34 
“dancing fool”
And we did. First me and Maisie, then Theo and Maisie, then Tzara and Brancusi on the tables, then Theo and Vasilieff and Zadkine in a Cossack dance, and on and on until the champagne ran dry and our feet were blistered and the cheese wheel was stamped into the floor. We bundled Maisie into a taxi before Theo and I strolled up the street to my apartment.
“Let us always be something to each other, Miss Kiki Button,” said Theo as we reached my building. “I need your vitality in my life forever.”
“Do you smell that?” I was sure I could smell Fox’s cigarettes.
“I smell your sweat mixed with your perfume, some garbage… ah, some cat piss…”
“No, no, that tobacco smell—Sobranies, a Russian cigarette.”
“I can only smell my own,” he said as he lit up. He held one out to me but I waved it away. All the doors were locked on my side of the road. I ran over the other side, my heels clicking down a little street searching for… I realized I was looking for a glowing ruby of cigarette end set against silver hair. I was being utterly ridiculous, but I couldn’t stop myself, I scanned the street for any sign of life. All I saw was tabby cat stalk across the cobbles, its white fur flashing at me.
“Well?” The shadows from the streetlamp gave Theo a bruised look.
I shrugged and took the half-consumed cigarette from Theo, tapping off the long plume of ash, to mask the Sobranie-smell that lingered in my memory. Fox couldn’t possibly be here, in Montparnasse, watching me… except he could, he absolutely could. I scanned the street one more time; I heard nothing, I saw nothing, everything was as it should be, except me. Theo watched, his head to one side, but I couldn’t figure out his expression in the darkness. I blew a plume of smoke into the sky and kissed him full on the mouth, teasing him, enticing him to bend forward and hold me close so he could kiss me properly, a piece of seduction designed to distract us both.
“Well.” He grinned.
“Well then.” It worked; I thought only of his buttons now. I flicked away the cigarette, took his hand and we hurried upstairs to rid ourselves of the last raiments of night.
“So, Theo, are you really related to Prince Phillip von Whathisface?”
“Ah yes, I said I had more on that prince for you, didn’t I?” He put his croissant down and wiped his fingers on the napkin. We were breakfasting together at a suitably midday time, Theo’s suit still smelling of last night’s champagne, remnants of party makeup still haunting my eyes. I hadn’t been able to find my brush and my hair was as bouffant as my dress was sleek. Madeleine Petit suppressed her smile when she saw us.
“Well, yes, I am related to Phillip von Hessen, though distantly. The simple summary is that we’re all related through Queen Victoria, but the longer explanation… well, the longer explanation is very long, but the kaiser is Phillip’s uncle, the tsar is my uncle, and the kaiser and the tsar were both grandsons of Queen Victoria, the same as your king.”
“Have you ever met Prince Phillip?”
“No, but it would be easy enough to do. Felix may have met him, my mother may have, someone would know something about his being in Paris. The aristocracy is like a rural village—everyone knows everyone’s business and feels obliged to have an opinion.”
“Even when you’ve escaped halfway across a continent?”
“Phillip hasn’t, he’s only come from Frankfurt. That’s a few hours away.”
“How does it feel to have fought against your own family in the war?”
“How does it feel to have my family killed by Bolsheviks? How does it feel to be an exile, a taxi driver, living through rolling revolutions?” He stared at his croissaint. “I take each day as it comes, golden one. If nothing had changed, I’d be married by now and living in a beautiful apartment. A safe life, comfortable and dull. Now my life is exciting because it is insecure, unpredictable, unexpected. I know freedom and ecstasy and despair.” He sighed. “Most of all, I realize I can’t change it. Felix is wrong. The monarchy will not return. We royals… we need to find a new way to contribute to the world, now that the people no longer revere us as gods.”
The old men argued over their chess and today’s newspaper fluttered on the counter. I pushed Theo’s croissant toward him.
“This is quite intense for a breakfast conversation.”
“Ma chérie,” he took my wrist and planted a lingering kiss. “We were brought up to believe family is everything and our duty to our country is the price of privilege. The Bolsheviks, the Weimar revolutionaries, the trenches, blew all of that up. Every day Felix rises and looks out the window with a sigh. Our lives are limbless and gas-blind. This is what the wars have done to us.”
Yes, I thought, whatever happened, we would always be something to each other. His dark eyes demanded it.
“And Lazarev?” I asked, “Why was he at your house?”
“Felix denied he was there.” Theo shrugged. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“You never disappoint, Theo, especially when you can introduce me to Prince Phillip von Hessen.”
“You want to meet him?”
“I have a suspicion that Felix’s friend, Edouard, has him on his list. If I find Phillip, I can help Felix.”
“I see.” His tone of voice said that he didn’t believe me. “You want to write about him, don’t you? For your magazine.”
I grinned sheepishly; please, I thought, let him think that this was my ulterior motive.
“Would that be so bad?”
“Nothing you do is so bad, Kiki.”
“Not unless you request it.”
And he laughed, then, loud and deep, stretching as he remembered last night. We chatted through the rest of breakfast, the clouds low outside, a tin hat on the day. I don’t know if it was his long pauses and longer gazes, or the knowledge of approaching winter with its short, dark days, but there was a farewell feeling between us. I think he felt it too, as when he got in his taxi, he demanded to know when I could meet him and soon, his hand on my hip through the window. “I have a column to write!” I teased. I also had a mission to complete and for that he could only be a hindrance.