Until You

He laughed and she smiled a little. It had been an awful day but things would look up, now that Jean-Phillipe was back. He was, wasn't he? Or was he phoning from the Cote d'Azur? Mia leaped into her lap, purred and settled down for some petting.

"Enough about O'Neil," Miranda said. "What's the good news you were going to tell me? Does it have something to do with your trip to the Cote d'Azur?"

"The Cote d'Azur? Why would you think that?"

"Well, your message. You said you were flying to the Cote."

"No, no." Jean-Phillipe laughed. "Those airport telephones can be so noisy, can they not? I left word that I was flying to the coast."

"The coast?" Miranda frowned. "What coast?"

"Yours, of cou

rse. The West Coast. I am in Hollywood, cherie. Isn't that exciting?"

Miranda sat back. "Yes," she said slowly. She did her best to put some enthusiasm in her voice but it wasn't easy. "It's very exciting. How come?"

"Do you recall my saying plans for my next film were all set? That it would be made in France?" His voice quickened. "Well, that has changed. I met someone at the Cannes festival last year. Harlan Williams, an American film producer. I must have mentioned him to you, no?"

"You and Nita." Miranda said. "Love must be in the air."

"No, no, this is business." He chuckled. "Well, it is business now, but who knows? At any rate, Harlan phoned me last week. In Cannes, he had told me of a film he wished to make, here in California. Oh, it sounded wonderful, and with a part for me. Not a starring role, tu comprends, but one which—how do you say?—one which pivots. But he could not raise the money he needed. The script was too artistique, n'est-ce pas?"

"Don't tell me," she said softly. "The money suddenly turned up."

Jean-Phillipe laughed delightedly. "How did you know?"

Miranda's head drooped back against the sofa. "Oh, just a lucky guess."

"My only concern is you, cherie. I do not like to leave you alone in Paris with all that has been happening. But with your Mr. O'Neil to watch over you, what is there to worry about?"

"What, indeed?" she said, wished him luck, and gently hung up the phone.

* * *

Sometime during the night, it occurred to her that Liliane, who'd handled her bookings for years, had not called with any assignments in the past few days.

A gust of wind hit the window and fluttered the bedroom drapes. Goose bumps rose on her skin.

Coincidence, nothing more. It was all coincidence, Nita and Jean-Phillipe and the loss of her apartment...

At seven, Miranda showered, dressed, and phoned for a taxi.

* * *

Things were going at the usual frenzied pace at the agency. The waiting room was packed with hopefuls, young and not-so-young, the unknowns and the once-knowns all vying for work. Miranda said a couple of quick hellos, waved at the receptionist, and hurried down the hall to Liliane's cluttered office.

The booker was on the phone when Miranda knocked on the half-open door. She rolled her eyes skyward, pointed at the phone and made a retching motion.

Miranda laughed. "My very sentiments."

Liliane jerked her chin towards a chair. "Sit," she hissed, with her hand over the mouthpiece. A couple of minutes later, she said a sweet adieu, followed by a not-so-sweet merde as she slammed down the receiver.

"What a pig," she said, and smiled beatifically. "Ma petite, I was just about to ring you."

Miranda sighed dramatically and put her hand to her heart.

"What a relief! Considering the way things have been going in my life lately, I was half-convinced I was never going to hear from you again."