February 23rd, 1990

February 23rd, 1990
Montmartre, Paris

“Ecossais, wake up,”  I heard Jean Jacques whisper.
“Mmmmm,” I murmured, rolling over in the hope of continuing my slumber.
“Ecossais.” No longer a whisper.
“What time is it?” I asked, peeling my eyes open.
“It is early.”
“How early?”
“It is not yet five o’clock.”
“Why are you waking me up?”
He answered with a grin.
“No way, I said,” rolling away from him. “Come back later.”
He laughed. “Oh, Ecossais,” he sighed. “I am not here later.”
“What?” I asked, turning to face him again.
“I have to go to work.”
“You go to work at five in the morning? That’s mental.”
“Non, non, you do not understand, I am leaving.”
“Jean Jacques”, I said, sitting up. “What are you talking about?”
“I have received telephone call for work. I have to take avion from Charles de Gaulle.”
“A quelle heure?”
“Seven thirty.”
“You had better hurry up. Shit, I mean, merde, do I need to leave now too?”
“Non,” he laughed. “You are staying here if you like.”
“Really? You wouldn’t mind?”
“Non, I am sorry I have to leave.”
“When will you be back?”
“I do not know. Perhaps un semaine.”
“A week?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe more but I give you key and you go when you want and you stay when you want.”
“As lovely as that sounds, I should probably leave with you.”
“Non, non,” he said, stroking my arm. “You must stay in my city as long as you want.”
“If you insist,” I grinned.
“I in cyst,” he said, kissing my forehead. “So, I see you again?”
“Gosh I hope so,” I laughed.
“Ok,” he said, getting up. “I leave key here for you.” I heard the key clink when it hit the glass on the night table.
“Merci et bon voyage,” I said, easing my way back under the duvet. “Oh, Jean Jacques?”
He turned and smiled. “Oui, Ecossais?”
“Where are you going?”
“To the city of angels.”


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