In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

deconstructed, mechanistic stuff, acrobatics without poetry. But for us,
it is the wrong direction, and we must think of her."
Penny laughed, "Yeah, she might go off the deep end."
"Yes, it is very high strung." Sandro yawned and got up to pull
the drapes shut so they could sleep when it got light.
Dick was knotted into a tight ball on the back seat of the car,
his arms crossed over his knees with one finger drumming nervously on
his opposite knee as they sped down Rue de Rennes, the ugliest street
on the left bank, past the FNAC. Opposite, the blue plastic tarps
fencing the construction scaffolds of rising condo blocks flapped in the
wind, surrounded by rivers of mud and dust. Montparnasse tower
receded in the rear view mirror behind Yusef's darting eyes. Why wasn't
he going straight down Rue Bonaparte. What was the rush?
Clutching her phone in one hand and her inhaler in the other,
Ula pondered the fresh scrubbed face of modern Paris, the veneer of
commerce on every surface. Rome was worse. Stilletto tipped Fendi
legs towered above the Campo Dei Fiori, flowers tossed in favor of
sexy shoes and coats of ragged pelts.
Dick the human pretzel wasn't talking. Whatever it was made
him nervous. Was it money? The Paris renovation was costing a
fortune and life in New York wasn't going to be cheap, not the way he
lived. Or was it Sandro and Penny living like royalty at the Crillon? The
cad had taken her to the ball, they were as good as engaged! Dick was
busy cooking up some scheme, that was it. The pink and lavender
plastic inhaler reminded her of a sex toy, except for the canister of
medicine hiding inside. She pressed down, breathed in, held it. Oh,
what fun!
Down Bonaparte, Les Deux Magots was full of fat posing
tourists. Now Vuitton and Dior and lorded over the antiseptic square,
with their luxe for the masses. Penny in Dior, with the hiking boots or
tottering on heels, all five feet of her?
Down the street, even the Beaux Arts had been sandblasted
clean. She saw young Sandro trudge through the gate with his portfolio,
in defiance of destiny.
Dick's hand was on her knee. He cleared his throat. "Before
lunch, we have to talk. Inez will be so thrilled to have you home."
The soft light of the sun sliced through the drapes, morning
well under way, Sandro with his face smashed into the pillow, his body
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