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April, 1926
Six Years Ago
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The Cabaret Mondego was situated in the Quartier Pigalle. Named after the sculptor Jean-Baptiste Pigalle, this section of Paris was known for its nightlife. Cabarets, performances that featured a variety of song, dance, music, recitations, and theatre acts while patrons drank and dined, were the most popular attractions, foremost being the legendary Moulin Rouge. Some of the shows were quite scandalous. At least, that was what Stone had been told.
The atmosphere inside the Mondego was raucous. Patrons cheered and clapped while a trio of women clad in feathers and not much else, danced to the popular jazz number “Sweet Georgia Brown”. Trying not to gawk, Stone found a seat and ordered his meal. He was surprised to find that even in a cabaret the cuisine was some of the finest he’d ever had. He dined on a rich crawfish bisque, salmon with fresh vegetables, and a chocolate mousse as light as air. The performances were entertaining, and none of them were as scandalous as the folks back home believed.
The hour grew late, and Stone wondered if D. Rose was ever going to show his face. Not that he knew what the fellow looked like. Perhaps he was a regular here and one of the staff could point him out. Onstage, the host was introducing the next act.
“Mademoiselles et monsieurs, our next act comes all the way from the city of Ubar in the Arabian desert.”
Stone smirked. Ubar was a legendary lost city mentioned in The Thousand and One Arabian Nights.
“Please welcome, Desert Rose!” A young woman with indigo eyes and light olive skin glided onto the stage. Her lustrous black hair was cut in a bob. She scanned the audience with a casual aloofness. She was beautiful, but definitely not of Arab descent.
It was a moment before Stone made the connection. Desert Rose... D. Rose? This could not be his contact. His gut twisted at the thought.
Rose opened her set with the upbeat “I’m Sitting on Top of the World”. She segued into “If You Knew Susie”, a humorous ditty about a woman whom the singer knew to be much wilder than anyone suspected. Stone was impressed with her wide vocal range and the richness of her voice.
Across the room, their eyes met. Rose quirked an eyebrow, flashed a tiny smile, and launched into the George and Ira Gershwin number, “Looking for a Boy”. She continued to stare at Stone as if she were singing directly to him.
“I am just a little girl,
who’s looking for a little boy,
who’s looking for a girl to love.
Won’t you find that boy?
Help me find a boy?”
Now Stone was certain. D. Rose was Desert Rose, his contact. And he was supposed to kill her. The thought made him sick to his stomach.
Rose concluded her set with the heartbreaking “Only a Rose”. Every word was like a dagger to Stone’s heart.
“Only a rose I give you.
Only a song dying away,
Only a smile to keep in memory...”
There had to be some mistake. Perhaps he was wrong and this wasn’t the same D. Rose he was scheduled to meet. Or maybe this lovely creature was another Mata Hari—a spy working for the enemy. Stone took a deep breath and walled away his emotions. He was on a mission and Rose was an enemy combatant. Her gender and her beauty did not change that. He would do what he had to. It was the only way to get back home at the end of his enlistment.
A few minutes later Rose emerged from backstage. She exchanged greetings with a few patrons before ordering a drink at the bar. Stone moved to stand beside her.
“Have we met before?” Stone said. “Your face looks familiar.” It was the standard opening line when meeting a contact.
“You look like a man I met in Covent Garden,” Rose said automatically. “He was buying apples.”
“Must not have been me. I prefer oranges.”
Rose gave the tiniest of nods. “Meet me at Place de la Concorde in twenty minutes.”
“Sorry to have interrupted.” Stone made a quick bob of the head and strode out into the Paris night.