Violins of Autumn by Amy McAuley

Author:Amy McAuley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Published: 2012-06-19T05:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

Piano music and cigarette smoke invite me inside the Commodore, where gorgeous women hang on the every word of officers attired in smart white dinner jackets, caps, and gloves. The distinguished atmosphere explains why Ludwig and his three friends greeted us in their finest uniforms.

Denise, smoking already and we haven’t even found a table, taps me on the shoulder. I turn face-first into a swirling current of smoke.

“Your eyes are giving you away—you’re thankful to be wearing lipstick, aren’t you?” she says in her mile-a-minute French. “Can you imagine if we had left your hair down? Whatever would you do without me? Frump around like a man, that’s what.”

I crack a nervous smile. “You couldn’t pay me to doll myself up like these women.”

“Too late, my dolled-up friend.”

Ludwig watches us with bewildered amusement. Why, the evening promises to be a downright gabfest, what with everyone unable to understand one another. I, for one, can scarcely contain my excitement.

“Remember, we’re here for the free champagne,” I say to Denise, out of the corner of my mouth. “After a few drinks, we’re leaving.”

The last train of the day departs at eleven o’clock. Taking travel time into account, we need to leave the bar at ten thirty. And, really, how much mischief could Denise and I possibly get into in only an hour and a half?

I had too much to drink only once in my life, the night of my aunt’s last Christmas party. I smashed two tiles in the parlor’s Art Deco fireplace, nearly set a curtain ablaze after a brief reintroduction to cigarettes, and let a sweet Canadian soldier, who showed up on my aunt’s doorstep wistful for Christmas, kiss my cheek beneath the mistletoe. But none of that bad behavior was my fault. My aunt’s neighbor thought spiking my eggnog was a clever way to liven up the party. He changed his mind about that when I got sick on his shoes. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since.

The waiter sets a glass of champagne in front of each of us.

Marie lifts her glass to peer through it. “I like the bubbles. They look so pretty.”

“And expensive,” Denise says.

Ludwig’s friend, a blond boy named Karl, raises his glass. The other boys do the same. “Zum Wohl!” they cheer.

We join them in the toast, and I have a sip. Before I know it, my glass is empty. And then, before I know it again, another glass of champagne magically materializes on the table in front of me. It’s not long before my attention drifts away from intimidating surroundings to be swept up in the witty stories of charismatic Karl. When he offers me a third glass of champagne, I say yes. Just to be polite.

Denise leans into me from her neighboring chair. “For a girl who doesn’t smoke, you look awfully cozy with that cigarette.”

Smoke rakes burned nails down the back of my throat. A rasping cough all but shatters my Kate Hepburn–like air of sophistication. “I don’t smoke. Anise does.

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