actually ripped open at the seam when I sat down for dinner at the kitchen table in my apartment. Even the medication couldn't reverse the damage. I flipped the mirror shut, laid my head back, and tried to sleep.
I woke up to a tap on my shoulder. It was the male flight attendant also known as Ed Harris. "Miss, I apologize for the rudeness of my co-worker. She is...how do you say...one who has no experience with troubled life."
"Lucky her," I murmured.
"I, too, know what it is like to be in pain. The type of pain that never shows, lest you look in the eyes of one who shares such a feeling." He handed me a slip of paper. "Go to this address in Normandy, and ask for Madame Noir. She will find something that fits you."
"It's all right," I said. "Please. I heard what your co-worker said, and I don't want to be the butt of any more jokes. My butt's big enough." I laughed at my self-deprecating humor. He stared at me with kind eyes.
"I urge you to try. She will find you something that fits. Something that will change your life."
"I doubt an item of clothing can do that, but thanks anyway." I slipped the piece of paper with the address into my handbag.
"Tell her Jacques sent you. Jacques of Chesley. May I get you anything else?"
T he seat belt sign illuminated with the sound of a high pitched ring. The pilot's nasally voice rang out over the speakers, notifying the cabin in both French and English that the plane would be landing at Charles DeGaulle airport in twenty minutes. Jacques patted my hand. He turned and made his way to the front of the plane.
Tammy groped at my arm. "Robert? Paolo? Who's there?" she said in a drowsy voice. She removed her nightshades. "Oh, sorry honey. Do you want a piece of gum? Damn. This lube spilled all over my purse!"
* * *
The customs agent in a brightly lit airport stall handled Tammy's passport gingerly after she explained the source of the sticky substance. The currency exchange agent pursed her lips in absolute disgust as she took Tammy's slimy cash and counted out Euro dollars, and the taxi driver who brought us to our hotel on the Left Bank seemed so turned on by the story he could barely stop staring at Tammy in his rearview mirror.
Tammy's high heeled boot clad foot pounded on the pavement to announce her arrival as the taxi driver opened the car door. She straightened her scarf after she emerged from the car, pulling a beret from the front pocket of her suitcase, and positioning the hat on her head. With a loud clacking noises of her heels upon marble, she strode into the Hotel St. Angeline in short shorts and thick black tights as if she owned the place. I waddled after her, my nose bright red from the chilly air.
The lobby of the hotel was decorated with thousands of Christmas lights in pristine clear bulbs, and the check in counter was lined with boughs of evergreen exuding their heady holiday scent. After we received our room keys, Tammy and I ogled at the decor together, turning round and round in circles as we made our way to the elevator.
A handsome man with broad shoulders and chiseled cheekbones stopped in front of us. "Attente," he said. He pointed upwards. "We are under the mistletoe." Sure enough, a sprig of mistletoe hung on the curved awning above our heads. He leaned in towards Tammy and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She giggled as we walked away.
"I always thought being a Christmas baby was a huge bummer," she said. "But in France, it has its benefits. Ooh la la."
* * *
Our hotel room was quaint and cozy, furnished with two full beds and quaint French furniture with fleur de lys prints and crystal lamps. We parted the curtains and stared out at the River Seine. It was three o' clock in the afternoon in Paris, but nearing midnight in Oklahoma. "I'm sleepy," I said as I lay down on the bed.
"Let's get coffee," she said.
Chapter Two
We sat at a cafe at the edge of the Bois de Boulogne, watching the dark waters of the Seine river. The air smelled crisp
I woke up to a tap on my shoulder. It was the male flight attendant also known as Ed Harris. "Miss, I apologize for the rudeness of my co-worker. She is...how do you say...one who has no experience with troubled life."
"Lucky her," I murmured.
"I, too, know what it is like to be in pain. The type of pain that never shows, lest you look in the eyes of one who shares such a feeling." He handed me a slip of paper. "Go to this address in Normandy, and ask for Madame Noir. She will find something that fits you."
"It's all right," I said. "Please. I heard what your co-worker said, and I don't want to be the butt of any more jokes. My butt's big enough." I laughed at my self-deprecating humor. He stared at me with kind eyes.
"I urge you to try. She will find you something that fits. Something that will change your life."
"I doubt an item of clothing can do that, but thanks anyway." I slipped the piece of paper with the address into my handbag.
"Tell her Jacques sent you. Jacques of Chesley. May I get you anything else?"
T he seat belt sign illuminated with the sound of a high pitched ring. The pilot's nasally voice rang out over the speakers, notifying the cabin in both French and English that the plane would be landing at Charles DeGaulle airport in twenty minutes. Jacques patted my hand. He turned and made his way to the front of the plane.
Tammy groped at my arm. "Robert? Paolo? Who's there?" she said in a drowsy voice. She removed her nightshades. "Oh, sorry honey. Do you want a piece of gum? Damn. This lube spilled all over my purse!"
* * *
The customs agent in a brightly lit airport stall handled Tammy's passport gingerly after she explained the source of the sticky substance. The currency exchange agent pursed her lips in absolute disgust as she took Tammy's slimy cash and counted out Euro dollars, and the taxi driver who brought us to our hotel on the Left Bank seemed so turned on by the story he could barely stop staring at Tammy in his rearview mirror.
Tammy's high heeled boot clad foot pounded on the pavement to announce her arrival as the taxi driver opened the car door. She straightened her scarf after she emerged from the car, pulling a beret from the front pocket of her suitcase, and positioning the hat on her head. With a loud clacking noises of her heels upon marble, she strode into the Hotel St. Angeline in short shorts and thick black tights as if she owned the place. I waddled after her, my nose bright red from the chilly air.
The lobby of the hotel was decorated with thousands of Christmas lights in pristine clear bulbs, and the check in counter was lined with boughs of evergreen exuding their heady holiday scent. After we received our room keys, Tammy and I ogled at the decor together, turning round and round in circles as we made our way to the elevator.
A handsome man with broad shoulders and chiseled cheekbones stopped in front of us. "Attente," he said. He pointed upwards. "We are under the mistletoe." Sure enough, a sprig of mistletoe hung on the curved awning above our heads. He leaned in towards Tammy and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She giggled as we walked away.
"I always thought being a Christmas baby was a huge bummer," she said. "But in France, it has its benefits. Ooh la la."
* * *
Our hotel room was quaint and cozy, furnished with two full beds and quaint French furniture with fleur de lys prints and crystal lamps. We parted the curtains and stared out at the River Seine. It was three o' clock in the afternoon in Paris, but nearing midnight in Oklahoma. "I'm sleepy," I said as I lay down on the bed.
"Let's get coffee," she said.
Chapter Two
We sat at a cafe at the edge of the Bois de Boulogne, watching the dark waters of the Seine river. The air smelled crisp
Similar Books
