Author's Note: Oh, wow! The response was far better than I imagined and I thank you all for taking time out of your lives to read Antoine's thoughts and dreams. I'll do my best not to disappoint you. :)
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Returning to his desk as the evening drew to a close, Antoine lifted the pen from the cover and flipped open his journal to the last entry. He had much to tell this night.
The early part of the day began rather unpleasantly. I received a visit from my father shortly after breakfast. He insists it is time I become more involved in the family business. Although, in the past, I never had any desire to throw myself into the wine business, lately the thought has had some appeal. Perhaps my business education was worth the time, after all. Still, I don't think I am ready to leave the city and venture into the wine country.
Of course, there was the familiar argument of how my life has been such a waste and what a disappointment I have been, especially to my mother. It goes along with becoming a gigolo, I suppose. The exploitation of women and all that line of lecture she often scolds me with. I can't say I don't understand her feelings. I'm sure it wasn't what she had in mind for her only son when she gave birth to me. 'Oh yes, I do so hope my son grows up to sell himself to women.' Right.
So, that was the extent of Father's visit. Yes, there was the 'Son, you know we love you' moment, don't get me wrong. No matter what, the Laconte's have great affection for one another.
You are wondering...did I go by the Louvre today? But, of course, I did. I mentioned yesterday I would be going back. Yes, the young woman was there. She was busily sketching the statue from her perch on the nearby bench by the time I arrived. Watching her from a distance, I became entranced. Today she wore a pair of black jeans that clung nicely to her body. Not too tight, but not baggy either. The peach tank top she wore was cropped and reached the middle of her stomach. The milky tone of her skin set my mind to wandering and I don't think I've ever wanted to touch someone so badly in my life. Of course, that was impossible; I would surely send her running for the authorities if I attempted to touch the soft flesh of her abdomen.
Her hair hung loosely down her back in long curls. Every few moments she would reach up and tuck it behind her right ear as she sketched. Her concentration never wavered from the object in front of her. I wondered to myself, what would it take to break her concentration?
So, with devilish intent, I stood in front of the statue, positioning myself between her and the object she so diligently worked at capturing on paper. My back was to her, so I could not say what look appeared on her delicate face. I could hear the low-keyed attempts at getting my attention, but I would not be easily deterred from my goal. That being the goal of meeting the young woman. A chance to see her face-to-face to judge how wrong I know I was to first think her plain.
She finally gave up trying to get my attention and I could hear her approach me from behind. I did my best to feign intense interest in the statue and all the while I was willing myself not to turn around before she made the first move. Finally, after still not acknowledging her quiet attempts to gain my attention, I felt just the slightest touch when she lightly tapped my shoulder.
I turned first just my head and then my entire body to address her. A timid smile appeared on her lips when she looked upon me for the first time. Had I ever seen lips that begged to be kissed before? Not like those of this young woman. Full and sensual, it took all my self-control to keep myself from dipping my head to drink the promise of the sweetest nectar from the well of her luscious mouth. And I think I was struck speechless by the exquisite beauty of her amethyst eyes that were set apart perfectly by her small perky nose. It was some moments before I regained my senses and acknowledged her soft "excuse me".
She went on to explain that she was sketching the sculpture I was standing before and would I mind moving off to the side so as not to block her view? She spoke softly, not wishing to offend or upset. Her voice carried a gentle lilt. If you could imagine floating on a soft, velvety white cloud...that is the effect her voice had on me.
I do think I could listen to her for eternity without feeling trapped as most women make me feel. The unnatural whining and demanding tones from the women I've escorted were enough to drive me insane, at times. I often found myself reciting the "think of all the money" mantra repeatedly in my head just to get through the hours with them. Either that or I would have my way with them [more likely they had their way with me] to the point of exhaustion just to keep them quiet. It is difficult to decide, at times, just whom was playing whom.
Back to more pleasant subjects. Hoping to distract her and keep her talking for more than two minutes, I remarked that she did not sound French and asked where she was from. She became shy and her cheeks turned the sweetest shade of pink. More than likely, she had been expecting me to shrug her off and be on my way. She had no idea the way she could affect a man. That only added to her subtle beauty.
Where was I? Oh...she finally managed to tell me she was from the United States. She said, what was it? A little piss-ant place in Florida. Kissimmee. She joked that no, you don't pronounce it Kiss-ah-me, but Ka-simm-ee. She told me she was here in Paris on an extended vacation and would be returning to the States in a month. I felt all at once quite saddened by that news.
She frowned at me then, just a slight crease developed on her flawless brow. She informed me that I had been somewhat impolite by asking her a personal question without even so much as giving her my name. I felt the smile on my lips widen into a grin as I told her my name. The smile I received in return was dazzling and lit her entire face and I felt my breath catch in my throat. And when she repeated my name, only to call me "Monsieur Laconte", the sound of my name on her lips was like a velvety caress to my ears. She then told me her name. Leandra Marsales. A beautiful name for a beautiful spirit. When I commented on its beauty she smiled softly and whispered that her friends called her Andi and the blush reappeared on her cheeks. My first instinct was to lean down [did I mention she was but 5'5"?] and kiss the soft pinkness of her cheeks. I do not know just how long I can keep myself from resisting temptation. And she is that, but oh, so much more.
I then asked her if I might see what she was working on. She hesitated for a moment and seemed very shy about showing her work, but she nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of my arm. I covered her hand gently with my own free hand as we walked back to the bench she had been working from. The skin on the back of her hand felt like silk to the touch, but I made no overtures toward her. I think she would have frightened easily.
She gasped suddenly when we neared the area she had been working and her free hand flew to her mouth in astonishment. Perhaps it was horror at what she found there. Her belongings were missing. More specifically, her portfolio/bag that contained her ID, some cash and the keys to her apartment were gone. Her sketchbook lay on the ground and her charcoal pencils were strewn about.
I bade her to stay put while I went in search of the museum's detective. Riddled with guilt, I ran back to Leandra with the detective in tow. I feel the guilt because if I had not distracted her from her task, she would not have left her belongings unattended while she attempted to move me from her path. It was my fault her things had been stolen. I feel so ashamed.
After Leandra explained what was missing and gave her personal information to the detective, she thanked me [do you believe that? thanked me for helping to have her belongings stolen] for staying with her while she talked to the detective. She held her hand out and offered a goodbye. My hand closed around hers softly; her touch was electric. I longed to know the feel of her touch over my entire body. Again, my thoughts wander in a lustful direction. And yet, it does not feel exactly like lust. It is difficult to explain for it is something I have never felt before.
I offered to take her to her apartment to retrieve her passport and then take her to the United States Embassy to obtain help in replacing her traveler's checks and replacing her ID. I wasn't at all surprised when she hesitated. After all, I am but a stranger to her. It was then that the detective came to my aide. He informed her that he knew my parents well and if she was in need of assistance, he would vouch for my sincerity in wishing to help. Again, I was blessed with her smile. This one was small, tinged with the stress of her ordeal, but nonetheless beautiful. She accepted my offer and we were on our way to her apartment.
While we drove in silence, a silence that was not uncomfortable, I heard her stomach rumble with hunger. I glanced at her and could feel the amused smiled that danced on my lips. When she giggled shyly, I was again struck by just how innocent she seemed. I then asked her if she would care to stop along the way for coffee and croissant. She accepted readily. This pleased me more than I can tell you. It meant just that much more time I could spend trying to get to know her.
We talked over coffee for what seemed minutes but turned out to be hours. She was lovely, humorous and so very easy to talk to. I found myself opening up to her like no other. Secret fears and loves poured from my lips unchecked and she drank it in gladly, as if her very life depended on my words. It was difficult to end the time at the small café, but all good things must come to an end, eh?
My guilt grew tenfold when we reached her apartment. She was devastated when we came upon the carnage. Her place had been ransacked. The authorities decided it was more than likely done by the same thief who stole her portfolio and ID. Again, I felt like a heel. If I had not suggested we stop for a bite to eat, we might have prevented the further destruction of her belongings. I am relieved to tell that her passport remained in her dresser.
After the authorities had finished, I took her to the Embassy to take care of her monetary needs, as well as apply for a duplicate ID. Upon leaving the Embassy she admitted in a very small and tired voice that she feared staying at the tiny apartment. She had little that a thief would want, but until the locks were changed she felt unsafe.
Here I tell you that my heart was torn. All that happened to her was a result of my selfishness and I wish to make it right. However, I foolishly invited her to stay at my apartment. How idiotic was that? She is much too much of a lady to stay at a stranger's apartment. I then drove her to a reputable hotel and secured a room for her. I did not make the mistake of attempting to go to her room or even suggesting it. Instead, I walked her across the street to a local boutique and insisted she pick out what items she would need for her stay at the hotel that evening. She thanked me unendingly as we walked back to the hotel. I assured her there was no need and quietly said goodbye to her at the elevator. She surprised me.
She stood on tiptoe and with one hand on my shoulder she gently pressed her lips to my cheek. She said she was thankful for such a kind man to come into her life at a time when she needed a friend. I assured her it was my pleasure and returned the gesture and kissed her cheek. She turns the most amazing shades of red when she becomes embarrassed or flustered. And then she touched my cheek softly before backing into the elevator. I watched as the doors closed, blocking her from my view. Her eyes held mine for a time before she disappeared. I feel like a cad, but I do believe she likes me. I can't say that doesn't please me. It does.
Tomorrow the locks of her apartment shall be fixed. I promised to pick her up in the morning and take her home. I wonder if she will wish to see me after this episode is over or if she will simply wish that I would go away.
Again...'til tomorrow.
Closing the journal and laying the pen calmly atop the closed book, Antoine settled in for the night. His mind worked to come up with scenarios that would keep him in Leandra's life. He closed his eyes and willed sleep to come. He would deal with it tomorrow.
While he slept, Antoine had come up with an idea to keep Leandra in his life a while longer. That is, if both parties agreed. He reached for the telephone.
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