On a Friday morning an Air France flight from Los Angeles landed on time at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. Sharon and Amber exit from the 747 and proceeded through the terminal to pick up their luggage, four big bags packed with exotic clothing. Men and women stared at the two women dressed sexily, as if they were attending the Adult Video awards in Las Vegas, then again men stared at them everywhere. They shouted sex. The two had been invited to shoot several porno films by a French XXX production and also help teach the the native porn stars how to speak English. Basically Fuck Language 101.
A young man greeted them outside of the customs and let them to a renault limo. He placed their bags in the trunk and said his name was Rene. Sharon and Amber laughed at his name. They sat in the back and he sat up front with a surly unshaven driver. Both women smelled that he had not bathed today and maybe not this week.
“You are so French.” Sharon almost expected him to be wearing a beret. THe slender brunette had never been to France before, but she had been born in Italy where her mother gave her up to adoption to a Catholic Family in New Jersey. She always said that explained why she have become a porno actress. Her blonde buxom companion had different reasons.
“I was hoping for you to be wearing a beret,” said Amber. Coming from Orange County California the closest she had ever been to France was at Disneyland’s IT’S A SMALL WORLD ride. Looking out the window she knew this county was nothing like Orange County. Flat farmland as far as the eye could see and the highways weren’t so crowded with big American cars.
“I am French, but not that French.” Rene smiled from the front passenger seat.
“Are you an actor?” Amber hoped he was, because most of the men she had seen in French XXX films look like cavemen. Rene was cute.
“No, I work in production, but I’m here to be your guide in the daytime.”
“What do you do at night?” asked Sharon. She was already fantasizing about a menage a trois. She had learned that phrase for two women and men in bed from her cousin James, who lived in Paris and work at a nightclub called La Balajo.
“I go out sometimes.”
“My cousin Pete works at the Balajo and a couple of other clubs.”
“Monday night. I know it.”
“He works a few more clubs.”
In 1982 Pete had fled New York to avoid an Internal Affairs and FBI investigation into the Continental Club, a notorious after-hours haunt in West Chelsea. He hadn’t been back for three years, except for the holidays. They were longtime fuck-buddies.
“I hear you talk about him all the time. You don’t sound like cousins.” Amber smirked having heard about their sexual exploits in New York.
“Oh we’re cousins all right.” They weren’t really cousins but saying that they were saved time from explaining how they met at The Nursery, a sordid after-hours Club on 3rd Avenue in the East Village. Lovers ever since.
“He lives on Ile St. Louis.”
“That is very fancy. In the middle of Paris, an island in the Seine.” Rene lifted his eyebrow.
“Funny, Pete lived in a slum in New York. So did I. These Village was a great place for the Young.”
“Still is,” added Amber, she had a couple of rock and roll boyfriends on the Lower East Side. New York was an always a fun town for her whenever she was dancing at Show World. It was not Los Angeles and as they entered the Paris suburbs, she was sure that Paris was in Los Angeles either or even California or anywhere in the United States. “I’m looking to have a good time here. Are you single?”
“No, I have a girlfriend, but she likes to how you say swing with girls.”
“With with girls like us,” ask Sharon.
“Oui, with girls like you.”
“I knew I would love Paris.” She had been dreaming of this trip since the phone call from Paris . She had called Pete . He had promised to be a good guide and they both knew what that meant as did Amber .
The limousine drop them at a small hotel in La Marais, the Jewish quarter by the Seine. Pete had suggested the hotel. The proprietor was a sweet Jewish woman, Madame Gruntuch, who laughed to see them.
“Tu es la cousine de Peter.”
Sharon roughly translated what she said to understand that she was a cousin of Peter. She knew that he had been a guest here many times and the old woman must have loved him. Everyone loved Pete, except for those who did not love him. The only trouble he was was to himself, but he was able to survive that . He was the luckiest man Sharon knew.
Madame Gruntuch let him up to the top floor, a duplex with a large king bed and its windows overlooking rooftops with Notre Dame in the near distance. There was no phone and Rene translated to the owner had said they could call them downstairs and she will take your messages. He pointed to a business card on the bed table. The old woman left wishing them good luck .
“This isn’t far from where your cousin lives.” Rene dropped the last of their bags, looking completely exhausted. He gave them a stack of Francs and said, “This is for you to get comfortable. You must be exhausted after your long flight.”
“Not at all. We’re ready to rock. I’ll call my cousin. He’s waiting for us. He’ll be our guide.”
Rene seemed to relieved by this news, wrote down his phone number, and said , “I have work to do, but I know my boss, Jacques wants to meet you at 5:00 over in St. Germain. Le Deux Magots. It’s a famous cafe. I’m sure your cousin will know where it is.”
Rene left and the two women were alone for the first time since they entered the LAX terminal. They had made love in the jet’s water closet over the Atlantic, just to claim another flight for the mile-high club.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower.” Sharon stripped off her clothing
“Together?” amber unbuttoned her shirts, baring her small breasts.
“Of course.” Neither of them were busty and Sharon was sure that Amber was her cousin’s type. Neither of them were jealous and neither was Amber.
Any plans to do a morning tour of Paris was finished after the shower the two fell into bed cuddled and fell asleep, despite Sharon’s snoring. It was good to be in Paris.
The two woke to the rain. Sharon got out of bed and padded across the cold wooden floor to the window. Down below the Narrow Street was empty. The Twin Towers of Notre Dame for shrouded by the downpour she turned to amber and asked, “Did you bring any rain gear?”
“We live in LA. Why would we have rain gear?”
“Because we’re in Paris and I remember my cousin saying to bring wet weather gear.”
“And did you?”
“I brought flip-flops, but it’s not flip flop weather out there. We’re going to need an umbrellas and raincoats and maybe even boots.”
Amber slipped out of bed and joined Sharon at the window. Both of them were shivering in their nakedness. She had been brought up in New Jersey. This cold was not like that cold. Damned damp.
“I was not born to be in weather like this.” Amber had seen rain like this in California during monsoon season and she hated that time. Nothing was ever dry.
“Don’t worry I’ll keep you warm.”
The two return to bed pulled up the duvet. Sharon looked at her watch and realize it was still on La time. The only time she knew it was was daytime.
“You stay in bed I’ll go get umbrellas and raincoats. Maybe Madam Grinch will bring us up some breakfast when I come back.”
“Some some good news finally.”
Sharon dressed quickly in a warm-up suit and a leather jacket. Her only boots were leather thigh high stiletto heels. All her other Footwear were sneakers and sandal. Kissing Amber she left the hotel room and walk down the stairs to the front desk. Madam Grand took was there and smiled to see her guest. The old woman glance at the clock. It was ten to 11. She handed Sharon an umbrella and a note. It was from her cousin. He had left his telephone number and address, plus where he worked, the Balajo on Rue de Lappe. Madam Grintuch informed her where to buy raincoat and shoes on the nearby boulevard.
“Merci.” the only other words she knew in French were Bonjour and Bon nuit.
Sharon stepped out onto the sidewalk the rain wasn’t as heavy. She unfurled the umbrella and walk down Rue des Ecouffes to a broad boulevard. The store was where Madame Gruntuch said it was. She bought out gloves, black raincoats, and shoes as well as two berets. The shop lady approved of the change-over and said in broken English, “Now you are a Parisian.”
Back out in the boulevard Sharon started to hurry back to the hotel. She felt warmer and the boots She spotted a cute cafe with an awning. The middle-aged woman behind the bar waved for her to come inside. Sharon nodded, but sat outside under the awning. No one else was sitting outside. Sharon wanted to see Paris in the rain in order to a cafe and a cognac. They came fast and she admired her reflection in the window. She looked very European, as she should having been born in Napoli far to the South. Here’s world in Her Eyes. This is my continent my country is to the South i’m back home. Where I belonged. Sharon picked up a a napkin buried her face in the white cloth. The older woman came out and asked if everything was okay. Sharon nodded and said, “It’s a long time since I’ve been in Europe. I’m happy to be home.”
