We wandered around Lausanne. There were no street musicians along quai de Belgique. There were plenty of tourists, but there was no single sight to concentrate them. In the area around the Cathedral, the Château Saint Maire, and along Place de la Palud and the Place St-François we found four guitarists, a flautist, a folk harpist, and an untidy group of Peruvian pan-pipers. Eric was not there.

I parked Susyn on a bench and went to work. It took time. These were the musicians’ prime hours. If I interrupted them with questions, it would make them resentful, so I had to wait around for one of them to take a break.

The flautist quit first, and I could see why. In the ten minutes I watched her, she got only a few francs in tips. I moved up to her as she was pulling her flute apart and putting it back in it’s case. She was like NORAD, all antennae and sensors, with a strong defensive perimeter. Even though Europe is kinder than America, a young woman traveling alone has to be cautious. I squatted down at a comfortable distance, just out of reach, like I would have with a frightened animal, and showed her Raven’s picture. She hadn’t seen her, or at least she made that claim.

“I’m looking for her for her father.”

The flautist shrugged. We had not exchanged names, and it did not seem likely that we would. I had to do something to penetrate her shield of suspicion, so I embellished the truth. A lot, actually. I said that she had fought with her father, but that her father had fallen ill, and had sent me to find her and tell her that all was forgiven. Perhaps it was not an inspired story. It only made her draw further into her shell.

A young couple down the street were closing up shop for the night, so I approached them. They, too, were shielded, but benignly, by their mutual involvement. He was a fairly good guitarist and she had sung with a small, sweet voice. From moment to moment, they found little ways to touch each other. They were so obviously in love that they shone like a lantern. I saw that the guitar case was well filled with coins. I wasn’t surprised. On a warm summer night, beneath the towering silhouette of the Cathedral, in Europe, the sweet sound of her voice and the sweeter radiance of their affection completed a seamless ambiance of romance. No wonder the passing tourists smiled a little more, held hands a little tighter, and tossed a coin into his guitar case as they passed.

The young guitarist told me that he had seen Eric and Raven at the small hotel where they were staying last night. They had come in late and had been turned away. Eric had asked the guitarist and his girlfriend if there were any other accommodations nearby, and had mentioned being enroute to Montreaux.

I spent the rest of the night asking questions, but that was the closest I got to a lead.

*       *       *

We slept well, in separate rooms. At nine the next morning, we had breakfast on the terrace again and outlined our plans. Susyn had picked up schedules for trains and lake steamers, which I studied briefly.

“We don’t know that they went to Montreaux,” I said, “but we do know that they came to Lausanne. We need to move on, but we also need to stay here and look some more. It seems that we should split up.” more tomorrow

Susyn had had the film developed, and the lab had reworked the photo of the three of us. Now I had a pocketful of grainy blowups of Raven and another batch of Eric. I took them around town. No one at the hostel had seen either of them. Likewise at the campgrounds at the edge of the city. I stopped at a bookstore and bought the three most popular English language European guidebooks, and set out to canvass all the hotels they recommended. At noon, I met Susyn to report no progress, then continued through the afternoon, finally ending up by circling the six block area around the train station looking into all the hotels there. By evening, I had found nothing.

Susyn had booked a suite of rooms. I met her in the hotel lobby and she took me out to dinner. I told her the story of my wasted day, and she told me about all the progress she hadn’t made.

“It doesn’t look good,” I said. “This was our best bet. We knew which city they were going to. From here, they could go east or west, to Montreaux or to Geneva. Or they could have gone in those directions and not stopped at either, which means they could be anywhere in Europe by now. They could take the train, or the lake steamers, or they could have rented a car, or hitchhiked.”

Susyn looked disgusted. “I thought you said you could find her.”

“I said I knew how and where to look. But even in that, I was wrong. I was thinking of the way we were traveling when we were together, to stretch out my money until the Senator called her back home. I hadn’t thought about her credit card. Money opens up her options completely; she could even have flown back to California by now.”

We were on a terrace overlooking Lac Léman. The service was good and the food was excellent, but it was all wasted on me.

Susyn finally said, “It isn’t your fault. Without you, I wouldn’t have known where to start. And we have to keep looking.”

“Of course we do. I never considered giving up.”

“I had your pack taken up to the suite.” She was trying to be civil, so I smiled and nodded. “The porter looked a bit askance.”

“I’ll bet he did. Did a tip soothe his sensibilities?”

“Yes. Nicely.”

“Good for him.”

“Come up and rest. We’ll try again in the morning.”

I shook my head. “You go rest. There is nothing else for you to do tonight, but I have to make the rounds where the tourists are taking their evening strolls. If Eric is in Luisanne, that’s where he should be, making a living.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Susyn looked good. The appreciation of feminine beauty is not dulled by a blighted romance; it is only made bittersweet. Despite my feelings for Raven, I wanted to take Susyn’s hand and bring a smile back to her face. And I felt guilty about it, but that guilt was sweetened by the faint taste of revenge. Tonight, I was vulnerable in ways I didn’t want to be vulnerable.

We argued, but I didn’t put up much of a fight. In the end, Susyn went with me. more tomorrow

Chapter Seventeen

I sent Susyn back to her hotel with instructions to find the quickest means of developing a roll of film. I had discovered two exposed rolls in my pocket the morning Raven left. I had been carrying them for her, and on one of them was the picture of Raven, Eric, and me in the cafe at Monmarte.

I went to the youth hostel. The hours of lockout were past, and the eating area that doubled as a lounge had filled up with kids and a few older travelers who looked like a cross between bird watchers and overage hippies. Except for the Americans, most of them were at least bilingual. Since I spoke English and German, and a hundred words of French, I managed to talk to everyone who had known Eric. As I had seen for myself, Eric was a shy one; but all of the girls remembered him.

I stayed for the obligatory spaghetti supper, then called Susyn. She met me at the gare, and we took the night train for Lausanne. Susyn had engaged a first class couchette, so we had privacy and bunk beds to sleep in. She found it crowded. I was used to sleeping sitting up in a day compartment, but I didn’t point that out to her.

Susyn had opened her suitcase and taken out a negligee before she realized that there was no bathroom in which to change. She caught my eye, and looked embarrassed for the first time. I said, “I’ll step outside. Will fifteen minutes be enough?”

She smiled, then added, “I’m not used to sleeping with a man – under these conditions.”

I said, “You’ve never been safer.”

I stood in the aisleway with the broad window down, smelling the damp air and mild pollution of the industrial section of Paris as we eased out toward the edge of the city, and thought about my last night with Raven.

*       *       *

We arrived in Lausanne about seven in the morning, after a lovely ride up the tree clad valleys of the foothills of the Alps. I managed a shave and a rag bath since I had no idea when I would see a shower again. I have no idea what Susyn did. Most of my mind had shut down. One small section was reserved for doing the little things that required my immediate attention, like shaving and not walking into walls. The the rest of my mind wrestled with the problem of my life and what, if anything, it meant to Raven.

In the station, I told Susyn that she should find out if there was a consulate, an American Express, or anything else she could think of which Raven might have visited. I would check out youth hostels, campgrounds, cheap hotels, and find out where a street musician would be likely to hang out.

Susyn said, “Yessir. Should I salute, or just go quietly about my business?”

She looked amused and angry at once. I said, “Sorry.”

“You sure are a bossy bastard.”

“I said I’m sorry. What do you want from me?”

“I want to know that you know that I’m not a helpless hanger-on. If you weren’t available, I’d be doing this on my own.”

I wanted to apologize properly and get things back on a friendly basis, but I couldn’t. My mind wanted to normalize relations; my hands wanted to slap her. Or maybe Raven. But Raven wasn’t here and Susyn was. In the end, I just grunted and told her where I would meet her later. more tomorrow

Susyn sipped, put her cup neatly back into its saucer and continued. “Up to that point, Raven was in no danger. But then the P.I. tried to extort another payment from Brock, and Brock stepped on him. To save his life, the P.I. claimed to have arranged to have copies of his report sent to Raven if anything happened to him.”

Susyn made a gesture of distaste. “Things had gone too far for that. Brock had him killed anyway. Then he went after Raven.”

“But she didn’t have any knowledge of any of this,” I said. “If she had known, she would have told me.”

“It doesn’t matter, Ian. Brock can’t take any chances. That is why I’m here. Senator Cabral sent me to bring Raven back. He has arranged a place of safety until his FBI friends can build an airtight case against Brock and arrest him.”

So that was it. Everything that had happened made sense now. If only I had called Will one day earlier, Raven would be sitting here with us, and by tomorrow she would be safely home.

Briefly, without the details of our love life, I told Susyn what had happened since we left Marseille, including the fact that Raven had apparently taken up with Eric.

She shook her head and said, “No, Ian, this just won’t do.”

“I’m afraid it will have to do. Anyway, Raven will call home again sooner or later, and get the same message you came here to give her. Meanwhile, she is lost somewhere in Europe. If I can’t find her, neither can those two who have been after us.”

“No, Ian, no. It isn’t just two thugs anymore. It isn’t like the cocaine trade. Brock doesn’t import, he exports; and he has called on all his European distributors. There must be a hundred people looking for Raven now, all over Europe. Sooner or later, one of them will see her.”

I put my finger gently on Susyn’s lips and said, “Don’t talk for a couple of minutes, OK?” Then I stared out into the street, seeing nothing, and thought furiously. It could work exactly that way. Europe is huge, but there would be no need to cover it all. Forget Eastern Europe. Forget any area given extensively to industry. Likewise, forget the purely farming country. Forget the small cities; there are too many of them. Forget Paris and London, where the whole city is a museum of history and culture. Pick the cities like Munich where the old town survives or has been rebuilt. Concentrate on the places every tourist sees. Send agents around with a picture of her and some plausible story – a young man looking for his missing lover; an old man looking for his missing daughter. Get a standard guidebook to Europe and go to the tourist information centers in the major tourist cities. Go to the youth hostels and the campgrounds.

Europe is huge, but tourist Europe is small.

The Europe of student wanderers is smaller still. The typical medium sized city has hundreds of hotels, but only one youth hostel, and one or two campgrounds. It could be done. It was the way I would chose, if I were to search for her.

Susyn said, “Well?”

“They could find her, so I have to find her first.”

“Good! I knew you would.”

“I’ll need money. I can’t worry about pinching pennies now.”

“Done.” She opened her purse and gave me a fistful of francs.  I counted them out and she made a note of the transaction. “If you need more, just ask.”

“How will I contact you? Will you be staying in Paris?”

“I am going with you.”

That was a new thought. I considered it briefly, then said, “Okay, with reservations.”

“Such as?”

“There are certain skills involved in living close to the ground, and a great deal of discomfort. Raven was just beginning to learn them. If I am to be effective in tracking Raven, I can’t take time to worry about you.

“I know where she went and who she went with, so we might have her back by tomorrow. Or she may stay one step ahead of us, and it might take weeks. If you want to come along, that’s fine, but don’t get in my way. Better still, we’ll split up the work and stay out of each other’s way. You go to the consulates, and the police, and American Express, and I’ll go to the hostels, campgrounds, and hangouts.”

“That will be great. I really appreciate this, and so will the Senator.”

I nodded politely, but I was thinking about Raven, not about the gratitude of strangers. I said, “Let’s get on with it.” more tomorrow

Senator Cabral’s secretary was Susyn Fletcher. She pronounced it Susan. We had been together for several days before I realized that it had such an affected spelling. She was a tiny dynamo – not more than five feet one, certainly under a hundred pounds, with shoulder length bleached blonde hair in constant disarray. She was smiling when I met her; her personality was like a freshly uncorked bottle of champagne. She looked and acted like a much deflated Dolly Parton, minus the countrified accent.

She stuck out her hand. It was almost lost in mine. She laughed and said, “Well, didn’t Raven pick herself a big one.”

“She didn’t exactly pick me. She fell into my clutches.”

“Poor girl!” You could see that she didn’t think it was such a terrible fate. Susyn Fletcher was good for the ego. “Where is she?”

“Gone. She left this morning. No forwarding address.”

“Oh.” Susyn’s liquid violet eyes went from fun to personal concern with the speed of light. No doubt, she was an invaluable asset to Senator Cabral. In ten seconds she had me feeling like a lifelong friend. She asked,”What happened.”

“We had a personality conflict.”

“I’m sorry for the two of you, but what rotten timing! I really need to find her and take her home. She is in danger here.”

Susyn grabbed my hand and said briskly, “Lets go. I want to get out of here.” Sudden decision and brisk movement were the signature of her character. “Let’s eat. Where is a good restaurant?”

So, for the second time in two days, I found myself sitting in a streetside cafe with a lively young woman. This could become addictive. Susyn filled me in on what had been happening in the States. Senator Cabral had gone straight to the regional head of the FBI, who was an old friend from the Senator’s FBI days. They had launched an investigation and five days later it turned up paydirt.

Susyn placed her fork neatly across the rim of her plate and asked, “Ian, did Raven tell you that she had hired a private investigator?”

“Yes. While we were at sea we discussed her background, trying to find some reason for that first attack. She said she had once hired a private eye to look into someone on her father’s staff, but he had not reported back to her.”

“Did she tell whom she had had investigated?”

“No. I asked her, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

Susyn nodded and gave a brief, sparkling smile. “Good girl. Raven and the Senator don’t always get along too well. You knew that?”

“Of course.”

“Yes. Well, even though they fight a lot, she still respects him and tries not to be a political burden. Part of that role is learning never to say anything bad about anyone, if you can avoid it. Everyone in government needs to learn that lesson. If you engage in too much office gossip, it will stand in the way of advancement.”

I put my hand on her arm to interrupt the breathless dialog, and said, “Susyn, you’re losing me.”

“Oops, I’m getting ahead of myself. Raven did not engage in needless gossip; she didn’t give you the name of the person she was investigating. It was Guadalupe Rodriquez, one of Senator Cabral’s secretaries.”

She was watching my face as she said the name. Beneath the friendliness and the mischief, she was watching for signs. Of what, I could not tell. I’m sure my expression didn’t change, because the name was completely new to me. Susyn went on without a break, “The private eye followed her for a week and found out she was meeting with a fellow known to work for a local contractor and investor named Adrian Brock. This Brock’s construction company is not his main source of income. He is also deeply into agriculture. He owns plantations which produce hundreds of tons of California’s most lucrative crop.”

That would be marijuana, of course. I said, “Raven would have told me that.”

“Yes,” Susyn agreed vigorously, “if she had known. But the P.I. actually sent the results of his investigation to Brock for a hefty cash settlement. Raven never knew.”

Susyn paused while the waiter brought coffee. The rain had relented and pedestrians were moving about again. Raven and I had sat like this, just yesterday, talking, laughing, and watching Paris stride proudly past. I dragged my thoughts back and concentrated on what Susyn was saying. more tomorrow

“All right, so I dominate everybody. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“And it doesn’t make you a failure as a man. Chances are she will go running to some weakling. She also needs to dominate.”

Was Eric a weakling? He was tall, athletic, and ruggedly handsome. Yet there had been something passive about his approach to life. When he told us that Paris was a tough gig, there had been something essentially accepting in his voice. And his answer had been to move on.

Will hesitated before adding, “I learned about you two that day on the beach. It was pure competition. I was just a game piece; you two were the players. You won the battle that day, but you also lost the war.”

“Right!”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to let her go gracefully, or are you going to go chasing after her, mess up your life, and make an ass of yourself?”

I had to smile, and it was the first time that day. “Make an ass of myself, I guess,” I said.

“I thought so. Well, I have some news about Raven.”

“What?”

“Senator Cabral’s secretary is flying to Paris to pick her up. It seems that the Senator has some kind of line on her attackers.”

What? I hadn’t told Will where I was calling from. “Why Paris?” I snapped.

Will laughed. “If you remember,” he said, “when you got on the train, that’s where you said you were going. I know you were going to do some train shifting, but I couldn’t tell anyone else. So wherever you are, there is a young woman in Paris waiting to take Raven off your hands. Too bad you lost her.”

“What’s the matter with you!”

“The more I think about that day on the beach, the more I resent the way I was used. Not by Raven. She was a stranger, and she was fighting for her life. By you! My friend. Shit!”

I slammed the receiver down.

#          #          #

I walked to the American embassy. It was a good five miles. By the time I arrived, I had worked off some of my anger, and I knew that Will was right. He had a good eye for human motivations, and a good heart. If there was anyone whose opinion I could trust, it was his, and he knew me better than anyone else ever had.

It only made me more crazy. I had never wanted a woman to keep house and raise kids. I wanted a woman with fire and courage, one who would conspire with me to make life an adventure. Raven was that kind of woman, and she had run from me. Worse, she had not been driven away by insensitivity, or an ill-considered phrase, or anything I could change. She had been driven away by me, by what was the essential part of my soul. more tomorrow

Chapter Sixteen

It would be hard to recount the next few hours. I was not thinking; not really feeling. I wandered around Paris on the same streets we had walked together yesterday and relived my months with Raven. I was too far gone to analyze. I simply watched a rerun in my mind, feeling again everything I had ever felt for her.

I came to two conclusions:  she had never felt for me what I had felt for her, and I was not going to give up so easily. I also came to suspect that if I wanted to see her again, I should find Eric Sangøy.

I caught a bus to the hostel where Eric had been staying. The concierge remembered him. He had checked out three hours ago, accompanied by a beautiful, dark young woman. Her clothing? A tied off blouse and short pleated skirt. She was the kind one remembered clearly. He had no idea where they had been going.

The lounge of the hostel was nearly empty. It was almost time for the daily lockout; while the place was being cleaned, its occupants were not allowed inside. I asked around, and it seemed that everyone knew Eric. He had been friendly to everyone, and open about his plans. He would be going to Luisanne next. If I wanted to know more, there were two or three people he had been particularly close to. I should come back tonight, when everyone was here.

Before I left, I checked in for the night. Then I rode out to the campground. It was a tedious journey; a long walk to the station, a metro ride to the end of the line, a long wait and a longer bus ride to the edge of the city. I fidgeted in the seat and watched the rain slap at the bus window. The campground was a sea of mud, pebbled with soggy tents. Breaking camp in the rain was no fun. Packing Will’s sleeping bag was less fun. It still smelled of Raven.

I shouldered my pack and carried Will’s over my arm. I stood under the shelter, waiting for the bus back to the city. The rain came in slantwise with the wind and wet me to the knees. Half a dozen couples were waiting with me, holding close with soft, intimate voices cooing maddeningly behind me. I stared into the rain until the bus came.

Before I got on the Metro, I phoned Will at the consulate in Marseilles. He asked how Raven was.

“Gone,” I replied.

“Gone where?”

“I don’t know. She left me without warning. All I have is a note.”

“Did she say why she left or where she was going?”

“No. Not where she was going. She said why, but it didn’t make any sense to me.”

I could almost see his sad smile. He said, “Of course it wouldn’t make sense to you, Ian.”

“What does that mean?”

“Did you really think she would stay with you long? Come on, man. She was putting distance between you when you were here. It was only a matter of time.”

“You didn’t like her!” My voice sounded childish, even in my own ears.

“Actually, I liked her a lot. Besides being good looking, she was also a very interesting and independent person. Too independent for you.”

“That’s what she said in the note. I don’t understand; I never tried to dominate her.”

Will didn’t say anything. There is nothing like the hum of telephone silence to make you face the lies you are telling yourself. Finally, I said, “All right, so I dominate everybody. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” more tomorrow

She raised her arms and locked her hands behind her head. She said, “Untie me.”

I set her breasts free, touched them, tasted them, and stood back again. She said, “More.” I put my arms around her, kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts, her belly, then slipped the zipper of her skirt and removed it.

She had remembered. More French cut panties, like the first time I had seen her, but these had been transparent even before they were wet. I slipped them off.

She said, “My turn.”

When I was also naked, we got towels from bureau and wiped each other dry. It became a game, and when we could stand the game no longer, we fell upon the bed, clinched, grasping, straining, and trembling toward climax.

Then again. And yet again. Raven was infinite in her variety and inexhaustible. She was frenzied, hungry, insatiable. It was as if she were trying to wrap up a lifetime of lovemaking in one night.

She was.

#          #          #

The morning sun was pale and watery, but it found its way through a crack in the blinds and straight into my eyes. The bedside clock said nine o’clock; late by my standards. I stretched, and found the bed beside me empty. I lay back, listening for sounds of her movement in the bathroom, but the silence came back to mock me.

My clothes were in a damp pile on the floor, but hers were gone. I pulled back the blinds. The sun was weak and rain was threatening. People were crossing the square, but she was not among them. I shook my head, not ready to admit to myself what I had begun to fear.

I found her note propped on the sink.

Ten minutes later I was still sitting on the bed with the unread note crumpled in my hands. I could not open it and admit that what I had feared for weeks had come to be. As long as it remained unread, I could think that it was harmless. She had gone out to cancel our tickets to Rouen, or to buy some little lover’s present.

Finally, I had to open it. She had written:

#          #          #

Ian,

I am not like most people. You surely know that by now. Every day with you has been an adventure, and I thank you for all of them. But love can be bondage, for a person like me. Lately, I have been afraid that I was falling in love with you, and last night I proved to myself that I was. For someone else, that would be cause for happiness. Not for me. It would spell the end of all I have tried to become. Maybe we will meet again some day, and we will no longer be enthralled to one another. Then I can explain. I can’t explain now. The explanation would also tie me to you. I’m sorry. More sorry than you can ever know. 

Raven

#          #          #

“More sorry . . . I doubt that,” I said it to the empty room.

I would be talking to a lot of empty rooms from now on. more tomorrow

Chapter Fifteen

The old clichés are the best ones; that’s how they got to be clichés.

It was dusk when we emerged from the gare. In the shelter of the overhanging roof in front of the open courtyard, a street musician with a saxophone was leaning against the wall, playing sweet and sad. A lonely saxophone playing in the night is a magical thing, and this kid was good. Honey sweet melody poured out of him, filling up the space around him, driving back the street noises and transforming the garish lights and the tawdry shops into something exotic and exciting. We were arrested by the music, hesitating between the bright lights and the dimness of the coming evening beyond.

Then thunder came down and walked about on the rooftops until it seemed as if the pavement shook. The rain came quickly, and there was an audible, collective gasp from the hundreds of pedestrians on the streets and in the square. Like runners at the opening gun, they sprinted for shelter in the gare, and under the overhanging eaves of surrounding shops. The light was lambent and flawless; every tiny detail was clear in those first moments before the rain haze dulled the details. A hundred thousand droplets danced on the street, as water moved in sheets ahead of the sudden wind.

The thunder sounded again, more distant now, and the hiss of rain played a background harmony for the sax. There were twenty of us waiting in the doorway of the gare. Some had been drawn from within by the excitement. Some had taken shelter; they were shaking the rain from their clothing and wiping sudden moisture from their faces. Raven moved closer still, until we touched from ankle to cheek. Her breath was warm against my breath as we spoke softly. She was trembling with excitement, and something more; so was I.

She put her hand on my cheek and turned my face to hers. She leaned up to kiss me, sliding her fingers around behind my head. Her lips squirmed, her tongue came in, and I felt an electric shock from head to heels. When we broke, she whispered, “I can’t wait.”

Sweet Jesus!

Primeval rains were still falling. Across the square, people were sheltered beneath the arches of the Hotel Concorde-St. Lazare. Raven grabbed my hand and we ran. We were wet through in an instant. Her laughter rang out. She kicked the puddled water up in drenching sheets, caught me around the waist and dragged me to a stop in the middle of the square. With the rain driving against our heads we locked together.

In the lobby of the hotel, Raven held center stage. She marched up to the desk and demanded a room. Her cloud of hair had come down around her shoulders in one wet mass. The thin, light material of her tied off blouse had turned to cellophane. The old clerk smiled in appreciation. Two young men in jeans made no pretense of savoire faire. Their heads swiveled right around as Raven passed, and their girlfriends’ faces turned dark with envy.

In the room, she stood back from me, to see me and be seen by me. The rain was beaded on her face, and made twisted runnels on her long, lean legs and her bare arms. Her blouse was wet to absolute transparency – stirring memory. She said, “I was this wet when you first rescued me?”

I nodded.

“But not so much clothed.” She raised her arms and locked her hands behind her head. She said, “Untie me.” more tomorrow

In the cold, damp air of morning, the sleeping bags’ warmth was too comfortable to leave. We dozed and woke and dozed again until the morning was half gone, then dashed through the rain to the shower block. An hour later, we were on the bus back into Paris, wearing plastic ponchos and sharing a fruit and bread brunch out of a paper sack.

Raven called American Express from a public phone. She had called her father twice since we got to Paris, but there had been no answer. Finally, she had called her sister to have money sent. The Amex people said it was in, so we took the metro to Place de la Concorde and walked up to the 9th arrondissement. Twenty minutes later, Raven came out holding up a new credit card and wearing a grin a mile wide. “Now!” she said. “First clothes, then food, then a room that doesn’t leak.”

“You don’t like my lifestyle?”

“I like you. Your lifestyle is for bag ladies.”

Raven would never make a bag lady. That soon became clear. I followed her around Paris for three hours while clouds played tag with the sun. The streets were wet and shining, the rain came in brief showers, then retreated before brilliant sunlight. The clouds above the buildings were piled high and menacing. The leaves of the sycamores sagged with dampness, and sent quick showers out of a clear sky every time a breeze disturbed them. It was a Paris for lovers, and a day I would never forget. 

Despite her threats, Raven bought sparingly. When I pointed out that she could only carry one back pack, she said, “I know, silly, but don’t spoil my fun.” Her fun consisted of trying on two dozen blouses in order to buy one. My fun came from watching her model them. She bought ugly, chic, mannish suits and frilly dresses, and had them shipped to America. She bought a pleated miniskirt that let her navel peek over and barely covered her rump, along with a blouse that she left unbuttoned, rolled up from the hem, and knotted beneath her breasts. That outfit took the place of her jeans early on, and made my day infinitely more stimulating.

We dodged rain showers, moving from store to store. She vowed that she was going to treat us to a dry room tonight. Late in the afternoon, Raven bought us a meal in a sidewalk cafe. We made a ceremony of it, laughing and flirting for two hours while we people-watched. At the end, she said, “Now, isn’t this better than a burger at MacDonalds?”

“Sure.”

She cocked her head to one side and said, “Do I detect a bit of hedging.”

“It was delicious.”

“Then why the hesitation?”

I didn’t quite know how to explain. I was afraid that talking about it would make it more important that it really was. “The food was wonderful, the company was delightful, the conversation was sparkling. It’s just that being in Paris with you was equally wonderful this morning when we were eating bread and fruit out of a paper sack.”

“Equally . . .?  Oh, come on, Ian!”

“Look,” I said, “I heard a woman talking to her friend today while you were trying on dresses. She had just been to the Louvre, and all she could talk about was what she had eaten in that little cafe that overlooks the bookstore. When I remember the Louvre, I will think of the paintings, not what I had for lunch. When I remember today, I will think of you and the way the rain felt, and the sunshine, not the food we ate.”

“Ian, you’re deeply deranged.”

We went out to walk around in the fading sunlight, holding hands.

We talked about the weeks to come. I told her about Rouen with its cathedrals, half-timbered buildings, and monuments to the passing of Joan of Arc. Raven agreed to a day trip, so we walked up to Gare St-Lazare to get tickets for tomorrow. She walked so close beside me that the swinging of her hips was sweet music against my thigh.

The train station was a huge, crowded, echoing barn filled with overpriced fast food booths and sleazy magazine stores. We bought tickets, and headed back toward the street. Over the crowd noises, I could hear the sound of distant thunder. Raven was squeezed close to my side and I was as happy as I had ever been. I could see no end to that happiness.

*****

I spoke of foreshadowing in 230. Blackie Ryan. The end of this post is a subtler form of foreshadowing. I didn’t say, “If I had only known!” or something equally cliche, but the reader can still sense that all is not going to work out well for our lovers. more tomorrow