Read Online Parisian Promises by Cecilia Velástegui - Free Book Online Page B

to what to do next. He had waited for instructions from Jean-Michel, but none came. His clandestine training told him to continue with the plan unless otherwise advised, and that is why he’d decided to meet the American women at Le Sept––despite the tragedy. Charles was used to being glib and dismissive when his lifelong buddy was with him. Bertrand might have been much taller than Charles, but they were like brothers: they knew how to finish each other’s sentences and how to impress women as a dynamic duo. Together they also enjoyed unnerving Xavier, whose whereabouts were now a mystery. The anonymous man Charles had contacted after the accidental explosion that killed Bertrand told him that no one had heard from Xavier and that all communication among the squads would be curtailed indefinitely.
    Charles was alone now––forever––and he didn’t know how to get out of this predicament. He looked around the club, expecting Xavier or Jean-Michel to stroll in at any moment. But instead of seeing the men that he trusted, he thought he detected Jean-Michel’s other secret friends stalking him. Watching him, just in case he got weepy and remorseful and went to the authorities to divulge how his best friend’s only remaining body part could provide missing the puzzle piece to the homegrown European terrorism sprouting in cellars and dank apartments from Rome to Madrid. The student movement of 1968 had unearthed deeply buried sentiments of dissatisfaction with the status quo. This new generation demanded societal changes and wasn’t afraid to use the proven tactics of guerilla warfare––explosively loud and randomly executed––to get everyone’s attention. Since anyone could be a victim, everyone feared that these spores of malcontent would germinate into hardy vines that would strangle their cities.
    â€œWhat about your friend at the café near the Arc de Triomphe? Shouldn’t he be here too?” Lola asked, draining a flute of champagne. “We haven’t seen Monica since she stayed behind with him.”
    â€œI’m sure that she is in good hands and having a wonderful time with Jean-Michel.” Charles put on a show of false enthusiasm, not just for Lola’s benefit. He needed to convince the stalkers who might be studying his behavior across the club to determine if he was no longer an asset; that, in fact, everything was back to normal, and that he was ready and able to execute the plan.
    â€œI guess I thought they’d be here at the club,” said Lola.
    â€œThey may have already shown up and left. I really don’t know.” Charles hoped that nobody could notice his hands shaking, or see the profuse perspiration soaking through his shirt.
    â€œWell, I’d really like to call Monica and talk to her. May I have Jean-Michel’s phone number?”
    It was all Charles could do not to lose patience with this meddling American girl. Eight hours ago, all he could think about was taking this voluptuous redhead to bed, but now he was devastated by Bertrand’s death, and the last thing he wanted now was to be intimate with this woman.
    â€œThose pills you took are putting you on edge,” he said. “Why don’t you go out on the dance floor again?”
    â€œSure, but first I want to talk to Monica. Why won’t you give me his phone number?”
    Lola was feeling the effects of the pills, but she wasn’t so stoned that she couldn’t detect the same gnaw in her gut, the same anxiety she’d felt when they left Monica behind at the café. She was determined to find out how Monica was doing, especially after Karen and Annie’s observation that Monica’s innocence could lead her astray. Besides, Lola truly believed in her motto––whatever Lola wants, Lola gets––so she tried again.
    â€œIt’s just that Monica needs some medication and I have to get it to