Chapter 2. Inspiration in a pub
Darkness seized hold of Paris, and yet I continued to roam throughout the streets. The welcoming grins of darkened figures and the not-so-welcome snarls of others seemed far more agreeable than that of the folk of the Moulin Rouge.
"A bit of gin for the missus?" a burly figure snickered. "How 'bout a night under my roof, eh?"
His coarse language and diacritic repulsed me, but I pursued on with my head held high. Why my mother had desired me to spend the next two years in the Moulin Rouge with Uncle Harod, I shall never understand. Certainly the characters were not beneficiary to the likes of an eighteen-year-old girl. And how could an aspiring writer find her inspiration among a city of such horrid inhabitants and immoral values?
Pulling my hood up at last when I heard whistling directed my way, I felt far safer now with me caught in the shadows of my hood and jacket. I grinned to myself at how the weather had almost appeared to sense the fact I had sheltered myself, and rain began to fall. When thunder arrived, blending in with the pandemonium that surrounded me, I sought refuge in a bar where men were singing ridiculous songs half slurred in their drunken speech.
Even with my back turned and my hood obstructing my view from all in the bar, I could hear some of them laughing and pointing at me.
"Buy the mademoiselle a drink," a man suggested.
"I'm betting she might not find the likes of any of us to be that satisfying," one remarked.
"Only one way to find out." all of the men laughed and I heard the movement of chairs as their stomps headed my way.
"How about a drink to warm you up?"
I was spun around by a pair of brawny arms that had me facing a robust fellow with yellow teeth, an overly large nose, and a beard that seemed to have creatures living within it. His breath smelled of alcohol and I wrinkled my nose in distaste.
"I can suggest… other… ways to warm you up, perhaps?" he raised an eyebrow and the men laughed once more.
"Were you men never taught the appropriate way to treat a lady, Monsieur?" I questioned before slapping his across the face.
At my bit of boldness, two men grabbed me and I began thrashing back and forth, flailing my legs and shouting. Everyone's attention now turned towards what was occurring between me and these madmen, but no one stepped forward to take charge. Infuriated, I tossed my head back and forth and screamed.
"What do we have here?"
The man who had given me an atrocious offer stepped forward and seized my chin in his hand. Setting a hand upon my hood with his free hand, he yanked it down and I saw his eyes go wide at my youthful face, blotched with freckles and red from the cold. Trying to maintain my anger without allowing mortification to claim me, I set my jaw firmly and glared at him with all the loathing I could render from within me.
"She is only a small mademoiselle," a man commented.
"Barely out of her crib."
"Then I shall send her to her mother with a lesson well made," he raised his hand in the air. "You never go into a bar alone at night and not expect to run into trouble."
At first, I had not felt his blow to my face. It was not until the second or third that a fierce burning took over and I could feel the tears stinging the back of my eyes. Biting my lip, I shook my head, refusing to give into my tears and cry.
"Maybe she is not so much of a child," and with that being said, the man threw me against the counter and pressed his body against mine.
"You are disgusting," I said nastily.
"And you are sweet as candy for a babe," the man grinned. "Or I shall find out soon."
Closing my eyes to await what would happen next, I soon opened them to find the man a few feet apart from myself, walking away.
In front of me lay a man that must be within his early twenties. His hair was longish compared to the clean-cut style that was prominent within the streets of Paris. Eyes that sang with their own melody of melancholy and… joy… stared at me, and I found myself blushing despite the fact I knew his gaze was certainly not one of affection or coyness. The absurdity of such a handsome fellow finding such a creature as myself attractive was a laughing matter.
"Come," he locked arms with me and dragged me out of the pub, his other arm up to shield the oncoming rain over his head. "A place of drunks is no place for a girl."
"You look not that much older than I," I shot back, placing my hood up to give me my sense of security back. "Why… you could not be a day older than twenty!"
"Twenty-two if we must be exact," he fired right at me, giving me a side-glance that made my heart leap. "So it perfectly fine if I prefer the company of drunks over that of all else."
"It is not as if the company where I am from is much better," I pulled my arm free. "I am perfectly able to conduct myself, I assure you."
"By all means, you proved your point only a few minutes ago." he held his hands out innocently and then smiled. "Although, from the glare you gave those men, I felt quite sorry for the fellows. It seemed it was they that might be in need of assistance."
"I can mend for myself," I found myself bringing my head up in the haughty fashion I was incapable of diminishing. "Besides, I find such tribulations just the kind of excitement I need. Life where I'm from very rarely provides me with such happenings, and being a writer…"
"I am a writer myself," the man interrupted with a grin that quickly vanished. "Although I have recently lost my inspiration in my writing. In all I do…"
"Which is why I am out here," I nodded, understanding his circumstances quite well. "I am in considerable need for inspiration."
"What kind of inspiration are you looking for?"
"Is there more than one kind?" I asked, stumped at his inquiry.
"I suppose there is."
"Any kind of inspiration sounds quite nice to me."
"Perhaps I might take you around to search for inspiration?"
"I would like that."
I cringed, knowing I would much rather stand here and contemplate sweeping away the locks of hair that had fallen, dripping with rain, over part of his forehead.
"What kind of inspiration do you seek?"
"My inspiration?" it was apparent my question had caught him off balance, for he lost way with his eloquent speech pattern and stumbled for words. "My muse… was lost. It was…well… it was not something that I can easily…explain… love… that is… she… we…"
"She?" I let out a giggle, finding it an uproarious statement that a woman was what had him in such a ruffled state. "No need to turn crimson. It is not such an imbroglio, and I understand."
"You could not possibly… she…" he trailed off, and hurt took possession of his face.
"You do not have to explain," I set a hand on his shoulder and took a step back in embarrassment for acting so easily with a man whose name I had yet to know. "I am sorry. I did not mean to… we have not even introduced each other."
"Oh yes," he ran a hand through his hair and laughed. "What is your name, kind lady?"
"Isabel," I smiled at my name, glad one bit of myself might seem elegant. "And whatever is your name, kind sir?"
"I do not think I am quite ready to share that yet…"
"Not ready?" I raised an eyebrow. "And how shall I know where to find you, if ever I feel like I'd like to find my inspiration?"
"You only need to ask Toulouse." he lowered his gaze with a half-smile, as if relishing an old memory. "He will show you where to find the writer."
"And how may I find Toulouse? How do I know you will not go gallivanting off into the wilderness and I shall never see you again?" I was soon grinning airily at how our conversation had turned to such a blithe fraternization.
"Wherever you go. Whatever you do. I will be right here waiting for you." (1)
My mouth dropped down at his melodious voice that sang those words of encouragement to me, and I was relieved my hood sheltered my expression from him, for I know not if he should take me seriously were he to see my expression.
"Goodnight, Isabel."
With that being said, the mysterious figure did a movement as if tipping a hat and walked of, humming a tune with the voice that had me closing my eyes and wishing to fly away to a cloud and listen to such music for the rest of my life.
There was no doubt I would have no problem with inspiration anymore.
I only needed to find this Toulouse.