The Perils of Mandy Ch. 02

Mandy messaged John the morning after he saw her off on the Paris-bound flight: She had arrived in the City of Lights and would Skype him later that day with a report on her first day as a foreign exchange student at the Institut de Musique.

When she did, Mandy looked tired, which was understandable having flown through the night with little sleep, arriving early morning in France, and then passed the day settling into her student residence and meeting people. With the time difference, it would be late afternoon in Paris. He asked how she was.

"Jetlagged, but it's been thrilling," she replied. "This city is so alive and so beautiful. The people have been great. Someone from the institute met me and other newbies at the airport. They gave us a whirlwind tour of Parisian highlights, including a Seine River Cruise, fed us some of the most delicious French cuisine you could imagine, showed us around the campus, and provided basic orientation for us, in five languages."

Someone appeared over her shoulder, a girl with dark hair and an attractive smile. "This is my roommate Julie," Mandy said. "She's from Italy. Julie, this is my boyfriend, John."

"Hi, John," Julie called out. "You are a lucky boy. Your girlfriend, lei è meravigliosa. Ciao." She waved and disappeared.

"I didn't catch that," John said.

"I'm not sure either," Mandy said, "but I think it was a compliment in Italian. Everyone has been so nice here. And get a load of this room. It makes our college dorms at home look primitive." She swung her smartphone around the room, which appeared spacious and well-stocked with a desk, couch, bookcase and other furnishings. A small sink showed through an open door.

"We even have our own bathroom, with a shower. No more traipsing down the hall in the middle of the night," Mandy said. "And how I wish you were here to help share this." A view of a single bed appeared, followed by a selfie of her pretty face, which bore a sultry smile.

"Me too," John said, licking his lips.

She laughed, and then the perspective on his laptop monitor became momentarily jumbled. "This is what's outside. The campus and cityscape. Can you make it out?"

"Not very well. The sun seems to be setting. Take a picture later and e-mail it to me," he said.

"I will," she said, sitting down at her desk again. "I'm on the third floor, and it's an absolutely beautiful cityscape from here."

Behind her, there were shadowy images of people coming and going, and the sound of voices speaking in a foreign tongue. A male face appeared behind her, saying "Excuse-moi," followed by something in French.

Mandy, who had taken courses in the language, responded, "Je parle à mon copain. S'il vous plaît vous le rencontrerez."

"Sure, I will meet him," said her visitor, bending down and putting his face next to hers. He seemed young. Brushing back a strand of curly dark hair, he said, "Hello boyfriend. You have good taste in les femmes." He indicated Mandy with a hand gesture and smiled.

Mandy laughed. "I told you they were all nice here. John, this is Philippe, who is the executive assistant to Monsieur Duval, head of the institute. Philippe met me at the airport. He's been tasked with settling us newbies in, and showing us around."

"Task is not the word for such a pleasurable responsibility, in this instance," Philippe put in. "But enough of pleasurable talk. I am here to tell you we are to meet M. Duval at the music hall in an hour, as he wishes to speak with you, and then there is the buffet reception to welcome the foreign exchange students."

"Oh, I've lost track of time. I've got to go, John. I need to shower and change." Her head swiveled as she looked at her guide. "Another dinner, Philippe? I thought we already had the main meal."

"Only the best for you, chère. But the menu is light and the attire not very formal. I will go now. See you in a bit. Ciao, Monsieur John."

"So long, Philippe," John said, adding a moment later, "His English was fairly good. He seems young to be an executive assistant."

"From what he said, he's a graduate student on a sort of fellowship, and being 'go-fer' for the man in charge comes with the territory. So I'm not the only charity case here. But I have to go, cher amant. Get back to you later."

The following afternoon, 10 p.m. her time, they communicated again. He asked her how the meeting with the big chief went.

"Good," she said. "M. Duval seemed nice, certainly energetic for his age, early 50s probably. He asked me to play a few instruments to get an idea of where I am in the skill set and where to place me in coursework. He seemed pleased. He's the administrator and doesn't teach classes, but said he often coaches 'students of promise' and apparently includes me in that group. I have another appointment with him soon."

"You're already impressing them. How was the welcome dinner?"

"Good. It was really more of a social mixer buffet with hors d'oeuvres and a lot of wine. It is so laid back over here. At home, the administration would never serve us alcohol. Here it is so available, and they seem to expect you to indulge. I got a little tipsy, but M. Duval and Philippe were like guardian angels. M. Duval pretended he was a doctor examining me for fever. He put his hand on my brow and took my wrist to check the pulse, then told Philippe to get me home safe and tuck me into bed."

"That sounds ominous. Philippe didn't tuck himself in with you, did he?"

She laughed. "I'm talking figuratively, not literally. But hmm, let me think. Was I so drunk I don't remember the wild sex?"

John knew she was joking, but the thought still made him uneasy. "What was on the agenda today?"

"We were shown more of the institute, met some of the instructors, and there was a field trip to the Paris Opera House. Then a bunch of us went out to a local restaurant where Philippe had made a reservation. It was the last bit of celebratory newcomer orientation. Classes start tomorrow."

* * *

Her first real day was a whirl of activity, with practice on various instruments and research assignments. M. Duval dropped by one of her classes as she was playing the violin. He reacted with a "Bravo," and as the class broke up reminded Mandy of her upcoming appointment. Her roommate Julie had remarked that morning she also had an audience with the headmaster later in the day.

Apparently, M. Duval was one of those exceptional educators who took a personal interest in his students to boost their confidence. He was unmarried, according to Philippe, so she deduced that perhaps students were like his kids, he the surrogate father.

That evening she asked Julie how her appointment went.

"It was certainly a lot of attention," Julie said. "He wants me to stop in regularly - to 'provide additional guidance and incentive,' he said. It seems you are being singled out too. It is an honor, I suppose." Mandy thought Julie seemed uncertain.

The next afternoon, she had her own appointment with M. Duval. He rose from his desk and welcomed her into his office with a broad smile and hearty greeting, and delivered the obligatory la bise kisses to each cheek. The French custom was often described as "air kisses," entailing just a brief cheek-to-cheek touch with a slight smacking sound, although M. Duval seemed to put more lip into it.

The headmaster produced a violin and asked her to play, saying that while he admired her technique, he wanted to see some changes in posture. As she played, he got behind her and first made subtle adjustments to her shoulders and the level at which she held the instrument. It certainly must have been unintentional that his arm gently brushed her breast. Then he suggested changes in her stance, placing his hands on her inner thighs and directing her to spread her legs a little further apart. She wondered at that. None of her earlier teachers had emphasized these points or found fault in her posture, and certainly never laid hands on her in such an informal manner. Her reservations may have shown.

"You don't mind hands-on direction do you, Amanda?" he said. "Music is an intimate art, and the delivery is important if it is to arouse passion in the critics and the aficionados. A beautiful woman such as yourself has a natural advantage and should use it. Now that your stance is what it should be, sway your hips a little and thrust out your chest as you play. Show that you feel the luxure in the music and use your posture to move the observer."

She followed his direction, and at the end of the piece he applauded lightly, then approached and put his arms around her in a big hug, bringing his chest into contact with hers. Releasing her, he kept his hands on her shoulders as he told her earnestly,

"Aspiring performers today have so much competition they must make themselves stand out if they are to advance. You have something special, a native passion that I do not see in all my students. You have so much potential, and I am optimistic for your development. I am sure I can provide the assistance you need to realize it. When you are back in your room tonight, practice the posture lessons we have gone over today, let your body emphasize the luxure in music, and let me see you back here Friday at the same time."

A broad smile flashed across his benevolent, wrinkled face, as he implanted two lippy bises, one on each cheek, and removed his hands from her shoulders.

Well, the French have always had a reputation for flamboyance in expression, Mandy thought as she made her way back to the room.

A party was underway in the residence, students getting to know one another and exchanging impressions of their first few days. Music and laughter emanated from the rooms. A glass of wine was thrust into Mandy's hands by one of the good-looking male students, who took the opportunity to la bise her cheeks and chat her up. She soon broke away, using the excuse that she wanted to put her books away and change.

The door to the room was slightly ajar. Inside, she found Julie on her bed, locked in a passionate embrace with another student. They seemed oblivious to her as she went through her closet and dresser and went into the bathroom to change. College is the same the world over, she supposed, smiling to herself. Any culture gap was fast closing. When Mandy came out of the bathroom, Julie was on her back, her top off, the guy's mouth clamped on one of her breasts. Julie seemed to notice Mandy for the first time.

"Sorry. You are not offended?" she asked. Her friend immediately sat up, looking a little sheepish. She recognized him now, his name Romaine, she thought.

"No, of course not," Mandy replied. "I'll go out and join the rest of the party, give you some privacy. I just want to look up something first."

"Thank you," Julie smiled.

She went over to her desk and paged through her French-English dictionary, looking for the meaning of the word, luxure, used by M. Duval. It was defined as lust in English. The headmaster must indeed be strongly moved by music.

As she left the room, Julie was kneeling on the floor by her bed. She had unbuckled Romaine's belt and was removing his trousers. It seemed her roomie did not lack luxure, Mandy thought, closing the door firmly behind her.

She went down the hall, where her wine glass was replenished by the handsome guy with the bottle. His name was Andre, she now recalled. He stood close and she suspected he would not mind receiving the same degree of attention Julie was showing Romaine. She took a step back, holding her glass in front as a buffer to indicate she was not looking for anything more than friendly relations.

After a while, Mandy found a chair on the balcony of the study area, which offered a good twilight view of the city lights. She took out her phone and made contact with John. They chatted about her day, she omitting the touchy-feely details of her interview, except to say that the master emphasized posture and she supposed he wanted her music to reflect a lust for life. A feminine voice from inside shrieked, followed by laughter. He asked about the noise in the background, and she told him the students were getting to know one another at a party.

"Sounds like partying is as big over there, as it is here," John commented. He then described his first day back for the fall semester. "Seems like good courses, good instructors," he said. "The only downer is a missing female music student."

They chatted until a low-battery message flashed, then said their adieus. Surely Julie and her friend had completed their activities, she thought, entering the hallway, and saw she was correct. Romaine was conversing with Andre, both smiling. They exchanged a high five, a little wine spilling from their glasses.

In her room, there was the sound of the shower. She sat down at her desk and began catching up on study work. Before long, the shower stopped and Julie came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her. She smiled.

"Sorry for the inconvenience," she said. "And thank you for your understanding. I will be happy to return the favor when you find a new boyfriend." She took the towel off and patted a few moist spots on her well-proportioned body. "So, how did your interview go?" Julie asked.

"It was interesting," Mandy replied. "M. Duval is certainly an enthusiastic, hands-on administrator."

"Hands-on! That is a good description," Julie said, chuckling. "He is a - how do you say it in Inglese - a dirty old man, I think."

"I was wondering," Mandy admitted. "I'm trying to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Let me guess. He slobber la bise on your face, give you a speech about passione musicale and luxure, then help you stand correct with his hands on your body?" Julie asked, cupping her bare breasts. Mandy nodded, as Julie added, "When a young guy does that, it may be nice, but an old man . . ." She shook her head. "I have a second appointment with Monsieur tomorrow. If there is more such from him, it may be my final one. There are too many, how do you say it, young fish in the sea."

Mandy nodded. "Let me know how it goes."

The next evening. Julie still seemed less than impressed by M Duval, but was "keeping the mind open." He had promised her something, so she intended to give him "the chance to prove he is not full of the bull."

* * *

M. Duval beamed as Mandy entered his office for her second appointment. Flashing his big smile, he rose to administer a sloppy la bise. This time he had her show her skills on the guitar and piano. There were some adjustments to her physical positions, but not as overt as the last time. At the end of the exercise, he again complimented her skills and potential as a musician and said he was glad to see she had taken his advice on posture as a tool to show ravissement.

"You are so naturally confident and talented, so far ahead of the usual student, I think it is time to take your training to the next level," he told her. "I should arrange exposure for you at an avant-garde cabaret club where I have connections. There is nothing like practice in the real world to bring an artist along. And there would also be a financial incentive for you."

"You mean I would perform?" Mandy asked. "Get paid?"

"Mais oui. Of course. An artist deserves to be compensated. It would not make you rich, but perhaps I can arrange the equivalent of 100 -150 American dollars, and the club itself offers additional compensation. There is refreshment for performers and other enjoyable activities."

"I would only humiliate myself if I tried to do a classical composition," Mandy protested. "That is one of the reasons I'm here - to learn how to do that properly."

"Mais oui. But there is more to life than the classics. Let me hear you take the guitar or the piano and play something that you are comfortable with - something in the genre of American popular music."

Mandy complied, selecting what she thought would fit in a cabaret, the song What Am I to You, a hit by Norah Jones. She tried to give the singer's sultry style her own twist, which had provoked a favorable response in John, she remembered, although she felt a little odd doing it before a middle-aged man old enough to be her father. M. Duval's eyes opened wide and he put a hand to his face as she proceeded. He did not say anything for a moment after she finished, and she wondered if her rendition had been that disappointing to him. Then he applauded slowly three times, rose and embraced her tightly.

"Le plus excellent. Most evocative," he said, after letting her go. "I suggest that one for your appearance. Also prepare a medley of such popular American music for piano and guitar. It is what would be expected of a beautiful, exciting young woman such as yourself. Come back Monday, and rehearse more for me, and we will discuss your choices. Do as well as you just have and the management of the cabaret should be most impressed, offering you one, perhaps two short performances weekly, for compensation of course. Remuneration is always helpful when you are young and hungry for life and it will help you enjoy Paris more."

"I don't know what to say." She was not exaggerating. This was a lot to take in. She had done open mic performances at night spots back home, but a cabaret seemed more professional. Also, she did not know her way around the city. "Where is this place located?" she asked the headmaster. "And what would I wear? I didn't bring any elaborate gowns."

"Do not concern yourself," M. Duval said. "The institute will provide you with adequate finery for your performances. As for logistics, let the experience of an older professional guide you. I will happily escort you there. We can dine on their fine cuisine, partake of their wine, do a little dancing and have some fun as well as do the entertainment business." He beamed broadly.

The offer to perform for money in a Parisian cabaret was exciting, but alarm bells were sounding subtly above the overture. She tried to think about how to express her reservations and decided maybe a hint would do.

"Monsieur, thank you for your interest and assistance. I can't wait to contact my boyfriend at home. We are so very close and committed to one another that he will want to know about this opportunity."

"But of course." M. Duval beamed his disarming smile and performed la bise on each of her cheeks.

When she called John that evening, she related the conversation, and his offer to place her in a cabaret music gig, leaving out the master's body English (or should it be "body French"), and her suspicion he was hitting on her. If John was present to observe directly, she would welcome his judgment, but how could he offer anything useful when he was so far removed. It would just worry him, and his worries complicate things for her.

John seemed to think the job could be an interesting experience, "as long as he's not setting you up at Moulin Rouge, where you'd have to do the can-can without underwear."

As so often, his understated humor caused her to burst out laughing.

She no sooner bid John goodnight than there was a knock at the door. It was Philippe.

"I would be honored if you would accept my services as a guide tomorrow to see some of the highlights of the city. The institute has a special pass to avoid the queues and admission charges at the Louvre, Musee d'Orsay and other attractions," he explained. "We would not try to fit all of them in at once, of course, as you and I are residents and not foreign tourists in a big hurry on their budget plans. But tell me what interests you and when you are famished from viewing the wonders we could take food at a nice bistro, and if you wish enjoy some entertainment."