Luck Be A Lady

The eyes that greet you are kind. There is no reason to expect otherwise, but it is surprising to see it. You thought that was something that only happened in books or movies, and just like that—you feel like a character in a novel. You’re here for a story, but unexpectedly you realize that now that you have met the storyteller, you are a part of her story, or you will be one day. 

In addition to kind blue eyes, she has black hair, lightly streaked with silver. She’s waiting for you on a loveseat. You know her story isn’t new—it happened a while ago, and yet there is a youthfulness about her. She cannot be as young as she looks. The kindness in her eyes makes you think of those princesses in the books who are sweet despite some tragic backstory. Something in you understands that this woman has chosen kindness regardless of the hardships she has borne.

You take a seat across from her and she smiles warmly. "So you’ve come for a story have you? I’ve got loads of tales I could share, and more than a few I can’t.”

Excitement builds at the thought of what you will learn, the story you will get to hear. “Thank you for meeting me today. I’m writing an essay for my history of music class. I thought it would be interesting to write about the world around jazz, instead of just another summary about where it came from and what came next.”

Her smile turns a little mischievous. “Music? Oh, yes. I’ve got just the thing. It was a different time, a different world. But people don’t change, and they aren’t black and white, and neither are the rules."

It was a struggle for the scant evening sunlight to reach the dim room through the dust-encrusted windows. A single bulb hung from the center of the ceiling, and the large desk looked as if it hadn’t been moved since it was first placed in the center of the room—leaving just enough room for a couple of chairs in either side of it. There was no warmth and the only suggestion of life was the stale scent of old cigarette smoke, long gone.

A small, but beautiful woman with obvious Chinese features in her silky black hair and wide, blue upturned eyes, entered the room cautiously, gauging the space with a critical eye. The man who strode in behind her was as different from her in personality as night was from day. Tall and lithe, his large bright green eyes, golden hair, and easy smile made him seem more like a golden retriever than a man. 

He spoke excitedly with a grin that belied the gloomy space, “This place is perfect, Bugsy! All we need are a couple of lamps and a file cabinet.”

“I think it might need a thorough cleaning before anything else. The only thing close to perfection here is the cost of rent,” she replied cynically.

He drooped and turned a wounded face to his companion, his pleading eyes almost childish. 

She shook her head at him and shrugged. “Sorry, Kitty. But it’s going to take more than a lamp to make this place ready to operate.”

“C’mon M’Lady! All we need are a couple of cases under our belts, then we’ll be right as rain.”

She looked at him sideways, “You know I’m hardly a lady, Adrien.” She scoffed lightly, “A woman detective is barely considered a person.”  

“You’ll always be a lady in my eyes, Bugsy.” Adrien threw an arm over her shoulders and pulled her in for a side hug. “Just you and me against the seedy underbelly of the city, right Marinette?”

Marinette shrugged her shoulders and stepped back, offering a grim smile. “That’s right. Just as soon as we clean this place up and get our shingle hung.”

Bam. Bam. Bam.

Both parties were startled and turned towards the door at a sudden pounding. They were not expecting company. Adrien pulled it open and a tall imposing man didn’t hesitate before walking in, fully expecting to command attention. 

“I have a job for your little agency. But I need it done before you open your doors.”

Adrien shrunk away slightly, even though his expression brightened. On the other hand, Marinette bristled and pulled herself to her full height. “Commissioner Agreste, with all due respect, I think you’re just trying to keep Adrien under your thumb.”

He scowled at her, but she didn’t so much as flinch. 

“While I may not appreciate my son’s involvement with your little endeavor, Miss Dupain—”

“ Dupain-Cheng.” Marinette corrected instinctually—not that it was regarded. 

“—I do value your skills in this regard. We need skilled PI’s to look into something. Someone who won’t be recognized. A pair of detectives that no one knows about yet would be worth the fees the department is willing to pay.”

“Commissioner, we aren’t going to delay opening just for some ploy of yours to keep Adrien from choosing his own path.”

Adrien had been watching the discussion with a certain amount of trepidation, but he cut in, turning imploring eyes on his friend. “C’mon Bugsy, let’s hear him out. If we get a police consultation job, it’ll set us up real good to open.”

Marinette frowned at her partner, “Kitty! You will never be free from his tyranny if you keep trying to earn his approval.”

“I know, Bug, but let’s just listen. If we get hired—we’ll get it in writing—and we can still be operational, even if the public doesn’t know it yet.”

“I hate to interrupt… this,” Gabriel interjected with a dismissive wave. “I will leave these details with you.” He handed a folder to his son. “If you do not return it to me within 24 hours I will assume you are taking the case.” He pivoted and strode out of the room, leaving the duo to make their choice.

Silence followed his departure for a moment while the dust settled. Adrien looked at Marinette imploringly, a smile growing the moment her shoulders relaxed infinitesimally.

“Listen, Kitty.” Marinette placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “This is the last time, or I walk. I can’t keep watching him use you and ignore you. I certainly don’t need his approval—and you shouldn’t either.” 

“I promise, Bugsy. This is the last time.” He beamed. “We have our first case!”

“That’s something, I guess.” Marinette tugged the folder out of his hands, “Let’s see what we’re investigating.” Adrien had been her friend for a long time, certainly she owned him this much. Despite the hardships her family had faced, she would not have traded her position with Adrien for anything. Her parents were wonderful and supportive. How could she deny her long-time friend the chance to reconcile—or at least smooth things over—with his father if it was in her power to help?

Their friendship wasn’t perfect, they were different in a lot of ways, but so far it had stood the test of time. Adrien had never treated her like she was different. It took a second to shrug off the thought that he had never made allowances for their differences either—he always seemed to think that their experiences were more alike than they were.

I was six or seven when I followed a fascinating bug farther from home than ever. I had to squeeze through a wrought iron gate to keep my eyes on it.

“What are you doing?” A voice asked from above me. I looked up—losing sight of the bug—and saw the owner of the voice, a blond boy in the tree that towered above me. 

I wrinkled my nose at him. “I’m looking at bugs. What are you doing in that tree? You look like a kitty stuck up there.”

“I’m just climbing it,” the boy answered.

“That’s not how I climb trees. You’ll never get down with your feet like that.”

The boy frowned. “Maybe I don’t want to come down.”

“Alright then, Kitty.” I’d lost sight of the beetle, so I pushed some leaves and grass around with a stick, trying to find it again.

“Wait!” I looked back up. “Could you show me how you climb trees?”

“Are there any bugs up there?” I watched his eyes widen, but he looked at the trunk and nodded. “There’s some ants.”

“Oh, alright then.” I clambered up the tree, and once I was done watching the ants scurry through the craggy bark, the boy did a good job of following me back down. He asked me to come back—he wasn’t allowed to visit outside his home, and he liked playing.

It wasn't long before I started to visit regularly. Adrien wasn’t always outside when I came by, but when he was around, he never teased me for climbing trees or knowing the names of the insects we found.

It wasn’t easy looking as different as I did. My family came to America from France, but Maman is Chinese. I hadn’t been allowed to climb trees at the park, none of the other little girls ever did and Maman tried so hard to help us assimilate into American culture. I did it anyway when no one was around, but my attempts were always strained with the fear of being caught. That summer I was able to climb Adrien’s trees at will. We found loads of bugs, and I got to watch chrysalises hatch into butterflies just like in my book! Adrien's yard became my personal insect haven. For a while at least. 

Marinette didn’t know what the Commissioner had done to get his hands on the Liberty’s bank statements, but there were some things that didn’t add up on paper. Why he was hiring them to investigate a small but successful jazz club was beyond her. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but seeing as it was going to be her bread and butter as a detective, it was worth looking into. 

“Alright. Maybe there’s something here.” Marinette dropped the file onto the desk, a billowing cloud of dust the only reward for her actions. She wrinkled her nose to stave off a sneeze. “But we aren’t looking to prove anything here, we should just focus on looking for the truth.”

“We should go undercover!” Adrien exclaimed.

“Sure. One of us could work on getting intel from the inside, and one of us can do the legwork, and follow any potential leads.”

“It’s a lounge, I’ll find out if they need a pianist.”

“Good thinking, Kitty. I’ll get the Commissioner to sign our agreement.” She wanted to make sure everything was on the up and up. Commissioner Agreste was supposed to be a civil servant, but he rarely seemed to be on the side of the ‘little guy.’ Marrying one of New York’s most prominent heiresses had launched the man into the city’s elite, and as far as Marinette could tell, he’d do anything to stay on top, despite the fact that he had been widowed years ago.

“They weren’t looking for a pianist. It’ll have to be you.” Adrien flopped down onto a chair, his announcement delivered so casually that it took a second for her to realize how much she’d been counting on him finding an in.

Marinette frowned. The main reason she’d wanted her own business was because it wasn’t easy getting a job when you looked like she, or her mother, did. It was better than it had been a decade ago, but it was still far from perfect. She could likely get a spot in the kitchen, but she wouldn’t be able to see or hear what was happening in the club from a noisy spot in the back of the house. Not that Adrien would have thought of that. He’d been so sheltered, there was a lot of ugliness in the world that he didn’t even know existed. Her friend was either the most optimistic person in the world or incredibly naive. 

“The manager—Mister Couffaine—he said they needed someone with a good set of pipes,” Adrien said with a pointed look.

She glanced at Adrien and finally smiled. “Did you audition?” Marinette giggled as she poked her friend in the arm. He could tickle the ivories with the best of them—not surprising considering his upbringing—but he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life.

“Of course not! I did tell them I might know someone though.” He stared at her intently.

Marinette jolted as if she’d been struck. “What—me? I’ve never performed in front of anyone!” 

“But I’ve heard you sing. You have the voice of an angel.”

Marinette considered it, feeling a little shaky at the idea. They needed an in, she should use every tool at her disposal. Respectable women didn’t perform at nightclubs. But respectable women weren’t detectives either. Good thing she wasn’t a lady. “I guess I could try. But most lounge singers aren’t chosen because they are angelic .” 

She would need to do a little shopping to supplement her largely utilitarian wardrobe if she was offered the stage. She frowned as she glanced down at her attire. Grey skirt and jacket. Pink blouse. Most of her wardrobe was a variation on the same. Gray and a hint of color. Pink, blue, green, or black for specific occasions. The gray was intentional. It was a background color. Gray allowed her to be unnoticeable. If she did this, she would have to infiltrate the club while being intentionally noticeable.

Marinette had learned to blend in long before she discovered a knack for digging up secrets. When you looked like she did it was best to be invisible. American immigrants had their own upper class, their own wealthy ‘elite’ for sure. But she had never been invited to join those circles.

Chinatown had its own club scene with its own stars and starlets, and while it was common enough for the upper-class citizens of New York to visit the ‘exotic’ clubs and marvel at the talent—often shocked by the skill of anyone who didn’t look just like they did—rarely did that go both ways. Would she be welcome in a club outside of Chinatown? Would she be safe?

The building was shut and mostly dark. It was too early for an establishment like the Liberty Lounge to be open, but the sliver of weak light from under the back door suggested someone was there. Marinette didn’t know if she’d be welcome to walk through the front doors during operating hours, so she’d come by early. If someone didn’t want her around, it was better if there wasn’t a crowd. She carefully adjusted her hat, straightened her navy jacket, and rapped on the door.

“Can I help you?” The man who answered the door was large, though not as large as her Papa or the gorilla of a man who’d kept an eye on Adrien when he was younger. He didn’t look angry, but he had the kind of face that didn’t look like it smiled often.

“Is the manager in? Mister Couffaine? I’m looking for work,” Marinette asked solicitously. He nodded and held the door open politely enough, so she entered with all the dignity she could muster. 

“This way.” Marinette followed him to an unmarked door midway down a dim hall. He tapped three times before swinging it open. “Someone here to see ya, boss.”

Piercing blue eyes under midnight hair rose to meet hers before they looked up toward her escort. “Thanks, Ivan. But you’re supposed to call me Luka.”

“Doesn’t feel right when we’re working,” Ivan offered gruffly.

“We’re always working,” Mister Couffaine quipped. “And that shouldn’t matter when we’re family.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Ivan turned and strode away, leaving the door open and Marinette to face Mister Couffaine. 

Marinette had no idea where to start, but Mister Couffaine made it easy for her. He walked around the desk and pulled out the chair for her. “So, what can I do for you, miss…?”

“Marinette Dupain…” She hesitated briefly to think. If she wasn’t wanted here because of her mother’s name, then holding it back wouldn’t help in the end. He wasn’t blind. And she was proud of who she was and where she came from. “Cheng.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Luka Couffaine.”

Marinette shook his offered hand and waited until he had regained his seat across from her. “I’m looking for work. I was told you might have room on your stage for a chanteuse,” Marinette told him bluntly. He had an intensity about him that came close to unnerving her. His gaze was respectful, but it hadn’t wavered from her for a second. 

“Can I ask you a question Miss Dupain-Cheng? It might come off as rather crass, but that is not my intent.”

“Of course.” She didn’t usually get a warning.

“Why here? Why not one of the clubs in Chinatown? I’m sure you would be well received.”

Marinette ducked her head for a second to take a breath. It was a good question, and luckily she had an honest answer. “That’s two questions. But the first is easy enough to answer. My friend Adrien—he’s a pianist—told me you might be looking.” 

Mister Couffaine nodded. “True enough. And the second?”

She took another careful breath; this time to weigh her words before she spoke. “I was just a child when my papa moved our family here from France. Poland had just been invaded, and Papa didn’t want us to stay in Europe. He packed us up and we immigrated to the United States quick as anything when we heard the news. New York City was very welcoming to a talented French baker and his fine bread.”

He nodded, but his expression was a mix of confusion and concern. He had to know in part what was coming.

Marinette continued, “Many people were less welcoming of his wife and daughter. We don’t look French.”

Mister Couffaine’s expression was grim now, but she didn’t stop. 

“Maman stopped teaching me Mandarin. All three of us worked on our English, Papa thought it was the key to fitting in, to assimilating. For him of course, it was easy. When it was just the two of us, Maman felt most comfortable doing her shopping in Chinatown; safer around people who looked like us. But I wasn’t allowed to learn Mandarin anymore. I can blend in in Chinatown, Mister Couffaine, but I don’t fit in. Americans look at me and see a dishwasher, the Chinese community sees a girl disconnected from tradition. Nobody, save for my parents, sees me as either French or American.” 

Mister Couffaine steepled his fingers together and nodded. “I'm sorry to hear that. People should do better."

Marinette appreciated the sentiment, but she wanted to get the focus back to her employment. "So, do I have a chance of singing for the Liberty, or should I go? If Adrien wasn't good enough…"

"Talent had little to do with it. Your friend didn't have what we were looking for. You are a striking woman, Miss Dupain-Cheng, if you sing half as  well as you look, you will do well here."

Had he intended that to be a compliment? His tone was even and honest sounding, but it wouldn’t be the first time that someone was looking for something she wasn’t willing to offer. If he was implying something untoward, then she needed to make her stance clear. 

Marinette stood abruptly, stepped back, and straightened to her full height. "I don't know what you're looking for, but if you think I'm going to do anything for this job other than sing… I'm not interested."

Mister Couffaine looked startled, but he remained seated. "No, Miss Dupain-Cheng. You misunderstand me. It's not like that. Never that. We protect our own here at the Liberty. But like I told your friend, our piano's full. If you are still interested, come by tonight at nine, and we'll see what you've got."

Marinette relaxed at his response to her assumption—thankful that that sort of thing would not be tolerated. She tensed again as the second half of his statement sunk in. "You want me to audition live, while the lounge is open?" Marinette felt suddenly very jittery. Other than Adrien's enthusiasm about her voice, she had no idea if she could be considered good enough to sing at a performance level.

"The best way to test if you're serious is to see how you do when it's crowded. That, and that's when the band is here," Mister Couffaine replied easily.

She nodded. “Alright then. Thank you, Mister Couffaine.”

He stood and walked to the open office door, “Let me introduce you to Juleka and show you the wardrobe. You are welcome to wear any appropriate evening gown, but if you don’t have anything suitable for tonight, you can use something we have on hand.”

Mister Couffaine made sure she knew her way around as he led her out of the hall and into the lounge, past the stage, and then backstage, where it was reasonably well lit. 

“Jules? Are you still back here?” He called as they walked across the wooden floor, their steps echoing hollowly. 

A tall, elegant woman in a smart gray skirt and lavender blouse appeared almost silently from a doorless closet. 

"Can you find something for Miss Dupain-Cheng to use for tonight? She'll be our songstress this evening," Mister Couffaine announced. He turned back to Marinette. “Jules will take care of you, feel free to arrange for tailoring as needed.” 

Marinette turned to the elegant woman and offered a smile. Juleka simply nodded at her, and inclining her head back to the entrance, led her inside. 

Marinette found herself surrounded by a myriad of colors and textures that felt almost dream-like in its abundance. She’d never had a reason to acquire such beautiful garments. Juleka appraised her carefully, then pointed out a rack of sleek gowns with a friendly smile that put her at ease. 

Marinette wasn’t exactly sure who Juleka was to the establishment, but she had never met someone so uncommonly quiet. She didn’t speak a word as she pulled a couple of gowns from the racks, her facial expressions seemed to be all she needed. Within short order, Marinette was leaving with a dress in hand that only needed to be shortened. The dark sequins would flash under the lights, and while it wasn’t anything close to her normal style, she thought she would be able to move easily enough in it once she’d made the necessary alterations.

The club was hopping by the time Marinette arrived shortly before nine. Ivan let her in through the back again and she made quick use of the dressing room. Marinette paused at the threshold of the front of the house, scanning the room carefully. The band on stage was good; she hoped her voice wouldn't do them a disservice when she sang. Mister Couffaine was greeting guests and Juleka was all amber eyes and silent elegance behind the bar, serving drinks with a grace and fluidity that was mesmerizing. 

The story already has you riveted when a tall man with dark salt and pepper hair enters the sunny room with one of those easygoing saunters that make you think of old black-and-white movies. He acknowledges you with a brief but friendly nod, but then his eyes are on the woman whose tale you came to hear, and his smile lights up the room. He is obviously smitten. Love stories are usually centered around young people, but that doesn’t seem to matter here. 

“Let me tell this part.”

Your interviewee apologizes for the interruption before turning to her companion. “No! No one will believe you're dark and enigmatic if you show up before the end.”

“Aw, c'mon Mari. Juleka can be dark and enigmatic. She’s better at it anyway. Please let me tell this part–you never get it right.” He finishes his request with a kiss to her cheek, and you feel a little like an intruder, yet you can’t help but be riveted by the story unfolding in front of you. 

With a long-suffering sigh, she leans into his side, letting him wrap an arm around her as he takes up the story with a smile. He leans forward in his excitement and holds your gaze intently.

“I didn’t know she’d never sung in front of a crowd before. And I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me. This tiny, stunningly gorgeous woman took the stage—wearing my sister’s dress—and let me tell you, it never looked that good on Juleka.”

“Luka!” Marinette gasps indignantly, giving him a gentle swat to his arm.

“It’s true!” Luka insists.

She rolls her eyes at him and glances at you with an amused shake of her head. “If you're going to tell it, you have to do it right. Set the scene. Take a step back.”

“Okay, okay!” Luka turns to you and takes up the tale.

It was dim in the club, it usually was. The lounge was full and the proprietor, Luka Couffaine, hovered in a space between the back of the house and the front of the bar. He kept up a slow amble from one end to the other–always looking like he was making his way somewhere, but never arriving. Available as needed, but rarely interrupted. 

Miss Dupain-Cheng took the stage with a whisper to the surly pianist. Black and purple sequins shimmered around her form, catching the lights and the attention of everyone in the room, especially Luka’s. 

The band started “Fly Me to The Moon” and she hit her cue perfectly. Her eyes were on Luka, following his maneuvers through the club. He, unbeknownst to her, was enraptured.

Fly me to the moon,

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like on

Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

Luka swallowed hard. That was an invitation he wanted to accept. Her voice was smooth as silk, and he knew that he’d give her whatever job she wanted, so long as she stayed. 

Fill my heart with song, 

and let me sing forevermore

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

In other words, please be true

In other words, I love you

He didn't even notice he was holding his breath until she released his gaze just before she got to the line, 'I love you'–which she sang to everyone and no one. The audience was spellbound. He had found his songbird. The Liberty’s chanteuse. 

Luka felt robbed. He felt himself fall towards love at that moment and all he wanted from life was to hear her sing (or say) that she loved him in return. He needed to be careful though, more respectful than usual even. Her circumstances in life had taught her caution and distrust. He did not want Miss Dupain-Cheng to ever have reason to fear him. He tried to shake off the reverie; he didn’t even know if she was available.  

The music shifted, and Luka was treated to the most authentic rendition of “La Vie en Rose” he’d ever heard. Luka’s family hadn’t been to France since they left when he was a boy, but with one line, he was transported to the sway of the old houseboat on the Seine. The original Liberty. If he was very lucky, he would be able to talk the band into learning more French tunes. Even if it meant educating—instead of pandering to—their audience a little. 

You’re so caught up in the unexpected love story that you forget to take notes. Luckily Marinette’s voice interrupts Luka, and you are able to jot down the things you don’t want to forget.

Marinette’s voice is light and teasing. “Are you happy now?” 

Luka’s grin is as cheeky as the wink he isn’t at all subtle about. “Yes.” 

“Are you going to let me finish the story?”

His long fingers wrap around her hand and he leans close to her. “As long as I get to stay and hold your hand.”

Marinette squeezes his hand in hers with a blush, and Luke beams at you conspiratorially. “Even after all this time—she adores me.”

She is shaking her head, but she’s smiling nearly as widely as him. “Shhh. If you want to stay, you have to let me finish. In peace.”

Luka gives her a mock salute with his free hand and jokingly covers his mouth, before settling back comfortably into the loveseat. You get comfortable and turn to a fresh page and follow along as Marinette returns to the tale…

The applause was overwhelming. Cigarette haze made the dim lighting seem murky, but there was no mistaking the enthusiasm of the guests. Marinette had hoped to do well enough to avoid embarrassing herself and was a little shocked at her reception. She’d only sung two numbers, but the applause had turned to pleas for more when she turned to walk off stage. Not knowing what to do—she didn’t have more songs prepared yet—she’d hesitated, nervous about doing the wrong thing. 

Mister Couffaine was there in an instant; he took her spot at the microphone and hushed the audience with a hand. “Let’s hear it for our Songbird, Miss Marinette!” The applause swelled around them once again and Marinette felt a little lightheaded.

“Don’t worry,” he promised the house, “she’ll be back.”

The band came to life and Mister Couffaine escorted her offstage to the quiet hall that ran behind the stage. “You’ve definitely got the position if you still want it,” he offered with a smile. 

“Really?” Marinette was half incredulous. 

Mister Couffaine smiled gently. “Of course. A voice like yours would be welcome anywhere. I hope I’m a good enough businessman and musician to snatch you up before someone offers a better deal.”

She nodded, and tried to quell her excitement. The accolades were nice, the appreciation of her skill almost overshadowed the relief at getting the position she needed for the investigation. “Well, thank you, Mister Couffaine.” 

“You are very welcome, Songbird. We’ll get a schedule worked up for you. Welcome to the Liberty.”

Now that she had access to the lounge three or four nights a week, she and Adrien could find out what, if anything, the Couffaines were hiding, solve their first case and become full-fledged Private Eyes!

She couldn’t wait to tell Adrien.