Flaneur ✅💋

2. Premiere Rencontre

March 25, 1942

Genevieve waited for the driver to open her door before stepping out into the brisk night air.  It was chilly, even with the silvery fur scarf that she had draped over her shoulders and arms. "Ah, mademoiselle!" She saw a thin man sprinting towards her through the crowd outside of the venue.  His dark hair blew in the light breeze. Many had already arrived prior to her. "Ms. Blondeau, it is an absolute pleasure to have you grace our establishment."

"The pleasure is all mine." She allowed the man to help her the rest of the way out of her vehicle. She didn't have to ask if they were on the same team.

"Welcome to Chateau de Rose." He waved his hand upwards and her eyes followed. It wasn't her first time there, but it was her first time as Genevieve Blondeau. She let herself look on in awe of the lit up building. Men and women dressed in suits and gowns shuffled in by the scores. Her late aunt and uncle, who previously owned her cozy abode, had no children of their own, but the position was too convenient to pass up and the government issued her papers under the pretext of being their daughter rather than niece. It all fit together perfectly.

"Merci," she thanked him once they got to the door and he let her go to fend for herself. He jogged back to the sidewalk where another car was pulling up with another guest. She glanced around inside to see if the Führer had arrived yet, but saw no sign of him. Her eyes took in the high ceilings, the second floor that housed swarms of officers engaged in conversation and sipping from champagne flutes.

"Genevieve Blondeau?" She spun at the sound of a female voice behind her. Her partner, Belle, called from a few meters away. "It has been ages! I can't believe you are here!"  It was refreshing to hear French being spoken after enduring the German's attempt at English. It was so choppy and nasally that it was often difficult to decipher, whereas her English was so well practiced that she could blend in as an American without rousing an ounce of suspicion. It was her natural talent. An expert in linguistics.

"Hilda Beauchamp! You are as beautiful as ever. Who are you here with?"  she replied in her native tongue.

"My husband."  Genevieve suppressed a laugh at the poor man's expense as Belle grabbed an officer by the arm and tugged him over. "This is my husband, Lieutenant Bruhn."  He would be dead within the year at the hands of his new wife no doubt. The thought alone made a smile easily break out over her face while she greeted him.

"Lieutenant Eric Bruhn, mademoiselle."  He bent to kiss her hand a beat too long. "My wife has told me much about your childhood together in Paris."

Genevieve regarded him with a cool grin, recalling her false history as though it happened yesterday. "Only the good parts, I hope. I still have the scar on my knee where she pushed me down a hill."

"Yes, but it certainly didn't hinder your modeling career."  Her husband commented, and if Belle didn't have a part to play she may have killed him on the spot. Instead, she playfully hit him in the arm and laughed lightly, tucking a piece of mousy brown hair behind her ear to cover her disdain.

"Your French is excellent, Lieutenant. You must have learned from the best."  Genevieve looked to her friend knowingly.

"I was told I had to learn it, being the most beautiful language on Earth, or so I'm told. But who can argue with such beautiful women as testament?"  He laughed and it was a boisterous loud noise that made heads turn. Poor Belle, never landing the fun jobs. She would have to tell her how sorry she was at their next meeting under the city. The girls laughed with him, giving each other knowing glances that spoke volumes more than they could audibly with the officers around.