The cold early evening rain fell like an obliterating sigh on the roof of the nightclub Le Vestiaire, a seeming release of all the tension held in the air throughout the day. The building, a gentlemen’s club of the highest grade, stood like a sentry against the cold sky and the steel rain. Behind the enormous wrought-iron fence the laid brick driveway pulled the coral-shade limousine into the circular driveway that ascended into the lavishly gutted 4-story 150 year old mansion. To be admitted into La Vestiaire was to be admitted into high society and old money, and no one was more keenly aware of this than the slender black-suited figure exiting the limousine under cover of the valet’s oversized black umbrella. The man offered his hand to assist the exit of a similarly slender woman, fitted in a sleek black Balenciaga evening dress and black pearls, her face curiously surrounded by a thin veil of wispy smoke which did not, apparently, pay any mind to the fluttering winds. She fed this veil through an 8-inch long black cigarette filter studded with diamonds as she elegantly allowed herself, in profile, to be led by the man’s arm up the 7 stairs under cover of the valet’s enormous umbrella and through the 12-foot tall cherry oak french doors, which were already open as though waiting to receive these two resplendent specimens of high society. As though this was meant to happen, and the world would not wait for anything less.
“I still don’t understand what we’re doing here.” Agent M complained as he and Miss Lanning were guided towards their table. “And I don’t understand why I was never told about your intelligence regarding our situation. How long have you known that I worked for the Agency?”
“Long enough, my boy. Quite long enough. We haven’t the time for every fine bit of it, so for now you must trust me.” She glared at him, positively glared through her smoky veil.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is Jr.? If Frenchie finds out you’re keeping intelligence from the Agency, you’re asking for more trouble than it’s worth, I can guarantee you that.”
Miss Lanning paused to take this in, apparently deciding on the appropriate course of action.
“Well?” She said after a moment’s uncomfortable hesitation, “I certainly won’t be made to sit myself down.”
After a few blinks of shock and for lack of any sort of intelligent response, M hastily retracted her chair from the table and settled her in properly before taking his own seat. As he began to unbutton his waistcoat, his senses rendered a familiarity about the place. His eyes rested for a moment on the Waterford Crystal champagne glasses and the diamond flake-encrusted waterglass before the sheer opulence of the room knocked him senseless.
The tables were laid out in fine dark red silk, with a bowl of crystal clear water containing two small fish and 5 floating votives on every table. The enormous chandeliers that overhung the seating area he estimated at about 12 feet in diameter, and perhaps a less sensitive eye would not have noticed that they were rotating, slowly. There was a proscenium stage before them of a mildly impressive size that was closed off with a curtain made of velvet in the darkest, richest shade of blue M had ever seen.
This looks like KG’s work, he thought with the clarity of shock, what on earth…
Before he could finish the thought, Frenchie approached the table flanked by a hulking, yet refined, specimen of ape that M could only assume was a man. However oddly attractive, he was the most casually dressed man in the club, with his Armani button-down half open to reveal a black hole of chest hair. “M, I would like you to meet Antonio. He owns Le Vestiaire and is responsible for our warm welcome here at the club tonight.” M stood and shook hands with the creature, topping it off with a warm smile and his rather deliberate attempt at a casual “Thank you.” Antonio seated Frenchie and as the three of them settled in, the lights began to dim. Before M could analyze the fact that Miss Lanning had not even batted an eyelash at Antonio, Frenchie leaned towards M and whispered in her delicate manner so that even the valets who were smoking marijuana in the back of the loge could hear and comprehend perfectly, “Antonio owns the club. What? …Oh M, we’ve been dating for two months. I told you that. Try not to be so aloof. Well, when I told him my brother and his wife were in town, he immediately insisted that you come and share his favorite singer with us. What? …Well that’s just the kind of man he is, M. I told you – they just don’t make them like that anymore.”
M tried not to look completely disrupted by this monologue and managed to notice the corners of Antonio’s mouth turn upward as the man grabbed Frenchie’s hand lovingly. Rings of smoke coming from Miss Lanning’s direction were beginning to distract him, and as the lights approached an almost imperceptible glow he thought he saw Frenchie reaching into her purse for something. A booming voice took his attention to the stage.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Le Vestiaire is proud to present…    Justifié L’Amour!”
The room erupted in vociferous applause as the blue velvet curtan was drawn back in true French fashion towards the upper corners of the proscenium, revealing what looked like a star-lit night and the product of twenty-four dry ice machines. Agent M heard the Kathleen Turner-esque voice drip from the speakers:
I’m a fool to want you,
I’m a fool to want you…
As the orchestra began it’s consummation with the singer’s husky voice, a pearly crescent moon began it’s descent from the heavens of the stage cradling who M could only assume was “Justifié L’Amour.”
To want a love that can’t be true,
A love that’s there for others too…
As the moon settled in the center of the star curtain M was able to see the main attraction.
Justifié lounged supinely in the crescent, defying all laws of physics that M had ever known, wearing a stark red sequined gown that wrapped itself into a reddish-black bustier above the waist. The entire thing was lined in red feathers, including the wrap that could only be described as a Shawl-Boa. She had very strong features and quite broad shoulders, almost like that of a man but with the grace of line that left no question that this was a Woman of Substance.
Time and time again I said I’d leave you,
Time and time again I went away…
He thought he saw L’Amour make an odd gesture. No doubt adjusting her costume. That thing looks horribly uncomfortable.Agent M had to wave away the smoke coming from Miss Lanning’s cigarette that was beginning to obstruct his view of the stage, and as he turned his head to stifle a cough he saw Frenchie lean in to kiss Antonio. She very clearly stopped to look the man straight in the eyes before the kiss.
But then would come a time when I would need you,
And once again, these words I’d have to say…
When their lips met, Antonio seemed to be paralyzed with shock.
This was a kiss that spoke of Love. Love when it was born; the kind of love that inspired a simple mind at the beginning of Time to create a new word for it. A kiss to put humanity’s mind at ease that such a simple and pure thing could still survive and exist in this complicated world; a kiss that would dim all the candles. It would resist pain, and weariness. It would resist hunger and thirst. It would survive hate, and innocence.
It would resist poison.
Take me back, I love you,
Pity me, I need you…
Agent M saw Antonio go limp with pleasure as Frenchie pulled away. The orchestra had begun to swell, lifting L’Amour’s voice with it and rolling in the air, one tumbling over and under the other as it became something sublime. Antonio seemed to close his eyes for the sheer sensuousness of the experience.
The smoke was positively billowing from Miss Lanning’s side of the table now. He could no longer see L’Amour through the smoke, and no amount of waving would dissapate the smoke screen at this point. An odd swell of panic surprised him and alerted him to something that seemed deliberate about this.
I know it’s wrong. It must be wrong,
But right or wrong, I can’t get along…
The violins swelled once more, above the orchestra, above L’Amour, above anything common or worldly. It was a slow and purposeful march towards the singular glory that only string instruments seem to be able to conjure. Beautiful, and perfect.
No one heard the silenced gunshot.
Antonio shuddered, or more distinctly violently twitched, and in the immutable dimness M saw the blackness being soaked up by the man’s shirt. His mind snapped into clarity at once.
…without you.
No one had apparently noticed. Frenchie excused herself from the table as the song began it’s powerful, diminuitive finish. Miss Lanning’s smoke screen had cleared a bit and M was able to catch one last glance at L’Amour before she disappeared into the heavens, and to his shock he saw that she was very distinctly looking at Antonio. The curtain was beginning to close and to his utter panic the room was beginning to illuminate again, slowly. He got up immediately and offered Miss Lanning his hand in a gesture that they should probaby leave before the crowd’s eyes adjusted to the light. She must not have seen yet, for she accepted and walked graciously ahead of him. They were not far from the door, but Frenchie…
He glanced back at the table and noticed that Frenchie had taken her coat with her, and mistakenly left one possession behind:
A single tube of lipstick sitting next to her wineglass.
He turned his head and Miss Lanning was gone. Time was running out; the lights were approaching a suitable level and he could see recognition settle back into the eyes of the patrons. He bolted for the table, grabbed the lipstick and pulled his grappling gun out of his pocket. He had approximately 7 seconds before he would be clearly seen. The curtain was almost closed. He was ready for action.
He pointed his grappling gun and fired. The line snapped taught as it secured itself to it’s target, and as he pulled the trigger a second time he rose in the air and felt his left foot snag on something. He cleared the curtain just as it closed behind him and to his dismay heard, quite clearly, the upended table slam into another amongst a shattering crash that sounded like twenty Waterford Crystal champagne flutes, twelve wineglasses and a shotglass all being thrown through a window with a brick.
He dislodged the line as soon as he had a firm grip on the catwalk and pulled himself up onto the grating. The crescent moon was three feet away, suspended in waiting, and Justifié L’Amour was nowhere in sight. The catwalk ran the entire width of the stage, with two identical doors resting on either end. He looked back and forth, unsure of where to go and falling rapidly into a state of panic when he felt L’Amour’s hand close around his mouth and the other arm wrapping around his arms and body, effectively rendering him helpless for the moment. His right hand, fortunately, was next to his Emergency Button on his belt. A discharge of tear gas from the back of his collar would take care of this situation, no doubt. As his finger reached for the safety release by the button, a familiar voice whispered in his ear.
“Don’t do it, M. Forget about L’Amour. I’ve got to get you out of here, now. You’re in danger.”
The hands released and M turned around to see a sight he had missed for 3 months. It was his operations partner, and the one person he could trust in this damnable Agency.

It was Jr.

to be continued…