Drunk in Paris
La Beaute
They say Paris is the city of dreams; the bohemian base for all that is music, love and passion. They say that if you can’t fall in love in Paris you can’t fall in love anywhere. I’ve been here a grand total of a week and I’m still waiting, I suppose whoever ‘they’ are they figured it took longer than a week to fall in love.
I was currently sitting at a small café around the block from where I was staying; the sun beat down hard this afternoon so the majority of the customers, including myself, were outside enjoying the warm air. To thoroughly get into the romantic mood I was scanning over the words of my much thumbed copy of Baudelaire and dreaming of rich smoke filled bars, expensive wines and sweet music.
I could hear distant conversations in French behind me, picking up every other word. The French people, I do not particularly like that much, but I do find myself feeling a connection with them, hated and admired at the same time…mostly hated.
Lost in my thoughts a shadow suddenly cast itself over the current page in my hand and I glanced up to see what was blocking the warm rays of the sun, the waiter trying to sponge another nine euros from me probably.
It was a man…but definitely not my waiter. I could tell immediately that it wasn’t the nanny waiter as my eyes had first come into contact with a thick metal belt buckle.
The thick metal block of silver dice was attached to black jeans, skin tight black jeans…my eyes moved upwards to a creased black shirt, then further up, tracing the line of a thin red tie, to a leather jacket, a thick, heavy leather jacket.
But my eyes came to rest on something dazzling, breathtaking… his face…
My stomach dropped at this guy’s features. The small nose, his dizzyingly green eyes, framed with small wrinkles, they pierced mine so warmly, they made me smile at him.
He smiled back, whether out of politeness or fully knowing I had been knocked for six by those eyes of his. I clamped my mouth shut as he opened his to speak.
“Hey.” He blinked, an American drawl realising from his soft lips.
“Err…you do speak English don’t you?”
I nodded, smiling, “Yes.”
He grinned wider, “Sorry I…just…thought I’d check.” He chuckled. My stomach tossed at the sweet sound,
“Err yeah I have disturbed you for a reason I promise. I was just wondering if you could tell me where The Normandy Hotel is. I err…I walked too far and now I have no idea where I am!” he chuckled running a hand through his thick black messy hair, looking slightly terrified that he had approached me.
I smiled; this guy was like a lost ten year old boy.
“Oh, yes, that’s near The Louvre isn’t it?” I smiled at him from under my hair.
The guy nodded, relief in his charming eyes that he knew what I was talking about. Oh he was a complete darling; he looked like he needed taking care of.
“Well, I’m going in that direction anyway, I’ll walk you there if you’d like?”
His eyes shot up in delight, “Really? That’s great, if, if you’re not busy?”
I shook my head and stood up, “No, I wasn’t doing anything anyway.” I smiled closing my book and picking up my purse.
“That’s great thanks.” He grinned stepping aside and letting me join him on the pavement.
I surprised myself that I offered to walk him to his hotel, normally I would have scribbled down directions on my napkin or just pointed down the road, but I wanted to have this guy in my life a little longer. He was staying at The Normandy, that was pretty expensive and by the looks of this guy he didn’t look like he was rolling in money, more like he was rolling in cigarette papers and puddles of beer.
“So, you’re English right?”
I nodded as we slowly sauntered down the Rue Saint Roche.
“What are you doing in Paris?”
I smiled, “I’m working here for a few days, how about you? American?”
I quickly smiled in relief as he answered my question; I didn’t want to reveal my job to this guy, I did not want to scare him off so quickly yet.
“Yeah, I’m from California, I’m doing a show tomorrow here with my band.”
Band. That explains a hell of a lot.
“Oh, anyone I would know?”
“Green Day, were called Green Day.”
I smiled out of awkwardness, I had no clue, I was terrible at modern music, I didn’t keep up.
“Err, I’d like to say that I know who you are but I have no idea.” I sighed staring ahead of me in embarrassment.
I assumed he would immediately get offended, but to my surprise he chuckled
“That doesn’t seem surprising to me at all. You don’t look like a Green Day fan.”
I smiled unsurely, glancing down at my 50s red dress, that swung around my calves with each step, my heels that clacked across the grey pavement.
The handsome stranger turned to me and waved his hands dramatically, mistaking my reaction as that of insult.
“Not in a bad way…no, no not in a bad way at all!”
I chuckled liking this guy more and more by the minute, he smiled back and blinked down at my Baudelaire tucked neatly in my fingers.
“So, what are you reading…?”
“Baudelaire.” I answered quietly.
“Ah Baudelaire!” he chuckled neutrally, not signalling whether he was interested or not.
I nodded, “I’m getting into the French revolutionary spirit.”
“I should get myself a copy.”
“Yes, you should, Baudelaire was a 19th century Rock and Roll star.”
“Ah I could get a few tips then” he grinned widely as we turned down the Rue De Rivoli opposite a magnificent park called Jardin Des Tislenes, somehow, just by how this guy walked I figured he didn’t need any help in being a rock star.
“What do you do in your band then?” I asked as we both turned our heads to see a family running around the grassy verge, his eyes dropped for a second before he answered me.
“I sing and play guitar.”
“Oh. You must be the talented one then.”
He chuckled and I found myself desperate for him to excrete the adorable sound as much as possible.
“Oh no we all have our own special talents.” He smirked, eyes glinting in their wise frames of lines.
“I’m sure; do I want to know what they are?”
“Probably not.”
We quickly descended onto Saint Honroe street, that of his hotel. My heart grew heavy at the thought of him departing from me.
“Oh yeah I recognise were we are now, the hotel is just down there.” He pointed down the secluded leafy street.
I nodded.
“This was really nice of you by the way.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind at all, Paris is pretty sketchy, especially because all the streets look and sound exactly the same.”
He nodded, “I know it’s crazy, at least in the US we try and keep it simple.”
“Simple numbers.”
“Simple numbers simple names, none of this Rue row Rank malarkey.”
I chuckled before my heart sank as the front of his hotel came into view.
“Here we are.” He sighed stopping and turning to face me, “Thanks again.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he looked slightly disappointed.
“Hey!” He began running a hand through his black frantic locks.
“Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could get a drink or something.”
I smiled before realising I was occupied,
“Oh God I’d love to but I’m working tonight.”
Billie gave me a sad smile, “That’s a shame, maybe another time?”
“Yes maybe.” I smiled despondently back.
“Do you think we could swap numbers? I’d love to say thank you properly for you rescuing me in my hour of need.”
I smiled warmly, “Of course.”
We both took out our cells and typed in opposing digits, he finished first and turned to me biting his lip.
“Err, I’m sorry but I’ve just realised I have no idea what your name is!”
I chuckled, “I suppose we never got round to that.”
“No, oddly enough.”
We smiled at each other for a while before I broke whatever kind of ‘moment’ we were having.
“So what’s your name?”
He stumbled back wards chuckling, “Oh God yeah, err Billie Joe.”
Billie Joe.
How appropriate for such a delightful man.
“And you?” he asked, a cloudy glint in his emerald eye.
“Ava.”
“Ava.” He repeated typing it into his phone.
“Yeah like Ava Gardner, the 1940s movie star.”
“Ah! Yes, of course great, I’ll give you a call sometime.”
I smiled, “Okay.”
I began to walk off down the street, unable to cope with the bubbling excitement in my chest.
“OH AVA! THANKS AGAIN!”
“NO PROBLEM!” I yelled back before watching him disappear up the marble steps into the hotel lobby.
Billie Joe.
I guess I have fallen in love after all.
I was currently sitting at a small café around the block from where I was staying; the sun beat down hard this afternoon so the majority of the customers, including myself, were outside enjoying the warm air. To thoroughly get into the romantic mood I was scanning over the words of my much thumbed copy of Baudelaire and dreaming of rich smoke filled bars, expensive wines and sweet music.
I could hear distant conversations in French behind me, picking up every other word. The French people, I do not particularly like that much, but I do find myself feeling a connection with them, hated and admired at the same time…mostly hated.
Lost in my thoughts a shadow suddenly cast itself over the current page in my hand and I glanced up to see what was blocking the warm rays of the sun, the waiter trying to sponge another nine euros from me probably.
It was a man…but definitely not my waiter. I could tell immediately that it wasn’t the nanny waiter as my eyes had first come into contact with a thick metal belt buckle.
The thick metal block of silver dice was attached to black jeans, skin tight black jeans…my eyes moved upwards to a creased black shirt, then further up, tracing the line of a thin red tie, to a leather jacket, a thick, heavy leather jacket.
But my eyes came to rest on something dazzling, breathtaking… his face…
My stomach dropped at this guy’s features. The small nose, his dizzyingly green eyes, framed with small wrinkles, they pierced mine so warmly, they made me smile at him.
He smiled back, whether out of politeness or fully knowing I had been knocked for six by those eyes of his. I clamped my mouth shut as he opened his to speak.
“Hey.” He blinked, an American drawl realising from his soft lips.
“Err…you do speak English don’t you?”
I nodded, smiling, “Yes.”
He grinned wider, “Sorry I…just…thought I’d check.” He chuckled. My stomach tossed at the sweet sound,
“Err yeah I have disturbed you for a reason I promise. I was just wondering if you could tell me where The Normandy Hotel is. I err…I walked too far and now I have no idea where I am!” he chuckled running a hand through his thick black messy hair, looking slightly terrified that he had approached me.
I smiled; this guy was like a lost ten year old boy.
“Oh, yes, that’s near The Louvre isn’t it?” I smiled at him from under my hair.
The guy nodded, relief in his charming eyes that he knew what I was talking about. Oh he was a complete darling; he looked like he needed taking care of.
“Well, I’m going in that direction anyway, I’ll walk you there if you’d like?”
His eyes shot up in delight, “Really? That’s great, if, if you’re not busy?”
I shook my head and stood up, “No, I wasn’t doing anything anyway.” I smiled closing my book and picking up my purse.
“That’s great thanks.” He grinned stepping aside and letting me join him on the pavement.
I surprised myself that I offered to walk him to his hotel, normally I would have scribbled down directions on my napkin or just pointed down the road, but I wanted to have this guy in my life a little longer. He was staying at The Normandy, that was pretty expensive and by the looks of this guy he didn’t look like he was rolling in money, more like he was rolling in cigarette papers and puddles of beer.
“So, you’re English right?”
I nodded as we slowly sauntered down the Rue Saint Roche.
“What are you doing in Paris?”
I smiled, “I’m working here for a few days, how about you? American?”
I quickly smiled in relief as he answered my question; I didn’t want to reveal my job to this guy, I did not want to scare him off so quickly yet.
“Yeah, I’m from California, I’m doing a show tomorrow here with my band.”
Band. That explains a hell of a lot.
“Oh, anyone I would know?”
“Green Day, were called Green Day.”
I smiled out of awkwardness, I had no clue, I was terrible at modern music, I didn’t keep up.
“Err, I’d like to say that I know who you are but I have no idea.” I sighed staring ahead of me in embarrassment.
I assumed he would immediately get offended, but to my surprise he chuckled
“That doesn’t seem surprising to me at all. You don’t look like a Green Day fan.”
I smiled unsurely, glancing down at my 50s red dress, that swung around my calves with each step, my heels that clacked across the grey pavement.
The handsome stranger turned to me and waved his hands dramatically, mistaking my reaction as that of insult.
“Not in a bad way…no, no not in a bad way at all!”
I chuckled liking this guy more and more by the minute, he smiled back and blinked down at my Baudelaire tucked neatly in my fingers.
“So, what are you reading…?”
“Baudelaire.” I answered quietly.
“Ah Baudelaire!” he chuckled neutrally, not signalling whether he was interested or not.
I nodded, “I’m getting into the French revolutionary spirit.”
“I should get myself a copy.”
“Yes, you should, Baudelaire was a 19th century Rock and Roll star.”
“Ah I could get a few tips then” he grinned widely as we turned down the Rue De Rivoli opposite a magnificent park called Jardin Des Tislenes, somehow, just by how this guy walked I figured he didn’t need any help in being a rock star.
“What do you do in your band then?” I asked as we both turned our heads to see a family running around the grassy verge, his eyes dropped for a second before he answered me.
“I sing and play guitar.”
“Oh. You must be the talented one then.”
He chuckled and I found myself desperate for him to excrete the adorable sound as much as possible.
“Oh no we all have our own special talents.” He smirked, eyes glinting in their wise frames of lines.
“I’m sure; do I want to know what they are?”
“Probably not.”
We quickly descended onto Saint Honroe street, that of his hotel. My heart grew heavy at the thought of him departing from me.
“Oh yeah I recognise were we are now, the hotel is just down there.” He pointed down the secluded leafy street.
I nodded.
“This was really nice of you by the way.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind at all, Paris is pretty sketchy, especially because all the streets look and sound exactly the same.”
He nodded, “I know it’s crazy, at least in the US we try and keep it simple.”
“Simple numbers.”
“Simple numbers simple names, none of this Rue row Rank malarkey.”
I chuckled before my heart sank as the front of his hotel came into view.
“Here we are.” He sighed stopping and turning to face me, “Thanks again.”
I couldn’t help but notice that he looked slightly disappointed.
“Hey!” He began running a hand through his black frantic locks.
“Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could get a drink or something.”
I smiled before realising I was occupied,
“Oh God I’d love to but I’m working tonight.”
Billie gave me a sad smile, “That’s a shame, maybe another time?”
“Yes maybe.” I smiled despondently back.
“Do you think we could swap numbers? I’d love to say thank you properly for you rescuing me in my hour of need.”
I smiled warmly, “Of course.”
We both took out our cells and typed in opposing digits, he finished first and turned to me biting his lip.
“Err, I’m sorry but I’ve just realised I have no idea what your name is!”
I chuckled, “I suppose we never got round to that.”
“No, oddly enough.”
We smiled at each other for a while before I broke whatever kind of ‘moment’ we were having.
“So what’s your name?”
He stumbled back wards chuckling, “Oh God yeah, err Billie Joe.”
Billie Joe.
How appropriate for such a delightful man.
“And you?” he asked, a cloudy glint in his emerald eye.
“Ava.”
“Ava.” He repeated typing it into his phone.
“Yeah like Ava Gardner, the 1940s movie star.”
“Ah! Yes, of course great, I’ll give you a call sometime.”
I smiled, “Okay.”
I began to walk off down the street, unable to cope with the bubbling excitement in my chest.
“OH AVA! THANKS AGAIN!”
“NO PROBLEM!” I yelled back before watching him disappear up the marble steps into the hotel lobby.
Billie Joe.
I guess I have fallen in love after all.