Paris 7!
Shakin' it at Le Festin Mobile! Autumn of '84.
I got back that morning from Lulu’s at about six-thirty a.m.
It was cold, and I was very tired.
I crawled into bed, happy it was Saturday, and slept until about three that afternoon.
When I got up, there was a sense of ‘pretty late-in-the-day.’
Vance had come by to ask how I was doing.
I told him all about the “Lulu Sessions.” He was a good-listener, and helped me with the ‘downsville’ of it all. Once having coached me into ‘shake it off’-mode, we decided to meet, and head-out-for-dinner at around six.
As I have probably mentioned, Vance liked the same-kind of funky little local-places that I did, nonetheless, or perhaps because of that fact, we would often find ourselves flitting through the tight-little-streets of the Quartier Latin looking for Couscous chicken, or pizza.
But it wasn’t just the food; it was also that we ‘flowed’ in a similar way; we liked the same things for about the same duration, and then we would go; move on.
Often, he would want to go do the late-night Paris-club stuff, where I would prefer walking-the-streets, to maybe get a beer at a small cafe… My kinda thing, right? Moreover, I think he was probably cruising for ladies, and we know that I just wasn’t on that wavelength right-then… Right? Right.
The ritual was, that we would part-ways at a-bit-into-the-night, both parties all-cool with everything, as we headed-off solo. Me and Vance, we were good like that.
Now, I don’t remember the specific-restaurant-stop that night, but as we finished-up, I remember that he did want to go to a movie, or out to dance… Something like that. I guess here, so many years later, I can admit that he always had a bit more “go” than I did… Yes, there it is; the reality.
However, that night, as luck would have it, I thought maybe I’d try to keep-up, and so, I did hop the metro with him, out-to-about.
We’d just stepped-off the train at Chatelet, and started to head from the tube to the street escalator, when suddenly there were three-girls exiting the train-car in front of us; they got off quickly, almost running.
Vance recognized one of them as a girl that was in-his-class; he took a step, and called-out to her: “Barbara!” The girl turned-around with a startled-look that quickly spread into a beautiful-smile.
Vance took a moment to introduce us. Barbara was a ‘sweet, and vivacious-girl from Colombia.’ Mmm-hmm… Are there any other kind of gals from Colombia? I wonder… (What do you say about hackneyed-phrases when they fit-nicely? I’m goin’ with it. Guilty.)
Anyway, Her friends had stopped and turned-around as well, but they, all of them, seemed in a terrible-crunch-of-time-hurry.
Vance tried to calm-them-down to talk, but they were too worked-up.
Barbara slowed enough to blurt-out: “We go Yui Lui!”
“What?”
“Yui Lui! We go Yui Lui! You know?!”
What was that? Like Chinese new year?
She said it a few more times, along with a few other-words, and a rolling-hand-gesture, like we should know what she was talking about. “You knooow! American! Famous! Rock’n’roll! Yoo-ee Loo-ee!”
OOOOHH! I GOT IT! Huey Lewis!
“YES!” She said.
I was suddenly stunned-and-awestruck, as I remembered that billboard from the cab-ride on the day that I’d arrived: Huey Lewis! One of my absolute-favorite bands!
I lit-up. “Where? Can I follow you?” I pleaded
“Of course!” She said with the same bright-smile, “But we must hurry! We are late!”
Vance let us know that he was not in that kind of mood, and that he was fine to fly off, and so we said a quick-goodbye, and he booged.
I followed Barbara along to their connecting-train. The way she was talking, the show was probably going to be under-way when we arrived. Man. I was getting shook with the hustle and anticipation.
We continued to talk as the metro rolled. Barbara was a fun chattery-type; a bubbly-as-hell personality. Anyone would be hard-pressed not to just love her whole-thing; she was perhaps twenty-ish with dark-hair and eyes. Just lovely all-around. Her friends, though I have forgotten their names, were nice girls too, if a bit younger… But of all the young-girls, I was the most excited to see this show! Wow!
It was at the Casino de Paris about a mile north of Chatelet, so we were up there in a couple-few stops.
We got off, and like right-out of a Beatles movie, we began to run to the show.
When we arrived out-front, one of my favorite-songs was playing: “Walking on a Thin Line!” My heart began to race! This was SO exciting!
The girls ran in with their tickets, while I held-back, and scanned the street for a scalper.
The bass was bumping out into that street! MAN! The band was SMOKIN’ IT!.. Aaaannnd… It was JUST. ME. On the empty-street! I felt cheated!
I could see no one, zero, no body, no bodies on the street. At all! No one. No other soul who might have a ticket to sell; no one. Like I say, the street was flat-empty. Damn.
It was SO totally-disheartening. I was SO disappointed… But I could hear the music out-there on the street, just-fine… It’d have to do… Just the way that life sets-it-down sometimes… OK. I thought to accept my situation alone there just this side of the wall from my favorite band.
As “Thin Line” faded, and just on a lark, I thought I’d risk-it to stick my head into the main-door, to see if I might bribe-my-way-in with one of the security guys… Or something… It was a long-shot, and I’d probably get yelled at, but hey, it was HUEY LEWIS! I had to try!
I opened the door. The lobby was empty! Huh. No guard there to bribe… Well…
I looked to the left, where there was a sweet-looking girl in the ticket-sales booth watching me.
I went to her, hands on heart; “Is there ANY way I can get into this show tonight?”
She smiled, and in poor-English, said “Yes, you must buy a ticket.”
And so I did… I bought ticket number #000092 for about $10… I got a beer, and walked-on, into heaven.
It was a two-thousand-seat venue and they had sold fewer than a hundred tickets…
I walked right-up to the front-of-the-stage, and watched Huey Lewis and crew from about eight-feet-away.
I had mixed emotions about the thing; I was blown-away by the coolth of being, like essentially, one of the only guys there, but I wondered if it burnt the band to have such an empty-venue… No, I knew it burnt the band; if they had been-slated for a show in-the-states at that point in their career, it would have been a much-bigger-venue, a MUCH bigger deal, and it would have been sold-out. I’m sure of it. However, that aside… F’n WOW!! Hey Ma! Look at me! I’m havin’ a dream I’m standing in front of my favorite band! And NOBODY else is here! One more wow: Gary-WOW! Woooow!
Well… Here ya go! Just what we need! Try this:
If it was hard-on-them, they didn’t let on. They rocked that place as well as I’ve ever seen a band go, though it was maybe a bit-shorter-set, and they got out of there at lights-up, as there were too few-of-us to put-up even an anemic-clamor for an encore. We were out by a little-after-ten.
Barbara’s friends split-off, and I went back with her to her dorm to meet her roommate, as Barbara thought that, perhaps, she would like to join us for drinks.
Unfortunately her roommate was a miserable-bitch of a haughty, nasty, British girl who would not lighten-up on her jagged-opinion about The U.S., and about how awful and stupid Americans were. I was not able to charm her, even as I agreed with some of what she said. Oh, and she’d never been there.
Screw off.
Finally I got tired of it. She was souring my mood, and I thought to wrap it up.
I told Barbara that it was getting late, and that I’d catch her down-the-line.
I booked-on from there; they lived close to the Sorbonne, so I was not too far from my own digs.
It was a little late, sure, but I stopped by the Cafe D’Orleans for a couple beers with Erik, who Ron and I had met on that first night; he was much nicer to us by now.
I was feeling a bit peckish, and so, took a look at the bar-menu.
There I saw that they had a sandwich called a “Mixte,” which was a ham and Gruyere on a half-baguette with butter. It sounded good enough.
But I was wrong mes amigos, VERY wrong... It was a fabulous device! Oh ho ho!
I watched the woman make it on the back-bar:
She chopped the crunchy-baguette in half, and then length-wise, smeared it with butter, and then the thin slices of ham, followed by nearly-translucent sheets of the lovely-fromage.
The taste was a perfect-balance of flavor, that went from subtle, to strong, to sweet-buttery, to salty, and then the smoke of the ham, and on to the nutty-tang of the cheese, all washed-down between-bites with a big tub of Stella. It was a lovely moment that I repeated severally over the remaining months that I was there.
Finally I got back that night and hit it. It had been a hell of a day!
I got to bed sometime after midnight.
About an hour later, Ron came pouring through the door with a couple-of-other-folks that I didn’t recognize; a guy and a girl.
It was a bit awkward to be woken up with strangers at the bedside.
“Hey” I said.
Ron was loo-and-titties drunk.
“Wake up and PARTY!” He slurred.
I knew he was a frat guy, but this was the first time it was coming out like that.
I looked at the other folks who were looking down at me laying on the bed.
They were not quite as drunk, and I sensed that they were a little put-off by the situation.
I tried to cut the heat “Aw, come on Ron, I gotta get some sleep, man.”
To which he bristled and got up with a snarl “Yer just SO fucking BITTER!”
He made a couple circles in the room and repeated “SOOO FUCKING BITTER!”
This behavior was beginning to turn the visitors against the idea of hanging-about, and so they suggested maybe they should head-out to a pub.
Ron was pissed, but finally with one last sneer of “BUT SO. FUCKING. BITTER!” They all headed out the door.
It was a few hours later that he showed-up again; sometime near four a.m.
He was sloshy-tanked now. Wasted and stumbly. I just pretended to be asleep… (Yes, I am seeing that I did a lot of phony-sleep that weekend… Guilty.)
He didn’t say anything else to me, though I heard him grunting-and-groaning while trying to get his shoes and socks off.
I guessed that he’d gotten over to his side of the room, and after a bit I finally heard him hit the bed.
In the quasi-light I could see that he was askew, and with one leg hanging over the side. Then the snoring started.
He was a big snorer. I sort of hated it, but I could usually sleep through it, and so passed back into sleep.
My rest was broken abruptly at about five, with the sound of Ron heaving a loud-grunt as he jumped off the bed.
I was startled, and at first couldn’t quite-get what I was seeing; had he hurt himself? Or perhaps he was going to be sick?!
And Then there came the clear sound of splashes coming from the middle-of-the-room.
It showed-up as a revelation, what I was witnessing there in the half-dark; in one smooth motion he’d dropped his drawers, fallen onto his knees, grabbed his pecker, and was sending a stream of urine all over the floor of the room. Jesus Christ.
I began to call out: “Ron! Ron! Dude! Yer peeing on the floor! Yer peeing on the fucking floor man!”
He made some grunting noises but kept it rolling. Crap.
I was aghast, but decided to do nothing about it.
“Ron!?” I continued, but it was no use, he was deaf to my voice. So be it. He stood back up, and fell onto the bed.
The next morning I was up at about ten. There was still a pool of piss on the floor.
Luckily I was able to navigate around it to live my life; get to the basin, hit the shower etc…
Ron was like a stone till about noon.
Finally he woke, sat up, and set his feet down into it.
He recoiled, pulled his feet back and yipped “Aaaa! What the fuck?!”
He was suddenly ready to kill something.
“Motherfucker! Did you do that?! WHAT IS that!?!”
Ron was a pretty-buff-fellow, and man, just then he looked like a pissed-off gorilla.
He focused on me as the puppet to his wrath.
I looked him square in the eye. I was sort of pissed myself.
“Ron. You hopped up and pissed all over the floor at about five this morning.”
He looked even angrier “BULL-shit!”
“Dude you slopped in here late and wasted, flopped onto the bed, and then an hour later, you hopped-down onto your knees, and took a whiz all over the floor!”
I let that settle for a second, and then continued: “I couldn’t wake you up. You couldn’t hear me, but I swear, YOU did it.”
Whatever else he thought of me, he knew I wouldn’t lie to him.
He frowned for a bit longer, and then a funny-thing happened; his face lit-up from the frown and he started to belly-laugh.
“I did? Really?!”
Then I started to laugh as I told him “Yeah man, really.”
“Wow. Sorry.” He was laughing with tears in his eyes as he reconsidered the thing.
We laughed about it, and he got to cleaning-up.
I went for a run.
I didn’t hate him then. He was just a frat kid. Ron was OK.
Besides… me and Ron, umptimes we’s was drinkin’ buddies… Ya know?…
OK beautiful people, You’ve read it, you’ve heard it, and now you’ve seen it.
The feast has begun to undulate, indeed.
Next week: Seeking ‘Jim’ in Pere Lachaise.
Love to you all.