The Odd Couple in Paris Read online

  “Maybe Dillon will go to some gardens with me, if I go with him to the museums.”

  “He’s quite a character.”

  “Yes, but fun. Do you have friends that you’re going to visit in Rome?” asked Lulu.

  “I have a few friends that I usually see every summer. I love the heat and just the whole atmosphere of Rome. It’s quite a sexy city and more sensual than Paris. There’s a lot of masculine energy. Didn’t you go to Rome with your parents?”

  “Yes, but I was only ten years old, so I don’t remember that much. I’m happy to be here in Paris. I’m looking forward to going to Nice and being on a beach in the Mediterranean.”

  Lulu didn’t always know what to say when Martin would start talking about masculine energy because it wasn’t the kind of masculine energy that she was interested in. He had taken her to gay bars in San Francisco, and she felt completely invisible. But at some of the parties the gay men would dance with her. They were more willing to dance than the straight men. She wasn’t really looking for a boyfriend in Paris. So she had made up her mind to just enjoy France and the culture.

  “You know teaching has its advantages. I love having the summers free.”

  “That’s true, especially if you have friends that you can stay with. Staying in a hotel for two months would get quite expensive. It’s so great that we can stay at Victor’s.

  “I think that he’s actually happy to have people that he trusts to stay in his apartment when he’s gone.”

  “Are you doing any writing?” asked Lulu.

  “I’m starting on something—a collection of short stories about my travels.”

  “You’ve traveled so much. I’m sure that it would be an interesting book—maybe a little kinky?” asked Lulu.

  Martin couldn’t help but grin. “It’s a collection of erotic short stories.”

  “I’ve always wanted to do the same, but I haven’t had enough escapades or life experiences yet. Maybe in ten years.”

  “We should walk back and work off those sandwiches. That’s how the Parisian’s stay so slim,” said Martin.

  On their way back, they saw Dillon sitting at an outdoor café drinking his coffee and with his usual smiling face. “Bonjour,” he said.

  “Can we join you? We did a lot of walking,” said Martin.

  “Of course, Big Daddy,” said Dillon. Lulu got out her camera and took a few pictures of Dillon and her uncle.

  “The garden was so lovely—so many fragrant flowers. If you go to some gardens with me, I’ll go with you to the museums.”

  “You can come along to the museums in Nice. They have a Monet and a Manet museum,” said Dillon.

  “I’ve seen them. Both interesting, small museums,” said Martin.

  “Then we can go to the beach,” said Lulu.

  “That’s the last thing that I want to do. I can see plenty of beaches when I’m in Hawaii.”

  “Well, I’m going even if I have to go by myself.”

  “Maybe we can go to the museums in the mornings and then to the beach in the afternoon,” said Dillon.

  “I’m sure you two can work something out,” said Martin.

  “What time are you taking the train to Rome tomorrow?” asked Dillon.

  “My ticket is for 2:00 p.m.

  “We can walk you down to the station tomorrow,” said Lulu.

  “I hate to see you go. You’re our translator,” said Dillon.

  “Most of the French can speak English. Just start to try to speak French, and they’ll stop you. In Italy they don’t care if you speak bad Italian. They appreciate it when you try. But the Parisians hate everyone including other French from different regions,” said Martin.

  “Well, if they hate us, we don’t know because we can’t understand them anyway,” said Lulu.

  “That’s probably better. They like the American dollar, but that’s about all. When you meet people here, say that you’re Canadian. They love the Canadians,” said Martin.

  “How did you meet Victor?” asked Dillon.

  “I met him in Rome in a restaurant. He asked if he could join me. He thought that I was French, and I thought that he was Italian. That was nine years ago.”

  “I heard that he’s on some culture committee,” said Dillon.

  “He’s on the state culture committee. He has the ideal job. Gets to travel a lot to see cultural events. But I think that he comes from money.”

  “That’s the type of job that I’d like,” said Lulu.

  “Yes, me too,” said Martin.

  “What do your parents do?” asked Martin.

  “They own a couple of small convenience stores in Honolulu—tourist shops.”

  “What do they think about you being an artist?” asked Martin.

  “They’re happy that I am getting an advanced degree so that I can teach. My dad was hoping that I would do something else, but I think he’s given up on that idea.”

  Martin took out a cigarette. “I didn’t know that you smoked,” said Lulu.

  “I normally don’t, but I do when I get really hungry. And I don’t want to eat until later.”

  “Let me have one then too. I won’t inhale, but just blow the smoke around,” said Lulu.

  “Me too then,” said Dillon. The three sat at the table watching the tourists and Parisians walk by as they blew their smoke out, without inhaling.

  “I won’t be able to join you two for dinner tonight. I’m invited to a friend’s,” said Martin.

  “No problem. Maybe I’ll go to the market and cook something,” said Lulu.

  “There’s a market close to the apartment that I can show you,” said Dillon.

  “See you two later then. I’m going to the apartment to get ready.”

  “Ciao,” said Lulu.

  “Do you want to go over to the market?” asked Dillon.

  “OK, let’s go.” They walked along the street with Dillon saying bonjour to all the people walking by. Dillon had on his Hawaiian shirt with the orange flowers and was wearing his oversize glasses.

  “It’s amazing how dressed up the French women get when they go to the supermarket. Three-inch heels, lots of makeup. You’ll be surprised,” said Dillon.

  “I’m just not into makeup that much. Maybe for a special party. Lipstick and mascara are generally all that I use.”

  “You’re lucky that you don’t need it. Some women do, if they want to look good.”

  “We can pool our money if you want to. If we keep going out to eat, we’ll run out soon. Well, at least I will,” said Lulu.

  “I was going to suggest that. Do you know how to cook?” asked Dillon.

  “Yes. Actually, I’m a pretty good cook. I can cook French style or Italian dishes. Can you?”

  “No. The only thing that I can cook is Japanese sticky rice. Have you had that before?”

  “Only a few times in Japanese restaurants. So, if you can’t cook then you’ll have to clean up the kitchen.”

  “Oh no, I am not going to clean the kitchen.”

  “Then you can cook. Well, you can think about it then,” said Lulu.

  “This is a large supermarket,” said Lulu. Most of the food shops in Paris were small specialty shops. There was one that sold just pork or one that sold just fish. This one seemed to have everything.

  “Let’s buy that cheese,” said Dillon.

  “Not that stinky stuff. You can buy it, but use your money.”

  “You’re so difficult,” said Dillon.

  “Let’s get that sausage; I can make something with that and a green salad,” said Lulu.

  “The fresh fish looks good,” said Dillon.

  “That’s too expensive. Let’s eat fish when we’re in Nice.”

  “Can I help you with something?” asked the butcher with a heavy accent.
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  “As soon as we make up our minds,” said Lulu.

  “Are you on your honeymoon?” asked the butcher.

  “No, we aren’t married,” said Lulu. Dillon was grinning profusely.

  “You act like a married couple.”

  “See how ridiculous you’re acting, Chockey-Bickey,” said Lulu.

  “OK, just buy what you want. You can cook it.”

  2

  Sticky Rice

  Dillon got the rice out of the cabinet while Lulu prepared the rest of the dinner. “Are you sure that’s how you cook the rice?”

  “This is how you cook Japanese sticky rice. My mother taught me, and I’ve been cooking it like this for years.”

  “Why didn’t she teach you how to cook other things besides just rice?” asked Lulu.

  “Because men in my family don’t cook.”

  “Well, at least you won’t starve. You can always just cook rice and eat raw vegetables and fruit,” said Lulu.

  “Very funny. I am going to sit in the living room and have a glass of wine. Call me when it’s ready.” Dillon looked out the apartment window and noticed the people walking by. He saw a handsome French man walking by with a baguette under his arm. They really do like their bread, thought Dillon. In Hawaii he rarely ate bread. His mother didn’t believe that bread was needed because they ate rice or had Japanese noodles. Sometimes with their tea in the afternoon, they would eat rolls that had fillings in them. The red bean paste was his favorite.

  He felt close to his mother. She had been strict with him when growing up, but she had a tender heart. She allowed him to study his art and convinced his dad to go along with it. He was the youngest son in his family. She told Dillon’s father that the other sons were all professionals and that Dillon was different. He was the joy of the family—always smiling and laughing.

  “It’s ready,” said Lulu.

  “Smells really good. You are a good cook.”

  “Are you going back to Honolulu to finish your MFA?”

  “Yes. But after that I’m going to move to San Francisco. My friend Jena wants me to be her manager and help her sell her jewelry and pottery—like a rep. I really love Jena. She’s my best friend.”

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “Yes. I’ve never slept with her if that’s what you’re trying to figure out.”

  “Have you ever slept with a woman?”

  “Just once. It was a dry experience, and she smelled like camembert cheese.”

  “Oh, Dillon. You can’t tell from just one experience. And not all women smell like cheese.” Dillon just laughed and looked amused.

  “What is your uncle doing in Rome?” asked Dillon.

  “Probably visiting friends or picking up men. He really likes Italian men. His mother—my grandmother—was disappointed that he’s gay. She wanted more grandchildren. I’m her only one. That’s why she spoils me, but she also puts pressure on me to excel. She’s worse than my parents. My parents are pretty easygoing. She’s kind of stiff compared to the rest of the family. My dad used to say that his mother-in-law had to be careful going around corners because she might break. My grandmother’s husband, my nonno, is really easy going. He lets my grandmother be the boss. When I was a child, he would give me piggyback rides. He would snort and pretend to be a horse. He would run around his backyard while I shouted for him to go faster. I think I wore him out. He’s a very interesting man.”

  “Some of that must have rubbed off on Martin. Martin is really an interesting guy. He has a dry sense of humor, like the English, but he’s easy going.”

  “Yeah. He was quite a prankster when he was younger and still is. Whenever his mother, visits him in San Fran, he plays jokes on her. He will tie a fake spider on a string and throw it in front of her. Once he took me over to his apartment and had me knock on the door of his apartment wearing a Groucho Marx mask. Of course, she screamed when she opened the door. But she’s just as bad.

  “When I was eight years old, during the summer, she said that she had a surprise for me. When it was time for me to go to bed, she pulled back the covers for me to get in. There must have been about twenty June bugs buzzing about in my bed. She used to get into butter fights with my mother. My mother hates butter. My mother got her back by putting a bunch of garlic in her overnight bag. When my grandmother left and took the train home, she sat next to a guy and thought that he smelled terrible. She didn’t realize until she got home that the garlic was in her bag.

  “Martin jumped out of a second-story window with an umbrella when he was a child. He thought that the umbrella would work like a parachute. He ended up with a broken arm. He would turn the cups upside down and put a caterpillar underneath the teacups when his mother’s friends came over for tea. He would put raw eggs under my pillow and wait for me to get into bed when I was a little girl.”

  “That’s hilarious. I didn’t know that he could be such a devil.”

  “There’s more, but it would take me all day to tell you.”

  Dillon looked around the kitchen and groaned. “What a mess.”

  “I’ll help you put the leftovers away, but then it’s all yours,” said Lulu. Lulu poured herself a glass of wine and put on some music. She didn’t mind cooking but hated cleaning up the kitchen. She was so glad that Dillon didn’t know how to cook. After thirty minutes, Lulu looked in the kitchen. Dillon was almost finished. “Looking good,” she said.

  “I wanted to ask you how you got the name Lulu—is it a nickname?”

  “My name is really Lucinda. You don’t like Lulu?

  “I like Lulu. I think it’s sexy.

  “They could have named me Cindy—that would have sounded more American. Parents can pick the worst names; you wonder if they were drunk when they picked a name. They called me Lulu as a nickname, and I kept it.

  “I like Lulu better,” said Dillon.

  The next morning Lulu left at 10:00 a.m. to look for a pair of sandals. She wanted to find something quickly because she and Dillon were going to accompany Martin to the train station.

  She walked a few blocks and found shoes outside on a rack. But she decided to look farther down the street. She made a mistake when she looked directly at the French men that walked by. She was only curious, but they took it the wrong way. Now she had one French man on either side of her. One was asking her in French, “Voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir.” She had learned that phrase in French. Will you sleep with me tonight? No matter what she said to them in English, they wouldn’t stop following her. She tried crossing the street, but they were like her shadow. She became very frustrated and ran into a clothing shop.

  While she looked at a rack of clothes, she could see the French man peering into the window at her. She gave him the finger, but he kept on grinning. Maybe he doesn’t know what that means, thought Lulu. When a salesperson came over to see if she needed help, she asked him if he could get rid of the man outside the shop or call the police. He said a few words in French, and the guy took off. But Lulu didn’t realize that the other one, who was a tall redhead, was waiting outside across the street.

  As she walked down the street, he reappeared. She told him to go away in English and even asked him if he understood English. He told her that he only spoke a little. She was back at her apartment and ran up the stairs. Martin and Dillon wanted to know why she was out of breath. “Two French men wouldn’t stop following me. One is downstairs now.” Martin looked out the window and yelled some profanities in French, and the guy took off.

  “Next time just stomp your foot and yell merde.” (French word for shit)

  “I wasn’t able to find any shoes.”

  “I’ll go with you later,” said Dillon.

  At 1:00 p.m. Lulu and Dillon walked to the train station with Martin. “We’ll miss you, Big Daddy,” said Dillon. Lulu and Dillon held onto Martin’s hands as he loo
ked out of the window of the train. He smiled. They looked like two children that were about to be abandoned.

  “Well, there goes our translator.”

  “We can manage,” said Lulu.

  “There’s a shoe store,” said Dillon.

  “Let me look inside.” Lulu looked at the sandals and found a pair that she liked.

  “Do you know the European shoe sizes?” asked Lulu.

  “I have no idea,” said Dillon.

  “Can I help you, miss?” said the salesperson to Lulu.

  “I would like to try this pair in a large size. American size is eight.”

  The salesman came back with the box of shoes. “This is not so large. Your feet are small and long.” Lulu always felt that her feet were too large and wished that she wore a size seven.

  “These are good, I’ll take them. I’m going to wear them now, please.” The salesman put Lulu’s old shoes in the bag.

  “Those are cute. Your feet don’t look big at all.”

  “Maybe not in this pair,” said Lulu.

  3

  Buying Tickets

  “We should buy our tickets to Nice. It isn’t far from here,” said Dillon. They walked a few blocks and saw the ticket shop.

  “Bonjour,” said the salesclerk.

  “Do you speak English?” asked Dillon.

  “Oui,” said the clerk.

  “I would like to buy a round-trip ticket to Nice for this Friday,” said Dillon.

  “And for the mademoiselle?”

  “I would like the same,” said Lulu. The salesclerk would not look at Lulu and completely ignored her. She repeated herself and he still wouldn’t respond.

  “Monsieur, what would the lady like to purchase?”

  “A ticket like mine,” said Dillon.

  Lulu’s face was flushed. “What was that about? He just ignored me,” said Lulu.