Secrets of Paris_ A Novel - Luanne Rice [96]
“My enemy,” Kelly whispered to Lydie.
“You can’t think like that,” Lydie said. “This is the most important hour of your life.” She sensed Kelly shaking, saw a line of sweat above her lip. “Listen to me,” she said sharply. “You were not convincing back there. You sounded frightened, and you sounded like a liar. Keep your back straight, hold your head up. Think of how far you’ve come. Remember you’re as good as anyone else.”
“Oh, thank you, Lydie,” Kelly said.
At the door to the office, Lydie and Patrice said good-bye to Kelly. She smiled at them but said nothing; wordlessly, she followed the tall American soldier who led her inside, closing the door behind her.
“What if it doesn’t work?” Patrice asked.
“We’re doing everything we can,” Lydie said.
“We’re throwing her to the wolves,” Patrice said. “You and I can walk out the door, have tea, do anything. But Kelly could be arrested just for breathing the Paris air.”
“That’s about to change,” Lydie said with more confidence than she felt.
“When I hired Kelly, I knew she was illegal in France. I was glad, at the time, because it meant I could pay her lower wages. Isn’t that sick?”
“You didn’t know her then,” Lydie said.
“What kills me,” Patrice said, “is the thought of Kelly playing American Embassy when she was thirteen. Remember being thirteen?”
Lydie remembered. You had the greatest dreams and absolutely nothing to hold you back. You believed you could be a movie star, or President, or just plain rich. You didn’t know how the world worked. You were blessed with a total lack of perspective. At thirteen, you thought you were it. “What did you want when you were thirteen?” she asked, watching the door that had closed behind Kelly.
Patrice stared at Lydie. “A checking account. My best friend got one, with her name on the checks, so I wanted one. How about you?”
“Oh, some boy, I’m sure,” Lydie said, trying to remember. “Thirteen—what was that, seventh grade?”
Patrice nodded.
“Then it was Damon Stackpole. That’s all I wanted—for Damon to kiss me in the coatroom. I hadn’t been kissed before.”
Patrice raised an eyebrow. “Let’s get the hell out of here and have a drink. Or go shopping. Chanel’s half a block away.”
“Not shopping,” Lydie said, wondering whether Patrice was kidding.
“Come on—a good bout with Chanel will do us good. We’ll duke it out with some snotty French salesgirl and walk away with a couple of new handbags. We’ll feel much better. We could be back here in twenty minutes. She’ll be at least that long.”
“Let’s just take a walk in the park,” Lydie said. “I could use a lemonade, couldn’t you?”
“I could use a new jacket,” Patrice said, sighing with mock exasperation. Then a sly expression crossed her eyes. “Are you going to tell me about Michael?”
“There’s nothing new,” Lydie said.
“The park, eh?” Patrice said. “Well, okay.”
So Lydie slid her arm through Patrice’s and they walked, arm in arm, into the Tuileries, her heart beating a little slower every step she took away from rue Cambon.
Standing in an office in the American consular section, Kelly felt her eyes flood with tears. For the first time in her life she was standing on American soil. It scarcely mattered that it was in France. Here, American laws applied. The carpet was brown, worn thin. How many hopeful aliens had passed through here? How many of their dreams had come true? How many had gotten to the States? The American flag stood in one corner. Old Glory! Unframed portraits of Presidents Washington and Lincoln hung on the wall. She had time to notice every object in the office before the man at the desk beckoned to her.
“Have a seat,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” Kelly said. And at that moment, as she lowered herself into the torn vinyl chair, magic entered her. A spell was cast, and Kelly knew: one of her sisters had slipped something, a potion, into her coffee that morning. Something to give her the courage to convince her interviewer of her worth. Her fingers quivered with the power; it shot through her spine the way lightning strikes a tree. Her sisters were good at magic.