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There she stands on the stage, Ninette Laurent, in a deep sapphire strapless gown, white gloves past her elbows. Her hair is coiffed in sleep waves swept to one side. A lazy piano plays as she sings like a nightingale. Though those soft green eyes play the audience with fluttering lashes and lingering gazes, there's something detached about the way she stands, how her poise is a little too perfect. But oh, she puts Ella to shame with that rendition of My Funny Valentine.
*
Out in the audience a man with black and red eyes is chain smoking and chain drinking. He has a lot to drink about—most people who come here probably do. Rudderless, paddle-less, and stuck. He smashes out another cigarette and exhales slowly as he watches Laurent get her groove on as he wonders how he is going to pick up the pieces.
*
Ninette catches the man's eye, and her own lingers. Her lips smile, but there's that something unreachable in her eyes. Most don't notice or care. When she gets to the end of the song, there's a scattering of applause. It's her last set, and so when it's over, she says into the microphone, "Thank you, you have been a fine audience." Her accent is French, Parisian if one were to be able to pinpoint it. She leaves the stage, and the piano player plays some wending tune. It's not too long after that she emerges, a white mink stole draped over her shoulders.
*
Remy, drunk, stands and makes his way over towards the girl with the white mink over her shoulders. As he approaches, he holds two fingers up to the bartender and nods. "Dat some set, chere. Figure I'd wanna come ovah and let you know ah be tinkin' you pretty great. Remy gun be havin' to come here mo' often."
*
Ninette tilts her head as she considers Remy. Lucian would probably appreciate drawing in regulars, by her reckoning, and the man's words draw a smile from her that actually brightens a bit in her eyes. "Merci," she says. She considers for a moment, then offers her gloved hand, tipped to kiss, not shake. "Ninette Laurent. I appreciate your kind words, monsieur."
*
"Pas de probleme, mademoiselle," Remy says as he obliges the gloved hand. "Y'all got a handful of talent like y'all, or you de best dere is?" The drinks arrive. Two martinis. Dirty, of course. "Ole Remy big fan o' jazz, bien sur."
*
Remy gets a small nod of approval as he pays proper respect. These Americans, not all of them are savages, only most. "I'd like to think I stand out. I do strive to." She says nothing of the other talent. "Monsieur Remy, you do not look so old." She considers him anew up close, toe to tip. "Parlez vous Francais?"
*
"Well, spose ah'll have to compare ya to what I dun see next," Remy says with a chuckle. His eyebrows raise. "Jus' a cajun mix t'be honest. Nuff t'get by but prolly not all fancy like such a woman as y'oself."
*
Ninette lowers her lashes as she's called fancy. "Shall I remain and hear your verdict? I might have to defend my reputation if you find one of the others more to your liking." That melodious quality lingers in the lilt of her voice. She glances toward the stage, where another songstress is due soon. She wasn't a rival earlier, but now…
*
"Iffen you like martinis, I do hope you do," Remy says as he slides one towards her. "Who dis girl?" he asks as he nods to the stage. "And what a gah from Paree doin' all de way over here in de Big Apple?"
*
Ninette answers by taking up the martini, raising the glass to Remy, and taking a sip. She leaves a cherry red lip print on the edge of the glass. With a glance to the stage, she says, "Her name is Charlotte, I think. She is all right." She is actually pretty good. She's no Ninette, but she's easy on both the ears and the eyes. Ninette watches the woman sing with a critical eye, and she asides to Remy, "I came here to sing and to see the great New York City. What brings a man from the Cajun country here?"
*
"De revolution, mostly. Dats what I came for. Stuck around," Remy replies with a bit of a forlorn sigh. "Stuck around for a girl. Tryin' t'see if it be time t'move on or if ahm stayin. Guess ahm a bit of a rollin' stone."
*
"There are more girls out there, surely," Ninette says, and she lays a hand lightly on Remy's arm. "I left Paris because of heartache. I will tell you this, monsieur, it follows you." She smiles a little. "Besides, you are surrounded by distractions." On stage, Charlotte sings Dream a Little Dream of Me with a 'drawn that way' pout on her lips.
*
"Mebbe. Mebbe not. Suppose we'll see," Remy says with a grin as he downs the rest of his martini and swallows hard. "How long you been in de Big Apple, chere? You like it?"
*
Ninette nods to the man, and she leans back to take another dainty sip of her drink. "Over a year," she says. She glances around the place, sadness preserved on features that seem made for it. "I do," she says after giving the question serious thought. "There's very little left in Paris for me, and the people here have been quite friendly. Very kind." She looks back to Remy, a small smile softening the sorrow. "Kindness is such a rare and a beautiful thing. Never take it for granted."
*
"Dat be a fair point, chere," Remy says as he leans against the table, careful not to move his arm that she touches. "Tell me mo' bout yo'self. Man on de loud speaker say you go by Ninette Laurent, non? Tell ole Remy what you miss bout Paris."
*
Ninette inclines her head in an affirmative as she says, "Yes, that's my name, Ninette." She nurses her drink along, just small and occasional sips. A lady must keep her head, after all. "There isn't much to tell, monsieur. I took over my father's business when he died, and then I sold it because I would rather sing." Her smile gains a little warmth despite herself as she reminisces. "I miss moonlit walks beside the Seine. The food, of course, and the fashion. But mostly the autumn leaves turning in the parks beside the river, and the crispness of the coming winter."
*
"Dis place got some rivers, too. Ain't ever seen de Seine, 'side from de pictures, but it does look pretty. Someday gunna see dat Champs Elysees, fo sho." Remy smiles faintly. "Sounds nice, Paris." Next time he needs to lay low, that is probably where he's going to head, now.
*
"Ah, but no one to walk with," Ninette says. "The winter is beautiful but lonely." She gives Remy's arm a gentle squeeze. "You'll make me nostalgic if you're not careful, monsieur. There is this little patisserie in the Marais that makes the best eclairs. You can sit and watch the people go by while you have one with your coffee. I wish I could remember the name."
*
Remy chuckles, "When ah go and return ah'll haveta remind ya. Sho it ain't no substitute, and ain't no substitute for Cafe du Monde where ah be from, but if I find a good French spot in town, ahll be sure to take ya."
*
"Ah yes, Cafe du Monde. I've never been to New Orleans, but I would love to someday. My papa said it was enchanting." She lowers her gaze, a smile playing upon her lips as she says, "How will you take me? We've barely met, and the night will come to an end."
*
"Well, ah'll just come next time. N'york a big city, but it ain't dat big. Ole Remy'll be back for more drinkin' and jive talkin," he replies with a laugh. "Nawlins is good if you like hot weather and insanity. You okay wit dose, den you be jus' fine."
*
Ninette purses his lips, making a show of giving it some thought, though now there's a glint of wicked humor breaking trough the ice. "In that case, I suppose you'll have to hear me sing again, won't you." The thought strokes her pride. "Hmm, I don't do well in the heat, but that's never stopped me before, and I'm afraid insanity is universal, monsieur." She gives Remy's arm a pat.
*
"Ah suppose I will, Ninette," Remy replies with a smile. "Far as de heat go down dere it come with de territory." He chuckles. "Should prolly get goin. Late fo' me and I been havin' a bit too much t'drink."
*
"I'll find a way to cool off," Ninette says. The heat's not a problem for her anymore, truth be told. She lets his hand slip from Remy's arm, and she tells him, "Until next time, monsieur. May you find mending for your broken heart."
*
"De same to you, chere." Remy's clearly mutant eye gives her a wink and he gives her a nod before sauntering towards the exit. He takes one last look at Charlotte belting out another number and decides that, despite his mood, he's found a new place to hang out.
*
Ninette watches him go. It's because he's a mutant, perhaps, that she melts just enough to look forward to him coming back. She finishes her drink, gives the next man who offers her one a look that could freeze fire, and goes back to her green room to be out of public for a little while.