David entered the hotel's large restaurant next to the lobby, pushing his silk handkerchief into his chest pocket in his tux and waiting for a server to take him to a proper table in the room. He glanced about, eyeing the striking chandelier hanging from the enormous ceiling above him, embroidered with colorful and foreign designs on the moldings. People were drinking champagne, laughing away and dancing across the tiled dance floor to the flowy waltzes being played by the orchestra in the corner. The bright room smelled of women's perfumes, mixed with strong alcoholic beverages and sweat, assaulting David's nostrils. He didn't know it would be this crowded at this late hour, and on a Sunday night? Absurd. A waiter finally managed to walk up to him after what seemed like a century of waiting.
"May I help you Monsieur?"
"Table for one, please." He said, grabbing a box of cigarettes out of his coat pocket, as well as a lighter.
The waiter nodded, "This way please."
He followed behind the man, lighting his cigarette and puffing it out dramatically into the musty air. The music grew stronger and louder as the waiter took him closer to the dance floor, and his head started to spin. People were kicking their legs and doing Charleston (stolen from the Americans), their feet tapping against the tiles loudly. What a crazy place a hotel can be on a Sunday night in Paris. The man pulled the small white car out and David awkwardly seated himself at the tiny table, feeling out of beat with the rest of the atmosphere in the room. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathing in the heavy fumes in the air. The dizziness wore off, and once he finally relaxed, he took a note card and a pen out of his jacket.
"Would you like a drink?"
"Scotch," David said firmly, not looking up at the man in front of him. He placed the note card down on the table and began to write.
The waiter nodded and walked away, carrying his small notepad in front of him and maneuvering around the large amounts of people and tables in his way.
November 21st, 1927
Dear, Helen
I have made it to the hotel, and I am rather not very fond of this hyper place here, but it shall work until I come back to New York. I've had a splendid time here in Paris, and I miss you and the bo
His pen stopped as his eyes caught a woman sitting with her friends, her high pitched laugh filling the large room, drowning his ears with her voice. He looked directly at her. Her hair was dark, yet vibrant with life, the mahogany, majestic bundles of locks plunging onto her long, broad, thin shoulders. She had a bold face, striking to him, like a face you would see on a jaw-dropping woman in a film. She was like a painting of a long-lost princess, coming to life right in front of him, yet she was so far away. Her beauty was beyond compare, her dazzling, huge chocolate eyes, the deepest shade of brown lightening ever so slightly as she laughed her darling, childish giggles. Her cherry dark lips, their kissable, lingering spell enchanting David to take her in his arms and kiss her till the end of eternity, to have her all to himself.
"Here's your drink." the waiter placed down the glass next to his hand loudly on the table, the alcohol spilling a little, which made him look away from the glorious sight he just saw.