“There’s no such thing.”
A loud sigh followed my correction. “Are you always this awkward?”
“Yes.”
“At least it’s not just me, then.” A slight pause. “Where are you going to take me?”
“Nowhere touristy.”
“U-huh.”
“I’m not getting drunk.” I was still recovering from Friday night. Besides, there was nothing quite like a run-in with my father to have me confronting my hypocrisy. How I was perfectlyhappy haranguing him about his drinking while over-imbibing myself. And while it was different at the moment, and I knew I had control over it, who was to say that a few years in the future, I wouldn’t head down the same path he had if I didn’t make some changes in the present. Maybe the apple really didn’t fall too far from the tree.
“I can have a good time without getting drunk!” Cormac said cheerily.
“I suspect you could have a good time in an empty room.”
Cormac’s soft chuckle was pleasing to the ear. “I could. You’re not wrong. Does this room you’re describing have padded walls?”
“Do you think you need putting in a sanatorium?”
“Sometimes. I bet Cillian’d love to put me in one.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t.”
Cormac went quiet for a moment. “I thought you weren’t a fan of his. Now you’re sticking up for him. Which is it?”
“Sticking up for him?” I let out a loud snort. “Hardly. I’m simply pointing out that as CEO of a successful advertising company, he wouldn’t want the scandal.”
“Ah, of course.” Cormac sounded amused. “I like you, Laurent Dupont. You have the cynical outlook on life that I can really get behind.”
“You’re that dark and twisted?”
“I am. So maybe you should stay home where it’s safe.”
“I don’t scare that easily.”
“Good.” There was a smile in Cormac’s voice. Even over the phone, he was incredibly expressive. “Listen… let’s meet up and go wherever the wind takes us. Are you up for that?”
Surprisingly, I was up for that. I might even stretch to saying I was looking forward to it. I needed a distraction, and I couldn’t think of anything more distracting than Cormac King at the present time.
The wind, or rather Cormac’s curious nature and love of the slightly bizarre, took us toLe Musée de la Magie,or the Museum of Magic, a small museum enough off the beaten track I couldn’t class it as beingthattouristy. Despite living in Paris for all my life, I’d never been, Cormac reacting incredulously when I’d shared that information with him.
It was impossible not to get swept along by his enthusiasm as we embarked on a whistle stop tour of the history of magic that included exhibits, live magic tricks, and then, to round it all off, a magic show.
Cormac didn’t give a damn that most of the audience were children, and got picked ahead of them when a volunteer was required. He also didn’t care that the performance was in French, his understanding of the instructions requiring a lot of hand gestures from the increasingly frustrated magician. I could have translated, but where was the fun in that?
He was laughing when he finally stepped off the small stage, his eyes shining with enjoyment. We toured the automatons next, both of us peering closely at a few to figure out how they worked. It was while we were staring at an enormous head where the tongue went in and out that Cormac pointed up to street level. “You know who used to live at this address, right?” I considered where we were, searched my memory banks, and came up blank, shaking my head. “Oh, come on, you must know.”
“If I knew, I’d say I know rather than rolling around in my ignorance for your entertainment.”
“The Marquis de Sade.”
“U-huh! A fan of his, are you?”
We moved to the next exhibit, Cormac standing so close I could feel his body heat. “You can’t deny he was an interesting man.”
“Interesting is one way of putting it. But as sadomasochism has never been my thing, that’s as far as I’d go.” I thought about asking, decided it wasn’t appropriate on only the second occasion of spending time with him, and then asked it anyway. “Is it your sort of thing?”
