“Okay, good.” Nick looked relieved. We didn’t say anything for a few moments.
“Is this the ‘vampire’ Sophie was talking about the other night?” I asked finally. Nick nodded. “Our housekeeper mentioned vampires, too. Like she thought they were a real thing.” I touched the heart pendant she’d given me. “She gave me this necklace and told me I should wear it tonight to protect against them. Which was odd, but it’s a pretty necklace, so.” I shrugged.
“Madame Dupuy thinks there are vampires?” Nick asked.
I shrugged again. “She was all,Great-Gram fought off a vampire with this necklace, so wear it, but then she said she comes from a superstitious country, so who knows.”
“Hé, mes amis.”
We looked up. Yann was back at our table, blinding us with his teeth. “Come over. Join us.” He nodded toward anearby group of about ten people, crowded around three tables. “We are celebrating, and also”—he indicated Nick with his chin—“Clément and Bastien said they want to talk to you about an expedition.”
“Celebrating what?” Martine said as Nick nodded okay.
“Le Bec finished his piece on Le Mur.”
“Le Mur Oberkampf?” Nick said. Yann nodded, and Youssef whistled, impressed.
We got up and joined the other group, squeezing in where we could. Everyone was focused on a pale, skinny-but-muscular guy our age gripping a Champagne bottle. I guessed he was an artist; the grubby, paint-spattered hoodie and jeans yelled,Ask me about my latest painting. They also said,I’m famous enough to get into a nice club even though I dress like I sleep in doorways. The fact that he looked like a debauched KJ Apa probably helped, too.
“Bonsoir, mes amis,” he crowed, climbing up onto his chair and waving the bottle. We bonsoir-ed and started a round of kiss-kiss with his friends. He jumped off the chair, landed right in my space, pulled me way too close, and kiss-kiss-kissed me. I didn’t like the way this guy did bisous. Too personal. He grinned, showing his teeth, then stepped away and embraced Nick much less ardently.
“Hé, mec,” Nick said. “I haven’t seen you around for a couple of months.”
“I was here and there,” Le Bec replied.
“Anywhere interesting?” Nick asked.
Le Bec smiled. “Where I am is always somewhere interesting.” He moved on, finishing his hellos, and I sat down between Nick and a girl wearing a fuchsia tunic and aclose-fitting black headscarf with large fuchsia-and-orange flowers printed on it. The scarf hung down under her chin in soft, loose folds, skimming back over her shoulders. She had a wary air, but she flashed me a quick smile as more bottles of Champagne appeared.
Le Bec opened them and filled glasses. Then he stood on his chair again, holding his glass high. “To Le Mur!” he said.
“To Le Mur!” we toasted. The girl in the headscarf raised her glass and put it down without drinking.
I leaned into Nick. “What is this wall?”
“It’s a group that invites street artists to paint the side of a building here in the eleventh arrondissement. It’s a fairly big deal.”
“So this guy did a piece on this wall?” I felt sophisticated. I was hanging out at a club in Paris with an artist. Drinking Champagne. I took a tiny sip from my glass. Nobody jumped up and yelled, “Put that down; you’re not legal yet!” I felt bold enough to chance another sip. It tickled my nose.
Nick nodded. “Remember the pigeon we saw in the Métro station? He’s the guy who did that.”
“Oh, wow.” I grinned. “You haveexcellentfriends. I’ve never met a street artist before.”
Nick smiled. “Would you like to go see the new piece?”
I grinned bigger.I would go see an exhibition of quadratic equations with you, I thought as I said, “I’d love to.”
A guy farther down the table called out a question that I didn’t catch, and Nick turned to answer. I settled back into my chair, happy to watch everybody and try to remember what name went with which face. Conversations in French and English flowed around me as I sipped my Champagne.The French ones were challenging; by the time I’d figured out what people were talking about, the conversation had turned in another direction. And listening to English conversations surrounded by French disoriented me so much that I couldn’t anchor myself in either language.
After a while, my brain clocked out, and all the words turned to radio static. Nick, Youssef, Martine, and a guy down the table who was probably Bastien were leaning toward each other, talking intently. Bastien pulled out his phone and showed them a video of some guys maybe caving? It was all shadows, jitters, and blinding headlamp flare. In reply, Youssef showed one of his own caving videos—much better filmed. I recognized Nick, Martine, the girl in the scarf, and Le Bec. Were there caves somewhere near Paris?
A voice next to me redirected my attention. “That is a beautiful pendant.”
I turned to see the girl with the scarf. She spoke in English, which was kind. I brushed my fingers over the pendant. “Thank you. I love your scarf. The flowers are great—so bold.”
“Bold. I like that.” She smiled. “I am Noor.”
“I’m Tosh.”
