Meet Me in Cannes?

• He said - "Take the train from Nantes" - I ponder: "Oui"? "Non"?

"Yes, yes, of course. May we, - ( mais oui?, haha) have one day alone with me darling?" - before the circus begins?

On the train:

My nipples pierced through my white linen blouse; I was too young, ridiculously beautiful and swallowed the burning eyes of men (and women?) whose glances were following me toward the berth's bar~ with indifference I was poured ruby wine. My skin so young, my eyes sky blue, my hair short, punctuated with frost and rebellion, my lips angled in a perpetual form of a luscious kiss. - what was I after? - Just red wine and a bit of fun?

Sitting next to me was an older gentleman fiercely entangled with his own wayward passions. He spent most of the hours trying to avert his lustful, espresso burnt eyes away from me. - free wine?- Mm. I got this.

He said, "I want to teach you our ways, the ways of the French": kiss? seduction? uh...buy me wine?- merci-merci-merci.

I arrive in Cannes, he follows with my red leather bag, I see the stares, the age between us and the jealous greetings of new faces. I am so ripe, everything the women in spiked heels can't mimic. He follows me dutifully, *mon petit chien, (my little puppy), with grey hair in such a fine suit.

Arête! (stop): My ego is in flames! I have reached that peak, that place we long to be at only twenty-three years old! I am seduction personified, I am persuasive, provocative, graced with my own sensuality.

I look back at the man, his morals were left on that train, he is part of my court now. How can he be useful?

The Hotel:

Older Man is pleading, so desperate, unbecoming in this bright sunlight: "Please, I only want to buy you dinner, to hold your soft hand on the beach at sunset. This is all I ask from you. Please." - Fine.-

He, the rather short, grey haired man reminds me I can address him informally now. - He pats his chest repeating, "Andre', si tu plait!"

Andre' pulls out my chair in a small restaurant in the hills, were there only ten tables? - I feel royal, hungry, slightly flushed by the attention. Andre' is pushing his masculinity too far, he reminds me of an aggressive rooster I encountered in St. Nazaire. While he questions the young waiter on sauces and goes on about the vintage wine selection my mind drifts away to my stay with friends on an old farm.

Setting - The village, Le Bois Jahan-

Foggy spring mornings, lying by the fire, on the floor. Beneath me a soft sheep skin rug, beside me a very eager, overcharged young man. Black curls fell wildly over his closed eyes and I stole this moment for myself. Dressing in black jeans and an oversized, cream coloured wool sweater I quietly left the warmth of the room for a tantalising walk around the stunning, cobbled streets nearby. Roosters crowing, sheep baaing, birds chirping, feral cats slinking by- surreal. I then heard a woman's voice calling out "Chupette? Chuppette?" in a desperate tone. She saw me in the dense fog from her stone steps at her doorway. She beckons me to help her find her missing dachshund. Her robust body is in a house dress, an apron with pockets covering her bosom and stomach: from her plump, cupped hand she offers me some ham bits. Off I go deeper into the high, wet grassy field nearby calling for Chupette. Instead a rooster out of nowhere, half running, half flying toward me aims at my hand with ham bits, I try to kick him back but it only eggs him on. His sharp beak goes after my rump as I try to run away, then a bark, and another, Chupette jumps out of the tall grass and goes for the rooster, who to be fair was much bigger than his little sausage shaped body. I bend down, scoop him up allowing him to lick my stinky ham hand then my face. I return him to his person and she asks me inside. - It was no later than eight in the morning. She insists I take some peach brandy she has made herself with some coffee and bread. She lives alone, her husband dead, Chupette is at the table, in her wide lap, his tiny front paws on the bright yellow table cloth. We continue to drink peach brandy until she says it is time for her morning lie down. - The rooster, Chupette, the lover, the fog, the aroma of peaches and memory of her loneliness absorbs me.

"Mademoiselle!" Andre's insisting I toast to love, to France, to health. He has ordered shrimp, fish, salad niçoise, bread and cheeses. We eat and drink late into the night. Others join our table asking me questions, complimenting my eyes, my nose, my hair.

Andre' is stumbling as we make our way down the narrow alley ways, through the winding streets to the seaside - I offer him my hand. He stops and turns to me, leans in and tries to steal a kiss. - "Non, absolument pas, Andre'!": No, absolutely not I respond and pull away. Andre's eyes turn down to the street and he weeps a bit, embarrassed or?

We get to my hotel, the concierge opens the door for us, eyeing my elderly suitor with a smirk. - I hug Andre' there, thanking him for a beautiful night together.

Andre' takes both of my hands in his and looks in my eyes with assurance, I hesitate to return his intense gaze, then relinquish when he speaks: "Comme une fille, seulement, comme une fille je t'aimerai toujours" ~ like a daughter, only, like a girl, I shall love you always.

I watch him leave with pride, the concierge ushering him out into the warm, black night air.