In the early 80s I often resided at a Marais hotel particular on Rue Des Ecouffes off the Rue Des Rosiers. The top follor offered a view of the rooftops and the bell towers of St. Gervais. As a true Shabbas Goy I loved waking to the gangs fighting on the street and the nearby Hamman. The owner, an old Jewish woman, always had a room for me.
The top floor was graced with a view of the rooftops of the Marais.
During the Nazi occupation Mdme. Saar had hidden with her family of seven in an unlit cave underneath the hotel’s sous-sol. She was a great hotelier, but after two months would always kick me out. “Mssr. trouvez un autre hotel, mais tu es toujours bien invitez pour les prochain fois.”
She was tired of me, but I would be welcome the next time the same as ever. And she was always true to her word.
Strangely no one in Paris knew the meaning of ecouffes, but I think it means chokes or stuffed.
One night I took a tall red-headed model from Baltimore back to my room. We made love and in the morning madame served us coffee and croissants in bed. I really liked this woman and we engaged again after which I said, “You know what I like about you.”
“No.” She was hoping for a poetic caress, but I said, “You’re big enough to carry me down the stairs if this place was on fire.”
Her eyes widened and she jumped from the bed, dressing as if the hotel was ablaze.
“Fuck you.”
I was persona non grata and the madame de hotel explained later, “No woman wants to be called ‘big’. Souviens ca.”
And I have remembered that always.
