Chapter 32
Josée awoke with a yawn, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Blinking away the haze, she glanced around the art-filled chamber of Château Fournier.
Today, she had plans to attend a literary salon with Lisette.
"...I need to get ready."
Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, Josée climbed out of bed, slipped into a dress, and made her way to the dining room.
Lisette was already waiting for her, dressed to impress in a long, elegant gown with a flowing train.
"You're a bit of a late riser, aren't you, Josée?"
As always, Lisette looked stunning. Lately, she had secured a patron as she pursued her dual ambitions of acting and playwriting. Her drive was unmistakable—she wasn’t about to fade into obscurity as just another aging courtesan.
"I only ever read mystery novels," Josée said, downing the grapefruit juice a servant had just placed before her. Lisette gave a disapproving shake of her head.
"Hmm. Mysteries and theater don’t exactly mix well."
"So, what's popular in theater now? Romance?"
"Exactly. Even the male playwrights are jumping on the trend—stories about noblewomen swept off their feet by princes or dukes. That kind of thing."
"Huh."
"But today’s salon isn’t for theater. It’s a literary salon. Still, for us playwrights, it’s important to rub elbows with novelists. If we want to keep up with the times, we can't just stay stuck in the wings. Literature often sets the trends. Troupes that pick up on those early and weave them into their plays will be the ones that shine."
"Baron Vitry dropped by the brothel the other day. He said that if we want to keep our finger on the pulse, we need to dip into the literary world too."
Josée said this as she topped cheese with honeyed nuts and took a crunchy bite.
"This is my first time at a literary salon, though. I have no idea what to expect."
"Wow, is there really something even Josée doesn’t know? Today’s gathering is a 'creative salon.' Aspiring writers of all backgrounds meet weekly to share their work. It’s hosted by Count Phil—a devoted patron of both amateur and professional authors. He’s like the ultimate reader, totally in love with literature. He prints a fanzine for the members, and they critique each other’s stories."
Lisette leaned in, her eyes sparkling. "Brian from Pendry Publishing will be there. And so will the incredibly popular author, Madame Mélias."
"What!? That Madame Mélias?"
Josée leaned forward in disbelief. Lisette chuckled, clearly enjoying the reaction.
"Yep. Everyone brings their best work knowing she's going to read it. No one dares show up with something half-finished."
"Geez... Maybe I shouldn’t go. I don’t know the first thing about literature."
"What are you talking about? I invited you because Madame Mélias wanted to meet you, Josée."
"...Huh?"
Josée froze. Lisette tilted her head innocently.
"Oh? Didn’t I mention it? Madame Mélias specifically asked to meet the young lady from the brothel—Josée."
"...!"
"She might even base her next novel on you," Lisette said with a teasing grin, nudging her with an elbow.
Josée remained frozen.
"I—I’ve gotta get ready!"
"Right? If you don’t hurry, the heroine modeled after you is going to be written as a 'chronic latecomer.' Ahaha!"
Count Phil’s estate stood in the heart of the royal capital, in a district where culture bloomed like spring flowers.
The capital had its own unique literary scene, but this salon existed outside the usual circles—a space where ideas flowed freely, regardless of class or writing style.
Josée and Lisette stepped out of the carriage in front of the count’s residence, their expressions tense, as if preparing for battle.
"I’m nervous..." Josée admitted.
"Wow, you? Nervous?" Lisette teased.
At this kind of event, Lisette was clearly the seasoned veteran. As they walked through the bustling entrance into the reception hall, Josée hovered behind her, anxiously scanning the room.
U-shaped tables were lined with freshly printed fanzines. All around them, guests were already flipping through pages and diving into animated discussions. Some faces lit up; others twisted in disappointment or disdain. The raw display of emotion felt less like a literary salon and more like a brothel—except instead of bodies, it was egos laid bare.
At the far end of the room sat the legendary Madame Mélias, smiling calmly.
Next to her was a stout, stern-looking man with white hair and a matching mustache—likely Brian, the editor.
Josée and Lisette made a beeline for them, practically buzzing with fangirl energy.
"G-good day... Are you Madame Mélias?" Josée asked.
"Oh? Black and gold hair, and a pitch-black dress... You must be Madame Josée?"
Both women squealed in delight, like they'd just met a celebrity. Lisette quickly composed herself, slipping into a more refined demeanor.
"It’s a pleasure to see you again. I’m Lisette—I submitted the piece at the end of this issue."
"Ah, Miss Lisette. I’ve already read it. Yours was the only dialogue-style play, wasn’t it?"
"Yes. I’m hoping to make it as a playwright."
"I’d love to share my thoughts now, but we’ll save critiques for the afternoon session. For now, please take the morning to mingle with the other writers and editors. You might stumble upon some truly valuable insights."
Josée found the concept of a literary salon fascinating. Writing was such a solitary pursuit—without gatherings like these, it would be hard to exchange ideas or gather new inspiration.
Madame Mélias gently tugged on Josée’s sleeve.
"Madame Josée, may I visit your brothel sometime? I’d love to conduct an interview."
"Of course! Any time!"
"I’ll send a formal inquiry later. For today, just enjoy yourself."
Josée and Lisette picked up copies of the fanzine, each page brimming with stories straight from the hearts of the writers present.
Lisette turned to her, eyes gleaming. "Hey, let’s go chat with someone. Oh—look, there’s Baron Vitry. Come on, over there."
With a gentle push, Lisette nudged Josée toward a nearby group. Baron Vitry, a familiar face, noticed her immediately and waved them over.
He was the patron of the Rivère theater troupe, a man in his fifties with a jovial nature and an uncanny ability to get along with just about anyone.
"Lisette, that skit you wrote was quite well done."
"Thank you very much, Baron Vitry."
"It had a nice romantic flavor. Might be perfect as an opener for a rookie actor..."
"That would be wonderful!"
"Everything’s worth trying at least once. If you’ve got more good material, bring it to me."
"Yes, I will!"
As Josée half-listened to the exchange, a hushed voice caught her ear.
"...Look at her, acting all high and mighty just because she managed to scribble out a script."
"She’s only getting jobs because she’s sleeping around. No way she’s a real writer."
Josée turned. Two young men stood nearby, sneering.
Her instinct, honed in the brothel, was to confront hostility head-on. She approached them with a smile.
"Nice to meet you. I’m Josée, just auditing today. What kind of pieces did you two submit?"
They had no problem mocking older women, but wilted under the attention of a younger one.
"Pleasure to meet you. I’m Arsène de Marti—I wrote 'Flowers by the Shore.'"
"I’m Florent Le Bon. I submitted 'The Cake Shop Assault.'"
Josée blinked at the name.
"Mr. Florent... Didn’t you publish 'Wheat and Poison'?"
"Oh, that old thing? I’m surprised anyone remembers. Yeah, it was a mystery—wheat catches fire and causes a massive explosion."
"Ah—that’s a spoiler!"
"It’s out of print now. Doesn’t matter. I’ve written a few other mysteries, but none of them really took off."
Florent had made a dazzling debut at seventeen, but by twenty, his talent had seemingly fizzled out. Josée hadn’t expected to find him here, of all places.
"You’re not publishing commercially anymore?"
"Ouch. Yeah, I want to, but no one’s knocking on my door."
Then Arsène leaned in.
"Hey, Florent, can I ask you something?"
"Sure, go ahead."
"Do you know how many copies Pendry Publishing prints for their paperback runs?"
At that, Josée’s eyes widened. She instinctively glanced toward Brian, who fortunately hadn’t heard. Just as she relaxed, Florent said something even more shocking.
"Pay me, and I’ll tell you."