Generation of Liars Read online

  "I'm thirty five, and I was not about to make a point about immaturity, I was genuinely curious." He sipped his coffee with a jagged eyebrow raised at me. “Why did you assume I was going to make a comment about immaturity and then ask me my own age? Is it because I look like an old curmudgeon to you?

  “No, you don’t look old at all you look, you look -.” I nearly lost my breath looking into his deep brown eyes for a descriptor to say about him, and I had to discretely fan my face. “So, have you been in Paris long?"

  "I came to Paris when I was in my twenties, for my residency as part of an exchange program through my university, and I liked it so much I never left."

  “How about you? How long have you been in Paris?”

  “Just a few years. I came here for a job.”

  “The flight attendant job, right?”

  “Yes.” I took a sip and cleared my throat. “So tell me, where are you from in the States?"

  "Oh, something like forty minutes and a lot of cows outside of Columbus, Ohio. How about you, Alice, where are you from?"

  I reached for the sugar dispenser from Ben’s side of the table and thumped some into my waning cup. "Nebraska,” I blurted, it being the first thought that came to mind.

  “Where in Nebraska?”

  “Benny,” I replied. “Benny, Nebraska.” I immediately regretted my reply.

  “Hmm.” A pondering expression was overcoming his face as he tried to make an association to the town. “Never heard of it.”

  “Small town. Very tiny population. So tiny I like to try and forget it even exists.”

  "You’re hiding something back home, aren’t you? Another jealous boyfriend, perhaps? I bet a girl like you has a guy waiting for her in every port."

  "Not exactly. I guess you might say I’m just a simple girl running from a plain old boring life.”

  “Is Heather Gilmore part of that old boring life?” he asked.

  A lamplight-strength flush crossed my cheeks. The very mention of the name made my lips go dry. He had remembered what was written on the note he found inside my stocking at the hospital. Damn it.

  “No,” I replied, “Heather Gilmore isn’t a name that means anything to me.” I hadn’t noticed that my hands were trembling until Ben reached over the table and rested his hand over mine to make it still.

  “It’s a name that’s important enough for you to carry it around everywhere with you folded inside your sock.”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that.”

  “Well, it was unusual. I tend to remember unusual things. Is that your real name? Heather Gilmore? And Alice is just the name you give to doctors you don’t want flirting with you?”

  “Heather Gilmore is not my name.”

  “Then who is she? Why does she hitchhike everywhere with you inside your sock?”

  “Okay, listen, Heather Gilmore is a girl from back home and something bad transpired between she and I before I left for Paris. I just need her parents to know the truth of what happened, if I should meet a disastrous fate.”

  “That sounds pretty mysterious, Alice.”

  I sniffed my nose into the air, an ugly horse-nostril kind of sniffing. “Do you smell food? Are they serving real food here?”

  “I’ve been here quite a few times, and yes, they do serve assorted breakfasts and pastries.”

  “Do you think they serve omelets?”

  “Omelets? I’m not sure, but I think here they call them quiche and serve them ice cold.”

  I flagged down the waitress clearing off silverware from the tables beside us. She was a beautiful Parisian girl with pouty lips and hair like silk cords. “Excuse me, are you serving quiche?”

  She answered in French, which I don’t speak a word of. I looked up at Ben, red-cheeked and unsure how to answer. He surprised me by offering a perfect translation, which was that, “Yes they were serving quiche, and it came in a variety of flavors, including spinach, vegetarian, and a special house recipe.”

  “One of the house version,” I said. Ben relayed the information and the woman twirled away towards the kitchen. “My gosh,” I said when she was gone, “you’re full of surprises.”

  “Most of my patients at the hospital speak only French, so I consider it a job necessity. I still contend that you’re the one who is full of surprises.”

  “Not surprises,” I corrected him, “mystery.” The electricity we had felt during our meeting at the hospital was back in full force. I liked my lips, tasting coffee but wishing for his lips. The waitress came back with a slice of quiche, and I wasted no time in tearing into it. So far, the distraction of ordering lunch had managed to steer us away from the topic of Heather Gilmore and what her name was doing hidden inside my sock.

  “Well, one thing about you that isn’t a mystery is that you are a fan of eggs, from what I see.”

  “Better these eggs on my plate than the grown version attacking me.”

  “You mean chickens?”

  “Yeah, I suffer from Alektorophibia.”

  “Daddy issues?”

  “No, you’re thinking of the Elektra complex. Alektorophobia, I re-pronounced it for him, accentuating the A at the start, is a fear of chickens.”

  “A fear of chickens?”

  “Yeah, and I had a particularly nasty run-in with some recently, which is making this meal feel exceptionally therapeutic.”

  “Wow, Alice, never in my life have I heard of a fear of chickens. And I grew up in the cow poke.”

  “You should know what it is, I mean, you’re a doctor. You know all about weird things like Paris Syndrome. But what if I had shown up in your emergency room with convulsions and my tongue half-swallowed down my throat because of a chicken-induced panic attack?”

  “If that’s the case, maybe you should develop an irrational phobia to the Eiffel Tower, just to keep yourself safe in the future, since that’s where you seem to find danger.” Dr. Handsome just wasn’t going to quit digging, was he?

  I opened my mouth to argue, but was interrupted by the chirp of my phone. I knew exactly who would be calling. "Crap.” I chugged back one last slurp of coffee. “I gotta go."

  "Will I see you again, Alice?"

  I rushed up from my seat so violently that my bag knocked the silverware off the table and it made an obnoxious clatter, causing everyone in the café to turn their head and look.

  "Maybe,” I told him in a breathless way, as undone whisks of my hair blocked my eye.

  * * *

  A moment later I was marching in circles on the sidewalk outside the café with fuzzy reception, tingly palms from Ben, and a knee-crossing coffee bladder. I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello.”

  “How do you like the new apartment?” Motley asked without returning my hello.

  “I love it, Motley.”

  I wasn’t about to throw a hissy fit over being moved out of my old place. Piss him off enough and he could make being shot off the Eiffel Tower look like a water slide by comparison.

  “And the neighborhood is to your liking?”

  I marched briskly away from the café so Ben wouldn’t try and follow me. “Motley, the neighborhood is to die for, simply to die for.”

  He cleared his throat. “Alice, I am still working on investigating Pressley Connard.”

  “Oh? That’s good.”

  “You haven’t run into him since you’ve been back in Paris, have you?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a good sign. Perhaps he has left the city.”

  “I doubt he stuck around Paris after he shot me, he is probably already back home in the States working as a paper pusher with the rest of the CIA wannabes.”

  “I hope you’re right. In the meantime, I’m still finishing up working on the leads from the hard drive you bought off Benny Nebraska in Rio. So stay close by in case a job springs up.”

  Chapter Eight: An Afternoon in the Park

  THE NEXT MORNING I was hunched over my sink spooning a soggy breakfast into my mout
h when someone punched the buzzer to my apartment. I dropped the bowl in the sink, and when I got to the door I expected to see Cleopatra, adorned with her sharp teeth and shiny key, standing in the hallway again. But when I swung the door open, the hallway was deserted.

  I ducked back inside my apartment and hit the intercom button that clicked down to the lobby. “Yes?” I cautiously asked.

  “Hi, Alice, it’s Ben. I’m down in the lobby. The doorman wouldn’t let me up.”

  I stood still for moment with my fingers poised on the intercom button, wondering how Ben knew where I lived. Normally, I would use my snub-nose revolver on an unexpected visitor on the spot. But Ben was so cute, and then there were those dimples. It was a dilemma.

  “Come on up,” I called into the speaker. I nervously arranged the rogue strands of my slapdash ponytail during the time it took Ben to climb the stairs.

  I swung the door open. Ben was standing in the hallway with a disarming smile triggering his dimples. “Alice, it’s so nice to see you again. You look amazing.”

  “Ben, it is so great to see you.” My reply sounded flat and wary. “But how did you know where I live?”

  His fingers disappeared into the pocket on his jeans, retrieving a plastic laminated card. It was the photo ID Cleopatra had given me when she dropped me off at the pier outside my new apartment. “You left this at the coffee shop yesterday. You were in such a rush taking off after your phone rang that you didn’t even look behind you.”

  “Oh my gosh, how stupid of me. Thanks for bringing it to me.” I let him drop it into my hand. “Did you just come here to return this? Or are you here to visit?”

  “Actually,” he was leaning into the door frame, giving me a sideways smile, “I was going to ask if you wanted to take a walk. In the formal gardens, perhaps?”

  “What gardens?”

  “Come on, Alice, don’t you know your own neighborhood? The Jardin du Luxembourg, why, it’s only one of the most famous spots in Paris, and it’s only right in our own backyard practically.”

  “Oh, right, of course, the gardens.” I tried to conceal the blush from the embarrassment of not knowing my own supposed neighborhood. “My morning is free. Just give me a minute to change clothes. I’ll be right back.” I whirled into my bedroom and grabbed the tan trench coat and tripped into a pair of nude ballet flats.

  The walk to the garden only took five minutes, and being a particularly brisk October as it was, we could see our breath while we walked through the plush, barbered greenery of the lawns. There was a faint beat of an accordion playing somewhere off in the background, as natural an element as the wind and sun on our cheeks. The edges of the park were exploding with color, lush plants and flowers that seemed to be dripping fumes. It appeared that the garden was full of two kinds of people: dog owners and romantics.

  “So what’s with the cloak and dagger persona?” Ben asked me.

  “I like to keep things interesting.”

  “You have a really nice apartment for a flight attendant,” he said, as we passed one of the garden sculptures; a petite replica of the Statue of Liberty. Her skin was seafoam green and the plaster on her nose was chipped.

  “A woman’s assets are really nobody’s business,” I tensely replied.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. I was just thinking out loud. Gosh, it was rude of me to show up at your apartment unannounced. It’s just that I couldn’t call you because you never gave me your phone number, and I was certain you would want your ID card.”

  I reached into my pocket for my cigarettes, banging the pack against my palm to loosen one out. “No, you were fine. A girl all alone in a big city learns to be defensive, that’s all.”

  “I totally understand. Especially with the whole drama of a jealous ex-boyfriend lurking about in all the dark corners.”

  I stooped down to pet a statuesque Great Dane that passed by on its owner’s leash. “I told you not to worry about that.”

  “I really like you, Alice.” Ben had blurted the words in such a way that he didn’t seem in control of it.

  The dog went past and I slowly sprang back to my feet. I couldn’t help but grin at what Ben had just said. “That’s really sweet.”

  “But you’re so mysterious, and you seem to make up crazy stories just to avoid telling me anything about yourself. I don’t even know if your real name is Alice or Heather. It’s like you’re either hiding a big secret or you’re not interested in me.”

  I flicked the tail of my cigarette into the grass and reached for a new one. Then I froze. “Oh my gosh. This is so embarrassing.”

  “What is it, Alice?”

  “I just realized that I’m chain smoking in front of a doctor. You must be so disgusted. I think you referred to my cigarette as a coffin nail when we met at the hospital.”

  “You’re among friends, don’t worry.” Ben reached into the interior pocket of his coat and pulled out a shiny silver cigarette case. He lit one for himself. “But I should tell you that I only smoke them on special occasions.”

  “Oh?” I asked, grinning. “What is the special occasion today?” We were taking up too much room on the sidewalk. I leapt a trotting step over the leash of a zippy poodle and tripped forward just in time for Ben to catch me. He firmed both of his arms around me and kissed me. When he pulled away from the kiss, my eyes were so caught up in his I didn’t realize my feet still hadn’t touched the ground.

  “I want you to be my girlfriend,” Ben said as he steadied me back down onto my two feet.

  My phone rang just then and the buzzing was loud enough that neither of us could ignore it. “Excuse me,” I said, and I scooted out of earshot. “Hello.”

  “Vacation is over, we’re going to Brussels,” Rabbit said in a hoot-like manner.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “The tip from Benny Nebraska proved useful. There’s a whiz kid over in Brussels, a university student named Jamie, who has been tracking the dynamite stick in real time for the past three weeks. He knows where it is right now. If we want him to tell us, we have to offer a big bonus. There’s a private flight leaving from de Gaule in an hour.”

  I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket and spun around to Ben to flash a begrudging smile. “Duty calls.”

  “Is there a flight attendant emergency? Did they run out of peanuts or something?”

  “An extra flight just got added to the schedule and it looks like I’m headed to Brussels. I’ll see you when I get back, okay?”

  Ben gripped his arms around my waist. “Brussels? How exotic. You will make a very difficult girlfriend to keep track of, Alice.” I sunk my head into the armpit seam on his coat and noticed that with our height difference, that’s where I seemed to snug in naturally.

  “Girlfriend? But I don’t believe I said yes to your offer.” I lifted my head to peer up into his brown eyes, which were surrounded by rows of unsparing lashes.

  “How about you let me take you on a real date, none of this trite coffee or walks in the park business. You let me give you one real date, and then you can give me your answer to my proposition of becoming my girlfriend.”

  “Deal,” I said.

  “When will you make good on the date?”

  “I promise, the second I land back in Paris I’ll tell you and we will go out for a real date. I’ll wear a skirt and a flower in my hair and act like a demure gentlewoman.”

  Ben kissed the tip of my ear softly. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  Chapter Nine: The Brussels Affair

  I WAS FEELING vibrant when I climbed aboard the airplane an hour later. I had gotten back from the park with just enough time to finish off the chocolate ice cream in my freezer and change into a new outfit. I had on a silken sleeveless dress and boots, which were licorice-black Wellingtons, and something about the ensemble was making me feel confident. Of course, the kisses from Ben helped my mood, too.

  Rabbit was already onboard. He was sitting astutely postured, weari
ng a crisp jean jacket, and there was a black Victorinox briefcase clamped between his ankles. “Welcome aboard, Alice.”

  I nodded a hello and wedged into my seat. I closed my eyes and went back to thinking about Ben. My stomach was doing that fluttery thing. Not like the time I got food-poisoned in Sydney by a mob boss a year earlier, these were romantic butterflies. I remembered them well from my past life with Pressley Connard.

  Once the plane glided into the airport in Brussels, I pressed my nose against the window next to my seat and felt the chilly outside air. The city of Brussels appeared to have a mist over it. Or the buildings were just old and grayish, I couldn’t tell. I had been traveling from city to city for three years and I never got over how old Europe was.

  My phone rang. I gleaned the screen and called to Rabbit, “It’s Motley.”

  “Press the speaker button so I can hear,” Rabbit instructed me.

  “Hello, Motley,” I said, holding the phone out in between myself and Rabbit.

  “Hello, Alice.”

  “Hello, Motley,” Rabbit called out with two seats between us.”

  “Hello, Rabbit,” Motley said. “I hope you both are ready for your time in Brussels. Today you must visit a student named Jamie at the university in the center of the city.”

  “Will Jamie know that we are coming?” asked Rabbit.

  “I spoke with Jamie this morning. The transaction will take place at the library on campus. The two of you are to look for Jamie in the research stacks at six P.M in order to initiate the transaction.”

  I glanced down at the time on my phone and saw that we had twenty-five minutes to get across the city to the university and find the library building. “And you’re positive Jamie has the information ready and available to hand to us?” I inquired.

  “Yes, and our new student friend is happy to exchange it for what’s inside the black briefcase Rabbit has onboard,” Motley said. “Good luck.”

  * * *

  An obsidian road stretched out before us. Stacked urban palaces lined the streets, row after row of archival architectures, their windows pinned shut by latticed covers like romantic cages. Rain slanted down all around us as we sat restlessly in the back seat of a cab en route to the university library. Rabbit’s fingers stiffly hugged the contours of the black briefcase. I crossed my legs and postured into the curve of the seat, a lipstick-marked cigarette was propped between my fingers.