Le Rouges Elieve d'Hier - The Red Rose of Yesterday

[darrenfate]

OOC: This is a closed thread between Chanaud and myself.

Bret Muldoon

Bret settled back in his plush seat on the Concorde. He was very glad that Air France had resumed its flight schedule between JFK International Airport in New York and Charles de Gaulle in Paris. He would have hated limping across the Atlantic in a common Boeing jet, regardless of its size and relative comfort. Time was money after all. As an investment banker for Donaldson, Luffkin and Jenrette, he was paid an obscene amount of money to broker deals, mostly LBO’s and acquisitions.

Since 9/11 though times were tough in the merger business. International conglomerates were being tight fisted with their cash. So his first ever trip to Paris had added import. At stake here was a 10 billion dollar “merger” of Pharmacia and the French giant Sanofi-Synthelabo SA. Weakened by soft US sales and having its main drugs like Rogaine rolling off patent protection this year made Pharmacia vulnerable. Merger my ass. This was to be a hostile takeover. Bret was just the man to make that happen.

Climbing off the plane a scant 3 hours and 25 minutes after takeoff, Bret was whisked away by limousine to the corporate headquarters of the French company. The best laid plans of mice and man oft go awry. Upon his arrival, he was met with the tragic news that the French CEO’s wife had been in a car accident an hour before. She would not die, although his meeting was off until at least the day after tomorrow.

So, what does a man like Bret do who suddenly has two free days to spare in one of the most renowned capitals of the world? Make a list, of course. His list grew to 8 or 9 items, and he asked to be dropped off on foot near the Left Bank of the Seine. Item number one. He walked along the river edge, marveling at the bridges that looked so solidly built and also so beautiful. No wonder so many artists and writers had been inspired here. Yet, it all seemed oddly familiar. Bret was hit with a wave of Déjà vu. Perhaps it was because these very scenes had been depicted before in so many paintings. Yes, perhaps.

He came across an outdoor café. He tried to walk past, after all his tourist list was long and his time was short but something made him stop. He settled in at a small black table that and faced out so he could people watch. Bret ordered a Burgundy, his waiter though admiring his poor attempt at French, saved him by speaking impeccable English. That had to be a good omen. The sommelier opens it with a flourish, ah the French really know about the important things in life! He is poured a full glass and, oddly, a second empty glass is left on the table. The waiter speaks softly -

“This is the City of love, monsieur. One never knows.”

Then he sees her. Tall and thin, yet she moves with the lithe grace of a dancer. She has perched upon her head at a jaunty angle a red beret, and attached in the buttonhole of her light coat was a single red rose. There must be 30 other people within view, yet Bret casts his eyes solely upon her. I know her, Bret thought. She looks so familiar. Catching her eye briefly, he watches as she walks past. Then when almost completely out of sight she spins around and walks back to the café. She comes right over to his table, looking unsure of herself. Bret stands, and says impulsively –

Please join me ...

 

[chanaud]

Giselle Chanaud

It was a fine spring day. A robin perched on the windowsill of my tiny apartment above Maurice’s flower shop, woke me in song this morning. After stretching the sleep away, I padded down the narrow hallway and called my agent.

“Bonjour, Claire. N'importe quel travail pour moi? Non? Vous remercier.”

The answer brought an instant smile to my face. It didn’t bother me there wasn’t a job waiting for me, the rent was due this Friday and I had barely enough money to feed me through the week. No, it was a fine spring day and I have the whole day to myself.

A flow of youthful energy filled me as I dressed. I chose my favorite red, plaid short pleated skirt, a businessman’s white dress shirt with sleeves folded up to reveal my long, thin limbers and black city boots. Though my eclectic wear were purchased at various thrift shops, I smiled with smug satisfaction in my full length dressing mirror.

The usual noise of the midmorning crowd hit me as soon as I walked out my door. I ignored it. All I heard was the musical note my skips made on the metal spiraling staircase. It reminded me of a song.

And if you did not exist
Say to me why I would exist
To trail in a world without you
Without hope and regret
And if you did not exist
I would try to invent the love
As a painter who sees under his fingers
To be born colors from the day
And which does not return from there

“Bonjour Giselle! Off to work, I see?”

“Bonjour Maurice, no work for me today.”

Maurice who owned the flower shop down below greeted me with my daily red rose. As I pinned it to the buttonhole, he reminded me in a fatherly tone, “Remember the rent is due this week.”

I planted a kiss on his balding forehead after swiping his red beret. “No worries, my dear. I’ll have your rent first thing Friday morning.” Maurice stood back and watched his red beret disappear among the crowd like a doting father before continuing his duties.

And if you did not exist
Say to me for whom I would exist
The busy ones deadened in my arms
That I will never like
And if you did not exist
I would be only one point moreover
In this world which comes and which goes
I would feel lost
I would need you
And if you did not exist

Say to me how I would exist
I could make pretence be me
But I would not be true
And if you did not exist
I believe that I would have found it
The secrecy of the life, it why
Simply to create you
And to look at you

Singing softly, I strolled down the busy sidewalk to no particular destination, stopping here and there as certain pieces of art caught my eye. A chilly wind blew from the River carrying a sweet aroma of a nearby café triggering my stomach pangs. I stopped to check my purse. Ten francs were left to carry me through the week. Frowning, I passed the café as quickly as I could to run away from its enticing odor.

As soon as I reached the edge, my feet became an instant dead weight forcing me to stop. A soft distant voice called me.

Gisselle

My red hair swung around as my eyes scanned the café’s patrons. There wasn't a single familiar face or anyone looking as if they're trying to catch my attention. Odd, I thought. I swear someone called me. Shaking it off as hunger, my eyes scanned once more for an empty seat. Seeing none, I turned to leave when a tall statuesque graying haired handsome man spoke in English –

“Please join me ...”

Just when I was about to decline, a waiter pulled out the opposite chair and seated me instantly.

“Sit…sit…This is the only available seat.” He immediately poured a full glass of Burgandy and turned briskly away leaving the American and I sitting and staring at each other dumbly.

Breaking the silence, I lifted my wine glass. "Here's to life, love and existence."

 

[darrenfate]

BRET

What possessed Bret to invite her to sit was beyond him. He was for the first time in memory, speechless. He looked at her with an appraising eye. The fresh look of her face coupled with her simple yet perfectly appropriate clothes, made Bret feel horribly overdressed. She fit in with the surroundings, he did not. His elegant black Brooks Brothers suit still had the sharp fashionable creases in his pants. His solid silver cufflinks shone in the sunshine, although Bret was thankful that at least he had pulled off his robins egg blue silk tie earlier. Bret had never been uncomfortable like this before. He had dated women ranging from actresses to models and none had this effect upon him.

As she spoke, Bret lifted his wine glass automatically in response. Her words shattered his silence. He smiled, what a satisfying toast. Not at all like the "Sell like Hell, Profitably" drivel he and his peers often did. He wondered suddenly if his life was far, far too narrow. Perhaps he lacked range. He drank to her, and broke into a huge smile. He should be here, this just felt right. Somehow, she disarmed him totally. She was magically attractive.

Pardon my manners, my name is Bret, Bret Muldoon. I am here on my first trip to Paris, and it is so beautiful I tarried here to soak it all in. I must ask you though, have we met before? Your face looks so familiar I feel like I should know your name. But, alas, I do not ...

Sara McLaughlin's lyrics echoed in his head as he awaited her unhurried reply ...

I will remember you
Will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

 

[chanaud]

With just a small sip, I can feel the thick, rich flow of the Burgandy trail down my throat and eventually settling in the empty pit of my stomach filling just a tiny void of hunger pains. There was a moment of heavy silence from the tall American after my toast. I shrugged, sat back, crossed my right leg over my left knee and slouched down in my black wrought iron chair, kicking the white tablecloth lightly with the toe of my boot.

Through the tiny slits of my eyes and the thick film of my eyelashes, I was able to observe him in peace. He was sitting too tall and too upright. His large brown eyes bore into me. There wasn’t any pretense in him. Yet, it didn’t bother me. I was used to being observed in my line of work. Despite our unusual circumstances, it felt right sitting across him. Yes, it certainly did.

Just when my eyes closed, his voice woke me. My eyes sprung open fixated at the transformation in him as his smile grew. He seemed years younger despite the full silver hair. His introduction and questions were too fast. I knew it was the lifestyle he’s used to.

Bret Muldoon

My lips released a soft kiss as his name rolled off my tongue. As soon as I heard my voice, a chill ran though me. There seemed to be an air of familiarity. It’s as if I’ve said his name before.

Bret Muldoon, I’m Giselle. Perhaps, you’ve seen me in certain haute couture dress shops, yes?

Now that my eyes were wide open, I can see his eyes clearer. There were tiny molecules of shadows dancing gracefully. The noise and its activities faded as his deep browns sucked me in. It felt like I was the one dancing and not the observer.

“This is for the lovely couple.”

A voice brought me back. Our waiter laid a palette of scrumptious cheese, fruits and bread. Shaking off the ghosts, I sat up. Relieved at the break in my reverie, I wasn’t bothered by the waiter’s choice of words.

 

[darrenfate]

BRET

Bret felt liberated. Here was a woman whom he didn't know in the slightest. Who wouldn't and couldn't judge him. Who led a completely different lifestyle from his. Who, therefore he could ask anything he wanted.

The last time Bret had asked a question that he didn't already know the answer to was, oh, his last year at Wharton's MBA. Questions were simply to affirm what you thought you already knew through hard research he often told his staff. Not today. Just maybe, just maybe, never again.

Bret saw Giselle's eyes fly open at the food. He could almost see her salivating. The poor girl was starved! Snap decision # 1 -

Giselle, please eat. Order what you will, I shall pay for everything in exchange for your company this afternoon. A single man should not be alone on this his first day in Paris. Waiter, another bottle of burgundy, please! "

He saw her wary eyes at first then believing him at face value he saw her relax. He waited long minutes while she ate slowly, relishing each bite. She ordered from the menu, Bret simply asked for two of whatever it was she had since the menu was entirely in French. He hoped that she had good taste ! Although she looked at him with a sly smile, she sat back and closed her eyes drinking in the warm spring breeze. Snap decision #2 -

Giselle, I have a question for you. Do you believe in fate? I for one, can't imagine that we were thrown together by sheer happenstance. The sights, the sounds all so familiar. Its as if I had been here before, and with you Giselle. And no I'm sure we have never met in a haute coutour dress shop, as I have not been to one.

Pausing again, he said much more softly this time - (Snap decision #3)

After lunch, take me with you to see your Paris Giselle. Show me where Joyce, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Pound, Picasso and Stein walked. Show me the Paris of dreamers and artists. Show me the City of Lights, and of Love ...

 

[chanaud]

In an instant, I quoted a song sung by Josephine Baker.


One says that beyond the seas
Over there, under the clear sky
There is a city
With the magic stay.
And under the large black trees,
Each evening
Towards it from all my hope goes away

I have two loves
My country and Paris…

I knew immediately what he was talking about. Between bites of my favorite white cheese, Chirac on heavily buttered baguettes, I couldn’t help but respond with much enthusiasm.

Of course, I believe in fate! Fate is why I wasn’t assigned a job today. Fate is why I stopped at this café. Fate is why we are sitting across each other.

I concluded with a smile and a matter of fact tone. And fate is why I will show you Paris.

Bret soaked in every word and nodded in agreement. I had to somehow avoid his eyes for it seemed like he was trying to hypnotize me with the same dancing shadows in his wide eyes. It unnerved me. Too often I had to tear myself away. And each time it seemed like it was more difficult to do.

It was customary to order the daily special for the afternoon meal. Again, fate was with us for today’s special consisted of roasted poulet, pommes de terre et salade (chicken, potatoes and light salad). It was perfect since we have a lot of walking to look forward to. We took our time with our dinner and dessert. We managed to finish two bottles of white wine. The wine loosened us. We found ourselves laughing like old friends before our meal ended.

We walked casually along the riverbank. At first, we kept a safe distant between us as if we were afraid. With each passing step, natural gravitation pulled us closer. Periodically, our hands would brush. He sent electric shocks from his hand to mine, up my arm and finally jump starting my heart. I looked at him wondering if I imagined all of it. The way his eyes bore down on mine, I knew he felt the same. We remained silent and allowed our eyes to do all the communicating.

The sidewalk along the River Seine was crowded with various vendors and acts. The most unusual was here. I felt proud of my home as I pointed out various interests here and there and gave a history of some of the regulars.

A strong spring wind blew on shore. A canvas blew onto the street causing cars to screech. Bret ran after it dodging between angry horns. He returned white as a sheet as if he saw a ghost, carrying the painted canvas.

Are you not feeling well, Bret Muldoon? I asked with concern.

Without a word, he turned the canvas to show me. By the antiquity of the frame and dullness of the colors, it looked as if the painting was in the 20s or 30s. On it was a woman with pearl white skin, stretched out on her back on a bed of emerald green pillows holding a red rose between the pink tips of her breasts.

I didn’t recognize the painting or the woman.

“Look, Giselle!” He demanded and held it up closer. “Look at her eyes.”

I did. Her eyes did look familiar. She must be someone famous. I looked at him perplexed.

“Giselle, it’s you. Those are your eyes!”

The owner standing there saw it too for he gasped and shouted out ecstatically. “Oui, Monsiour! I have found the model.”

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

The calculating businessman Bret had melted away as surely as sugar did in a steaming mug of hot tea. They experienced that thrill of connection, where two people who don't know each other click. It is a rare thing, and really had happened to Bret only a handful of times in his entire adult life.

The canvas blowing had been at first a simple chivalrous act. Save the poor owner's work. Bret was drawn to the painted scene by some irresistable force. That was Giselle. It wasn't a question, but rather a statement. He was sure of it.

Because he was there when it was painted !

Bret was staggered as he remembered all the details. He knew the room, its skylights facing south, soaking up the warm Parisian sun. Brilliant shafts of light came in and mottled the pillows as Giselle had lain upon them, posing. They had been hungry, paid each day by the little man as he finished. They had raced hand in hand to the nearest, cheapest cafe to eat.

How ..... What .....

Bret began, then got all tongue tied. The proprieter of the place was absolutely beaming, speaking French to Giselle with machine gun rapidity, losing poor Bret totally. He ushered them in his establishment. Every imagineable free space filled with artwork. He was gesturing and pointing at the canvas.

Bret had to have it. He blurted out to Giselle,

" I must have that piece. Please tell him. I will pay the price he asks."

Giselle did just that.

Five minutes later the man was sliding his Visa card through the reader and they walked out the door with their prized possession. Giselle turned to Bret. They were close. Accidently, wonderfully, beautifully close.

In an electric moment they stopped talking faces mere inches apart. His eyes found hers, then dropped to her lips.

He kissed her and she folded into his arms ...

 

[chanaud]

Giselle Chanaud

Philippe, who I learned from our conversation and Bret tried to convince me the woman on the painted canvas, was I. Peering closer, I didn’t see it. Well, maybe, her eyes and her rosebud nipples were similar to mine. But, I wasn’t totally convinced. Philippe tried to tell me the history of this piece. Apparently, it was found in an upstairs apartment not far from here, the artist and the model were unknown. When he told me the locale of the apartment, the blood rushed from my face. When he told me the owner’s name, a cold chill consumed my whole being. Luckily, Bret couldn’t understand French and was too enamored with the piece to notice.

Bret’s spontaneity made me like him even more. I loved the way he didn’t act like a typical tourist and started a waging war. Money has always been unimportant in my life and I’m glad to see it isn’t with Bret either. When we waited for his Visa to clear, we stood gazing at each other, drawing closer. Words were not needed at this time. I knew what he was telling me by his dancing eyes.

We walked out; no it felt like we floated out hand in hand. Outside on the sidewalk, in front of the dirt stained glass window, we turned to each other. I saw his lips descending down on me. I pulled him closer and allowed myself to get lost in this euphoria. There was no awkwardness. No, it felt so familiar to be in his arms, our lips together and our tongues dancing like the shadows I saw in his eyes earlier. A cloud seemed to carry us away – to another time, to a different era.

A car horn blare brought us back to reality. It seemed like we weren’t ready for that journey yet. We stood in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing the busy Parisian traffic to walk around us and just grinned at each other. I felt as if we were on stage. I turned to the art gallery and saw Philippe standing gazing at us. When he realized he was caught, he aired a kiss towards our direction and turned to the task at hand, whistling the same song I was singing earlier.

We continued on the sidewalk, this time hand in hand like old lovers. I recognized the very next shop before I saw the sign.

You like Hemingway, yes?

Bret agreed. “Yes, I do. “

I pointed to the faded gold letters painted above our head. Bret gasped as he recognized it. The name of the shop read, Shakespeare & Co.

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

In the Paris of the 20’s, a woman named Sylvia Beach owned and operated a bookstore and writer’s gathering place called Shakespeare & Co. She had befriended a then poor and unpublished Hemingway loaning him dozens of books over the years which he read to perfect his craft. No public libraries existed then, and he was too poor to pay the rental fees. Her place had served as a gathering ground for many of the author’s of the day. For a writer this had been an almost spiritual place.

Bret could imagine the ghosts of writers past that walked abroad within its walls. Giselle’s eyes shone brightly as she too understood the importance of where they were. It had rooms to let upstairs according to the notice on the door. Reaching up, Bret touched the old Shakespeare & Co sign with his hand. For luck, he said.

He was compelled by an inner voice to go inside. They walked hand in hand through the door. At a small mahogany desk sat the proprietress. She was fully 90 years old if she was a day. She wore a simple paisley dress and dark shoes. She glanced up at them, and then leaned forward scrutinizing their faces. She gasped, her wizened hand covering an open mouth. Slowly she said –

I knew you’d both be back. You promised me when I was a teenager that we would meet again. I’ve been expecting you for years. Though my body has slowly withered I never once doubted you would return. You were the most beautiful couple in Paris then, and I see that you still are. Time is short for me now, but all is prepared. Let me show you to your room. It is just as you left it. The bookstore itself is no more. Come, come. Time is wasting. And that, you see, is the one thing I have precious little of left.

We have never met! Bret exclaimed.

The woman replied, Of course we have, dear, now hush. You know my name is Madame Cloutier as surely as yours is Bret and hers is Giselle. Follow me.

She walked up an old back staircase to the second floor. It was sunset, and the fading daylight cast by the huge red orb lit up the room with its last shafts of light. A single large beam of light streamed in the window illuminating an old nightstand. The room was tiny. A double bed dominated the space. Two comfortable chairs lined up side by side against the far wall, a solitary dresser stood at the other end of the room. The old woman unlocked a hidden drawer from the nightstand and pulled out a dusty old book and a bottle. Turning to Giselle, she handed it to her. She was beaming, a radiant smile on her face.

I do believe that this is yours my dear. You left it in my hands for safekeeping, and now I have affirmed the faith that you had in me all those years ago. Please sit, both of you, sit. Here is a bottle of port for you just like in the old days. Bret, fetch the glasses. You know where they are. Enjoy. I shall look in on you in the morning.

Stunned, Bret and Giselle sat. They looked at each other in silence as they were left alone. Bret stood, and unswervingly opened the third dresser drawer. There in a case, were two crystal wine glasses. Spooky stuff this. Bret poured the port and nodded to the book and said softly -

We are supposed to be here, that much is certain. Open it, Giselle.

She nodded, and cracked the leather bound cover. Inside the front page was a dried, pressed red rose. Lifting the rose in astonishment, she read the following from the first page, written in an elegant hand in gold ink:

“This is the personal diary of Giselle Chanaud, born May 7th 1897 ”

 

[chanaud]

Giselle

I followed the aged white walls with my hand. It was alive with vibrations. I stood and listened carefully, almost pressing my ears to the wall. Happy voices were heard, followed by laughter. I couldn't make out the words, yet, strangely enough, the voices were familiar. “I’ve been here,” I wanted to cry out to Bret. “We’ve been here.”

When Madame Cloutier pulled out the leather bound book, my heart lurched forward. A joy consumed me. It felt like I found my best friend after long lost years. I kissed her before she left. She answered me with a tired smile. “I waited for you two and now it’s my time. Goodbye for now.”

Instead of sitting on the chair, I plopped down on the bed, on my stomach, facing the foot of the bed. My knees were bent allowing my feet to swing in the air. Bret followed me. Our heads were close. So, close.

“We are supposed to be here, that much is certain. Open it, Giselle.”

The spine of the book crinkled with age. I dare not touch the rose for fear of its petals crumbling into ash right before our very eyes. Through all these years, it kept its powerful aroma. Simultaneously, Bret and I breathed in deeply. My head spun with drunkenness.

Bret offered me a glass of port. I sniffed expecting sourness due to age. It didn’t.

Again, I made a toast. “Here’s to new discoveries.” Bret repeated the toast as we clinked our glasses together. The richness coated my mouth and went down smoothly. Truly, this port was a product of the finest vineyards.

It was time to turn the page. We turned to each other and drank in each other’s eyes. Bret leaned in slightly and kissed me fully. My fingers followed the long lean gold script as our tongues danced together. He released me and gazed deep into my eyes. “Giselle, I have the feeling we are about to step into a true phenomenon. Whatever we discover, remember this, we are meant to do this. And we are meant to be together.” I nodded in agreement. He was right.

We held hands and took a deep breath as I turned to the first page. There was an inscription. The perfect long angled script was written in French. I read out loud –


To My Darling, Giselle,

Today is your 18th birthday, the mark of a new life, a new beginning. I hope to be there to see you blossom as a woman but fate may lead me to another path. I’ve raised you and guided you to my best ability and now I must set you free.

As you know, I am a simple man and have never been one to offer advice. I believe you must choose your own destination. You are a remarkable girl, soon to be a woman. I know you will choose well. Just remember one thing. Life is just a short journey. Live it to its fullest.

This will be my last gift for you. I hope you will fill it with love, fears and life and cherish it for the rest of your days.

I will end this with words your mama used to say; life is not worth existing if love is lost. God bless her soul.

Happy Birthday, my life, my existence!

Love,
Papa


My voice broke at Papa. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. Bret pulled me to him and pulled my upper lip gently into his mouth, sucking the tears away. His embracement felt warm and comfortable. As if I’ve found home. My tears ceased and I kissed him back as I turned to my side and pressed my whole length to him.

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

The scent of the dried rose wafted into the room spreading out to permeate the space. It was a gentle, subtle yet powerful smell. Bret grew drowsy and felt as though he was in a movie, with his body here and his mind able to detach and float free.

His mind whirled from all thye had discovered in the past hours. Madame Cloutier knew them, enough so that she called them by name. The fact that Bret knew where the glasses were kept. Giselle's diary. The inscription from her father. All of these thoughts whirled in his head, and he was quite unable to guess what would happen next.

Giselle's tears moved him, he held her tightly as they both lay prone upon the bed. He dried her tears with his hands, and pulled her lips to his.

Unlike the kisses from outside, this was more comforting, more enveloping. Instinctively he knew she needed a friend, she needed him to hold her. Placing her head upon his broad chest he held her stroking her back with his large hands. When they fell asleep, he couldn't tell.

Light was streaming in when he opened his eyes. Giselle was still firmly in his arms, and at first he was loathe to move because of her. He sensed though that something was different. The air itself smelled sweeter and cleaner. He lay there and let himself gradually awaken. Then he heard a clop, clop clop sound in the street. Horses! How quaint. Bret was surprised that a modern city like Paris still had horses to do any task. Gently slipping out of bed, he stood by the window. Uh oh.

Everything was different, yet the same. The street with the buildings looked all in the same place. Horses were everywhere and the occasional car ran by. That is cars like he had seen in the Henry Ford museum. This couldn't be happening! The people looked like they were dressed in turn of the century clothes. Whirling he saw their door open.

A young teenager wearing an oddly familiar paisley dress, white socks and black patent leather shoes burst in the room.

Time to get up, you two! Mama says she won't wait any longer to serve breakfast, and you are the last boarders to come down to eat.

Giselle sat bolt upright, staring wide eyed at the slim girl. The girl giggled then said -

Remember your promise, Giselle! You said today that you would show me how to wear makeup like you do. My dance is tomorrow and I want them all to say Oooo there goes Colette Cloutier, the prettiest girl at the academie !!. Hurry downstairs, you know how Mama can get!

The girl left leaving Bret and Giselle to stare openmouthed at each other ...

 

[chanaud]

Giselle

Am I dreaming? I asked though everything seems so real, so alive.

Brett shrugged. “I was about to ask the same thing. I’ll tell you what. Instead of pinching each other, let’s kiss. If it seems real, it must be…” An evil grin appeared on his lips with his suggestion.

Giggling, I didn’t hesitate. Our mouths found each other and our tongues fell into a comfortable dance. It seemed as if we’ve kissed Bret a dozen times before.

“Hurry! Mama is beside herself.” The same child’s voice carried through the door bringing us back to reality.

Well that seems real enough. I teased. “Let’s dress quickly and see what’s in store for us. Shall we?” Bret agreed with slight hesitation. He’s always been the serious one…the cautious one. Whoa! Where did that thought come from? I shook my head to shake the cobwebs. Stunned I asked myself privately, we just met, didn’t we? Yesterday’s memories seem to be getting cloudier with every minute. What seemed so clear earlier is vague now.

We opened the tall maple armoire and found three piece day and evening suits for Bret and an array of the most beautiful vintage dresses for me. I gasped at the delight of this treasure before me. Vintage dresses were hard to come by and very costly. Even the imitations were expensive. My fingers felt the dark green Flapper dress that caught my eye and knew immediately it was authentic. I slipped the sleeveless dress over my head and twirled, allowing the skirt’s ruffles to spin with ease. I couldn’t help giggling. Bret’s eyes glowed with delight. I appraised his brown pleated pinstriped slacks. It fell perfectly over his hips as tailored made. His crisp white shirt was perfectly pressed and fit over his broad shoulders handsomely.

“Giselle, love, tie this knot for me please.” He asked as he pulled on the lopsided brown tie.

“Oh Bret, why can’t you ever tie a knot?” I leaned in and felt Bret breath in deeply. His arms snaked behind my back, pulling me closer.

“Stop it now. We don’t have time. You heard Colette, we are the last couple, again!”

I grabbed a matching silk green cap and fit it over my red hair leaving a few curly tendrils to hang carelessly.

Come lover, let’s see what delightful delicacies Madame Cloutier has concocted this morning.

Bret’s eyes lit up for everybody in Paris knows of Madame Cloutier’s famous pastries and richly brewed coffee. Hand in hand we ambled our way down the tight winding staircase. Her head rose at the sound of my thick heels on her delicate wooden floors. She frowned at the sight of my knees and bare shoulders.

“It’s about time you lovebirds come down. Sit…sit. I don’t have all day to waste.”

Bret pulled my seat out without scraping her floors. Before he sat, he planted a kiss on her cheek, catching her in surprise. Only then she smiled.

“Giselle, you didn’t satisfy your man last night? The way you two carried on last night, I thought ghosts in chains were coming to haunt us.” Red dots appeared on my cheeks, Bret beamed.

Madame Cloutier’s tone turned sharper though her eyes remained warm. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Other guests are complaining that your late night lovemaking is keeping them awake. I told them they should pay attention for they might learn something. But, I do have a child here. So, just tone it down a notch.”

She joined us with a steaming cup of thick black coffee and homemade buttery croissant. “Now tell this old lady what you two lovebirds have planned for today?”

Before Bret had a chance to answer, another guest appeared in the doorway…

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

Bret eyed the newcomer. He was a man in his late twenties perhaps, and looked very familiar even though Bret knew he had never met him before.

"Good morning Madame Cloutier! And hello to you Bret old chap. Ah for Giselle though Mmmm a kiss is in order! "

He kissed her on the lips then continued -

"Today is the day that I am off on our great adventure. Ernst and I are traveling by rail to pick up our car! Wish us luck, and pray for dry weather."

Madame Cloutier replied -

"Good morning Scott. Here I have eggs for you, just the way you like them. Things sure are quiet around here since Zelda took Scotty off to London. You are acting like a randy bachelor these days flirting with Giselle like that."

She laughed in a motherly way.

"Giselle and Bret, he hopes for good weather since that crazy woman Zelda had the top taken off their car that came over from America. Seems she felt it was too confining! Scott, you poor man. Ah well, we all have our crosses to bear".

Scott wolfed down his breakfast, then headed out.

"Give my regards to Sylvia, I'm sorry I missed her. Tell her to sell more of my books, they move so slowly and I need the money! Don't want to have to write short stories for the Saturday Evening Post the rest of my life, you know. Good day all !"

And with a florish he left. Giselle gaped at the exit, obviously stunned. Bret took this all in, without a clue of what was going on. Giselle leaned over to him and whispered -

"That was F. Scott Fitzgerald !! And the book he was referring to was The Great Gatsby.

Bret was stunned. Of course it all fit; Paris in the 20s, the clothes, the speech. But how, and why? They finished breakfast silently each immersed in their own thoughts. Bret looked over at Giselle and said -

Let's make today a museum day, Giselle.

And off they went ...

 

[chanaud]

Giselle

It was just like how it all began. The air was slightly cool; sun was warm against our naked skin and it seemed like all of Paris were outdoors at the first sign of spring. Only this time, the horses outnumbered the reckless cars, the streets were wider with less vendors and I was walking along side Bret, holding hands and gaping in awe like a tourist. People seemed to recognize us and called out…

“It was good to see you at The Select. Shall we see you again?”

“Bret, when will you finish your book?”

“You look as beautiful as ever, Giselle. No wonder Bret has been working on his book for over five years.”

We were constantly turning to each other in wonderment. Others smiled wistfully thinking it was a shared moment between lovers.

I thought long and hard of the museum we should visit. The only one that came to mind was The Louvre. Being a Parisian and familiar with the history of my beloved city, I knew The Louvre was just an old small building at the time for it been newly renovated in the early 1980’s. As I thought harder, a light bulb flashed with a clever idea.

“Wha…” Bret asked when he saw the light reach my eyes.

”There is only one museum that is worthy of our time. ” A smug appeared on my face.

“Oh please, do tell..…”

”Only if you kiss me, Mr. Muldoon.”

Bret’s dark eyes flashed. In the middle of the street, along the River Siene, Bret pulled me to him and kissed me fully on the lips for all of Paris to see. He released me after a few long moments, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

“Now tell me.” He insisted softly against my lips as his eyes smothered mine.

“27.” I murmured back at him.

“27?” His head jerked back in confusion.

“27 Rue de Fluerus. It is the home of Gertrude Stein. She is famous for collecting all sorts of modern art including Picasso, Renoir, Gauguin and Cezanne. Where else will you be able to find such richness under one roof?”

“But how can we enter her home? We can’t expect her to allow two strangers into her home.”

“Why not? After all, we are Bret and Giselle. Just ask anyone. She is famous for collecting people as well as art. Who knows, someone might recognize us.”

Bret’s slowly nodded not sold on my idea.

"Oh come on, we can at least try.

Before he could protest, I led his hand to the two-story brownstone famously known as Gertrude Stein and Alice B Toklas’ home…

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

Bret didn't have to be told where he was: 27 rue de Fleurus in the 1920s and 1930s was one of the most famous addresses in all of Europe.

With a gasp he began to chatter -

It can't be But it is. This entire place just has such an air of importance. Her brother, Leo introduced her to the work of Cézanne, and -- through Cézanne -- to modern painting. Against Gertrude's wishes, Leo also bought the first of the Stein Picassos. It wasn't long before they were buying Cézannes, Gauguins, Renoirs, a Toulouse-Lautrec, and had discovered the work of Matisse. Such patronage helped to foster Gertrude's avant-garde reputation back home; she was frequently visited by American modernist painters and informed art-lovers.!

Gulping his pride Bret knocked and the wide door swung open. There she was, Gertrude Stein herself!

"Are you going to stand there gawking all day? Come in, come in you are acting like you've never been here before. Alice isn't at home so sit while I call for some tea ..."

Bret and Giselle could but gawk at the paintings on the walls. Every last inch of space was crammed full with some artwork or another, yet it all fit. Look, Bret pointed -

http://www.duke.edu/web/lit132/paintingfigure.gif

underneath the inscription read André Masson, Painting-Figure (1927) -

And there is that a Picasso! Yes ...Le Journal. One of the very first examples of cubism. Wow.

http://www.thecityreview.com/s99imp4p.gif

Gertrude walked back in the room.

"I shall look forward to seeing you both at the track later. Giselle, this one is quite the gambler - like Hemingway he can be reckless! Watch him my dear. So tell me, how goes the career? You have caused quite a stir around Paris the past few weeks. Please tell me all ..."

 

[chanaud]

Giselle Chanaud

Before, I had a chance to think it over, my mouth opened and words flew out.

"Oh Gertie! What am I to do? I fear I’ve created such a ruckus here and many are claiming to be my enemy."

Bret patted my hand in sympathy. It reassured me to continue on and confide in Ms. Stein. Gertrude sat back on her green velvet wing chair and sipped her tea. Her eyes shone with brightness as she caught every movement.

“Now, now, Giselle. Not everyone is your enemy. I know for a fact, many are siding with you and think Kiki is acting like a jealous lover.”

"But that’s just it. I’m not his lover! Everyone in Paris knows I belong to Bret. Besides, Man Ray isn’t courting me; he just wants to umm…what is that word darling?”

Bret stepped right in. “Photograph. He is working on a collection called ‘Rayograph.”

Getrude was every bit as calm as I was excited. Deep seeded emotions poured out as my arms waved wildly.

Well, Kiki has blacklisted me with every good artist in town. I haven’t received an invite for a sitting in weeks. After spilling everything, I sat back on the burgundy settee and released an exasperated sigh of relief.

“First of all, I despise that word belong. You don’t belong to anyone, dear. Even my dear Alice doesn’t belong to me. Second, everyone including Kiki knows Ray has a reputation of taking on his models personally. How do you think Kiki became his lover?”

"Well I have no intentions on being his lover! Bret doesn’t want me to take the assignment. But, I feel I must take the job for we have no money. We owe Madame Cloutier three weeks of rent. Oh Gertie! What should I do?"

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

Bret felt his world getting hazy. His very sense of self seemed to be slipping away from him. Perhaps he was becoming this Bret Muldoon of Paris. No! He belonged in Manhatten. In a stupidly expensive 7 figure condo overlooking Central Park. As Giselle spoke he struggled with these thoughts.

It must be a dream - yet he wouldn't or couldn't wake up. Giselle was compelling. He knew these people, he knew what to say, and how he felt.

He heard Gertie say to Giselle -

I cannot help you my dear. It is time you made peace with Ray yourself. Paris is not big enough for both of you. He is powerful and will crush you, like it or not. An artist like Man Ray is willful and strong headed. Its what makes him a creative genius. He has set his sights upon you my dear, and no other shall suffice. Make peace. Then you may both move on ...

We got up and thanked her. With a sigh Giselle slumped against her door as Ms. Stein closed it. These were not the words that she had hoped to hear. Bret moved up to embrace her, yet Giselle swatted his arm away. That hurt. They were both in pain. Bret said softly yet with a conviction that surprised him -

Whatever will be will be. You will make the right decision. You will always have me by your side.

I love you Giselle

 

[chanaud]

Giselle

All of my worries melted away at the sound of his last four words.

”Ohhhh Brett…Do you really mean it? I love you too!”

Right there in front of the most famous address in Europe and for all of Paris to witness, I threw my arms around Brett’s neck and pushed him against the door. His own arms circled around my narrow waist as we kissed passionately sealing our declaration of love for the first time.

“Ahem!”

A rather tall well dressed man holding a book under his arm interrupted us. Though his lips were set in a thin line, his clear blue eyes twinkled in delight.

“Don’t mind me. Just let me pass and you two can carry on your business.”

Red dots grew rapidly on my cheeks and spread down my neck with embarassment.

“Pardon us, James.”

Mr. Joyce’s thin wire framed glasses fell a notch on his perfectly straight nose as he chuckled. Bret and I turned to make our way down the steps and were interrupted.

“Will I see you tonight at Bricktop’s. Ms. Baker promises us a new act.”

My face lit up at the invitation. Only the Who’s who of Paris was seen at Bricktop’s in Montemartre. Ada Smith, the proprietress books only the finest musicians from Harlem. I've always wanted to visit the notorious racy jazz club. Bret fidgeted with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry we can’t make it. We have another engagement.”

My heart fell with my face at his words for we didn’t have another engagement. I knew why Bret created the fib. It was about money again. Oh why must we always be poor, my heart screamed out. Bret must have heard it for he squeezed my hand.

Mr. Joyce nodded with understanding.

“Very well. Maybe next time.”

Hand in hand, we started down the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, dear. I knew you wanted to go.” His soft words struck me with guilt.

I gave Bret a genuine smile. I understand, Bret. Yes, I am disappointed for I have heard nothing but wonderful stories of Ms. Josephine Baker. She promises to be absolutely racy. But, you are more important than Bricktop’s. We will have our own fun. I will catch up on my reading while you work on your book. Then we will make love. Then you can write again. Then after that we will make love again.”

Bret’s eyes lit up at the promise.

”But before we do that we must be replenish our nourishment. Come on, we still have good credit at our favorite café..”

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

Bret looked at Giselle's shining eyes and her flushed cheeks. He had finally said it. The I love you words had passed easily from his lips. It felt right. For this time and place he knew they were fated to be together.

A dim warning voice was clanging in the back of his mind. The Bret of the 21st century was fading fast. He was no longer that man, he was the poor boy Bret of Paris. Perhaps that's how it should be. Perhaps, perhaps. It was curious how very little time he and Giselle spent talking about the magical time travel event that happened to them.

Bret cast these thoughts aside, as if they were unwanted daydream intrusions on his life here. He jolted himself back to reality. Or at least the reality that was alive and in front of them. He wanted to experience all this place had to offer. That included both Bricktops and Giselle! He spoke -

I meant it when I told you I loved you. I do with all my heart!

Giselle, let's eat at an outside vendor. Have a warm baguette and juice. As for me, I only want you. We have only seven hours until Bricktops opens. That will be just enough time to make love to you <wink>. Yes you heard me. Let's splurge and go to Bricktops. You only live once. We can cover it even if we will have no money after that!

They ran hand in hand down the street, and grabbed her lunch. Bret grinned, the "feed me" imperitive was completed. Just like when he had first met her. They dashed back to their upstairs apartment.

Clothes flew everywhere. Gently Bret lowered Giselle to the bed naked as she was except for her red beret. Giselle closed her eyes, and arched her back. Her breasts were perfect, nipples seeming to point to Bret's mouth. He pulled her arms over her head and took one of his hands and held them there together. He lowered his mouth and engulfed her deceptively large right breast. His other hand slipped between her legs and he felt nothing but incredible wetness ....

 

[chanaud]

Giselle

My body was in total agony. His large hand took hold of my delicate wrists and bound them over my head. Watching Bret’s eyes gaze down at me made me writhe within his hold. My nipples sharpened and peaked, beckoning him, taunting him, wanting relief. He lowered his face towards me. Expecting a kiss, my rosy lips opened to accept him but his mouth quickly made its way down to my breasts, causing my body jump up in surprise as a loud gasp escaped me.

Bret’s lips clasped around my right nipple and allowed his tongue to roll around in growing circles. His moans answered mine. My hips rose up to press myself against his raging cock. The tingles followed Bret’s hand as it trailed down my stomach and between my legs. His expert fingers played with my velvety folds, spreading my wetness until he plunged in with ease.

My heart was pounding as loud as my gasps. His bent finger reached upwards, searching until my body gave way. My inner walls stretched and squeezed answering to his touch. The rapid sharp breaths tightened my body into a coil. Bret’s synchronized mouth and fingers continued on and on and on until I burst out with a loud scream. A warm waterfall soaked his hand and dripped down my inner thighs.

Bret looked up at me with an evil grin. I couldn’t help answering him with a seductive laugh because it felt so damn good. I opened my legs wide as he slipped in easily…

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

Making love to Giselle was an indescribably erotic experience. They just fit together so easily that time itself melted away. The shadows in the room grew long as the sun sank on the horizon as lost themselves in the gentle caresses and sweet kisses of the other.

After Giselle came for the seventh (or was it the eighth?) time she actually pushed him away! Finally, Bret grinned, this woman does have a limit. He whispered to her -

I think its time that we got dressed to go to Bricktop's darling. Montmartre is across town and we are not ready! You sex machine you.

He ducked as she threw a pillow at him, then laughed as she scampered about getting ready. In mere minutes they were out the door. Giselle's bright eyes shone in excitement. They caught the train to Montmartre and made their way to 26 rue Pigalle. Even this early by Parisian standards the place was hopping.

They were able to get a table in the back row. Bret had in his pocket every last dime they owned, just enough for them to have no worries this big night. For food tomorrow, well they would think about that then!

A vivacious black woman with flaming red hair approached them, and her eyes widened with joy at seeing Giselle. The proprietress herself approached Ada "Bricktop" Smith!

Ada

Giselle called and received a huge body hug just as the lights dimmed. The woman winked and whispered that she would soon return.

A beautiful British-born, half-American singer named Mabel Mercer strode on stage and began crooning to a rapt audience. The tune was hauntingly familiar to Bret as was the face of the piano player composer. Yet he couldn't quite place. Turning to Giselle he saw that she was mouthing all the words ...

 

[chanaud]

Giselle

At the first note of her sweet soprano musical voice, the room stood still. Everyone was mesmerized at the dark voluptuous woman with such faraway eyes filled with tears.

I will burst a Sunday where I would have suffered too much
Then you will return but I will have left
Candles will burn like a burning hope
And for you without effort, my eyes will be open
Am not afraid my love if they cannot see you
They will say to you that I loved you more than my life
Oooohhhh…Gloomy Sunday…

It took a few long moments for the room to notice when she stopped singing. Coughs holding back choked tears and open sniffles were heard from various tables. Only when the band started playing again, I looked around and found Bret staring at me with soft eyes swimming with deep emotion. He took my hands and pulled them to his lips. My heart leapt to my throat at his kiss. A heavy sigh escaped me letting me breathe again.

”Do you know I love you?’

Without saying a word, he pulled me to him and kissed me fully and with such passion letting me know he felt the same.
The night continued with racy burlesque acts and singers singing the sultriest songs. The wide range of performances attracted such a hodgepodge of Parisians creating a strange bowl of bouillabaisse. Red wine was cheap and plentiful therefore our choice of drink. When the stage darkened and the curtains dropped, did we realize there were four empty bottles on our table.

Not wanting to leave, everybody remained at their tables and conversation continued to flow easily. Then a cry was heard inviting everyone to their house to continue the party. Bret asked if I wanted to follow the crowd.

With a shake of my head, I whispered softly, ”No, dear. I want to go home. I want you.”

A wide grin filled his face as his eyes lit up for it was the answer he wanted to hear. We raced home and stumbled drunkenly to bed. Hours and multiple orgasms later, we fell asleep with Bret hugging me closely from behind.


~The Next Day~


A large crash woke me suddenly making my heart leap up. I tried to move but a pair of heavy arms had me pinned down. His soft uniformed breaths told me he was still asleep.

Horns blared loudly followed by screaming sirens inching closer. My eyes peeked through heavy eyelids and scanned the room. It looked familiar yet different. I lifted my head to scan the room further provoking a soft moan behind me. When I looked down at my clothes, I was wearing a red plaid skirt and white blouse. Funny, I thought. I swear I wasn’t wearing anything when I fell asleep. What was I wearing? My memory clouded with confusion. Was it all a dream? I tried to shake my head to clear the cobwebs. It must have been. But, everything....everybody seemed so real!

“Bret? Bret, wake up!”

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

Bret woke slowly Giselle's words floating down upon him. This woman is insatiable, were his first thoughts as he relived their torrid lovemaking from the evening before.

There was a note of urgency in her voice though that commanded his attention. His eyes snapped open and he saw her in that same sexy plaid skirt that she had worn the day he met her.

Something was wrong.

The wail of the modern siren was his first clue. Running to the window he threw back the curtains to reveal ........ modern day Paris.

No .......NO Bret screamed. Giselle sat down open mouthed shock etched on her still beautiful face.

He liked it back there. In that world life was simple. And most importantly he had Giselle. Here in the present, he had neither. His cell phone rang confirming Suddenly all his business success meant nothing. He answered the phone.

Hey buddy its Mac! Just had to call and see how your first night was in Paris. Meet any hot Frenchwomen yet? Knowing you probably you are waking up with one right now. Hey I waited till 7 AM your time to call at least ....

Bret? Bret? I can hear ya breathing. Talk to me man.

Mac I ummm I'll call you back later. Bye.

Already Bret felt uneasy in the pit of his stomach. He looked at Giselle and for the first time that morning knew what he wanted. He reached for her. After a long lingering kiss he pulled back and whispered ...

What's next ?

 

[chanaud]

Gisselle

“Come here, lover.”

My voice husky with sleepiness and desire beckoned him. Time never informed my body that we were back to the 21st century. It was swollen and tender from last night’s lovemaking and seeing Brett again renewed my desire for him.

My arms snaked around his neck and pulled him down to me and my waiting mouth. Brett accepted unquestioningly. Soon we were caught in a passion not quite as fiery as last night’s but just as satisfying.

Some time later, we lay on the bed spent holding each other tightly for fear of the unknown.

“What now, Giselle?”

Brett asked again. His eyes clouded with questions and fears of the future. He wanted to go back. It was clearly noted in his face.

“Why don’t we wash up and continue reading this diary. I have a feeling our answers are here waitng…”

I couldn’t answer the question. I had too many questions of my own. How did we end up here? What is our past trying to tell us? Who was the woman downstairs? Why did we meet again?

With trusting eyes, Brett followed me down the hall to the communal bathroom to wash up…

 

[darrenfate]

Bret

Bret paused to look in the mirror. He saw his reflection, and stared. Yes, he was the same man. Yes, he was still the Bret Muldoon, bon vivant - larger than life to his colleagues and customers. But no, things were not as they seemed to be. They were caught up in something that was much larger than the two of them. Bret was sure that these things were happening to them for a reason! Perhaps it was to right an ancient wrong. He was determined to find out what his role was.

He could hear Giselle in the next room, dressing. Giselle. Instantly Bret smiled. Giselle made things different. Giselle made things better. Oh my God, I've fallen in love with her! Look at your face! Just thinking about Giselle made him smile - that silly sappy smile that he wore like a badge of honor. Fuck. His life would never be the same and the thing is - he wanted it that way.

Giselle poked her head in and said -

Hey, what's taking you so long? Let's find that diary!

She was so cute in that now everpresent jaunty red beret. Give it up Bret. You are hopelessly smitten. He spun around and swept Giselle up in his arms.

You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I l___ __

Somehow Bret couldn't say he loved her leaving the last two words trailing off. It implied a committment now and in the future. The time was not right, not quite yet. Somehow though, he thought she knew how he felt.

He grabbed the diary and handing it to Giselle opened it.

Go ahead. Read what our fate is. I'm ready, with you by my side.