Victim's Ball

"Humph, well that's kind of bizarre. I mean like what are the odds of something like that?"

"Don't ever ask me for odds," Maggie said in a pretty good Harrison Ford impersonation. "Now come take a look at this."

The next metal plaque was small and half hidden by a fichus tree.

~The Grand Ballroom of the Hotel du Nord was said to have been the meeting place of people opposed to the French Revolution. It was also said to have been used to hold "Victim Balls" after the "Reign of Terror" ended with the death of Maximilien de Robespierre. The guest lists of these balls were composed of "only" the family members of those who had lost their lives to the "Nation's Razor."~

As that sank in I felt a morbid feeling settle upon me, and then a chill ran through me. I looked over at Cassandra handing out bright pieces of red ribbon to her guests. I noticed that she wore one around her neck now as well. She was smiling and laughing. One of her more Gothic dressed guests made a gesture like he was being hanged and the group around him laughed. I felt a sudden urge to pull Maggie closer and hold her to me. As if Cassandra's obsession, since her diagnosis, with everything dark and mortuary, might somehow rub off. I looked at the other people, the ones I didn't know. Several had their heads wrapped in turban like scarves or had on what was clearly a wig. Wigs that hid bald scalps. A few of them were very thin and pale, though none so greatly as Cassandra. This was not really a Bastille Day celebration; this was a modern Victim's Ball.

This was a Ball for the Dead.

"I'm going to go get some punch. You want some? It has like Swedish Fish floating in it, so it looks like a Koi pond. " Maggie patted my arm. "Go talk to Cassandra. Keep her cheered up."

I nodded. Whether I was nodding yes to the punch or about talking to Cassandra I don't know. My mind was a bit preoccupied. I absently watched Maggie's vinyl skirt play peek-a-boo with her ass cheeks as she walked away. The skirt was too short, not that I was going to tell her or complain.

Looking over at Cassandra, I remembered when she had the body to match Maggie's, not the thin rail she lived in now that most models would beg to have. She moved among her guests, smiling, patting hands, laughing. Her heart on her sleeve, she would freely give it to any that asked ... but then she had always been like that. These last few months seeing her get thinner and thinner I ... I wanted to .... Moving over to her, I was going to tap her on her shoulder then decided against it, fearing that I would bruise her.

"Cassandra. Dance with me?" I asked.

She turned, looking up at me startled, then after a second nodded and smiled at me. I took her hand and moved us over to where the other couples were swaying to the soft orchestral sounds that seemed to come from everywhere. A strange mixture of classical and dark metal they blended into a weird mix, but it fit this party well. Cassandra smiled when I tried to hold her too gently. She leaned in against my chest and held tight to me.

"Don't worry about hurting me, Mark. If you do I won't hold a grudge long." She laughed softly, and then rested her head against my collarbone. "I wanted to do this at the prom. Did you know that? Yeah, I wanted you to be my date that night, but I didn't have the courage to ask you to ask me out. Silly now, looking back on it."

"I don't think it's silly. I wish I had known. I would have loved to have taken you to the prom." I let my cheek rest against her hair, breathing in that strange smell of patchouli. I felt her laugher against my chest.

"Liar." She poked my rib. "You wanted to take Maggie, but she already had a date with Simon Tipton."

I held her quiet and just danced. The tune changed to an even slower one as I let what she said stew. Thinking back to the last year of high school, those frantic days of insanity with "Freedom!" just out of reach, but within sight. I could not remember who Cassandra had taken to the prom.

"How did you know?" I asked softly, more holding her than dancing now really.

"Because you took Carol Benson. You could not have possibly picked a person more aggravating for Maggie to see in your arms. Then, when Carol starting bragging all over school about what you and her did after the prom, I thought Maggs was going to murder her... and you. How long did it take till she would talk to you again?"

"About six months," I said feeling again the bitterness of those lonely six months.

"I cannot believe you slept with Carol. I always gave you more credit for taste than that. The girl was a cum-dumpster, Mark. Even now, just knowing you touched her--down there--makes me want to go get a STD check after this dance." She started to laugh. "And coming from me that's saying a lot."

She pulled back a bit and looked up into my face. How hollow her face looked was the thought that came first, then how bright and alive her eyes were.

"You deserved better for your first time than her. That's kind of why I wish it had been me that you took to the prom. I at least would have kept my mouth shut about it." She smiled at the look on my face. "What? Surprised that I wanted to have sex with you when we were in school together? Well, I did. I have a few regrets I can't go back and make up, but that's certainly one of them." She looked down at her much reduced cleavage. "And back then I had the equipment to have been attractive to you."

"You're still attractive."

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Maybe to a bone doctor. He wouldn't need an x-ray machine. No, my days of enticing handsome men into my bed are sadly past."

Leaning in, I placed my lips against hers. Cassandra stopped dancing, startled into immobility. Then I felt her lips turn up against mine. She softly returned my kiss for a moment then laid her head back on my chest.

"Thank you, Mark Thomas. A last kiss, from a long unrequited love, to see me into my final sleep. How very romantic." She hugged me tighter. "Maggie will be jealous."

"She's not my girlfriend, and she can get over it if she's jealous."

"No. No, Mark, don't make her have to make those kinds of adjustments. She shouldn't have to get over it." She shook her head. "Oh you two fools! You have all of life in front of you and can't see the cliff. Wake up. There's a cliff ahead of all of us. Just how far off it is can change on a dime." She chuckled and smiled. "Like the song says, you need to live life like you're dying. I am."

Looking down at her, seeing her desire to live, I felt a sudden desire to leave her with no regrets. She must have read the thought on my face because I saw her smile at me for a second and then she pulled away. She looked me up and down her teeth biting her bottom lip, and then she slowly shook her head.

"I'm too fragile for that to be fun anymore, but thank you. Knowing that I can still make even one guy want me is ... well, it's nice to know. Even if it's just for a pity fuck. Now go on. Go find Maggie. You know you love her, just admit it to yourself."

"She doesn't love me." I shook my head. "We're just friends, no matter what I might feel."

Cassandra smiled. "As I said, two fools."

I watched her drift off to talk to a group of people I didn't know. People with thin bodies, head-wraps and wigs. She merged into that group like a ghost sliding into fog. Looking around at the ballroom, this piece of old Paris, I suddenly had a desire to leave. It was terribly strong. It was a feeling that if I didn't get out of there quickly something terrible would happen. In fact I turned to go, but then stopped seeing Maggie there behind me. She was holding two cups of punch.

"Here," she said, handing me one. "It's been spiked. Heavily."

Taking a sip, the alcohol hit me just as the sweet taste faded. I nodded agreement.

"Who is that?" Maggie asked. She nodded with her chin to the other side of the room. Turning, I saw a woman who had clearly spent a fortune on her gown. It was elegant and period accurate. She was looking at the table full of food with a puzzled look, as if to try and figure out what to eat. As we watched, Jason walked up next to her carrying a plate. I heard a low snarl from Maggie next to me when he started talking and smiling his charming smileto the lady.

"What's he playing at? That fuckhead already has a date here tonight." She started chuckling when Jason's smile faded instantly and he turned and walked away from the lady. "Ha, shot down as the slug he is."

"Maggie are you sure you don't want to tell me about what he did? I will kick his ass on general principle."

"No. It's old news ... water under the bridge shit. He's not worth the effort to hit." Maggie shrugged. "Besides, Jason will bury himself, given enough rope and a shovel. Oh fuck, speak of the devil. I'm going to go get more punch."

Jason walked up to me, looked at the punch glass in my hand, and sneered.

"Dude, there is like tons of free beer in the cooler by the buffet table. I'm doing my part but I can't manage to drink it all. Leave that swill for the girls. Man up!" He laughed. "Hey, did you see the French chick?"

"French chick?" asked.

"Yeah ... ah ... Her." He looked around a bit then pointed at the women we saw him talking to. "I tried to ask her name but she no spak-a-da Englase. More or less what she said to me anyway. She's hot though. Nice rack."

Looking around, I spotted Wilhelmina standing over near the big painting. Basically, as close to the door as she could get. I grinned when I saw Maggie and Cassandra slide in next to her and start talking. Jason's chances of giving her the "night of her life" were fading by the second, and he didn't even know it. I looked at the French girl in question, drawing his attention away from the ladies spoiling his evening.

"So was she like French Quebec or did she sound European?" I asked.

"How the hell would I know that? Dude, I don't talk to either one. If they can't speak English, how can I tell them just how awesome I am? Same goes for Spanish chicks. They no habla, I no obla." He stuck his tongue out and flicked the tip to show me what he meant. It also showed me just how many beers he had drank so far tonight. The old Jason that I knew in high school, was definitely making a comeback. Now if he just had on army-camo pants and his hair was lanky-oily he would be a perfect fit for my memories of him.

Well, he would need to also reek of Axe cologne. Not that what he was wearing now was any better.

Shaking my head, I kept my teeth together for a count of ten. "I'm going to take your advice and go get a beer. Be right back."

"Yeah, good idea. Bring me back another one, will ya?" As I moved away I saw him turn and start trying to introduce himself to a Goth girl. When she smiled at him, her fangs showed. I was still chuckling at his reaction when I got to the coolers. Wiping ice water off the sides of the bottle, I turned and found myself face-to-face with the girl in the elegant dress. I saw that, like most of Cassandra's lady friends here, she had a red silk ribbon around her neck. Hers looked different than the ones that I had seen handed out though. More expensive maybe.

Her blue eyes went to the name tag Cassandra had given to me, that was pinned on my chest.

"De la Tour? Monsieur, peut être que vous êtes de la famille de la Marquise de la Tour, Henriette-Lucy? Ou vous êtes peut être domestique de sa maison?"

The sing song French washed over me like a soft river of silk.

"Sorry. My French is limited to mare-see and la toilette. I wish I could understand you though," I told her with a soft smile. She grimaced.

"Oh, la la. Les pauvres oreilles. Ces gens grossiers ne peuvent que parler anglais? Prenez pitié du cerveau que je dois entendre des grognements anglais de tout part. "

I watched her looking around then her shoulders slumped in defeat. I watched a single tear roll down her cheek. Setting down my bottle, I moved my hand to her cheek and caught it before it reached her chin.

"Hey now. No reason to cry." I smiled my most charming smile. "Just because I can't understand you doesn't mean we can't talk." I touched my chest. "Mark Thomas."

"Puis, il est anglais. Quel dommage. Il a des jolis yeux."Her eyes looked my face over for several seconds then her hand touched between her breasts. Jason was right at least about those. "Je m'appelle Colette LeCouvereur."

"LeCouvereur? Oh, you're one of the owners of the hotel. Pleasure to meet you. It's a beautiful place." I gestured around me at the gilded ballroom, with its dark wood paneling. I watched her eyes take in the room and saw a smile just touch those rose-colored lips. Then a frown made her face terrible as she saw the guillotine. Her hand moved to her throat, and when she touched the ribbon she stopped. Then looked around her as if she suddenly understood.

"Oh! C'est la soirée d'Angélique et Louise. Mais ... comment est-ce que je suis venue ici?" Her eyes went back to the name tag. "Oh, le Comité de salut public a executé ton père? Ou peut être ton frère?"

"Sorry, I still don't understand French." I shrugged.

"Mon dieu. Plus de l'anglais. Que cet homme comprend une langue civilisée!"

Feeling helpless, I looked around but saw nothing that looked like a solution. Then, as I was about to try and make a retreat from the lady, the music changed to a much softer, more classical sound. I recognized it as what Lestat was playing in, Interview with the Vampire. In fact this was probably off the soundtrack to the movie.

"Haydn? Oui! C'est Joseph Haydn!" Her smile turned her face into sunlight. I felt almost blistered by the power of it when she looked at me. "Moi, j'adore cette musique. Je l'ai entendu dans un salon à Paris il y a quelques jours. Voulez-vous danser, monsieur?"

I was about to try for a third time to make Colette understand that I did not speak French when I noticed the hand suggestions she was making. "Dance?"

"Oui! Dansons!"

That smile and the obvious hope behind it convinced me to offer her my hand. With a girlish giggle Colette lead me to the dance floor. My earlier efforts with Cassandra were now quickly paling next to this lovely lady as she took to the floor. I laughed with her as she had to guide me through the steps. As I started to get the hang of it though I noticed that other around us were also trying the same dance. Some with more success than myself. She laughed gleefully, and seeing them trying, encouraged them to greater efforts.

Round and across the dance floor we moved, trying to avoid the fumbling feet of a few that were more use to a mosh pit than a ball. We spun, her laughter filling the hall with a joy that the party had lacked. I saw Cassandra spin past us, in the arms of a very handsome man. Thin, but handsome. He kept putting his hand on the top of his head a few times leading me to believe those shiny locks were not his original hair. Cassandra laughed as we nearly bumped into her and him.

Round and across, round and across and then song ended.

Applause erupted throughout the hall. The French lady beamed instantly seeing that it was being directed at her. She gave a slight curtsy then turned. I saw Colette's back go rigid, even as I looked past her and saw the wooden frame just a few feet away from us. I looked up at the big blade, an action mirrored by her. Her hand drifted to the red-silk choker as she spoke to the machine.

"Vous êtes horrible. Pourquoi êtes-vous là? Vous avez pris de moi la vie de mon amour Jean-Luc. Vous avez pris mon mon père et ses frères—mes oncles, André et Benoit. Comment? Comment pourriez-vous les prendre de moi? "

"Colette? Miss Colette, can I help?" I asked, unsure of what she had just said, but I could hear the pain in it. When she turned, I saw the twin lines of tears. These I had not been quick enough to catch. I'm not sure anyone could have been. Helpless in the face of her pain, I did all that I could think of. I stepped forward and pulled her into a soft embrace. She held still in my arms like a startled bird for a second then leaned into me just as Cassandra had earlier. Then I felt her hands clawing at her neck. I realized Colette wanted to get her choker off her throat. I reached to where it was tied at the back of her neck and pulled the knot loose. The lacy, red silk dangled from my fingers, and I held on to her, unsure of what else to do.

"Problem, Mark?" I looked over my shoulder at Cassandra. She was looking at Colette with her eyes filed with concern.

"I don't know what it is; I don't know why she is crying. She doesn't speak English. I think she is one of the owners of the place. She said her last name is LeCouvereur."

"Hum. Well, let me see if I can help. You know girl to girl as it were. Besides, I speak a little French." She placed a hand on Colette's shoulder "Hun?"

With a sniffle the woman in my arms looked up, first at me then at Cassandra. He eyes widened a bit at how thin and pale Cassandra was. Then she looked back to me.

"Qui est la femme? Elle est malade? Qu'est-ce qu'elle veut?"

When I shrugged, not understanding her, she turned her head away from me, only to stop before her eyes reached Cassandra again. I looked where she was looking and saw Maggie looking at us. Colette's eyes went from Maggie to me and back, and then her mouth dropped open in a perfect 'O' of surprise. When she looked back at me she was almost angry looking.

"Oh, vous êtes vilain! Vous avez une dame! Regardez les feux dans les yeux! Allez-vous en!"

Wishing for the dozenth time in the last few minutes I had taken French in high school, I looked at her and shrugged. This seemed to infuriate her for a moment. Finally her gestures, a stamped foot, and a very insistent point towards Maggie got her meaning across. Nodding my understanding, I turned away from her even as Cassandra placed her frail arm across the woman's back and shoulders. I heard soft, broken French from Cassandra.

"So who is your new friend?" Maggie asked, toneless.

I shrugged. "Her name is Colette. I think she's one of the owners." I looked over my shoulder to where Cassandra was now talking intently with the woman, in broken French, who was smiling and nodding at her. I looked back at Maggie. "She said her name was LeCouvereur anyway."

"Well, she can't be related to the original owners." Maggie shook her head. "They are all dead. The last one passed away right after World War Two began. He died when his only son was killed in Germany. Almost to the day in fact. It's all on one of those metal plaques out in the hall."

The music came back with such haunting tones. Melancholia given note and form. Maggie stepped into my arms and leaned against my chest. I was surprised, but I held her to me none the less. I felt the shudder of a need to cry from her being suppressed

"Maggs?"

"I'm sorry, I know you don't need me weeping on your chest, but I can't help it at the moment." She snuggled her cheek into my shirt. "I was talking to Cassandra. She's so matter of fact about it, I can't stand it. Here I am about to lose one of my oldest friends to cancer, and she's telling me what kind of flowers she wants at her funeral."

"I know." I brought my hand to rest in her dark hair and held her closer to me, thinking all the while about what Cassandra had said about Maggs and me. After a moment we began to sway with the music and I felt a soft chuckle replace crying.

"You never took me dancing before," she said, softly.

"Never figured you would accept." Oh, how my heart wanted to confess then. "Would you have?"

She held me a little tighter as her answer.

As we moved I noticed a change in the music; it took on a richer tone, more full of complexity. I looked over and saw that there was a small quartet of players now, their instruments moving in graceful, lazy patterns of motion. Then, even as I noticed them, there was a second change and the music took on a darker air. A haunting sound, not a dirge, no too upbeat for that, but shadowy. A nocturne? The word came to me as I held my Maggie closer to my chest and moved with growing grace to this new music.