Thursday afternoon, I wait outside her drab admin building, heart pounding. Justine emerges on sensible heels, drops her bag in shock. Her eyes widen—Boris, from Brazil? I pull her close,…
It was the eighties, no cell phones yet. Detail matters. I enter our penthouse early, a big client bailed last minute. Rare luxury. Marble floors gleam under crystal chandeliers. City…
July 14, 1978. Arcachon. The family house overlooks the main square, fireworks echo from the bal below. I'm 18, newly legal. Beers with grenadine hit hard. Stairs undulate. I stumble…