounded various buildings and hugged the sides of the Arc de Triomphe and the Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde.

Russia’s attack of Finland surprised the Allies, and the response of the Parisians was to raise funds to support the Finns and, strangely, wear Finnish fashion to show their solidarity. Marc found it unsettling that the public of Paris seemed to believe fashion would overcome in the end.

“There is one final exercise to complete this class, and, although it is ungraded, it will be the final test of your skills.” The students looked back and forth to each other, perplexed by this last announcement. Marie, smiling, came out from behind the screen and took a seat on the stage. “Please take out a large sheet of paper and be sure to use your best stick for this drawing.”

“What is he up to now?” whispered a student behind Marc.

“You are going to draw Marie as she changes positions. She will hold a position for a few moments and then move into a new position,” the instructor said. A few laughs came from the students. “There is no way you can draw her entirely at any one time. Instead, I want you to stack each sketch you make on top of the other.” The idea of this struck Marc as even more absurd than the first request.

“So, I want you to use one sheet of paper, and your very best stick with ink, and as quickly as you can, draw Marie while she dances. This will be our final exercise together.” The instructor then looked toward Marie with an approving nod. “This is called a motion study and I do not give this to every class upon completion, but only to students whose talents impress me.” He held out his hand to Marie. “Enjoy.”

Standing on the platform, totally nude, she began to rotate slowly, taking a posture and then changing it, making sure to give everyone in the room a chance of seeing her front, side and back.

Marc started to draw, sketching out a hand, a foot, but then never having enough time to sketch out the full body. His frustration grew over not drawing fast enough. How in the world was he going to do this? What was he learning? He studied Marie, and noticed her smile as her gaze passed him. He wondered if anyone knew in the room. Then he let go of his thoughts, and dunked the pen into the bottle of ink. He decided to focus on the hands.

Marie changed her hands each time she broke her pose and moved to another position. It was the most expressive thing of the entire dance. Each pose seemed to end with her fingers in a certain position. Marc would then sketch out some trunk movements and legs, but most of his drawing focused on positions of her arms and hands. He released his thoughts, stopped thinking of how he was going to draw her hands, and allowed the pen and his hand to draw what was before him.

Marie’s legs danced over the platform and her hands undulated in the air like a bird. She seemed like liquefied crystal, brought to life. None of the poses were static. She never stopped moving the entire time as each position of her hands only lasted for a few seconds.

“Stop. Thank you, Marie. Now, let’s take a look,” the professor called out after five minutes had passed, the students’ faces trancelike after trying to follow Marie.

“Yes, this is good,” he said as he passed one table. “Very nice. You’re learning to let go and not to worry about details,” as he passed another student’s sheet of paper. “You are just getting down the basis of the core shape,” he said to another.