Chapters (45)
- Cover
- Blame Iton Paris
- Copyright Notice
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Book One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Book Two
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
“Oh, fine.” Marcel waved a hand, utterly disgusted with us. A few smiles could not make up for both romantic staidness and monetary profligacy. “Go ring it up yourselves, then.”
“All right.” Sébastien grinned. He did, after all, know his way around a restaurant cash register. He slipped behind the bar to encounter an amazing sight. The cash drawer stood wide open, and money people must have forced into Marcel’s hands lay scattered all over the counter.
“Wait, wait, wait! You’re not doing it right!” Marcel laughed and came around to squint at the cash register. Sébastien indicated the next key to press.
Before Marcel could touch it, another couple tried to slip behind us out the door. “No, no!” He reached to snatch at them.
Misunderstanding, they gestured to the cash they had tucked under a plate to indicate they had paid and tried to squeeze past me. From the panicked look on their faces and the fact that they didn’t say a word, I got the strong impression they were yet another non-French-speaking tourist couple that had wandered into this tempting little corner to find themselves bogged down like ants in honey.
Marcel grabbed a bottle of vintage Calvados from the top shelf and thrust it at them. “But you can’t leave yet! You haven’t even tried this!”
The couple shook their heads frantically and fled into the night.
Sébastien firmly pointed at the next key, and we persisted in this way until our bill finally got totaled up. Marcel pointed out with disgust that it was fifty francs higher than what we would have paid his way.
“I won’t hold it against you, though. I’ll still let you have that room if you want it.”
“Maybe another time,” Sébastien laughed.
Marcel stared at us in shock. “You’re just going to go back to your apartment?”
“Well—yes.”
“When you could take a black market room over a bistro for the night?”
“Well—yes.”
“And people wonder why there’s such a high divorce rate these days.” He stood in the doorway, shaking his head in despair, as we slipped our arms around each other’s waists and headed off.
At least he had a clear conscience. He had gone down fighting for young love, and if our couple failed, it would not be for lack of his trying. It’s funny, but despite how uncomfortable those Métro benches grew, it was the most heartwarming experience. With government and employers doing their worst to ruin our chances, it was nice to know there were still complete strangers willing to give their all to further love.