A French Song in New York Read online

  A French Song in New York

  Anna Adams

  The French Girl series

  Book 6

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Get the Series Starter

  Copyright

  Anna’s News

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  The French Girl in New York Original Soundtrack

  Other Books by Anna Adams

  About Anna Adams

  Get the Series Starter

  IF YOU HAVEN’T READ the first book in the series, A French Girl in New York is available for NOTHING on all major retailers right here!

  Copyright

  COPYRIGHT 2017 ANNA Adams, all rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced, emailed, uploaded to or downloaded from a file-sharing site, or copied without author permission. If you did not pay for this book or receive it via a free, author-authorized promotion you are in violation of this copyright.

  Anna Adams thanks you deeply for your understanding and support.

  Anna’s News

  SUBSCRIBE TO MY free newsletter and receive “Whispering Walkway,” an enchanting musical piece from the French Girl in New York Original Soundtrack!

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Gilbert,

  For your love and support

  Chapter 1

  FORMER STUDENTS WHO become teachers both fear and fantasize about their fateful first day of school.

  Their apprehension stems from the prospect of facing a new version of themselves, complete with their flaws and qualities.

  It was so with Maude Laurent, a famous twenty-one-year-old singer with beautiful chocolate brown skin, who would soon embark on the incredible journey of becoming a mentor.

  She had returned to New York after a successful world tour and felt that performing for crowds was less daunting than the prospect of teaching vocal lessons to a single Grace Heaton the next day.

  Only practice could calm Maude’s back-to-school jitters.

  That was why she tested her professorial skills in the safe quarters of Soulville Records.

  The cozy Creation Room she worked in had seen her humble beginnings as a singer.

  Only a few years had gone by since Maude had arrived from France, poor and orphaned, singing classical music and French songs. The room was still her haven now that she had a thriving career, a family, friends and, that day, an unwilling beta student.

  Her boyfriend, Matt, far from being an unruly student, had quite a number of faults.

  One of them, he was proud to say, consisted in never missing an opportunity to interrupt Maude’s lesson by stealing a kiss.

  “This is the opposite of an appropriate student-teacher relationship.” Maude extricated herself from Matt’s embrace and kept him at arm’s length.

  “Good thing I’m not really your student.” With puckered lips, he pulled Maude closer to him. She smiled, acknowledging that this fact was indeed a cause for relief.

  “Hold still. I need practice. Grace will be ruthless if I show the slightest hesitation.”

  “Why do you want to give this girl classes again? Oh, right!” Matt slapped the top of his head. “You’re a masochist.”

  “She needs to have someone on her side,” Maude insisted. “She’s spent the last two years at Children’s Haven, after being abandoned by her family.”

  “What happened to her parents?”

  “I never had the guts to ask.” Maude bit the inside of her mouth, tense. “Imagine if she asked me out of the blue, ‘Hey, what happened to your parents?’ I probably wouldn’t tell her. Talking about death usually puts a cramp in any conversation.”

  Matt wrapped his arms around Maude. As she placed her head on his shoulder, she whispered, “One of them must have given her that beautiful voice. With the right training, she’ll get cast as Lilac in my musical. I can feel it.”

  “It’s your musical now, huh?” Matt pinched her right cheek. “Someone’s getting a little cocky.”

  “Violet’s Voice is Mr. Soderline’s musical,” Maude rectified. “But he chose me as the lead. It’s a little bit of my musical, too. Especially since Julia Tanand is no longer a part of it and several of my songs are in the libretto.”

  Nothing made Maude prouder than the reminder that she’d rid herself of a staunch rival with little effort on her part.

  Due to pure happenstance, she had discovered the singer who proclaimed she was French and a pianistic prodigy did not know how to distinguish a do from a fa on a keyboard.

  Under Alan Lewis’ manipulative tutelage, Julia had sought to overshadow Maude’s career. Now that Maude knew the singer’s secret, and had graciously promised that she would not reveal it, Julia would no longer be a problem.

  “Imagine me playing a French girl moving to New York to become a singer. That’s already my real-life story!” Maude squealed. “I’m so excited to start rehearsals soon.”

  Raising her arms in the air with an exaggerated sigh, she flapped her arms like wings, before racing to the broad French windows. She gazed at Manhattan with a renewed sense of healthy ambition. Classical, pop, and now Broadway. The city had so much to offer to those who dared to dream.

  “Any particular reason why you’re looking forward to these rehearsals?” Matt asked as he came up to the window and stood next to her.

  He stood still, but it was his crisp tone that indicated to Maude that something was amiss.

  “I wrote part of the songs and the story’s inspiring. Why else would I look forward to ...?”

  Matt blinked twice, turned away from her, and emitted a long, heavy whistle.

  Maude followed him. “You heard?”

  “Did I hear Thomas Bradfield got a part in the musical?” Matt put his hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders. “I’d have to be buried under a rock to avoid hearing about it. I was kind of wondering when you’d tell me about it.”

  “You see,” Maude started nervously, “the thing is, I thought you’d mention it once you found out.” Maude winced at her lack of intelligence. “Tell me you’re not anxious about this. I heard it would be a tiny role.”

  Removing his hands from his pockets, he lifted them as if to shield his torso.

  “I’m not anxious. In fact, I’m kind of curious to listen to him sing something other than a song he stole from us. Not sure he can,” Matt laughed.

  Maude rolled her eyes, but was relieved that the tension had diffused.

  Matt would never get over Thomas and Lindsey Linton plagiarizing Paris versus New York City, and she no longer expected him to. But she had moved on.

  “This, right here, is something I don’t understand. Why are girls always said to be petty, but not guys?”

  “I’m not competing with him! Because I’ve already won.” Matt gave her a coy smile. “I’ve got a career and he’s running after crumbs. I’ve got the girl he loved. He’s got Lindsey Linton.”

  “Lindsey’s a good person.” Matt’s raised eyebrows prompted Maude to add, “When she wants to be.”

  “Maybe I should date her then.”

  Maude squeezed his nose. “You could, but then you wouldn’t be dating a singer sl
ash teacher of the year.”

  “That wouldn’t be so bad,” he said in a nasal tone. “No corporal punishment.”

  Maude released his nose and kissed its tip.

  “Every student has a crush on at least one of their teachers.”

  “You got me. I had a mad crush on my sixth grade math teacher. She smelled nice and had shiny hair. Her smile was like a ray of sunshine,” Matt sighed dreamily. “I became good in math, thanks to her. I’m positive, Maude, had I been of legal age, I’d have stood a chance.”

  “Keep dreaming,” Maude laughed. “I knew I never had a shot with my math teacher. He took pleasure in giving me bad grades. Loved to remind me just how bad I was at it. I’ll never be like him. I want to encourage my students to do better.”

  “I like being encouraged,” Matt nodded gravely. “Please, do encourage me.”

  Maude’s giggles burst out like sparkling wine from an uncorked bottle.

  Locking her arms around his neck, she nibbled his lip before kissing him gently.

  For she was certain that no student, no musical, and no Thomas Bradfield could ruin the happiness of two people in love.

  Chapter 2

  WHILE MAUDE’S BLISS was complete, Jazmine Baldwin’s happiness was in peril.

  That afternoon, she sat in the Brooklyn Label with the members of her band. She stared at the screen of her laptop which displayed Blaze’s website page.

  Times were dire, and she needed their help.

  Unfortunately, Jazmine doubted the extent of the support they were willing to give, especially Rachel.

  The band’s drummer slouched, her nose buried in a medical book. She twirled a strand of her short, brown hair, revealing two piercings on her left ear. Her green glasses fell down her thin nose and she constantly pushed them back up, unaware that Jazmine expected her undivided attention.

  Tatiana, a more confident young woman than when they’d initially met her, munched on a chocolate chip cookie.

  Gone were her fake breasts and butt. What remained was a young, talented guitarist who loved makeup and could not imagine life without lipstick. Her tiny, brown eyes adorned with eyelash extensions blinked quickly as she listened to Jazmine’s speech.

  Next to Jazmine sat the rebellious Haze, a girl with skin brown like caramel, eyes the color of hazelnuts, and long, dreadlocks falling to her waist. Biting her lower lip, the faint scar she showed was a pledge of the many battles she’d fought. Arms crossed, she listened to Jazmine with a scowl.

  “It’s not my fault no producer was interested in the demos we sent.” Haze glared at Tatiana, indicating that she was the cause for every implicit refusal the music industry had made.

  “I’m not pointing blame,” Jazmine sighed. “All I’m saying is that we’ve got to think of a new strategy. Aren’t you girls sick of being struggling artists? I can’t rent an apartment with Maude because I insist on paying half the rent, but I can’t even afford a closet in the apartments we visited. We’ve got to stop performing in bars and cafés without receiving any results. We need to build a real following.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it, too.” Tatiana brushed an eyelash from her cheek. “I heard a lot of musicians are discovered in the subway. We should do that: film our performances, post the videos on YouTube, and make them go viral.”

  “You girls never had a career before Blaze. I have a reputation to maintain in the bars I sing in.” Haze cracked her knuckles. “I’m not singing in the street.”

  “Tat, you forgot we’re in the presence of Upper East Side royalty,” Rachel mumbled. She turned a page in her book, ignoring the murderous look she received from Haze.

  It was no longer a secret that Haze grew up in the Upper East Side with two adorable fathers and a flock of loving brothers and sisters.

  Until recently, they had mistakenly believed her life was a miserable one, although Haze had not once explicitly said this was the case.

  The clues the girls had relied on to form this false belief was Haze’s wardrobe filled with holes and her disdain for money.

  Since the girls had discovered Haze lived in an affluent neighborhood, they teased her frequently, mocking the artist’s thirst for the unconventional.

  “To think you were once all about artistic authenticity.” Tatiana wrung her hands in mock despair.

  “You accused Tatiana of acting like a princess,” Rachel added.

  “I said she was a Barbie,” Haze insisted on the distinction, convinced that the latter was less injurious than the former. “Was. Since you got rid of the fake boobs and butt, you’re just a normal doll.” Haze grinned.

  Tatiana lifted her eyes to the ceiling, seeking support from the dusty fan rotating like a tired windmill on the verge of collapse.

  “Girls, I have a plan.” Jazmine wriggled, creating a deep dent in the couch. “Tatiana’s right about building an online following.”

  “Don’t we already have one?” Rachel asked at the same time as Tatiana exclaimed “I am? I love being right!”

  Jazmine turned her laptop around and her friends leaned in closer. “As of today, we have two hundred subscribers on YouTube. That’s pathetic. We need thousands. Tens of thousands.”

  “No, we don’t!” Haze exclaimed. She closed the laptop. “You think the rock goddess, Courtney Love, needed YouTube to become who she is?”

  “YouTube didn’t exist back then,” Rachel pointed out, putting her book aside. She turned to Jazmine with keen interest.

  “Exactly,” Jazmine continued. “We don’t need producers. All we need is to create a huge buzz on the internet. We’re lucky to be living in a time when we can skip the middleman and bring music to millions of people with just one click. Believe me, girls, if this works, producers will be begging us to work with them. Not the other way around.”

  “We’re unconventional,” Tatiana said. “They’re probably too scared to launch the career of an all-girl rock band. But if we show them it works, they’ll know they won’t be wasting money on a high-risk operation.”

  “How do we create this magical buzz? How do we go viral?” Haze asked. “By wishing on a shooting star?”

  The girls fell silent, allowing the 90s music to fill the café.

  Mugs scraping against saucers, coffee machines spewing foam, and coins rattling in the register did not create the ideal environment for ingenious ideas.

  Jazmine slid her laptop across the table onto her knees and tapped furiously across the keyboard.

  “The first step is creating weekly content.” She scanned the article and added, “Videos for our songs.”

  “Great idea, Spielberg. But we don’t have any money,” Haze pointed out.

  “Your family does,” Rachel giggled.

  “You know what else is funny?” Haze snapped. “You lying to your mom about wanting to become a doctor when you don’t.”

  “Hey, I’m not lying. I may not get the best grades, but I’m studying, aren’t I? When I’m not listening to you moan about capitalism.”

  “Just because I’m loaded doesn’t mean I think it’s right that people can’t eat three meals a day everywhere in the world. Or that climate change will hurt developing countries first, though our countries screwed up our planet in the first place just so we could live with a bunch of things we don’t even need! Or­—”

  “Hey, girls!” Jazmine snapped her fingers. “Get back to business. What we need is someone who will film our videos in a professional manner, but for an affordable price. Anyone know someone who fits that description?”

  “My iPhone?” said Tatiana. “I make some really good videos with it.”

  “Nobody needs you to take amateur selfies,” Haze snarled, though she still glared at Rachel. “Jazmine wants cheap and professional. Not just cheap. Got it?”

  “Good luck finding that.” Rachel reached for her textbook. “You usually get one or the other. Rarely both.”

  “A student film director maybe?” Jazmine suggested, thinking aloud. “Any of you
know one of those?”

  “My friends are all future doctors,” Rachel sighed.

  “Unlike you,” Haze snarled.

  “I can get you free flu shots,” Rachel added, ignoring Haze’s jab. “That’s about it.”

  “I don’t have that many friends,” Tatiana shrugged.

  “Go figure.” Haze slumped into her seat. Tatiana threw an empty tea bag at her. It landed on Haze’s lap and she brushed it off with a lazy hand.

  “Didn’t you used to date that actor? That really handsome guy who played a vampire?” Tatiana tapped her forehead, searching the depths of her memory for a name that inexplicably escaped her. “Got it! Jason Taylor. He was your boyfriend. You’re one lucky girl.”

  “No. No way!” Jazmine cried out. “I can’t contact him. He hates me now. I’m not-I can’t ask him for this huge favor. Just picture this. ‘Hi there, Jason. I broke your heart years ago, but hey why don’t you give me Christopher Nolan’s number?’ Jazmine squeezed her sides anxiously. “Ugh, he’ll hang up before I even have time to say hi.”

  “You don’t have to ask him to introduce you to a big shot director,” Rachel said. “All you have to ask him is if he has any good film students among his friends. And explain that it could be an experience for that person. Great publicity.”

  Jazmine took a sip from her cappuccino. She tapped her cup with frenzy.

  “I guess I could. If I make it sound like I’m doing him a favor as well. I’ll do it. Yup. Mm-hmm. No matter that it’ll cost me an enormous amount of pride. I’ll do it. For the band. But I’ll need backup if he agrees to meet with me,” she decided. “I need Maude.”

  Chapter 3

  MAUDE HAD RECEIVED lots of praise during her career. Not only did she love it, she’d grown used to it.

  Extraordinary singer. Gifted pianist. Astute marketer.

  Maude was also the object of much judgment.