1968 - 11. Chapter 11

April 29, 1968

My lecture was supposed to start at 4:00PM. I really needed to work on getting some consistencies on these times. It kind of fucked up my rhythm. So Jeff and I dutifully headed back up to Columbia at around 2:00PM. After my last meeting with Sammy, I had no desire to try again. Jeff felt the same way, and had said so. I just kept my thoughts to myself.

We got out of the cab with our shit and headed to the building when the Majority Coalition members came into view. They were pretty concerned because of all the stuff we were carrying, but we courteously told them what was in the boxes and what we were doing. They were just about to let us pass when a group of protesters approached the line. I looked at Jeff, wondering what to do. There were protesters coming at us from the outside, so we could move inside, but there were also protesters coming at us from that angle too. “Here JP. You hold the stuff. I may need to have my hands free.” In other words, you're a pussy, no good in a fight, so be the pack mule and I'll defend you.

We moved sideways, heading away from the confrontation, but there really didn't seem to be a way around it. There was a mass of students, and somehow, even though we had nothing to do with it, we were enveloped by the Majority Coalition, which made us seem to be part of it.

“Follow me,” Jeff said, and moved toward the protesters coming from the buildings. As we approached them several of them got out sticks and other primitive weapons. We both stopped. “Put down your boxes and put your hands in the air JP,” Jeff told me. We stood there, hands in the air, like we were under arrest.

A militant looking hippie guy came up to us. “Who the fuck are you?” I figured that as soon as he asked that question, we'd be OK. If he hit first, we were toast.

“I'm Professor Crampton from Stanford. I'm here to do an anti-war lecture.” Technically it wasn't an anti-war lecture, but I preferred to save my skin rather than split hairs.

He smiled, which blew our minds. “Well, if I don't get arrested I'll come see you.” He nodded to let us pass. We walked far enough away from them to be safe, and then turned to see the spectacle unfold.

The Majority Coalition had blockaded the protesters, and they were trying to break through the cordon. It seemed like they moved in slow motion, but then when they clashed, it was in high speed. I watched it, detached, like I was watching a military battle. The protesters advanced on the coalition, and when they tried to pass through they were stopped. It only took one spark, one physical act to start the violence, and it came with just a shove. Then there were fists and elbows flying. I couldn't tell if there were weapons being used, but it didn't seem they were needed.

The confrontation was brief. In 15 minutes it was all over and the coalition had held. We watched as protesters filed back to their captured buildings, many bleeding, some with injuries that looked more serious. Students fighting students. I felt bile rising in my throat, and I turned away from them and from Jeff and vomited in the grass. But the show must go on. I headed to the lecture hall and we got ready to set up.

We were met by the Dean of Students, who advised me that the University felt that under the circumstances they were going to have to cancel the lecture. I didn't argue. I felt like shit. So Jeff and I left the handouts I'd made and carried our equipment, which was pretty light, back out through the coalition. By now the University officials were amongst them, asking them to withdraw. I got the sneaking suspicion that they'd set these students up as a buffer in the first place, and now they realized the folly of their action. We got away from the campus and flagged a cab. Two hours later we were on our way to the airport to catch a flight to Paris.

“Jeff, the last talk we did we almost got killed in a race riot. Then we come here and end up getting sucked into gang warfare. You know, this is just a little too dangerous for me.”

He looked at me and nodded. “I'm with you JP. It's like the whole country is on the verge of a revolution, and everything is falling apart. It's not safe anywhere.”

“After this gig at the Sorbonne, I'm off the road until things are under control. At least the next one is in France and I won't have to put up with this shit.”

“Good point. At least things seem pretty stable there.”

April 30, 1968

Two things had changed my mood considerably. The first was my re-initiation into the mile high club. After the plane took off and the passengers were all mostly asleep, Jeff and I snuck into the bathroom and he fucked me like a wild man. It was great, although it was hard to keep the noise down. We must have done a good enough job at that since no one was waiting with dirty looks when we were done. The second thing was just being in Paris. I love this city.

We were staying on the left bank since I was here to do a lecture at the Sorbonne. The hotel was not the Ritz, but it was nice enough for us. We only planned to be here for a week anyway. It had been a long, tumultuous two days and we hadn't slept much, so the first thing we did was crash. Then we got up, got dinner, went back to the room and crashed again. I fell asleep that night and felt Jeff spoon up behind me, wrapping himself around me like he had in the past. I snuggled back into him and felt safe and secure, but the whole mystique of my teddy bear was gone. It was nice, but I missed Sam. Stalwart, loyal, and rock solid.

The other thing I'd noticed was that when Jeff and I had first started hanging out, his body odor had really turned me off. After I fell in love with him, it didn't bother me, and the more I loved him, the more I liked it. Now that our relationship had changed, I found that I didn't like it any more. I giggled to myself, thinking that I should use my nose like dogs do when picking out guys.

May 2, 1968

The Sorbonne had asked me to do two separate presentations. One would be targeted toward the academic crowd (like professors and grad students) and would be held in one of the left bank lecture halls. That talk was slated toward the end of my visit on May 6. Today I was at Nanterre to present my talk to the undergraduates, a more basic version of events in Vietnam designed for a less academic crowd.

Nanterre itself was an interesting contrast. Most of the Sorbonne wasn't a campus at all, just a bunch of university buildings scattered throughout the Left Bank. The theme seemed to have been to let the University blend into the community. Nanterre was in the eastern suburbs and was a campus built on the American model. Jeff and I got out there early and explored the complex. It was modern and impressive. I got to the lecture room and was surprised at who met me.

Tall, dark, and handsome, just like the last time I saw him, Marc Sievres still had his sexiest feature intact: his thick muscular neck. He greeted me in the French way with a hug and a kiss on each cheek, but he held me closer than normal, forcing body contact, reminding me of the one time we'd been together.

“How good to see you again after all these years!” he exclaimed.

“It is good to see you as well. This is my friend Jeff,” I said, introducing the two of them. Marc greeted Jeff in the normal manner, though with nowhere near the warmth he'd given me. The two of them seemed to dislike each other on sight, like two alpha dogs fighting over a female. That made me the bitch, I thought playfully, and almost giggled out loud.

“And what has become of my Stefan?” he asked. “What a strange coincidence, that he should be your cousin. You must tell him that I miss him. Especially his ass.” He said this last thing with a wink and that did make me giggle. Stefan would crack up when he heard that. Jeff didn't find it funny at all.

“Stefan is doing well, graduated from college, and is planning to start a real-estate development firm. Jeff is his boyfriend.” If anything, that increased the tension between them.

Marc seemed to sense this. “Well, I came out here to see you, before you got into the excitement of your talk. Can you have dinner with me tomorrow, to catch up on old times?”

The invitation was directed to me only, we all knew. It was a little rude of me to leave Jeff on his own, but he would just have to deal with it. “Of course, that would be terrific.” He told me the name of a little cafe and we agreed to meet at 7PM. Then he showed us where to set up our stuff.

Once we were alone, Jeff wasted no time in letting me know what he thought. “I don't like that guy. There's an evil streak in him.”

I rolled my eyes. “You just don't like me having dinner with him. And you don't like the fact that he has a past with Stefan. You might want to cut the guy some slack.”

“Oh yeah? And why would I do that?”

“Ask Stefan about him. This guy saved his ass plenty of times. Fucked it too, but you know Stefan.” Jeff nodded, and thinking about Stefan made him smile.

The lecture hall was packed. I wasn't sure if it was because I was an American talking about Vietnam, because I was an American speaking fluent French, or just because I was an American, but I had their attention. It was going well, really well, until about half-way through the presentation.

The doors flew open and a group of police dressed in riot gear appeared. A senior gendarme approached the stage and pushed me aside to speak into the microphone. “By order of the government, this university has been closed until further notice. You will evacuate this building immediately.”

I looked at him, stunned. “May I at least finish my lecture? I've flown all the way from the United States and I only have an hour left to speak?” The microphone was close enough for our conversation to be broadcast to the crowd loud and clear.

“My orders leave no room for lee-way. If you are from America, you must be used to student protests and the need to make sure law and order is maintained.” The crowd booed loudly.

“Perhaps, monsieur, but we have never closed a campus before.” I was pissed. Restraint would have been best, but I didn't show it. “In fact, the Sorbonne has only been closed twice before, and the last time was when the Nazis invaded.”

The implications of that statement, and the enraged mob, spurred him to action. “Clear the auditorium!” he said, and the riot police came in. Jeff managed to grab my slides, the only thing we couldn't readily replace, as we fled along with the students and administrators. I got a baton crack to my head and shoulders, but managed to escape unharmed otherwise, primarily because Jeff dragged me out a side exit. All around the campus riot police were herding panicked, and in some cases defiant students off the campus.

We managed to get far enough from the campus and mayhem so we could catch a cab back to our hotel. We grabbed some jambon beurre sandwiches from the local patisserie and we locked ourselves in our room. Only then could we exhale. It took me an hour to settle down, and then we took a shower together and made love. Shared danger had bonded us, but not like in the old days. Still, it was nice to go bed that night snuggled up with my teddy bear. I felt safe and secure, but I still missed Sam.

May 3, 1968

I was awakened by a loud noise. Slowly I roused myself, but the knocks were so urgent I was practically running to the door by the time I got out of bed. I opened the door and Marc Sievres burst in, almost knocking me aside. By now both Jeff and I were wide awake. He took a second to grin at my nudity.

“You must get dressed and grab a change of clothes and come with me immediately.” His tone, his manner, spurred me into action and I grabbed my pants, a clean shirt and stuffed a few clean clothes in my leather pack. While I was doing this, he turned to Jeff.

“A warrant has been issued for his arrest. We have to hide him until we can get him to safety. Maybe through Belgium.” Marc was wrapping out these statements in staccato French.

“What about me?” Jeff asked.

“You should stay here. Near a phone. I'll keep you posted.” Marc said.

“I should be with you JP,” Jeff said, almost whined.

“If I get arrested, I'll need you on the outside, free, to help me, OK?” I said, and he nodded.

And with that we fled from the hotel, out the back door, and into the maze of streets and alleys that was the Left Bank. We were running as fast as Marc could drag me until he got me to his apartment. “They do not know we are friends, and I am a low profile member of the movement, so you will probably be safe here, at least for now.”

The excitement had keyed me up and made me goofy. “Are you sure this isn't just your way of trying to get me into your bed?” I joked.

He raised his eyebrows, not expecting humor, and then grinned. “I would not need a trick to get you into my bed,” he said, cocky as ever. I started laughing, knowing that he was probably right.

He left me there and headed out to get us breakfast. He came back half an hour later with Le Monde. The headline read “Government Closes Sorbonne!” but the sub-headline was even worse: “American calls police Nazis” No wonder they were after me. I'd never truly been a wanted man. There was that time when I fled with Peter to Delaware, but that wasn't the same thing. Then I thought I was being chased, but I wasn't. Now I really was. Marc left me with food and the paper and headed back out on the streets.

He came back a few hours later with an attractive young lady carrying a bag. “JP, this is Babette. She is a hair stylist.” I felt myself grow nervous, very nervous, and instinctively my hand went to my hair. Babette giggled.

“We think you need to have dark hair and to cut it shorter,” Marc said.

“Is this all really necessary? Why don't I just go to the U.S. Embassy and hire a good lawyer to defend me?”

Marc chuckled sardonically. “And of course you are so popular with your own government that they would bend over backward to help you?” I paused and thought about that. They pretty much hated me. “This is a revolution, my friend, and you are destined to be part of it. In a few weeks, this will be over and the new government will pardon you.”

“Marc, I don't want to be part of a revolution. I simply want to go home.”

“JP, if you do not want my help, just say so.” Now he was getting irritated.

I caved. “What do you have in mind?”

Before I could say anything, Babette intervened. “I have a different idea Marc.” We both looked at her. “He has such a pretty face, and he has little facial hair, no shadow, and a short thin body, let's turn him into a woman.”

Marc started laughing hysterically. I did not. “What? You're going to turn me into a transvestite? No fucking way. Cut my hair, dye it if you have to, but I don't want to be a woman.”

“Why not?” she asked and he echoed it. “Who cares what you look like? The purpose is to avoid identification and arrest. They will be looking for a blond American man who speaks fluent French, not a woman with red or brown hair that is from, say, Canada.”

I yielded to their logic. I'd just pretend that I was dressing up for Halloween. I ended up with red hair cut in a bob, whatever that was. Babette put makeup on me, which I hated, and showed me how to do it. This was such bullshit. I gave Marc some money and he went out to buy me some clothes. If he gets a miniskirt, I'll kill him. He didn't. He got me tasteful pantsuit outfits that would hide my skinny ass and a bra. It was big.

“If you're going to be a woman, you might as well look good. I gave you big breasts.” Babette giggled and I just rolled my eyes.

It wasn't until early afternoon when we went out. Babette went and told Jeff to meet me at the Luxembourg. He was standing there when I walked up to him in drag. I saw his eyes look at my sleek body. I had to admit, I was a sexy woman. He had no clue it was me.

“Hey Jeff,” I said, and he about shit a brick. I started laughing.

“JP, what the fuck happened to you?” Then he looked at me and started laughing. “You may turn me straight.”

“They wanted me to be disguised. If it works on you, it will certainly work for the gendarmes.”

“So what now?” he asked.

“I'm going to lie low. Marc predicts a revolution, but I'm not so sure. I'm not willing to bank my freedom on a French mob. So I need you to do some legwork for me. Call my father and tell him what happened. See if he can help us get a good lawyer to help me here, and cajole the U.S. Government into helping me even though they hate me.” He nodded. “I'll meet you here tomorrow, same time, OK?” He nodded again. Then I did something that was really really cool. I hugged him and planted a lip lock on him. I kissed him with a passion, right there in public.

After I broke the kiss he smiled. “I never thought we'd be able to do that in public,” he said, and then he held my hand while we strolled through the garden. It was really cool to be there with someone I loved, and to be able to show that feeling in public. If it would have been Sam, I'd have been tempted to sneak off in the bushes and fuck him. Jeff kissed me goodbye and then pulled back to look at me. He started laughing again, really laughing, and he hugged me again.

“What?” I asked.

“Baby, your pants are tenting.” Fuck. I'd have to strap my dick down.

That night, back in Marc's room, I rubbed off the makeup, took off my clothes and fake boobs, and took a shower. I still looked ridiculous with my red hair, but at least I wasn't a chick.

Marc came in naked, about to shower as well. God he was handsome. “I was going to join you,” he said as he got into the shower. I watched his strong handsome form, watched as he seductively spread the soap on his body and stroked his cock to full erection. I dropped my towel and jumped back in with him.

“You can never be too clean,” I said. Our lips met and our bodies wrapped together, the soap making them slippery and slick as they rubbed together. The only thing we'd ever done before was oral sex, so he dropped to his knees and took me in his mouth. Damn he was good. I moaned as he worked my dick with his mouth, and then I felt his finger probing my ass. I spread my legs a bit more to give him access, and before I knew it his finger was in me. He could tell that this wasn't my first rodeo. He got up and smiled, and turned me around.

“You know JP, after all these years you still star in my jack-off fantasies.” I felt his cock brush against my hole, and then he pushed and went in with just a little resistance. “Aaaah, you have done this before. You feel so good. I think we will not need the costume. I think I will just keep you here and make love to you for a week.” I moaned and pushed back into him, and that fired him up.

Marc was a totally different type of lover than Sam or Jeff. He worked to make it last for a really long time. He got me right to the edge, and then he pulled out and rinsed us off. He dried me sensually; using the towel to get every nook and cranny, then took me to his bed. He lubed us up and entered me again, this time “doggy style” while he pounded my ass. I was close again and he pulled out, driving me nuts. He turned me over and lay on top of me, kissing me and forcing amazing body contact. Then he moved back and grabbed my legs, pulling them into the air. My throbbing hole was exposed, begging him to fuck it, and he did. I could tell by his moves that he was going to make me cum this time. The view of him, his handsome face and fit body, plowing my ass sent me over the edge. I blew a huge load, a load that didn't want to stop.

He grabbed the towel and wiped the cum off of us, and then pulled me into a hug. He was an amazing lover. No wonder Stefan had had such a crush on him. It was almost the best sex ever, but in the end, it lacked the emotional bond that I'd found with Jeff and mastered with Sam.

May 6, 1968

I was getting tired of being in hiding, but there wasn't much hope of things changing yet. I found Jeff at our bench, and went up and kissed him passionately. We still weren't used to being able to do this in public, so we giggled like young lovers.

“Your dad is working on the government, but it's a slow go. You're not very popular.”

I shrugged in the Gallic manner. “No surprise there.”

“I met with a lawyer he recommended. He doesn't want to talk to you.”

“You mean he won't take my case?” I asked. Since when did a lawyer refuse to do anything for a buck?

“No, he just can't meet with you. Apparently if he does he's obligated to turn you in or some bullshit like that. So I'm going to talk to him in an hour and explain things.” I nodded.

“I called home and told them what was going on and not to worry about you.” I kind of thought they should worry about me.

“I should probably try to call them and check in.”

He seemed uncomfortable. “Just be careful. They can easily tap and trace international phone calls.” I hadn't thought about that.

“I'll try to use a pay phone. You got money?”

He smiled. “I got enough money. Hang onto your cash. Use it for the phone call.” I kissed him again and he was gone.

I was headed back to the apartment when I saw crowds of people marching on the Sorbonne. I caught Marc's eye and joined him. “You look beautiful mademoiselle,” he teased. Someone in the crowd grabbed my ass and I found myself getting irritated.

“What's going on?” I asked with a forced falsetto voice.

“The student union and teacher's union are marching on the Sorbonne to protest the closure of the University.” I looked at the crowd. It was massive and growing. I was in a mob, and there was no way to get out of it. I was being pulled along in this protest. As we approached the Sorbonne, the police in front of it charged, batons swinging.

We all started to flee, but since I was toward the front, it was hard to escape. I saw police beating an old professor and it really upset me. I went over to them and yelled at them, and ironically they listened and went off after other people. Being a hot woman had advantages. I reached down to help the old man up, only to find it was Professor Gireaux. As far as academics went, this guy was my hero.

“I must thank you, mademoiselle.” I giggled.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“Not too bad. My head is sore. If you wouldn't have intervened I fear it would have been much worse.” We found ourselves strangely alone on the street. The police and crowds had flown past us. “Come with me,” he said, and led me down some side streets to a nice home. He opened the door and held it for me, inviting me in.

“You will be safe here mademoiselle,” he said.

I assumed my normal tone. “I'm sorry for the deception Professor, but I am not a mademoiselle. This is simply a disguise.”

He looked at me, trying to figure out who I was. “Who are you?”

“JP Crampton, from the United States. We met a few years back...” He cut me off and gave a big belly laugh.

“I remember you well, and your work since then has been fabulous. You are a very attractive woman. I was about to try and seduce you.” That made us both laugh. We spent the next few hours just chatting. How great it was to pick the brain of such a great scholar.

“Professor Gireaux, may I use your phone?” I asked.

“Of course. You will want to call America, no?” There was an idea.

“Thank you. Yes. But first I must call Marc Sievres.”

“Of course, he would be behind this. The phone is in my office. Help yourself.”

The call to Marc went unanswered. I was nervous that he'd been arrested. The call to Palo Alto went less well. Betty answered and tracked down Sam for me.

“Hey Sam,” I said. “I finally got a chance to call you. It's been scary here, but I'm OK.”

“Good to hear that JP. When are you coming home?” What was this? He sounded pissed.

“As soon as they can get me out of here. You do know there's a warrant out for my arrest here?”

“I heard that you ran off with some guy you used to know and that you were staying at his apartment. Are you sure you want to come home?” What the fuck was this? They didn't know anything about my problems, that I was in hiding. Hadn't Jeff told them?

I was speechless. “I want to come home more than anything. I've been in hiding. Did Jeff tell you who the guy was?”

“He said he didn't know him.” Jeff had lied his ass off and kept me isolated from anyone who could help me. Then here, Marc had done the same thing, though his motives weren't suspect. He was just dripping with revolutionary fervor.

I was so pissed. “He knows him, he just doesn't like him. His name is Marc Sievres, and I met him here a few years ago. Stefan knows him well.”

“Really?”

“Yeah really. I almost got stampeded in a fucking riot today, I can't go home, and I can't do anything.” I was so pissed I couldn't see straight.

“I'm sorry JP. Jeff just made it sound like you ran out on, well, us.”

“Sam, fucking Jeff is trying to make you mad at me. He's using this crisis to try and drive a wedge between us. I'm so fucking pissed off. I've trusted him to find me a lawyer, talk to my father. I wonder if he's done any of that. How am I going to get out of here?” I was almost frantic.

“I'll work on it. Someone will meet you either tomorrow or the day after tomorrow at the Tuileries Gardens, near the center. Be there both days at noon. I've got to go work on this JP.”

“Sam, I need to, I...” I stopped him from hanging up. “I feel all alone here. Can I tell you something?”

“Sure JP,” he said, his voice modified.

“I'm scared. And I miss you so much.”

He knew me, knew what it took for me to admit that. “It's going to be OK. It will. I promise. I love you.”

That's what I wanted to hear. “I love you too. Thanks Sam.” And I hung up.

I called Marc and he answered. I told him where I was and he told me he was coming to get me.

When he got there, I told him about my conversation with Sam about Jeff. I wasn't sure if I could trust him. Marc was sure I couldn't.

May 7, 1968

The Tuileries weren't the safest place in the world to be. There was another massive demonstration just a few miles away at the Arc de Triomphe. This time, in addition to yesterday's crowd, it included high school students. But I did what Sam told me. I got to the gardens and there he was, Sam, standing there looking for me. He must have caught a flight right after we talked.

I strolled up to him as seductively as I could and noticed his eyes on me. I walked straight up to him, grabbed him and kissed him hard. He struggled, and then finally pushed me away. He looked at me and laughed.

“JP? Damn you're a good looking woman.” I smiled and kissed him again. There we were, in the center of Paris, making out. Lovers in a city for lovers. “It is good to see you,” he said. “Let's go.”

“Where are we going?”

“The embassy. Jeff didn't even talk to them. They didn't even know you were here. Your father's been on the phone and the Ambassador's been nice as can be. He's going to offer you his protection while you work your problems through with the authorities.” It seemed so easy. Why had these other people made it seem so hard? My father and Sam, between them, had made everything so clear and so easy.

We got to the embassy and were well-received. They even gave me a small room to sleep in. Sam stayed with me the entire time. I'd missed two meetings at the Luxembourg with Jeff. Let him wonder. He'd tried to sabotage my relationship, and he'd kept me in limbo, dependent only on him for help. He had total control of me and he abused it. He had crossed the line, crossed it severely.

“I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive Jeff for this,” I said. “Why did he do this? Why did he leave me spinning in the wind?”

“Because he's still in love with you,” Sam said matter-of-factly. “I can kind of understand. I'd do anything for you.” I hugged him for the longest time.

“How is Stefan?” I asked.

“Mad that I wouldn't let him come along,” he said. “Mad that I'm gone. He's been taking good care of me.” I laughed at that. “Mad at Jeff. There are going to be some big problems there. It's not pretty.”

“And not our problem,” I said. It made me sad nonetheless.

May 8, 1968

The French government agreed to drop all charges against me so I could return home. No one doubted that France was near revolution. The chaos was spreading, and the anger was at a boiling point. They had bigger fish to fry, and figured that getting an “activist” like me out of the country was a great idea. The U.S. seemed to feel the same way, wanting to protect its citizens. So Sam and I caught a flight out of Orly, and landed in New York at 9PM.

I had a hell of a time with immigration. My red hair didn't match my passport photo. I was so tired and cranky that I tore off my shirt to show them the blond hair in my arm pits. I wasn't sure if it was the gesture, or the hair color, but they passed me through. Sam called home and told them I was OK, and that we'd be home in a few days. We checked into the Waldorf and the first thing we did was take a long shower. The third thing we did was go to sleep.

May 9, 1968

I love New York, not as much as Paris, but I still love it. I spent the morning on the phone, talking to Stefan and Isidore, talking to my parents, letting everyone know I was just fine. By afternoon, I was tired of talking on the phone. The next stop was a hairdresser. The Waldorf set me up at a ritzy salon, and they were tasteful enough not to ask me why I came in with red hair cut like a woman. Three hours later I had blond hair, a bit too bleached out, cut short. Too short, but it would grow out. At least I felt a little like my old self.

It was early afternoon, a beautiful day so Sam and I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the city. Sam hadn't been many places, so this was all new to him. I found that with Sam I just liked being with him. I could wander around town with him and just enjoy his company.

With other guys, with Jeff, it seemed like I was always rushing to bed, always needing to fuck. But with Sam, I didn't need to. Sex was something I looked forward to. Maybe it was like that because he was so stable and reliable. I knew he'd be there, I knew the sex would be great, and so there was no rush. Maybe it's just because I learned to enjoy him just as much outside of bed. We had similar interests. We could go to the Art Museum and look at stuff together. We could browse at things I liked to the point where he was more into it than me.

“I hope you don't hate Paris now,” I said. “It is my favorite city in the world.”

“I really liked it, what little I saw. I'd like to go back someday.”

I smiled. “As soon as the revolutions are over, OK? And in the meantime, we'll have to teach you how to speak French.”

He rolled his eyes. “I'll make a deal with you. You learn to speak Italian, and I'll learn to speak French.”

I held out my hand. “Deal.” I knew Spanish already, so I figured if I mixed the two of those together I'd pretty much have Italian, wouldn't I?