They Call Me...Montey Greene

Chapter Thirty Nine

IT WAS ON rare occasion if Alejandra and Montey saw each other during the course of the day—the estate was that vast and Alejandra was that busy. Though she had granted Montey permission to use the mint condition 1983 Peugeot 504 Cabriolet anytime he liked—she even stuffed a map in the glove compartment for him—he never ventured out on the A6 Autoroute leading back to Paris until now. This time they were in the backseat of that wine colored Bentley Arnage and Charles was doing the driving.

There were a lot of moving parts going on inside of Montey's head and heart. The death of Maria devastated him while the whereabouts of his wife and kids, or lack thereof, kept his mind on edge. In a place as beautiful and serene as Fontainebleau the noise going on inside of Montey's very being could be deafening—you don't grow comfortable knowing your family is missing. Still, with all those emotions playing tug-of-war within him, he had a way of presenting another face to Alejandra.

"Where are we going?" Montey asked as the car streaked towards the city of lights.

"First we're going to Saint-Pierre Place, or, as the locals say, Place Saint-Pierre. Have your ever heard the name Émile Zola?"

"No."

"She wrote a book entitled The Ladies' Paradise, that's where we are headed first."

"To the ladies' paradise?"

"Oui. Au Bonheur des Dames, that's the title of the silent movie her book is based on, which is actually a real store on Saint-Pierre in the fabric district."

"Oh okay. I see now. The translation, it makes sense." He paused. "And we just had to take the Bentley?" he asked sarcastically. "Why don't we just put big signs on it that says, Hi, I'm Alejandra Lasprilla, please kidnap me?" he continued in a high pitch tone of voice doing a bad imitation of her.

"That's not funny," she said.

"Wasn't really tryin' to be. I'm just more in to being discrete. The less attention the better. But that's just me."

Suddenly Montey felt uneasy. He looked up to see Charles' steel gray eyes studying him in the rear-view mirror.

Montey shifted in his seat. "Does he ever talk?" he asked Alejandra in a low tone of voice.

"Of course he talks," Alejandra answered loud enough for Charles to hear.

Montey found the steel gray eyes of Charles staring him down through the rear-view mirror again, sending that uneasy feeling through Montey's body again, that had him shifting in his seat yet again.

He stole a look out the rear window. Charles switched lanes. A grey car several car lengths behind seemed to be following them. Charles switched lanes again. Seconds later, so did that grey car.

Maybe Charles wasn't staring him down in the rear-view mirror after all Montey summarized as he faced forward again.

"What are you looking for?" Alejandra finally asked getting annoyed with Montey's constant fidgeting.

"Just making sure we're not being followed, that's all."

"You're taking this bodyguard thing just a little too seriously don't you think?"

"You seemed to take the kidnapping thing serious a moment ago, so—"

Alejandra didn't have a comeback for that.

Montey then stated, "Tell that to you father. It's about what he thinks, not me. Who else knows about this place?"

"I do have Parisians friends, you know."

"I know, I met some of them remember. I'm just saying, who from back home knows you're in Paris?"

"Other than Christina, who'll be here in a few days actually, and most likely my showroom staff, no one else yet. I haven't made those calls."

"What about your fiancé?"

"My fiancé?" Alejandra asked in an inquisitive tone as she reached her leg across the floor hump kicking at Montey's foot.

She tagged him in the shin. On the bone. The worst part.

The pain shot up through his body just as he felt the burn from Charles' eyes reflecting off of the rear-view mirror again. This time there was much more intensity behind Charles' glare and the indentation Alejandra just left on his leg told Montey that her and Paolo's little love affair was a well-guarded secret, which could explain why she never sported a ring.

"I see I'm not the only one into being discrete," Montey mumbled under breath.

Charles killed any further chatter when he turned the car's stereo system on filling the cabin with the sound of Phil Collins voice singing the Genesis hit song, "That's All." Montey and Alejandra both found the timing ironic, as the look they shared indicated, when the song came blaring through the speakers just as Phil Collins was belting out those exact two words—"That's All".

It's funny how you can know all the words to a song and they have no significant meaning to your life whatsoever until you have a life altering experience. Now those same lyrics which were just words to a song before seem to be talking to you directly as if the artist had a window into the inner sanctums of your very world. Well, for the next four minutes and twenty-six seconds Montey was being hit where it hurt. He was having his moment, as the melody and lyrics to this song all came home to roost stirring up emotions he had for his wife that he didn't even know still existed, evidenced by the water that was gathering in the inner corners of his eyes. He brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose, squeezed it as if he had a sinus problem, in essence wiping away the tears before they had a chance to streak down his face.

"What album is that from?" Montey asked almost absent mindedly as he heard a rousing applause when the song ended.

Charles glanced at him through the rear-view mirror again then at Alejandra then back at Montey.

"The Way We Walk, Volume One, The Shorts," Charles said when he turned his eyes back to the road. "July 4, 1987. Live at Wembley Stadium in London. I was there. Remember it like it was yesterday." Charles paused then asked, "What would either of you know about Genesis anyway?"

The two men's eyes meet in the rear-view mirror again, but no further words were spoken.

Montey couldn't help but think about his own country's Independence Day this coming July 4th, which was still a couple of months away. He thought about freedom and how trapped he felt now. How dependent he was on doing his part in making sure no harm befell the woman sitting beside him so he could partake in his own personal Independence Day Celebration.

Except for the humming sound of the Bentley's V8 engine roaring silently in the engine bay beneath the hood, the cabin of the luxury vehicle was quiet and stayed that way until they got caught up in the midday congestion that was now Paris.