JACK DAWSON
Mon Amore…
(Jack lost the bet, lost Fabrizio as a friend and has decided to return to Paris)
Chapter 1
Ah… Paris…
I had to admit. I was more than a little bummed I wasn't going home. Then again, I didn't mind Europe. I loved Paris and was more than a little pissed that Fabrizio abandoned me over losing money we didn't even have. I told him that we didn't have anything to lose because we didn't have anything to begin with. He didn't care. I'm pretty sure he stowed away on the TITANIC. He was so desperate to go to America. I don't know why. Last time I was there, it was plain. Europe was exciting and daring.
People were a lot easier to get along with in Paris. Even though I barely spoke a lick of French they all tolerated me and were very kind to a broke American like myself.
It was midnight. I roamed the streets of Paris alone. A sketchpad tucked in my backpack along with some pencils.
Lights glittered like fairies all around. I looked up at them and continued to smoke my cigarette. I was just looking for a place to sleep. Under a tree. On a bench. Anywhere would due. I looked to my right and saw that the park was pretty vacant. I could sleep there. I walked silently into the soft grass and found a tree to sleep under.
I propped my bag against it to use as a pillow and lay down. My ice blue eyes beheld the heavens above. I took a drag of my cigarette and blew it out slowly as I watched the stars twinkle. I thought about the TITANIC. Big whoop. Giant ship going home. Screw home. It wasn't nearly as interesting as Europe. I fit in here better anyway.
Besides any ship that had an owner who said that God couldn't sink it, was pushing fate. If there was one thing I'd learned in my 19 years on this earth, it's that God has an ironic sense of humor. Maybe next time the TITANIC rolled around I could hop a ride. Yeah.
Slowly my eyes drooped shut and I found myself in a deep sleep.
That morning…
It wasn't the sun that woke me the next morning. It was a soft scratching sound. I opened my eyes to see a silhouette against the sun. They were sketching furiously. I blinked in the sun.
"I'm sorry just give me, like, four seconds. Hold still," the sketch artist said.
It sounded like a girl. A female artist? Wow. I heard one last scratch.
"I'm done. Sorry," they murmured.
I held my hand in front of the sun to shield my eyes. A girl stood before me. Her hair was pulled back loosely at the sides and fell in wavy curls down her back. Her locks reflected a dark and rich red in the sun. Each stray strand lit up like fire in the sunlight.
Her skin was a creamy white, flecked with numerous freckles. Her lips were quite thin but bow shaped and wide. The heart-shape of her face balanced perfectly with her long, swanlike neck. Then her eyes.
Her eyes were a shocking turquoise. Green around the pupil, then sea foam to the rim, then the rim of the iris a shocking hunter green. Freckles of light green rest in her eyes. Brown lashes fringed those amazing big eyes.
I stared in awe. She was a masterpiece. She reminded me of 'The Siren' drawn by John William Waterhouse. I smiled at her a little.
"I'm sorry if I woke you," she frowned standing from the kneeling position.
An American! I gawked in joy and surprise.
"Uh… Je suis desole si je vous reveille," she said slowly.
"I'm American," I grinned.
"Dieu Merci! Un autre Americain!" she grinned clutching her sketchpad to her chest.
"You are American, right?" I asked.
"Oui! I mean yes."
I laughed softly.
"Sorry. After you spend six months in Paris and you finally learn the language it can be kind of hard to shake," she sighed.
I shrugged.
"I wouldn't know. I don't speak any French," I replied.
She sighed.
"Well… I guess I should go," she said gesturing over her shoulder.
"Well, why?" I asked inquisitively.
"Frankly, I feel like a complete stalker for drawing you while you slept and am kind of embarrassed."
I smiled.
"I pull that all the time. Here," I said removing my sketch tablet and handing it to her. "You give me yours."
We traded sketchbooks. I watched her eyes widen as she saw my nudes. It was odd. Most people's eyes widened in shock… hers widened in a look of artistic appreciation. She flipped the pad to face me.
"Is this that lady who comes down to the bar every night wearing all the jewelry she has?" asked the girl.
I grinned.
"That's the one."
She laughed softly and continued to look at my drawing. I thumbed through hers. There were a few drawings of a couple romantically holding each other. Then each one of the couple separately. Them alone. Them glancing at one another as they part ways. Then one of them meeting the other. Then one of them on a date. One of them at the Eiffel Tower. One of them kissing. One of them having sex. One of them running away… Then one last of them laying in the grass in this park kissing.
"Who are they?" I asked gesturing to the drawing.
"Oh, they are these two people I see all the time and I think they would make the best couple. They pass each other every day and I really would like to see them together. He always watches her walk away and just when he looks away, she looks at him. I draw what I think their story should be," she shrugged as we traded back sketchpads.
"That's very creative," I replied.
"Thank you. So you use Jacqueline a lot."
"The one legged prostitute. Yeah."
"Do you draw her and then have sex with her or the other way around?" smiled the girl.
"Neither. I'm more professional than I seem. She's a good client though. Very funny."
"Yeah, she's pretty sweet. I bought her a drink once. I love the use of her hands in your drawings. Very delicate and subtle, but also defining," said the girl.
"Thanks."
We sat awkwardly looking at one another. She grinned to show she was aware of the silence.
"So, uh… what brings you to Paris?" she asked.
"I can't get back to America. I almost got on the TITANIC, but… it's a long story. Anyway, I like Paris no matter what. I was at South Hampton, but I hitched a ferry back here," I said.
"Yeah, ain't no place like Paris," she grinned.
"Couldn't have put it better myself."
She was still standing. I patted the green earth beside me, signaling for her to sit. She took the seat quickly, paying no attention to the grass that would dirty up her clothes. She was wearing a tight fitting blue over layer that stopped just before her elbows. A navy band encircled her waist. A long and slim skirt was flowing down her long legs. Despite her wealthy decor… she wore men's shoes.
"I'm Jack Dawson," I smiled extending my hand.
She took it and shook it strongly.
"Isabeau Lasair. Means God's vow of fire," she said.
I grinned.
"Would you believe me if I told you my name meant 'God is gracious'?" I said.
"Yes, I would. I know the meaning to almost every name," she replied.
"Okay, what about Aidan?"
"Fiery one."
"Danielle?"
"God is my judge."
"Jolie?"
"Pretty."
"Zoey."
"God's laughter."
"Fiona?"
"Beautiful."
"Juliet."
"Youthful."
"James."
"Holds the heel."
"Andrew."
"Manly."
I smiled.
"Damn… why do you know all that?" I laughed.
"I read a lot."
I scrutinized her appearance. She seemed rich. A little wealthy. What was she doing wandering around Paris with a sketchbook? Why wasn't she being confined by her rich family?
"Isabeau, you look kinda… upperclass… Why are you hangin' out here alone?" I asked.
She laughed.
"Me? Rich? Hell no! I drew a picture for some woman and she didn't have any money so she paid me in clothes."
"Wow, that is quite the story. You know, I would pay you for drawing me but all I have is ten bucks and I didn't give you permission to draw me in the first place. Sorry, Isabeau," I shrugged.
"You can call me Beau," she said looking down at her pencils as she sharpened them with a knife. "And if you insist on me drawing you and you don't want to give me your money… I'll draw you for the sheer pleasure of you taking your clothes off," she winked.
I burst out laughing.
"You want me naked?" I laughed.
"Oh, butt naked. Just stark naked roaming Paris," she said with serious eyes.
I laughed and shook my head. She removed a pouch from her knapsack and sighed.
"I have got about thirty Parisian bucks here. Want an espresso and some bread to split?" she asked.
I stared at her and blinked. A girl asking me out on a date? Was it a date?
"Like a date?" I asked.
"Naw, I don't think dating hours start till like… six-thirty. It's only seven am, not date time yet. I was thinking more of a breakfast than a date," she smirked.
That was the first time I went on a date with Beau Lasair…
