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Central International Airport The flight, while brief, had been singularly annoying. A balding middle aged would be lothario in a rumpled suit a half size too small kept up a constant monologue detailing all too frequently a list of his business accomplishments, his sorrow at the loss of his mistress and the uninvited suggestions that Jessica would be a splendid replacement.
After ditching Mr. Wrong in the airport bar Jessica retrieved her luggage and with the aid of an elderly but energetic porter loaded her belongings in the trunk of a grey Renault taxi.
As the taxi pulled away from the curb Jessica heard a shout and turned, fear rising like a fire in her throat, half expecting to see the mysterious stranger from London lunging at the cab. Instead she saw her elderly porter waving his spindly arms in an attempt to hail another taxi for his next traveler.
The cab ride was blessedly uneventful. She had chosen a small but well rated hotel a half block from the small boutiques on the left bank of the Seine, Tomorrow she would aim her fashion eye at the myriad offerings from which would emerge a focus point for her campaign to conquer the fashion world. Tonight just a long luxurious bath and a sherry before slumber.
The bath had been refreshing and the sherry calming but Jessica's dreams were horrific. She dreamed she was in a dark tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, silhouetted by the dim yellow light of a street lamp was a hulking, menacing figure in a semi- crouch as though anticipating combat. As she turned to run she tripped and fell not onto the cold unyielding ground but onto something soft and moving. Glancing up in her panic she saw the tunnel blocked by a thousand luminescent eyes. Gaining her feet she twirled back towards the ominous figure blocking her escape only to find herself staring in the semi-darkness into the eyes of the stranger from London.
Jessica was startled awake by a tapping on her door. Half afraid of an answer if she called out and realizing by the light streaming into her room that she had left a message with the concierge to wake her at the break of dawn she peered through the peephole into the broad hallway and seeing no one at her door, she opened it. She found a tray of croissants and coffee under which had been placed the english translation of the Paris Gazette. As she dunked and nibbled at the croissant and perused the fashion page of the Gazette Jessica's dream still invaded her thoughts.
As Jessica entered the lobby the concierge called out to her " Mademoiselle I have a message for you!"
" From who?" a startled Jessica replies.
" From Monsieur Langerfeld." The concierge spoke the name with a reverence usually reserved for the pope or God himself. " He wants to extend you his warmest greetings and hopes you will stop by his office at your convenience."
" Thank you. Please relay the message that I would be delighted to visit with him tomorrow and that I will call him today to firm up a time".
Jessica could barely conceal her delight. Hans Langerfeld was her most important link to the fashion world in Paris. The right word from him could pair you with Givenchy. The wrong and you might as well close up shop.
She was walking briskly towards the Seine, her heart racing with excitement, when a tug at her sleeve brought her world to an abrupt halt. She turned to find the man of her dreams albeit the dreams she would like to forget.
The stranger from London, his hair disheveled and his face flushed, stared through her like a hungry wolf.
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