Now he was thankful for their delay, and extremely happy that he'd come. It had been most auspicious to arrive in time to watch the woman. André remembered her every expression, and could imagine her thoughts as she struggled with herself.
André found the gaming room exit and passed through it, into the marble flooring of the expansive lobby. The resort, stunning in its scope, had been recently remodeled. The water display began outside the casino; he could hear the music signifying the start. After nightfall the attraction went off every fifteen minutes.
His clients were from out of town, and may not have seen the show. André murmured a query to them, and they agreed that they would like to stop and watch. The three of them trailed outside, walking some distance to find the best view.
The Fountains of Bellagio were designed to "romance your senses." Intertwined with inspirational music and light, water gushed upwards, dancing to the music and jetting to amazing heights. It was mesmerizing. Stirred by the sights and sounds, André watched… and thought of Marcy.
The woman's fight with her conscience had been magnifique. Marcy interested him. He liked her, and he fully intended to reward her integrity. That was, if she chose to become his employee. If she called him tomorrow.
André smiled, certain that she would call. He knew exactly how to make that choice impossible for her to resist. He believed in karma and to some degree in fate. Sometimes things really did happen for a reason.
Marcy deserved good to come to her. André felt that it was no coincidence that he had observed her triumph over evil. Who was to say that he was not simply an instrument of the bon Dieu? A tool sent to help her during a difficult time?
She did not take the $100 bill. It was as if she had been tested by Le Diable himself.
André's admiration was profound.
When the water jets shot on to full - it sounded almost like small cannons going off. The woman and man beside him both gasped abruptly as the fountains hit new and surprising heights. Every time the tempo changed, rapid-fire concussions from the jets could be heard, differing in timing and volume. Like rhythmic drum beats, these sounds enhanced the musical composition.
The music lowered, becoming mystical. Founts of spray lessened, beginning a colorful choreographed ballet. The throb and dance of the water became slow and stable as a resting heart beat.
Such sights and sounds were restful, and André's mind went to his security officer, Mike Thompson. Mike was a steady, sensible man, well versed in protective measures. André employed him five years ago for an upgrade to his systems. Now he was the consultant that oversaw all of André's security needs.
Would his friend, Mike Thompson, be attracted to Marcy? For the man had been celibate and alone for far too long. Mike was vigorous and in his prime. His lack of companionship was a sin in André's eyes. Sexual abstinence was not healthy for the body. A lack of closeness and connection to another was not healthy for the soul.
André shifted restlessly with the memory. Mike and his wife came to him six years previously with difficulties in the marriage bed. Theirs was been a simple case, easily resolved. They were most happy together until she became ill and passed.
So sad. Mike always wished for children, too. Marcy, with one child already, was quite possibly just the very woman for his friend.
André blinked with a sudden inner vision, imagining the reaction of each to the other. He recalled the woman's thick, brunette shoulder length hair, her voluptuous figure and the polite way in which she firmly held him at arm's length.
That had been a novel experience for André. Few women did that.
In general, women loved him. This was no surprise as André loved all women: fat, thin, tall, short, young, old, good-looking or considered unattractive – to André every woman was beautiful, nurturing, fascinating and unique.
Marcy's features were angular, her nose too straight and long. While not a beauty in the traditional sense, André had found her captivating. She wore a subtle fragrance that tantalized without masking her own unique scent. André appreciated this restraint. Why did so many American women use such overpowering perfumes?
The woman had been stressed, yet she was exceptionally well-mannered. There was strength of character, stubborn will, and determination in her eyes. He recalled how her face lit with joy as she laughed. And when she smiled a vibrant personality showed. In those moments Marcy was quite striking.
Mike Thompson would most certainly like her.
Perhaps in addition to providing employment, he was also to play the matchmaker? It was a task he was unfamiliar with, and yet André considered that he could acquit himself well. He would contrive to succeed - if such was meant to be.
The fountains rose once more with a rainbow of multicolored lighting. There was a choral theme now, and it was building. All the fountains jetted, pounding with life like an athletes' heartbeat during the last moments of a race. The water followed the music, reaching, surging upwards, and swelling into a shattering finale.
Inspired, André's heart lifted, awed by the sight and sounds before him. C'est fantastique et vraiment beau.
In that stirring moment a startling idea struck him. Did the chance meeting with Marcy have greater ramifications? Now that was something to think about.
Perhaps André had come to this place not to help her, but to help him?
Mike Thompson would be responsible for screening Marcy for her position in his household. This would take time, time in which Mike would need to personally get to know the woman.
As the performance reached its crescendo, André's heart swelled with joy and his lips curled with satisfaction. Mike and Marcy. Marcy and Mike. Even the sound of their names together had a pleasant alliterative ring.
And so, already this goes very well I think, he mused.
6. Marcy Paget
Marcy sat staring at the phone.
It was 8:55am the next day. The day after meeting Mr. Chevalier. The day after he sent his majordomo to see her. The day after she decided to accept his job.
Marcy remembered Gustave visiting her in her bar. He introduced himself with courtly propriety and gave her an envelope. It was the contract of employment that Mr. Chevalier spoke of.
Mr. Chevalier's majordomo looked closer to seventy than sixty. Dressed in a brown suit with an olive sweater, he wore a dark red scarf around his neck. The scarf and sweater Marcy could understand. It was early November, where the daytime temperatures could be in the seventies and nights could cool to fifty degrees. As an older man, he would more easily be disturbed by the cold.
With his light, almost white-grey hair, Gustave projected quiet dignity. The man could have been a philosopher, an artist or a poet. Serenely regarding her, his blue-grey eyes were calm and still as a windless pool of deep water. Gustave appeared as if he had seen all manner of things in the world, and it hadn’t changed him. If Marcy could use only one adjective to sum him up with, it would have been 'kind' or perhaps 'gentle.'
She smiled. A close second would be loyal, for Gustave clearly cared for his employer.
Gustave spoke of André Chevalier, assuring her that he was "most trustworthy." He said that André never hired anyone to join the household. His staff, all born in France, had been with him for years. Gustave wanted to come and view for himself what manner of woman would make André offer her such a position. The older gentleman had worked for André for more than twenty years and thought of André as a son.
With a shrewd look, Gustave's brows knitted, no doubt sensing her misgivings. "He wants you to work for him, but do not fear," he said. "You can trust him, ma chèrie, I swear it."
There were two letters in the envelope. One was a note from the Manager of the Bellagio, telling her that he understood that she had been offered employment with Mr. Chevalier. It confirmed in writing that should she choose to take up the offer that her position at the Bellagio would be kept open for three months. How in the world had Mr. Chevalier arranged that? It minimized any risk
for her to take the job.
The contract of service was more extensive. She filled out pages of personal details and history. The work was only during school hours, and occasional late evenings, full medical for herself and her daughter and an excellent wage. It was too good to be true. Marcy could hardly believe it, but she wanted to. Why couldn't it be her turn for a lucky break?
Marcy hardly slept all night, she was so keyed up. She wanted to chat to her roommate, Amber, but Amber needed to get up for an early shift at the casino. Until recently there were three single mothers and their kids sharing the condo. Marcy and Amber had kicked out their housemate for drug use and sleazy boyfriends.
One of their neighbors had texted her a photo of a tattooed guy with dreads using a bong outside their condo at 2am one morning. The comment, "Do you know what goes on here while you are away?" had Marcy racing home from work immediately. Jesus. What had her roommate been thinking?
It was too bad for the woman's child, but safety was everything. There was no way they would allow strange men or drugs in the house.
They were to vacate by the New Year anyway as the owners were moving back into it. Her friend, Amber, planned to move in with her mom, even though her mom drove her nuts. Marcy and Katie would probably move in with some other single women. She put a note up on the staff notice board in the casino and would have to see.
Marcy sighed, thinking of the hassle involved in moving house again. She needed to be in another place before Christmas.
Waking early, Marcy got her daughter and Amber's daughter ready and walked them to school with an abundance of nervous energy. She wanted to explain her excitement to Katie, but decided to wait until everything was settled. A lot could still go wrong. After a few deep breaths, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the number.
"Bonjour?" A cheerful voice said after one ring.
"Mr. Chevallier?"
"Mais oui, Marcy. You have called, and on time exactly."
Marcy wasn't at all surprised to find the man waiting for her. He was highly recommended and for whatever reason, he wanted to give her a job. This was her chance to keep her promise to her father and get out of casino work.
"I'm calling to tell you that I will be happy to take the position that you are offering me."
"But of course!" Mr. Chevalier gave her a smug cheerful chuckle. "It was Gustave that convinced you, n'est-ce pas? He is most respectable, and he will be your direct superior. I love this man, and am blessed by his presence. I could not do my work without him."
Marcy smiled. She found Mr. Chevalier's expression of love toward his older servant endearing. Only the French could be so open and passionate to someone they barely knew.
"I really appreciate this, Sir."
"C'est parfait, ma belle," he said. "You may learn more French while you are with us. My employees are like family, you understand. They are most curious about you, I am afraid. They will perhaps irritate you with constant questions."
"That's okay."
"Gustave will keep them in check. Now, what is your address? For I will come to your house and drive you to my home."
"Oh, please don't bother. I can take a taxi."
"Non," he said. "It is your first day, and therefore most special."
Marcy gave him her address and Mr. Chevalier told her that he would be there within a half an hour. "Is there anything particular I should be wearing?" she asked.
"Casual dress will be acceptable. You will have a uniform when you start. While I very much admire the sizable bust which you wear to the Bellagio, in my household such will not be necessary."
Marcy surprised herself by giggling at this comment. How had he known about her falsies? Mr. André Chevalier was even more observant that she thought.
"Today you will be shown my home by Gustave, and interviewed by my security officer," he added. "If all is well then, perhaps tomorrow you will begin."
"That sounds just great," she said.
They said their goodbyes and hung up. Marcy decided against the slacks she was wearing, changing into a round neck flare dress with short sleeves and a gathered waist. It was her favorite dress as it accented her figure perfectly. With its cream lining covered by dark blue lace it looked feminine, too. For extra contrast she wore a thin red belt. With black low heeled pumps, and a red coat, her ensemble was complete.
These people were French, and the French were notorious for dressing well. She wanted to show them that Americans could get decked out, too.
Other than her best friend, Sue, who had moved to LA, and her new acquaintances at the Bellagio, Marcy didn’t know many people anymore. The couples she knew while married to Trent fell out of touch and drifted away. Why would they hang out with a single mother? Not to mention the awkwardness over Trent's remarriage.
When Marcy's mother first became ill, it was all she could do to care for her and Katie. Friends, outside interests, and entertainment had all gone by the wayside. Living day to day, paying the bills and trying to be a good mother was about all she was able to manage.
Marcy was confident that she would get on well with Mr. Chevalier's employees. Meeting new people, having the time to enjoy them without the pressure of working double shifts and paying childcare fees would be amazing.
Was this really happening to her? From now on, if all went well, Marcy would have more time and more money. Maybe she could even go back to school and finish that nursing degree she started so long ago.
I'm so glad that I didn’t steal that $100 note. If I did, Mr. Chevalier would have never offered me a job.
7. Bugatti
Marcy heard it before she saw it.
The sleek red and black sports car thundered toward her house with a growling sort of dangerous purr. Marcy's eyes widened and her mouth gaped open when it drove up to her condo. Later, her mind boggled when she found out that it was a Bugatti Veyron and cost about $2,500,000. The Frenchman wasn't just rich; he was super rich.
Mr. Chevalier got out. With a large smile and wide eyes, he gave her a big boyish grin. He looked about twenty-five years old when he grinned like that. "Do you like it?" he asked.
"It's incredible," she said with genuine awe.
He was dressed 'smart casual' in up market jeans, black leather pointy toed shoes and an Italian polo shirt. Even in jeans he appeared vital and elegant. What was that about? In the morning sun, Marcy was aware of how attractive he was, and he still smelled good enough to eat.
Too bad that men gave her indigestion.
Even though she'd sworn off the opposite sex, it was impossible for her mind not consider the prospect. Mr. Chevalier was nothing like her ex. She imagined him in bed with a woman. He would make his partner feel cherished – not stupid, she was sure of it. He might even make her laugh. Could sex actually be fun, she wondered?
Marcy would probably never know, and that realization only gave her relief. Besides, he was her boss, and she had enough problems already. The man was still smiling at her - his vibes were carefree, playful, and absolutely not sexual. He seemed so much younger that she was somehow.
"If you have a driver's license you may drive it."
"No way, Mr. Chevalier," she gasped.
"Yes, way," he said.
Marcy just shook her head. "I would never drive this in city traffic."
Her soon to be new employer's grin grew larger. "Bon! Then we shall go to the country. It is a most beautiful day for a drive."
He opened the passenger door for her, commenting on her dress, and telling her how much that particular style suited her figure. The man went on to notice how attractive yet sensible her shoes were, and how she wore just the right amount of make-up.
As he joined her in the car he airily continued the one-sided conversation. Amused, relaxed and inexplicably comfortable with him, Marcy listened as Mr. Chevalier chatted away about fashion much like a girlfriend might have done. He ruined this momentary illusion, however by telling her that he much preferred her breasts this way, in thei
r natural size and form.
Alrighty then. How do I reply to that?
"Thank you," she said, resorting to good manners.
Marcy never met anyone like him. It astonished her, the way that he seemed able to converse about anything without a shred of embarrassment. Oddly, because he talked in a matter-of-fact tone, he put her at ease. Were all Frenchmen so straightforward, or just Mr. Chevalier?
"For now, please call me André," he said. "You are not my employee yet, and with first names it is more comfortable, yes?" He turned the car on with the press of a button, and it growled to life with a sexy purr. "This is the fastest French car ever made," he happily informed her.
Then he hit the gas.
Marcy was slammed back into her seat with the sudden acceleration. She screamed from shock and surprise. The abrupt increase in velocity she experienced was not unlike being in a 'Top Gun' jet during takeoff, she figured.
André laughed but slowed down to the speed limit. "It is very exciting, yes?" His childish enthusiasm was infectious, and Marcy found herself laughing.
They drove south down U.S. 93 toward Hoover dam. The day was a sunny sixty degrees, the views scenic, and the road fairly empty. André Chevalier clearly adored driving his car.
While Marcy relaxed and enjoyed the ride, André did most of the talking. He told her about his French chef, Pascal, who was a genius in the kitchen, and Pascal's wife, Anne who fussed around them both. He assured her that Pascal would prepare her delicious meals that would be cooked with fresh cream and herbs, some he assured her, that Marcy would have never even heard of.
Part of her job would be to assist Pascal from time to time.
André seemed passionate about everything he spoke of, which included food, fashion trends, love and sex. His accent, pronunciation and teasing good humor were irresistible. Somehow it was so easy to talk or listen to him. The man was fun, and his point of view and philosophy about life made her giggle or laugh again and again.