Cognac & Couture
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The vivacious women from Prosecco & Paparazzi are back together!
In Cognac & Couture, we step inside Kathleen’s glitzy Parisian life. A lawyer for one of the world’s most successful cosmetic companies, she has one foot firmly planted on the corporate ladder and the other on rickety scaffolding–which may topple over when she meets a handsome, charming French Sébastien Langevin. When Fall Fashion Week descends upon Paris, so do very pregnant Charlotte, hob-knobbing Hillary, snarky Marian, and bombshell Tiziana. As they dash between Stella McCartney and Rahul Mishra showings, hilarity and complications ensue. Charlotte has false labor pains. Marian’s on a quest for a bon homme, and Kathleen’s Frenchman seems to turn up everywhere, reminding her of a drunken confession. Instead of enjoying a week of fashion and fine dining, Kathleen maybe due to reveal a few long-held secrets of her heart—to the world. Could it be any other way… in The Passport Series? |
Excerpt:
Enjoying the crisp autumn weather, they walked across the Pont du Carrousel and along the Quai Voltaire. The trees that flanked either side of the walkway were just starting to turn color; the yellow and orange leaves burst against the bright blue sky. The view across the river to the Jardin de Tuileries, revealed the trees echoing the same liveliness of color. Soon they turned down Rue du Bac, which was quite narrow, and took a quick left onto Rue de Verneuil. They arrived, and from the looks on their faces Kathleen could see that they were pleased with her recommendation.
Inside the Salle Gainsbourg, which was neutrally painted so that the art could own its’ space, the three women were seated at a long wooden table in dark leather chairs. Menu in hand, Kathleen helped Marian and Hillary make their choices, and together they fumbled through the wine list.
“Well, we mustn’t have botched it. The waiter didn’t burst into tears or look at us with utter despair!” Marian remarked when they were alone.
Gazing around at the walls covered in art, Marian focused on a collage just behind Hillary’s head and said, “The art’s okay, but I usually go for something more provocative.”
Hillary opened her mouth to say something, but Kathleen intervened, “Whatever you were going to say, just stop. We’re in Paris, at a lovely restaurant, during fashion week. Stop for just a moment and reflect on the perfectness of it all.” Dutifully, they were silent, and absorbed it for all of two seconds.
“Okay, so tell us about Sébastien. Is it me, or does he remind you of Keanu Reeves?” Marian asked.
“So this room is dedicated to Serge Gainsbourg. He was a painter, musician, and actor. Very significant celebrity amongst the French. I think he was married once or twice, supposedly had tons of illegitimate children, and had an affair with Bridget Bardot. His song “Je T’eme…Moi Non Plus,” was written for her. Though he performed it with Jane Birkin, the woman he lived with for many years,” Kathleen responded, acting as tour guide and distractor.
“You know I’m just going to keep asking.” Marian said.
“Once appearing together on a Parisian talk show, Gainsbourg told Whitney Houston on camera that he wanted to fuck her. The audience loved it. Apparently, Whitney was left quite speechless,” Kathleen upped the ante, hoping Marian would fold.
“And asking,” Marian continued, strumming her fingers on the blond wood of the table.
“The man was a raging alcoholic, apparently quite revolting at times. He died of a heart attack when he was in his early 60’s, I believe. Petula Clark wrote a song for him.” Kathleen was unrelenting.
“We now know more about Serge than Sébastien,” Hillary observed drily.
“He became quite a folk hero in France,” Kathleen continued her thesis.
“Serge or Sébastien?” Marian asked.
“Serge,” Kathleen responded, now openly laughing.
“Boring!” Marian declared!
She was rescued by the waiter who brought the wine and poured each a small amount to taste. After nodding joint approval, he filled their glasses, leaving the bottle in the center of the table, then drifted away.
Marian raised her glass to propose a toast, “To Kathleen, for her fine taste in cities, restaurants, and men!”
After another sip, Hillary then raised her glass and proposed, “To Kathleen, and the great success she has found in Paris! To Sébastien, about whom we’d like hear more! And to Marian, may we finally get to hear less!”
Choking on her wine, Kathleen’s coughing fit went unnoticed as the waiter delivered food with just a little flourish. Since they weren’t paying the homage he felt the meal deserved, he gave Marian and Hillary a stern look while Kathleen dabbed the spray of red wine off her chin.
Kathleen rattled off a great deal of praise and delight, which seemed to satisfy him. Reassuring him, Marian and Hillary offered their compliments in broken French. He politely smiled at them and with a ‘Bon Appetit’ left the table. Food and the French – very serious business.
Inside the Salle Gainsbourg, which was neutrally painted so that the art could own its’ space, the three women were seated at a long wooden table in dark leather chairs. Menu in hand, Kathleen helped Marian and Hillary make their choices, and together they fumbled through the wine list.
“Well, we mustn’t have botched it. The waiter didn’t burst into tears or look at us with utter despair!” Marian remarked when they were alone.
Gazing around at the walls covered in art, Marian focused on a collage just behind Hillary’s head and said, “The art’s okay, but I usually go for something more provocative.”
Hillary opened her mouth to say something, but Kathleen intervened, “Whatever you were going to say, just stop. We’re in Paris, at a lovely restaurant, during fashion week. Stop for just a moment and reflect on the perfectness of it all.” Dutifully, they were silent, and absorbed it for all of two seconds.
“Okay, so tell us about Sébastien. Is it me, or does he remind you of Keanu Reeves?” Marian asked.
“So this room is dedicated to Serge Gainsbourg. He was a painter, musician, and actor. Very significant celebrity amongst the French. I think he was married once or twice, supposedly had tons of illegitimate children, and had an affair with Bridget Bardot. His song “Je T’eme…Moi Non Plus,” was written for her. Though he performed it with Jane Birkin, the woman he lived with for many years,” Kathleen responded, acting as tour guide and distractor.
“You know I’m just going to keep asking.” Marian said.
“Once appearing together on a Parisian talk show, Gainsbourg told Whitney Houston on camera that he wanted to fuck her. The audience loved it. Apparently, Whitney was left quite speechless,” Kathleen upped the ante, hoping Marian would fold.
“And asking,” Marian continued, strumming her fingers on the blond wood of the table.
“The man was a raging alcoholic, apparently quite revolting at times. He died of a heart attack when he was in his early 60’s, I believe. Petula Clark wrote a song for him.” Kathleen was unrelenting.
“We now know more about Serge than Sébastien,” Hillary observed drily.
“He became quite a folk hero in France,” Kathleen continued her thesis.
“Serge or Sébastien?” Marian asked.
“Serge,” Kathleen responded, now openly laughing.
“Boring!” Marian declared!
She was rescued by the waiter who brought the wine and poured each a small amount to taste. After nodding joint approval, he filled their glasses, leaving the bottle in the center of the table, then drifted away.
Marian raised her glass to propose a toast, “To Kathleen, for her fine taste in cities, restaurants, and men!”
After another sip, Hillary then raised her glass and proposed, “To Kathleen, and the great success she has found in Paris! To Sébastien, about whom we’d like hear more! And to Marian, may we finally get to hear less!”
Choking on her wine, Kathleen’s coughing fit went unnoticed as the waiter delivered food with just a little flourish. Since they weren’t paying the homage he felt the meal deserved, he gave Marian and Hillary a stern look while Kathleen dabbed the spray of red wine off her chin.
Kathleen rattled off a great deal of praise and delight, which seemed to satisfy him. Reassuring him, Marian and Hillary offered their compliments in broken French. He politely smiled at them and with a ‘Bon Appetit’ left the table. Food and the French – very serious business.