Page 29 of After Paris

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sylvia

Monday, July 6, 1942

11:00 a.m.

The filming of Secrets in the Shadows was within days of wrapping. Cécile and her costar, Louis Lambert, had brought a rich intensity to each scene. And everyone was surprised.

Most believed Cécile had not earned this role. She was not a trained actress. She’d never studied the craft. And many industry insiders declared it was her bedroom skills that had won her the part. If she cared about the gossips, she didn’t show it. Once she’d joked, “I’ve heard the same Secrets in the Shadows since I was thirteen.”

Critics also had concerns about Louis, the dashing star of a dozen comedies. He was the exact opposite of the hard-drinking Guy LeRoy, and most believed he couldn’t become Guy. But when the director shouted “Action!” Louis’s easy smiles vanished, and he became Guy. And as soon as the director yelled “ Coupez! ” Louis’s grin reappeared.

The two were committed to these roles, and they rehearsed often. Cécile knew her lines and those of everyone else in the film, but she kept practicing. And each time they recited their lines, the words sounded more natural. They shared a desperation. Cécile craved critical acclaim and the Germans’ goodwill, but I couldn’t think of what drove Louis.

Oberst Schmidt was back in Paris, and Cécile saw him several times a week, but she was on Louis’s arm for all the public parties and events. Monsieur Archambeau believed the buzz of their “affair” would help the movie. Oberst Schmidt didn’t appear jealous so far, but I thought that was Cécile’s careful management of him. She said he enjoyed talking, especially after sex and a few glasses of wine, even after the March factory bombings. It seemed he did not suspect his lover was a spy.

Though Oberst Schmidt insisted in public that Germany was winning the war, he seemed to have private concerns about the Reich’s invasion of Russia and its march toward Stalingrad. It was warm now, but the harsh Russian winters came early and had defeated invading armies before.

Cécile rose and brushed nonexistent wrinkles from her skirt. “You’ll have time to deliver Emile’s basket tomorrow?”

“Yes. Hauptmann Wolfgang is driving me.” He’d insisted when we were alone that I call him Otto, but I’d resisted after the first time. I’d feared I might slip in public. If our relationship became public knowledge, it could create more issues for me. For men of his station, mingling with local women could warrant his transfer to the Eastern Front, a certain death sentence. Oddly, I didn’t want to see him hurt. I wasn’t sure what that said about me.

“He’s very dedicated to you,” Cécile said to me.

I looked up at her, rising, the gold locket dangling in the center of my scooped neckline. “He worries that the streets are not safe.”

“For you?”

“The Resistance is getting bolder.”

She must have suspected that we’d been sleeping together. “Does the captain come upstairs to Emile’s?”

“Sometimes, but Emile knows always to expect him. The less I discourage him, the less he seems to suspect.”

“Is my sister careful?”

“She’s polite to Hauptmann Wolfgang.”

“Emile?”

“She can smile like you when she chooses.”

A brow arched. “Good. And Marc?”

“Always busy on Tuesdays now. He’s either searching for flour, yeast, and salt or baking in his kitchen. I never see him.”

“Ah. Marc never imagined a German walking into his building.”

A knock on my dressing room door, and a young man announced, “The director needs you on set.”

“Thank you, Pierre.”

The boy smiled, ducked his head, and vanished. She knew all the names of the people working on the set and always made a point of using them.

I followed Cécile down the hallway toward the set: two cameras, lights, microphones dangling from booms, and cables snaking over the concrete floors. All the chaos fed into a down-on-his-luck private detective’s office.

Cécile searched the set, hands on her hips. “I need to find Louis. The last time we ran through lines, he struggled to remember them. He was distracted, and my patience ran thin. I was rude, and he stalked off. Now I need to make amends. We have a love scene next, and I don’t need him in a foul mood.”

“I would guess his dressing room.”

“Ah, he’s always worried about his costume. I’ll find him,” she said. “You come along. I’d like you to spread a few rumors that you caught us kissing.”

We moved toward Louis’s dressing room, at the end of the hallway. It was twice the size of Cécile’s, and when she’d complained, Monsieur Archambeau had reminded her that Louis, being the male lead, must have top billing and the best dressing room. Usually she would have argued, but she wanted this role so much that she didn’t complain.

Louis Lambert appeared in block letters on the actor’s dressing room door, and Cécile knocked. When he didn’t answer, she huffed her impatience and opened the door.

“He’s either sulking or screwing a young starlet,” she said.

Louis was discreet when sleeping with young women, so no one questioned his actions.

“If I find him with a woman, I’ll share it. His prowess will enhance his reputation as a great lover, and the world will see me as the jealous mistress. For the press, we will become the embattled Francoise and Guy.”

The door opened to an empty room, and I heard a man grunting from the bedroom. Smiling, Cécile moved toward the door and flung it open with a dramatic flair the gossips would love.

Louis sat in a chair, his pants puddled by his ankles, his muscular legs spread wide. His eyes were closed, and his face contorted with that sweet agony before release. But there wasn’t a young woman on her knees fondling him, but a young man.

Immediately, I closed the door behind me, and Louis’s eyes popped open. Ecstasy shifted to panic. He pushed the man’s face away from his genitals and reached for his linen trousers.

Louis turned away from us as he zipped his pants and hooked his belt. His dressed companion wiped his hand over his mouth as he looked away.

Louis shoved long fingers through his thick dark hair. “I didn’t hear you.”

“No, I can see that,” Cécile said.

The young man, Lucas, had been hired a few weeks earlier as Louis’s assistant. He had a wiry frame, golden-blond hair, and an aquiline nose the Germans so admired.

“This is not what it seems,” Louis said.

“It’s exactly what it seems,” Cécile said. “Where is the discretion, Louis? You know the Gestapo visit our set often now.”

Louis’s hands were outstretched, fumbling for an imaginary lifeline. “It wasn’t planned.”

Cécile’s brow arched. “I can see that as well.” We all understood that if the Germans discovered his predilection, they would send him to a concentration camp. If he wasn’t executed when he arrived, they’d ensure he’d suffer.

“Please,” Lucas said.

Cécile didn’t spare him a glance as she snapped her fingers in his direction. “You’ll be silent.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Cécile walked up to Louis and fixed his twisted belt buckle. “I couldn’t care less who you share your free time with, but I must insist that you be extremely careful. This movie is very important to me, and it should be to you as well.”

“It is,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s never happened before.”

“I saw a man enjoying a familiar pleasure,” Cécile said.

“I was in shock,” his voice rasped.

She walked to his dressing table, reached for a silver case, and removed a cigarette. With a matching lighter, she lit the tip. She pulled in several deep breaths and allowed the smoke to curl serpentlike into the air. “This is how we’re going to handle this.”

Louis’s shoulders slumped a fraction. “What do you want?”

“Sylvia will not say a word.”

“You trust her?” Louis demanded.

“I do.” She pointed her cigarette toward him. “You’re going to fire Lucas. Keep him locked in a country house and do not see him until after the movie is finished. But none of this,” she said, waving her fingers between the two of them, “while we’re shooting this film.”

“How can you judge me? You’re fucking that German,” Louis said.

“I don’t judge you, my dear. Your passions drive you, and you enjoy them. I use sex for gain. And my dalliance with the German might cost me later, but for now it helps us all.” She drew in another lungful of smoke, holding it for a fraction of a second before releasing it. “You and I are going to kiss and touch every chance we get in public. No more speculation as to whether we are lovers. My building’s concierge will see you sneaking in and out of my apartment. She’s a horrible gossip, but that’ll work to our advantage.”

“Is this necessary?” Louis demanded. “If no one talks—”

“It’s necessary.” She moved toward him. “I have no interest in you sexually, Louis, but I do care about our film. And so do you. You want fame, like me.”

Lucas began to speak, but Louis held up his hand, silencing him. “Continue.”

“As I said, we’ll be seen at more parties at the Ritz and the private clubs. Everyone will believe we cannot keep our hands off each other. I’ve seen your acting. You should be able to do this.”

“What about your German colonel?” Disdain rumbled under his words.

“Worry about us making this movie and turning it into a hit. I’ll take care of him.”

Louis stared at her a long moment and then said, “Lucas, you need to leave now. It’s a matter of minutes before someone comes looking for us both.”

Once Lucas had left us alone, Cécile unbuttoned her blouse until the V widened and exposed her lace-trimmed breasts. “Louis, mess up your hair a little.”

“We need to be on set,” he protested.

Impatient, she crossed to him and ran red-manicured fingers through his thick hair that moved like silk. She drew a strand down over his forehead. “Such a beautiful man.” She kissed him on the cheek, making sure her red lipstick smeared his tanned skin. “Our ‘love affair’ is the best move for us.”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “I agree.”

“And Lucas will keep his mouth shut?”

“I’ll take care of him.”

“Make him understand that his silence is key to staying alive.”

“He knows this.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Locked doors. They’ll save your life.”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking.”

She patted his chest. “I’ve always kept tight control of my passions. I use them to my advantage. You do the same.”

“I’m not so disciplined.”

“But you will be until this movie is a great hit, no?”

“I will.”

I wondered if Louis was capable of caution. An unlocked door wasn’t only sloppy; it tempted destruction. Some people who were weighted down by secrets justified their gambles. My righteousness will protect me. I deserve pleasure. Loneliness hurts. But no matter the reason, once discovered, there was always a price to pay.

Like Louis, I hid my true self from the world. I’d become a devout Catholic, taking weekly communion and wearing a locket that displayed the cross, a Star of David hidden underneath. I hadn’t sewn a gold star on my jacket or followed the new laws for the Jews. I had told no one my true story, and yet I now risked it all by taking a German lover. What price would my hubris cost me?

Footsteps sounded outside the door. As Cécile smudged the lipstick on his cheek with her thumb, I rushed toward the door and opened it to find Louis’s makeup artist. Laurette was in her fifties and had worked in movies even before there was sound. She regarded my shocked expression and then looked past me to Cécile and Louis. A movie set was a very small town, and gossip traveled fast.

“They were rehearsing,” I said.

“Of course. I understand,” Laurette said.

Cécile faced Laurette, making a show of buttoning her blouse. I glanced at Cécile as if I was a tad embarrassed while she sauntered out of the room. I followed her.

Cécile entered her dressing room, and I closed the door.

“By the end of the day, the set will buzz with rumors of your affair with Louis.”

“It won’t take that long.”

I helped Cécile dress in a dark, sleek dress that hugged her curves. I pinned a black pillbox hat on her head and fanned the netting over her face. She slipped on black shoes, and I arranged a fox stole on her shoulders. When Cécile stepped on set fifteen minutes later, she was pulled together as if nothing had happened.

Two Gestapo officers stood on the sidelines watching, saying little. They knew their black uniforms, knee-high polished boots, and hats evoked fear. No one dared ask why they were here or what they wanted.

Drawing in a slow breath, I was more than ready to hear the actors run lines and mark stage positions on the set. I wanted to work and focus on this small world the set designers had created.

When Louis appeared on set again, he was dressed like Guy, and there were no traces of lipstick on his face nor signs of the man who’d stared at Cécile with desperation in his gaze.

Today, in this moment, we were doing our best to hide what we didn’t want the world to see.

In this scene, Francoise needed to convince the cool, distant Guy that she was innocent. But Francoise wanted to break through Guy’s facade so she could manipulate him.

Like Cécile herself, Francoise used her sexuality to get what she wanted. Neither woman pretended to be innocent, because each knew men like Schmidt, Monsieur Archambeau, and Guy craved a wicked escape.

The director told everyone to be quiet on the set, and after a moment, the silence was complete.

“Action!” the director shouted.

Cécile pressed her fingertips to Louis’s chest, and as Francoise she said in a husky voice, “Your heart is beating so fast.”

Guy’s face was unreadable. “It’s not.”

Francoise edged closer and then brushed her lips against his, testing. “My heart is ready to burst from my chest.”

“You’re afraid,” he challenged.

Dropping her gaze, she pressed her cheek against his. “I’ve been afraid all my life until this moment. With you there is no fear.”

He cupped her face, tipping it up. He stared at her a long moment, his doubt and hesitation reflected in his eyes. Under Guy’s cynicism was loneliness, and he was on the verge of showing Francoise his true self. His fingers gripped her arms, and anger joined with frustration.

Guy sought his own version of a dangerous release in a forbidden love that could be his undoing. He was no different from Louis or me.

As if giving in, Guy kissed Francoise hard on the lips. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body against him. The sexual chemistry was palpable, and there wasn’t a sound on the set.

When Monsieur Archambeau yelled “Cut!” he looked very pleased with himself. “Excellent job! You two are magic on the screen.”

Slowly, they released each other. Neither seemed ready to drop the facade of their character or face the real-world dangers waiting for us all.

It was after nine in the evening when Cécile left the set seconds after Monsieur Archambeau had wrapped production for the day. In her changing room, I helped her out of her dress, and as I hung it up, she poured champagne into a tall flute. She drained it and then refilled it.

“I thought today went very well,” she said.

“The Gestapo are watching you.”

She took another gulp of champagne. Her cheeks flushed in an uncharacteristic blush. “They’re always watching, aren’t they? It’s a given. We must keep our masks in place.”

Discussing the dangers around us didn’t do either of us any good. “What will you wear tonight?”

Cécile glanced into the full-length mirror. She ran manicured fingers through her blond hair. “I don’t recognize myself sometimes. I’ve transformed into a stranger. No hints of Dominique exist anymore. And I fear she’s gone for good.”

“Hiding. Not gone.”

She caught my gaze in the mirror. “Do you miss the past?”

“Every day.”

“What was that version of you like?”

My chest squeezed with memories of my lost life. “Happy. Optimistic. Naive.”

“Dominique was always restless, and so fearful she’d miss out on life. She was always searching for adventure.”

“She’s found it.”

A bitter smile tipped her lips. “But at what cost?”

I understood the cost of choices. “We might not ever know.”

Her gaze dropped as she released a sigh. “I think I’ll wear something dark and seductive. Schmidt will be at the Ritz tonight.”

“Will Louis be at the party?”

“Yes. We’ll make a show of it and appear to leave. I’ll meet the colonel in his room.”

“Tomorrow is Tuesday. I’ll be paying a call to your sister.”

“I might not be home tonight, but I’ll return by noon.”

I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Does the colonel suspect you?”

“No.”

“But the Gestapo,” I hissed.

“They are everywhere. No need to worry.” She seemed to swallow her worries with another gulp of champagne.

I didn’t know if she was being honest or if she was acting. If today had taught me anything, it was that she was very skilled at her craft.

I suggested a long silk black dress with a back neckline that dipped to her waist. It was one of the costumes Francoise wore in Secrets in the Shadows . It was as close to undressed as a woman could be in public.

“Good choice,” she said. “I’ll have to be very persuasive with the colonel tonight as the rumors about Louis and me swirl.”

Back at her apartment, I pressed the dress while Cécile bathed and applied fresh makeup. When she joined me, she was wearing her silk undergarments and stockings held up by garters. The dress slid over her body and hugged her like a second skin. I wrapped the diamonds Oberst Schmidt had given her around her neck and covered her shoulders with a fur stole.

Hauptmann Wolfgang’s glistening black Mercedes pulled up in front of the building, and Louis stepped out and strode through the main doors. Seconds later, there was a knock.

Odd that the captain, and not Louis’s driver, was transporting them tonight. I wondered if Oberst Schmidt was behind the order.

I opened the door and found Louis standing with his feet braced. He was wearing black slacks, a white dinner jacket, and polished shoes. Diamond cuff links winked from his wrists. His confidence projected a magnetism that would catch any woman’s attention. His gaze met mine, and no hints of recognition flickered. “I’m here for Cécile.”

“Of course.” I went into the bedroom and paused as if I were announcing him, and Cécile smiled and followed me to the living room.

When Cécile emerged, Louis’s eyes shone with appreciation. If Oberst Schmidt hadn’t heard the rumors about them, he wouldn’t be able to ignore them after tonight.

“You look like a scandal,” Louis said.

“That was the idea. Champagne?”

“No, not yet.”

“We’re going to be on magazine covers next month. We should toast our new notoriety. This will be good for both of us.”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Lucas has been let go.”

“Good.”

“He didn’t take it well.”

“Will he be a problem?”

“No. He has no desire to rot in a camp.”

“Nor do I. If this deception is discovered, you and I will both risk arrest.”

“You’ll be set free.”

“I don’t count on that.”

I understood her worry. An arrest for a small thing could lead to an interrogation that would reveal the bigger deception.

“We should be on our way,” he said. “Wouldn’t want your concierge questioning what I’m doing here.”

“We couldn’t have that.”

He pressed his hand to her bare back and guided her out of the apartment. From the window, I saw them walk toward the car. Louis opened the door for her, and as she lowered herself onto the leather seat, her white fur slipped off her shoulder, exposing skin. Lights flashed, popped. A group of reporters stood on the corner. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. She hesitated so the photographers could snap more pictures, and then she vanished into the car.

The captain closed the door and glanced up toward the apartment window. He moved to the driver’s side door. My cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire I now danced so close to.

Later, the papers printed several images of Cécile dancing with Louis at the Ritz. According to the reporters, a string quartet played Strauss as uniformed Germans and their dates ringed the ballroom. Nazi flags dangled from the balcony as a crystal chandelier winked with a hundred small lights.

After Cécile departed, I set about picking up and folding her clothes and putting away jewels she’d chosen not to wear. I’d just finished putting away discarded high heels when the phone rang. The maid had again been given the night off, so I answered it.

“Hello?”

“Sylvia?” Marc’s voice sounded sharp with panic.

“Yes. What’s wrong?”

“Can you come to the boulangerie? It’s urgent.”

My mind raced with possibilities. I didn’t dare ask, knowing the telephone operators listened in on calls. Had Emile been detained again? Was there a new Polish family who couldn’t speak French? Had there been another bombing? Marc’s emphasis on the word “urgent” told me I had to hurry. I still had two hours until curfew, which would give me time to reach the boulangerie. How I would return here in time, I didn’t know. “I’ll come immediately.”