The Frenchman's Bride Read online

  “Whoa! Settle down! Holy cow, you are crazy! I didn’t know you were that big of a fan!”

  “Yeah, I am! That’s what made everything so extra unfair! It wouldn’t even have bothered you if you hadn’t been able to go. The whole experience was pretty much wasted on you!”

  Tiffany gave me her fake pouty face; the one she usually used when trying to zing me with extra guilt, but it didn’t work. It never actually made me feel guilty; it only made me laugh because it was super funny.

  I took a few gulps of my Coke and thought about Tiff’s accusation. Was it wasted on me? “I guess you’re probably right.” I finally replied. “I could have totally lived without that experience. I didn’t really enjoy watching hundreds of people acting like raving lunatics. It was a little scary… And the ridiculous amount of wealth and waste and decadence; it was almost sickening. Nothing but extreme overindulgence. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. It reminded me of a bunch of rich brats running around in serious need of a parent. I’d say the word disgusting pretty much sums it up.”

  “Chelsea! What is the matter with you? You were lucky enough to be at probably THEE most talked about party of the year! You’re getting a little snooty, girl! You need to loosen up a little. What about the balcony? How did that happen?”

  “Pretty much just like the news said. The villa is gorgeous inside and out, but it’s super old. Too many freaks and maniacs were dancing and jumping up and down on one of the balconies. It just broke loose and fell in the yard and the pool. I still can’t believe nobody was hurt.”

  As I began describing the various sordid sex acts I had witnessed in and around the enormous estate, Tiffany’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates. She was shoveling handfuls of raspberries in her mouth like it was movie popcorn. She was so engrossed in what I was saying, it was one of the few times in our entire friendship that she didn’t interrupt me. She just listened intently, hanging on my every word, uttering an occasional “Oh my god!” or “Holy shit!” here and there.

  When I was finished, she just sat there for at least one full minute shaking her head in disbelief. Eventually, she found something to say:

  “You know Chels….. you hear about stuff like that all the time and you read about it and see it in the movies. You know it goes on, probably every day, but sitting next to you on this bench right now is the closest I’ve ever come to that level of craziness in real life.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to take that as a compliment or not!” I laughed, as I slapped her in the back of the head with the baguette.

  “Hey, you still haven’t told me if you got a glimpse of Blaize Simon at the party or not. He is one unbelievably hot, fucking gorgeous man. If I ever saw him in person, I think I would pee my pants!”

  “Well you better hold on to your wig then sister, because I got quite a glimpse of him. A glimpse of him and his dick!”

  Tiffany let out an eardrum-piercing squeal. “No way! No you didn’t! No you fuck-in’ didn’t! Did you say anything? What did it look like? Oh my God did you sleep with him?”

  I almost couldn’t bring myself to tell her the rest. She was already jumping up and down next to me in a complete tizzy.

  “We had a brief conversation. That’s it. He was definitely full of himself. His dick was sticking out of his fly…….. I told him to zip up his pants.”

  With that announcement, I calmly placed a piece of Madam Babette’s cheese on my bread and matter-of-factly took an aloof bite before adding, “He’s hung like a prize bull.”

  That did it. My normally sane best friend was now running around in circles and flapping her arms like a crazed chicken.

  “Who are you, anyway?” She yelled at me, half laughing in disbelief. “You are deep! You know that? You are fucking deep! How could you keep all this to yourself the entire morning?! I would have woken you up last night, yanked you out of bed and screamed that news in your ear if that happened to me! You think you know somebody…………shit Chelsea, you are deep. But c’mon now, let’s get real. You have to admit the man is drop-dead handsome. Even if you’re not a fan. C’mon, just admit it.”

  There was no getting out of it; Blaize Simon did have a certain sexy quality about him. And he did have an indisputably perfect face and killer body. Still, I felt compelled to torment Tiffany a little bit longer: “I guess he’s okay………in a pompous ass sort of way.”

  3

  Blaize

  Rolande rattled off facts and figures to me, with no realization that I wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to him. I leaned back in my leather seat and stared out of the private plane window, taking sips of my scotch and occasionally nodding with feigned interest. He was a great agent, no doubt about that. He knew exactly how well each and every one of my books and films was doing at any given time, and how much money they were making. He was always on top of it.

  I thought I heard him say something about my latest novel from my vampire trilogy, Midnight Hunter: Sweet Revenge, being on the New York Times best-seller list for eight straight weeks since its release. And I think he muttered something else about my lucrative script-writing deal. But my mind was elsewhere. No matter how hard I fought it, it kept returning to the night of my party and the Halle Berry look-alike who verbally took me to task in my own kitchen. She was so deliciously feisty! And fucking smoldering hot! Two of my utmost favorite qualities in a woman!

  By the time I came back inside that night, she was gone. Upon inquiring about her, in the following days, I learned she had left France. I figured “C’est la vie. No big deal.” After all, Paris is swarming with beautiful women. But for some reason, I just couldn’t shake that one out of my mind. She haunted my dreams. I was somewhat embarrassed about my obsession over her and hadn’t totally fessed up to Rolande about it yet. Truthfully, I was hoping my mental preoccupation with her would become just another passing phase. It caused me to feel out of sorts and off my game and I really had no patience or time for it. Perhaps with a bit of time away from home I could sweep her from my mind. I smiled as we started our descent into my favorite home away from home: Los Angeles, California.

  Rolande and I were both suffering from jet lag and the usual sleep-deprived crankiness. It was always hard for me to get any real shut-eye during these long transatlantic flights, no matter how comfortable the plane was. I always felt like I needed to stay awake and watchful over the pilot. Sometimes my flying credentials felt like a curse, but I guess it came with the territory. The fatigue was adding to my usual dread of the hoop-jumping required by U.S. Customs at LAX.

  After standing in a long line of foreigners and having his passport and visa scrutinized, Rolande finally made it through to the other side. He did a little touch-down dance and waited for me to follow him. But the sweet sound of the passport stamp never came. Instead, I was hauled off to a small private room by a big burly immigration official. I called out to Rolande to get a hold of my lawyer, Max Snyder, just before I was led out of sight.

  These sorts of delays were a minor inconvenience… The kind I’d become all too accustomed to.

  “What the fuck is going on? Do you have any idea who I am? I’m Blaize Simon. I’m a world-famous writer and filmmaker! This is obviously some pathetic attempt at exercising your limited authoritative powers by hassling international guests. I’ll have your job, you fat-assed twit! My agent is getting my legal counsel on the phone as we speak.”

  “We are well aware of who you are, Mr. Simon. But the United States has rules regarding not only the maximum stay of our foreign visitors, but also the frequency and length of time between visits. We have very specific visa restrictions and it appears you are in breach of them, sir.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? My visa is above-board and always has been. I’ve been conducting regular and frequent business over here in the states for almost a decade. America loves me!”

  “Your American fans may love you, sir, but the United States Department of Homeland Securit
y is not so crazy about you. Are you aware that there is a maximum 90-day stay?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve never stayed longer than that, so what’s the problem?”

  “It appears that you return with obvious regularity, with only a month between visits.”

  “So? Is that a problem? That certainly can’t be a violation!”

  “I’m afraid it is, Mr. Simon. A 90-day visa is not intended for indefinite, unlimited use. You’re not a permanent resident. You don’t have a green card. You’ve been abusing your visa privileges.”

  “So what’s the fine? Let me just pay it, so I can be on my way, for Christ’s sake! Money is no object.” I held open my wallet to display the thick wad of bills in the hope that they might also consider a bribe.

  “Put your money away Mr. Simon. I’m afraid it’s much more serious than that. There’s the very real possibility that you will no longer be permitted to enter the U.S. It’s also possible we will be deporting you tonight.”

  “This is fucking insane! I never heard of such nonsense!”

  It was truly a nightmare. I needed Rolande. Where the fuck was he? Suddenly, and almost on cue, another immigration deputy entered the room with Rolande following immediately behind him. Thankfully, he already had my lawyer on the line. I grabbed the phone and relayed all the distressing details to him. Rolande’s face turned white as a sheet as the grave nature of the situation sank in. Max suggested I put him on speaker and told me to calmly cooperate with the security officers.

  The deputy handed a clipboard with a thick stack of paperwork attached to it to the officer I was with, causing deep furrows to form in his forehead. They huddled together and whispered back and forth to each other for a couple of minutes before turning back around toward me and Rolande. The biggest and meanest-looking one of the two flipped through the seemingly endless amount of pages as he began his interrogation:

  “It seems the United States Department of Homeland Security also has a problem with your past criminal behavior, Mr. Simon. Specifically, an arrest the last time you were here. We have a report citing charges of animal cruelty during a party at your temporary residence? Could you please explain that?”

  “Those charges were dropped! It was a horrible misunderstanding! There was no harm done to any animal! Yes, there was a donkey but he only urinated on the carpet. The Cornelius sisters had a threesome with the donkey’s owner, and that’s all! I would never condone or facilitate anything like that with my four-legged friends! Right Rolande? Back me up here! You were there!”

  “He’s right! The donkey wasn’t even in the room with them! It was outside trying to drink out of the beer keg!”

  Max immediately broke into the conversation: “Rolande, I don’t think you’re helping the situation..……”

  Both officials remained stone-faced. “It also shows that the visit before that, you were charged with vandalism and drunk and disorderly in Beverly Hills. You broke the window out of a woman’s Porsche with a rock?”

  “Those charges were dropped as well, officer. I only broke the window because I locked my keys inside my rental Porsche. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of AAA? The report also states the car was not yours, nor was it rented to you, Mr. Simon.”

  “That’s correct. Mine was parked on Beverly Canyon Road. The one I vandalized…uh I mean…. damaged, was on Bevery Glenn Road. I got mixed up! You can’t blame a foreign guest for that, can you? That’s not very welcoming. Those American street names of yours are confusing. Besides, I bought the woman a whole new fucking Porsche!”

  Max interjected again: “Blaize………I need to talk with you privately……PLEASE!”

  “You evidently find this whole thing very amusing, Mr. Simon. But I can assure you, we do not. You seem to have a pattern of public displays of intoxication and disruptive behavior. You might even say trouble seems to follow you around, Mr. Simon. And you’re absolutely right; The United States is not very welcoming when it comes to visitors who thumb their nose at our laws and make a nuisance of themselves. Especially when they’ve also been ignoring visa regulations.”

  Both deputies were now sporting big self-satisfied grins. They were clearly very pleased with themselves. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if they had started giving each other a high five in celebration. I could see I was in serious trouble, so I took Max off speaker-phone and listened intently to his instructions before handing the phone off to Rolande. I turned to the officers and pleaded my case in the most humbling way possible:

  “Officers I sincerely apologize for my behavior. I am not making light of this at all. I love America with all my heart and you must believe me when I say I’m sorry for giving the impression that I do not completely respect the laws here. You’re absolutely right; I can see why you would want to roll up the welcome mat on me. I’ve been an abysmal guest. I see that now. But may I please have 15 minutes to discuss this matter with my agent and legal counsel in private? Surely I deserve a small amount of attorney client privilege… I need to weigh my options, in the hope that I might pursue the best course of action for everyone concerned.”

  The officers looked at each other and sighed. “We could both use a cup of coffee, anyway. We’ll be back in 15 minutes. C’mon, Frank……”

  The three of us now had one quarter of an hour to figure out a way of not only getting me back into the U.S., but also securing a more permanent visa for me. Turns out, Rolande and Max were already hatching a plan…

  And I didn’t like it.

  “You want me to claim I’m engaged to an American citizen? Well, that’s not so hard. I can easily do that! As long as I don’t have to actually get married……”

  Rolande looked pretty solemn. “You do have to actually get married.”

  “What? Are you fucking kidding me? Is this a joke?”

  “It’s the only way, buddy. But it’s not like you have to stay married. After an appropriate amount of time, you get a divorce. Hey, it’s either that, or you need to have a kid with a U.S. citizen. Do you have one of those?”

  “A child?! I certainly hope not!”

  But I did think hard about that for a minute. Surely if there had been a child I would have been long-since wrangled for support.

  I got back on the phone with Max. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Can’t I just pay them some money to smooth things over? You know I have practically unlimited resources, Max.”

  “Practically unlimited resources are the only reason you’re going to leave that room with your passport intact,” Max said quietly. “I’ve already made the requisite contacts to have your visa extended for a very limited amount of time… I think you’ll find your friends at the airport will be a bit more amenable when they return.”

  Rolande pleaded with me, this time solely as my agent. He reminded me that there was money at stake; both his and mine. “Blaize, it’s the only way. We have to get you in, and we have to solve this problem on a more permanent basis. You’ve got important meetings lined up with Hollywood studio-heads this week. They want to hammer out the details of your next script-writing project… Plus, you’ve got book signings and promotions nationwide, and you can’t exactly do that tour if the US Government is kicking you out of the damn country.”

  “Well who the fuck am I supposed to marry, anyway?”

  “Are you kidding, me? You know plenty of American women. And you know damn well that you have several L.A. ‘regulars’ that you ‘see’ every time you’re over here. I’ll bet any one of them would be thrilled to be Mrs. Blaize Simon, prenuptial agreement or not. Shit, pay me enough money and I’ll fuckin’ marry you! Last I heard that’s legal now in the states…”

  “Well that might certainly be good if I needed French citizenship, Rolande,” I replied with a laugh.

  “I live to serve,” Rolande offered, waving his hand through the air.

  And so, with a great amount of apprehension, I agreed to the plan. The immigrat
ion officials returned and a deal was cut and payed for through Max. I was a granted only a 60-day visa with two non-negotiable conditions: The first one being that I submit my valid marriage certificate to Homeland Security within that time frame. And number two, that I behave myself while I’m a guest in the country. I wasn’t sure which one was going to be more challenging.

  4

  Chelsea

  “Tiffany! Where are you? What are you doing? The chocolate chip crème puffs need to come out of the oven in exactly 5 minutes! I’m busy with these phone orders!”

  My lifelong friend was now my business partner. And a very reliable one too, I might add. It wasn’t like her to just disappear without a word, especially at the risk of burning our product.

  Where could she have gone and why can’t I find her?

  I put my customer on hold and darted into the kitchen just as the timer started beeping. The golden-brown pastries looked perfect, so I slid on some oven mitts, pulled the baking sheets out of the oven and transferred them onto cooling racks. I heard the front screen door slam as Tiffany came back into the house.

  “Where were you? The puffs are done! Did you finish making the chocolate filling? I gotta get back to Mrs. Russo before she gets mad. It doesn’t take much to get her riled her up!”

  “Sorry about that, Chels! Old man Sherman was letting his Great Dane poop on our lawn again. I had catch him in the act. What makes him think we want a shit pile the size of a Volkswagen on our grass? And yes I finished the chocolate filling. Although the thought of squirting it into the puffs is sounding kinda gross to me now.”

  We looked at each other and both burst out laughing! We were having a great time working together. It didn’t matter that we had to run our new business, French Chocolate, out of our very tiny California bungalow in Venice Beach. We had become very adept at doing all the preparation and baking within the confines of the little 1930’s era kitchen. The quality of our French pastries and other confections never faltered and we were getting plenty of business from word-of-mouth. We knew it was just a matter of time before we would have our own shop in Los Angeles. We just needed to work hard and be patient. Oh yeah, and pay off some burdening student loans…..