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French Love Story – Part Three
(Authors Note : Part One and Two could be instructive)
By Early September it was clear the Indians were not going to let us have their Summer. Fall was prancing impatiently in the wings. And Michelle and I were too far apart.She visiting friends in the mountains, and I scrambling after French sunbeams before they began to imitate their Scots’ cousins. Despite the best efforts of two medium sized minds and two large hearts, the road to re-unification had not yet appeared. Because, as the Tao reminds : “The way that can be described, is not the way.” And thus, it was the way that could not be described(let alone imagined) that did the trick.
Here’s how : I was confirming a reservation at a Bordeaux chateau. The Manager, a Woman, asked : “When will you and your assistant be arriving?” Having never previously mentioned an assistant, I did, dear reader, in that instant, see a red carpet being unfurled. “Well…….uh……would Friday be convenient?” “Impeccable.” She replied. Then, with that classic French combination of assumption and discretion added : “ Zo…….
Ze double bed wheel be ok for you?……….yes? “Absolutement.”
“Parfait” She purred.
And, it was perfect. Three perfect, very pampered days. The chateau was cozy, medium sized. The staff, friendly, non-snob professionals. Our large room had huge windows opening out to the inner courtyard with a view of the vines beyond. The food was equal in quality to Michelle’s kitchen. The wine list, slightly larger. While I filmed, Michelle read in the garden. Otherwise, We frolicked through the countryside. Savouring each other. In a location to be savoured.
But the hard part was not leaving the chateau. It was leaving Michelle at the chateau. I had an early train in Bordeaux Monday morning. Even tho’ I was quieter than Marcel Marceau, Michelle stirred. We clutched fiercely. Part of Me stayed with her. A part I did’nt miss until ten or so KM’s hence.
My guitar. Gee, no wonder my back felt so much lighter! I phoned the hotel. “No problem, Monsieur. We make sure She take it.”
The next weekend, when I returned to “The Little House on the Freeway”, Michelle teased me :” Maybe eat ees a good idea I keep ze gee-tar………zo you will always come back.” Many a true word spoken in jest. I never came back. (Were’nt ready for that, were ya?) Here’s why : With Winter approaching in one of the most expensive parts of France, with virtually no savings, no foreseeable income, and no legal right to work, I needed a quiet, inexpensive winter rental to work on “the film.” Unlikely, and improbable as it seemed – the miracle did occur. After Months of searching.
It was the classic “friend of a friend” (of Michelle’s) who saved my bacon.The challenge was the distance. Ninety Kilometres away. Too far/cold in Winter on a bike. And tho’ Michelle would have offered to come to me, that would’nt have been a good long term solution.
However, nothing, no matter how difficult, is impossible with a shared vision. And that, dear reader, was the deal breaker. We did’nt share the same vision. Michelle saw romance. Carefree, joyous weekends and trips with the exotic stranger from the far away lands. I saw Love. As in, I sleep with you, wake up with you, eat with you, massage you, comfort you, and love you twenty four/seven. Not knowing what to do, I did nothing. And, bien sur, soon, I had nothing.
In the song “My Way” Mr. Sinatra philosophized : “ Regrets…………I’ve had a few.”Amen, Frank. Amen.
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’!
French Love Story – Part Two
(Authors Note : Part One might be helpful for connecting the dots.)
After a month of cinematic travels, I returned. With, naturally, equal amounts of anticipation and trepidation. Had I correctly assessed Michelle’s reaction to the exotic stanger from the far away lands? Or was it just another faux tremor from fantasy island? Unloading the bike, back to the street, I did’nt hear the car. The slamming door turned me around to see Michelle striding purposefully toward me. Preceded by a million watt smile. We kissed. Politely, of course. No body contact. Of course. My hands lingered, caressing her shoulders. Of course.
Time to go to the next level. Of course. “J’ai, une petite cadeau pour toi.” I murmured. In my best Yves Montand imitation. Her smile wattage increased as I offered the tiny, gift wrapped package.(A purloined bar of rose scented hotel soap) Michelle oohed and ahhed appropriately. Then, after an effusive thank you kiss on the cheek, and a see-you-later wave, headed for her door.
Michelle did’nt show at aperitifs. As tempus continued to fidget, still no show. I was’nt worried. Concerned, Yes. But, as You remember, dear reader, apprenticing to Joe himself in the art of cool, I restricted my comment to the imminently logical :
“Should’nt we wait for Michelle?” “No…….She won’t be back tonite.” Gabriel replied.
Crushed, not to mention decimated, destroyed, defeated, dejected, despondent,and, quelle surprise – forlorn – I connected the depressing dots. Not coming home tonite. So – sleeping where? With the boyfriend! Bozo!! – exiled to fantasy island!!!
Contemplating which monastery to join as I trudged bed-ward, I wondered what was wrong with my radar. How could I have jumbled her signals? Oh well! Maybe my equipment just needed a French re-calibration.
Pass on the teeth tonite. Curtains drawn. Shutters closed. Earplugs in. And, as I turned to the bed – a red rose on my pillow. Talk about salt in the wound! Leaves me a rose, then goes off to the boyfriend!! I resolve to leave fantasy island and never return!!!
In the pre-dawn hours, I tossed fitfully. Sensing a presence in the room. The vision that appeared was Michelle in a flannel nightgown. Not what I would have imagined on fantasy island. In my dream She was talking, but I could’nt hear her.I felt a shudder of helplessness watching her lips move – trying to get through to me. Then She raised her right hand and delicately placed her palm over my ear – as if to communicate without speaking. A screaming diesel truck broke the spell. And burst the bubble. Helllllllllo!……This is not a dream!!! Michelle is here. In the flannel nightgown.
She is talking. She is caressing your ear to say : “Hey dufus!…Take yer plugs out!!! I did. She told me she’d knocked last night, but got no response. (Gee, wonder why?) Then, placing her hand on mine, Michelle asked the question to which she already knew the answer : “Would you like to come upstairs?”
Rush hour’s roar dented, but did not break, the spell our hearts and bodies had woven. We woke slowly. Soft, delicate caresses confirming that our dream was real. We nutured it constantly. Always with wonder, reverence, and appreciation. Never taking our gift for granted. And because of that – it never got old. Each encounter remained as fresh and miraculous as our first. Deeping the bond between us.
Tho’ I don’t believe in guardian angels, lucky stars or destiny – I bowed long, low and constantly to whatever universal force helped these two become one. With Michelle, I had the best of both worlds. A girl’s “joie de vivre.” A woman’s maturity. And a chef’s talent. I was one happy camper. With a very full tent.
Off the road, an alley of cypress sequestered an unseen chateau. Neighbouring the trees, a wild, dry hedge. Beyond the hedge, fields parched pale yellow by the searing Provencal sun. Nestled in the hedge, fused together like wind and hawk, Michelle and I. It was a day first among equals. All lovers have one. A day so perfect, so exquisite, so intense, that it permeates every atom. Remaining chaste, pure and unscarred by time. Retreiveable at any moment. It is the day that opens the eyes of love to the soul of the universe.
Part Three – Next Time
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’
French Love Story – Part One
For all who voyage beyond the ‘fridge, the romance of travel includes the possibility of romance while travelling. Happily, I have enjoyed both flavours. It was an eggs-on-the-pavement Summer day in the South that I landed on the doorstep of “The two G’s.” Gabriel and Gilbert. Two of their three teenage sons were musicians/cyclists, so you can probably guess how I got there.
The “G’S” lived in the renovated half of the turn of the Century house where Gilbert was born. They were separated from the other unrenovated half, by Gabriel’s sewing room. This was to be the “BG suite” for the night. Their long rectangular building, unfortunately faced the busiest intersection in town.(Californians – visualize living on interstate five) The intersection of four roads guaranteed that the roar of the (traffic) crowd was dawn to dusk. And then some.
Whether the fickle finger of fate, or my unconsciously superb timing was responsible, I arrived a “soupcon” before aperitifs. And so, after a quick, welcome shower, I was “a table.” Soon after, an attractive, casually dressed Woman in her early thirties breezed in. Sparkling eyes. Short salt n’ pepper hair. Classic Latin nose. Energetic, but not speedy. In short – effervescent!Her attitude, jeans, sneakers and batik blouse screamed : “Berkeley Girl!.” Independent. Eclectic tastes. A foodie. Socially responsible. Recycles. Drives a diesel. Bikes to work.
Gabriel’s sister, Michelle. We were introduced. No sparks. I shipped my romantic fantasies back to fantasy island. After Michelle left, Gabriel told me the bathroom I would be using was in Michelle’s apartment. A slight tremor from fantasy island. Soon calmed by another glass of pastis.
With dinner and conversation a fresh, happy memory, I “installed” myself, in the sewing suite. Michelle soon appeared.Flashing a radiant smile. “This way to the bathroom.” After making my dentist proud, as We were saying our goodnights, Michelle let me know I’d be breakfasting with her in the morning. No tremors from fantasy island. And so – Curtains drawn. Shutters closed. Earplugs in. Covers up. Eyes closed.
The next am, Michelle waited for me to come down from the bathroom before ringing the breakfast bell. It was five star!(“Eclectic tastes. A foodie.”) Two kinds of bread. Brioches. Crossiants. Pain au chocolate. Three homemade jams. Peaches. Apricots. Grapes. Silver and china. Cloth napkins. In a room with twenty foot ceilings and Belle Epoque furniture. But the best item on the menu was the easy, known-you-forever rapport between Michelle and I. No Sparks. Just an effortless atmosphere of comfort and ease.
Still savoring this ambience, I loaded the bike. As all assembled to see me off. Kisses to Gabriel. Handshakes to Gilbert and the boys.Then I turned to Michelle. There was a spark. A big spark. A spark that lit her bittersweet smile and infused her eyes with a look of invitation. A look that said : “I know you well enough now………that I want to know more.” Major earthquake on fantasy island!
Part Two – Next Time.
THROW ME A BONE HERE, PEOPLE!
What are ya thinkin’?
