“Definitely.”
For the remainder of their ten-minute walk, Sam felt the most relaxed and content he’d felt in what seemed like forever. Maisy had a way of making him forget the things that had been cluttering his mind for so long, preventing him from living in the moment. The feeling of liberation was palpable and by the time they returned to her house, he wished it could always be this way. And wondered if that could ever be possible.
They made a beeline for Maisy’s bedroom and spent the rest of the evening chatting and making passionate love.
Chapter 13
Only in Paris, he thought, eying a woman pausing in front of Henri de Miller’s Écoute to light up a cigarette. If he only had his camera! Young and beautiful French chick with full parted lips puffing away on a Gauloises, the massive stone head/hand statue and gothic Church of St Eustace serving as a backdrop.
As he observed this scenario a voice inside his head was saying, I have to have her. In addition to a sweet compact body and those bee-stung lips, this filly was just the right age to be impressed by an older gentleman who also happened to be a major player in Hollywood, scouting for locations to film his latest production. Young and impressionable—how much better does it get?
She headed toward the shops across the street at a casual pace, her long, dark hair blowing in a gentle breeze. He knew that this moment had been coming for a long time and it felt right. He had spent the last year transforming himself into the slightly weathered, handsome man he now was. And now it was time to test the waters.
Simply put, Trent Mason put Jerry Rankin to shame. A bit older perhaps, but far more sophisticated. Rankin had been the younger stud type with bulging biceps, six-pack abs and surfer boy bleach blond hair. So cliché! Mason on the other hand had been around the block more than a few times and knew what he wanted out of life. He was not only an established Hollywood icon of sorts, he had an unyielding eye for quality. He knew what made the world go round and knew how to take the bull by the horns. Trent Mason was the real deal.
As for physical appearance, it could be summed up in one word: Bond. James Bond. Not Sean Connery or Roger Moore’s Bond—or any of those other wimps who had played 007—he was talking that new guy: Daniel Craig. He never thought he’d say it but that guy actually put Sean Connery to shame. A bit older, perhaps, not quite the womanizer type, but he was real, by God. Intelligent, handsome in a rugged way and very classy in an unassuming way.
Damn, if the good Doctor Boutin didn’t know his shit! Worth every cent he’d paid the man.
Trent Mason was living a lie of course, but nobody needed to know that. He was not an American Hollywood icon—hell it had been nearly a year since he’d been in the States for that matter. Trent Mason was a Renaissance man, and that was the truth. He had spent the last year living alone in the south of France painting. He had been a model citizen all this time—damn, his mother would be so proud! He’d lived by the book, arising in the morning, jogging a few miles, working out in the gym and painting the rest of the day well into the night. His only vice, if you could call it that, was his penchant for drink. He drank a lot, simply put. It kept him honest, ironically, because drink was the only friend he needed—his faithful companion. With a drink at his side he could be content to stay at home with his canvasses, doing what he loved to do and staying out of trouble. It had been a life not unlike that of a monk, actually. Celibate, even—
Okay, he had one other vice and that was his addiction to French porn. But hell, nobody’s perfect!
The French girl was taking her good old time, stopping to do some leisurely window shopping along the way. She wore faded skinny jeans that showcased her lean figure, a black leather jacket and a cream colored knit sweater. She wasn’t exactly stacked, but that was okay. Her ass and the way she carried herself more than made up for that. He wondered where she was headed now. It was a little past noon so she could be on a lunch break from work. He hoped not. That could make getting to know her troublesome.
She suddenly stopped at a café and his heart did flip-flops. Perfect! After a quick look at himself in a shop window and a brief review of what he was going to say, he made a quick adjustment to his collar and approached the café.
The girl was already sitting a few tables in from the sidewalk. Before he got cold feet and changed his mind, Mason headed directly over to her and began his spiel, speaking in fluent French.
“My God, you are so beautiful. I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Uh, merci,” was her reply. He could immediately see she was put off by his bold entrance.
“I’m sorry, I seem to have come on a bit too strong and for that I apologize. It’s just that the moment I saw you I knew I’d just seen one of the most stunning women I’ve ever laid eyes on—and I dare say I’ve seen quite a few. And your beauty clearly goes well below the surface—not superficial and phony like so many young women I meet. At any rate I just wanted to tell you that—now I will leave you in peace.”
She seemed confused, unsure how to respond.
“Merci,” she repeated.
“Have a wonderful day.” He started to leave then stopped and turned around.
“May I ask which way it is to Fountain of the Innocents? I know it’s nearby but I’ve lost my bearings. I’m scouting potential sites for a movie I’m producing.”
“The fountain is that way a few blocks,” she replied in English, pointing toward the east. She hesitated a moment and added, “What movie?”
Mason replied in English. “The working title is Pathos in Paris, but that’s subject to change. It’s an action/adventure involving an American agent trying to apprehend a terrorist who bombs the American Embassy.”
“That sounds exciting. Any big name stars in it?”
“Mark Wahlberg plays the lead character. And Ed Norton’s playing the bad guy.”
“Wow, that’s so cool!”
It was at that moment Mason was certain this girl was American. He’d been mistaken. This bitch was about as French as he was. Oh well, what the fuck.
“May I ask where you’re from?”
“Wisconsin. But please don’t hold that against me.”
“You needn’t worry about that. Your looks and charm more than make up for it, trust me,” he quipped.
She blushed. “I wish I could act. I tried out for a play when I was in high school but failed miserably at the audition. The director said my problem was a lack of self-confidence and suggested I work on that. Haven’t had much luck in that area, I’m afraid.”
“What do you think is holding you back, uh—?”
“I’m sorry—Danielle. My friends call me Dani.”
He offered his hand. “James Kinley. Pleasure to meet you.”
A waiter suddenly appeared. “May I help you?”
Mason cast Dani an awkward look that said, “Should I stay or should I go?”
“Would you like to join me?” she asked.
Mason glanced at his watch and smiled. “Certainly.”
“I just want a coffee,” Dani said.
“I’ll have the same.”
The waiter nodded and left.
“So how long have you been in Paris?” Mason asked as he took a seat.
“A month. I have to leave in a few days, though. I wish I could stay here forever—it’s so beautiful.”
“You here alone?”
“Yes, basically. I have a cousin who lives here and I’m staying with her.”
“I see. And how long has she lived in Paris?”
“Practically her whole life. Her father is French and he met her mom back in the States. They eventually married and lived in Wisconsin for a few years but Uncle Jerome really missed France so they moved here when Lily was still a toddler.”
“Can’t hardly blame them for that. If there was any chance I could earn a decent living making movies in Europe, I’d move here in a heartbeat. Life is so much richer here than back in the US, don’t you think?”
�
��I definitely agree. It’s going to be so hard going back to crappy old Madison. I hate it there so much!”
“How would you like to stay here a bit longer?”
“I’d love to, but I can’t afford it. I already owe Lily four hundred dollars and I’m starting to feel like I’m overstaying my welcome.”
“What if you could stay and it didn’t cost you a cent? Would you be interested in that?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What are you getting at?”
“I could use you as an extra in my film.”
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“When it comes to business, I don’t b-s, Dani. I’m serious. If you’d like to have a small non-speaking role in my film, that could be arranged.”
“And you would pay me?”
“I’d do more than that. I’d put you up for as long as you’d like.”
“And why in the world would you do that? I mean, what would you get in return?”
He chuckled. “I’d get a beautiful young lady playing an extra in my film!”
“And nothing more?”
“That would be up to you.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I can assure you now, Mr. Kinley, that it would strictly be a business arrangement.”
Her laugh bothered him—had a sort of condescending ring to it.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Well, it’s pretty much a no-brainer. I mean, no offense, but you’re old enough to be my father! I don’t go out with old men, sorry.”
“Old man? Is that what you think of me, Dani?”
“Well gee, yeah—you must be in your fifties, right? That’s pretty damn old, if you ask me.”
“Some might look at it as ‘more experienced,’ if you know what I mean. Age is just a number. It’s what’s inside that counts and how much you’ve done in life—wouldn’t you agree?”
“That may be true for some people, but I have to at least be attracted to somebody before I’ll consider getting to know them, uh, intimately. I’m still young, Mr. Kinley. I want to go out with a guy who’s at least near my age—not somebody who thinks the Rolling Stones are the best band on earth. I can’t relate to that sort of thing at all.”
“So you aren’t the least bit attracted to me, age aside?”
She snickered and shot him a look so cold and humiliating that he wanted to murder her right then and there. “No, not at all. Sorry, but I’m just being honest.”
It took every ounce of reserve he could muster up to reply. “Nothing wrong with being honest.”
“So, do you still want to make me that offer?”
“Of course,” he lied. “Like I said, I don’t mess around when it comes to business. And besides that, maybe you’ll change your mind.”
“You mean about wanting to screw you?”
“Well, if you want to put it like that, yes.”
“Not going to happen. Never in a million years.”
That did it. He snapped.
“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you? Pretty face, nice body, full of charm. Well, let me tell you something, you little slut, you are a big, goddamn zero! You wouldn’t know class if it hit you square in the face.”
He had raised his voice and several patrons were now staring at him. This was the last thing he wanted to happen. He had not only totally blown it with this anemic bimbo, everybody there knew it.
Sort of reminded him of a certain basketball game back at Smithtown High.
“Listen, Dani—I’m so sorry. I’ve just had a rough day—I didn’t mean any of that. Will you forgive me?”
“Why of course I will, old man!” she said, flinging steaming hot coffee at him.
Luckily she’d aimed low and the scolding brew was only frying his chest and not his new face. Had she splashed his mug he’d not only be wailing his head off right now, he’d be out nearly six figures.
“Jesus Christ!” he cried, bolting up from his chair. He wrestled five Euros out his pocket and slapped it on the table.
“Au revoir, Dani. Have a nice life.”
As he stormed away from the café, Trent Mason was fuming. What had just happened? Had he really just tried to pick up an American girl he thought was French? A girl who saw him as nothing more than an old fart who was light years out of his league? And had he just called her a slut in the middle of a Paris café where everybody heard him?
Was he not the biggest fucking loser on earth?
Mason stuck the very tip of his tongue between his front teeth and bit down hard. It hurt like hell but he refused to cry out. He didn’t deserve to react to the pain. He wished for a moment he could simply bleed to death and put an end to his miserable existence.
What had he done to deserve this? Was there no end to the abuse he had to endure in this life?
Gotta get a grip, Stanley. You can deal with this. Never mind that you’ve just spent a king’s ransom for a face and a body that just got you nothing but grief from some little slut. She had simply been too young—and classless. You need somebody older, more mature with finesse. There’s a million of them out there, bucko, so pull yourself up by your bootstraps and get yourself back in the game!
The little pep talk helped but not much. It had allowed him to regain a little control—that was about it. He needed to get back the strength and resolve he’d had before eight years in prison destroyed it. How to do that? he wondered.
As he headed back toward his hotel he analyzed his situation carefully. Here was a guy who had managed to escape prison, obtain a fake passport, travel to Paris, get a brand new face and a solid sculpted body—all in less than ten months. Pretty damn impressive. And he still had a few coins to rub together despite the fact that he’d spent more than three-quarters of his life savings to get where he now was.
Yet after all of this, he couldn’t pick up a chick to save his life.
Really?
So what was wrong? What was missing in the equation? He pulled out his phone, set the camera to selfie mode and looked at himself. He looked awesome! Most men his age could only wish they looked this good. He was anything but a fat slob with a middle-aged blob of fat hanging over his belt. He was solid as a brick without an ounce of fat. What woman, young or old, could resist this package?
Well, one Dani from Wisconsin, for starters. Granted she probably wasn’t a day over twenty but still, she wasn’t a child. One would think that given the offer he’d just proposed to her that she could have at least waited a day or two before shutting him down for chrissakes, instead of lambasting him right there and then!
The nerve of the bitch!
So it really wasn’t his looks, and probably not even his age that was to blame. He had lost his core ability to turn on the charm. Jerry Rankin had had it and Trent Mason did not. Simple as that.
So what to do? Regain that charm. And the only way to do that was to achieve something so huge that it would give him a big shot of his self-confidence back. Something that made him feel totally in control and in charge of a given situation.
Simply put, he needed to go to Plan B: Control by Force.
And he needed to get started on it now. No more wasting valuable time trying to entice some chick into hooking up with him. Why bother? There were much more effective ways to get what he needed, which in this case was a piece of ass. His idiotic oath to hold off on sex until he had “completed his transformation” had been a serious mistake and he now saw what that had left him. A blithering idiot with no balls.
Gotta change that. Now.
He recalled the tall blonde he’d seen several times in the neighborhood near his hotel. The one that often took walks in the early evening, always with the countenance of somebody who had just lost her best friend. Something horrible had happened to make this woman feel depressed and dare he say, vulnerable? His years in prison may have robbed him of his charm but he could still ID a lonely woman when he saw one. And this blonde was just that.
He reviewed what he knew about her so far
. Her name was Claire Fournier, she lived alone on the fourth floor of a building around the corner from his hotel. She was in her mid-thirties, had a wonderful body and was apparently very wealthy. The monthly rent where she lived probably cost as much as most regular folks earned in six months.
She owned a black Mercedes and every weekend she drove it out to the country to her other place. A small cottage on a couple acres of land. As far as he could tell there was no significant other in her life. Maybe she had recently broken it off with her husband or boyfriend which would explain her apparent despondence. Perhaps the guy had met some tragic death for that matter. The important thing was that she stayed the weekend at this little country retreat without fail, and the nearest neighbor was several kilometers down the road. She spent most of her time inside or working out in her workshop. She restored antiques as a hobby and seemed very good at what she did.
A big grin came to his face. Could there be a more perfect scenario? Rich, attractive woman spending weekends alone in the middle of nowhere? And what made it even more perfect was that he could pick up some loot after having his way with her. She wore a huge diamond ring that had to be worth over twenty grand that would come in handy— he was actually beginning to run low on funds.
Feeling his pulse quicken, Trent Mason’s wheels began to turn at warp speed.
Chapter 14
Like clockwork. He would never cease to be amazed how people like Claire Fournier led such simple, predictable lives. And it didn’t seem to make any difference if they were American, French or whatever. You either lived your life as though you were on some sort of a conveyer belt going through the same routines and rituals day after day or you chose to consciously make each new day totally different from the one before.
So here was Claire leaving her little workshop promptly at six-thirty p.m. to prepare dinner, just as she had done the weekend before. And the weekend before that. Mason watched as she crossed the narrow driveway and entered her little cottage through the back door, knowing full well that the moment she hit the kitchen she would pour herself a glass of Chardonnay. Then she would spend the next ten or fifteen minutes assembling the ingredients she would need to cook her meal between sips from her first glass of wine.
The May Day Murders Sequel Page 12