Bender at the Bon Parisien (A Novel) Read Online Free Page B

tonight. You know, to catch
up a little.”
    “Fleuse,”
Trudel said as she authoritatively set her drink on the bar. “I am in love with
Victor. It’s over.”
    “Trudel,
I am sorry, but Victor is gone. He was my friend, too. I miss him.”
    “Oh,
come off it. You’ve been waiting for him to disappear just so you could try to win
me back.”
    “That’s
not true, Trudel.”
    “Besides,
what will you do when he comes back?” she sang out near the top of her voice.
“Did you ever think of that? He’ll absolutely hate you for this!”
    “Comes
back? You surely don’t believe …”
    Trudel’s
stare stopped him mid-sentence. It was the first time that she’d actually
turned her head to look at him. He slowly swiveled back toward the bar. We rested
in silence for a moment, and I again tried to get Janie and me off to dinner.
    “Well,
it has been nice meeting you both,” I started.
    Janie
was barely listening. She raised her glass to the couple. “Sounds like we need
a toast. To Victor, whoever and wherever he may be. I don’t know him, but it
sounds like he meant a lot to you both. May he come back soon!”
    “Here,
here,” Trudel warbled and took a sip.
    Fleuse
just sighed. He looked to Janie. “Victor isn’t coming back.”
    Janie
looked at me. I shrugged. We both looked back at Fleuse.
    “He’s
dead,” he continued.
    “I
don’t believe that!” Trudel exploded. “He is off. Probably with another woman!”
    “How
could you say that?” Fleuse responded.
    “Nothing
could kill Victor,” she answered wistfully.
    “Either
way,” Fleuse tried again. “Let me take you to dinner!”
    “Don’t
be an idiot!” she exclaimed. “It’s over!”
    Fleuse
retreated to his drink.
    Janie
looked at me with amusement yet again. As the four of us sipped in silence, it was
obvious that we would not be leaving for dinner as soon as I’d hoped.

Chapter III.
     
     
     
    A recording of
orchestra music sounded its last note in a cramped, dark theatre in the Latin Quarter.
A small audience of twenty or so stood and politely clapped in the hot
blackness. Trudel von Hugelstein bowed, holding her fellow cast members’ sweaty
hands.
    Trudel
knew that this small stage might be the only one she ever would see. Her
ambitions included stardom, but she’d been at it her entire life. Fame and
fortune would have been a long shot even ten years earlier.
    The
heavy, rusty stage door creaked as it opened. Blinding daylight in the narrow
streets greeted her. Throngs of tourists bustled, searching for cafés and bars,
smiling and pointing at awnings further down the way. Trudel pushed herself
into the flow of pedestrian traffic.
    The
seven o’clock performance hadn’t opened its doors to an audience yet. She
noticed a small line of operagoers as she shuffled passed.
    “Excuse
me,” one woman from the line said as she reached out to her.
    “Yes?”
Trudel smiled pleasantly, if not genuinely.
    “I
saw you in this production about a month ago. I loved it.”
    “Thank
you.”
    “Are
you performing this evening?”
    “No,
no. I just played the matinée today,” she answered, reminded that she had
failed to win the role for prime showings.
    “Aw,”
the woman uttered sympathetically. “Well, I’m a fan. I wish you were singing
tonight.”
    “Well
thank you, dear,” Trudel said, forcing a smile.
    “When
are you singing next? I’m still in town until …” the woman’s voice trailed off.
    Trudel
was already walking away. Forgetting the woman’s slight, the opera singer had
begun reminiscing       about that day’s
performance. It was a good show with a nice audience. A small celebration was
in order.
    She
lived just far enough across the river that she never wanted to walk. Yet, it
seemed silly to take a taxi such a short distance. This evening, she was happy
to stroll. To break the walk into two manageable stretches, she promised
herself that she would stop in for a drink at a café.
    The
area surrounding