Three and a Half Weeks(50)

Plus, he is an absolute darling! Although he seems slightly surprised when I introduce Ian, he nonetheless rises to the occasion. He invites us both into the living room of his beautiful loft and we begin to chat. One of the things I find admirable is that he is unfailingly polite to Ian, including him in the conversation, even though this is supposed to be an interview to see if he and I might work well together.

While Lucien leaves for a moment to fetch some contractual paperwork, I take the opportunity to look around. The loft has its original wide-plank wood floors, and though refinished, the wood still bears the multitude of scars from its long industrial career, adding so much character and history. The walls are all cream, which provides a blank canvas for the artwork that covers many of the walls, from black and white photographs to driftwood sculpture. All the furnishings are modern and in quiet shades of brown and gray: very beautiful, very masculine… and very expensive. Either Lucien’s films do very well or he’s a trust-fund baby.

“Here, Ella. Look these over and let me know what you think. If you decide to sign on, I’m going to ask you to get started while I’m in France. Most of the research can be conducted online or in a decent library but there are two interviews I need taped: one in San Diego, and another in New York. The one in New York is the problem, since she’s traveling and will only be back in the city for two weeks, as of Tuesday. I won’t be back for nearly a month, so I’ll miss her.

“As for recompense, there are two options: a flat fee or a percentage of profits. The producers are trying to get an extended release in art theatres in every major U.S. city plus a few international houses but they’re also courting academic institutions. If that happens, profits will be robust. Unfortunately, at this point, opting for the profit sharing is somewhat risky. It’s your call. What do you think so far?”

I clear my throat, acutely aware of Ian and wishing he weren’t here with me. I can feel his jealousy hanging weighty in the air. “Lucien, I’m intrigued by the whole project and it does seem rather perfect for me, considering my academic background. I’ll read over the paperwork and consider what we’ve discussed this morning, but I will say that right now I’m inclined to accept if you’re inclined to offer. It’s almost too good to pass up.”

Lucien’s handsome face lights up at my words. “I’m delighted to hear you say that, Ella.” He takes his wallet out of his jacket pocket and fishes out a card. “Here’s my business card. It lists my cell number as well as my email address. You can contact me at either one. May I ask you for a definitive answer in 48 hours? Normally I wouldn’t rush you, but I need that interview with Picasso’s assistant’s daughter and I’d like to nail it down as soon as possible.”

“No, I understand. I’ll give you my answer within 24 hours, Lucien. Sound okay?”

“Absolutely. I cannot stress enough my gratitude in your coming here on such short notice. It’s very much appreciated.”

“No problem. I was casting about for something worthwhile to do when this just fell into my lap. I feel like the fortunate one.” I look over at Ian but his face is inscrutable. “Well, Lucien, we’re going to leave and let you get back to your packing. I’ll be in touch very soon.”

“Thank you, Ella. Would you happen to have a card with your contact info on it?”

“Uh, yes, actually.” I dig in my bag and find a couple, handing him one.

“Great. It was a pleasure meeting you,” he says, shaking my hand and then extends his to Ian. “Mr. Blackmon, very nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise. Enjoy your trip to Paris. It’s lovely this time of year.”

“Yes. Certainly. I get homesick for the city every now and then, especially in autumn, for some reason.”



After we leave Lucien’s, we head straight to the Met and spend three hours wandering the galleries. Never having been to New York City before, I am simply amazed at the sheer number of famous works located in one place. It’s beyond exciting, especially for me, since art history is my academic focus.

Ian takes me out to lunch at Balthazar’s, a restaurant that’s apparently impossible to get into most of the time but he somehow manages it. We head back to the hotel around six.

After a two-hour nap, he wakes me up by undressing me and kissing me up and down my naked body. There are worse ways to wake up.

“Do you want to play tonight?” he asks me.

“Play how?”

“My way,” he answers, his eyes gleaming.

“Do you mean by going to a nasty club?”