Chapter Twenty-Three (Continued)
Keith chuckled. I grabbed a pillow and whacked him several times. “That’s not funny, you twit!”
He pushed me back onto the bed. “What’s your hurry? I want to shag all morning.”
“I need the loo, and I’m starving. Is there room service?”
“Oui. What do you fancy?”
“Surprise me. Should we splurge on more champagne? I would love a mimosa.”
“As you wish.” With one huge kiss, he relinquished me. “Don’t take long. I can’t bear being without you even for a few seconds.”
I returned from the bathroom wrapped in my dressing gown, brushing out my hair, and sat on the bed beside Keith. “You should put clothes on before room service arrives.”
Keith ran his fingers through my hair “I’m glad you never cut your hair. It would be like scribbling out some of Monet’s water lilies.”
“You’ve just redeemed yourself for knowing Monet painted water lilies.”
“I pay attention to you. I also know you’re the sexiest girl on earth.” He grabbed my arm and kissed it from my hand to my neck, causing me to erupt in giggles.
“After breakfast we’ll shag all day. He pushed me onto the bed and straddled me. “I can’t get enough of shagging you.”
I pushed him away. “I want to see Paris. I thought we’d take a boat ride down the Seine and have lunch on the banks. Doesn’t that sound romantic?”
He continued kissing me. “But Paris is for lovers, n’est pas?”
Room service knocked on the door.
“There’s breakfast and thank heavens, too. I’m ravished. Get dressed before I open the door, giving that poor chap a cheap thrill.”
Keith saluted me and grabbed his Levis from the floor.
We took our time eating and sipping mimosas before venturing out, arms around each other. Love was everywhere. Couples young and old snuggled on park benches, or engaged in a tete a tete in sidewalk cafes or walking hand in hand snogging. All of Paris was in love along with us.
We walked the streets before coming to the tour boats. The fare was a bit dear.
“You can pay the child’s rate. No one will know the difference.” Keith gave an impish grin.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of laughing. “One more jab about my size and maybe I won’t go anywhere with you.”
Keith wrapped one arm around me and squeezed me tight. “You know you love it.”
We boarded, but so many tourists made seating scarce.
“You can sit in my lap the whole time,” Keith suggested. “That way they can’t question you paying the child’s fare.”
“When you least expect it, I will get even for all your remarks about my size.”
“Or lack there of.” Keith couldn’t resist a hearty guffaw.
We finally found seats together, squeezing amongst other assorted passengers. During the cruise I pointed out various landmarks.
“None of the scenery is as beautiful as you,” Keith said.
“That is so sweet,” some woman sitting near us commented. “I wish my boyfriend said that to me.”
“Maybe you have the wrong boyfriend,” I replied.
“We aren’t boyfriend and girlfriend,” Keith said. “We’re brother and sister.
She eyed us strangely before I told her don’t listen to him. “We’re newlyweds. He’s being a twat.” I had a difficult time not laughing, especially after seeing the poor woman’s expression.
“Don’t listen to her,” Keith jumped in. “We are brother and sister.” He grabbed me for a huge lip lock. “Do you ever snog with your brother like this?”
The woman moved to the other side of the boat.
I couldn’t help laughing. “You are so wicked. You keep that up, you’ll have everyone jumping overboard to get away from us.”
“If I can’t charter a yacht, maybe I can clear off this boat and have you to myself.”
After the boat docked, Keith noticed the woman who’d abandoned us previously and couldn’t resist blowing her a kiss.
“Stop that,” I admonished. “You’ve tortured her enough and all she did was compliment you.”
The boat landed near the Eiffel Tower around ample picnic grounds. We bought smoked salmon with bread and cheese and a bottle of chardonnay.
The river sparkled as if winking its approval at us, and the banks were abuzz with tourists rushing to join the long queue to climb the Eiffel Tower. “This has got to be our most romantic moment ever,” I said. “This time tomorrow we’re back in London with schedules and other obligations. I want our honeymoon to last forever.”
“We’ll take time out for us when there’s the chance during the tour.”
I remembered how he fulfilled that promise in Liverpool, but kept my fears to myself, not wanting to spoil this perfect honeymoon.
“We’ll just make this moment last as long as we can, then,” Keith said.
We began snogging again before I broke free. “There’s plenty of time for that. I say we go explore and see what we fancy.”
I hopped to my feet and Keith reluctantly followed. We browsed store windows and happened upon a lingerie shop. “Ooh,” Keith cooed. “I could see you in some of these. Let’s go in.”
Before I could respond, he grabbed my hand, leading me inside. He approached a mannequin wearing a red lace bra with matching knickers and began fondling it. “This is what I’d do if you wore this.”
“Stop that. You’re embarrassing me!”
“I’ll stop if you go back to the hotel with me.” He grinned his naughty boy grin.
“I’ll leave you here is what I’ll do,” I threatened.
He tried unhooking the mannequin’s bra while I nervously looked around to see if anyone noticed. Out of nowhere, an older woman appeared, yelling at us in French. She was so loud, everyone in the store noticed. Her angry words spat like firecrackers and even I had trouble understanding her. I understood when she threatened to call the gendarmes if we didn’t leave tout suite.
I grabbed Keith’s arm. “Let’s go now!” I got him outside and he erupted in laughter.
“Did you see her face? Wasn’t that a laugh? I love upsetting the snobby Parisians. With a little boy grin, he grabbed my hand. “Come on, let’s find more fun.”
“I’m not sure I want your kind of fun.”
“Oh, can we go back to the hotel and shag?”
“No, in fact I may deprive you until you behave. Or worse, I’ll make you come to the Louvre with me. That’d teach you.”
Keith knelt down. “No! Anything but the Louvre.”
“Get up!” I noticed passersby staring at us.
He sprang to his feet. “Let’s go to that hotel across the street and see what fun we can scare up.”
“Are you trying to set a record for how many Paris establishments you get us kicked out of?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks for the idea.” He laughed hysterically again. “I’m taking the piss, luv. Don’t give me that look. I want to see if they have a piano. I haven’t played all day and I’m having serious withdrawal.”
“All right, but you better behave.”
“Oh, yes, Mummy, I promise.” He grabbed my hand and we dodged oncoming traffic that honked as we dashed across the street.
We entered the hotel’s plush lobby with its marble floor and crystal chandelier hanging from the center. In the corner, sitting on an elegant Persian rug, was a grand piano.
“Eureka!” Keith shouted.
His loud voice caused the few people in the lobby to turn their attention toward us. Keith sat at the piano and began plunking on the keys. I laughed as he created lyrics on the spot describing how much and how many ways he was in love with me. I was unsure if my mirth or Keith’s attire of shredded Levis and his favorite tattered Sex Pistols t-shirt sporting Queen Elizabeth with a safety pin through her face, brought some elderly gentleman in a suit and tie over. He politely asked us to leave.
“No, you need someone to play,” Keith protested. “A piano shouldn’t just be decoration.” With that, he sprung into a beautiful classical piece. “It’s Berlioz,” Keith continued. “He’s one of yours, n’est pas? Or I can do Mozart.” He played Mozart.
I’m unsure if the man understood Keith’s English, and he did look slightly taken aback that Keith played well, but still insisted we leave.
“Bloody hell!” Keith yelled. “I’m just playing your bloody piano. I guess you just keep it for decoration.”
The man stated they had a piano player on staff and had no need for another.
Keith looked at me. “What the hell is he saying?”
I translated, but wished I’d made something up, because Keith wouldn’t leave without speaking his mind
“I don’t see any fucking piano player. Besides, I’ll play for free. jeu de ll pour libre.” He began playing again. “No Mozart or Berlioz? Peut-être un certain Chopin?”
The gentleman now became less polite and threatened to call hotel security.
Keith looked at him, then uttered, “No comprendes,” before continuing playing.
“Let’s go,” I urged. “We’ll find a conservatory.”
Keith got up, wrapped one arm around me and flipped off the gentleman.
“Parisians are too uptight,” Keith said as we emerged outside. “All I wanted was to play their bloody piano and he acted like I polluted his hotel.”
“They don’t like having their ways upset,” I explained. “People are more relaxed in the country.”
“Not changing your ways is the definition of uptight, luv. Besides, your parents live in the country and were quick to judge me without bothering to know me.”
I couldn’t argue. “You have your guitar. We can return to the river and you can play while I paint the scenery.”
Keith lit a cigarette. “Is there any place around here selling Guinness?”
“We’ll check menus along the way,” I answered.
The sun was setting in a couple hours and I was dying to capture our final Parisian sunset on canvas. We found a small café serving Guinness and settled into an outside table. Having my fill of alcohol, I opted for tea. We ordered dinner, but Keith wasn’t being pleasant. He kept going on about the hotel incident.
“I’ll be glad to leave here if that’s the way Paris treats its tourists,” he grumbled.
“Don’t let them bring you down. It’s the last few hours of our honeymoon. We’ll find some place for you to play piano, but I want to paint the Eiffel Tower at sunset. I also want more chocolate.”
We left the café and headed towards the Eiffel Tower. I bought a half-pound of truffles on the way.
We returned to the Eiffel Tower. “We must return in winter,” I said. “The queues won’t be so long. I guess I shouldn’t spend the money anyway.”
“I keep telling you to pay the child’s price.”
I shook my head and took out my art supplies. “I won’t dignify that with a response,” I said. “I won’t encourage you.”
Keith pushed me onto the grass and kissed me. “I never need encouragement. You’re so bloody sexy, it comes natural.”
I kissed him then pushed him away. “I can’t paint from this position.”
“Spoil Sport.” He gave me several kisses before relinquishing me.
I set up my paints and easel while Keith took out his guitar and serenaded me. He was his charismatic self again, making me laugh. “This won’t be one of my better works because you keep making me laugh, you twit,” I said.
The sky was turning a lovely shade of pink and the few clouds hovering about looked like pink candy floss. I took care in mixing my pinks and mauves along with the hints of baby blue that were still left in the sky.
“It’s nearly dark now, luv and I still need a piano.”
“Very well,” I relented. “I’m nearly done.” I filled in some blank spots before taking one step back and declaring my painting finished. I cleaned my brushes and put everything away. “We’ll catch the Metro to the ninth arrondissement. There’s a conservatoire there.”
It was dark when we emerged from the underground and I had to ask directions twice before finding the conservatoire. The doors were unlocked, so we walked in.
“It seems deserted,” I said, my voice echoing against the marble floor in the cavernous entry. “Look for a piano and I’ll look for signs of life.”
The place was dimly lit and my night vision wasn’t the best. I watched as Keith disappeared into the shadows in the opposite direction. I only found locked doors or walls and more shadows. I turned to head back and ran into Keith. Only due to the darkness, I didn’t know it was Keith and screamed.
“Sorry, luv, didn’t mean to startle you. I found a piano.” He dragged me into a large room with polished wood floors and floor to ceiling windows. “There’s no one about. Fancy Chopin or Mozart?”
I shrugged. “They all sound alike to me.”
Keith pointed a finger at me. “Blasphemer! May the angels of music strike you!”
I giggled. “I can’t be a blasphemer if I never subscribed to that religion, but if someone comes by, let me do the talking.”
He gave a bow before settling into playing.
It wasn’t ten minutes before some middle-aged man in a uniform appeared and peppered us with questions. Who were we? What were we doing here?
I had an answer ready. “Il est un étudiant à la London Royal Academy de Musique. nous sommes sur notre lune de miel, ma is il doit pour sa pratique des examens finaux.”
He smiled when I mentioned we were on our honeymoon, and the fact that Keith kept playing, gave my story he was practicing for his final exams, credibility. He told us to carry on and Keith could play as long as he wanted. He turned on the lights and left.
I relayed the message to Keith. “You’re brilliant, luv!” He shot me a smile.
I settled into a nearby chair to illustrate postcards. We stayed two hours before I stashed the postcards into my satchel. “I hate to stop your concert, but the last Metro leaves in half an hour. I don’t want to pay for a taxi.”
Keith sighed. “I’ll be glad to get back to London where I can play to my heart’s content.” He lit a cigarette and wrapped one arm around me as we headed out.
The guard saw us and wished Keith luck on his exams. I thanked him as he saw us out and locked the door.
“I hate to see this honeymoon end,” I lamented. “I could so live in Paris.”
“I couldn’t,” Keith responded. “Much as I’ve loved having you to myself, I don’t think I can live anywhere but London. I’m running into this store. They sell Guinness.”
I didn’t think he needed more beer, but didn’t argue. “We don’t have much time.”
“I’ll only be a few seconds, I promise.”
I followed and watched him buy four bottles.
“I need a couple for the trip home tomorrow.” He opened one bottle and took a swig.
We practically ran the few blocks to the Metro station, then down the mostly deserted stairs. I squeezed into Keith to make room for some bloke heading up, when suddenly I was knocked to the ground and my art satchel torn off my shoulder with that crazy bloke running off with it!
Chapter Twenty-Four
Keith helped me up, asking me if I was all right, but all I could do was yell, “He stole my satchel! Go after him!”
Keith left his guitar and beer and took off. I picked myself up, gathered Keith’s guitar, and limped back up the stairs. I didn’t see Keith or my assailant. Most my brushes and pens were in that satchel. There was no way I could replace it all. I hoped Keith caught up with the despicable rogue. Not only had he stolen my livelihood, he spoiled a perfect honeymoon. The paintings I did reminding me forever of our honeymoon, were in that satchel. Keith must recover it. I shivered as a cool breeze blew up the deserted street. I heard the last train screech into the station, then zoom away. We had to take a taxi after all. Where is Keith? Did he tackle that piece of filth? I was then wrought with terror. What if they’d gotten in a struggle? Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted Keith chase him. Perhaps I should call the police. I hoisted Keith’s guitar to my shoulder and headed in the direction I saw him go. My leg hurt from where I fell. I made it to the next corner but saw only rows of street lamps that gave the ornate facades of the buildings an eerie glow. A few people passed, but none were Keith. Where is he?
I strained my eyes and made out a shadowy figure running towards me. I recognized Keith’s lean shape even in the dim light. He reached me, but my satchel wasn’t with him.
He stopped, gasping for breath. “Sorry, luv. I gave a good chase, but lost him down a dark alley. I managed to throw my beer bottle at him. I know I hit him because I heard him cuss. Was all your money in that bag?”
“No, I keep that tucked under my clothes, but it’s all my art supplies. It’s my entire livelihood. I can’t possibly replace everything.” I burst into tears.
“Cheer up, luv. Maybe when he learns there’s no money in that bag, he’ll abandon it. We’ll come back first thing tomorrow.”
“I’m calling the police.”
“What the fuck for? They can’t do anything. This happens all the time in big cities.”
“I don’t care,” I sobbed. “I must do something.”
Keith took his guitar from me. “Where’s my beer?”
“Your what?”
“I bought beer, remember? Where is it?”
“I only grabbed your guitar. They’re probably still on the stairs to the Metro.”
“Forget it. I’ll buy more tomorrow, only I could really use one right now. I was only half finished with the one I threw at that cunt I just chased ten bloody blocks.”
We walked a few blocks before finding a pizza place open late. I explained what happened and the worker let me use the phone. Keith immediately ordered a bottle of Guinness. I wasn’t in the mood for anything.
The police were sympathetic. They explained these incidents occur frequently and it’s wise to have your wits about you. They also agreed with Keith that chances were once my assailant learned there was no money in his loot, he would abandon it and overall I was clever to stash my money in an unreachable place. I gave them the phone number of our hotel and our number in London. They were kind enough to give us a lift to our hotel. We arrived at our room around one a.m.
“Cheer up, luv,” Keith told me again. “Everything can be replaced.”
“For a lot more than I can afford,” I countered. “Plus there were pictures I painted that were mementos of our honeymoon and that satchel was a graduation gift from my parents. That beast ruined everything!” I flopped onto the bed.
Keith flopped alongside me. “I’ll gladly help you feel better.”
I glared at him. “How can you think of that? What will make me feel better is having my things back.”
“I hope the coppers find that wanker before I do because I’d like to bash his fucking head in with another beer bottle. I only wish I had all the beer I bought. I’d gladly have sacrificed the lot on him.
I smiled slightly at his enthusiasm. “What will I do now?”
“We’ll take up a collection at shows. Your things aren’t worth anything to that cretin. It’s not like he can sell them.”
I leaned over and kissed him. “You know, sometimes you’re so selfish. Then there are times like now when you’re so sweet. I appreciate you going after that abruti, c’est une façon triste de mettre fin à notre lune de miel.”
Keith stroked me again. “Our honeymoon doesn’t have to end badly.”
“Really, I’m not in the mood. I’m washing and going to bed.” I went to the bathroom.
All night I kept dreaming my satchel was found, then woke disappointed.
Unable to sleep, I staggered out of bed early. Keith reached up and stroked me. “Let’s have breakfast on the terrace off the lobby,” he suggested. “We’ll pack our things, then head back to the ninth arrondissement. I know exactly what alley I chased that wanker down. Maybe he dumped your things there.”
“Je n’ai pas tres faim. What if the police call while we’re having breakfast? Maybe they found something.”
“I’m sure you’re not feeling hungry,” Keith sympathized. “But you have to eat. We’ll be on trains all day. As for the police, we’ll leave word at the desk.”
“All right, I’ll go, but I don’t think I’ll eat much.”
We packed and I took a final look at the room where until the end, we’d spent blissful moments. Hard as I tried concentrating on those moments, I couldn’t shake my gloom.
I ordered a strawberry crêpe, but couldn’t finish.
“You should eat more,” Keith encouraged. “If we want to get to the ninth arrondissement, we’d best hurry. We can’t miss the train to Calais or we’ll never be back in time for my show tonight.”
“I’m done,” I said. “I don’t have much appetite.”
We took the Metro to the station where the ill-fated event happened. We lugged our bags as we climbed the stairs, then down the ten blocks to the alley.
“Let’s start with these bins,” Keith suggested, lifting a lid to a dust bin.
With disgust, I sifted through one obviously belonging to a nearby restaurant. I picked through food scraps barely resembling anything edible, while Keith tipped the entire bin, spilling its contents to the uneven and cracked cobblestones. I was glad I’d eaten a small breakfast for the sight alone made me wretch. Keith kicked the contents of his bins to sort it out. His red Chuck Taylors were so tattered they almost looked like they belonged with the trash. I returned to picking through my bin one slimy item at a time.
“Hey, I found something,” Keith shouted. He pulled out what had been my satchel.
“That’s it!” I cried. “Is anything in it?”
Keith shook off the assorted debris before I took it and examined it. “Where are my brushes? There’s only five. I had twenty. And my Eiffel Tower painting is gone!”
“Look at it this way,” Keith said. “That cunt thought your painting was good enough to get money.”
“Still,” I moaned, “it was a memento of the last night of our honeymoon. Now all I have are memories. And that rogue stole most my brushes! They took years to accumulate.”
“They might still be here.” Keith picked through food containers, pieces of plastic and orange rinds before unearthing beneath a clump of old boiled spaghetti, two of my best brushes. “Here, luv. I think they can be salvaged with a good washing. We don’t have time to look more.”
I placed my now slimy brushes into my satchel and used one of the food containers to scoop up the garbage Keith dumped.
“We don’t have time, luv. We’ll miss our train.”
“We can’t leave garbage about.” I scooped a couple more clumps, dumping them in the bin.
“We have no choice. Come on.”
One more scoop into the bin and we were off to the Metro. We had less than half an hour to catch the train to Calais. We ran so fast down the stairs to the Metro, no one could grab my satchel this time. I felt slimy now. Our stop came and we found our loading platform with minutes to spare. Due to our tardiness, however, we weren’t the first to board.
“I’ll go ahead and see if I can save us a seat,” I offered. Being short had its advantages. I dashed under several arms before spotting two seats, made a beeline, stashed my bags in the overhead and slid into the seat by the window. I placed one of my bags on the vacant seat and waited for Keith.
Keith found me. “I promise I will never make fun of your size again,” he said. “Your plan worked brilliantly.” He stashed his bag and placed his guitar between us.
The train finally reached Calais, but we dared not stop to eat for fear of missing the bus to the hovercraft. My small breakfast had since worn off.
“Next time we’re bringing my car” Keith said. “All these train changes and buses and boats is bollocks.”
There was another half hour wait for the hovercraft and although it was only a half hour across the channel, we still had to catch another train to London. We grabbed fish and chips and came straight home. Keith immediately called Ryan. I headed for the shower.
I wasn’t there five minutes before Keith joined me. “Ryan wants me there as soon as possible,” He caressed me. “He thought I’d be home earlier. There’s a band meeting.”
When Keith left, I rang my parents. My father seemed glad to hear from me.
“How was your honeymoon?”
“Too short, but otherwise lovely!” I wouldn’t tell him about getting mugged.
“Let me get your mother. She’ll be glad you called.”
My mother got the other line. “I’m glad you’re back in one piece. You’re doing well if you can afford a couple days in Paris.”
“Paris was lovely, thank you for asking.” I laid my sarcasm on thick.
“What are your plans for the summer?” My father asked. “Will we see you soon?”
“I’ll try to come before the tour starts.”
“I have strong reservations about this tour,” my mother continued.
“You have strong reservations about everything I do now,” I responded, “But I can make my own decisions.”
I cut the call short, promising to be in touch when I knew my schedule.
Louisa was overjoyed to see me when I reached Ryan’s. “I trust your honeymoon went well? I couldn’t get much of a response from Keith.”
“The honeymoon was glorious,” I replied. Again, I couldn’t tell her about getting mugged. Instead I changed the subject. “Have Keith’s parents been in touch?”
“His father called yesterday. I told him you two married and were on your honeymoon. He had the same reaction we all did about your being so young. He’d like to meet you.”
“I’d like that too, but not until Keith is ready.”
Louisa fed everyone before we left for the Borderline.
It was after we got back to our flat that Keith revealed that the tour started in one week in Edinburgh and ended three weeks later in Roskilde. “We’re playing The Borderline almost every night between.”
“Well I’m going to visit my parents then. This may be my only chance all summer.”
“But we just got married. I want you to myself for awhile.”
“Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I’ll never visit my parents. Besides, I want to smooth things over with them.”
“See them after the tour. Come on, I need you right now.”
“I’m not leaving for a couple days.”
Keith sighed in defeat. “How long will you stay?”
“Two or Three days.”
Keith flopped onto the sofa and lit a cigarette. “If you cared about me, you’d stay.”
“If you cared about me you’d stop thinking of just you and consider my needs too. I’m going to bed.
“I’ll be in later.”
Fine, he can pout all he wants, but I won’t give in.
Keith continued pestering me all the next day until I threatened to leave a day early if he didn’t stop.
When the day arrived, Keith fixed breakfast and took me to the airport. “I guess I can’t chase your plane like I did when you took the train last Christmas,” Keith lamented.
I smiled at the memory.
Keith waited with me and we parted with a lingering kiss before I bid him au revoir and joined the queue boarding the flight. I found a seat by a window that also faced the terminal, stashed my bag under the seat and settled in. I peered through the window but couldn’t see Keith. The plane inched away from the terminal and I took one long last look out the window. Someone was running alongside the terminal windows, wildly waving his arms. It had to be Keith. I frantically waved back, blowing kisses and hoped he saw before the plane taxied out of sight.
[To be continued… Click here to view all chapters.]
