Chronicles Of An Academic Predator - 35. Chapter 35

 

April 6, 1963

 

We'd boarded the flight and found our seats. Jeff had never flown on a plane and he was both intrigued and nervous. I remembered the panic attack he had when he first got to the condo, so I prepared myself to calm him down if need be. As it turned out, though, I really didn't need to worry. He was so excited to be leaving the country and going on this big vacation that I don't think anything would have bothered him.

 

Apparently my parents had given him some shit about going to Paris with me. I think they suspected that we might be a couple. I sent my mother a letter and told her that I needed to go to Paris and I didn't want to go alone. Since Jeff had taken it upon himself to learn French, it seemed like a nice reward. They left him alone after that. Lucky for them. Both of them were so on my shit list.

 

I wasn't quite sure what we'd find in Paris, at least as far as Isidore was concerned. I'd sent her a letter and gotten a vague response. She agreed to meet with me in Paris, though, so we'd see what happened when we got there. It was strange because she didn't tell me if she'd given birth or not.

 

Jeff gripped the edge of the seat firmly during takeoff and I just sat there calmly and snickered to myself. After we were airborne, though, he really got into it. We flew into New York to catch our connection to Paris and on the way in got a great view of Manhattan. It was great to see him so excited about new experiences like this. He was just so cute.

 

The next flight was on Air France (of course) with roomier seats and better food. Jeff really liked that. We left in the evening and flew over night, so it was dark and the plane was soon darkened to allow everyone to sleep. I nudged him gently and told him to follow me. We headed to the bathrooms, me with a purpose, and him with curiosity. There was no one there, not even a flight attendant, so I walked into one and pulled him in behind me.

 

“What are you doing JP? We're gonna get busted!” he said in a panic.

 

“No we're not,” I said, and kissed him. I grabbed his crotch, felt his hardening cock. “Now shut up and fuck me.” I turned around and dropped my pants. I pulled a small container of lotion out of my pocket and handed it to Jeff. He coated his dick and dabbed some on my hole, and then he entered me. I was facing the mirror in the bathroom, so I could see him behind me pounding away. It was so erotic. There was no time for slowness or gentleness. This was a quickie, a fast fuck, and he fucked me hard while I stroked my own cock. When he came, he pulled out and joined me by the sink and we both sprayed into the stainless steel bowl.

 

I smiled at him. “Welcome to the mile high club. You join it by having sex in an airplane.” He squeezed out of the bathroom and I stayed behind, cleaning up all the cum. It still smelled like sex, but at least no one was going to go to wash their hands and end up with a bunch of sperm instead of soap.

 

We slept the rest of the way, waking up when we were close to Orly and they served breakfast. We had to go through immigration where Jeff got his first passport stamp, and then we went through customs, which was easy. Then we dragged our luggage to a cab and headed back to the Ritz.

 

The cab driver heard us speaking English and assumed we couldn't speak French. He was chatting into his radio. “I picked up a couple of Americans. I hope these guys aren't assholes like the last ones. They didn't even tip.” Jeff smiled at me. I leaned forward and asked him in my perfect French what the weather was supposed to be like for the next few days. It was incredibly pleasant to see the mortified look on his face. I tipped him well anyway.

 

The Ritz treated us like royalty, which was usual for them. I could tell Jeff was impressed. We got to our room, unpacked our stuff, and I called and left a message for Isidore. I'd gotten a room with a single large bed, and Jeff had spread out on it completely naked, looking seductive as hell. We made love again, christening our room, and drifted off into a sound sleep afterwards. Around noon the phone rang waking me up. It was Isidore. I arranged for us to meet her at lunch tomorrow. I woke Jeff up; we showered, and hit the town.

 

I love Paris, and I love Jeff, so introducing the two to each other was a fantastic and fulfilling experience. I took him for a walk around the Tuileries Garden, bored him to death with history lessons, drug him to Montmartre, and took him for a walk along the Seine. That night we took a cruise on the river in the famous bateaux that plied up and down full of tourists. We were exhausted when we got back to the hotel, too exhausted to fuck, but happy nonetheless.

 

April 8, 1963

 

  

We slept in and headed to the restaurant to meet Isidore. She'd picked a cafe on the Champs-Élysées, so we took the Metro up to the Etoile and strolled back down the massive boulevard until we found the spot. I recognized Isidore immediately; she was still very pretty, and obviously not pregnant. I greeted her amicably in the French fashion and introduced her to Jeff.

 

“How is Andre?” she asked, unaware of his demise.

 

“He was killed in Vietnam last December,” I said sadly. I saw her eyes tear up. She had been intimate with him, so it made sense that it would sadden her. I explained his death, and how heroic he was. I glanced at Jeff to see how he handled all this, but he seemed just fine. I forgot how easily he let things roll off his shoulders.

 

“So what happened to your baby?” I asked. She paused and lit a cigarette. Everyone in Paris smoked.

 

“Why do you care?” she responded, somewhat bitterly.

 

“There's no need for you to get snippy with me. Andre was my friend, like a brother to me, so I care about what happens to him and any children he may have had.” I glared at her.

 

“But since he is dead, your obligations are over.”

 

“You are correct madam. But if that is your attitude, why are we here at this cafe wasting our time?” She thought about that.

 

“I had a baby boy last month. I named him Andre after his father. He is well, and is living with my parents.” I nodded.

 

“When was he born?” I asked.

 

“March 6, the same day they shot the man who tried to murder President De Gaulle. So I gave him Charles as his middle name. Andre Charles Clerreault.”

 

“So you gave him his father's name?” I asked, surprised.

 

“But of course. It is my hope to move somewhere where no one knows us, and then I can lie and tell people we were married and that his father is dead. Sadly, that last part is true.”

 

“Can you prove that Andre is his father?” I asked.

 

“You are calling me a whore, monsieur?” she asked.

 

“Please madam, spare me your mock indignation. I am unsure of the details, but survivors of military officers may be eligible for certain benefits.” That really had her attention.

 

“I am sorry JP, if I seem like a bitch. It has been trying, to say the least. I have been scorned by my neighbors and friends, and now I am unable to marry because I am a tainted woman. So I am destined to be alone. Alone with a one month old baby. My future is, as you say, not too bright.”

 

I grabbed her hand. “Isidore, I did not come here to cause you problems. I came here to see if I could help you. Give me a few days to make some inquiries. Can you meet me here on Wednesday for lunch again?”

 

She smiled at me. “Yes and thank you. After what my father and brothers did to poor Andre, I wasn't sure what kind of reception to expect. I will meet you here on Wednesday.”

 

Jeff spoke for the first time. “If it's possible, can you bring little Andre? I'd like to meet the baby.” She smiled at him, I just stared, shocked.

 

“But of course. See you Wednesday.” She left and I paid the bill. I had a feeling that would be the pattern with her.

 

We strolled up to the Arc de Triomphe. “Why did you want to see the baby?” I asked Jeff.

 

He shrugged. “I think it's important to make sure he really exists. Besides, I'll bet you'll be able to tell just by holding him whether or not it's Andre's child.”

 

I looked at him, amazed, not for the first time, at his insights. The rest of the day was glorious. The weather was great so we strolled all around the Champs-Élysées, stopping to shop here and there. Around 5PM we headed back to the hotel to change for dinner, and to have a quick romantic interlude. We dressed up and I took him to dinner at the restaurant in the Ritz. The food was unbelievable.

 

“You know,” I said to him, “when I'm with you I don't care, or even think about anything or anyone else.”

 

He smiled back at me. “I love you too JP.”

 

“So what do you think I should do if Isidore produces a baby and it turns out to be Andre's?” I asked.

 

“Get her to move to Chicago and we'll help her raise him,” he said. I just stared at him.

 

“What did you say?”

 

“I said, help her raise the kid. He'll need men in his life, men who love him. And she'll need help. She seems like a nice enough lady. She's just scared.”

 

“You think she's a nice lady?” I asked. I just wasn't following him on this one.

 

“Yeah, I do. JP, stop and think about what her life has been like for the past few months. Her dad and brothers beat the shit out of the guy who knocked her up, so she knows he's never coming back. At the same time, they scorn her, look down their noses at her. What do you think her future is going to be like? You think she wants to end up like Stefan's mom? You have the ability to help her. I think you should.”

 

“Won't this be weird for you?” I asked. “I mean, we're not even living together yet, and for all we know you'll end up at Ohio State. And now you're talking about taking on a co-parenting role. For the child of my former boyfriend. Do you know what you're getting into?”

 

“I'm getting into you as soon as dinner is over,” he said, and made me laugh. “Seriously, this has nothing to do with me. It has to do with you and what's right. Even if I'm not in the picture, you need to be there for this boy. But I plan to be there JP.”

 

“I'll think about it,” I said. We got the check and headed up to the room so he could fulfill the promise he'd just made me over dinner.

 

April 10, 1963

 

Yesterday had been fantastic. We'd gone out to Versailles, and I'd met with the same curator that I'd talked to last year. He took us around again, and I had some specific questions about rooms that he helped me answer. Jeff took it all in, and was charming and polite. His French was almost perfect. Then I took him to the Trianons, and hired a cab to take us out to where Marly once stood. He went through these travels with me and seemed to enjoy himself, which I found surprising because most people became quickly bored.

 

Today we'd slept in and headed back to the cafe to meet Isidore. She got there shortly after noon with a cute little baby. “Meet little Andre,” she said to us and I looked at his little face. Jeff instinctively took the baby and held him. The baby actually seemed happy in his arms. Where did he learn how to do this? Babies hated me.

 

“Here JP, you hold him,” Jeff said and put little Andre Charles in my arms. It was a strange feeling, and for once I held a baby that didn't cry. I looked at him carefully, trying to determine if he was Andre's or not. Where did Jeff get this idea that you could tell just by looking at a baby? This was nuts. Still, he was a cute little guy, and he seemed content in my arms. I felt myself wanting to protect him, dormant paternal instincts suddenly rearing up their ugly collective heads. He started to fuss a little bit, so I held him up to my shoulder and patted his back. He seemed content.

 

“He fell asleep,” said Isidore. “He must like you JP.” Jeff giggled at me, and if I wasn't holding the baby I'd have smacked him. Still, he was a sweet little guy. They chatted between them while I held little Andre. Then a strange thing happened. The same insights that allowed me to so effectively visualize historic locations, those same insights that helped me craft my papers; those same insights seemed to flow through me, almost as if I was in a trance. Jeff and Isidore looked at me, slightly concerned, but when I came out of it, I was certain that this was Andre's son. Weird, to be sure, and I'd certainly insist on some of the more conventional means to evaluate whether or not Andre was the father, but from now on, the burden of proof was on the negative, proving he wasn't Andre's son, not on the positive, proving that he was.

 

Little Andre fussed a bit, and Isidore took him from me and attached him to her breast. She had nice breasts, and I saw Jeff notice them too. American men are just not used to seeing women nurse in public, but there was something beautiful and natural about it.

 

“So Isidore, what do you plan to do? Where do you plan to move?” I asked.

 

“I do not know,” she said. “I thought about going to the south, but that area is either very expensive, along the Riviera, or very dangerous, like Marseilles with the racial conflicts.” Marseilles had a large Arab population, and tensions were still high even though France and Algeria had disconnected themselves.

 

“Have you ever thought about moving to the United States?” I asked.

 

“No, I had not. Why do you ask?” She was putting me on the spot, but I didn't blame her.

 

“Well, to be honest, there's not much I could do to help you here. But if you were in the United States, I think I could help you out with your son. If you wanted, that is.” She studied me carefully.

 

“You will forgive me for being direct, but you are asking me in what capacity? I like you, you are kind to me, but I am not a whore.” I started laughing, which surprised her.

 

I grabbed Jeff's hand. “We are a couple. Do you understand now?”

 

She blushed, giggled, and then laughed. “Yes, now I understand. Forgive me. You do not look like homosexuals. Especially you,” she said, leering at Jeff. Now it was his turn to blush.

 

“Does that bother you? I mean, you'd be raising your son with the help of two homosexuals.” Jeff asked.

 

“Why would that bother me? You Americans get so hung up on sex and the like. I do not care who you have sex with. I only care that it is not with me. Not that you are both not cute.” She was adorable when she relaxed, and a flirt.

 

“So you're saying you may try to turn us straight?” I teased.

 

“I'm not sure about you,” she said, teasing me back, then gestured towards Jeff, “but this one, certainly.” I rolled my eyes.

 

“So what do you think about going to the US?” I asked.

 

“Where do you live?” She asked.

 

“Chicago. Big buildings, beautiful summers, and really cold winters.” I told her.

 

“I hate the cold, but it sounds interesting. Perhaps I should come visit for a bit, to see how things go? And maybe I could find out about this military benefit information as well?”

 

“That is a great idea. When do you want to come over?” I asked.

 

“Give me a month or two to get myself and my affairs organized. The two of us will come to visit. If things are good, we will stay. If not, we can return.” I liked her pragmatic attitude. Jeff was anxiously looking at me, trying to convey something with his eyes. He pulled out a 5 Franc note. Of course. Money.

 

“Isidore, would you allow me to arrange your travel for you? I can make sure you are comfortable, and I would consider it an honor if you would let me pay for it.” She had caught the interchange with Jeff and me.

 

“I thank you JP. Money is not too plentiful. I have not been able to work, so what I have comes from savings, or what I can extract from my parents.”

 

“You must allow me to give you some money to tide you over until you get to the United States,” I said. I pulled out my wallet and grabbed a wad of Francs. Her eyes bulged briefly. I gave her what was roughly the equivalent of $300.

 

“Thank you so much. Thank you. It has been so tough lately. You are truly an angel,” she said, and kissed me on the cheek.

 

“Hardly,” I said. Jeff laughed.

 

We finished up our lunch and I walked them to the train station. I gave her all of my contact information, and she gave me her phone number as well.

 

Jeff and I walked back to the hotel, quite a stroll, but good exercise. “You did the right thing JP. I'm proud of you.”

 

“I haven't done anything yet,” I objected.

 

“You will though. Your condo is going to get much smaller now, don't you think?” I hadn't thought of that. I loved my place, but we may end up needing more room. Or I could give up my study.

 

“Maybe we can pick out a new place together?” I said to Jeff.

 

“Maybe.” They say Paris is for lovers. They are right.

 

April 12, 1963

 

Orly was crowded; Orly was always crowded. Yet it had a strange aura of disorganized efficiency that seemed to be a French national trait. Miraculously our bags, and our bodies, found our way to our flight. This time, we'd gain hours, so it was daylight for the entire flight. This flight was as smooth as the first one. I was glad that my mother's prediction that these 707s would fall from the sky had proven to be incorrect.

 

The last few days in Paris had been like a dream. I had been so enthralled with Jeff, so into spending time with him, I hadn't even gone over to the Sorbonne like I had planned. We'd gone out to Fontainebleau, taken the metro out to Vincennes, and just explored the city, marveling at its beauty. Now we were here on the plane, heading back to our lives in the United States, our lives that would separate us yet again.

 

“JP, don't worry. It's only two more months, and then we can be together.” he said, sensing my mood and reading my thoughts in that way that was both endearing and irritating at the same time.

 

“But what if you go to school at Ohio State?” I whined. I hated whining. What the fuck was wrong with me?

 

“I'm not going to Ohio State. I'm coming to Chicago. If I can't get in to Northwestern, I'll find somewhere else. I'd rather be with you.”

 

“But what about football?” I asked.

 

“I like football, but I love you,” he said.

 

I smiled up at him. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” I asked.

 

“As a matter of fact I do,” he said.

 

This time we got a dirty look from the flight attendant when we came out of the bathroom, but I really didn't give a shit. What were they going to do? Toss us out of the airplane?

 

We landed in New York and were exhausted. I'd tried to sleep on the plane, and Jeff did too, but it was tough since it was daylight. We trudged to our next gate and I absent-mindedly grabbed a newspaper. We boarded our next flight and sat down in the less than comfortable seats. I opened the paper and saw the headline. My mouth hit the floor. I just stared, I couldn't believe it. Jeff sat next to me, chatting away happily, until he turned to me and saw the tears pouring down my face.

 

“Baby, what is it?” he asked urgently. He knew I didn't cry in public.

 

I just handed him the paper. The headline was horrible. It was the worst. It rocked my world to its foundation.

 

USS THRESHER SINKS. ALL ON BOARD PRESUMED DEAD

 

“JP was this Billy's ship?” he asked. I just nodded. He put his arm around me to comfort me, but not even Jeff could help me with this one.

 

If I'd wondered if there was a God, I now knew there wasn't. No divine entity could be that cruel. First Andre and now Billy. I had the touch of death. I looked nervously at Jeff. “It seems that all of my best friends end up dead. You should run away from me as fast as you can.” I said to him.

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said. “You're talking nonsense.”

 

The flight attendant came up, a guy who seemed nice enough. “Is everything OK sir? Is there a problem?” I just sat there like a statue with tears pouring down my face.

 

“His cousin was on the Thresher,” Jeff said, showing him the headline.

 

“Oh how terrible. I'm so sorry.” The flight attendant vanished and returned in what seemed like a second. “Can you gentlemen grab your things and follow me? Quickly please, we're about to take off.” I was confused but followed him. He led us up to the First Class section, which was almost empty. “I thought you might like some more room, and some extra privacy.”

 

“Thank you, thank you so much,” I said to him sincerely. A random act of kindness, designed to restore my faith in humanity. It was a start.

 

I sat there numb as the plane took off, thinking about Billy and all the times we'd spent together. Jeff asked me about him, and as I talked about him I found that I had almost forgotten the pain of losing him. I told Jeff stories about us, about the tricks we'd played on people, the lockers we'd blown up in high school, the confrontations with Tonto, and the friendship that had developed between us to span the years after we both left Claremont. Jeff had done it again. He'd made me think about the positives, about the great guy that Billy was.

 

“We'll need to leave for Claremont immediately,” I said.

 

“I think we should wait until tomorrow morning,” he offered.

 

“You're right. But I have to call Tonto. She's lost both of her sons to the military. What a sacrifice.” Tonto would be a mess. Who could blame her?

 

We landed and took a cab back to the condo. Jason had already figured out what had happened and had fielded tons of calls from my family. They'd been trying to track me down all day and had only let up when Jason finally found a copy of my itinerary and told them I'd be home today.

 

Jeff, pillar of strength that he was, carried all our shit upstairs and started doing laundry so we'd have nice things to wear. I called Tonto first. Stefan answered.

 

“Hey Stefan, it's JP.”

 

“It is good to hear your voice. Everyone has been trying to call you. Let me get Tonto,” and he put the phone down on the counter with a loud thump that hurt my ear.

 

“JP?” asked Tonto

 

“It's me Tonto. I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner. I just now got back from Paris.”

 

“You heard the news? They took Billy away from me! First Stephen and now Billy? Both of my beautiful sons. Both of my brave boys. They took them JP. They killed them both!” She was hysterical. I didn't blame her.

 

“I know Tonto. I know. And they were both such brave men, and such patriotic men. Men to be proud of.” I tried to soothe her, knowing it was a losing battle.

 

“What good does that do if they're dead? Dead! And Billy's at the bottom of the ocean, probably being eaten by sharks and fish and the like! Oh it's just horrible JP!”

 

“It is Tonto, it is. Have you made any plans for him yet?” That made her pause. The best thing to do with Tonto is to get her focused on organizing something.

 

“I really hadn't JP. I'm still in shock, I just...” I cut her off.

 

“Have you talked to Janice?”

 

“Yes, poor dear. She doesn't know what to do, what with three children and no husband. She's planning to bring them here tomorrow, though. I just don't know what she'll do....” I cut her off again.

 

“You need to plan a memorial service Tonto. It needs to be the best memorial service Claremont has ever seen. Can you do that?” I asked.

 

“Well, sure I can,” she said.

 

“And you'll need to start on it soon. It needs to happen next week, early next week.” There really wasn't a huge rush, but I needed her to focus on something, to have something to do.

 

“So you're telling me to pull myself together and get my ass in gear, is that it JP?” she said, sounding like normal Tonto.

 

“That's exactly what I'm telling you. And I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. If you think you have the room, I'd like to stay with you.”

 

“Do I have the room? Half the town could live in this house.”

 

I laughed. “Alright Tonto. I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

“I love you JP.”

“I love you too Tonto.”