Brittany's Travels Ch. 03

"Angie, please!" Brittany exclaimed, painfully aware that she was stark naked in the presence of her boss but too panicked to think of covering up. She was also aware of Winnie getting out of bed, also unabashedly naked and amazingly nonchalant about it all. "Before you say anything, just let me explain!"

"You don't need to explain." Ms. Shaw looked firm as ever, but not unhappy as she gazed down at Brittany. Turning to Winnie, who was pulling on a bathrobe from the closet, she added, "You've done an amazing job as usual. She'll knock 'em dead in the field, I just know it!"

"Wait, what?" Now Brittany did gain the presence of mind to pull a sheet over herself, though the damage was done -- Ms. Shaw had seen everything. "You mean I'm not fired?"

"Far from it," said Winnie, tying the sash of his robe. "You've passed your final test. In this job you are going to have to seduce people."

"Now we know you're willing and able to do that," continued Ms. Shaw.

"And at the risk of oversharing, you're going to do a fantastic job of it," Winnie added. "Sorry, Angie."

"Don't be." Now that the subterfuge was done with, Ms. Shaw was grinning broadly. "I had little doubt. Between your athletic body and two years of no men, well, Brittany, how could you not be a firecracker in the sack? But even I couldn't have guessed how beautiful you are underneath."

"Uh...thank you?" Brittany had no idea what to make of all this, but she was more flattered than humiliated, albeit barely so. She had also had a strange feeling that Ms. Shaw had liked what she'd seen before Angie had covered up, and her last comment left no doubt about that. Having gained an appreciation for other women's bodies in prison, Brittany found the idea not unpleasant, although she figured it was totally inappropriate all the same.

Ms. Shaw sat down on the edge of the bed and took Brittany's hand in both of hers. "Brittany, I'm sorry," she said. "I know all this was very manipulative of us, and it must have been awfully frightening for you when I walked in. But it's absolutely necessary to determine if you're up for the job. And now we know you are!"

Brittany sighed. "Thanks, I think."

That uncertainty of gratitude was still lingering a few weeks later, when Brittany found herself in the lap of business-class luxury high over the Atlantic. Like everything else about her life since the day Angie and Joseph had arrived in it, this latest round of pampering was a double edged sword. Her beautiful clothes, lush surroundings, and the promise of high adventure at the journey's end all served to remind her of just how wretched things had been for her so recently. Brittany had made up her mind to be grateful for the change in her fortune and make the most of it, but that was easier said than done.

"Another glass of wine, Ms. Tsoupas?" came a voice out of nowhere in a heavy French accent, and Brittany was rescued from her latest bout of recalling the long goodbye with Angie and Joseph at the airport.

It took her a split-second too long to recognize her alias, but Brittany was grateful for the practice in the relative safety of the business class cabin. "Oh! Erm, yes please, ma'am. Sorry, I was lost in a bad dream there."

"It happens all the time on night flights, I assure you," said the flight attendant as she poured a refill of merlot for Brittany. "Will this be your first time in Paris, Ms. Tsoupas?"

"Well, I'm actually going on to Luxembourg after this. It'll be my first time in either place. Can't wait!"

"Oh, my dear, Luxembourg is awfully gray this time of year. I hope you won't be stuck there for Christmas!"

"Depends on how business goes," Brittany said. "We'll see. I'm a rare book dealer, perfect for the Christmas season in a place like Luxembourg, I'm told." She was proud of her ability to look the flight attendant in the eye as she lied, a skill she was just going to have to continue developing now.

The flight attendant wished her good luck and moved on, leaving Brittany alone with her thoughts and her angst again in the luxurious business class seat.

She hadn't been able to hide that angst during the long limousine ride to New York earlier that day. And Angie had advised her, "Don't try to stifle that anger, Erika, use it!"

"Do we have to call me Erika already?" Brittany had asked without looking up from the portfolio she'd been ordered to memorize as best she could.

"You need the practice answering to your alias," Joseph had explained. "Really, we should have started calling you that a week ago. But we didn't know even then that you'd be leaving today."

Brittany had been glad in that moment that Joseph had told her to spend the ride studying the portfolio. It meant she didn't have to look at him and pretend not to be annoyed. Of course, she'd already been annoyed at the news that she wouldn't be allowed to remove the portfolio from the car, never mind taking it with her to Luxembourg. A paper trail was just too risky. And so she'd been forced to spend those precious last hours with Joseph and Angie learning all she could about Mansfield Consulting's weak link in the little country she just barely knew from studying the atlas in the prison library. Just as well, really, since the rural late fall scene rushing by outside had been perfect soccer weather, and there she was dolled up in a skirt and heels and expressly forbidden from even mentioning her favorite sport, much less playing it.

It beats prison, she reminded herself now as she stretched out her tights-clad legs and flipped through the in-flight entertainment system, trying to gauge the likelihood of getting any sleep while fully clothed and nervous about her first job. It did not look promising -- or maybe she just didn't want to fall asleep and waste a moment of such luxury. Concluding that she ought to at least try to get some sleep, she switched off the screen and leaned the seat all the way back, and closed her eyes.

To her pleasant surprise, the usual flashback to prison was quickly pushed aside by the grainy image of the man she'd been ordered to seek out in Luxembourg.

"Denis," the caption had read beneath the black and white photo of a scowling man with receding blond hair. "Age mid-30s?" That was all.

"We don't know his last name or his exact age, or even if Denis really is his name," Joseph had explained. "We do know he answers to that name and that he's always on the hunt for American tourists who are interested in a little extra cash."

"So the idea is for me to find him and pretend to be looking for work as a mule, is it?" While studying the photo, Brittany had tried to force some attraction to it, without a lot of luck. He'd looked oily and much too sure of himself even in the poor-quality picture.

"Oh, heavens, no!" Angie had said. "Don't you remember what we discussed in training?"

"Right, of course!" Brittany had closed her eyes in frustration and shook her head; right up to the moment of parting, she'd hated disappointing Angie like that. "Always let them think they're in control and that you don't know who they are."

"Exactly," Angie had said. "So you let him find you. Never give any indication that you're looking for him. Not under any circumstances."

"Got it, right. But how do I get on his radar?"

"Luxembourg is a small city, and a guy like that knows where to look for out-of-towners," Joseph had said. "Just go out and live like an expat there on business -- remember, you're a rare book dealer -- and he'll find you."

"I don't really know how to live like an expat," Brittany had reminded them yet again, browsing through the few other pages of the portfolio -- mostly details of Denis' interactions with the agents who'd brought him to Angie's attention. "I've never even been to Canada, you know."

"You don't need any training for that!" Joseph had said. "Just don't look too wide-eyed like a first-time tourist, and you'll be fine."

"But I am a first-time tourist!"

"A first-time tourist who has our complete confidence, Brittany," Angie had said, reaching over to squeeze her hand supportively. "You can do this!"

Brittany almost believed that now. But she had hated saying goodbye to her two friends at the airport all the same. They had at least had the good sense to avoid a long goodbye when she had tried to convince them to wait with her until the last minute. Brittany, somewhat to her surprise, had had no qualms about hugging Joseph and Angie in turn. "Can't tell you how grateful I am to you both!"

"You can show us by doing a great job in Luxembourg, and I know you will," Angie had told her.

"Oh, that reminds me," Brittany said. "How do I know when I'm done and where will I go next? And will I be staying with you?" she'd asked Angie with hope in her eyes, having avoided that topic for days as she'd been afraid of the answer.

"You're always welcome there when you're off duty," Angie had promised. "We'll keep your room for you. And we'll let you know about the next stop once that's been determined. But that depends at least in part on what you find in Luxembourg."

"Just remember to check in like we discussed," Joseph had added. "And don't worry about that for now."

"Good luck, Erika." Angie had given her hand a final squeeze and Brittany had chuckled at her alias, and they were gone.

Brittany was not, for the time being, to know what Angie and Joseph had said from afar as they'd watched her disappear into security. Once Brittany was out of sight and there was no risk of her looking back any longer, Angie had allowed herself to cry. She'd said nothing, but turned to lean on Joseph, who had slipped his arms around her. "She's going to do great, you know that," he'd said.

"I do know that," Angie had replied, trying in vain to speak evenly. "I just, she still doesn't know..."

"We agreed that was the best thing for now," Joseph had reminded her.

"I know," Angie had admitted. "I wonder would Will like her as much as I do?"

"I'm quite sure of it. I miss him too, you know."

"Of course," Angie had agreed. "Let's get a bottle of wine for the ride home. I'm going to need it."

Brittany, also fortified by plenty of wine, did eventually get some sleep on the plane. But like most inexperienced travelers, she was nevertheless feeling like death warmed over when she finally emerged from the baggage claim in Luxembourg well into the next day. She was alert enough to wonder, Now what? as she emerged inconspicuously into the clutch of fellow new arrivals. There was just enough time to remember that Angie had told her there would be a ride waiting for her before she saw "her" name -- Erika Tsoupas -- on a card being held by a dapper looking gentleman near the rental car kiosk.

"That's me, sir," she said as confidently as she could pretend to be.

"Welcome to Luxembourg, Madame Tsoupas," said the man. He kissed her hand and took her suitcase, but did not introduce himself. "Right this way. I trust you'll want to go straight home."

"Home," Brittany couldn't help a chuckle.

"Yes, home!" said her new friend with a tiny edge on his voice. "I know how these long trips wear on you, Madame Tsoupas, and I am sure you want to have a shower and some sleep in your own bed for a change!"

"Yes. Yes, of course." She smiled an apology and reminded herself not to stray from the script again. Angie and Joseph had told her there would be a furnished studio awaiting her near the Place d'Armes, where they expected Denis to spot her, and that she was to pretend it was a home base she had been in and out of any number of times.

They had also advised her that Luxembourg was modern, clean, and rather bleak in November. The brief ride in from the airport confirmed all three, although Brittany wondered how much of the bleakness was just a matter of her being exhausted. Probably not all, she concluded as she surveyed the slate-gray sky against the modern buildings that roared by. Where was the exotic European architecture she'd seen in all those books in her long afternoons at the prison library? But she knew better than to ask the driver about a city she was supposed to know inside out.

She found out soon enough, in any case, for he soon pulled up by an ornate brick apartment building on a block lined with similar yet distinct homes. "Welcome home, Madame Tsoupas," he declared, and Brittany didn't even try to collect her own suitcase as she stepped out into the drizzly afternoon. Discreetly he handed her a keyring and ushered her into the vestibule. Brittany darted her eyes at the mailboxes just long enough to see her alias printed neatly on the box for flat 203.

"Sure is good to be back in good old number 203," she quipped as she opened the door.

"I can certainly imagine," said the chauffeur, as he handed over her suitcase and tipped his hat. "Good afternoon, Madame."

"To you as well." Winnie had drilled her interminably in the speaking styles of the upper crust.

A few moments later, Brittany's spirits were somewhat revived as she kicked off her shoes and surveyed the little flat. If it was chilly and dreary outside, her new home was well lit and warm and cozy and completely, utterly private. The tiny kitchen was stocked complete with a bottle of wine waiting on the counter, and the promised secure computer was set and charged on the desk by the window. Check in time with Joseph was hours away yet, though, and that meant Brittany was free to take a long, hot shower and then get some badly needed rest.

"So this is home," she said out loud, just above a whisper, as she stood in the center of the little flat and surveyed the bright, homey scene and the palpable contrast with the miserable weather outside. She could feel the prison flashback blues coming on again, along with a dose of claustrophobia in the little one-room flat and an acute sense of being awfully far from all she knew. But then, "all she knew" was cold and hard and very, very unfair anyway -- except for Angie and Joseph, and she wouldn't be welcome back with them unless she could somehow flush out this Denis character. And somehow she had to do that without letting him know of her rage at his role in ruining her life.

Brittany burst into tears. It was a quick, cathartic jag, but a frustrating one all the same. No matter how many times she told herself prison had hardened her and that she ought to be grateful for the delightful contrast her turn of fortunes had allowed, she was alone and angry -- and apparently she had to be that way if she wanted to get anything done.

Once again Brittany took a deep breath and reminded herself that she'd be exacting her first step toward revenge here. It was a comforting thought, as were Angie's comments about the Place d'Armes. Brittany could barely wait to see if it was as lovely as she had said. "The very essence of Europe at Christmastime, worth the lousy weather," she had told Brittany a few days before. "Honestly, I wish I could join you for the trip."

Brittany wished the same, especially since Angie spoke French and "Erika" could barely even say "Bonjour". But that just strengthened her resolve to impress her mentor, and Angie had advised her to spend her first day relaxing to get over the jetlag. So Brittany undressed and helped herself to the longest shower she'd ever had, followed by a glass of wine on the couch with the television tuned to CNN -- the only English language channel she could find -- and Brittany only paying it the most passing attention as she indulged in her surroundings and wondered about Denis.

She was still wondering about Denis the next morning, although she was feeling much more optimistic after a phone call to "Uncle Joseph" to discuss the rare books she'd found on her latest field trip, followed by a good night's sleep. Orders were to linger on the Place d'Armes around lunchtime. Somewhat to her surprise, Brittany found herself looking forward to that as she unpacked and ironed an outfit for the day. Whatever was to happen next, it would surely be better than the uncertainty that had dogged her across the Atlantic.

That thought, plus her thirst for revenge, sustained Brittany as she strutted up the avenue in the late morning chill, feeling like a spark of cheer against the crummy weather in her red dress and stylishly cut coat. She was almost able to forget that she was aiming to attract a dangerous man of whom she knew nothing. Or that it was perfect soccer weather.

The Place d'Armes more than lived up to Angie's promise. Lined with enticing restaurants where Brittany was free to eat on her expense account, crowded with locals and tourists milling about in half a dozen languages, and with the Christmas market buzzing in the middle of the square, it soon had Brittany feeling like an extra in a holiday movie.

Recalling Angie's orders to just look inconspicuous, she bought a sausage on a roll at a kiosk where she couldn't read a word of the menu. Rather than bothering with her pathetic French, she pointed at the plumpest looking one on the grill.

"American?" asked the man behind the counter.

"Yes, but I live here," Brittany said. "Just back from a business trip, looking for rare books."

"So sorry the weather isn't better for your return!" the man said with a welcoming smile as he handed her the sausage wrapped in a paper napkin.

"Oh, I'm used to it," Brittany lied. "Thank you!"

She had just enough time to linger among the other booths and munch on her snack before Angie and Joseph's plan came to fruition. "Excuse me?" came a male voice behind her, along with a tap on the shoulder.

Brittany felt a stab of nerves, but remembered to keep a straight face as she turned around. "Yes?"

"Did I overhear you say you're American and live here?" It was Denis. Two days removed from her last viewing of the photo, Brittany had been doubtful at best about her ability to recognize him; but that oily blond hair and those angry looking eyes were unmistakable.

She managed to keep her composure as she had been drilled endlessly in doing. "Why, yes," she said, doing her best to ape the posh accent Winnie had pushed on her. "I'm a rare book dealer, and there's a great market back in the States for original prints of French novels. I'm just back from a visit to a farm that had a library full of dusty books. So lovely to be out in the fresh air!"

"Fresh air...if this mess is pleasant for you, it must have been an awfully dusty library!" Denis remarked. "So tell me, you must have some very affluent clients back home."

"Certainly. But they're only looking for very specific titles, so if you're trying to offload your collection of old paperbacks..."

"Not at all! I don't deal in books at all. I approached you because I deal in other commodities. If you're interested in some additional revenue, my dear, I may be able to help you."

"I'm listening," Brittany said with a smile that belay her disbelief -- would it always be this easy?!

"Wonderful!" said Denis. "May I treat you to lunch and then discuss business somewhere more comfortable?"

"I should think so. But might I ask your name?"

"Oh, how rude of me! You may call me Denis."

"Erika," and she shook his outstretched hand.

"Erika whom?" he asked.

"If it's only Denis, for now it will only be Erika too."

"That shall suffice for the moment, but I will need to know rather more about who you are if we are to do more business together," Denis said.

"I understand," Brittany said, "but you won't need to know my last name to take me to lunch."

"Indeed," Denis conceded.

He took Brittany by the arm and escorted her out of the drizzle into one of the posh restaurants she had noted earlier. For the next hour she was treated to the joys of foie gras ravioli and white wine, and the coded language of the underworld into which she had taken the first step. Through all Denis' circumspect details of his "arts and crafts exporting service", Brittany managed to smile through her simmering fury at the first face and name she could attach to the conspiracy that had destroyed her life. Though she was thrilled at her early success, it was utterly beyond her how she would ever overcome her disgust with Denis long enough to sleep with him. But she steeled herself for the job, and got an early start on it by running her foot playfully up and down his leg a few times. Denis responded only with a bemused grin as he sipped his wine.