Chapter seven: Caribbean Waves
Elvira closed her eyes, the sun warm on her face, despite the chill in the air, despite the snow. She tightened the cloak around her she bought a while back, and sighed. The park was almost empty, as it was Christmas Eve. Those few who were out and around were in twos or threes, never alone. The snow crunched under their feet, and occasionally they would toss Elvira a look of pity as she sat on the bench in her black satin gown. A gown! She hadn't worn one of these in quite a while. And a corset too! But no matter how much the corset was tightened, she could still breathe. She could still feel the pain in her chest.
Her red hair was plaited, and wound up in the thick bun at her nape, giving her a regal air she would have never possessed with it loose in Tourtuga Town. The Turtle Town. She missed it so.
Now she was in Paris. Cold and wet. Christmas without her love. Christmas without anything but a troupe of freaks, and a broken heart.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" Elvira shook her head, her mind on the soft leather boots Mr. Kite had gotten her–saying she needed nice things if she would be in the troupe. Ebony against the white snow.
"Are you alone?"
"Yes," Elvira said waspishly. She was becoming annoyed. She had come to this park to avoid people, and out of all the benches out of all the world, this person had to pick hers.
She looked over at his feet. He was wearing black military issued boots. He was a redcoat. A redcoat in Paris.
"No one should be alone on Christmas Eve," the person said. She finally looked up. He was a handsome man. Fair skin and hair. His eyes were a pure green. A faint image of someone stirred in her memory, but she put it out of her mind. Without a final word, Elvira stood up and walked away. She didn't want to speak to anyone at this moment. She was too busy self-pitying to care for another human being.
She turned to go to the large manor Mr. Kite had secured for them for the winter, then thought how she would have to care for Victoria when she was there.
Turning back, Elvira thought she could at least see if any stores were open.
There were a few more people about the streets, doing last minute shopping, or off to visit relatives. Elvira caught snatches of conversations here and there.
"Non, we are to have three ducks,"
"Ma mere bought me a bottle of perfume for my wedding,"
"And I told him that if he wanted his damn blanket back, he would have to take it,"
"I am so cold, mummy...cant we go inside?"
"Me amore, please listen to me!"
"I love you, Fredrick,"
The last one tore at her heart. She didn't catch a glimpse of the couple, as she had her head bowed against the cold. The snow twirled in flurries, and the blacks of anything stood out. Elvira pulled up her hood, and tramped through the streets, until she came up to a small trinket shop, that was unnocupied by lovesick people.
"Welcome! Looking for something special?" A man piqued from behind the counter. Elvira shook her head and started down one of the many isles of junk. She had no one special to buy anything special.
Yes, she was in an angst mood, and she would be damned if she could be cheered up at this moment. Depression was a bitch.
"We have a few bolts of sea blue cloth over here, that would go beautifully with your hair," Elvira followed the man's gaze over the shelves and saw a few bolts of the same color in satin and brocade leaning against the counter. The color looked so much like the sea surrounding her beloved home of Tortuga.
"What is the name?" Elvira asked. Many an English person would have thought her crazy, but Paris was such a fashionably decadent town, and they even named the colors they made up, or took from someone else.
"I love it, its called; Caribbean Waves, beautiful, non? It would look dazzeling. Only certain red haired women could pull off that look, but I have never seen hair such a red color," Elvira walked over to the counter, and fingered the cloth. It was so beautiful. When she moved it, it had different hues of blue as well. Dark here, light here. Just looking at it made Elvira's skin warm, and the smell of salty air fill her lungs.
She glanced to the store owner. He was elderly, with a white goatee and long white hair, pulled back in a black satin ribbon. He wore the customary Parisian clothing, and though he must have been around sixty, bore no wrinkles; his face still handsome and having a Roman influence.
"I see that you like it," he said lightly.
"I do," Elvira whispered, looking back to the fabric. There were three in all. Two satin and a brocade. Both full and with the bands from shipping still about them.
"You are a long ways from home," the man offered.
"Yes, I am."
"My name is Jacques. Might I ask your's, Jolis Cheveux?" Pretty hair.
"Elvira," She said, sighing wistfully. How she wanted the fabric, but she knew in her right mind that she barely had enough money for a square inch. Everything she had was on the kindness of Mr. Kite.
"Where are you from, Elvira?" Jacques asked, leaning on the counter, and smiling warmly at her.
"The Caribbean. Tortuga,"
"Ah! The most bawdy pirate place around. I can see why you are homesick for the sun and the warmth. It must be a cold slap in the face to be in this snow. What brings you all the way here?"
"My story is a long involved one, Monsieur Jacques," Elvira usually would have been snappish and irritated by someone asking so many questions. Now, she was merely weary, and somewhat warmed that someone cared enough to ask about her. This man had such a nice smile, and such warm eyes.
"Well then, why don't we have a cup of tea? Unless you have a love waiting for you?"
"Hardly," Elvira rolled her eyes, but tea sounded deliciously inviting, and she could use its taste and strength.
"Then lets have a drink," Jacques said determinedly. He drew up a small stool behind the counter for himself, and offered her the padded settee. She finally got a look around and saw that there was a little eat in kitchen behind the register, with a Dutch oven, stove adorned with a billy can, and one cabinet. It was quite cozy. After Jacques put the billy can on to boil, and set out two mugs and tea, he bustled over to the door and turned the sign from open to closed.
"I don't want you to close shop just for me," Elvira protested, making to get up, but Jacques tisked her back down, and offered to take her cloak.
"You are wearing too much black," He said affirmatively, placing her coat on a rack. "You should wear something else unless you are in mourning, are you?"
"No, no. I have no one to really mourn," she smiled.
"So, tell me," Jacques passed her a mug filled with steaming tea, and two lumps of sugar, just how she liked it. "Why are you in Paris?"
"Well... as bluntly and in the least amount of words; I was a whore in Tortuga, until I met up with Jack Sparrow. He bet me that I couldn't be a lady, and after a month he would come and see. A month later, I was at his friends house, and had just escaped from a greusome dinner party. I went into a tavern for a drink, and started talking to a man I didn't know till later was a pimp. Jack came in, saw me with him, they had a brawl. Then, Jack shanghaied me, and sold me to a circus run by a man named Mr. Kite, in England. We have traveled here to Paris, but at a performances, one of our leading ladies broke her back, and he have been stuck here ever since,"
Elvira finished, and took a sip of tea, looking over the rim of her mug at the stunned Jacques. He was blinking rapidly, then a grin broke out over his face.
"The moment you walked into my store, I knew you were different," He laughed. "Yes, I can see why you should miss your home, I suppose. And is this Jack Sparrow...the Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl?"
"The very same," Elvira nodded.
"Wow. Tell you what, I will give you all three of the bolts, for free, just for telling me such a great and to the point story,"
It was now Elvira's turn to stare dumbly at the man.
"But you would loose a fortune!" Elvira finally sputtered.
"Not in my eyes," Jacques shrugged. "I think it is well paid for. I can only hope that you will make it back to your home. Maybe with Caribbean Waves on your back, you will sail home." He took a sip, looking thoughtful for a moment.
"Did you care for Jack Sparrow?" he suddenly asked. Elvira choked on her tea. "No, I am serious. When you said his name, a sort of emotion shot into your eyes. I can't name it to save my life, but it was very strange, and very sentimental."
"He is a pirate," Elvira said cooly. "He sold me to the bloody circus! The day I care for him, is the day that pig fly!" Jacques chuckled, stood up and walked over to the window. He started out of the pane windows, and then suddenly looked up to the sky theatrically.
"Look! Up there in the sky! Its pigs!" He busted up laughing at his own joke, then sobered at Elvira's expression.
"I am truly sorry. I must have misread that for hatred. My eyes are terrible. Perhaps you should go back, before this Mr. Kite of yours becomes worried that you have run off."
Elvira stood up, and made to decline the bolts of cloth–though her mind didn't want to–but they were shoved into her arms before she could protest.
"I hope you go home," Jacques repeated, getting the door for her, as she was walking out, her chin resting on the top bolt.
"I do too," Elvira sighed.
"You will," Jacques pressed. "And you will give Jack Sparrow a good kick where it hurts for me alright? As payment,"
With that, Elvira left the shop; in shock at her treasures, and somewhat heartened about her brief, yet touching talk with this strange man. She would most likely never see him again, but she would always–she was more certain about this then the skin on her nose–always remember him.