AWAKENING, CHAPTER 12: AU PETIT BONHEUR (Happy-Go-Lucky)
This chapter includes scenes of men kissing. It also includes a scene where they are about to be and just have been intimate, but there is no explicit content.
It was 8 o'clock in the morning, and although Peter didn't need to leave for work for several hours, the smell of coffee lured him from his bed and into the kitchen. There he found Louis, dressed and ready to face his day, nursing a cup of coffee and poring over the newspaper. He beckoned to Peter to join him.
"Don't you own an undershirt?" Louis teased, rising to his feet as Peter, still in his pajamas, sat down.
"Oh, sssssorry, I can go put one on," Peter replied, turning to leave the kitchen.
"No, please sit, don't be silly," Louis replied.
Peter did as he was told, but felt compelled to explain. "After five years in the same bloody RAF woolen pullover, it's nice to be shirtless on a warm day, in a bed with soft sheets," he said with a shrug. He stretched as Louis poured him a cup of coffee and set a plate in front of him. "Thank you, Louis. For everything."
Louis looked at him warmly. "It's good to have you here with me, Pierre," he said. "I think of all we've been through together, all the times we helped one another…" His words trailed off. "I'm happy you feel comfortable here," he observed, patting his friend on the shoulder.
Peter smiled up at Louis. He didn't have to say a word. They liked one another's company and they had missed one another. He knew the events of the last 48 hours hadn't changed that.
Louis liked his morning coffee strong—espresso, he called it. Peter wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it, but each morning at breakfast he liked it a little bit more. The croissants Louis had brought in from the bakery shortly after dawn were buttery and delicious and Peter's was stuffed with chocolate. Sometimes he couldn't believe how his life had improved. Mostly, he thought as his mind flickered back to home and Georgie and Violet, and as an image of Mum and Neddie waving from a ship in Southampton invaded his thoughts.
He reminded himself to be grateful for the present moment. "You know Louis," he said between sips and bites, "a little more than a year ago, we were eating sawdust bread for breakfast and thanking God for the meat."
"What meat? Mine had weevils," Louis said.
"Like I said, meat," Peter said. "This is really quite a bit better," he added with a grin.
"Everything is better in Paris," Louis asserted. He looked at Peter and smiled. "I am so pleased to see that you're happy here. Are you seeing your boyfriend before work today?" he asked.
The word landed like a slap. "He's not my b-b-boyfriend," Peter grumbled. "D-do you have to say that?"
"Words count, Pierre. You don't have to broadcast it to the world, but it's always a good idea to speak honestly to yourself. Let me rephrase it then. Are you seeing Tomasz?"
Peter nodded and bit his lip, his eyes down. "Yes, we're mmmeeting in the p-p-park at eleven," he said. "We'll have a bite to eat and then we need to fffigure out where to buy sw-swim trunks." He was blinking as he pushed out the words.
Ah, calm down, Pierre, it's only me, Louis thought. "It's easy. Go to Le BHV on Rue de Rivoli, a very short walk from here. They have everything. You are going to Pontoise, then?"
"Yes," Peter said. Louis nodded encouragingly, and he added, "I asked him last night before we lllleft for home, and he liked the idea," Peter said. After his meeting with Louis and Henri, Peter had ducked into the alley for a smoke. Tomasz had followed, and they had slipped into a doorway to kiss furtively and make plans. They'd been seeing one another daily since mid-May and they relished any moment they could steal to be together.
Louis nodded approvingly. "Good," he said. "You'll have fun, and the more exercise you get, the stronger you will be. And there's more to life than football."
"No, there bloody well isn't!" Peter protested in mock horror.
Louis chuckled, but Peter could tell from the expression on his face that he had something serious on his mind.
"Pierre, do you understand you could have told me about you and Tomasz? You didn't need to sneak around."
Peter shrugged uncomfortably, avoiding Louis's gaze.
"Look at me, Pierre," Louis said.
Peter looked up. "I w-wasn't ready."
"You told me from the beginning about Anja, Pierre," Louis pointed out.
"Yes, well this is a bit different, isn't it?" Peter snapped. He caught himself. "Sorry, Louis, I just didn't know if you'd approve."
"My approval is the last thing you need to fear," Louis said. "What about your approval? Do you approve of this friendship?"
Peter looked at Louis in surprise. "Um, yes," he said.
"And why is that? What do you like?"
"I like Tomasz. We have fun together. Not just… you know," Peter said.
Louis forced himself not to shake his head. The English were so reserved that a young man of twenty, a man who had experienced love and war, couldn't even say the word "sex."
"Yes, exactly. Focus on that, Pierre. There is more to romance than sex. You saw this with Anja, that romance is always best if it begins with a true friendship. And you are good friends, correct?"
Peter relaxed visibly. "Yes, we really are," he said. "We like a lot of the same things. We like the same films, and we play cards, and obviously we're both mad for football, and… well, you know he was in the Polish Air Force. He was a mechanic, like me. And when France fell, he was in the Resistance."
"I did know this," Louis said solemnly. "And of course he knows we are both airmen, and that we were together in Stalag 13…"
"Yes, and that's all he knows, b-b-because obviously we can't say much. I'm sure he thinks we sat on our arses for four years."
"Five years, but who's counting?" Louis replied. "We know the truth, Pierre. And as long as it's classified…"
"…I know that, but sometimes I wonder… well, would people think I was brave if they knew?"
"If they knew what, Pierre?" Louis asked.
"If they knew everything," Peter said, shrugging.
"Well, I do know everything, and I think you're one of the most courageous people I've ever met," Louis said. "And not just because of your age." Or the war, he added silently.
Peter beamed at that reply, then looked serious again. "Does Henri know, Louis?"
"Know what, Pierre?" Louis asked. He could feel his heart jump in his throat. Did Pierre realize he had spoken to Henri about him, to understand his situation better? Would he be angry?
"About Stalag 13," Peter said, eyes wide and trusting. "Does he know what we did there?"
Louis could feel a breath of relief escaping. "I haven't told him anything directly, but I think he knows some things. He had a role in the Resistance that brought him in contact with many of its leaders. And he knows I was in Paris twice when I was a POW. Pierre, I want you to get to know Henri. I think he can help you."
"He looks so much like you, Louis, only taller of course," Peter said amiably. "It was nice of him to take such an interest in my health, but I pr-pr-promise I'm really alright now. I haven't even had a cold since J-January."
"We'll have him come to dinner here soon," Louis said. "I think you'll find you have a great deal in common."
"Football fan, eh?" Peter asked as he helped himself to a second croissant. "Or a filmgoer?"
"A little bit of everything," Louis replied as he got to his feet. "I'm off Les Halles, the wholesale market." He stopped to ponder Peter in his shirtless state, with crumbs everywhere. "You should come with me when I go again tomorrow. Today I am ordering our meats and poultry for the week, but tomorrow it will be fruits and vegetables. Pascal will be there, and you could learn some things. I think you'd like it. Les Halles is like all of your London markets rolled into one."
"You've been to the markets in London?" Peter asked in amazement.
"Oui, when I was a few years younger than you," Louis replied. "Smithfield, Leadenhall, Billingsgate, Covent Garden. My grandfather took me as part of my education. I went to see Smithfield when I left you in England last August, but there was nothing there."
"Bleeding V-2 bomb got it," Peter said. "It's back in business now," he added with evident pride.
"You'll take me there soon," Louis said. "Tidy up after yourself—don't leave a mess for Madame Bastian when she comes to clean at eleven. She'll be here until about one, so plan your return accordingly."
"I always do," Peter said with a twinkle in his eye. "See you at the restaurant at four."
"See you there, Pierre," Louis said. He was shaking his head and smirking as he headed out the door. Ah, to be young, infatuated, and free of responsibilities.
XXX
Peter was leaning against a lamppost in the park, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling a cigarette. He was wearing khaki chinos from an Army surplus shop in New York, a dark green Chemise Lacoste polo shirt, acquired in Paris with his first pay packet and Louis's firm approval, and natty pair of lace-up spectators in brown and white. It was a gorgeous summer day.
When he saw Tomasz approaching on the gravel path, Peter could feel a little flutter of excitement in his stomach. Tomasz walked with such confidence, his hips splayed wide, long limbs rotated ever so slightly outward. His arms and shoulders moved with a bit of swagger. He was wearing sunglasses, and his dark hair was flopping in front of one lens. His clothes—gray flannel trousers from a suit and white shirt rolled up to the elbows—weren't dapper like Peter's, but it didn't matter. He looked mature and handsome.
As Tomasz strolled up with a big smile, Peter had to stop himself from brushing the hair back from his eyes. They exchanged a quick kiss as any friends would, and as Tomasz leaned into Peter's ear, he murmured, "You look sexy."
"Not half as much as you do," Peter replied, biting his lip. "You didn't shave, eh?" The sensation of a stubbly cheek brushing against the soft skin of his face—or other places—excited Peter, and Tomasz knew it. He had a small bag slung on his back; he undoubtedly planned to shave before he left from Louis's apartment for work.
Tomasz ran a hand over his cheek. "I stay scruffy for you," he said with a wink.
Peter smiled. "Coffee first? Monsieur LeBeau told me where we can go buy our swim trunks."
They found their way to a favorite café and sat out in the sunshine, side by side with a view of the passers-by. They sipped coffee, nibbled on bread and butter, and indulged in the art of people watching. As a shapely young woman passed, Tomasz wolf-whistled soft and low, but loud enough that she flipped her head to look back at him. A coy smile lit up her creamy complexion, but a rude hand gesture made clear exactly what she thought of him. He whistled again, louder this time, as she strolled on, her brunette hair bobbing as she picked up her pace and looked over her shoulder to sneer at him.
Peter shook his head and stifled a laugh. "You shouldn't whistle at girls," he said. "It's rude, and if you're unlucky her boyfriend, brother or father will be back here in five minutes to sort you out."
"I'll sort them out by leaning over to give you a kiss," Tomasz said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Oh, that will help. They'll beat us both to a pulp," Peter said with a smirk. "Tom, I mean it. You really shouldn't whistle. It's disrespectful to women."
"But she is so beautiful," Tomasz said with an exaggerated groan. He turning and looked at Peter, carefully appraising him. "But she is not my type."
"Lucky me," Peter replied with a grin. "Where'd you get the sunglasses?"
"I have them from my time in Polish Air Force. You like?" Tomasz replied.
"Very much. They look good on you. I ought to get a pair," Peter replied.
Tomasz took them off and hooked them over Peter's ears. "There. You look like pilot."
"Pffft. Pilot," Peter said dismissively. "I was a mechanic."
"Because you're good with your hands," Tomasz said, running a hand over one of Peter's. They clutched hands for a moment, but quickly separated.
A tingle went down Peter's spine. "Jesus, Tommy, I need to be able to stand and walk," he said. "Not to mention swim. Let's save it for later, alright?" He was smiling as he said it, but he meant it. It wouldn't do to get hot and bothered before they could go back to the flat and actually do something about it.
"I just like to tease you because you're so cute," Tomasz replied. "Keep the sunglasses."
"I can't keep these, Tommy. They're yours, and they don't fit me properly at any rate. I'll get a pair after I get paid, alright?"
"Why wait? LeBeau will buy you a pair."
"No, he won't," Peter replied. "And I wouldn't ask."
"Then your papa in London. Or Washington. Wherever he is," Tomasz teased.
"Not him either," Peter said with a grin, although he was not particularly pleased with the turn the conversation had taken. "I have to earn things myself." He took off the glasses, folded them, and handed them back to Tomasz. "Thanks for letting me try them on, mate. They look better on you."
They finished their coffees and strolled off in the direction of the big department store, Le BHV. On their way, they loitered briefly at a kiosque à journaux, looking for football scores in the newspaper, before the settling on a copy of a new publication, France Football. Peter thought for a moment and then added a copy of L'Équipe, a sports newspaper which had details on two bicycle races that were coming in July: the Ronde de France, which would go from Bordeaux to Grenoble over five days in mid-July, and La Course du Tour de France, which would begin in Monaco on July 23 and conclude in Paris five days later.
"It's not the Tour de France, but it's the next best thing," the newspaper vendor told them as he counted out Peter's change. "For five years, the Germans made every attempt at a proper race a disaster. They're saying the Tour will be back next year."
"July 28," Peter said excitedly to Tomasz. "That will be a Sunday. We're off work! We can watch the riders come into Paris."
"Ah, that'll be great fun," Tomasz agreed. "Let's hurry now, if we're going to swim today and still have time for other things."
XXX
Two men in need of swim trunks can make decisions very quickly when the clock is ticking and pleasures await. By half past 12, Peter and Tomasz were on the deck of the swimming pool at Le Piscine Pontoise, diving, racing, and splashing one another. A pair of girls around their age joined in the fun, and soon they were all lolling poolside. An hour later, they regrouped in the lobby, exchanged phone numbers, and made plans to meet up that Sunday afternoon to swim and see a new comedy, Au Petit Bonheur, at a cinema in the Latin Quarter.
By three o'clock, they were back at the flat. "We have a date," Tomasz joked as they let themselves in.
"They're nice girls. We shouldn't lead them on," Peter said as he tucked the key into his pocket.
"It's just for fun. We both like girls' company. Maybe we can take them dancing sometime. They're pretty, they're available, and they're Catholic, so they have no expectations of this," Tomasz said as he pulled Peter into a kiss.
Behind them, they heard a cough. Peter turned and saw it was Madame Bastian.
"Pardon," she said, casting her eyes down. "My schedule is off today because I had to take my sons to the doctor this morning. I'm leaving now. I'm so sorry to interrupt you."
"It's nothing," Peter said. "My friend here was only playing around."
"Just a joke," Tomasz said as Madame Bastian let herself out.
"Blimey," Peter said fiercely. "You can't just grab me like that, Tomasz."
"That was close," Tomasz agreed. "But we're alone now. And we don't have much time. Not that I'll need much time after looking at you in swim trunks for over an hour. All wet… with those trunks clinging to you. And two girls staring at you, looking so hungry…" He ran a hand over Peter's neck and cheek.
Peter inhaled deeply at the sensation. "My bedroom. Now," he said, and took off at a dash down the hallway.
Fifteen minutes later, they collapsed in a heap, sticky, sweaty, and laughing. They took a shower, Tomasz shaved, they raided the kitchen pantry for bread, cheese and wine, and were out to door to head to work by quarter to four.
The girls from the swimming baths were lovely and it would be a lot of fun to see them again, Peter thought as they walked together toward the restaurant. He thought he might enjoy kissing the smaller one, Suzanne, if they sat together at the pictures. But beyond that, he intended to be a perfect gentleman. There was no need to try and top what he had with Tomasz.