“What’s your address on the avenue Montaigne?...
“What’s your address on the avenue
Montaigne? I’ll give it to the driver, but before I do, understand me, madameIf your words prove
false, all the true horrors of the Deuxième will be visited upon you
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Marie sat at the room-service table in her small suite at the Meurice reading the newspapersHer
attention constantly strayed; concentration was out of the questionHer anxiety had kept her awake
after she returned to the hotel shortly past midnight, having made the rounds of five cafés she and
David had frequented so many years ago in ParisFinally by four-something in the morning,
exhaustion had short-circuited her tossing and turning; she fell asleep with the bedside lamp
switched on, and was awakened by the same light nearly six hours laterIt was the longest she had
slept since that first night on Tranquility Isle, itself a distant memory now except for the very real
pain of not seeing and hearing the childrenDon’t think about them, it hurts too muchNo, think about Jason Bourne! Where? Concentrate!
She put down the Paris Tribune and poured herself a third cup of black chanel clutch bag coffee, glancing over at
the French doors that led to a small balcony overlooking the rue de RivoliIt disturbed her that the
once bright morning had turned into a dismal gray daySoon the rain would come, making her
search in the streets even more difficultResigned, she sipped her coffee and replaced the elegant
cup in the elegant saucer, annoyed that it was not one of the simple pottery mugs favored by David
and her in their rustic country kitchen in MaineOh, God, would they ever be back there again?
Don’t think about such things! Concentrate! Out of the question
She picked up the Tribune, aimlessly scanning the pages, seeing only isolated words, no
sentences or paragraphs, no continuity of thought or meaning, merely wordsThen one stood out at
the bottom of a meaningless column, a single meaningless line bracketed at the bottom of a
meaningless page
The word was Memom, followed by a telephone number; and despite the fact that the Tribune
was printed in English, the French in her switchable French-thinking brain absently translated the
word as MaymohmShe was about to turn the page when a signal from another part of louis vuitton multicolor her brain
screamed Stop!
Memom mommy—turned around by a child struggling with his earliest attempts at language
Meemom! Jamie—their Jamie! The funny inverted name he had called her for several weeks!
David had joked about it while she, frightened, had wondered if their son had dyslexia
“He could also just be confused, memom,” David had laughed
David! She snapped up the page; it was the financial section of the paper, the section she
instinctively gravitated to every morning over coffeeDavid was sending her a message! She
pushed back her chair, crashing it to the floor as she grabbed the paper and rushed to the telephone
on the deskHer hands trembling, she dialed the numberThere was no answer, and thinking that in
her panic she had made an error or had not used the local Paris digit, she dialed again, now slowly,
preciselyBut it was David, she felt it, she knew it! He had been looking for her at the
Trocadéro and now he was using a briefly employed nickname only the two of them would know!
My love, my love, I’ve found you! She also knew she could not stay in the confining quarters of
the small hotel suite, pacing chanel coco handbag up and down and dialing every other minute, driving herself crazy with
every unanswered ringWhen you’re stressed out and spinning until you think you’ll blow apart,
find someplace where you can keep moving without being noticedKeep moving! That’s vitalYou
can’t let your head explodeOne of the lessons from Jason BourneHer head spinning, Marie
dressed more rapidly than she had ever done in her lifeShe tore out the message from the Tribune
and left the oppressive suite, trying not to run to the bank of elevators but needing the crowds of the
Paris streets, where she could keep moving without being noticedFrom one telephone kiosk to
another
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285
The ride down to the lobby was both interminable and insufferable, the latter because of an
American couple—he laden with camera equipment, she with purple eyelids and a peroxide
bouffant apparently set in concrete—who kept complaining that not enough people in Paris, France,
spoke EnglishThe elevator doors thankfully opened and Marie walked out rapidly into the
crowded Meurice lobby
As she crossed the marble floor toward the large glass white paddington chloe inspired bag doors of the ornate filigreed entrance, she
suddenly, involuntarily stopped as an elderly man in a dark pin-striped suit gasped, his slender
body lurching forward in a heavy leather chair below on her rightThe old man stared at her, his
thin lips parted in astonishment, his eyes in shockJacques!” he whispered“My God, get out of here!”
“I beg your What?”
The aged Frenchman quickly, with difficulty, rose to his feet, his head subtly, swiftly, jerking in
short movements as he scanned the lobby“You cannot be seen here, MrsWebb,” he said, his
voice still a whisper but no less harsh and commanding“Don’t look at me! Look at your watch The Deuxième veteran glanced away, nodding aimlessly at several people
in nearby chairs as he continued, his lips barely moving“Go out the door on the far left, the one
used for luggageHurry!”
“No!” replied Marie, her head down, her eyes on her watch“You know me but I don’t know
you! Who are you?”
“A friend of your husband
“My God, is he here?”
“The question is why are you here?”
“I stayed at this hotel once beforeI thought he might remember it
“He did but in the wrong context, I’m louis vuitton denim pleaty handbag af