Free Anio Szado by Studio Saint-Ex

woman after all, but with a man who was every bit an American general—hard and handsome, and polite enough to welcome Consuelo on his feet and in passable French.
    Tonio stood up too, albeit with reluctance. “How did you get in here?”
    “I’m delighted to meet you,” Consuelo said to the general, holding out her hand.
    “Consuelo, General Albertson. General, my wife.”
    “Madame,” said the general.
    “Countess, actually.”
    Tonio’s guest said, “No kidding, Saint-Ex? You never told me you’re a count.” He smiled at Consuelo with gleaming teeth. “My sincere apologies, Countess. Has your husband told you about the fine work he’s doing, helping us prepare our invasion to liberate France?”
    “I’m afraid he doesn’t tell me anything.”
    “Consuelo, I beg you. Could you go home now, please?”
    “I wish I could obey you, darling, but I can’t. I’ve been invited for a drink with a friend of yours.”
    Tonio looked disbelieving. “Who?”
    Consuelo swiveled and pointed. “Your old English tutor. You didn’t tell me she was such a pretty little thing.” When she turned back to face her husband, he was still looking toward the bar. “You’d like me to reintroduce you, Tonio?”
    “No.”
    “Just as well. She has completely forgotten you.”
    The general cleared his throat. “English tutor, Saint-Ex? You should keep up those lessons. It could help you get that posting you want, that’s for sure.”
    “My English is good enough.”
    “He does understand many things,” said Consuelo. “Don’t try to pull something over on him by speaking in English. Believe me, I’ve tried!” She laughed. The men did not.
    Tonio said, “I know the commands. ‘Roger.’ ‘Clear for landing.’ ”
    “Anyway,” said Consuelo, “Mignonne isn’t teaching anymore. She’s working for Véra Fiche, the fashion designer. Isn’t that wonderful?”
    The general—such good breeding—did a fair job of looking interested.
    Consuelo said, “I’m thinking of making Atelier Fiche my signaturelook. Of course I’ll have to get to know Mignonne and her ideas a whole lot more. I’ll be arranging to meet her here regularly to chat.”
    “Here?”
    “You bring your guests; she is entitled to bring hers.” Consuelo held out her hand. “Enjoy your stay in New York, General. Maybe I’ll see you again at the Alliance. I know I’ll see my husband here, if nowhere else.”
    Back at the bar, Consuelo picked up her Bloody Mary. Such a rewarding evening it was turning out to be. Everything seemed laid out expressly, enticingly, for her taking. Even the ring of condensation on the polished bar looked good enough to drink. Now if Mignonne would only relax a little, open up. She jumped when Consuelo put a hand on her back. “I invited Tonio to join us, but he’s completely unenthused. We’ll enjoy ourselves uninterrupted until your brother comes.”
    Mignonne said, “He’s been here for a while.”
    A long-limbed young man was flirting with a table of young ladies near the entrance. Something tough about him. Interesting. The Lachapelles had a savage in their lineage after all, one whose swagger was disturbingly, deliciously, at odds with the manners of the father’s club.
    Consuelo said, “Jot down your telephone number. I need a new look. We must meet here again so you can tell me more about your work.”
    In an instant, the girl’s expression transformed from dejected to keen.
    So that’s how it is, thought Consuelo. Fine then—a kindred spirit. Consuelo had ambitions, too. It was always the women who ached with hunger. Especially the wives.

10

    The next morning, I walked with Madame Fiche to the subway, the reflections in shop windows of her unbending silhouette making me appear gangly and ungainly.
    Taking the subway instead of taxis, Madame had proclaimed, was her newest personal wartime sacrifice. “Rubber rationing,” she said, though I suspected it had more to do with cost. “We don’t have