Until I Die

like someone had just taken my wrists and slapped a pair of handcuffs on them. “Jules,” I said with undisguised disappointment, “what are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too, Kate,” Jules said, obviously amused. “Your boyfriend has asked me to be your bodyguard this afternoon.”
“He what?” I exclaimed.
Jules moved forward to kiss my cheeks, and I leaned backward so he couldn’t reach me, which made him laugh outright. “Hey—don’t blame this on me!” he said, backing away with his hands up in the universal “I surrender” gesture. “Vincent gets to handle the dangerous missions while I guard the damsel in distress.”
“I am so not distressed. But I did have something I wanted to do … on my own.” And then his words sunk in. “What dangerous mission?” I asked, searching his face.
“Ah! I finally get your undivided attention.” He grinned. “Could I tell you more once we are in the car and out of the bus lane?” Jules motioned to the BMW, which was parked illegally a few yards away. I saw a bus approaching, flashing its lights for him to move, and hurried to jump in before the bus driver could make a scene.
“Are we waiting for the ever-effervescent Georgia?” Jules asked as he slid behind the wheel and put the car in gear.
“No, she’s got drama club till six,” I answered absently, my mind on what Vincent could be doing.
I waited until he was off and said, “Okay. I’m in the car. Now spill!”
As we drove, Jules told me that the revenants who were house-sitting for Geneviève had called Jean-Baptiste that morning to inform him of a break-in. While they had been out, someone had entered the house and turned the rooms upside down. The door had been forced, the lock broken. But nothing seemed to be missing. Jean-Baptiste and Vincent had gone to investigate.
“And all that means I get a guard because …”
“Because everyone is wondering if this means the numa are back on the move, so Vincent was worried about you. And since JB insisted on him going along to Geneviève’s, I volunteered to pick you up,” Jules said with a satisfied smile, keeping his eyes on the road. “So where is this thing you wanted to do? I’ll take you.”
“It was a private errand. But I’ll do that another time,” I sighed. My stomach twisted with anxiety as I wondered when I’d have another opportunity to visit the shop. “So, how about you take me to Vincent?”
“How about I take you to my studio? Much less dangerous. Plus, I need a model and you could sit for me.”
“You want me to sit for a portrait?” I asked, stunned.
“Actually, at the moment I’m concentrating on full-length reclining nudes, in the spirit of Modigliani,” he said. He was making an effort to keep a straight face.
“If you think for even a second that I’m going to take off my clothes in front of you, Jules …,” I began.
He burst out laughing, slapping the steering wheel with his hand. “Just kidding, Kates. You’re a lady. I wouldn’t ask you to compromise your purity like one of my paid models—a bunch of low-heeled strumpets, the lot of them!”
After I’d seen a half-dressed model posing in Jules’s studio, Vincent had told me that the girls were usually university students needing cash for their school expenses. A far cry from “low-heeled strumpets.” Jules was trying the guilt-trip method of attack. And it was working.
“Okay, I’ll pose for you,” I conceded. “But under no circumstances will any article of clothing leave my body while I am in your studio.”
“And if you’re elsewhere?” he asked, breaking into a sly smile.
I rolled my eyes as we drove over the bridge and the Eiffel Tower came into view.
    I inhaled deeply as we walked into his studio, taking in one of my favorite odors—the smell of wet oil paint. I had breathed in that same air since I was a small child, whenever I visited my grandmother’s restoration studio. In my mind the smell was indelibly associated with beauty. My eyes followed my nose expectantly, knowing that a reward must be right around the corner.
And what a reward! The walls of Jules’s studio were filled with color. Primary-hued geometric cityscapes and nudes painted in luscious pinks and flesh tones. My brain shifted into art mode. Surrounded by all that beauty, I felt whole. Fulfilled. Like a light had been switched on inside me, illuminating all my mind’s dark, musty corners.
My reverie was interrupted by a crashing sound from the next