Natalya led the way. Guy's studio was down a flight of stairs from street level, the number displayed on a very small, very weatherbeaten metal door. There was no buzzer, so Natalya knocked and they waited.
The man that opened the door was remarkable, in several ways. He was very short, very broad, with a wide, fat face. He sported an extremely thin, extremely manicured beard and mustache. His bald head was covered with a few lank white hairs combed over from the side of his head. He wore what appeared to be a velvet smoking jacket that, like the street, had seen better days and, to top it off, a paisley ascot.
'Entre, entre,' he said, acting as though he was greeting old friends. 'S'il vous plait, asseyez-vous,' he continued, acting the perfect host.
The room looked like a small living room set for a stage play, as though the furniture, the paintings on the walls, even the books on the shelves were all props. Benjamin had the thought that indeed Guy's 'studio' was all part of a performance; but whether that performance was meant to assuage their concerns, or distract them from whatever was really going on, he wasn't yet sure.
Guy and Benjamin carried on their negotiations in stilted French. Yes, Guy could provide passports and a visa of la plus haute qualite; yes, he could accomplish this with what he himself referred to as 'incroyable chargez' in a few hours' time, so they could pick up their papers that very afternoon.
Guy asked to look at their real passports. He examined them for a moment, repeatedly glancing from the photos to their faces. He spent considerable time scrutinizing Natalya's. Finally he turned to Benjamin and said a few emphatic words.
'What?' asked Natalya. 'Is something wrong?'
'He says you'll have to change,' Benjamin said.
'Change?' she asked. 'My clothes?'
'No.' Benjamin smiled. 'He says you are far too beautiful, too extraordinaire to go unnoticed. And I don't think it is what you would call a compliment. He means it. You just don't blend in, Natalya.'
'Should I dress as a nun, then?' she joked.
Benjamin turned and conversed further with Guy. After a few minutes of this, he turned back to Natalya.
'It turns out this is a complete studio, indeed. Apparently, besides his work for 'special' travelers like us, Guy uses this place to make certain… what he calls films d'art. I think you can guess what that means.' Natalya nodded, smiling, but Benjamin noticed she didn't seem too surprised. Or too offended. He continued. 'So there is a small dressing room, with makeup, hair dye, wigs, other accoutrements of that… trade.'
'I see,' Natalya said. 'What does he suggest? Something from the Folies Bergere?' She arched an eyebrow, made her lips pouty. 'Like this?'
Benjamin laughed, shook his head. 'Much simpler. Monsieur Directeur suggests short, brown hair for you, perhaps some glasses. The blond is just too… blond. And the eyes-'
'Yes?'
'Are just too beautiful.'
Natalya frowned. 'I do not think le directeur said that.'
Benjamin smiled but didn't answer her implication. 'There's something else,' he said. 'Another of Guy's suggestions.'
'And?' asked Natalya.
'Well… he asked if it would be all right to make us a married couple. He said that's less likely to attract attention than if… well, if some of the people we'll be dealing with think you're single.'
Natalya looked directly at him. 'And what did you say?' she asked.
'I said, for me, it would be an honor, but that I could not speak for mademoiselle. '
Natalya didn't respond for a minute, and Benjamin started to get worried Guy had gone too far. But then Natalya nodded and said, 'I guess that would make me madame, not mademoiselle. '
It was hard for Benjamin to tell exactly how she meant that, but he turned and told Guy to get started.
The next half hour found them sharing the small dressing room. First Benjamin cut Natalya's hair, trying not to chop it up too badly; then she dyed it with a chesnut-auburn mix she hoped would make her hair sufficiently 'ordinary.' Then, while the dye was setting, she cut Benjamin's hair, making it very close-cropped and what she called 'properly Russian.' They found a pair of prop glasses for Natalya-something, Benjamin suggested, Guy probably used in the schoolgirl fantasy epics, which made Natalya laugh out loud. But at least they helped to dim her brilliant blue-green eyes.
When they exited the dressing room, Guy pronounced their transformations tres magnifique, and set about taking photos for their new passports. He took down all of Benjamin's information for his visa and then, rubbing his hands together, said there was nothing left to do but settle their account.
'Ah,' Benjamin said. He explained that their ami mutuel had told them the passports would be ten thousand dollars. Guy looked very sad. He went on at some length about the mounting expenses of this sort of business, the very high risks, the exorbitant costs for bribes… finally Benjamin said, 'Combien?'
'Hmmm,' Guy said, stroking his beard as though in deep, deliberate thought. 'Twenty thousand?' He held up a finger. ' Euros. '
In fact, Benjamin didn't care how much the passports cost. But he felt he had a certain role to play here, or Guy might become suspicious.
'Fifteen thousand,' he said.
Guy shook his head. 'Eighteen, minimum absolu, ' he said, trying to make his flabby chin look resolute.
Benjamin shrugged, tried to look disappointed but resigned. 'D'accord,' he said. He leaned over and said to Natalya, 'For that much money, remember to take the glasses, all right?' Natalya nodded.
Benjamin took the valise into the dressing room to count out the money. He figured he wasn't really concealing anything from Guy, but better to at least appear cautious, or else Guy might feel he was being insulted as insufficiently threatening.
He returned, counted the money into Guy's fat palm, and then added another thousand euros 'pour votre discretion.' Guy smiled, nodded appreciatively.
Guy escorted them to the door, told them to return in two hours' time. Before they left, Benjamin turned and asked Guy another question, to which Guy gave a somewhat prolonged answer. Then they shook hands good-bye, Guy bid them 'Jusqu'a plus tard' and closed the door.
When they reached the street, Natalya turned to him.
'What did you just ask him?' she said. She sounded a bit suspicious.
'I was curious. I've seen enough films to know such people as Guy use the names of the deceased for fake passports.'
'Yes,' said Natalya. 'Like Gogol's seller of dead souls.'
Benjamin laughed. 'I also know databases of such names have improved the last few years, and that they're international. Believe me, I've dealt with enough such lists to know. But he assured me he's well beyond such shopworn techniques, that his methods were thoroughly moderne.'
'Then where does he get the names?' Natalya asked.
'From a friend in the prefect's medical office. But not names of the dead. He uses the names of the near - dead-people who are in comas. Still alive, but unlikely to turn up at an inconvenient moment.'
Natalya blanched. 'You mean, we will be using such names?'
Benjamin nodded. 'Try not to be too superstitious about it,' he said. 'Think of it as giving them a vicarious adventure.'
'I will try,' Natalya said. But she didn't look convinced.
CHAPTER 38
When Benjamin and Natalya left Guy's studio, they walked west toward the avenue de la Republique. As they approached the small park set between boulevard Risso and avenue Gallieni, the buildings became older but more respectable, displaying more of the Italian influence in their arches and white stone and carrying their history with a certain grace and confidence. The day was still bright and warm and, as they strolled, Natalya linked her arm through his.
